Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (11 page)

“I don’t know,” I said. “Think so.”

“I’ll let them know you’ll be here overnight.”

“Plus, you don’t have any clothes, so you can’t leave,” Becky said.

I was confused again and she saw it in my expression.

“Your shorts are evidence, but it’s probably your blood on them,” she said. “I’ll get you another pair and another T-shirt from the station and bring them to you in the morning. You okay with this?”

Since I still didn’t know which marina I lived at, or how to reach Tita or anyone else, I didn’t have much of a choice. I faked acceptance.

“Can you call Tita for me?”

Becky frowned. It sent fear through me.

“Something wrong?”

“Tita’s in Boston, Mick,” Becky said.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

We all chuckled over that but I felt sad because I thought Tita was someone special in my life.

Chapter 24

A
nurse brought me a hospital gown and waited while I put it on. She didn’t offer to help tie it in back. I fought the desire to make a joke about the design because she looked like she’d heard them all and expected a wisecrack. When I tied off the back, she left and another nurse came in and took more blood samples from me. I had a foggy recollection of someone taking blood earlier.

Finally, a male orderly pushed the gurney with me riding like an ailing invalid from the ER to the elevator and up to a room. He talked small talk and I kept quiet because, like the nurse, he’d heard all the patients’ complaints and, if any, praises. He showed me how to work the remote for the wall-mounted TV—he didn’t have to—after moving me from the gurney to the bed.

A pretty, petite nurse came in and took my vitals, checked my hook up to the rolling IV unit and attached the blood pressure cup for the mounted monitor. She smiled and told me she’d be off her shift in a few minutes, but would check on me first thing tomorrow.

The night nurse came in and checked my chart that hung on the end of the bed. She looked at my hospital wristband—when had that been put on?

“You are?” she smiled with the chart in her hand.

“Mick Murphy,” I said.

“First name, please.”

“Liam, but everyone calls me Mick.” I was proud of myself for remembering.

“Thank you.” She continued to smile and put the chart back.

Maybe they taught smiling in nursing school—make the patient feel all is well with soft-spoken words and a smile.

“Do you need anything?”

“My memory back.” I tried to match her smile but failed.

“Dr. Schreiber will be in after six,” she said, as if that solved my problem. “I’m Nurse Palty, if you need me press this.” She pointed to the call-button handle, that was pinned to the bed sheet. “I’ll be in to check on you throughout the night.” Her smile was reassuring. “Dinner will be in about an hour. The doctor didn’t restrict your diet, so you’ll have the chicken,” she said as if I should be honored.

I guessed the topic of what one could have for dinner was important.

When would I begin remembering was important to me?

•  •  •

Even with the sleeping pill Nurse Palty woke me up to take, it was a restless night. She came in three times to take my vital signs. Dr. Schreiber had been in after dinner and the bottom line was
time heals all wounds
. My CAT scan showed no damage to my brain. I wondered if that meant I was empty headed. He made me feel better with the news, but I wanted my memory back
now
.

Richard Dowley followed the breakfast tray into the room. It was early, way too early, for Richard.

“What brings you here?” I uncovered my breakfast—only artificial sweetener for the coffee and no hot sauce or real salt for the scrambled egg whites—healthy but tasteless.

Richard smiled and when the orderly had gone, he pulled a small paper bag from behind his back. He took out two
café con leches
. You gotta love him in spite of himself.

“How’s the food?” He handed me one cup.

“Not as good as this,” I said between sips. “Thank you.”

“What can you tell me?” Richard sat on the end of the bed, listened to my story of waking up in the mangrove without a memory.

“Yeah,” he said. “I read Deputy Herrin’s report and talked to Bob Pearlman. He doesn’t think much of you.”

“It’s a long story about me and the sheriff. Knowing Becky, her report was thorough,” I said and realized I remembered more about the deputy.

“What’s the smile for?”

“I remember Becky,” I said. “And I remember not remembering her yesterday.”

“Your memory is coming back.” He grinned. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly and surprised myself. “I was coming back from Harpoon’s after breakfast and three guys in a van were in the marina parking lot.”

I told him what I remembered. I remembered the punch to my stomach, the hood over my head and throwing up in it. I remembered thinking I was on Stock Island and I remembered the bee stings.

“They weren’t bee stings, they shot you with a Taser,” he said. “About five times. If it had been on full power, you might be dead. They wanted something from you.” He looked at me with his serious cop expression. “And they used torture, Mick. It must have been something they wanted badly.”

“It was about Walsh, they wanted to know what he told me.” I almost yelled, excited because I remembered. “That’s not his real name.”

“Do you know his real name?”

“Yeah.” I frowned because it was on the tip of my tongue, but wouldn’t come.

“Pearlman said the area you were found in is known for drug sales,” Richard said. “Finding you beat up and missing clothing made him feel it was a drug buy gone bad.”

I stared at him and believed that’s what the sheriff had said. Forget torture.

“I know you, Mick,” Richard said with a tight expression. “You might drive when you shouldn’t but I know you don’t do drugs, so why would you buy them.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I walk to the marina if I’ve had too much to drink.”

“That and you’re too cheap to take a taxi,” he said with a smirk.

“My Jeep’s at the marina.”

“I know. And I know it seems like I’ve avoided you in the past few days,” he said. “I’ve been up to my ass in alligators.”

“Marshals?” I barely tasted my breakfast, but savored the
café con leche
.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “They’re used to getting their way.”

“Have they found him?” I was trying too hard to remember Walsh’s real name.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “The Coast Guard has used helicopters. Hell, no one has even found the Jet Ski.”

“He has a boat,” I said and pushed the breakfast tray away from the bed.

“You know this?”

“No, I didn’t see it, but he had a new cell phone…”

I told Richard about meeting Walsh on the boat, how I’d been ready to give him the tapes and wash my hands of the whole thing.

“You should have.” He paced by the foot of the bed.

“They were such assholes.” I complained about the marshals at the dock and the police station and then had an epiphany. “I know who did this.”

Richard stopped pacing and his face turned cold,

“Who?”

“Dudley,” I sneered. “The son-of-a-bitch. It had to be him. All his questions about Doyle Mulligan,” Walsh’s true identity popped into my head. “That’s Walsh’s real name.”

“I know,” Richard said. “It wasn’t Crabtree.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t him?”

“I was with Marshal Crabtree from late morning until midafternoon,” he said and frowned. “It couldn’t have been him. When he wasn’t with me, he was with Luis.”

“Where were his storm troopers?”

“His deputies? I don’t know.”

“I do. They were on Stock Island.”

Chapter 25

I
t was easier getting into the hospital than it was getting out. Doctors Boros, Norris, and Meitz had to see me before signing release forms and then I had to sign a release form. Hell, I don’t know what I signed, but I scribbled my name at the bottom just to escape.

Richard had brought me an orange jumpsuit from the jail, so I would have something to wear home, and left to keep an appointment. My memory had returned in dribs and drabs as I was in and out of sleep. By morning, I knew where I lived, who Tita was and most of my past. The kidnapping remained fuzzy.

The cabby gave me a strange look but let me in when I showed him the money. I figured the jumpsuit was the sheriff’s little joke. Deputy Herrin had promised me something to wear, so I assumed this was it.

I am a prisoner of technology—aren’t we all? Without my cell phone, I couldn’t call anyone. I didn’t know anyone’s phone number, I kept all my contact numbers installed in the cell’s memory, not mine. I could recite my home number from when I was a kid—Mayflower nine, zero, nine, two, two—but I didn’t have a clue to what Bob’s cell number is, or Richard’s or Tita’s.

However, since I’ve dropped more than one cell overboard while sailing, I finally put everyone’s number in a computer file. The fun part would be copying each one to a new phone.

I approached the
Fenian Bastard
cautiously because if the kidnappers were bold enough to snatch me, I figured they searched my boat too. Most people at the marina leave their boats unlocked, so getting in wasn’t a challenge. There’s always someone on the dock and it was unlikely a break-in would go unnoticed and unreported, but not impossible. Dock residents noticed strangers.

If anyone had been onboard, I couldn’t tell, everything seemed in place, on deck and below. I went to my hidey-hole in the bulge. It had stood up—by that, I mean American and Cuban Customs officers hadn’t discovered it—since being installed. Inside were the tapes of Walsh’s conversation, along with my Glock, extra magazines and my mad money.

I showered and changed into cargo shorts and a Hawaiian wedding shirt. Richard was on the dock as I was about to leave and buy a new cell phone.

“Going someplace?” He held a brown paper bag, again.

“Beware of cops bearing gifts.” I climbed back into the cockpit.

“Another
con leche
and some cheese toast.” He handed me the bag and climbed onboard. “I need to get that jumpsuit back before the sheriff has an arrest warrant issued for theft of county property.” He was only half kidding. “And I’ve eaten hospital food.”

“The jumpsuit is all yours.”

“I also want to listen to the tapes,” he said. “No marshals, just me.”

The tapes were on the chart table, below, the Glock clipped into the waistband of my shorts in back, and I was curious.

“Why?” We went below to the main cabin.

“Maybe I’ll learn something about what’s going on that Crabtree has
forgotten
to tell me,” he said with a grin. “He’s still here, even though there’s been no sign of Walsh or Mulligan or whatever name he’s using. Why is the search going on here? Why did the guy run from his protectors?”

“You think Crabtree might be responsible for what happened to me?” I put the bag down and took out the
con leches
and cheese toast.

“Crabtree was with me.” Richard sipped his coffee.

“It makes for a good alibi.”

“So I could be right.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“I don’t have any doubts about it, Richard.”

We ate cheese toast and drank strong, sweet coffee.

“I do,” he said between bites. “But I have an open mind and some unanswered questions.”

“Whoever used the Taser didn’t want to kill me.” I recited what I’d been thinking since early morning. “They kept ski masks on to hide their identity and used a voice synthesizer when they spoke to me. Why?”

“Why?”

“Because I could recognize them,” I said. “I knew when they kept the hood on me they weren’t going to kill me.”

“They wanted information on Walsh.”

“Yeah and they used a Taser to get it, but they already had what I knew,” I said and finished my cheese toast. “They wanted to be sure I wasn’t holding back and kept the voltage low enough not to cause cardiac arrest. Why would bad guys care if I lived or died?”

“They’d do what it took to get the answers.”

“Right, but these guys went out of their way to keep their identities hidden and from killing me.”

“Let me hear what Walsh says on the tapes,” he said. “I don’t like your scenario, but maybe Walsh will say something to change my mind.”

I put my small recorder on the salon table with the stack of tapes. I explained how I numbered the tapes, so he could listen to them in order.

“You’ve got a little more than three hours of tapes.” I warned him. “Lots of cussing.”

“I can use the fast-forward button,” he said.

“I’ve gotta buy a new cell.” I stood up to leave. “I’ll bring back some sandwiches from El Siboney. You’re gonna be here awhile.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out,” he teased as he started the recorder.

I left, but of course, there was no door.

Chapter 26

I
was able to get my missing cell phone turned off, buy a new one, and keep the same number, all in less than an hour. The clerk tried to sell me something with all the bells-and-whistles, but I only wanted a phone with text messaging capabilities and not a mini computer moonlighting as a phone. They didn’t have one, but I bought the closest thing to one.

Everything, if you’ve paid attention and most haven’t, is being compacted today, including the world. Whatever happened to the rotary phone with the round dial that you put your finger in and turned, dialing all the numbers individually for your call? If that still existed, I’d be able to recall everyone’s number. But no, we’ve given in to the easy mechanical memory and we let it do the work for us. I keep hearing about that artificial intelligence, maybe this is it.

When I have computer problems I call on the kid down the dock. He’s in high school and all this technological mumbo-jumbo is his world, his future. I feel sorry for him because I don’t believe life is supposed to be easy, you’re supposed to do some of the work yourself.