Stuart Woods - Choke

“It was interesting,” Tommy said.

“Interesting?” the chief asked, and his face began to redden. “You’ve just been off on a department-paid junket to Hollywood, and it was only interesting? You’d better do better than that, boy.”

“Oh, I learned quite a lot, Chief.”

“Good. Tell me.”

Tommy gave his boss a blow-by-blow on his trip to L.A., omitting his breaking and entering of Carman’s office.

The chief blinked. “So? What does all this have to do with the murder of Harry Carras?”

“There’s a pretty good chance that Carras was Marinello-or Marin, as he liked to be called.”

“Great. How does that solve his murder?”

“It doesn’t exactly solve it, but it certainly widens the pool of suspects to include the L.A. branch of the mob, whose money he stole.”

“If Carras was Marinwhatshisname.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How does that help us?”

“Well, if we can establish that Carras was Marinello, then it’s the mob, not Chuck Chandler or Clare Carras, who becomes the chief suspect, and that means we just might not solve this one. Those boys don’t leave a lot of tracks.”

The chief began blinking rapidly. “Are you trying to confuse me, Sculley?”

“No, sir; I’m just laying it out for you.”

“Laying what out for me? Try as I might, I can’t digest all this into a coherent theory of who the perpetrator is.”

“I understand, Chief, and it’s my first priority to bring some coherence to this case. Believe me, I’m working on it full time.”

“Do I understand that you are relieved that there might be a Mafia connection to this murder?”

“Only to the extent that, if true, it would absolve two local citizens, Mr. Chandler and Mrs. Carras.”

“Absolve? ” the chief blurted. “We’re not out to absolve anybody. We’re supposed to arrest somebody.”

“I understand, Chief.”

“I wish I did, Tommy. Now come on, I want you to give me-right now-your best theory for who committed this murder.”

“My best theory?”

“Don’t you even have one?”

“Yes, sir, but I can’t back it up yet.”

“Forget backing it up, for the moment. Just tell me what you think!”

“All right, sir.” Tommy rearranged himself in his seat. “I think that Harry Carras was murdered by Clare Carras and an unknown man.”

“Tell me why you believe that.”

“It involves believing the story Chuck Chandler told me. If you accept his version of the events on the boat that day, then it has to be Clare.”

“Explain.”

“Chandler said he was in the engine room for less than ten minutes that day. That’s not enough time for him to sufficiently contaminate the tanks, even if the engine had been running, which it wasn’t. He also told us that Harry chose the red tank-the one that was the most contaminated-and that Clare said that Harry always used the red tank, and she used the yellow tank, which left the blue, least contaminated tank for Chuck to use. Chuck, if you believe his story, didn’t know any of this until Clare explained it to him. So Harry gets hooked up to the red tank and swims away before Chuck is ready to follow him. When Chuck does follow, Clare hangs back; even Clare doesn’t dispute this point. So Harry chokes on the fumes and expires. Chuck, whose tank is less contaminated, makes it back to the boat, where he finds Clare hanging on to the diving platform and puking.” He stopped talking and sat back in his chair.

“So? Go on.”

“Clare has all the necessary knowledge to set this up. She knows which tank Harry uses and which one Chuck is going to use. She hangs on to the boat, breathes from her tank until she gets nauseous, so she’s puking when Chuck gets back. And Chuck, the putz, doesn’t have a clue.”

“Why do you think there’s another man involved?”

“Because I don’t think Clare is grease monkey enough to pull this off alone. But she does know everything necessary to help somebody else pull it off.”

“Who’s the other man? And why is it a man?”

“The answer to your first question is, I don’t know-yet. The answer to your second question is that Clare Carras doesn’t strike me as the type to want to share Harry’s money with a woman. The lady is a human black widow spider. It’s what she does best.” Tommy suddenly sat up in his seat, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he said softly.

“What?” demanded the chief.

“What, Tommy?” Daryl asked.

“She’s going to kill him.”

“Kill who?” Daryl asked.

“The other guy.”

“The one we don’t know about?” the chief asked.

“Right. She’s going to kill him as sure as we’re sitting here.”

“But why?” Daryl asked. “She thinks she’s gotten away with it, so she and the boyfriend can sail off into the sunset.”

“She doesn’t need him anymore,” Tommy said. “She’s suckered in some poor schmuck to do the dirty work for her, to kill Harry and almost certainly Carman, and now she’s going to blow him off-and when this lady blows you off you end up dead.”

“Maybe she’s in love with him,” Daryl said.

Tommy shook his head. “This lady doesn’t love anybody but herself, and anyway, who on this island could possibly fill her bill for a partner to share Harry’s dough with? I mean, if Clark Gable was still alive, he might last a year or two before she sucked him dry and left him dangling in the web, but there’s no guy between here and Miami she’d even be seen with. She’s young, she’s gorgeous, she’s very rich, and she can have her pick of men. Nope, our Key West schmuck is practically dead, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

“So why hasn’t she already killed him, then?” the chief demanded.

“Because we haven’t nailed her patsy, Chuck Chandler. The minute she thinks we’ve got enough evidence to convict Chuck, the other schmuck’s dead. What further use is he to her? And he’s the only one who can involve her in Harry’s murder.”

“Okay,” the chief said, “that’s a good theory if you buy Chandler’s version of what happened. What’s your theory if he’s lying and Mrs. Carras is telling the truth?”

Tommy shrugged. “That would cast a different light on things, I guess. In that case, Chandler would look real good for the murder.”

“Have you searched Chandler’s residence for evidence?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because, like I said, I believe the guy, and I don’t think we’d find anything. We haven’t searched the Carras place, either.”

“Tommy,” the chief said, “I want you to type out a request for a warrant, take it over to the courthouse, and find Judge Potter. The chief shook his head. “I’ve given you all the room to swing that I’m going to. Now, I want you to get that warrant and conduct that search without delay. Do you understand me?”

“Chief, I don’t even need a warrant. Chandler would let me search if I asked him.”

“Don’t ask him. If he says no, then while you’re getting the warrant he could dispose of any evidence. Go get the warrant and conduct the search. Is that clear? Then, if you don’t find anything, we’ll think about searching the Carras house.”

“Yes, Chief,” Tommy said wearily. He got up and walked out of the office with Daryl tagging along behind.

They were on the way to the courthouse with the warrant request before Daryl said a word.

“Tommy, why didn’t you tell the chief about your conversation with Clare Carras?”

“Which conversation is that?”