The Black Palmetto (11 page)

They had given him J.T.’s e-mail address. He promised to send them a list of names of the men recruited for the Black Palmetto. He also said he would give them more information only after they showed good faith in restoring his AMA status.

They met J.T. at Avis and caravanned back to the Lower Keys, stopping for the night in Marathon. Whitehall’s information arrived about 11:00 p.m. It contained the names and ages of eight men, along with the hospitals and prisons where they had resided before entering the program. Arthur Benetti showed up among the eight, as expected. Twenty-years-old at the time, he would be twenty-four now. The state prison in Starke had him on death row when someone in the federal government plucked him out to kill people for his country. Only two other men had been recruited from places in Florida, the rest from places as far north as New Jersey and as far west as California.

Sam zeroed in on the two from Florida. Marlon Knox came from a mental institution in Miami named Windhaven. Leonard Ousley from the Florida State Prison in Starke.

“I'll see what I can dig up on those two,” J.T. said.

“If we had photos,” Sam said, “we could show them to a reporter I met at the newspaper, see if she recognizes them.”

They were in J.T.'s room, having a drink, J.T. clicking the keys on his computer.

“I can probably get a pic for the guy from the prison,” J.T. said. “Not too sure about the other guy.”

Remembering their earlier conversation, Sam said, “Oh yeah, did you ever find out about the guy who organized all this?”

J.T. stopped work and turned around. “Yeah, it was Senator Blaine, from Florida. He came from a wealthy family, graduated West Point, and became a war hero. Good credentials for politics.”

“Whitehall told us he's the one who got his medical ticket pulled,” Simone said.

Sam gave her a slow nod. “A guy like Blaine would have the kind of juice to get the psychiatrist blackballed.”

****

The next morning, they had breakfast in the hotel restaurant. As the server poured a second cup of coffee, Sam's phone chirped. He took it out and peered at the display.

“It's Lora Diamond.”

“Who?” J.T. asked.

“His reporter friend
,
” Simone said. She made a face.

“Oh.” J.T. gave Sam a grin and nodded approval.

Sam opened the phone and said, “Hello.”

“Hey, it's Lora. Where are you?”

“Why, what's up?”

“The police are looking for you.” She told him that three more people had been killed, two of them at the funeral home.

“Lonnie said the coroner told Chief Boozler that the murders were all linked somehow, and that it looked like they had all been killed by a professional.”

“A professional?”

“Yes. As in hit man.”

As in Black Palmetto.

“How were they killed?”

“Howard Tim, the undertaker, was stabbed with a trocar. You know what that is?”

“Yes, it's used for embalming.”

“That's right. I had to ask Lonnie what it was. Anyway, the other person, Mr. Tim's bookkeeper, died of a broken neck.”

“You said three. Who was the other?”

“Morton Bell. Jake's father. They found him in his car in a strip mall parking lot.”

Sam waited for her to say somebody had seen him dump the body, but she didn’t.

“Huh, how’d he die?”

“He was stabbed, too. They arrested a man named Ted Carter, after finding a bloody knife at his home.”

“Then what do they want with me?”

“Lonnie said something about of a hearse getting blown up with a body in it.”

“What body?”

“You remember when we met at the diner the other night, I mentioned a murder that happened two months ago?”

Though only a couple of nights before, it seemed like a long time ago.

“I showed you the clippings of my stories about it when we went to my house.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

She told him that Lieutenant Cates had said someone called the funeral home a few days ago and asked for the murder victim's body to be exhumed and transported to Fort Lauderdale for a funeral. It had happened the night before a parole officer was due in town to examine the body.

“The hearse got blown up on a bridge over Blackwater Sound, north of Key Largo. And it wasn't an accident. A military bomb was used. That's what led them to Ted Carter. He's a war vet, and they knew he had explosives out at his place.”

“That's when they found the knife with blood on it?”

“Yep. They're checking it for prints.”

“Okay, then, back to my question. Why are the police after me?”

“Oh, yeah. Lonnie said you have a background with explosives.”

“Why would he think that?” Sam asked, though he already knew the answer.

“He said they did some research on you. Something to do with the Navy. He wouldn’t tell me any more than that.”

So the murderer destroyed any evidence the parole officer might have found on the two-month-old corpse, and had killed the funeral home folks to cover his tracks. Very thorough. If the knife at Carter's place turned out to be a murder weapon, Sam doubted they would find any prints.

Silence on the line stretched into several moments.

“You still there?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

“Well, you never answered my question. Where are you?”

He wondered if she might be funneling information to the cops.

“Not in Iguana Key, that's for sure.”

Another silence.

“It's okay if you won't tell me, but you need to call your lawyer. I guess you didn't give him your phone number. He called me asking about you.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants to keep you out of jail.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sam hung up the call with Lora and dialed Charles Ford.

“You need to make yourself scarce for a while,” Ford said. “The police don't really have anything on you, but they can make your life pretty miserable. I have a cabin on the back side of the Key that few people know about. You're welcome to stay there if you want.”

They left the restaurant a few minutes later and Sam drove, with J.T. following in his rental.

“Did he say how big this cabin is?” Simone asked.

“No, but we can take a look. If it doesn't work out, we can always come back up here.”

They met Ford two hours later in the parking lot of Chopin's, and he led them to his place. The trip took them over a state road through pines, palmetto and marsh, with a narrow waterway along one side as they neared their destination. Cranes and egrets fed at the water's edge, their bills spearing unseen prey beneath the surface.

When they finally turned off, they followed a shell-and-sand driveway, bordered on both sides with live oaks, to a home constructed of cypress and limestone. Less than a hundred feet through the trees lay the blue-green of the Gulf of Mexico.

Ford killed the engine and motioned for Sam to join him.

Inside the car Sam said, “Some cabin.”

“Yes, there should be plenty of room,” the attorney said, glancing at Simone and J.T. in the other cars. “Did you hear about the funeral home murders?”

“Lora mentioned it.” He added that she'd also told him about the police finding Morton Bell's body and arresting Ted Carter.

Ford sighed. “His mother called before I left the office and hired me to represent him.”

“Do you think he did killed those people?” Sam asked.

“Of course not. Carter's no fool. He would've disposed of the knife and explosives had he been guilty. Arresting him takes the heat off the police for a while, but he’s just a pawn.” He glanced at Sam. “They probably see you as the chess master.”

Chess master. Sam wondered if Ford really believed Carter to be innocent, or just said so because they were paying his bill. He also wondered if the jailed suspect might be one of the two Palmetto men from Florida, either of whom might be a champion game player.

“I told you before,” Sam said, “I didn't kill anybody.”

“Oh, I know that.”

After a few moments of silence, Sam said, “You have any idea who the killer might be?”

“Yes, but an idea is all it is at this point.”

Sam waited, but the attorney didn't say anything else.

“If you know something, you need to tell me.”

Ford shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe after I confirm my suspicions. I’m headed to Miami to do just that as soon as I leave here. I’ll let you know how that turns out.”

He started the car, and Sam got out and watched him drive away. The guy might know even less than Sam did, but at least they had a good place to stay, hopefully without the cops nosing around.

Using the key Ford had given him, he unlocked the cabin door and they went inside. Carrying their bags, they passed through a living room with tan leather furniture and prints on the walls of sailboats and marsh scenes. It also had a limestone fireplace, and Sam wondered if the weather ever got cold enough to use it. Down the hall they passed two bedrooms and a bathroom and ended at the room where Ford probably slept. It had a private bath and a walk-in closet.

Simone dropped her bag on the bed. “I call this one.”

“Fine with me,” Sam said.

J.T. grinned, a look that said,
Guess you two are on the rocks
.

“You get those mug shots yet?”

“Hey, give me a chance,” J.T. said, moving back down the hall.

Taking one of the other bedrooms, Sam tossed his bag atop a trunk. He took off his shoes, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

“You napping?” Simone asked from the doorway.

“Nah, just thinking about Spanner's car.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“While J.T.'s running down those photos, I thought we'd ride around and make another search for it. I noticed the road outside follows the shore on this side of the island, and we didn't cover that area before.”

“I'm game.”

She climbed onto the bed and lay on her side. Propped on her elbow, she kissed him on the cheek. He could feel her warm breath on his neck.

“How about sleeping in my room tonight?”

“Sure.” Sam felt his heart kick into high gear.

“Just to sleep, nothing else.”

He tried to hide his disappointment, but it must have shown in his face.

“I just don't want J.T. to get any ideas,” she said.

“You think he'd do that?”

“Maybe.” She got up from the bed and stood there. “I'd hate to have to shoot him. He'd bleed all over everything.”

“That's considerate of you.”

She studied him for a moment, smiling at his sarcasm. “Your lawyer would probably appreciate it.”

****

Boozler sat with his eyes closed and his elbows on the desk, massaging his temples. He looked up as the mayor ambled past the empty desk of the chief’s secretary and rapped on the doorjamb.

“Did you get the message that I called?”

The chief scanned across his desk and picked up a yellow note.

“Yeah, I've been busy. I guess you heard about the murders.”

The mayor shook his head and took a seat. “It's bad about Morton Bell.” His feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Boozler had never noticed that before, the mayor normally in his own office behind the desk when they talked.

“He stopped by here last night. Wanted me to arrest Mackenzie. I told him I couldn't, and he left here on his way to your office.”

When he didn’t say anything, Boozler wondered if he had avoided the old man.

“I heard you found a murder weapon at Ted Carter's place and brought him in.”

“We found a knife with blood on it. The technicians are examining it now. Could be a murder weapon. He swears he doesn't know how it got there.”

“You think he did it?”

“Maybe, but I thought I'd question Mackenzie again, if we can find him. He didn't answer the door at the motel. We called his lawyer, and he said he didn't know where he was.”

The mayor shifted in his chair and crossed his legs.

“I'll bet Madame Zena was beside herself, finding Morton's body like that. I heard they had a thing going at one time.”

“That was the rumor.”

“It'd be a real shame if his company closed down. We'd lose a lot of jobs.”

Boozler shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. Hadn’t really thought about that, yet.”

“Did you call in Tallahassee or the FBI?”

“What?” The chief felt his face flush.

Dale Edison stepped into the office. “Got a minute?” Then he apparently saw Boozler's face and turned to the corner where the little man sat. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“No problem,” Boozler said. “We're just talking about Morton.”

Edison clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that was a shocker. I thought I'd watch behind the glass while you interrogate Carter, if that's okay with you.”

“Fine. It’ll be a while. His attorney just got here and he's in with him now.”

Boozler pointed at the chair next to the mayor, and Edison sat down.

“Let me guess. Charles Ford?”

“You got it.”

“What about the state guys, Rich?” the mayor asked.

The DA frowned. “Huh?”

“Oh, he was just asking about bringing in the Florida Department of Law Enforcement or the FBI,” Boozler said, flipping his hand as if shooing a fly.

The mayor didn’t seem to notice his brushoff. “It would be better if we called them, rather than them finding out from the newspaper. Could be a problem.”

“There's no problem,” Boozler said, his voice rising. “We have everything under control.”

“Yeah,” Edison chimed in, “Those guys would be in our hair for a month.”

“Okay, I want to go on record that I suggested calling them.”

The chief just stared, thinking the guy should go work on the garbage contract, or city PR, and stay out of the business of law enforcement. The little man seemed to read his mind. He frowned, hopped down from the chair, and hurried out of the office. Without Morton Bell around, he probably knew he wouldn’t be mayor long.

Edison remained in his chair. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s probably getting nervous since his sponsor is gone.”

“Oh, yeah. Hadn’t thought about that. On a different note, did you get any more information on Mackenzie?”

“No, why do you ask?”