“Uh-huh,” the teenager said.
“That’s unacceptable, Nicki. You disobeyed your aunt.”
“I wrote the names down too.”
“You realize that was wrong, don’t you?”
“Yes. But I didn’t think Aunt Beth told me to go inside because she didn’t want me to hear what the policeman was saying. I assumed that she wanted me out of the way because the policeman would be uncomfortable with me present.”
He laughed to himself. The best investigators were always a step ahead of their suspects. Nicki had anticipated his unhappiness, and had prepared an elegant answer.
“You assumed correctly. But it still wasn’t the right thing to do.”
“But it got the job done,” she argued. “Remember when you came to my CSI class at school, and told the story about the time you dressed up like a homeless person and hung out in a park where heroin was being sold? You said your superior was against the idea, so you went and did it on your off-hours. And it worked. You busted the biggest smack dealer in South Florida, and sent him away. How is this different?”
He could think of plenty of reasons, the main one being Nicki was a teenager, and he’d been a seasoned cop. But that argument would fall on deaf ears, so he tried another tack.
“If your aunt finds out, she’ll be upset. And she’ll have her feelings hurt.”
“I never thought of that. Are you going to tell her?”
“Eventually. I don’t keep secrets from her.”
“I won’t do it again.” She paused. “Do you want to hear what I found?”
He smiled into the phone. “Fire away.”
“Officer Spencer gave you the names of five people who had mummified hands put on their doorsteps,” she said. “There were four men, and one woman. The men’s names were Clarke Tuthill, Landon Padgett, John Parsons, and Peter Matoff. I did individual searches of their names, and then did group searches, and included Grandpa. I found a link where all of them were mentioned. They were fishing buddies.”
“Were they good buddies, or just casual friends?”
“They were tight. They’re all members of the Saint Augustine Boating Club. It’s the oldest club in Saint Augustine, and has a clubhouse built from parts of an old hardware store. According to the website, annual dues used to be twenty-five cents. It’s the kind of club that Grandpa would have liked. The club holds five fishing tournaments a year to raise money for charity. Grandpa and his buddies were a team. They dressed up in identical T-shirts and fishing hats, and called themselves the Ponce de Leon Pirates. There are photos of them on the club’s site. I remember seeing them at Grandpa’s funeral. They sat together in the same pew.”
“This is fantastic, Nicki. Will you send me the link?”
“Of course. You know what’s funny? Grandpa was a real party animal. In every photo he’s either holding a beer or a cocktail.”
Lancaster wasn’t surprised. Based upon what he’d learned, there were several sides of Martin Daniels’s personality that his family hadn’t been aware of.
“Tell me about the woman,” he said.
“Her name is Dr. Angela Sircy, and she’s a heart specialist. She sits on the board of directors at Flagler Hospital, which Grandpa also sat on. I did a search of their names together, and found several photos of them. I think they were friends. I thought back, but don’t remember seeing her at Grandpa’s funeral.”
“You could have missed her. The church was packed.”
“I don’t think I would have missed her. She’s very tall and has flaming red hair. I stood with my mom and Aunt Beth by the front doors of the church, and thanked everyone for coming. Dr. Sircy wasn’t there.”
Nicki left the remark hanging. She wasn’t giving him the full story, and he said, “Maybe she was in surgery.”
“That’s the exact thing I thought.”
“Did you call Flagler Hospital to check?” he said.
“Yeah. I got bounced around, and eventually talked to a head nurse. I told her I was Dr. Sircy’s niece, and was trying to get a hold of her. The nurse said that Dr. Sircy was on sabbatical. I thought that was weird, so I found her address and phone number in the white pages, and called her pretending I was conducting a survey.”
“Did she answer?”
“She did. I addressed her by name, and she responded. When I told her I was taking a survey, she said no thanks, and hung up. I checked out her address on Google Maps. She lives right in town, and could have walked to the church. For some reason she didn’t come to Grandpa’s funeral. Strange, huh?”
“Very strange. We’ll have to talk to her, see what’s going on. This is excellent work, Nicki. Good job.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
It was hard to stay angry at someone who wanted to help, especially when they were as talented as Nicki was at running down clues. “I’ve gotten over it. Your Aunt Beth will be another story. You know how she is when it comes to following the rules.”
“Rules are meant to be broken. Isn’t that an old saying?”
“Goodbye, Nicki. Don’t forget to send me that link.”
The kitchen was empty, and he heard Beth’s footsteps from the second floor as she prepared for bed. There was enough coffee left to fill his cup. He heated it up in the microwave, and returned to his chair at the kitchen table.
As if on cue, his phone beeped. He opened Nicki’s text and tapped the link to the Saint Augustine Boat Club. Group photos of Martin and his fishing buddies filled the screen. The photos dated back several years, and were filled with good humor. It was obvious that these guys knew how to have a good time.
He sipped his coffee and studied the photos. There was a reason that Martin’s fishing buddies had been targeted by Katya’s friends to have mummified hands put on their doorsteps, and he was hoping the photos might lend a clue as to what it was.
Several things caught his attention. Martin and his buddies were in the same age bracket, early to midseventies. Dressed in shorts and T-shirts, he could see that they were all physically fit, with good muscle tone in their arms and legs. They also wore expensive watches and designer sunglasses, an indication that they had money.
Old rich guys who took care of themselves. Nothing unusual there. He sensed that there was something missing in the photos, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it might be. The site contained photos of other groups who’d entered the club’s fishing tournaments, and he studied those, hoping to fill in the blanks.
It didn’t take long for him to find the missing element. The other group photos all included females entered in the tournaments, who appeared to be matched up with the men. Based upon the women’s ages, he guessed they were either daughters or wives.
But there were no females in Martin’s group. They looked like a stag party.
He went back to the photos of the Ponce de Leon Pirates, and studied them again. This time, he looked at their hands. Martin didn’t wear a wedding ring, and neither did any of his friends.
He exited the site and stared into space. The Pirates were a group of single older men, dedicated to having a good time. There was no doubt in his mind that, like Martin, these guys had gotten caught up in a situation, and it had gotten out of control. That was a reasonable scenario, and he would go with it until a better one came along.
His mug empty, he rose from the table. He had enough information to move things forward. Martin’s buddies needed to be talked to, and with enough persuasion, he felt certain one of them would tell him what was going on. The investigation was building momentum, except now he had an anchor attached to his leg. He knew unpleasant things about Martin’s past that he needed to tell Beth without hurting her.