"C'mon in, parrothead," Steve rasped as Sheriff Willis Rask poked his nose through the curtain.
"Jimmy B. says howdy. Wow, you look like shit."
"Thanks, Willis. Why don't you clear everybody out of here so we can talk?"
Rask shooed out the others, pulled up a chair, and Steve told him everything that had happened since showing up at Paradise Key that morning. The chariot ride, the reef, Fowles' story about sneaking aboard the Force Majeure, fighting with Stubbs over the speargun, the spear firing, and finally the attack by Conklin in a Cigarette with flame decals.
"It matches up," Rask said. "One body's Chester Lee Conklin. Body parts of the guy in the wet suit are a little harder to ID, but from what you say, it's got to be Fowles."
"What about the Cigarette? Who owned it?"
"Registered to a shell company in the Bahamas. We're trying to track it back, see who pays the annual fees."
"Find anything on the boat?"
"You mean what's left of it? Coast Guard's still sifting through the debris. We did find Conklin's Harley, though. At a marina on Lower Matecumbe."
Steve propped himself up on the pillow. "You inventory the saddlebag? Interview people at the marina? Find out where Conklin was staying?"
"I dunno, Steve. I'm not supposed to share investigative materials with civilians. Especially defense lawyers."
"Give. Or I'll tell the mayor you're still growing pot in your backyard."
"Hell, so's he." He scratched at his mustache. "Nothing but a carton of Marlboros and a traffic ticket in the saddlebag."
"Ticket for what?"
"Expired tag, is all."
"What aren't you telling me, Willis?"
"Nothing I can make heads or tails of. The ticket was issued in Jacksonville. Ten days ago."
Jacksonville? You couldn't get any farther away and still be in Florida.
"Long ride," Steve said. "Any idea what Conklin was doing up there?"
Rask shrugged. "Could have been visiting friends or family. 'Course, it's not like Miami." Rask hummed a little of "Everybody's Got a Cousin in Miami."
Sure, Conklin could have been visiting or vacationing or bodysurfing. But he might also have been working for whoever hired him to run Steve off the road and threaten Victoria. Steve asked for the address where the ticket was issued, and Rask gave him a block on St. Johns Riverway Drive. Then Steve told him about Fowles signing a confession on a magnetic slate, now lost at the bottom of the sea.
"Wait a sec, Steve. What confession? You said Stubbs got shot accidentally, struggling over the speargun."
"He did. But Fowles took moral responsibility."
Rask tugged at an earlobe. "That muddies the water a bit."
"The truth often does."
"Fowles say who he was working for?"
Steve shook his head, a painful movement. "Only that Conklin worked for him, too. They were supposed to force Stubbs to take their boss's offer of a million bucks. Toss him overboard if he turned them down."
Rask lowered his voice. "I like the confession. And I'll find out who their boss was. But now that I think about it, I can't have you telling the Grand Jury the shooting was an accident."
"Why not?"
"Because if you do, I'll never nail the boss for conspiracy to kill Stubbs."
"So you want me to lie under oath?"
"Just smudge the fine print a bit. Say Fowles admitted killing Stubbs on someone's orders. I'll provide the someone as soon as I have it."
"Aw, jeez, Willis. I bend the rules here and there, but you're asking me to commit perjury."
"Sometimes you gotta break the law to do justice, Solomon. Didn't anybody ever teach you that?"
Only my father, Steve thought, sinking back into his pillow.
Ten minutes after Rask left, a nurse came by to tell Steve they were releasing him: "But don't be a stranger, hear?"
A moment later, the curtain parted and Junior Griffin poked his head inside. He wore denim cutoffs, a muscle tee, and even through the curtains Steve could see the entire contingent of nurses staring at him.
"Steve, I came as soon as I heard."
"Thanks, Junior. C'mon in before the nurses drool all over the bedpans."
Junior sat on the edge of Steve's bed. "I just spoke to Tori. She's worried to death. Says to please call her."
One positive development today, at least.
"I brought you something to wear." Junior handed over some faded jeans and a polo shirt. "If there's anything I can do…"
"My car's at Paradise Key," Steve said.
Junior offered to drive Steve there; he could use the cell to call Victoria and his father and Bobby; there'd be a hot meal waiting if he wanted it; and wasn't it a shame about Clive Fowles?
"I owe you an apology, Junior."
"What for?"
"For accusing you of killing Stubbs."
"It's okay. Didn't bother me."
"I'm usually pretty sharp about things like that, but with you…"
"It got personal. I know."
"Well, I'm sorry about it."
"Like I said, everything's cool." Junior flashed that cover-boy smile. "I was crowding your turf with Tori." He shrugged in a way that tossed a lock of blond hair across his eyes. "It wouldn't have worked out with her and me, anyway."
What's this? Is he throwing in the towel?
"I need someone who'll travel with me. Follow the sun. Hit the dive spots in the summer, the ski resorts in the winter. Tori really enjoys her work, wants to be the best lawyer in town. Hard for me to relate to, but that's cool. We'll always be buds, but we're just very different. Now, you two. ."
Steve laughed. "Yeah, like flint and steel."
"Sparks are good, right? She really loves you."
He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was a given. Like any idiot could see it.
"She told you…?"
"No offense, Steve, but I know a little more about women than you do. And I know Tori loves you."
Okay. Two positive events today.
Steve's headache seemed to fade away as he pulled on Junior's polo shirt, not even minding it was two sizes too big.
SOLOMON'S LAWS
12. When a man and woman are in total sync- thinking each other's thoughts, making each other laugh, bringing each other joy-they've hit the sweet spot, and just being together is
. . almost as good as sex.
Fifty
"Does it hurt?"
"Only when I look at the hospital bill."
They were in Victoria's hotel room, Steve propped up on her bed. Bobby sat at the worktable, bent over his laptop. It was dark out, and the Jimmy Buffett cover band churned out tunes on the patio.
Victoria kept refilling bags of ice for Steve's neck and taking his temperature, though she wasn't sure exactly why. Despite his brush with death, Steve seemed oddly at peace.
If only I could keep him on codeine and Demerol, we'd get along a lot better.
"You can stay here tonight," she said.
"Here?" Steve patted the comforter on the king-size bed.
"The adjoining room. The Queen's gone back to Miami."
At his computer, Bobby laughed. "I knew you weren't getting any trim tonight, Uncle Steve."
"Get back to work, kiddo," Steve said, "or I'll report you as a habitual truant."
"You're the one who'll go to jail," Bobby shot back. "What's it called, Victoria?"
"Contributing to the delinquency of a minor," she said.
"The kid was already a delinquent when he moved in," Steve defended himself.