Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (12 page)

A phone should be for making and receiving calls. Yeah, and a hot dog with relish, onions and hot mustard tastes so great it must be good for you. In another time that was true or at least we believed it.

I used my new phone to call El Siboney and ordered two ham and cheese sandwiches to go. Ham and cheese sandwiches, all the way, on Cuban bread are the best at El Siboney. I brought them back to the
Fenian Bastard
where Richard listened to the last of the tapes.

“That was fast,” I said, surprised he was through listening in less than two hours. I brought Mexican Bohemia beers from the cooler.

“Lot of ranting.” He frowned while opening his sandwich. “Walsh is a sociopath, but had interesting things to say in between all the bullshit.”

Richard chewed on the sandwich and washed it down with dark beer.

“You know in the movies when the hit man says, ‘It ain’t personal Sal, it’s business,’ then shoots old Sal?”

“Yeah.” I grinned at his analogy, because I knew where he was going.

“That’s what he’s saying throughout this whole damn thing, it was only business. How the hell does someone like that walk our streets?”

“You tell me, you’re the cop.” I ate my sandwich and after my hospital meals, it was scrumptious. The Mexican beer was cold and good going down.

“You know another interesting thing?”

There was so much to choose from, I was curious what Richard found interesting and shook my head.

“He said if the marshals wanted him they could have found him.” He frowned as if thinking hard. “He said he wasn’t hiding.”

“I thought that was interesting, too. He was in the public eye here in Key West, chamber of commerce luncheons and then some.”

“Yeah, when you consider their job is to find escapees, people on the run,” he said with a trace of anger in his voice. “I wonder if Dudley really didn’t know where he was.”

“Why not pick him up if they knew?”

Richard was thinking like a suspicious cop and it was getting interesting.

“I did some background on Whitey Bulger, I know someone who read ‘Black Mass’ and they gave me a synopsis of the book,” he said. “The Internet is full of background materials.”

“I’ve read the book and surfed the Internet on Bulger.”

“You know about all the FBI agents he met with in Boston and New York then. Well, I can believe that more than one of them knew what Bulger was up to and condoned it, not only his handler.”

“The handler’s in jail, convicted in Miami for something to do with the jai-alai guy being killed,” I said.

“Yeah, he’s just one, the fall guy. I was thinking along the lines of if you’re in the FBI, maybe high up in the echelon these days, and ready to retire, pull down a nice pension, you don’t want a scumbag like Bulger going to court with a witness like Walsh and ruining it all for you, would you?” He smiled at me.

“Not me.”

“The FBI has finally caught Bulger,” he said with an unpleasant laugh. “Hard to believe it took them all this time. And the marshals, they’re protecting the main witness against Bulger and lose him, what, three years ago?”

“And your point is?”

“I’m listening to this sociopath and begin thinking way out of the box.” He finished his sandwich and took another long swig of beer. “Way out of the box and wondered if old FBI agents, even retired agents wouldn’t benefit from Walsh’s death.”

“Doyle Mulligan,” I corrected him.

“Whoever,” he grumbled. “They don’t want anyone on the stand, talking about the bad old days and their involvement,” he said with a foul grin. “I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t have any bad old days,” I joked.

“I got you instead.”

I hoped he was joking.

“They’ve got Bulger, but who’s gonna talk?”

“The agents who found him had nothing to do with those days in Boston,” he said and finished his beer. “The new guys focus on the girlfriend, run a TV ad around the country and find Bulger in less than forty-eight hours. Maybe they want the credit for catching a public enemy the old guard couldn’t.”

“The trail had to be so misleading…”

“On purpose,” he said. “Yeah, I thought of that but with today’s technology they could cut through all the bullshit, probably instantly and they did.”

“And caught Bulger.”

“Yeah.” He yawned and stretched. “Law enforcement technology has to have some of the old guard nervous. Look at how they’re closing cold cases using DNA, clearing capital murder cases, setting death row inmates free because of old evidence.”

“Free prisoners on death row, who would’ve thunk it?” I said and watched him frown.

“I have some questions for Dudley, you want to come along?”

“To an interrogation?” I was seeing a new side of the chief of police.

“Hell no, a friendly discussion in my office.” He grinned.

Chapter 27

S
omeone, somewhere has probably designed a program where you can copy contact numbers from a list on a computer into your cell by clicking on a couple of keys, but I didn’t have it. Richard left and said he’d call when Dudley was coming. I sat below deck with a printout of my contact list and began manually installing the names and numbers into my new phone. It was time consuming, monotonous and I began by putting in the numbers that were important to me.

My memory was slowly coming back as I filled the cell’s memory with information. I saw names and had to think about who they were and, in most cases, I was able to. A few remained a mystery. Maui Deb, who was she? I didn’t recognize the area code or phone number. I fought the desire to call. I would probably embarrass myself. Ann Cote, Celine Ezpeleta, Kathy Shea, Carol Tedesco, Seanise—and a short list of others I must have known but couldn’t recall how I knew them—more women than men on the I-can’t-remember list.

Richard called a little before five and I forgot my dilemma.

“Dudley’s on his way, you coming?” Richard said without any formal greeting.

“Does a hungry man wanna eat?” I could ignore formality too and hung up.

Rushing on deck I felt a little lightheaded and stopped to take deep breaths. I had to slow down. I looked around and saw boats coming back into the marina from a day of fishing or diving or just being out on the water. You could read the bumper sticker on many of the vehicles in the marina:
A Bad Day on the Water is Better Than a Good Day on Land.

The sun was slowly dipping to the west but it was still warm and there was no breeze. Mike and Karen walked up the dock from
Drifter
, their sailboat, and the Colonel watered dockside plants by his trawler.

Late Friday afternoon and most of the residents were somewhere enjoying happy hour and I was sure that was where Mike and Karen were headed. Mike never met a happy hour he didn’t like and neither had I.

I called Bob as I walked the two blocks to the police station and told him what had happened. He was cleaning up after work and getting ready to head downtown. I promised to meet him when this was over.

Richard met me downstairs and we walked to his second-floor office. Susan and the office staff had left for the day. Uniformed cops and detectives walked the halls.

“Think before you speak, okay?” Richard pointed to the conference table.

“I want to let him know I know,” I said and sat.

“You don’t know and that’s my point. Let me lead and see where it goes,” he frowned and sat at the head of the table. “I’m his alibi and everything else is speculation.”

“With reason.”

“Maybe.” He frowned.

Richard’s desk phone rang and he got up to answer it.

“Yes,” he said. “Tell him to come to my office.”

“Dudley’s here. Speak when spoken to, okay?”

“It’s gonna be hard,” I said. “I know…”

“You don’t know,” he said. “Don’t make me sorry you’re here.”

“Okay,” I said. “But I know.”

Richard looked hard at me and then U.S. Marshal Dudley Crabtree walked in.

Chapter 28

C
rabtree looked at me, his smile never faltered, and shook hands with Richard.

“You look none the worse for wear.” He nodded his head toward me and sat down.

Richard’s squinted eyes sent me a quiet warning and then he forced a condescending smile toward Crabtree. I bit my tongue.

“I had an interesting debriefing this afternoon,” Richard said before Crabtree could speak. “I learned a lot of background on Dick Walsh or Doyle Mulligan, whatever name you have him going by.”

As a journalist, I’ve learned to read a person’s body language during a press conference or interview and it often reveals interesting facts. I watched Crabtree, and when Richard mentioned Walsh after saying debriefing, there was a tightening around his eyes, his smile twitched and his body tightened, all in a fraction of a second before returning to normal. His interest was piqued, but he was also apprehensive. He put his hands together and cracked his knuckles, taking a moment to think before he spoke.

“One of my guys?” Crabtree stretched his legs under the table, trying to look comfortable.

“Nope,” Richard said. “A confidential source.”

Crabtree looked at me, his smile gone, and then toward Richard. “This is my case, Chief, why are you investigating it?”

Crabtree used righteous indignation to cover his concern, but it didn’t fool me.

“The source came to me, I didn’t go to him.” Richard wasn’t fooled either.

“Don’t you think you should have sent him to me?”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Richard said in a neutral tone with no expression. “After what I’ve learned, I kind of have my doubts too.”

“You’re losing me, Chief.” Crabtree frowned and sat up. “What are you saying?”

“Let me begin by telling you I know who Walsh is and what he did in Boston,” Richard said. “Everything.”

“You’re not in witness protection because you’re a Boy Scout,” Crabtree said just as callously. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Richard said and pushed away from the conference table. “And I know you don’t put a psychopath, a cold-blooded killer, on the streets in a town like Key West.”

“Chief, three years ago…”

“Cut the bullshit, Dudley,” Richard barked. “Yeah, he walked away and you’ve been looking for him. Great cover story, but you and I know it’s not the whole truth.”

Crabtree stared at Richard but said nothing.

“You chase down criminals on the run. You find them. You arrest them.” Richard counted on his fingers. “My guess is you were onto this guy within minutes of his walking away.” He lowered his voice but the tone of his words carried indifference. “You knew when he showed up in Boston, picked up his new identity and cash. You knew he was in Key West and you did nothing. Why you did nothing is the question.”

“Chief, this is a law enforcement situation and he isn’t privileged to what I’ve got to say.” He pointed at me.

“No?” Richard said. “You’ve underestimated Mick. He’s more on top of this than you or I. He brought the source to me. He’s been kidnapped and tortured because someone thinks he knows where Walsh is. Mick, for his part, thinks your team’s responsible.”

“I was with you,” Crabtree answered. “He’s way off base with that accusation.”

“I’m your alibi, but where were your agents?”

Richard’s words came as a cold challenge.

Crabtree slapped his hands on the table and looked at me. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he yelped and turned to Richard. “You think we grabbed him?”

Richard pulled his chair back to the table. “Who else is on my island with an interest in your psycho? Anyone?”

Crabtree frowned. “No.”

“Tell me, Dudley, what was the purpose of letting this guy set up a business here? Snakes crawl out of their skin, but they’re still snakes and this guy’s still a psycho and you let him walk my streets.” Richard waited a couple of beats for a reply. None came. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Crabtree looked between us, scratched his chin like a

Cuban talking about Fidel, and then rubbed his hands together. “You’re gonna leave him in the room?”

He was talking about me again. Richard nodded and looked ready to explode.

“I hold you responsible for him,” Crabtree said and leaned forward. “This is off the record,” he said with a hard stare toward me. “Understood?”

“I wanted nothing to do with this shit,” I said. “You’ve dragged me into it, beginning at the dock.”

“Well, you’re putting yourself in now.”

Richard and I said nothing. Crabtree took a few deep breaths.

“You’re right, Chief, we were onto Doyle from the get-go,” he said. “We waited for him in Boston, at the storage shed where he had his stash hidden. Obviously, he didn’t think we knew about it.”

“Why didn’t you take him into custody?” Richard asked.

“Our plan is bigger than arresting Doyle,” he said. “We, the Marshal Service, weren’t supposed to be looking for Bulger. Doyle is the last witness against him that’s alive and willing to testify. You following this?”

“It’s not brain surgery,” Richard snapped.

“Some of us think that Doyle is Bulger’s last link to Boston.” He smirked. “Doyle knew how to reach Bulger. All that is a moot point now that Bulger’s captured.”

“So, why all this now?” I said.

“Because now he has to testify,” Crabtree said. “We think he knows where Bulger’s money is and he’s out to get it.”

The room went quiet. We could hear muffled talk as officers walked in the hallway. Richard got up and closed the office door.

“The FBI looked for Bulger,” Richard said. “Are you working with them looking for the money?”

A snide grin formed on Crabtree’s mouth. “No,” he said. “There’s some concern—among a few of us, anyway—that the FBI didn’t do a very good job of finding Bulger.”

“I wonder why?” I said.

Crabtree turned to me and his smile was gone. “You think you know everything? You haven’t got a clue. We didn’t grab you.” He shook his head. “What were we going to get from you, even with torture? When you walked out of the interrogation room, we were done with you. You’re a small fish in this.”

“Bulger’s cash the big fish? The whale in the lake?” I met his stare and neither of us blinked.