The Mango Opera (22 page)

“So you cavorted in his Jacuzzi, slept in his bed, and you became each other’s alibi.”

“Why would he need an alibi?”

“I don’t know why either of you would need one.”

“We talked all night long. We talked until the sun came up. Both of our stomachs were growling, so we ate some cereal and he drove me home and dropped me off. That’s when I found Ellen.”

Another crack of thunder was followed by a drawn-out rumble. The storm had passed to the south, and the air quickly took on a deeper chill. A thick mist filled the night.

Just before we fell asleep, Annie whispered, “Please forgive me.”

I nodded my head against her shoulder. I wanted to tell her I would try, but I fell asleep before I came up with the exact wording of my response.

21

In spite of our stockpiled fatigue we both woke early, actually refreshed. Marked horribly on my face by the perforations and patterns of pillowcase ruffles, I suffered Annie’s ridicule and review. To bury my shame I proposed that we make love while attempting not to aggravate her sunburn. Within minutes we had confirmed that the skin least accustomed to direct sunlight was most strategic in our endeavors. We also determined that she needed to face away, on top, so that I would not be tempted to touch where the sunburn hurt most and she would not be tempted to laugh at my engraved skin. The view convinced me that forgiveness has its blessings. When we came up for air I was informed that the doilylike imprints on my face had vanished.

After hearing Thadd and David’s car back out of the garage we pulled on shirts and shorts and descended to the kitchen. Carmen was wrestling with a steaming skillet on the stove. She pointed at the counter. “The guys left us a pot of Cuban.”

The
Miami Herald
was on the counter. The yard looked inviting, a clear sky after the rain. “Anyone mind if I take my coffee on the deck?” I said. “I long to repose on a tropical daybreak next to a trickling fountain and abundant pool, wallowing in the many pages of the mullet wrapper. I will start with the first section, which is mostly Burdines ads. News, bras, news, bras, news, bras.”

“I never knew this side of you,” said Carmen. “You’re full of shit in the morning. Outside, now.”

The phone rang. We stood there, looking back and forth at each other.

Annie waved it off. “Thadd said the machine would get it.”

“What if it’s my mother?” said Carmen.

I shrugged. “Go for it.”

She handed me the spatula and hot pad and grabbed the receiver. “Thadd and David’s.” A heartbeat later: “Hi, Mom.” She stretched the phone cord back to the stove and shooed us out.

Annie and I went to poolside. The bright tiles and yard colors glowed, reds and greens, even blues in the shadows. Oleander and jacaranda shimmered in the light breeze. Annie positioned a chaise under an arbor of bougainvillea and covered her legs with a towel. We divided the paper. She selected the Business pages with their cover story about career moves.

I pointed at the headline. “How’s yours going?”

“Building. But it’s on ‘pause’ right now.”

“Would you like to be here in Dade County, kicking ass with the big boys?”

“I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t hunger for bigger territory, a little fame and glory?”

“Somewhere down the road. Professional pride, and all that. First I need to figure out which road leads to progress.”

That hit home. “I know what you mean. Sitting here on my butt, I’m not getting any closer to finding a murderer.”

“That’s not your job, is it, Alex?”

“I haven’t gotten the feeling anybody else is doing it.”

I was either a jump ahead of things, or a stride behind.

Carmen leaned outside. “Another call came through, Alex. This guy keeps asking for either you or Sam Wheeler.”

I hurried into the kitchen. “Sam?”

“Captain Turk of the
Flats Broke
here. Sam Wheeler give me this number.”

“What can I do for you, Captain?” Gulls in the background. He was at the Garrison Bight pay booth.

“Do it for your buddy. They come and hooked his butt fifteen minutes ago. Bunch of deputies and plainclothes, got they guns out, even the girl deputy. Run off half the customers on the dock. Sam told me this number. Said to tell you.”

“They say why he was arrested, Captain?”

“They didn’t say, but I hear tell there’s another lady murdered downtown last night. You don’t think ol’ Sam’s caught up in that?”

“No. Did Sam give you any message?”

“Nope. Just the number. And that he’s off to the hoosegow.”

“Thanks for calling, Captain.”

Captain Turk clicked off. Carmen and Annie stood inside the sliding glass door, staring at me, afraid to ask.

“Another dead woman, and the county has taken Sam into custody. I can’t imagine the two facts are related.”

Annie’s reflexes took over. “I’ll call Benjy Pinder.”

I shook my head. “First thing, I’m going to finish my coffee. In the half minute it takes to do that, I’m going to decide the order of about five phone calls I need to make in the next five minutes. Are there two phone lines into the house?”

Carmen looked around. “I think three. David’s an interior designer. There’s a business line in his office and a fax line that has a regular phone hooked to it.”

“Okay.” I eased past the women, walked outside, and looked upward. It’s amazing how valuable a simple blue sky can feel when you consider how little of it is seen by people in jail. The coffee had become cold. I carried it inside to the microwave and pressed the buttons. Annie sat on a stool next to the counter, doodling nervously on a scratch pad. Carmen began to wash the pan and her dishes.

“Here’s the plan of attack,” I said. “Monty’s home number is on a small list in my wallet. Annie, if you could try to get him on one line, I’m going to call Sheriff Tucker on this one. Carmen, let’s see what your mother can find out about this new murder. And Carmen, after you talk to your mother, please try to book me a noontime flight to Key West.”

The microwave beeped and startled me.

“You can’t drive back?” said Annie.

“Flying is sure as hell faster than dealing with U.S. 1.”

My first call was to Sheriff Tommy Tucker. He’d campaigned on the promise that he would always be available to the electorate. It took five or six minutes to weave through the county switchboard to the top man. They finally rang through to his home.

“Tucker here.”

“Alex Rutledge, Sheriff, in Miami. But I just got word that a friend has been detained by your deputies.”

“You must run with an ugly crowd, Mr. Rutledge. Remind me to review our business relationship.”

“Sheriff, I’ve been working with Avery Hatch and Billy Fernandez on these recent—”

“I know. And I don’t have time to talk to you right now, Mr. Rutledge.” The line went dead.

So much for accountability.

“Alex?” Annie called from another room.

I found her seated in a large, airy study cluttered with wallpaper samples and carpet swatch books. As I entered she finished her conversation and hung up the phone.

“Monty’s wife says he left an hour and a half ago. But he said if you called, to get in touch with Bob Bernier. Something about … about Michael Anselmo.” She inhaled and shivered, then rested her forehead in the palm of her hand. “Something that happened a long time ago.”

Carmen joined us. “My mother’ll call us back in ten minutes. My daughter is behaving like a maniac. Annie, are you going to hate me? American had two standbys, but they’re almost a sure bet on Sunday, so I booked one for myself.”

Annie shook her head.

“I wouldn’t go except for Maria…”

“That’s okay.” Annie looked up. “It’s normal. She misses you. You’re not in any danger down there. You did me a favor by bringing me here. I was thinking, maybe I’ll drive up to West Palm and visit my parents.”

I called Bob Bernier and got his machine. I called my own number, got my machine, and asked anyone to pick up if they were still staking out the place. Bernier answered and had a bitch of a time shutting down the “record” mode. “Okay, okay, I got it now. I wondered if you’d call, or if you’d heard.”

“Tell me.”

“Three things. Big ones,” he said. “First, Wheeler’s at the county.”

“I know that.”

“I figured you did. I’m to blame, but not on purpose, I promise you. I was invited to observe an all-agency sit-down last night. I mentioned to Hatch about Sam’s being privy to the identities of your lady friends. I also mentioned that Sam helped set up Kemp’s sale of his charter boat. Avery raised the possibility that, as middleman, Wheeler took possession of the
Barracuda
equipment, like the anchor they found in the Albury scene. Then he linked the special knots to Sam’s oceangoing knowledge. He figured he had enough to move on. Monty says the city’s keeping mum, but Liska and the other city detectives think it’s a lame call. Unless the sheriff’s people come up with something else, something real to support it, I’m not going to pursue it. By the way, we picked up Ellen Albury’s father, Pepper Neice. It looks like he’ll alibi out. Anyway, one way or another, Sam should be sleeping in his own bed tonight.”

“Okay. That’s one thing.”

“Item number two. You know about the murder on Elizabeth Street?”

“I know there’s a dead woman.”

“Okay. I’m going to say a name, Alex. We both know there’s a chance…”

“Just say the name, Bob.”

“Mary Alice Noe?”

“Aw, shit, shit, shit.”

“Another ex-girlfriend, or just someone you knew?”

I thought back. “Neither.” I looked around. Annie and Carmen were outside in the hall. “When was that earthquake during the World Series game in San Francisco?” I said. “October, ’89? That was the night she dragged me out of the Chart Room and took me home. She was engaged to some guy who was out of town, and she wanted one last fling. God, she was good-looking. Long blond hair, wonderful shape. I remember her talking to the bartender, looking over at me. Then she came over, blatant as hell, and said, ‘Jerry gave you the stamp of approval. You want to go somewhere and get high and get naked?’ I couldn’t believe my luck. That was it.”

“One night?”

“Yeah. She loved the guy and didn’t want to screw up the relationship. I don’t remember his first name. Something Noe. She married him, but I heard later they got divorced. I’ve seen her around town, in Camille’s and at the movie theater. I think both times I was with Annie. We just smiled and said hello to each other. It was the original painless one-night stand.”

“Who could have known?”

“I’ll think on it, but I can pretty well promise I never told a soul.”

“Not Sam?”

“Not Sam. Not Annie. Not a soul.” I waited a moment; Bernier didn’t say anything. And I wondered how Annie could be so certain that Carmen was in no danger in Key West. “I’m ready for the next bummer, Bob.”

“We did some work on Kemp’s background. He was busted up in Dade in ’82, in a sting called Operation Snapper. They had videotape, informants, an alleged murder. It was a conspiracy to distribute four tons of hashish. Kemp’s arrest got turned into an information deal. Witness Protection, fake name, a new residence, the whole kit. It’ll be a few days of paperwork and arm-twisting to dig deeper.”

“Monty’s wife said you’d learned something about Anselmo.”

“Anselmo was the prosecutor. He was in on the sting from the word “go.” We aren’t sure, but it’s odds-on he okayed the Witness Program for Kemp. Looking back, it’s possible Kemp got a free ride. They didn’t need any more informants. They had enough evidence to pack ’em away for years. But Kemp got immunity anyway. There was also a problem later with one of the detectives on the case. He got sent away for confiscating cash and never turning it in.”

“Smells like low tide in the canal. What does Anselmo say?”

“We’re sitting on it until tomorrow. Are you coming back?”

“On American. I get in at twelve-forty.”

Bernier paused. “I’d like to keep your house another day or two.”

What did he know that he wasn’t telling? “I’ll camp out on Sam’s couch.”

“I’ll contact you there tomorrow, midday.”

We had fifty minutes to catch the plane.

Carmen knew a quick way from the Enchanted Forest to the airport. I drove the Mustang down Dixie Highway and over to I-95. Traffic was light on the toll expressway to LeJeune Road. Minutes later Annie kissed me good-bye at the curbside check-in and drove away. With my duffel and her paper sack full of clothes and toilet articles, Carmen and I looked like street people. A young black baggage handler made a crack about her “Haitian Haliburton.” The woman at the ticket counter didn’t bat an eye. Processing passengers to Key West, she must have seen all kinds. We got adjoining seats.

I didn’t relax until we were airborne, over the water. As the plane banked to the southwest, I looked down on Cape Florida at the southern tip of Key Biscayne, at the parallel patterns cut by the east wind across the wavetops. For years, an offshore community of stilt houses, spare platform camps, had dotted the tidal flats. They’d offered a touch of the old Florida that on the mainland was now paved and developed. But Hurricane Andrew had erased Stiltsville.

About the time we leveled out, Carmen nudged my thigh. “Look, friend. It’s time for a heart-to-heart, okay?”

This sounded like personal business, and I wasn’t in the mood.

She continued, “Anybody ever tell you that your woman’s a flake?”

“No. But you’re about to explain it, aren’t you.” This had nothing to do with springing Sam.

“Let me tell you, and this figure of speech does not come from the women’s movement. She tends to skirt the truth with a full skirt.”

“Is that like embellishing reality?”

“It’s like talking crap. Her mind rolls in and out like the tide. She talks about her great dilemma. She loves you but she’s mysteriously, physically attracted to Mr. Anselmo. And that’s what I call bullshit.”

“Is it sexist to suggest that a man might accept that concept?”

“She was head over heels for this guy—enough to move out on you—and then she caught him fucking Ellen Albury the night Ellen died.”