Stuart Woods - Choke

“Had he had a lot of experience with such transactions?”

Winfield looked at him sharply for a moment, then answered. “Yes,” he said.

“Can you think of anything else that might help me? Some personal characteristic to look out for? Some weakness?”

“Nothing I haven’t already told you. As for weaknesses, he always appeared not to have any. He was a very self-confident man.”

Tommy closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mr. Winfield. It’s unlikely you’ll hear from me directly again; if I learn anything I’ll communicate it to Ms. Cortez.”

Back in the car, Rita was the first to speak. “Did that help you any? Does Marin sound like your dead guy in Key West?”

Tommy shrugged. “Might be, might not. There are some similarities, but who knows?”

“Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Rita laughed ruefully. “The good ones have always got a plane to catch.”

On his first morning back in Key West Tommy picked up Daryl and headed for Dey Street, along the way explaining what he had learned in Los Angeles.

“Sounds to me like the guy could be Carras,” Daryl said, “but what are you going to talk to Clare about?”

“I thought I’d just mention some of this stuff and see how she reacts,” Tommy replied.

“Pull over a minute, Tommy.”

Tommy stopped the car. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, our experience so far with this lady is that she doesn’t give away much, at least she hasn’t so far. She didn’t bat an eye when we nearly caught her with the boyfriend, right?”

“Right.”

“So, you go and lay all this Marinello stuff on her, and she’ll just stare you down.”

“You got a point.”

“Also, she could bolt and leave us holding a very big bag.”

“Not without selling the house and the yacht, she won’t.”

“She might, if you scare her enough. Especially if she thinks the people in L.A. know who and where she is.”

Tommy thought it through. “You’re right; it’s not worth the risk. Maybe what we should do is to reassure her, make her more comfortable.”

“I like that better,” Daryl said.

“You’re wise beyond your years, kid.”

Clare Carras made a very good widow, Tommy thought. She seemed a little more demure today, more restrained, more dignified.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” she asked when she had arranged herself on a sofa.

“I just wanted to bring you up to date on our investigation, Mrs. Carras.”

“I would appreciate that,” she said.

“I know it won’t come as a surprise to you that we have concluded that your husband’s death could not have been an accident.”

“I should think not. Do you have a suspect?”

“We do. In spite of my initial reservations, I now believe that Chuck Chandler murdered your husband.”

She sighed. “I didn’t want to believe it myself,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’ve been drawn to that conclusion myself.” Her voice was full of regret.

Tommy was impressed by her performance. “He seems to be our best bet.”

“Have you arrested him yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the weight of evidence points to him; he certainly had a motive, and there is reason to believe he had the technical skills to accomplish it, but we don’t have any physical evidence to link him to the crime. The way things are, in a trial his lawyer would certainly try to implicate you in order to get him off.”

“Me?” She seemed astonished.

“Of course I don’t believe it, but a clever lawyer could hang a motive on you-to further your husband’s death in order to inherit his wealth-and opportunity-you were on the boat often enough. The mechanical skills involved are not that great.”

“I see,” she said.

Daryl was right: he couldn’t read what she was thinking. Still, he could make a wild guess.

They met behind a failed, boarded-up restaurant off Highway 1, near Islamorada. Clare meant to keep this short, but he was insistent. She had to administer a quick fellating before he was satisfied, and she used all her skills to bring him off quickly. When she was done, she started in quickly with her purpose, before he could recover himself and demand more.

“We’ve got a problem,” she said.

“What’s that? I thought everything was going smoothly now, with Carman out of the way.”

“That situation is resolved; you did good work, but we have another problem.”

“What is it?” he sighed, zipping up his trousers.

“The police believe Chuck killed Harry, but Sculley says he doesn’t have enough evidence to make it stick.”

“What else could he possibly need?”

“Something conclusive, something that would wrap up the whole thing.”

“Such as?”

“I was hoping you’d have a suggestion.”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“Maybe we should just arrange a suicide for him. You know, the weight of guilt was too much. Maybe he could blow his brains out in some secluded spot.”

He shook his head. “That might just make them even more suspicious of you.”

“You’re right, I guess. Sculley said that a good lawyer could make a case for me having a motive.”

“Not a doubt of it.”

“Then we have to arrange something else, some piece of physical evidence that the D.A. can hold up to a jury and say, ‘See, he did it, no doubt.’”

“That may be easier said than done.”

“Oh, you can handle it, sweetie,” she said, pinching his nipple.

Now he seemed impervious to her attentions, pushing her hand away.

“Why don’t we just leave things the way they are? Maybe they can’t convict Chandler, but they can’t get you for it, either, and they don’t have a clue about me. Just be patient, sell the house and the boat and let people know you’re leaving. Tell them you’re moving to New York or something. You could even contact a real estate agent up there, go up and look at some apartments. Then, when nobody’s worrying about you anymore, I’ll abandon ship and meet you someplace nice.”

“No, I don’t want this left unresolved. I want somebody convicted, and it’s going to have to be Chuck. Otherwise, the police might one day decide they have some more questions for me and come looking.”

“By that time you’ll have a new identity, we both will, and we’ll be long gone.”

“I just don’t want them looking for me, for any reason. I want this wrapped up tight. Come up with something.”

He sighed again. “All right, I’ll think on it.” He reached for her.

“No,” she said. “We can’t take a chance staying here any longer. I’ll go first; you wait.”

Grudgingly, he got out of the car and waved good-bye.

She pulled back onto the highway, looking around to be sure she hadn’t been followed. He’d come up with something, she was sure of it. In the meantime, she’d have to turn her own attention to the problem.

Chuck stepped out of the lawyer’s office into the sun, and he did not like the way he felt. He was in excellent health, an athlete, and he was accustomed to feeling perfectly well, but now there seemed to be a cold, solid object resting in his stomach, and his head hurt.

He had not liked what he heard from the lawyer. It was obvious, the man had said, that Chuck was the chief suspect, and he might look forward to being arrested in the near future. He had the lawyer’s card in his pocket, with instructions to make the first phone call to him when the ax fell. He had signed some papers that would make arranging bail easier, using his boat as collateral.