Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (3 page)

“Julie’s taken the body,” I said.

“Lucky me,” he grumbled as he walked away.

The porch door opened and Sherlock stood there.

“You aren’t going to believe what we found, Chief,” Sherlock griped. “The guy is paranoid.”

Richard turned to me, shook his head without smiling “Stay here, Murphy,” he said and closed the door behind him.

I thought of the times Dick Walsh and I talked at a bar, maybe the Green Parrot, or a half dozen others along Duval Street, or along the waterfront, sharing hot wings or conch fritters and I never heard anything from him that would make me think he was paranoid. But in the big picture, I didn’t really know him that well. I laughed to myself when I thought, just because he’s paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t after him.

Chapter 4

T
he sun was up and heat waves shimmered off the street’s old blacktop, while I sat on Walsh’s front porch shaded in the shadows of the gumbo-limbo tree. Richard Dowley had been inside for more than a half hour so I kept reading “Cut to the Quick.” I wished someone inside would cut to the quick, so I could get on with my day.

Julio Avael stopped his cruiser in the middle of the street and got out carrying a tray of
café con leches
. I stood up to greet him and put the paperback book in my back pocket.

“Tell me one of them is mine,” I pleaded.

“Three sugars, right?” He handed me one to-go cup marked with three check marks. “Thank the Chief, not me.”

“Perfect,” I said and took the warm cup.

Julio went inside. I sat on the steps, sipped the hot nectar, and sighed with pleasure as I inhaled the strong aroma.

“Happy now?” Richard said from the doorway.

“Better, not happy.” I sipped from the cup. “Happy is going to the marina or to Harpoon Harry’s for a late breakfast.”

“We still have a few more questions before you can leave.” Richard walked out holding his coffee.

He was being polite by saying
we
, because it had to be Luis who had the questions.

“I’ve told you all I know,” I said and sipped my drink.

“Yeah, well, things have turned strange.”

“What could be stranger than finding the woman’s body?”

“Come on in and see if you can help explain what we found.”

Everyone was standing around the small dining room/office drinking their
con leches
and talking quietly. Evidence bags cluttered the table. Sherlock looked hard at me. He liked me somewhat more than Luis did, which counted for little. Luis, Sherlock, Richard, and I remained in the room, the others left without a word.

“Why’d Walsh think someone wanted to kill him?” Luis asked curtly.

“The first I heard about it was from the Chief,” I snapped curtly and looked at Richard “A few minutes ago.”

“We ran his phone records and the only calls he made last night were to you,” Luis barked and then took a deep breath. “Why would he call only you after he killed the woman?” He stressed
only you
and the pretense of courtesy Richard expected was gone.

“Do you have evidence he killed her?” I was irritated with Luis’ superior attitude and almost spilled some
con leche
.

“Look around, who else would you consider? He’s running, so he’s the main suspect,” Luis lectured.

“Can you name him as the killer?” I turned to Sherlock and hoped that he was as annoyed with Luis as I was and would throw a little support in my direction.

“Can’t say anything about a suspect until I get everything back to the lab,” Sherlock muttered. “But I can tell you whoever lives here is paranoid about being killed. I don’t need the lab for that.”

I looked toward Richard. “What am I missing?”

“You know this guy and you don’t think he’s paranoid?” Luis challenged me, again. “Come on, be honest with us.”

“Right now the only one paranoid here is me and no one is making me feel otherwise,” I shouted. “What the hell do you want from me? I’ve told you what I know and why I’m here.”

“We’re trying to figure out who Walsh is, Mick, and you’re the only guy that knows him,” Luis countered with sarcasm of his own.

“Bullshit! His employees know him better than I do and there are probably a few bartenders who know him better, too.”

Luis smiled as if he’d won the Boston Marathon. “Yeah, but he didn’t call an employee or a bartender. Did he? So, it all comes back to why did he call you?”

“Paranoid? You keep saying that. How do you know he’s paranoid?” I quieted down, but anger still drove my words as I took a sip from my cup.

Sherlock stood away from the table of evidence bags and Luis pointed. I walked over and looked at the collection of bags. Ten bags and each one held a thirty-eight caliber snub-nosed revolver. They waited for me to speak.

“What do you want me to say?” I turned to Richard.

“There was one in the sofa, one in a kitchen drawer, one hidden under a stack of papers in here,” Richard said slowly for my benefit. “One in the bathroom.”

“Guns hidden in each room, more than one in some rooms. You get the point?” Luis asked.

“Yeah, he believed someone was after him.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What do you know about it? Who was he afraid of?”

“According to the Chief, he thought the Key West Police were in on whatever it was, other than that I haven’t a clue.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Luis yelped.

“Timeout,” Richard said and made a T with his hands as if we were at a sporting event. “We all got called out early on this and we need a break to think things through. Sherlock, are you done here?”

“Yeah,” he yawned. “Close the place up, but it’s still a crime scene. What I have to send to the FDLE lab for testing I will, and I’ll do what I can with the rest.”

The Florida Department of Law Enforcement is a state police agency and its lab and investigators often help smaller municipalities when crimes occur that require DNA or firearms testing, or a murder that requires lab work that the smaller cities can’t afford to operate.

“Luis, you need to sit with the detectives and patrol officers and compare notes. You need to go over statements taken from Walsh’s employees and read the emails he sent me,” Richard said, showing he was in control. “Sherlock, you run the vic’s finger prints and let us know as soon as you get a hit.”

“Sent a set of prints back with Julio.”

“Okay, then, Mick is going with me,” Richard said and waited a moment for complaints, but none came. “Maybe he’ll remember something he doesn’t realize he knows.”

“Two hours?” Luis asked, biting his lower lip. He ran his hands through his combed hair.

“Everyone meet at the main conference room at,” Richard looked at his watch, “Twelve fifteen.”

Sherlock began collecting the evidence bags as Richard led me outside.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Chapter 5

M
ost mornings, Harpoon Harry’s is crowded with locals and tourists eating breakfast. Sunday mornings there are always people waiting outside for seating. The food is good, the prices reasonable and it’s one block from the city’s Historic Seaport. It was a hot, sunny morning, so being close to the seaport helped business.

Richard drove and it was late morning so the restaurant wasn’t full. It was almost too late for breakfast and too early for lunch—that hour of in-between time, locals and tourists counting the minutes to when the bars opened.

We sat at a booth in back and Ron Leonard, the owner, brought us large cups of
café con leche
. We ordered breakfast, ate hungrily when the food arrived, and savored our large Cuban coffees.

“We’re missing something,” Richard said as he pushed his empty plate away and sipped his coffee. “There has to be a reason he called you and no one else.”

“Richard, I’d like to know the answer to that, too,” I said and ate my last piece of toast. “I know Dick Walsh like I know a hundred other guys in town. Someone introduces us over beers, and after that we’re mostly polite to each other when our paths cross.”

“There has to be more.” He frowned. “There’s something, maybe you aren’t even aware of it, but there’s some reason.”

“I asked him about the cost of Jet Ski rentals when I had friends from Boston here.” I tried to remember the conversation. “He gave me a twenty percent locals discount, I thanked him, and I came back two days later and rented the skis for an hour. He wasn’t even there when we arrived.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, the next time I saw him I bought him a beer and he said it wasn’t necessary, but I paid for it anyway. Maybe he thinks I owe him more for the discount.”

The frown stayed on Richard’s face as he shook his head. “What do you know about him? Did he ever talk about himself? His background?”

“The most he ever talked about himself was when we first met.” I tried to remember the meeting. “He came from New Zealand—I don’t remember the year. Moved to Maine or New Hampshire, I’m not sure, and he ended up here for the weather. Bought the house and the business. Idle chatter you make when meeting someone for the first time and I didn’t really care.”

“Did he mention where the money came from?”

“Nope,” I responded with a laugh. “You know that’s not a question you ask someone down here. People tell you what they want you to know and that’s all you get.”

“Yeah and I know the reason.” He smiled. “Do you think it’s got anything to do with drugs? Smuggling of any kind?”

“Topic never came up.”

“But?”

“No buts,” I said. “I wouldn’t know if the guy went to church or if he ate here. I’m as lost for the reason he called, as you are. If everyone I talked to when having a beer called me, I would have to shut my phone off. They buy, I buy, it’s bar etiquette not bonding.”

“By now Luis has run him through the NCIC computer and has his history,” he mumbled with the last taste of his
café con leche
.

“Then our questions should be answered, at least about who he is. What about the victim’s prints? Will they run them too?” I grabbed the bill and left money on the table. “My treat.”

“Hell, I should’ve had the prime rib benedict.” He laughed. “He might have both IDs when we get back. If they’re in the system, it takes no time.”

“Just keep Luis off my ass.”

“As if that’s possible.”

Chapter 6

A
s soon as Richard and I arrived at police headquarters Luis grabbed him and they went into the Emergency Operations Center, leaving me alone in the second-floor hallway by the copy machines. I could see them through the window. Luis handed Richard sheets of paper, they sat across from each other, and Richard turned to the desk computer while Luis pointed in my direction. They were talking, maybe arguing, but I couldn’t hear them. Something was wrong.

The EOC is set up as a command center for disasters, but has only been used during hurricanes. The city does disaster-training drills with the Coast Guard, sheriffs and other federal agencies and they coordinate the training at the EOC because it has all the electronics and modern technology required.

Billy Wardlow walked by and stopped, keeping away from the EOC’s window.

“Mick, Luis had Donny run the ID check on Walsh and then all hell broke loose,” Billy whispered. “Your name wasn’t mentioned, if that means anything.”

“Thanks, Billy,” I said as the door to the EOC opened.

Billy turned into the copy room and quickly looked busy.

“Come here,” Richard beckoned with his hand. He closed the door. “You know, I want to believe you but you make it so hard.”

“I’m lost, Richard,” I said, confused about his change of perspective. “What are you talking about?”

“Sit down.” He pointed at an empty desk. “Donny ran a check on Walsh. Do you know what came back?”

“He’s the missing president of New Zealand?” I quipped. I had a feeling the question didn’t call for wit.

“You think this is funny?” Luis said furiously.

“Luis, I don’t know what the hell
this
is.” I banged my hand on the tin desk and shattered the stillness of the room. “And I am tired of your accusations. I called the police when I found the body and now, for some goddamn reason, I’m beginning to feel like a suspect and don’t know why. You wanna tell me?”

“New Zealand you said?” He lowered his voice and Richard stood behind me.

“Yeah, he told me he was from New Zealand.”

“Did he have an accent?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Don’t you think New Zealanders would have an accent?” He paced in a small circle.

“I didn’t care where he was from or how he talked,” I said. “I don’t care where you’re from or about your accent. You’re an asshole, but that doesn’t make all people with accents assholes.”

“Hold on,” Richard said, calling timeout again. “This isn’t about you two and your feud. This is about a murdered woman and her killer. If you,” he pointed to Luis, “can’t separate your personal feelings from this, I’ll put someone else on the case.”

Richard surprised me and I could tell from the look on Luis’ face he was caught off guard too. In the past, no matter how wild Luis’ accusations were, Richard, as chief of police, supported him. Maybe Luis’ attitude was wearing thin throughout the whole department. Maybe.

“This doesn’t distance him,” Luis said, shaking the papers in his hand. “It draws him in closer.”

“It raises questions, I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t explain his calling us,” Richard said quietly. He sat next to me. “Why not dump the body? Take it out on a Jet Ski while it’s dark and plop her in the water. Why get the police involved? Hell, Murphy has a dinghy that could handle the dumping.”

“So he walks?”

“Murphy?”

“Yeah, Murphy,” Luis grumbled.

“Yeah,” Richard said with a groan, “after he answers a few more questions.” He stared up at Luis. “Give him the papers, then sit down and explain them to him.”

Luis dropped the papers on the desk. They scattered along the top. I waited a beat before collecting them.

“What’s here?” I looked toward Richard.