The whole thing was crazy. “Why the hell would I lie about it?” I asked. “And I tell you he was a seaman. Look, weren’t his papers in his gear at the hotel?”
“No. Just some new luggage, and new clothes. If he had any papers, they must have been on him when he was killed, and ditched along with the rest of his identification. We know he had a Pennsylvania driver’s license. That’s being checked out now. But let’s get back to the money.”
“Well, maybe he had a savings account somewhere. I’ll admit it doesn’t sound much like Keefer—”
“No. Listen. You docked here Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning you were both tied up in the US marshal’s office on that Baxter business. So it was Tuesday afternoon before you paid Keefer off. What time did he finally leave the boat?”
“Three p.m. Maybe a little later.”
“Well, there you are. If he sent somewhere for that much money, it’d have to come through a bank. And they were closed by then. But when he checked in at the Warwick, a little after four, he had the money with him. In cash.”
“It throws me,” I said. “I don’t know where he could have got it. But I do know he was a seaman. You can verify that with the US marshal’s office and the Coast Guard. He had to witness the log entries and sign the affidavits, so they’ve got a record of his papers.”
“We’re checking that,” Willetts cut in brusquely. “Look—could he have had that money on the boat all the time without you knowing it?”
“Of course.”
“How? It’s not a very big boat, and you were out there over two weeks.”
“Well, naturally I didn’t prowl through his personal gear. It could have been in the drawer under his bunk. But I still say he didn’t have it. I got to know him pretty well, and I don’t think he had any money at all.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons, at least. If he hadn’t been on his uppers, he wouldn’t even have considered working his way back to the States on a forty-foot ketch. Keefer was no small-boat man. He knew nothing about sail, and cared less. His idea of going to sea was eighteen knots, fresh-water showers, and overtime. So if he’d had any money he’d have bought a plane ticket—except that he’d have gone on another binge and spent it. When I met him, he didn’t have the price of a drink. And he needed one.”
“All right. So he left Panama flat broke, and got here with four thousand dollars. I can see I’m in the wrong racket. How much money did you have aboard?”
“About six hundred.”
“Then he must have clouted it from Baxter.”
I shook my head. “When Baxter died, I made an inventory of his personal effects, and entered it in the log. He had about a hundred and seventy dollars in his wallet. The marshal’s office has it, along with the rest of his gear, to be turned over to his next of kin.”
“Maybe Keefer beat you to it.”
“Baxter couldn’t have had that kind of money; it’s out of the question. He was about as schooner-rigged as Keefer.”
“Schooner-rigged?”
“Short of clothes and luggage. He didn’t talk about it, any more than he did anything else, but you could see he was down on his luck. And he was sailing up because he wanted to save the plane fare. But why is the money so important, even if we don’t know where Keefer got it? What’s it got to do with his being butchered and dumped in the bay?”
Before Willetts could reply, Ramirez appeared in the doorway. He motioned, and Willetts got up and went out. I could hear the murmur of their voices in the hall. I walked over to the window. A fly was buzzing with futile monotony against one of the dirty panes, and heat shimmered above the gravel of the roof next door. They seemed to know what they were talking about, so it must be true. And if you knew Keefer, it was in character—the big splash, the free-wheeling binge, even the wrecked Thunderbird—a thirty-eight-year-old adolescent with an unexpected fortune. But where had he got it? That was as baffling as the senseless brutality with which he’d been killed.
The two detectives came back and motioned for me to sit down. “All right,” Willetts said. “You saw him Thursday night. Where was this, and when?”
“Waterfront beer joint called the Domino,” I said. “It’s not far from the boatyard, up a couple of blocks and across the tracks. I think the time was around eleven-thirty. I’d been uptown to a movie, and was coming back to the yard. I stopped in for a beer before I went aboard. Keefer was there, with some girl he’d picked up.”
“Was there anybody with him besides the girl?”
“No.”
“Tell us just what happened.”
“The place was fairly crowded, but I found a stool at the bar. Just as I got my beer I looked around, and saw Keefer and the girl in a booth behind me. I walked over and spoke to him. He was pretty drunk, and the girl was about half-crocked herself, and they were arguing.”
“What was her name?”
“He didn’t introduce us. I just stayed for a moment and went back to the bar.”
“Describe her.”
“Brassy type. Thin blonde, in her early twenties. Dangly earrings, plucked eyebrows, too much mascara. I think she said she was a cashier in a restaurant. The bartender seemed to know her.”
“Did they leave first, or did you?”
“She left, alone. About ten minutes later. I don’t know what they were fighting about, but all of a sudden she got up, bawled him out, and left. Keefer came over to the bar then. He seemed to be relieved to get rid of her. We talked for a while. I asked him if he’d registered at the hiring hall for a job yet, and he said he had but shipping was slow. He wanted to know if I’d had any offers for the Topaz, and when I thought the yard would be finished with her.”
“Was he flashing money around?”
“Not unless it was before I got there. While we were sitting at the bar he ordered a round of drinks, but I wouldn’t let him pay, thinking he was about broke. When we finished them, he wanted to order more, but he’d had way too much. I tried to get him to eat something, but didn’t have much luck. This place is a sort of longshoremen’s hangout, and in the rear of it there’s a small lunch counter. I took him back and ordered him a hamburger and a cup of black coffee. He did drink the coffee—”
“Hold it a minute,” Willetts broke in. “Did he eat any of the hamburger at all?”
“About two bites. Why?”
They looked at each other, ignoring me. Ramirez turned to go out, but Willetts shook his head. “Wait a minute, Joe. Let’s get the rest of this story first, and you can ask the lieutenant for some help in checking it out.”
He turned back to me. “Did you and Keefer leave the bar together?”
“No. He left first. Right after he drank the coffee. He was weaving pretty badly, and I was afraid he’d pass out somewhere, so I tried to get him to let me call a cab to take him back to wherever he was staying, but he didn’t want one. When I insisted, he started to get nasty. Said he didn’t need any frilling nurse; he was holding his liquor when I was in diapers. He staggered on out. I finished my beer, and left about ten minutes later. I didn’t see him anywhere on the street.”
“Did anybody follow him out?”
“No-o. Not that I noticed.”
“And that would have been just a little before twelve?”
I thought about it. “Yes. As a matter of fact, the four-to-midnight watchman had just been relieved when I came in the gate at the boatyard, and was still there, talking to the other one.”
“And they saw you, I suppose?”