Stuart Woods - Choke

“Tommy,” Daryl said, “you’re more full of shit than anybody I ever met in my whole life.”

Tommy and Daryl stood on the steps of the Monroe County courthouse, where the county coroner had heard all the evidence at an inquest and declared Harry Carras dead of unknown causes. They watched Clare Carras walk toward her car.

“Tommy, are you absolutely sure I have no chance at all with a woman like that?” Daryl asked.

“Not unless you overpower her,” Tommy replied.

“It might be worth the effort.”

“Never work; she’s probably stronger than you.”

“So Carras is officially dead; what does that mean for Mrs. Carras?”

“It means she can get the will probated, and she’s a free woman, able to spend her husband’s wealth as she sees fit.”

“Excuse me, Detective Sculley?”

The two detectives turned to find a man standing behind them. He was solidly built and deeply tanned, with thick black hair. Tommy made him for Italian.

“Yeah?” Tommy said.

“My name is Barry Carman. I’m a private investigator; I wonder if I could have a word with you in private?”

“I’m pretty busy,” Tommy replied. “What’s this about?”

“About the Carras case,” Carman said.

Tommy pointed at his police car. “Step into my office,” he said. He opened the rear door and let Carman in, then he and Daryl got into the front seat.

“Okay, what?” Tommy said.

Carman opened a briefcase, extracted an eight-by-ten glossy black-and-white photograph, and handed it to Tommy. “Tell me if you’ve ever seen this man before.”

Tommy looked at the photograph. It was a head-and-shoulders shot of a smiling man who appeared to be in his early forties. He was overweight and had dark, very curly hair and thick sideburns. “No, who is he?”

“I think there’s just a chance he could be Harry Carras.”

Tommy looked at the photograph more closely. “How old is this picture?”

“It was taken in 1976; it’s extracted from a shot of a group of people at a dinner.”

“We’re talking plastic surgery here, right?”

“We would have to be talking plastic surgery, in addition to major weight loss, capped teeth and, of course, almost twenty years of aging.”

Tommy looked at the photograph again. “Who knows? It’s possible, I guess. What’s this guy’s name?”

“Rocco Marinello.”

Tommy and Daryl exchanged a glance. “And what’s the connection with Carras?”

“Marinello was a lawyer in L.A. Well, more than a lawyer, really, he was a kind of financial genius. He represented some clients of mine. Four years ago he decamped and left a note saying he’d gambled away his clients’ money and couldn’t face the music.”

“Was he married?”

“And had a son in college. He had put enough in the wife’s name to keep them both comfortable.”

“So why are you still looking for Marinello after so much time?”

“Let’s just say that my clients aren’t the sort of people to forget about him.”

“And who are your clients?”

“Business associates of Mr. Marinello’s; of course, I can’t reveal their identity.”

“Of course,” Tommy said. “Do your clients also have Italian names?”

“I can’t comment on that.”

“Pretty juicy assignment, huh?” Tommy said. “I mean, if you never find the guy you still get paid, right?”

“There’s a considerable bonus if I find him,” Carman replied.

“So what made you look in Key West, Mr. Carman?”

“I got a tip.”

Tommy’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? From who?”

“Anonymous. A woman’s voice, though. She said, ‘If you’re still looking for Rocco Marinello, try Harry Carras, in Key West.’”

“Not that Marinello was Carras?”

“That’s right, but I took her to mean they were one and the same.”

“What else did she say?”

“Nothing; she hung up.”

“What was the voice like?”

“Youngish, muffled; could have been anybody.”

Tommy nodded. “So what do you want from me, Mr. Carman?”

“I wondered if you knew anything about Carras that might make you think he was someone else?”

“I hardly knew the man,” Tommy replied.

Carman seemed to accept that. “What do you think the chances are of the body turning up?”

“Not great,” Tommy said. “The incident took place outside the reef, which means that Carras could be floating in Havana Harbor right now, or he could have caught the Gulf Stream and be on his way to Scotland, or something could have found him delicious.”

“Oh.” Carman looked crestfallen.

“Apart from this tip, do you have any evidence at all that Carras was Marinello?”

“None.”

“Did you ever see Carras?”

“Once.”

“Did you ever see Marinello?”

“No.”

“So you can’t make an ID?”

Carman shook his head. “All I have is the photograph, which is apparently the only one in existence. Marinello went through his house and destroyed everything that might have helped find him.”

“A thorough fellow, Mr. Marinello.”

“You better believe it. The guy seemed to just vanish off the face of the earth. He’d apparently been planning his move for some time.”

“Sounds like it. Are you any good at what you do, Mr. Carman?”

“I like to think so. Believe me, my clients wouldn’t have hired me if my reputation wasn’t solid gold. I’m ex-LAPD, twenty years on the job.”

“Are you the only PI they hired?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that they’d hired others, but I don’t know. My clients also have full-time employees who are good at finding people.”

“Be interesting to see if anybody else turns up in Key West,” Tommy said.

“Could happen,” Carman replied. “Tell me, do you know how long Carras and his wife were married?”

“Little more than a year, she says. If he was Marinello, he probably wouldn’t have told her, since he was such a careful man.”

“I agree,” Carman said. “I talked to her yesterday and drew a complete blank. I don’t think she had a clue what I was talking about.”

“Are you going to report all this to your clients?” Tommy asked.

“I haven’t decided.”

“You understand what might happen to Mrs. Carras if you do?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“Let me be straight with you, Mr. Carman,” Tommy said. “I don’t want somebody’s goons coming down here to my town and beating up on a citizen, you get my drift?”

“I do. I don’t think she knows anything about Marinello anyway.”

“That wouldn’t much matter to your clients, would it? I mean, they’re not likely to take her denials at face value, are they?”

Carman shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

“Let’s leave it at this, Mr. Carman: if I find out something that might connect Carras to Marinello, I’ll call you; you do the same for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Carman replied. “I don’t see much point in hanging around this tropical paradise any longer. I’m going back to L.A. Thanks for your help, Detective.” He stuck out his hand.

Tommy shook it, then let Carman out of the back of the car. The PI got onto a scooter and drove away.

Tommy got back in. “What do you think?” he asked Daryl.

“Well, we already knew Carras wasn’t Carras. He could be Marinello. Is Rock short for Rocco?”

“Could be; like in Rocky Graziano.”

“Then the book I saw at Carras’s house could be the connection Carman was looking for.”

“Could be, but as far as you and I are concerned, it’s moot. Carras is dead, and I’m not going to sic the mob on his widow, are you?”