Authors: Stuart Woods
Daryl sipped coffee from his Thermos and waited for Merk to leave the house for the tennis club. At ten past nine he began to wonder what was wrong. The club opened at nine, and it was his information that Merk was always there first. He picked up his phone and called Tommy.
“It’s Daryl. Merk is late leaving for work.”
“Give it half an hour and call me back,” Tommy said.
Daryl waited the half hour, sipping his coffee, then called back. “He’s still in the house.”
“Hang on, I’ll call the number.”
Daryl waited patiently until Tommy came back.
“No answer. I called the tennis club and got an answering machine.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Knock on the door; if there’s no answer go in, if it’s unlocked. Call me back.”
Daryl got out of the car, walked down the street to the little house, and knocked loudly on the front door, trying to think of something to say if Merk answered. No answer. He tried the door and it was unlocked, so he stepped inside. “Merk?” he called out. No reply. He walked around the house, looked into the bedroom with its unmade bed, saw the mail on the end table, checked the kitchen. He got out his phone.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s not here, and there’s an open window in the kitchen, on the opposite side of the house from where I was.”
“Shit,” Tommy said.
“What do you think?”
“I’m afraid to think,” Tommy said, “because I think I’ve made a big mistake. Meet me at the tennis club
now.”
Daryl hung up the phone and got going.
T
ommy and Daryl met in the parking lot of the tennis club at a quarter to ten, then went inside. The place was empty. They walked outside where both Chuck and Victor were conducting lessons and sat down at the courtside table. Shortly the two pros came over.
“Morning, Tommy, Daryl,” Chuck said. “What’s up?”
“You guys seen Merk this morning?” Tommy asked.
“No, he didn’t show up,” Victor said, grinning at Chuck. “Actually, I’m not surprised he took the morning off.”
“Why?” Tommy asked.
“Because Chuck and I bought him out yesterday,” Victor replied.
“Out of the club?”
“Yep. Merk said he wanted to devote full time to the Santa Fe operation. He offered us a deal, and we took it.”
“Santa Fe?”
“Merk has an operation there, too. In fact, he told Chuck and me yesterday that he had an investor who would back a revamping of that club, and he had decided to spend all his time there. That’s why he sold out to us.”
Tommy looked at Daryl. “So Merk is leaving Key West, huh? What a surprise.”
“What do you mean?” Chuck asked.
“Merk’s not at home this morning. He went to bed last night, but he wasn’t there this morning.”
“I don’t get it,” Victor said.
“Did you give Merk any money yesterday?”
“We gave him twenty thousand each,” Chuck said, “to seal the deal. He went to the bank at lunchtime to deposit the funds.”
“How many cars does Merk have?” Daryl asked.
“Just one, the Chevy station wagon,” Victor said. “That and a scooter.”
“A scooter?” Daryl asked. “Where does he keep it?”
“In the garage with his car.”
“What kind of scooter?”
“You know, one of those Japanese things that get rented all over town. Merk’s was black, though, so he could tell it apart from all the rentals.”
“I don’t suppose you know the license number,” Daryl said.
“That’s easy,” Victor replied, “it’s Merk2. His car is Merkl.”
“What’s going on, Tommy?” Chuck asked.
“Never mind,” Tommy said. “See you later.”
The two detectives left.
In the car, Daryl asked, “What do you think?”
“There are two possibilities, as I see it,” Tommy replied. “One, Clare and Merk have decamped together; or two, Merk is the schmuck who thought he could have Clare, and he was wrong.”
“Have Clare again,” Daryl said.
“Yeah, again.” Tommy picked up the microphone. “Base, mobile four.”
“Mobile four, base.”
“I want a local APB on a motor scooter, probably Japanese, color black, license plate number mike, echo, romeo, kilo, one.”
The dispatcher repeated the plate number.
“That’s right; call me if somebody finds it.”
“Roger.”
“Over and out.”
“What now?” Daryl asked.
“Let’s go back to Clare’s.”
“Was she there all night?” Daryl asked.
“I saw her come home from the grocery store, I saw her lights go off about eleven, I saw her come out for the paper this morning. She was still there at eight-thirty.”
“Bet you ten bucks she ain’t there no more,” Daryl said.
“I’m not taking that bet,” Tommy replied.
They turned into Dey Street in time to see the big Mercedes back out of the driveway, Clare at the wheel.
“Drop back and tail her,” Tommy said.
“At least she’s still here,” Daryl replied.
“Her bags may be in the trunk. Follow her.”
They followed the Mercedes out Roosevelt Boulevard, where it turned into the parking lot of Scotty’s, a huge building supply–home improvement store. They sat a hundred yards away for half an hour, watched Clare get back into the Mercedes carrying a brown paper bag, then followed her back to Dey Street.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Daryl said.
“Probably.”
“Mobile four, base,” the radio barked.
“Base, mobile four,” Tommy replied.
“A black-and-white found your scooter at the Gulfstream marina on Stock Island.”
“You know it?” Tommy asked Daryl.
“I know it.”
“Thanks, base, over and out.”
The black-and-white was waiting when they got there. There was a small pile of clothing on the footboard of the scooter.
“Thanks, guys,” Tommy said to the two patrolmen. “You touch anything?”
“Not a thing,” one of the cops said. “Can we go now?”
“Sure, we got it.”
The two cops drove away.
Tommy picked up a polo shirt from the pile of clothing. He looked inside the collar. “Laundry mark says, ‘Merk.’”
Daryl picked up the trousers and found a wallet. “It’s Merk’s. We got underwear, socks, and shoes here, too. Think he went for a swim?”
“I’m afraid he might have,” Tommy replied. “Come on.” He led the way to the dockmaster’s shack at the head of the pontoon. A young man wearing nothing but cutoffs was inside, writing in a ledger.
“Morning,” Tommy said, flashing his badge. “What can I do you for?” the kid replied, gulping.
“Relax, we’re not looking for weed.”
The boy looked relieved. “I don’t use the stuff myself.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “What’s it like around here at night?”
“Pretty quiet.” The boy pointed at a sign. “We don’t have no liveaboards. Mostly we got private fishing boats and that kind of thing.”
“Any boats missing from the marina this morning?”
“Three or four have gone out since I been here; I came on at nine.”
“I mean, any boats missing, like stolen?”
“Funny you should mention that,” the kid replied. “A guy complained that a little Whaler and outboard was gone; looks like it was stolen.”
“Any idea what time?”
“It was here when I closed up at seven last night, and it was gone this morning when I got here.”
“You get many transients in here?” Daryl asked.
“Nah, they go to the other marinas where they got fuel, water, power, like that. All we got is slips.”
“So everybody here is a local?”
“Pretty much; I don’t know any boats that ain’t.”
Tommy pointed at the black scooter. “You see that come in here?”
“Nope, it wasn’t here last night, but it was here this morning.”
“You know the guy who drives it?”
“Never seen it before today; most of ‘em’s red around here.”
From the car there came the squawk of the radio.
“I’ll get it,” Daryl said, and trotted toward the car.
Tommy gave the boy his card. “Call us if you talk to anybody who saw that scooter arrive, will you?”
“Sure,” the boy said, and stuffed the card into a pocket of his cutoffs.
Tommy arrived back at the car in time to hear Daryl sign off. “What’s up?” he asked.
“The Coast Guard picked up a body out near the reef. White male, six feet, one-seventy, brown hair, nude.”
Tommy sighed. “Let’s go take a look at him,” he said.
T
ommy and Daryl arrived at the morgue just as the medical examiner was about to begin his postmortem examination. The man was standing next to the body, gowned, with a large scalpel in his hand.
“Doctor,” Tommy said, “I don’t mean to trespass on your turf, but do you mind if I look him over for a minute before you cut?”
The ME stepped back. “Help yourself,” he said. “You fellows want some coffee?”
Daryl was staring at the white, swollen corpse that had been Merk Connor. He shook his head.
“No thanks,” Tommy said. “You have some, though.”
The doctor stepped a few paces away, poured himself a cup, picked up a pair of surgical gloves, came back to the table, and handed them to Tommy.
“Thanks,” Tommy said, pulling on the thin gloves. He began with the hands.
“I’d like to know what you’re looking for,” Daryl said. “Might come in handy sometime.”
“Just logical stuff.” Tommy lifted the right hand. “There’s no bruising to the knuckles or fingers; no broken fingernails.” He looked up at the doctor. “Got some gloves for my friend here?”
“Sure.” The doctor tossed Daryl the gloves.
“You take the other side,” Tommy said. “Check the hand.”
Daryl picked up the left hand gingerly and peered at it. “Same over here,” he said.
“So he didn’t put up a fight. Now let’s check for puncture marks at vulnerable places, like around the heart.” Tommy stretched the waterswollen skin. “We’re looking for something not too obvious, like an icepick wound.” He checked the throat as well, then he went down the body, looking for other evidence. “Help me turn him over,” he said to Daryl.
The two men gently turned the body until it was facedown, and Tommy repeated his close examination. He stopped at the back of the neck. “Look what we got here,” he said.
Daryl and the doctor stepped forward to see.
“We got—what would you call that, Doc, massive bruising?”
“That’s close enough,” the doctor said.
“At the base of the skull,” Tommy continued. “Okay, somebody tapped him one with something heavy, but not hard—not hard enough to break the skin, anyway.” He was parting the hair on the back of the head. “Yeah, the bruising is confined to an area about, what, two and a half inches?”
“What sort of object are you talking about?” the doctor asked.
“Classically, a blackjack, but this is a little large for that. It was just something heavy, like a large wrench or a piece of pipe, probably wrapped in cloth. I’ll bet you’ll find some fibers there on closer examination.”
“Very good, Detective.”
“Okay, that does it for me, Doc; let’s turn him over again, Daryl, so the pro can get at him with the knife.” The two detectives rearranged the body for the doctor. “All yours, Doc.”
“Before I get started, why don’t you give me your best guess, Detective?” the doctor asked.
“Okay,” Tommy said. “We know he was alive around, what, midnight, Daryl?”
“That was the last time I saw him.”
“So the time of death would range from the early hours of the morning until, well, before dawn. My guess, from the condition of the body, is he wasn’t alive much more than an hour after he was hit on the back of the head. He was lured to the marina, slugged, undressed, taken out near the reef, and dumped. Cause of death, drowning, following trauma to the head. Oh, and he was probably highly intoxicated.”
The doctor’s eyebrows went up. “Why do you say that?”
“Because whoever killed him wanted us to think that he got drunk, went for a boat ride, and got himself drowned.”
“Well,” the doctor said, “I don’t get much in the way of murder around here, and when I do, it’s a straightforward gunshot or knife wound. I might have missed the bruising at the back of the head. It probably would have worked if you hadn’t been here to educate me.”
Tommy shrugged.
An assistant came into the room. “Here’s the blood alcohol,” he said, handing the doctor a slip of paper. “It’s off the scale.”
The doctor looked at the document. “Point four three; point one zero is legally intoxicated. If somebody hadn’t hit him, he’d have passed out anyway.” The doctor retrieved his large scalpel, inserted it at the point of the chin, and sliced down the body to the pubic hair, then opened the stomach, and the smell of sweet alcohol filled the air.
“Rum,” Tommy said.
Daryl stepped away from the table, his hand over his mouth.
“Well, I think we’ve got all we need, Doc. I’ll look forward to your full report.” He placed a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Come on, kid; let’s get out of here.”
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Daryl said when they were back in the car. “That move with the knife, all the way down his …” He put his hand over his mouth again.
“Yeah, that’s always the first cut,” Tommy said. “Take some deep breaths.” He put the car in gear and drove away.
“Where we going?” Daryl asked when he had recovered himself.
“Let’s go talk to Chuck and Victor,” Tommy said.
“Why them?”
“Because they’re all we’ve got. I’m Clare’s alibi, so she didn’t do it.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, your brain will start working again in a minute.”
Tommy found Chuck, Victor, and Meg in the clubhouse, counting socks, shorts, shirts and tennis racquets.
“Chuck, we need to talk to you and Victor separately. Daryl, you talk to Chuck; Victor, you come with me.” Tommy led Victor outside and pointed at a courtside chair. “Sit,” he said.
“What’s going on, Tommy?”
“It’s time you and I had a real serious talk, Victor.”
“Shoot.”
“You were here all day yesterday, is that right?”
“Except when I went to the bank, late in the morning.”
“How long were you gone?”
“Oh, half an hour, forty-five minutes, I guess. I had to cash a CD to pay Merk. You hear anything from him?”