Falafel Jones - Max Fried 02 - Payback's a Beach Read online

  Scott said to me. “You again? Now what?”

  The twitchy guy looked at his watch. “I burned half my break time and still haven’t had my first sip yet. Scottie, ring me up man.”

  I said, “Hi, Scott, you’ll never guess who we met appliance shopping. Well, she wasn’t shopping, we were. Actually, we were shopping but not for appliances.”

  Scott lifted a hand and slammed it down on the counter. “Enough,” he says in a loud voice. “What do you want?”

  The twitchy guy shrugged and said, “So much for anger management.”

  I said, “I thought you’d like to know that Kimberly confirmed your alibi. She said she was here between nine and ten Friday night.” I pointed to the table directly in front of the counter. “She said she spent an hour at that table with her laptop updating the Best Appliances website.”

  Twitchy guy started fishing in his pocket and pulled out some money. He said, “The smallest bill I got is a twenty. I’d leave it but I’m not paying no twenty bucks for a cup of coffee.”

  Scott ignored him and said to me, “So? I told you I was here. Now, do want to buy something or are you on your way out?”

  Twitchy said, “I’m getting desperate here now. Can I just walk out and pay you next time?”

  I said, “We’re on our way.” As I reached for the door I heard Twitchy say, “Man, some people are so damn rude.”

  Back in the car, Mariel held up the bag containing her empty coffee cup. “Still want to go to the police station?”

  “Yeah, but not yet. Kimberly said she was with Scott eight to ten working on his books in the back. I told Scott she said she was there nine to ten in the front working on her website. He didn’t dispute anything I said.”

  “So, you think her story is bogus?”

  “I think they’re both lying but I don’t know why. Let’s take another shot at Kimberly.”

  We drove back to Best Appliances but when we entered the store this time, Art, the salesman, ignored us. Mariel roamed between the tall refrigerators looking for Kimberly. I wandered around to the back of the store where I entered a hallway and saw an open door leading into an office. I peeked inside and saw Kimberly sitting at a desk facing away from me. I knocked on the doorframe and called out, “Kimberly?”

  She turned, saw me, and came out into the hall. She closed the door behind her and said. “You can’t be back here. This area is closed to customers.”

  Mariel finished roaming the store in search of Kimberly and joined us. I said, “That’s OK, I’m not a customer. I want to talk about Friday night.”

  “What about Friday night?”

  “We just visited Scott. You weren’t at his shop Friday night. Where were you?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you, especially about where I was.”

  I shrugged. “OK. We’re on our way to see Detective Torres about Scott. Torres can always follow up with you himself.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  That sounded to me like her resolve was starting to crumble so I stared at her and waited. Mariel placed a comforting hand on Kimberly’s back.

  Kimberly took a deep breath and said, “Oh, all right but you need to keep this quiet.”

  I said, “I’ll do what I can but if it’s relevant to Fisher’s death or Brenda’s disappearance…”

  Kimberly nodded. “I was in Miami Beach until 6:30 p.m. and it took me four hours to drive home.”

  “What were you doing in Miami Beach?”

  “I had a job interview. That’s why I couldn’t tell anyone. My parents would be very upset.”

  “Because you were leaving the family business? Lots of kids do that.”

  “No, because I’d be working for the competition. Big Box Appliances is opening a new branch office in Miami Beach and they need a district manager.”

  “That’s a big outfit.”

  “And their local store is our toughest competitor, but they can offer advancement opportunities way beyond what I could have if I stayed here. Please don’t tell my parents.”

  “They’ll find out eventually.”

  “Only if I get the job. If I don’t get it, I’d rather they didn’t know.”

  “Isn’t 6:30 kind of late for a job interview?”

  “I had a 4:00 appointment. It ran till five and then I had dinner until 6:30. Alone.”

  “Any proof?”

  “Wait a minute.” Kimberly went back into the office and returned with a charge slip for Fortellini’s, an Italian restaurant on Collin’s Avenue. The time stamp showed 6:34 pm.

  I returned her charge slip. “OK, Kimberly. If this is legit, we’ll keep quiet about it. Thanks for helping Brenda.”

  Back in the car, Mariel said, “So Kimberly couldn’t be the killer.”

  “Why? Because she has a restaurant receipt?”

  “Of course. You don’t think she forged it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t, but her producing a receipt doesn’t mean she’s the one who ate there. It could be a company card. If so, her mother, her dad, or even Art, the super salesman could have used it. Heck, if it was her card, she could have had a girlfriend use it to establish an alibi.”

  “So, how will you confirm it?”

  “I can’t. If I ask who interviewed her, Kimberly will shoot me down. Me asking about her would kill her job opportunity. Short of driving to Miami and hoping someone at the restaurant remembers her, there’s nothing I can do. It’s not worth driving there for such a long shot.” I put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot.

  We drove up Dixie Freeway to the police station and entered the lobby. Despite my repeated visits, the cop behind the thick glass stared at me waiting for me to announce my name.

  I said, “Mariel Fried for Detective Torres.”

  Even though the cop had to know that wasn’t my name, he picked up the phone, said something I couldn’t hear, and buzzed us in.

  I held the door for Mariel and she asked me, “How come you didn’t say your name?”

  Torres was waiting for us in the hallway. He must have heard her question because he answered, “Max wanted to make sure I’d let him in.”

  He stepped forward, hugged Mariel and asked, “How you been doing?” They met a while back when I worked my first case with Ed.

  Mariel returned his hug, smiled and stepped back but she held onto his forearms. “Great. You look well. How about you?”

  Torres smiled for maybe the third time I’ve ever seen him do that. “I’m good.” He turned and said, “C’mon.”

  We followed him down a hall and he asked, “Is this to do with Colletti? He just spent 15 minutes looking for your name on You Tube.”

  Mariel and I exchanged silent glances behind Torres’s back and I said, “No.”

  We turned into the break room and Mariel used a napkin to remove her empty coffee cup from a paper bag. Torres watched her place it on a table and he said, “Oh, we have some guest cups if you’d like but I can’t recommend our coffee.”

  I said, “This cup has fingerprints from Scott Barker and of course, Mariel.”

  “Who is Scott Barker?”

  “He owns the coffee shop, Thanx a latte.”

  “Why him?”

  “He’s Brenda McCarthy’s ex-boyfriend. He broke the window in her office when she dumped him and he fudged on his alibi.”

  Torres leaned back against the break room counter and crossed his arms. I wondered if he did that just to make his biceps bulge. “So, you think maybe he was on Fisher’s boat?”

  “You have a better suspect?”

  “You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

  Mariel said, “Would it be too much trouble to see if his prints are on the boat?”

  “Since not everybody’s in the system, we lifted a lot of unidentifiable prints. Matching against a known person might help.”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  “Sure, Ms. Fried, we can check it out for you. I’ll let you know.”

  B
ack in the car, Mariel said, “I don’t know why you always say Torres is difficult. I don’t find him that way at all.”

  I gripped the wheel tighter and drove.

  Mariel asked, “Where are we going?”

  “I’d like to ask around at the Co-op, see if anybody there can place Scott or Kimberly at the coffee shop Friday night.”

  “They work that late?”

  “Sometimes Brenda did. Besides, I have no other ideas. You?”

  “No.”

  I pulled into the Co-op parking lot and we walked to the front door. When I opened it, Bryan called out, “Wow, twice in one day. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were actually working.”

  “I am,” I said. “Do folks here know Scott and Kimberly?”

  “You mean Kimberly Best?”

  “Yeah, Brenda’s friend.”

  “Yeah, sure. They both came here to see Brenda plus Scott runs the closest coffee shop. We practically run on coffee here and no one likes to make it.”

  “Why don’t they like to make it?”

  Bryan leaned forward and said in a soft voice, “Too touchy. The women think it’s demeaning to make it for the guys. The guys are afraid to drink it if the women make it ‘cause they don’t want to offend them. Separate male and female coffeemakers is sexist. Leaving all the coffee making to the guys is, well, you can imagine how often the maker would get cleaned and how long the coffee would sit on the warmer.” Bryan sighed and shook his head. “Better to just go out and get it.”

  “Were you open late on Friday?”

  “Sure. Some of our clients can’t leave their businesses during the day so we often meet with them after dinner.”

  “Mind if we ask around? See if anyone saw Kimberly or Scott Friday night?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Mariel got up to start interviewing people when her phone rang. While she chatted on the phone, I talked with Bryan’s co-workers. Two worked at the Co-op Friday night but only one made a coffee run. Apparently, buying each other coffee was more egalitarian than brewing it.

  Mariel and I finished about the same time and met up at Bryan’s desk where we said goodbye.

  On our way to the car, she asked me, “Anybody see them?”

  “One of them saw Barker but no Kimberly sightings.”

  “Could she have been out of sight in the back?”

  “Could have been.” I indicated her cell phone. “Your Mom called?”

  “No, Detective Torres.”

  “Torres? Why’d he call you? How’d he get your number?”

  Mariel shrugged, “He’s a police detective. He knows my name and address. It doesn’t seem all that difficult for him to get my cell number.”

  She was right. It just bothered me that Torres called her instead of me. “What’d he want?”

  “He said they were only able to get one print from Barker on the cup and it wouldn’t help unless Barker left a print from that particular finger on the boat.”

  “So, it’s a dead end?”

  “No, Torres used that one print to search the database and found Barker’s other nine. They printed him when he applied for his concealed weapon carry permit. Max, he owns a gun.”

  “This is Florida. You and I are probably the only ones who don’t have a gun. So, they got something from the prints?”

  “No, none of the prints on the boat matched Barker’s.”

  “Oh, is that all he had to say?”

  “No,” she smiled. “He also said that if I was going to go around investigating, I should file for a class CC PI intern license or I could get into trouble.”

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “He said the only problem with getting a class CC was that I would need a class C private investigator licensee within 50 miles to mentor me.”

  “Hey, wait a minute, I’ve got a class C license, and we live together.”

  “That’s why I smiled. Torres said it was too bad there’s nobody qualified to mentor me.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  “Yes, it reminded me of something you’d say.”

  For the sake of continued marital bliss, I ignored her comment and asked, “You know what this means?”

  “What?”

  “Well, if Barker’s clean, maybe Kimberly wasn’t giving him an alibi. Maybe she was using him for hers.”

  “So you think that restaurant receipt is bogus? How are you going to sort that out?”

  “You asking as my wife or you asking as my class CC intern?”

  Mariel gave me the look.

  “OK, OK. Well, I don’t know but Scott’s a pretty big guy while Kimberly’s short and slim. Maybe the M.E. can tell us something about the killer?”

  “She’ll talk to you?”

  “Let’s find out.” I pulled over into a parking lot, took out my cell, and dialed.

  “This is Linda Forsythe.”

  “Hi, Ms. Forsythe, Max Fried. Do you have a moment?”

  “Oh, Mr. Fried. I’m glad you called. I felt bad about our last meeting.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I let my personal life get in the way. You know, my relationship with Ed. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no problem.”

  “Is he with you now?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  “I wonder if you’d be able to say anything about how tall Drew Fisher’s killer might have been.”

  “Will you be speaking with Ed today?”

  “I don’t expect to… but, you never know, why?”

  “Never mind, forget I asked.”

  “Do you have any indication of how tall Fisher’s killer was?”

  “Oh. Well, Fisher was a little over six feet tall and the forehead injury was more towards the front of his head than towards the top.”

  “So?”

  “Most likely, his assailant was shorter than he. Otherwise, the injury would be more towards the top of the head.”

  “How much shorter?”

  “Hmmm, probably a good six inches or more.”

  I thanked her and hung up. After I repeated the conversation for Mariel, she said, “Kimberly’s only a few inches taller than I am.”

  “So what do you figure? Five five? Five six?”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “I guess we can cross Barker off the list. I’d add Kimberly but I can’t imagine why she’d kill Drew.”

  “I hate to say this but Brenda’s about that height.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I pulled my car into our garage while Mariel entered the house to turn off the burglar alarm. When I came into the foyer, she said, “There’s a message.”

  I pressed the play button and listened while I hung up my car keys and took off my boat shoes.

  A recorded voice said, “My name is Detective Snyder. I’m with the East End New York Police Department. Please phone me as soon as you hear this.”

  I dialed the number he left with his message and I guessed he recognized my number on his caller ID.

  “This is Detective Snyder, East End Police. Commodore McCarthy?”

  “The commodore isn’t here right now. Perhaps I can help you?”

  “Well, the East End Yacht Club tells me McCarthy called and asked about Drew Fisher. I’d really like to speak with the commodore.”

  “Oh, I’m the one who called.”

  “You’re the commodore?”

  “No, I’m Max Fried. I phoned on the commodore’s behalf. He’s my client.”

  “What are you? His attorney?”

  “No, I’m a private investigator.”

  “So? You do background checks for the yacht club?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I need to locate Drew Fisher.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I can’t say. Do you know where he is?”

  “In the morgue.”

  “Fisher’s dead?”

  “If he wasn�
��t when he got there, he sure is now. They did an autopsy and the M.E. called it homicide.”

  “Damn. You know who’s working the case?”

  “Detectives Torres and Fitzpatrick, New Smyrna Beach PD, but you better talk to Torres first. He’s the senior man and he gets fussy if you don’t go through him first.”

  “Fussy?”

  “Yeah, tell you what, to smooth the way, just tell him that Max Fried sent you. He’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Yeah? Great. Thanks.”

  I hung up the phone and asked Mariel, “You hungry?”

  “I didn’t think so but now that you mention it, yes.”

  “I don’t feel much like cooking. Pizza?”

  She nodded. “With a Greek salad. I’ll call A Touch of Italy to deliver.”

  Ordinarily, I cooked and Mariel cleaned but our division of labor also had rules for take-out. She called for delivery and cleaned up afterward. I answered the door, paid and opened the wine.

  Mariel took the phone to make the call and I searched our wine rack for a Sangiovese. I found a bottle, pulled the cork, and poured two glasses. I brought the wine and two plates to the coffee table in front of the big screen TV in our living room, sat on the couch, and waited for the food to arrive.

  Just as Mariel finished with the restaurant, the phone rang while still in her hand.

  “Yes, just a moment please.”

  She handed me the phone. “Detective Snyder for you.”

  I took the phone. “Hello?”

  “Fried?”

  “Yup.”

  “Detective Snyder. I called Torres like you suggested.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I got bupkis. You know what that means? Bupkis?”

  “Yeah, nothing.”

  “I was doing great… until I mentioned your name but you knew that would happen didn’t you?”

  “Really? I’m hurt. I guess Leon and I aren’t as close as I thought we were.”

  “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You figured that if you burned my contact with Torres, I’d have to deal with you and trade what I know for what you know.”

  “Wow, never occurred to me but since you mentioned it, maybe we can help each other.”

  “Depends, whaddya got?”