Falafel Jones - Max Fried 02 - Payback's a Beach Page 2

  “I can’t do that.”

  “And I can’t delay a vigorous defense while you stack the deck against my client so that I have to play catch up.”

  Torres returned Ed’s court order and grabbed the rail again. “How’d you get this thing anyway?”

  “Detective, never underestimate the benefits of excelling at golf or the overconfidence of certain judges.”

  “This is bogus.”

  Ed held out his cell and asked, “Would you like to phone the judge and tell him that?”

  Torres released his death grip on the railing just long enough to wave off Ed’s offer and said, “If you’re coming on board, I’m staying. Someone has to keep an eye on you two.”

  I said, “We have no objection. This way, we’ll have somebody official to authenticate our findings.”

  Ed brushed past Torres and I followed. Blood had splattered the cockpit and dried. All of the storage doors were open and cabinet contents cluttered the deck. Somebody really wanted to find something. As I looked over the items at my feet, I realized none were covered with any blood. I pointed down. “Ed, it appears the search took place after the attack.”

  Ed tilted a box of emergency flares with his foot. There was dried blood underneath it. “Yeah, hmmm.”

  I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and opened the cabin door. I peered inside. A bunched up blanket lay on the bed but otherwise everything looked untouched, nothing out of place.

  Torres said, “We found one of Brenda’s earrings on the bed,” then he pointed to the mess on the deck, “but figure the conflict took place out here.”

  Ed asked, “How do you know it’s her earring?”

  “She had the other one on when we picked her up.”

  I closed the door and looked around the cockpit. A lot of blood covered the starboard wall and deck. On the port side of the boat, a pair of pole hooks held a black four-foot long gaff. Above the gaff a second pair of hooks held nothing. I looked on the deck for the missing pole but didn’t see it.

  “Ed.” I pointed to the empty hooks.

  Torres said, “Yeah. It’s missing. Probably a matching net. We think it’s the murder weapon and she, I mean the killer threw it overboard.”

  I picked up the gaff from the pole rack. “Pretty light. Aluminum?”

  Ed nodded. “Looks it. They’re usually that, fiberglass or bamboo.”

  I replaced the gaff on the hooks. “Do these float?”

  “Some do.” Ed shrugged, “Some don’t.”

  “How about this one?”

  “Even if does, it doesn’t mean the other pole can.”

  I pointed with my chin. “That’s a lot of blood for a strike with a short, light, hollow pole.”

  Ed bent over the blood and then looked up at Torres. “Did you match that footprint?”

  Torres said, “Look, McCarthy, I get it that your daughter was on this boat. You’re worried about what happened here, so I let you on but there are limits. I can’t have you interfering with –”

  A loud passing speedboat cut off his sentence. After the boat passed, Ed finished it for him. “An active investigation.”

  “I was going to say, ‘ongoing’ but you obviously get my point.”

  I pulled my camera from my cargo shorts and aimed it at the bloody footprint.

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Torres as he grabbed the camera from my hand. “The lawyers can spin things all they want in court but we’re going to have only one set of facts.”

  The wake from the speedboat hit the Amante and made her rock. All the color drained from Torres’s face. He shoved my camera into his pants pocket and ran for the water facing boat railing. As he leaned over the side, Ed photographed the footprint and the bloody, cluttered deck with his cell phone.

  After Torres recovered, he came back, and handed me my camera. “Put it away.”

  Ed displayed an evil grin and said to Torres, “When you leaned over the side, did you see somebody you knew?”

  Torres looked at Ed as if Ed were crazy. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Ed shrugged. “I thought I heard you calling out to someone named Ralph.”

  The boat swayed again as another wave hit the shore and Torres turned green. “You boys going to be much longer? I’ve got work to do.”

  “OK.” I said. “We’ve seen enough for now. When can we see the autopsy report?”

  “Not my table. Call the M.E.”

  Torres held out his hand towards the steps leading off the boat. “Gentlemen.”

  Back in Ed’s car, we saw Torres watching us from his cruiser and waiting. When Ed pulled out of his parking spot, Torres followed. When Ed slowed down, Torres slowed down. When Ed stopped a few feet down the road, Torres stopped too. Ed started up again and when we exited the Coast Guard compound, Torres followed us out.

  Ed drove about a mile south on Peninsula Avenue until we came to his house and pulled into his circular driveway. He stopped the car but when I reached for the door handle, he held up his hand. “Wait.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I waited and in the side view mirror, I saw Torres drive past. Ed said, “OK,” and drove back onto Peninsula Avenue heading north. When we got back to the gate at the Coast Guard station, Ed rolled down his window and asked the guard, “Senior Chief Forest on duty?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Please tell him Commodore McCarthy is here to see him.”

  The guard looked surprised but saluted and said, “Please wait here, sir.” Then he went back into the shack and picked up the phone.

  “Commodore?” I asked.

  “Yup, I’m the commodore of the Coronado Yacht Club. Forest is a member. He may run this place but there, I outrank him.”

  The guard emerged from the booth and pointed to a shoebox shaped, concrete block building flying an American flag. “You can park in front, sir. Someone will meet you.”

  When we emerged from the car, the building door opened and young uniformed woman stepped out. “Commodore?”

  Ed stuck out his chest and saluted. The woman suppressed a giggle. “This way please. The senior chief will see you now.”

  She led us down a hall into a large office. The senior chief had a beautiful view of Ponce Inlet and the lighthouse. She left us alone and a tall, slim man rose from behind a huge, wood desk. He indicated the woman who just left. “Chief O’Reilly’s been with the guard ten years now. Says this is the first time she’s ever met a commodore.”

  He and Ed shook hands and Forest looked Ed up and down. “I do like the uniform though, but then, I always liked khakis with a navy blue blazer.”

  Ed raised his hands in submission. “OK. OK. I just didn’t want the gate guard to know I’m a friend from the yacht club. Didn’t want to reflect poorly on you for getting what looked like a social call while on duty.”

  Forest sat behind his desk and gestured for us to sit. “Is that what this is?” He smiled, “Good, I was afraid my dues check bounced.”

  Ed said, “No, no” and nodded in my direction. “This is Max Fried, a private investigator looking into the death of that boater who washed up on the beach.”

  Forest frowned. “How can I help?”

  Ed said, “Well, the police say he owned the boat you’ve got tied up beyond the crime scene tape.”

  Forest said, “Yes, the Amante.” Then he looked at me. “The boater have a name?”

  Ed said, “The police say Drew Fisher owned the boat. We’ve already been aboard but we’d like to know more.”

  “Is Mr. Fried always this quiet when he investigates?”

  Ed lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “If only.”

  Forest said, “Mr. Fried, may I see some I.D. please?”

  I handed him my PI license. He placed it on the machine to his left, made a photocopy and returned it. “How can I help you?”

  I said, “We heard that one of your men was the first person to board the Amante. We’d like to talk with him.”

  “Seaman Gomez
, yes. I’m sorry. I can’t accommodate that request.”

  Ed asked, “Why not?”

  “Well, talking with you about public knowledge off the record is one thing and I’m glad to do it but Gomez may be called to testify in a criminal proceeding. I’d have to run your request past our legal counsel first. Past experience tells me they’ll say no.”

  I heard wood creak as Ed shifted his weight in his chair before he said, “Well, maybe I should follow procedures too, issue a subpoena and depose Gomez. Of course, then I’d have to question him on the record regarding his compliance with Coast Guard procedures. Then to follow up, I might have to question the procedures themselves…”

  Forest had a glum expression. He shook his head and then said, “If this is a social call, I’d hate to do business with you. If I let you talk to Gomez, will it be off the record?”

  I said, “Yes, we won’t even take notes. We just have some basic questions. We’re not looking to make any trouble.”

  Forest stared at Ed for a while and then reached for the phone on his desk. “O’Reilly, send in Seaman Gomez.”

  A voice came through the phone speaker. “He’s at sea now sir. Do you want me to radio him?”

  Forest shook his head and said, “No. No thank you.” Then he withdrew his hand from the phone and told Ed, “You can interview him when he returns at the end of his shift…” Forest looked at his watch, “in about five hours.”

  Ed said, “Thanks but no. I haven’t got that much time.”

  “You have a report on the boat?” I asked.

  “Sure.” Forest opened a drawer in his desk and removed a file.

  “Maybe that will do. How did you first learn of the vessel?”

  “We got a call from the 911 dispatcher about an obstruction to navigation. Then when we saw the blood, we called the police.”

  “Isn’t that unusual? I mean the call coming into the 911 center instead of coming to you over the marine radio?”

  Forest shrugged. “It happens. Some smaller vessels don’t have a radio or a boater can’t raise us or maybe they’re low on battery power so they use a cell phone.”

  “You know who made the call?”

  “No, but you should be able to get that from the 911 folks in the Sheriff’s office.”

  “What did you mean, ‘obstruction to navigation’?”

  “Best we can tell, the Amante was adrift near the entrance to the inlet just about the time the tide came in. Currents brought her into a navigation channel and she got in the way.

  “Anybody on board when you arrived?”

  “No, nobody.”

  Ed said, “I noticed the Amante has a radio equipped with a GPS device. Do you have the MMSI number?”

  Forest asked, “You mean the ID number for locating vessels in distress? Why do you want that?”

  I said, “We can use it to track where the boat’s been.”

  “Of course.” Forest ripped a page from a pad on his desk and copied something from the file. “Here.”

  I took the paper. “Did you find any floating debris? Perhaps an aluminum pole?”

  Forest looked through his file. “No. No debris. No floating poles. We also performed a standard underwater search. No weapons, No bodies.”

  I hit a dead end so I looked at Ed to see if he had any more questions. He gave me a blank stare so I stood and said, “Thank you, Senior Chief. We appreciate your help.”

  Forest stood and held out his hand. “I’d like to say it was my pleasure but…”

  We shook, said our goodbyes and left.

  Back in the car, I asked Ed. “You and Forest gonna be OK?”

  Ed stared off into space with his hands on the steering wheel. “Geez, dunno. I didn’t mean to push so hard. I don’t know what happened. I like Forest. Hope he doesn’t hold this against me.”

  I gave Ed a moment alone with his thoughts but when he continued to stare, I asked, “Where to now?”

  He shook his head and sighed. “People saw Brenda and Fisher together in a public place. The police found her earring on Fisher’s bed. Her clothes are bloody. She fled the scene and she has no alibi.”

  I gave him another moment to himself and then repeated my question.

  Ed slowly came back to life. He started the car. “M.E.‘s office.”

  We rode in silence and I tried to piece things together. “Ed, Brenda said the first thing she remembered was the police pounding on her door. How did she get home?”

  “She says she doesn’t know.”

  “How’d she get into her apartment?”

  “She had her keys and her purse, her wallet too. Everything was wet.”

  “With all they have against Brenda, why did Torres release her?”

  “He had enough probable cause for an arrest but not enough proof for a conviction.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t keep her and sweat her.”

  Ed turned to give me a look. “You kidding? With my local influence? I once ran for mayor here.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not like Torres to bend to political influence.”

  “No, it’s not. He leveraged me.”

  “Huh?”

  “He knew he couldn’t keep her, so he released her into my custody and made me promise to produce her when asked.”

  “That way, he either gets Brenda or he gets you.”

  “Yup.”

  “Someone must have known she was on that boat or the police wouldn’t have come for her.”

  “Yeah, but who?”

  “Maybe the person who made the 911 call?”

  “We need to hear that call.”

  “One of my Ham radio buddies is a 911 dispatcher.” I took out my cell phone. “He can’t talk because he’s working now but I can text him.”

  “Then what?”

  “After the M.E., I think we should take a look at Brenda’s footprint.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ed looked down at the young woman sitting behind a desk in the building lobby. “Hi, I’m Ed McCarthy. We’re here to see Linda Davis.”

  “Who?”

  “Linda Davis. She’s a Forensic Investigator with the M.E.‘s office.”

  “Oh, you mean Linda Forsythe.”

  “I do?”

  The woman leaned forward and mouthed words with exaggerated movements, “Divorced, very messy.” Then she shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Extramarital affair.”

  Ed started coughing. I thought he was going to choke but he recovered. “Um, yes. Linda Forsythe, please. I didn’t know she was married.”

  “Have a seat. Who should I say is here?”

  Ed said, “Tell her Max Fried would like to speak with her.”

  We sat in the row of chairs against the window and Ed stared off into space. I asked him, “Why didn’t you say Ed McCarthy wanted to see her?”

  Ed looked at me as if he didn’t know what to say. After a few moments of silence, he said something I couldn’t hear.

  “What?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  I was about to ask what he meant when Linda Forsythe appeared in the lobby so instead, I said, “Saved by the bell.”

  Ed said, “If only.”

  Forsythe saw us and waved us over to the door she held open. When we entered, she closed the door and smiled at Ed. He pressed his lips together. She stepped closer to him so they were toe to toe. “Ed,” she said.

  “Linda, you remember Max Fried?”

  Without taking her eyes off him, she said, “Do I know who freed what?”

  “Max Fried. He’s a private investigator.” When Forsythe didn’t respond, Ed said, “He’s standing right behind you.”

  She kept her ground but turned her head abruptly to look at me as if suddenly realizing she and Ed had company. Then she faced Ed and said, “Yes. Yes, of course, that poisoning, 13 months, 3 weeks, and 4 days ago, when I saw you last, before my divorce.”

  Ed tried to retreat but stepped back into a wall. “Um, we’re here to see an
autopsy report.”

  Linda walked behind her desk, sat down and became all business. “Which one?”

  I said, “Drew Fisher.”

  She thumbed through a pile of folders in a cabinet behind her desk. “White male, 28 years old, from East End, Long Island?”

  “Yes,” I answered. Ed collapsed into the chair furthest from Forsythe’s desk.

  Forsythe said, “The body had a lot of damage from the water and sharks so we’ve requested dental records for confirmation, but he’s the right height and build plus he had Fisher’s credit cards.”

  Ed seemed content to sit quietly so I asked, “What can you tell us about the COD and TOD?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  Ed rubbed both his thumbs along his forefingers. “Um… what do you want in exchange?”

  “Answers.”

  “Answers?”

  “Yes, you have questions. So do I.”

  “Um, O.K. Shoot.” Ed sat up straight as if to brace himself.

  “Why did you stop calling me?”

  “I was trying to reconcile with my ex-wife.”

  “Drowning around 9:30 pm-ish. Did you?”

  “Yes. Any other injuries?”

  “Deep laceration on the forehead, just below the hair line approximately one and a half inches above the left eyebrow. Did you really care for me or was I just a fling?””

  “I really cared. So the assailant was right handed?”

  “Looks that way. If you hadn’t gone back to your ex would you have kept seeing me?”

  “Yes, if you wanted to. What about the clothing?”

  “Tan cargo pants, boat shoes, well one boat shoe on the left foot, who knows where the other one is, no socks and a white golf shirt with an emblem. Blood on the shirt is consistent with the head wound. Why didn’t you call to say goodbye?”

  “I didn’t want to say goodbye. If things didn’t work out with my ex, I was hoping it might with you. What’s the emblem?”

  “Hmm, letters EEYC in gold thread over a white sailboat.” She looked up. “Mean anything to you?”

  “Of course you did. Was he —”

  Forsythe waved her hand side to side. “No, no, I mean does EEYC in gold thread over a white sailboat mean anything to you?”