“Continue.”
“I know this is odd, but the man seems never to have had anything like gainful employment. Education: barely finished high school. After that he seems to have been a run-of-the-mill street-corner hustler — there and at pool halls. He has only one arrest, for running a three-card monte game on Fifth Avenue. Charges were dismissed when the arresting officer didn’t show in court.”
“God, I hope there’s something more interesting than this,” Stone said.
“It gets more interesting. He had a string of wins on the ponies, changed bookies by request, bought himself some clothes, and started pretending to be a gentleman. Apparently, he was good at it. He ran with an Upper East Side crowd for years, forming both brief and sometimes lengthy liaisons with fashionable women, some of whom must have been kicking in cash from time to time, because you can’t support a lifestyle betting on the ponies.
“His new bookie is Pino Pantero, out of Datilla the Hun by one of the Genoveses.”
“What does he owe Pino now?”
“Got a clean page, apparently. Nobody was looking to break his legs. He met a Roberta Calder, a top designer, about three years ago, and they married and cohabited until she locked him out late last year. At Christmastime, no less, so she had to be plenty pissed off.”
“Where does he live?”
“East Sixty-Sixth, near Third Avenue: a white-brick building from the Sixties. Not a bad address.”
“Has he ever harmed anybody, in any physical manner?”
“No, but he was slow to pay his restaurant accounts at times. Elaine threw him out, tore up his tab, and told him never to come back.”
“Elaine tore up a tab? I don’t believe it.”
“It must not have been much of a tab.” Blau closed the file.
“That’s it?”
“That’s all there is. What say we call it a grand even, all in, if you can do cash.”
Stone picked up the phone and said, “Bring me a thousand dollars in cash.” He hung up. “There was something you missed, Wedgie.”
“I’m telling you, there isn’t anything else.”
“Yes, there is. Hedger got himself capped last night around ten PM. Sitting in his car, one in the head.”
Blau’s jaw dropped. “I saw him in a car about ten o’clock. Not his car, he didn’t have one.”
“Where?”
“Driving down Second Avenue, in the Fifties. He stopped at a light while I was crossing.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“Nope.”
Joan came in and handed Stone an envelope. Stone handed it to Blau. “Mr. Blau will give you a receipt. Thanks, Wedgie.” He went back to his desk as Blau left.
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“I’ve got a sighting of Randall Hedger just before ten last night.”
“Tell me.”
“He stopped at a traffic light on Second Avenue, in the Fifties. Fellow I know was crossing the street and saw him, alone in his car, which my acquaintance says didn’t belong to him, because he didn’t own a car.”
“Who was this acquaintance?”
“One Werner Blau, aka Wedgie.”
“A P.I.?”
“Yep.”
“How do you know him?”
“Your wife’s guy recommended him. He was looking into Hedger’s background for me.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Almost nothing. Most interesting thing is, he did okay with the ponies.”
“As a kid, he had an arrest for three-card monte on Fifth Avenue, charges dropped, cop a no-show.”
“That Blau found,” Stone said. “Who belonged to the car he died in?”
“A woman named Estelle Parkinson, like the disease. Socialite, had a profitable divorce.”
“Anybody talk to her?”
“Nobody answered the door. They’re trying again this afternoon.”
“It sounds like whoever did this is going to get away with it. Anything in the way of forensics in the car?”
“Some makeup and ownership documents for the car in the glove compartment. She’d had it less than a month.”
“A Mercedes, wasn’t it?”
“An S550, the big one.”
“And now it’s an orphan.”
“Nah, it’s just in her estate.”
Stone heard somebody speak to Dino, then he covered the phone for a minute. Finally, he came back. “Breaking news,” he said. “Housekeeper found Estelle Parkinson dead in her apartment, blunt-force trauma. ME puts it between nine and ten last night.”
“Jesus. What delivered the blunt force?”
“Undetermined. It must be covered with blood, though. Nothing like that in the car with Hedger.”
“Fists?”
“I haven’t seen the report yet.”
“Be interesting if the ME had a look at Hedger’s paws.”
“I’ll let him know. He may not even have got to the autopsy yet. I’ll let you know. See ya.” Dino hung up.
Stone hung up, too, baffled.
35
Max and Tommy began the long, slow process of following every road that led to the sea on both sides of U.S. 1, between Key West and Marathon, driving south to north. This was a result of two factors: one, the lack of any calls requiring their attention, and two, desperation. They had nothing else to go on.
They started at eight AM, and by noon, they had reached Marathon, where they had lunch at a roadside joint before starting south.
“Well,” Tommy said, taking a sip of his soda, “I’ve seen more of the Keys this morning than I’ve seen in years of living here.”
“Me, too,” Max replied. “Let’s get started south. We’ll be home in time for you to eat Rosie’s supper.”
“She’ll like that,” Tommy said.
Two hours later they turned onto a paved street that soon became a dirt road, which ended in an open area at the end of a point of land that could be used as a landing strip. It was sheltered from the road by stunted trees, so they came upon it suddenly.
“This looks likely,” Tommy said. “Keep going, but slowly.”
Max pulled out into the area. Once past the trees, she could see that it was longer than wide, maybe 1,500 feet. “I don’t think Dixie would have any problem with setting down on something like this,” she said.
“Yeah, but what about taking off in an airplane with floats? He’d have a lot of drag to deal with.”
Max turned left and drove to the end of the field. “Look,” she said, pointing at the sea lapping against the land. “He could taxi right into the water here, then take off on the floats.”
“Let’s look at the other end,” Tommy said.
Max made a U-turn, having just enough room, and drove toward the northern end of the strip. As they approached the shoreline, the trees to their right gave way to a grassy area — some of which had been pressed down, making tracks. A silver Honda was parked at the rear of the area, hard against the trees. They got out of their car and walked around. Nothing inside.
“He would park the airplane here, then drive his car out to it, crank it up, taxi into the water, and have the whole Gulf of Mexico to take off. The airplane wouldn’t draw more than a few inches of water, so even a reef might not be an obstacle. Same thing for landing. He taxis out of the water and into this nook, making it invisible from shore.”
“He could even make it invisible from the air, if he spread camouflage netting over it. He’d have to fuel it somewhere, though.”
“He could bring a lot of jerry cans with him and use that,” Max said.
“That’s a lot of work, and a lot of time,” Tommy replied. “But fuel trucks have wheels and pumps; one could drive out here, pump it full, and drive away.”