“So the shooter removed the window and popped him from outside?”
“From the azalea bed behind the house. We found some impressions, but nothing so good as to give us a usable footprint. He cleaned up his brass, too, though it was only one shell. Clean shot to the left temple.”
“Anybody hear a gunshot?”
“No, and it was dinnertime, so somebody in the neighborhood should have noticed. My guess is a silencer was used.”
“Any other evidence?”
“Some tire tracks at a lot next door that was otherwise pretty clean, since a bulldozer had scraped it for a building site. Pirelli 210 snow tires that can be driven year round—expensive. The nearest Mercedes dealer is the only place anywhere around here who stocks them.”
“Dan, this is a little off the wall, but we had a shooter like that in Key West who took a shot at somebody who was pretending to be Warren Keating’s son. Didn’t kill him, though; that’s another story. The shooter left town in a bright red Cessna 182, headed north. You might check the local airports for an airplane like that.” Dino gave him the tail number.
“Okay, I’ll get it on the radio.”
Dino gave him his cell number. “I’d appreciate hearing about anything else you come up with,” he said. “Did you ever know Tommy Sculley, from the NYPD?”
“Yeah, I talked to him a couple of times.”
“He’s the lead detective on the investigation down here, so you might coordinate with him.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Oh, by the way, did you find a slug?”
“We did, embedded in the drywall behind where Keating was sitting. It’s in Hartford for ballistics tests.”
“I’m sure Tommy would appreciate it if you faxed him the report for comparison.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Dan.” Dino hung up.
“It’s going to be from the same rifle,” Stone said. “The one in Vernon’s duffel.”
“You know what this sounds like?” Dino asked.
“What?”
“Sounds like the grandfather, Eli, hired somebody to off his son and his grandson, leaving him with all of the eight hundred million from the sale of the business.”
“That’s nice and symmetrical, but what would a guy in his eighties do with eight hundred million?”
“Maybe he just hated his son and grandson enough to want them not to get any of it. It would be interesting to know who the money goes to if Eli kicks off soon.”
“I’ll ask Eggers next time we talk. Call Tommy and tell him about this.”
Dino made the call while Stone listened in.
“That’s an interesting turn of events,” Tommy said.
“Tommy,” Stone broke in, “were there autopsy photographs taken of the corpse you thought was Charley Boggs?”
“Yeah, I’ve got ’em in my desk drawer.”
“See if there’s a knife wound to the left rib cage.”
Tommy took a moment. “No, nothing visible. Why do you ask?”
“The guy we thought was Evan Keating had a knife wound treated at Key West Hospital. Annika was his doctor, and she said he was clean-shaven.”
“So the real Charley Boggs had been knifed, as well as shot?”
“Something else: he paid his hospital bill with a black American Express card.”
“I’ve never seen one of those,” Tommy said.
“It’s their most elite card, limited to subscribers who spend a lot on their Amex cards.”
“So?”
“The card was in Evan Keating’s name. Do you think Evan Keating, during his identity swap with Charley Boggs, would loan Charley his credit card, one with no limit?”
“Well, let me put it this way,” Tommy said. “If you and I swapped identities and I had one of those black cards, I think I’d hang on to it.”
“So would I,” Dino said.
“So I take it you’re thinking that Charley Boggs might be Evan Keating instead of Charley Boggs?”
“It crossed my mind,” Stone said.
“Then why would he come in and confess to killing the real Charley Boggs, but say it was himself?”
“Because I told him that somebody might have put out a contract on him, and he apparently thought it was his father. Maybe he fi gured that if he was dead, his old man might save the money on the hit man.”
“That makes sense. Where is this guy now, do you know?”
“I do not. He checked out of this hotel three days ago.”
“So he had time to visit Connecticut?”
“I guess he did at that.”
Dino broke in and told Tommy about Dan Hotchkiss, and gave him his phone number. “Maybe you should consult with Dan,” Dino said.
“Consult I will,” Tommy said.
42
STONE AND DINO were about to leave the hotel when a call came in.
“Hello?” Stone said.
“Stone, it’s Chuck Chandler, at the tennis club.”
“Hey, Chuck.”
“I ran across something yesterday that might interest you.”
“What’s that?”
“My old boat, which now has no name.”
“Where did you see it?”
“Out at Fort Jefferson.”
“Where’s Fort Jefferson?”
“It’s at the very end of the Keys.”
“I thought Key West was the very end of the Keys.”
“No, they run out to the west from Key West for about sixty miles—small, uninhabited islands with no fresh water at all. There was a fort built out on the last one during the nineteenth century—that’s Fort Jefferson. It was used as a prison during and after the Civil War, and Dr. Samuel Mudd, who was imprisoned for sheltering John Wilkes Booth and setting his broken leg, was sent there, where he performed heroically during a yellow fever epidemic.”
“What’s out there now?”
“Just the old fort, nicely preserved. There’s no landing for a boat there, but you can swim ashore or take a dinghy in. The funny thing is that my old boat still had her dinghy aboard, and there was no one on her. We swam ashore and had a picnic in the fort, and there was no one else there.”
“Well, if one took one’s boat out there and abandoned it, how would one get back?” Stone asked.
“One would take another boat or a seaplane; those are the only choices. But why would anyone leave a very nice boat out there, where it might be broken into and plundered?”
“Good question,” Stone asked. “And where would one get hold of a seaplane?”
“There are a couple for charter at the airport.”
“Any idea how long the boat has been there?”
“I don’t know, but I saw her three days ago, taking on fuel in Key West Bight.”
“Any sign that the boat had been broken into?”
“Not that I could tell. I blew my horn a couple of times and tried to raise them on the radio, but no response.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Chuck.”
“You and Dino want some tennis?”
“I’m not sure how much longer we’re going to be in town, but if we stay on, I’ll call you.”
“Take care, then.”
Stone hung up. “Did you hear any of that?” he asked Dino.
“Enough to wonder if those two kids are dead on that boat,” Dino replied.
“Let’s find out,” Stone said. He called Tommy Sculley and told him Chuck’s story.
“I’ll call the airport and pick you up in fifteen minutes,” Tommy said.
THE HIRED SEAPLANE was an amphibian—it could land at the airport or on the water—and they were in the air within the hour. They flew west over the string of tiny islands, seeing only an occasional yacht anchored in the lee of one, its occupants picnicking or swimming. Stone, sitting in the copilot’s seat, spotted the outline of the fort in the distance, and as they grew closer, he could see a solitary boat anchored off the fort.