One Deadly Sister sr-1 Read online

  Fortunately, he found her still around. The restaurant wasn’t open so he waited at the back door while a worker went to find Mrs. Martin. She appeared dressed in the customary hostess-style dark dress with a white collar, all covered just now with an oversized apron. In her late fifties, he guessed. Slim, attractive, with a slightly exotic look. She greeted him and motioned toward a booth at the rear of the main dining area. She lit a cigarette as soon as they sat. "Sign says no smoking," he said to get the conversation started.

  "Rank has its privileges."

  "So you own this place?" He knew she didn’t.

  "Lock stock and fish barrel, been at this since I was a little girl."

  "Do you know why I'm here?"

  "Most likely Senator Towson, it’s all over TV. What happened to our quiet little town?”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He made reservations and brought guests here. Not often, but enough for me to know who he was."

  "Where do you live? I couldn't find you in the directory?"

  "Been living in my cook's place, nice condo, and she's never there."

  "Give me her name. I need some kind of address for you."

  "Elena Duarte, on Banyon Street,” she said with some hesitation. “But this is really my address. I’ve an office here, get all my calls, and mail here. On nights when I’m exhausted, which are most nights, I even sleep here."

  “Where were you last Saturday, the day Towson was killed?”

  “Saturday? I would have been grocery shopping, and every day back here by four.”

  “Ever been in Towson’s apartment?”

  “No!” She nervously crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. “Be right back.” She slid out of the booth.

  After she disappeared into the kitchen, he picked up her cigarette butt with a napkin and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

  Minutes later she returned. She stood with her arms folded across her chest and announced, “I’m too busy to talk with you. I know nothing about any murder. Please don’t bother me again.”

  “Better here, Mrs. Martin, than down at police headquarters.” That line was always worth a try.

  “As a matter of fact, it isn’t better here, but I can’t talk to you anyplace. Please leave.”

  Back in his vehicle, he flipped open his notebook. He had met a tense Norma Martin and possibly had DNA from her cigarette. She mentioned her cook, Elena Duarte. He brought up the address search on his patrol-car computer, nothing for Elena Duarte. Next, he tried Norma Martin. She was in there and on Banyon Street. Why had she tried to deceive him about living with her cook?

  He knew if some Tampa Cuban-Americans were connected to the murder that Norma Martin would now alert them. And they just might be the link to the bigger plot that Moran suspected and hoped for.

  Towson had enemies in the Cuban community. He had publicly opposed amnesty for refugees after the 1980 Mariel boatlift. Also, he opposed legalizing casinos in Florida, and South Florida is sympathetic to the old-time families involved in Havana’s casinos before Castro kicked them out.

  Goddard felt uncomfortable in this unfamiliar situation. He knew that a small town cop couldn’t run around the state checking out money trails and motives. And Moran didn’t want to bring in state investigators. Didn’t want them butting in, taking over, and taking credit.

  So, far, Norma Martin was the only link to a possible Tampa connection. An important link if DNA from her cigarette puts her in Towson’s apartment.

  Ray Reid was still the best suspect so far, although he seemed an unlikely professional hit man. Goddard needed more background on him. What did he really do in Philadelphia? It wouldn’t hurt to see if his sister could fill in some blanks. Interesting woman. Who was he kidding? He’d just flat out like to take another look at her.

  He phoned attorney Jerry Kagan and after brief pleasantries asked for the cell number of Reid’s sister. Kagan was surprised with the request and said he must check with her first to see if she wanted it given out. Goddard told him, “Then just have her meet me at the Coffee Spot on the barrier island—thirty minutes, no later.” Kagan wouldn’t promise she’d show up.

  Kagan relayed the request to Sandy. Her response was, “Wants to see me?” She was in jeans, no time to change. She looked in the rearview mirror—could be better but she didn’t need much daytime makeup anyway.

  What was this all about? Was he going to serve a summons or a cease-and-desist order? He wasn’t the type to try to hit on her—or was he? For good or for bad she had gotten to Detective Chip Goddard.

  Chapter 16

  Sandy Reid crossed the Intracoastal Waterway to the barrier island and drove on east to Highway A1A. Goddard had said meet at the Coffee Spot, and she knew about where to find it.

  She had driven around the same area when she first arrived in Park Beach. It was late that day, but after driving a thousand miles and getting warmer by the hour, she wanted to see the ocean immediately. She went directly to the beach from I-95 and left her car in a small beachfront park.

  A pleasant onshore breeze caught her hair as she walked over to the water. She walked barefoot in the pale sand along the wavering water’s edge, daring the warm hint of tide to catch her feet and slap around her ankles. A carefree moment. She could get used to this place called Florida.

  This afternoon, looking for the Coffee Spot, she headed for the beachfront area again. She remembered the arrangement of low-rise condos and beachfront hotels on one side of Ocean Drive, and the boutiques and restaurants facing them. She found the Coffee Spot down a few blocks away from the expensive beachfront hotels.

  She liked the retro fifties décor—a neon-light clock above an old fashioned jukebox—like an old-time diner without all the stainless steel. She sat at the counter on a red-topped stool. The waitress was filling her thick mug when Goddard came in through the swinging kitchen door directly in front of her.

  “I parked in back. Let’s move over to that last booth,” he said. “I’ll sit on the far side.”

  Sandy nodded and picked up her coffee. “Remember the old movies—never sit with your back to the door and never trust a skirt.”

  He grinned. “Of course, everything I needed to know I learned from old movies.”

  A pretty good line, she thought. And she loved the grin. How bad could he be? She raised her coffee mug, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  “How do you like Florida, Miss Reid?”

  “If they ever had a day like this in Philly, they’d write a song about it.”

  Nice smile, smelled good, taller than she remembered. His jaw was slightly large, no, on second thought just right. So far, so good. She had yet to see his eyes. “You going to sit there and watch me through those cop glasses?”

  “Sorry.” He took them off.

  Now, up close, she got a good look at him. His steel-gray eyes were set a little deep but nicely spaced. She felt slightly timid looking at him. He was more interesting than she had anticipated, more appealing. She should have changed before meeting him; she wished she came across a little more put together right now facing this guy. “How come you don’t walk and talk like a cop.”

  “How do I walk and talk?”

  “More like a lifeguard.”

  “I was, right here on this beach. Summer before I went off to college. But we’re not here to socialize.”

  “I hope not, Detective, because I’m busy with a murder investigation.”

  “Call me Chip, and you’re Sandra.”

  “Sandy.” She reached across and shook his hand. It was softer than she expected. Her hand felt small.

  The waitress was quick with his coffee. He waved the cream away. Sandy said, “You’re a plain black coffee kind of guy.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “No frills, nothing fancy added. Hold the cream and sugar, baby, take me straight to the caffeine.”

  “Am I being judged here?” he asked.

  “You betcha.”

  “
You’re an interesting girl. Your mind is always turning, isn’t it?” He blew on the coffee, took a sip, and glanced up at her. “First of all, I’m sorry if I came off overbearing when we first met.”

  “I expected it. It’s in the cop manual—raise your voice to keep control. What’s with the parking in back?”

  “Huress has been nosing around. I don’t want our cars seen together. Yours stands out like a red jellybean in a bowl of peanuts.”

  “Huress?”

  “Bobby Huress, my old partner. We rode patrol. He thought we were great buddies but I just tolerated him. He’s into all that macho crap. The buddy stuff disappeared fast after I passed the detective exam and he flunked. He claims I got special treatment because my dad was once chief. He barely studied and then said he couldn’t pass because of the burden of wife and kids."

  “He envies you. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Probably shouldn’t. I just wanted you to know, if you run into him, he's not on the case.”

  She could tell he was warming up to her. She liked this guy letting down his guard and throwing out some personal information, not afraid of appearing vulnerable. That earned him a couple more points. “Are you saying there’s a patrol cop running around that you can’t control, and he might try to play detective and approach me?”

  “He’s a sergeant now, has a lot of freedom. It’s just a tip. All I’m saying is you’re free to ignore him. Forget I said anything.”

  “I’ll spot him if he follows me. What’s he driving?”

  “A blue and white, but watch out for his personal vehicle, a red Ford pickup with a large orange and blue ‘Gator Nation’ decal on the back window.”

  “Hey, I’ve seen that truck parked outside my apartment, Raymond’s apartment. I saw it and wondered what the hell ‘Gator Nation’ meant. Is that your school?”

  “No, Florida State. When did you see his truck?”

  “Don’t remember now, but I know I’ve seen it.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Why was it there? You two better not be running some kind of police game on me.”

  “No game. Huress has nothing to do with this case. I’ll look into it.”

  “I’m dead serious about getting info to free my brother. This smells like a tag team to me. I really don’t like this! Are you tracking me? I demand to know right now why a cop was parked outside my apartment in his personal vehicle.”

  “I know you’re serious. I said I’d look into it.” He paused for another sip and then his voice took on an official tone. “Jerry Kagan told me he hired you as his investigator.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “It’s easier for me if you’re officially on the case. Otherwise, it looks like I’m just being cozy with the defendant’s sister. Since I can’t question your brother directly without his attorney being present, I don’t want to be accused of tricking his sister into spilling info.”

  “Got it. You’re now officially off the hook. If the new investigator for the defense screws up it’s not your problem.”

  “You could really foul up your brother’s defense by talking to me. I want to be certain we understand each other; starting now, consider yourself fair game. I don’t intend to tell you anything about the investigation, and whatever you tell me I’ll definitely use if I can, and will testify to in court.”

  “Seems fair to me, what’s your problem?”

  He shook his head. “You are a puzzle.”

  “The world isn't ready for the unpuzzled me.”

  “Maybe you don’t want anyone to understand you.”

  “I haven't met anyone that can. So, I guess you’ve figured out that you don’t have any choice but to deal with me.” She gave him a nice smile to take the edge off that pronouncement.

  He frowned. “So you’re going for our arrangement?”

  She continued, “If you’re asking for cooperation, sure I’ll do that. I need to be able to communicate with the opposition. You just have to listen. If you’re on the wrong track, then it might help your investigation. Just stay off my back.”

  “Okay, I won’t bother you unless you start acting crazy. I can use some cooperation right now. If I’m reading you correctly I can make statements like that without you laughing.”

  “Keep being honest like that and I won’t laugh.” She felt she was getting somewhere. “You called me here because you need my help.”

  “Maybe, don’t know enough about you. Don’t know whether to trust you or not. You said your job in Philadelphia puts you in contact with the police. So, I suppose you know your way around attorneys and judges and courtrooms and cops and even criminals.”

  “All of the above.”

  “Good, so you’re probably savvy with the dos and don’ts. I phoned the Chief of Detectives in Philadelphia. He said you’re okay.”

  “I’m thrilled at the thought.”

  “Hey look, don’t let your wisecracks get in the way of our understanding each other. I’m trying to get you pegged. You’ve made it clear I must deal with you, and I’m trying to figure out if I can live with that.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I have no idea who the Chief of Detectives is, but I’m glad I received no bad reports.”

  “That’s better. So, you’re like a semi-pro in this business. Now I see why you hustled down here when your brother had a problem.”

  “He didn’t have a problem until he met you. I suppose you’d never ask for help from me if you thought my brother was guilty, right?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, you’ll get absolutely no help from me unless you’re buying this coffee. I have my principles.”

  “You’re tough. Okay, I’ll assume you know how to dig for the bits and pieces that could help both of us. To start with, I need to find out about the Jardin Café, something beyond public records, something beyond common knowledge.”

  “Ah, the Norma Martin angle, tell me more.”

  “Nope.”

  She struck a pose with one hand on her hip and stared at him.

  “You have to let me be a cop.”

  She shrugged and took a notebook from her purse. “It’s owned by MoonGlow Enterprises, a Delaware Partnership.”

  “Thanks a lot, but anyone can Google that.”

  “Well, they don’t make it easy to dig down to the true owners. I work with a gal at our firm in Philly who specializes in uncovering such information. That is I used to work with her, I might not have a job anymore. Anyway, I’ve already phoned and given her that business name. She’s checking it out. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Excellent. Can I ask something else of you? I’d prefer you not interview Towson’s seventh floor neighbor, at least not yet.”

  She wasn’t aware Towson had a seventh floor neighbor. She bluffed, "Well, I don’t know if I can promise that, why not?”

  “She’s old and deaf to start with, Mrs. Crawford. She witnessed people coming and going that day, and I don’t want to get her more confused than she already is. I’m afraid if you talk to her, later she might even identify you as the killer.”

  She didn’t laugh. “So, it was a woman she saw?”

  “Oh, you’re fast. Come on, I didn’t say that.”

  “It was on your mind. Admit it now. You’ve an unidentified woman on your mind, or you wouldn’t have put me in your little joke.”

  “Do you read tea leaves too?”

  “Yes, but I’m better at men. You realize, of course, that Mrs. Crawford will tell me things she’d never tell you.”

  “Perhaps you’re right but stay away for now. Maybe I can use that angle later.”

  “You mean maybe we can use that angle later.”

  “Don’t get presumptuous, Sandy. We aren’t working this case together. I’ll welcome your input as long as you don’t become a loose cannon. Do you know how far I’m sticking my neck out just talking with you? Moran would love to catch me smiling at you.”

  “You’re right. Go do you
r cop thing. Do I detect a hint of animosity between you and the state attorney?”

  “No secret there. He doesn’t much care for me either. Little Bonaparte is a tyrant with far too much power. In their Judicial District, state attorneys have tremendous control over life and liberty. The system is very efficient. Moran simply states what he wants and the judge gives it to him. No conflicts, and everyone but the defendant has a nice day.”

  “Great, the guy who has a noose around my brother’s neck is a bully and a jerk. I hope you don’t mean he’s crooked?”

  “The cold-blooded bastard would ignore evidence if he believed it would punch his ticket to Washington.” He appeared uncomfortable with the subject. He straightened and pushed away the empty mug. “Do you have anything else you’d like to share with me?”

  She had a wonderful punch line for that question. She put a napkin to her mouth to hide her smile. She cleared her throat. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. I went to the InnTowner. Loraine was definitely there. The maids said she was lounging around, wearing a thong, and flirting with Raymond. Personally, I find flirting while wearing a thong redundant.”

  “She already admitted to me she was there with Reid.”

  “Oh, good, but I’ll bet she didn’t tell you she wore a thong? What does that tell you? Does that fit in with her explanation for being there? Doesn't that indicate deviousness on her part?”

  “No comment. Were you able to establish when she left the motel?”

  “All I know is she left before the noon checkout time. Guess I’ve struck out again with useless information.”

  “Keep trying”

  “Okay, then tell me something about yourself,” she said. “Why does a nice person like you take a job frightening people and ordering them around?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “Geez, I’m not that bad.”

  “Are all Philadelphia girls as cocky as you?”

  “I usually get away with it.”

  “Well, in my case it’s in the genes. Dad was a cop, the best, he made police chief.”