Hawk Channel Chase (36 page)

Beth set her jaw, dropped her eyelids as if focusing. A professional pose for a personal question. “Did you…”

“I got the impression she wasn’t used to being turned down.”

“I’m being stupid and out of line,” she said. “I apologize.” She pulled the Maglite from her belly pack and opened the shed door for another look. The light showed the weed trimmer’s power cord around Lisa’s neck.

“It looks, or was made to look, like she was killed right here,” said Beth. “Choked with an electrical wire.” She looked over at the fence. “A fresh version of Jerry Hammond’s murder, except the public doesn’t know how he was choked.”

“I think it’s phony,” I said. “Two bits says that the power cord is too rotten to hold tension enough to strangle her. It would break apart before it did the job.”

“Okay,” said Beth. “Let’s hold that thought, because what I’m seeing as a first impression, it almost looks like she undressed herself. I don’t see any bruises or scratches. In a violent sexual attack, buttons and clasps are the first things to go. But the front-hitch bra is undone instead of ripped. Her pants are off both legs instead of just one, and they’re here in the shed. Her panties are pulled down instead of torn off or pushed aside. Her pubic hair looks clean. It actually looks freshly combed. This is totally unlike any other rape-murders I’ve studied or seen.”

“You think the scene is staged?” I said.

“It’s as if she was undressed to make it look like a sex crime. I think we’ll find out she wasn’t raped. Also the power cord is not the only similarity in the two. With Hammond there was a sex angle we haven’t divulged.”

“Evidenced by?”

“Exposure,” she said. “His unit was out of his fly. He died with his dick out.”

“Those are legal terms, Detective?”

“What do you want, Alex, penicular appendage? At this stage of our investigation I’m aiming for clarity.”

“Maybe he was aiming for the toilet, taking a pee.”

“He wasn’t found near the bathroom,” she said.

“So… he was surprised while pissing and chased to another room by a pizza cook. The hair dryer now becomes a weapon of opportunity. Did anyone check the commode water for content?”

“A favor just for me, Alex. Stop theorizing right now.”

“Okay,” I said, “but I still need to ask a couple of questions. Is Hammond’s house vacant now?”

“Far as I know.”

“I probably should have asked you this one yesterday. Did Jerry Hammond have a girlfriend or a part-time roommate?”

“None that we discovered. Why?”

“Someone else was spending time there. There was food for two. One was a health nut. The other was purely opposite—a comfort food junkie. If there’s a link between the two murders, it may be that second person.”

“You forgot to tell me about food for two?” she said.

“I’m sorry. I was too wrapped up in the computer, the missing hard drive. But I noticed the other day that this shed can be seen from his rear deck. Whoever killed Jerry could have staked out my yard for the next murder to happen.”

Beth pinched her lips together in a tight line. “I’ll think about it. This afternoon one of his pals offered a $25,000 reward for information leading to his murderer. It’ll be in the
Citizen
tomorrow.”

“Maybe you’ll get a worthwhile tip,” I said.

“Never happens. I’ll get two dozen bogus leads which will waste my time. Rewards always carry the blatant message that the cops aren’t capable of doing their job.”

I pointed at Lisa Cormier’s body. “Where’s her husband right now and who will notify?”

She thought a moment. “I hope to hell that’s not my job.”

I walked around my house to meet Julio, feeling as if I was being sent to a scolding stool in a classroom corner. But there was no sign of him, and unmarked cars, squad cars and vans had invaded the lane.

I excused myself from penance, and finally remembered to call Marnie. I let her phone ring once, hung up, and walked over to the home of Carmen’s parents, Hector and Cecilia Ayusa.

Cecilia opened her front door as I climbed the stairs. “Don’t tell me why the police, Alex. I don’t want to know.”

“How about Hector?” I said. “Is he interested?”

“He’s takin’ a nap,” said Cecilia. She gave me what looked like a thumbs-up but angled her hand and raised her elbow so she could mimic someone drinking from a bottle, his precious Spanish brandy. She kissed the tip of her thumb and said, “You come back at suppertime, one hour, Alex, see my grumpy husband.”

“Did you see any new people in the lane today?”

“No, Alex. I been packing my sheets and my dishes, not looking out windows. You know we going to Ocala, don’t you?”

“I would miss you if you moved. I’d think about you up in that cold weather, all your porch plants freezing at night.”

“No, they won’t do that, Alex. It’s still Florida.”

“They had frost warnings in November last year.”

Cecilia looked baffled. “Frost?”

Beth Watkins stood in the lane staring at me as I left the Ayusas’ porch. My eyes were distracted by two cops stringing plastic yellow crime scene tape around my screened porch.

“The forensic boys kick you out?” I said.

“For an hour or so,” said Beth. “Speaking of which, I have rough news for you. Your home is part of our investigation. You won’t be staying there tonight.”

“Well, shit.”

“You’ll just have to bunk with the investigating officer.”

“I can’t even go inside for my toothbrush and a change of underwear? I really need to get a portable flash drive off my desk.”

“I own one of the largest toothbrush storage facilities in the Keys. Dr. Goldner gives me one every time I get my teeth cleaned, but I use a battery-powered model. I take home all the freebies in hope of a situation like this.”

“Why do you still have so many on hand?”

“I’m as fussy about my sex as I am about my teeth. And you won’t need underwear unless you’ve browned-out the pair you’re wearing. I don’t allow clothing in my bed.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got at least forty minutes. Let me show you your mandatory accommodations for the evening.”

“Do you have that device with you?” I said. “The one that downloads a camera memory card?”

“It’s in my car. I’ve also got a portable flash drive.”

“Can I borrow both?” I said. “I need to run a quick errand.”

“Just as well. I need to sit in my car and think this through.”

“Think about the proximity factor,” I said, “a possible connection between Lisa Cormier and Jerry Hammond.”

“The timeline doesn’t work,” said Beth. “We arrested the guy who did Jerry Hammond three hours ago, thanks to the pawnshop video and his fingerprints on the hard drive. He’s a young punk full of wise-mouth and denials. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to interview and intimidate him.”

“Hernando DeBary?”

“You were right about the fake name. It’s Russell Hernandez.”

“That’s who pawned the hard drive?”

“Got him on video. He’s admitted buying the drive from what he called a street person. And he’s claiming innocence on anything else. I’ll rip his story like a wet Kleenex.”

“He does yard maintenance, not pizzas, Beth. Did you compare his shoe size to the footprints?”

“How do you know this?”

“He and his buddy Jason were Carmen’s houseguests for the first couple nights they were in town. They’ve been on the island less than a week. I think they got here Sunday.”

“Fuck,” said Beth. “You’re sure?”

“Easy enough to check out. Jason Dudak’s mother is Carmen’s best friend. There must be some way to track their travels.”

“Well, double-fuck.” She inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. “That screws up the murder and the string of burglaries.”

“It might save you from a dead-end Q-and-A session,” I said.

She inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. “Maybe you got it right when I asked who knew we were gone. It’s some kind of horseshit set-up. Someone saw us ride out of the lane.”

24

The police allowed me into the yard to retrieve my Triumph and helmet. They looked like kids but I could tell by their approach, rigging lights, stadium lights, dividing my yard into sections, that they meant business. One tech wore a blue nylon jacket with CSI: C
AYO
H
UESO
on the back. Probably custom-made on Southard Street at Ramona’s Shirt Put-On. It spoke to the man’s affection for his job and the sense of humor the techs must need for continued mental health.

It helped my humor that I didn’t see the one who had pointed a gun at me.

Beth was waiting by her parked car on Fleming. She smiled on one side of her mouth and handed me a small thumb drive and her image storage device. “Be home in time for dinner, honey. No fair buying pajamas.”

“I’d better find some curbside Viagra,” I said.

She licked her index finger, touched it low on her right hip and made a sizzling hiss through her teeth. “I will make sure you don’t need it.”

I grinned, and she grabbed my arm.

“I’m under so much damn pressure right now,” she said. “Tell me you like me. Tell me I’m not making an idiot of myself.”

“I like you very much. Thank you for asking. I’d kiss you right here but we don’t know who’s watching.”

“Where
will
you kiss me?” she said.

“On your cute boca chica.”

I rode down Eaton trailing crab-slow traffic, along Simonton past evening cruisers, people walking from sunset at Mallory Square. Four weeks into autumn, the temperatures hadn’t changed much but the evening air smelled colder. Not like chimney smoke cold, but crisp and welcome in the year’s last days of Daylight Savings.

The Pier House entry gate dude gave me a hairy eyeball. I told him I was a Chart Room regular, and he waved me through. No fools, several other cycle owners had claimed the best spots in the lot. Defensive parking is wise in a town catering to drinkers. I settled for a remote corner shielded by an oversized croton bush and chose not to leave my helmet behind.

With Happy Hour in full swing on Duval, I wasn’t sure I would find any of the party-hearty college girls in the Beach Building annex. I rode an elevator to the second floor where a bedraggled young woman answered my knock. She wore a long, flimsy robe and looked like the aftermath of a long and voluminous intake of shots and drafts. Air escaping the room carried odors of a morning saloon. I was reminded of a Navy ship’s forward berthing compartment at six a.m. in a foreign liberty port.

She looked at my empty hands. “You’re not the food. Bitches said they’d send up food.”

“No, but…”

“What,” she said, as a statement of fact. She apparently didn’t have the energy to make it a question.

“My name is Alex Rutledge,” I said. “I live here in town and I’m here to ask a non-sexual favor for which I would be willing to shell out some cash.”

“First things first,” she mumbled. “Why not sexual?”

“You’re not a hooker and I don’t buy fucks.”

“Good answer. My name is Barb. Do I smell bad?”

Bad is the smell of death, I thought. “No, Barb, you don’t.”

“So what are you buying?” she said. “You mind if I sit down?” Without waiting for my answer she slid down the door jamb and plopped her butt on the floor, stuck her legs straight out. The whoosh of wind gave lie to my last statement.

I said, “You and your friends were taking pictures on the beach last night…”

“Whoa, that sounds sexy to me. Or pervy. We were flashing our twins and buns.”

“I was sitting with two men at a table in the outside bar. I’d like to see if one of your snapshots showed their faces.”

Barb burped. “Very mysterious.”

I feared that her next burp might come up in Technicolor.

“A little mysterious,” I said. “One wants to sell me his boat, but I think he’s a boat thief.”

“His price is too good to be true? My dad used to sell boats in Milwaukee. Your name again?”

“Alex.”

She sized me up, calculating her next move. “I smell, don’t I?”

“If you really must know…”

“They’re all at the Hog’s Breath or Captain Tony’s, and Patsy’s got her camera with her,” said Barb. “But she might have moved her pictures onto her Vaio. Please help me up. I still have shame left in my conscience. You’re going to have to wait two minutes while I shower.”

The room looked as if a small waterspout had come ashore and had its way with a dozen duffels and bags. Again, no big deal, the nudity. She dropped the robe, grabbed a hairbrush from the top of the television and plodded to the bathroom. Below her chin, a pleasant figure, the start of a beer belly, not a hair on her body.

I appreciated her graciousness in washing up. She came out in less than a minute wrapped in a towel, soap-scented, her walk an uncertain hula, her ample bottom two-thirds exposed. She went straight to the laptop on the small desk, pulled a chair close, turned on the computer.