“Since the Pirate Soul museum opened there’s no shortage of replicas,” I said.
“Damn.” He stood up. “Two bodies, two swords, it’s gotta be the same killer.” He pointed toward the sword and pirate flag. “And he’s scared. That makes him all the more dangerous. Unless you’ve got an idea about a suspect, Chief, I think you need to call FDLE.”
“Yeah.” He sat on a barstool, his back to the body. “But let’s give our detectives a few hours on their own, maybe they’ll come up with a suspect.”
The Florida Department of Law Enforcement is like a state FBI and is used often by small municipalities in the Florida Keys when major crimes occur. Sherlock regularly uses the FDLE crime lab in his investigations.
“Someone at the marina must have seen something,” I added in support.
“You’re right there, Mick,” Sherlock answered a little too quickly. “People saw you, but no one saw anyone before you got on the boat.”
I stuffed the cigar back in my mouth. “Well, then, they didn’t see Tony get on, either. If they missed him, why not the killer?”
Two police cars pulled to a stop in the parking lot. It was time for the investigation to get going and I knew that meant talking to Tracy.
“Give your statement to the officer outside,” the chief said. “And come to the station when Luis calls you. Any idea why Lucky was looking for you here when the bar’s not open?”
“None,” I lied.
“You were lookin’ for the first vic and he got himself killed,” Sherlock said flatly, “you were comin’ to meet this vic, and he’s dead. Do me a favor, Mick, go home and stop lookin’ for people!”
I didn’t go home, because I needed the package Lucky had left with Tracy. A section of the sky filled with rain clouds, but to the north, the sun shone. I rode my bike to Harpoon Harry’s, knowing it would be hours before the police finished at the Hog’s Breath.
The breakfast crowd had gone and it was too early for the lunch bunch, so I grabbed a table in back and Ron, the owner, brought me a mug of black coffee and the menu. I ordered an egg-and-cheese sandwich on Cuban bread.
“You mind if I join you?”
Attorney Shawn Eden stood there, a warm smile spread across his freshly shaved face. I was pouring sugar into my coffee and pointed at the empty seat across from me.
Shawn is a big man, in size and in the community. His thick mop of hair has turned gray, but once it was as black as his attorney’s heart. His family has been in the Keys forever; he’s a Conch, the name given to local families that have lived here for generations. His dress code is colorful print shirts, creased linen pants, and expensive loafers without socks.
Ron brought him a mug of coffee and Shawn waved off the menu.
“A shame about your friend,” he said and poured four spoons of sugar into his coffee. “I talked with him recently about my backing the treasure hunters.” He couldn’t stifle a laugh. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but those guys were anything but treasure hunters.”
I sipped my coffee. “You made a lot of money off their treasure, Counselor.”
“I met the three of them back in the ’sixties.” He closed his eyes. “More than forty years ago. I was fresh out of law school and I had my degree. What you see here in Key West today, that’s not what it was like when I came home.” He pointed toward the harbor and Waterfront Market. “That area there was filled with shrimp boats, Pt’s was a tough country-western bar. And the shrimpers weren’t bringing in much shrimp, but they had a lot of square groupers to unload.” He laughed again. “God, what a town this used to be.”
Square groupers are bales of marijuana. Key West businessmen backed local fishermen and they made fortunes bringing in loads of marijuana from mother ships offshore. It went on into the 1980s, but then the smugglers switched to cocaine and the rules changed. The money was better, but DEA and Customs agents were in Key West and family men were going away to do hard time in far-off jails. It stopped being a sport everyone was involved in about that time.
“You’re right, though, I made good money off their treasure.” He sipped the coffee. “I never thought I would. I saw the three of them as colorful characters and tried to help them out with money. I thought of it as a handout, they considered it an investment in their businesses.”
“Then you’re lucky they looked at it that way.”
“Well, yeah. For the derelict drunkards and liars they were, or are,” he smiled, “they turned out to be men of their words.”
“They sign anything?” I began to nibble at my sandwich.
“Never, we shook hands.” He closed his eyes again. “I backed their bringing conch in from the Bahamas and they scuttle their boat on some sandbar and ended up eating most of the conch before the Coast Guard found them. I paid for them to get their captain’s licenses so they could use one of their boats to take tourists to the reef. Hell, Mick, there had to be a dozen other schemes. I remember the day they walked into my office with some of their treasure and wanted me to be their partner.”
“They needed money.”
“You got that right. In all, I probably put in a little more than fifty grand.” He grinned. “What a return on that investment.”
“You know Lucky was murdered too.” I watched him for a reaction. I didn’t see one, but then he’s an attorney and I am not sure they react to anything other than billing hours.
“Yeah, I got a call from the police.”
Shawn’s contacts went into all city departments and many local businesses, because he and his family owned a variety of businesses in Key West and the Upper Keys.
He broke off a piece of my sandwich and ate it. “Everyone knows I handle their legal affairs. I do that pro bono, too.”
“The cops have the Wizard and they’re looking for Bubba.”
“I know these guys, they couldn’t kill anyone. They might drown you by mistake,” he laughed, “but they couldn’t kill anyone.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the book?”
“The book! Mick, it wouldn’t be a memoir, it would be a work of fiction. They haven’t been in their right minds for forty years. Is that what the cops think?”
“I have no idea what the cops think.”
“Yeah, but you found both bodies.”
“I can’t argue that, Counselor, and I think I’m Sherlock’s number-one suspect.”
“You’re another one I’d lay money on couldn’t kill someone.”
“You know me, Shawn, I believe in running away so I can run another day.”
“A man after my own heart. Hey, I need to get to the police station and see they aren’t using a rubber hose on Wizard. I’ll see you around.” He stood up, said something to Ron, and left.
I drank another cup of coffee, but still had a couple of hours before I could go back and get what Lucky had left with Tracy.
Light rain wet one side of Caroline Street as I rode my bike toward Simonton Street, where I turned, and then turned again on Fleming Street, going against the one-way traffic. The rain stayed at the waterfront. I locked my bike in front of Island Books.
Books, shelved and in stacks, filled the narrow store. Books about Key West, its history, and its characters ran along the right wall, and there were signed books by Key West authors on a display as you first came into the shop. New books, used books, picture books filled the store. In the next room, the condition was the same, books and more books.
I saw Mitch’s head through the open door to his small office in the back; he was working at his computer. There was no one at the register and two customers wandered through the store.