Stuart Woods - Choke

“You’ve already been to the D.A.?”

“He’s read your report.”

“Chief…”

“Don’t make me tell you again, Tommy.”

They parked near the Overseas Market. A lurid sunset lit Key West Bight; music blared from an open waterfront bar along the way. It was a perfect Key West evening.

“I don’t want to do this,” Tommy said.

“I know you don’t, but believe me, when the old man says ‘Don’t make me tell you again,’ you better do what he says. He’s a nice guy, but he’s got a hell of a temper.”

They got out of the car and walked toward where Choke was moored.

“His car’s not in its usual spot,” Daryl said.

“I’ve begun to get the awful feeling that Chandler isn’t in his usual spot, either.” He looked at his watch. “It’s too late for tennis.”

They arrived at the boat and went aboard. It was locked up tight.

“They’ve got lights over at the tennis club,” Daryl said. “Maybe he’s got a night lesson.”

“Let’s find out,” Tommy replied.

They drove past the Olde Island Racquet Club, and the lights were out on the courts. They pulled into the parking lot.

“The yellow Porsche isn’t here,” Daryl said.

“I’m afraid I might know where it is,” Tommy said.

They cruised slowly through the airport parking lot; nothing there.

“There’s another lot down at the end of the terminal, next to Island City Air Service.”

“Let’s try it.”

The yellow Porsche was parked in the smaller lot, its top up, all buttoned down.

“I was afraid of this,” Tommy said.

“What now? An APB?”

“An APB where?” Tommy replied. “You fly from here to Miami or Orlando, and you’re connected to anywhere in the world. He could be halfway across the Atlantic by now.”

“I didn’t think he’d run,” Daryl said.

“Neither did I,” Tommy replied.

“Maybe the chief was right?”

“Even chiefs are right sometimes.”

“Somehow I don’t want to be the one to tell him that Chandler skipped.”

Tommy said nothing. He stared disconsolately out the window at the Porsche.

“There’s something I’d like to know,” Daryl said.

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to know where Clare Carras is right now.”

“You know something? So would I.”

They turned the corner into Dey Street. The Mercedes was parked in front, but the lights in the house were off. They found a parking spot a few doors down and walked back toward the house. When they reached the high fence around the Carras property, Tommy held out a hand and stopped Daryl, then put a finger to his lips and cupped a hand behind his ear. There was noise coming from behind the fence.

Tommy strained to hear. Then there was a splash and a girlish giggle, then a man’s voice, he was sure of it. “She’s got a guy in there,” he whispered to Daryl.

Daryl moved down the fence until he found a tiny crack. He motioned Tommy over.

Tommy put an eye to the crack. It was dark inside; the pool lights were off, but he was sure he could see more than one head bobbing in the pool, and the two heads were very close together.

“I want to know who that is,” he said to Daryl. “Come on.”

On the front steps Tommy paused. “You go around back, in case he skips.”

Daryl disappeared, and Tommy rang the bell. He could hear splashing from the pool, and after a moment he rang the bell again. Shortly a light came on in the downstairs hallway, and Clare Carras appeared at the door, dressed in a terry cloth robe. There was a trail of wet footprints on the polished floor behind her.

“Yes, Detective, what is it?”

“Ah, Mrs. Carras, I wonder if you’ve seen Chuck Chandler today.”

“No, I haven’t; I haven’t seen him since my husband was killed.”

“We’re unable to locate him.”

“You mean he’s left Key West? Why am I not surprised?”

“Mrs. Carras, would you mind telling me who was in the pool with you just now?”

“I was alone,” she said.

“Mrs. Carras, I was walking along the street next to your fence, and I heard two voices, one of them a man’s.”

“You’re mistaken, Detective,” she said evenly. “You may have heard the skimmer intake murmuring. It does that.”

“I see,” Tommy said. “Would you mind if I had a look at the pool area?”

“What is this about, Detective?”

“Would you mind, Mrs. Carras? I’ll only take a moment.”

“All right,” she said. “Come this way.”

She turned and walked down the hallway to the door leading to the pool, then outside. Tommy stayed right behind her. There was no one visible in the darkened pool area.

“Would you mind turning on some lights?” Tommy asked.

“All right,” she said, then disappeared into the house. A moment later, lights came on, including the pool lights.

Tommy walked to the other side of the pool. There was a large wet area where at least one person had climbed out of the pool, but there were no discernible footprints. He walked from the pool across the grass to the fence, but the grass was closely cut, and he couldn’t tell if anyone had walked across it.

Clare Carras was standing next to the pool when he turned around. “Are you quite happy now, Detective?”

“Thank you, ma’am; I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He began walking toward the house.

“Tell me, what did you hope to find out here?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am.”

“Suppose I had had a man here swimming with me; what would that have told you?”

Tommy looked at her, always easy to do, he thought. “I suppose I would have found it odd that a woman whose husband died last week was entertaining a man in her pool in the dark, dressed in…”

Her eyes never left his. She undid the belt of the robe and opened it wide.

“… a bikini,” he said.

She closed the robe. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but I’ve been quite alone all evening.”

Tommy apologized again and left.

“See anything?” he asked Daryl when they were back in the car.

“I got a glimpse of something that might have been a man. I ran down to the end of the alley, but it was a dead end. If he was there, then he had to vault a six-foot fence or two to get away.”

“Did you hear a man’s voice from the pool? Did you see a man through the crack?”

Daryl shook his head. “I’m not sure, Tommy, I’m really not.”

Bright and early the next morning, Tommy walked to the chief’s office and tapped on the door.

“Come.”

Tommy walked in. “Good morning, Chief. Got a minute?”

“Morning, Tommy; have a seat.”

Tommy sat down. “Thank you, sir.”

“So what did Chandler have to say for himself after he was arrested? Did he demand a lawyer?”

“We didn’t arrest him, sir; he seems to be out of town.”

The chief stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward on his elbows and spoke in a very quiet voice. “You mean Chandler has skipped?”

“No, sir, I don’t think he has. His car’s at the airport, and I don’t think he would have driven there if he was skipping. I think he would have left the car in his usual parking space at Key West Bight.”

“Have you checked at the tennis club where he works?” His voice was still low; the chief seemed to be trying hard to control himself.

“They don’t open until ten,” Tommy lied. “I wanted to report to you at the earliest moment-without waking you up, of course.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Tommy, because I don’t want to repeat myself. I want one of two things: I want Chandler in my lockup by noon, or I want your badge on my desk. Do you understand me?”