Tom McInnes - Dog Island Part 23

"Beats me. I guess I surmised it."

chapter thirty.

I stood in the living room and felt pure exhaustion soak into my muscles and begin a warm ache in my neck and shoulders and back, even in the tiny joints of my fingers. I didn't sit for fear that I wouldn't want to stand up again. So Joey and I stood there looking at each other, at the floor, at whatever until Loutie and Randy appeared and informed us that Sanchez had departed, taking his business-suited soldiers with him.

I said, "I'm about to drop, and I know the rest of you probably are too, but we've got a lot to do. I'm sure as h.e.l.l open to suggestions, but I can't see us waiting until morning to get started. With Rus Poultrez out there, we all know he could find Carli any minute. And I don't even want to think about what she might be going through while we're catching up on sleep."

Loutie said,' "And there's Susan. It's been about, what, twelve hours since she came up missing?"

"Close to that."

"Well, we may not want to think about it, but if that blood on the floor was hers, she needs somebody to find her fast and get her to a hospital."

I said, "Even if it wasn't her blood ...," and my voice trailed off as images of Purcell's tortured and mutilated body flashed through my thoughts and I left the obvious unspoken. "Anyway, Randy, I'd like you to split up your peoplea"hire somebody if you need toa"and put at least one good man looking for Carli and another looking for Rus Poultrez. And I'd like you to concentrate your own time on the father. That's the key with Carli. She's a tough kid. We can deal with her living on the road. She's done it before. The danger to Carli is her father." I turned to Loutie and said, "I'd like you to find Susan." And I knew any further instructions or suggestions would be pointless. With Loutie, the thing to do was just point her and pull the trigger. Everything else was self-guided.

Loutie -said, "It might help if you told us what's going on."

"What do you mean?"

Joey said, "Loutie thinks you're smarter than the rest of us." He looked from me to Loutie. "She's probably right."

I said, "Loutie, I'm not even sure I know what I know. I'm mostly still guessing." Loutie put her hands on her hips and locked eyes with me. I gave up. "Okay, I haven't wanted to waste time on theories, but... here's what I think I know." Against my better judgment, I walked over and sat on the sofa. "The murder that started all this took place in a house called See Sh.o.r.e Cottage, and that house is owned by a group called ProAm Holdings Corp. I found that out pretty early. Then the name came up again when Joey and I were trying to get information out of a snitch in Apalachicola called Squirley McCall."

Joey interrupted. "Said it was the name used by a bunch of what he called 'cigar spics,' who are buying property on the coast. He claimed Purcell brought them into the area."

I said, "So we know that ProAm is buying land, that it's a Cuban-American enterprise, and that they owned See Sh.o.r.e Cottage. Also, I checked, and the same company owns the house on Dog Island where Hayc.o.c.k was staying."

Loutie said, "Products Americas. ProAm for short, I guess."

I said, "Holding company."

"Oh. Okay. That's the company Kelly found out about that owns the yacht they used to smuggle in the fat guy and his family."

"Yep. L. Carpintero." I said, "What's the name sound like?" Joey shrugged. "Think about it. Change the 'L' to 'EL' and it literally means 'the carpenter.' I didn't get it either until Squirley said one of the Cubans' leaders was called Martillo and the other one was nicknamed 'Carpet Hero.'"

Loutie said, "Carpintero."

"Uh-huh. When Squirley mentioned the name along with Martillo, it finally rang a bell. A couple of Mexican-American carpenters remodeled my new office when I left Higgins & Thompson last year, and I was in there trying to work while they were still nailing up molding. They learned 'hold it down' from me and I learned, among other things, that martillo is Spanish for hammer."

Loutie said, "The fat guy killed Purcell."

"Looks like it."

Randy said, "I'm not following."

I said, "El carpintero is 'the carpenter.' Martillo is hammer, and Purcell was..."

"Nailed to his own desk," Randy said. "But that doesn't make sense. You're saying that Purcell brought the Cubans, including this Hammer guy, into Apalachicola. Why would he turn around and kill Purcell?"

"I don't know. But I do know that Purcell threatened me early on with a 'mean-a.s.s spic,' who he said would do something like slice me open and play with my guts while I was alive and watching. I thought he was just making up a scary storya"and not a very realistic onea"to get me to turn over Susan and Carli."

Loutie said, "Purcell probably just p.i.s.sed this crazy guy off. Somebody psychotic enough to do something like that I'm guessing isn't really weighted down by normal human emotions like loyalty or grat.i.tude."

I said, "Yeah, and Purcell could p.i.s.s off the pope."

Joey looked confused. "I thought we thought Rus Poultrez murdered Purcell."

I took a deep breath and stood up. "As far as we know now, he did. This hammer stuff may be reaching. We're just guessing it's some kind of street name for a s.a.d.i.s.t with a nail fetish. For all we know, the guy's last name is Carpintero or Martillo or Hammer, and they're just playing word games with aliases. Poultrez may still be the killer." I looked around. "But, I don't think so. Poultrez hated Purcell. Buta"unless somebody else made Poultrez a better offera"Purcell getting dead means Poultrez has lost any chance of making money on Carli, which is all he cares about. And earlier tonight Carlos Sanchez made a not-very-subtle point of trying to point us at Poultrez for Purcell's murder."

Joey said, "He surmised it."

I ignored him. "It just doesn't make sense for Poultrez to kill the golden goose. No, I think all this is happening because Carlos Sanchez, Charlie Estevez, and Products Americas are throwing way too much money around, and we've blundered into a gang war over control of the smuggling trade in and around Franklin County, Florida. And I think that Carpintero, or whatever his name is, killed Leroy Purcell mostly because he needed to anda"considering what he did to hima"at least partly because he enjoyed it."

Everyone was quiet for a few beats.

I said, "I guess the only other thing is about Susan. There's no reason I can think of why somebody would want to kill her, except maybe to get to the rest of us. Or I guess she could have surprised someone."

Joey cut in. "She ain't dead. We don't need to stop pressing now."

"I know. You're right, and it's what makes sense. If the Bo-dines killed her by mistake or on purpose they would've left her there. Think about it. There was too much blood for them to think they were covering something up. No. No, I think somebody took Susan, and they took her for one of two reasons. Either we're going to get a 'leave-us-alone-or-we'll-kill-her' call or somebody out there needs her help with somethinga"and, as far as I can see, the only thing she could help with is finding Carli or finding us."

Joey said, "And n.o.body's called any threats in or dropped by to shoot at us."

"Yeah. So, I'm thinking that somebodya"Sonny or Poultrez or some other a.s.sholea"grabbed her to help find Carli."

Joey reached up and scrubbed at his scalp with both hands and then looked off into the distance. No one spoke for a few seconds until Joey said, "Okay. Tell me if I got it. Purcell was connected with both the Cubans and this sick Carpintero b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The Bodines are smuggling for the Cubans, and one of the things they smuggle is the fat guy and his family, who are holed up in the middle of a swamp. So, both the Cubans and Purcell know about the fat guy, and it looks likely that the fat guy is this nail-hammering a.s.shole."

I said, "Yeah, it looks like it. I guess we can't be sure, but when there's a guy around named El Carpintero and somebody gets nailed to a desk..."

Loutie said, "And it looks like Carli's fathera"this Rus Poultreza"was busy grabbing Susan..."

I said, "If he's the one who did it."

Loutie nodded. "Yeah, well, bear with me a second. Let's say Poultrez took Susan 'cause he needs her to help find Carli. He was grabbing Susan at pretty much the same time this Hammer guy was wailing on Purcell. So, unless it was one h.e.l.l of a coincidence, it looks like there was some coordination there between Carpintero and Rus Poultrez."

I said, "And even if it wasn't Poultrez, the fact that Susan's kidnapping and Purcell's murder happened the same afternoon leads us right back to Carpintero."

Joey said, "So, if Poultrez took Susan, looks like he was working witha"or at least coordinating witha"Carpintero. And if Carpintero took Susan ... Well, s.h.i.+t, it all leads back to the fat p.r.i.c.k with the hammer, doesn't it?"

I said, "Yeah. It looks like it. Of course, as logical as it sounds plotted out like this, it could all still be wrong."

"Yeah," Joey said, "but it makes sense."

I said, "And it gives us a place to focus."

Joey flipped his head to one side and cracked the tension out of his neck. "d.a.m.n right. We focus on finding this Carpintero a.s.shole and see how bad he is with his hammer stuck up his a.s.s."

Vertical lines formed between Loutie's eyebrows as she processed the conversation. When the room grew quiet, she asked, "Is that it?"

I said, "That's all the facts and most of the guesses," and she left the room.

Randy hung around for another minute or two, staring into s.p.a.ce and working it out in his head, before leaving by the front door.

Joey and I were the only ones left.

I didn't know what I looked like, but he looked beat. His tanned complexion had gone pale except for dark smudges over his cheekbones. Everyone involved was tired, but it was Susan's blood-trailed disappearance that was devouring Joey and me.

I asked, "Did your people get a good picture of Sanchez tonight?"

"They got him. We gotta wait to see how good they are, but we took a s.h.i.+tload of shots."

"What about the shots of Carpintero?"

"A buddy of mine at the ABI has already got 'em. He's checking Carpintero's shots against their files." Joey stopped to rub the back of his neck. "Randy'll send over the shots of Sanchez when they're ready."

I thought for a minute. "That's just a criminal check though, right?"

Joey nodded.

I said, "Well then, get a set of prints to Kelly too, with a message to run them by somebody at the newspaper. That's not a problem is it?"

Joey said, "That is not a problem," and walked over to Loutie's phone. After conveying instructions to Randy, Joey replaced the headset. He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. "So this Carpintero or Hammer or whoever he is is the key."

"Looks like it."

"I guess you and me are going to Florida."

"Yeah." I said, "Tate's h.e.l.l Swamp."

I hadn't been home for a week, and I needed clothes and waders, a flashlight and field gla.s.ses. Our choices for procuring these things at two in the morning were to either stop by my beach house on Point Clear or burglarize a sporting goods store. Joey had a pair of binoculars, camera equipment, and camouflage clothinga"your basic private investigator stuffa"for himself. But I needed my things, things not made for the big and tall.

My white gravel driveway shone like snow in the moonlight. I rolled to a stop a hundred feet from the front steps and shoved the rented transmission into park. Joey had disconnected the Ford's interior lights, which was one of his private investigator stealth specialties, and we were able to leave the car with minimal fuss. With the empty car left idling on the driveway, Joey moved quietly toward the front of the house, while I trotted around to the bay side and stopped short of the open beach to look and to listen for something wrong or different.

Deep purple clouds with silver edges sped across the sky, and warm breezes flowed across the choppy, charcoal bay, rustling sea gra.s.s, and sharp black pine needles. On the house, squares of white trim floated, suspended in air, as cloud cover rendered weathered siding invisible. I closed my eyes because I once read that a.s.sa.s.sins wait outside dark rooms with their eyes shut so their vision will be adjusted to the dark when they go in to kill. And I listened. Closing one's eyes in a dangerous place is unnatural; so I listened hard during the long seconds I was able to last. And when I reopened my eyes, I actually could see a little better in the night.

I watched the home where, for six months of endless nights, I had tossed and turned and wandered the beach, and I began to make sense of the shadows, separating shades of charcoal into familiar shapes and objects. I knew every sound and smell and look of that fragment of the worlda"even at 2:00 a.m. And there was something wrong.

I crouched closer to the sand and flipped open my cell phone and punched in Joey's number. Somewhere on the front of the house, his pocket vibrated, and I put the phone away and waited. He did not respond, which meant either his side was clear or he was incapacitated. But, inasmuch as I hadn't heard a cannon go off, the likelihood of his incapacity was, I thought, pretty close to nil.

I studied shadows because those were what bothered me. Everything looked fine. Only it didn't look the same, and I wasn't really sure why that was. I jogged across the beach, sending little half-circles of powder puffing out in front of each foot as it struck dry sand. Ten yards in, I stopped by a clump of tall, black gra.s.s that I hoped would break up my silhouette. And again something was out of place, something near the first-floor deck in back. Then he moved. Too small and too thin at the waist to be Poultrez, the man had thick shoulders, and he was holding a long weapon. He was waiting inside a deep shadow beside the deck. He was just waiting. Maybe he understood now that no one was inside the idling Taurus, and he was scared. Maybe he was just patient.

I decided to test my virtue against his and settled in for a long wait that wasn't. No more than three minutes pa.s.sed, and he couldn't stand it. The strong man with the narrow waist had to have a look around, and he moved left toward the near corner of the house. As he moved, I saw new movement at the other, far corner and recognized Joey's hulking shadow. I circled left, matching my pace with the armed man's, then stopped and waited some more when he halted two paces from the corner and, it seemed, turned to look out at the beach. Shadows from the eaves blanked out his head and body, but now the moonlight found his arms and the tip of his nose, and I knew he had seen me. The long gun came up to his shoulder, and I dove into the sand as the hollow boom of a shotgun blast pounded the beach. And then nothing. Nothing but wind and the redundant sigh of water lapping sand. I rolled onto my back and pointed the Browning with both hands the way Tim the painter had done just before he died, and I waited for the shotgunner to come inspect his kill.

Phantom boots jogged through wet sand inside my head; the hard tang of copper flooded my mouth; and Joey called out my name. I waited. If the shotgunner was near, answering would give him a target. Then Joey's voice came again. "Tom! Answer me. I got the guy. Answer me!"

I called out, "I'm here," and got to my feet, dusting sand out of my s.h.i.+rt and pants.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." I could see Joey now, standing near the spot where the shotgun had gone off. I shouted, "Who is it?"

"Don't know. Never seen him before."

As I approached, I saw Joey standing over a vaguely familiar form lying prostrate on the sand. I asked, "Is he alive?"

Before Joey could answer, a voice said, "Mr. McInnes, it's me." And young Willie Teeter sat up and looked at me with the moonlight now full on his face.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

Willie sounded scared. "Granddaddy sent me. Julie said you and her had a run-in, and Granddaddy couldn't get you on the phone, and he sent me up here to find you. Make sure you're all right."

I said, "Stand up," and Joey reached down and lifted the nineteen-year-old shrimper by one arm. The boy's feet actually dangled in the air for a second before Joey put him down. Willie seemed impressed. When Joey released his arm, the boy turned and studied the big man's face. I asked, "Did your Granddaddy tell you to come up here and blow my head off too?"

"No, sir. No, sir, he didn't. I was supposed to wait around for you and let him know, you know, whether you're okay. But I heard the car and got scared and hid around back here."

Joey said, "You bring that shotgun along to shoot possums while you were waiting?"

Willie turned to Joey and looked up into his face. "No, sir. We knew Sonny was p.i.s.sed off at Mr. McInnes. And you don't know Sonny, but he's crazy. Been in prison half his life. Kill anybody. No s.h.i.+t. He'd just as soon kill you as look at you. I thought that's who I was shooting at. I seen a shadow, and I could see what looked like a gun, you know, kind of outlined against the beach. And I shot." He turned back to me. "I'm sorry as h.e.l.l, Mr. McInnes. I was scared."

I looked into the boy's face but couldn't read anything there. Maybe it was the dark. Maybe not. I asked, "Have you checked out the house?"

Willie said, "Just through the windows, but I been here a long time. I'm pretty sure there ain't n.o.body in there."

Willie waited in the yard while Joey and I went in fast. The alarm was set. Everything was just as I had left it. I punched in the alarm code, called Willie, and told him to go in the kitchen with Joey. I ran upstairs, pulled together a loose stack of clean clothes, and located my fis.h.i.+ng gear. Joey would be amused. I laid out a pair of Orvis Gor-Tex waders with inflatable suspenders and a pair of Russell Moccasin custom wading boots with felt soles. None of which was exactly what one might call swamp gear, but they were what I had and they fit. I emptied out an old nylon dive bag, put my clothes and gear inside, and threw a pair of quick-focus Nikon binoculars and a black-rubber Mag-Lite flashlight on top.

When everything was packed down and zipped up in the dive bag, I closed the door to my bedroom and made two phone calls. The first, which took less than a minute, was to the information operator for the area code covering Florida's Panhandle. The second was to a number in the quaint fis.h.i.+ng village of Eastpoint, and that one lasted much longer.

Joey and Willie were drinking from gla.s.ses filled with something clear and carbonated when I came into the kitchen. I looked at Joeya"he was holding Willie's shotgun nowa"and said, "Let's go."

Willie's eyes perked up. "Where are you goin'?"

Joey caught my eye and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

I said, "We've got business to take care of. Sorry, but if you want that drink, you're going to have to take it with you."

Willie put his gla.s.s on the kitchen counter. "Alright then." He turned to Joey. "I need my shotgun back."

Joey just said, "Nope."

The young shrimper flushed red. "That's an expensive gun. It's mine and I want it back now."

Joey glanced at me. He'd had about all he wanted of Willie Teeter. I said, "Willie, I'll get the shotgun back to your grandfather. You already tried to shoot one person tonight. I don't think we'd be doing you or Captain Billy a favor to let you leave here with that thing."