Suspicion of Madness (28 page)

"You need him to be innocent," Gail said. "If he isn't, you're going to know for sure that you screwed up his other case."

Anthony brought her face into focus. Gail Connor had a way of going straight to the heart of an issue, like an ice pick.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "Anthony, it doesn't
matter
what happened four years ago. Maybe you made a mistake, but maybe you did exactly the right thing. Quit being so hard on yourself."

He turned around to find the waitress. "What is she doing, grinding the coffee beans herself?"

Gail sent him a chilly smile. "I wonder how long we would last as real law partners? A month? We might last a month, if one of us had to go out of town for a three-week trial."

He let out his breath and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she said.

"Do what?"

"Sigh like that and roll your eyes. I don't like it."

"Eat something," he said. "I think you're hungry."

The waitress appeared with the coffee on the same tray as Gail's shrimp basket. The aroma made Anthony's stomach growl, but if he asked for one, Gail would have something to say about it. She ate as if he weren't there. Her teeth nipped each shrimp down to its tail, and the grease made her lips gleam. "Mmmm."

The waitress came by to refill his coffee cup. Anthony reached for the sugar and noticed that the rain had started again. Then he saw a man hurrying across the parking lot with a red-and- white striped umbrella. "It's Tom Holtz."

"Already?"

Tom Holtz spoke to the bartender as he passed by, then came to the booth and slid in next to Gail. "Hello again, folks. Do you believe this lousy weather?" She held out her hand, but he put a kiss on her cheek. Holtz's face glowed, and aftershave wafted across the table. He wore a blue jacket and yellow-checked shirt, ready for his date with Joan Sinclair.

Scooting further toward the window, Gail said, "Tom, you've been around the Keys all your life. I'm going to describe something, and tell me if you've ever seen it."

"I'm game," he said with a chuckle.

"It's an outdoor lamp made to look like a mermaid, and she's holding a globe that lights up. Have you ever seen anything like that?"

"Made out of poured concrete?"

"Yes, that's right. You've seen it?" She exchanged a glance with Anthony.

"Those used to be real popular around here. Concrete mermaids, pelicans, sharks, dolphins. Most people bought the mailbox versions, though. There was a guy up in Key Largo that made them. He had a store on the highway. He's been out of business for... oh, twenty years, at least. Why are you asking?"

Gail's disappointment had begun to show halfway through his rambling response.

Anthony said, "Billy Fadden had a dream about a mermaid like that, a red-haired mermaid holding a white globe. He said it was real, but we thought it was something he invented. Apparently he was right. They do exist."

The waitress, a thin woman in jeans and a marina T-shirt, arrived with Holtz's drink. "Here you go, Tom, one gin and tonic. Y'all want anything else?" She rested her tray on a hipbone.

"Have a drink," said Holtz. "It's on me."

"No, we're fine," Gail said.

"Bring me a scotch on the rocks," said Anthony. "Single malt if you have it." His mood had lifted. "Put everything on my check." He took one of Gail's shrimp and dredged it through the cocktail sauce. "Think back about ten years. Do you remember seeing a mermaid lamp? And if so, where you saw it?"

Holtz slowly shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind."

"Ah, well."

Gail moved closer and rested a hand on his coat sleeve. "Tom, thank you so much for coming out of your way to rescue us. I thought we were stranded." She had a lovely voice, warm and soft, and the old man smiled back at her. She said, "You know, I
promised
to call my daughter this afternoon, and I'd better do it now while I have the chance. Would you gentlemen excuse me?" As Thomas Holtz struggled to get his bulk out of the seat to make way for her, Gail grabbed her purse and gave Anthony a look that clearly said,
Talk to him before I get back.

"A fine girl," Tom Holtz said, watching her walk away.

Anthony took another of Gail's shrimp. He repeated the basic elements of the conversation with the clerk at Movie Max, coming around to Sandra McCoy's plans to buy an apartment on South Beach. "You can't get into a South Beach waterfront condominium for less than a quarter million dollars. At her age, and probably with not such good credit, she would need at least a hundred thousand down. Was it bullshit?"

"How do I know?"

"Say she was serious. Where would she get the money?"

Holtz concentrated on fishing the lime out of his glass with the cocktail straw. "The only thing I heard from Sandra was how broke she was. Maybe she all of a sudden found a sugar daddy."

With a nudge of impatience, Anthony asked, "When we talked yesterday you said you didn't know if she and Lindeman were sleeping together. Were they or not?"

"Of course they were. I never caught them in the act, but I know her style. Doug's no better. He doesn't usually mess around in his own neighborhood because he's afraid Lois Greenwald would find out." Holtz saw the expression on Anthony's face and laughed. "Doug's stringing her along to keep the Buttonwood account. One of these days she'll see the light. Poor woman."

The waitress brought Anthony's scotch. When she was gone, he said, "Do you think Sandra was blackmailing Doug? She could have made trouble with Lois."

"Hell, no. I'll tell you what I think. It's all about Joan Lindeman's property. That's what the son of a bitch wants. He wants Joanie's property, and Lois Greenwald wants Joanie's property, and they're in on it together, and so was Sandra. That damned guardianship was an attempt to take over, don't you see? Lois Greenwald gets her deep water dock, and she pays Douglas off for sending Joanie to a group home. Maybe Martin's in on it too."

"I doubt that." Anthony dropped another shrimp tail into the basket. He wondered if Sandra had fabricated the story about buying a place on the beach to hide the truth: She could only afford a squalid little studio apartment with a view of a parking lot. Either way, it was obvious that Douglas Lindeman wanted something from his aunt, and Anthony didn't believe it was the dock.

"You said that Joan has no cash or valuables in the house. How do you know this?"

"Joan told me. She had no reason to lie about it."

"Perhaps." Anthony drank his scotch. He said, "What about the money from Teddy Lindeman? He gave you a hundred thousand dollars, payable at ten thousand a year. Is it in the bank, or did she take it out and hide it somewhere in her house? See what you can find out from her tonight."

"No, Doug can't be after Teddy's money because I never told him about it," Holtz said. "Joan wouldn't have either. She doesn't trust him."

"Lois Greenwald. Could she know? Teddy used to be her boyfriend."

"Oh, they split up a long time ago. Twenty years or more."

"We heard that Lois used to smuggle marijuana."

"That's the story. She and Teddy started off together, but she got out when he moved to cocaine." Holtz laughed. "You wouldn't believe it to look at Lois now, would you? A dried-up broad like her, running bales of pot? She should've smoked more of it, might've improved her personality."

"Was Doug Lindeman involved in that?"

"Not at all. The DEA took a lot of supposedly upstanding citizens off to jail, but Doug was clean. The government seized everything Teddy had—house, cars, boat, bank account. I liked Teddy. He was a sensible man in most ways, and he always talked about retiring early. He never flashed his money around. He provided for Joan. They were very close. What a tragedy. I'm sorry about Teddy, I sincerely am."

Not a tragedy, Anthony thought. A very bad choice, for which Teddy Lindeman had paid a heavy price.

Munching another shrimp, he calculated how much money Joan Sinclair could have saved. If she had filled jars and shoe boxes with every dollar that Teddy had provided for her, and Douglas had found out, there still wouldn't be enough to justify filing a guardianship so he could get his hands on it.

Anthony was forced back to the idea that Teddy's money wasn't what they were looking for. Joan was hiding something else in her house. This could explain her reluctance to leave home.

"Tom, are you certain that Joan has nothing of value? Jewelry, gold, rare coins—"

"I don't know. It's possible. Maybe she didn't trust me either." Holtz's eyes were watery behind his thick glasses. "I can understand that. People have used her. She's been through hell. I told Douglas today, 'You leave her alone. I'm taking care of Joan from now on.' And I mean to do it."

Looking past Holtz, Anthony could see to the front of the restaurant. Gail stood at the bar watching the fish in the aquarium. When she glanced around, Anthony shook his head. Wait.

Tom Holtz finished his drink, pushed his glass aside, and leaned on his arms. "Listen, Quintana. I thought Billy killed Sandra. If he left the video store when you say, then I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I'm going to tell you something I should've told you before. On the day she died, Sandra came by the office and asked to see Doug. It was shortly after five o'clock, and the receptionist had just left. Sandra was all excited. 'Where's Doug? Where's Doug?' I told her he was in Key West and he'd be back around seven for a meeting with Lois Greenwald. She asked to use the phone. I was curious, so I listened in. He didn't pick up, so she left a message. She said she had to talk to him, it was important, and to call her as soon as he could."

For a moment Anthony sat without speaking. "Did you ask Douglas about it?"

"A couple of days later. He said he never got the message."

"Why didn't you tell the police?"

Holtz's face sagged. "He was my partner. Is my partner. There was that thing with Sandra... you know. Why stir up trouble? Anyway, Doug was with Lois Greenwald at the time of death. At least I thought he was."

"Would Lois lie for him?"

Tom didn't reply. He didn't have to.

Anthony reached over to grab his arm. "Tom, you have to tell the police what you heard. I want you to talk to Detective Baylor immediately. Tell him everything. We can call him right now. I have my cell phone—"

"No, no, no." Holtz lifted his hands. "Let's not get all carried away."

"Carried away? The police could arrest Billy Fadden for murder at any moment. You must tell them, Tom. Tell them they have another suspect."

"Maybe I'm wrong, then what?" Holtz couldn't look at Anthony straight on.

"You can't worry about being wrong or right, you simply tell them the truth."

"All right, I'll... I'll call them tomorrow."

Anthony was about to press for some assurance of this, but a slim figure in a pink dress caught his attention. Gail was coming back. As she reached the table she looked down at the remains of her shrimp basket. "You finished
all
of them?"

Tom Holtz fixed on her a steady but unfocused gaze that quickly became so vacant that Gail glanced at Anthony to provide some explanation for this. He could only shrug.

Holtz spoke. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I just remembered where I saw it. How could I forget?" He put a hand to his forehead. "What's the matter with me?"

"What are you talking about?" Anthony asked.

"The mermaid."

Thomas Holtz wouldn't say
where
he had seen the lamp, only that he was sure that he had seen it, and that unless someone had taken it down, it was still there. Would they like to find out? Anthony checked his watch, a useless gesture since Gail was already dialing Teri Greenwald's number to say they might be a few minutes late.

Holtz had tied his boat at the Buttonwood dock. The canvas top was up but did little to keep out the rain, which was falling steadily, pushed by gusts of wind into the cockpit. Holtz suggested that Gail sit below in the small cabin, but she refused. He found some extra raincoats. Gail's was so large it could have served as a tarpaulin. Her face peered out from the voluminous hood. Anthony stood between the two seats.

"Hang on. We're going to run around the back side of Upper Matecumbe to Plantation Key." Holtz flipped on his running lights. By now the sun had set, and the world had turned a uniform gray without delineation between sky and sea. Past the marina's breakwater he made a sharp turn to starboard. The boat hit a trough, and a wave splashed over the bow. Gail shrieked and slid out of her seat to the deck.

As Anthony helped her up he yelled over the noise of the engine, "Tom! Forget it! We'll come back tomorrow."

Holtz waved him off. "It's not as rough in the bay!"

They sped under the bridge at Tea Table Channel then into water only marginally less choppy. Ten minutes of this pounding took them by the Bay Harbor Resort. Holtz pointed. "See those trees? That's the Lindeman cemetery." It had grown too dark to make out the headstones or the wrought iron fence. Holtz guided the boat around a mangrove island, staying out of the shallows, then came around between two channel markers.