Stuart Woods - Choke

“The one where you told her that we didn’t have enough physical evidence to arrest Chandler.”

“Oh, that one.”

“Yeah, that one. Why didn’t you bring it up?”

“Daryl, do you ever get the feeling that the chief has a limited capacity to digest information?”

“It never occurred to me.”

“Well, I got the distinct feeling that he was full up to the gills with theories and that he couldn’t absorb another one without exploding.”

“You could have a point,” Daryl said.

The two detectives sat on the dock next to Choke, waiting.

“What time do you think he’ll be home?” Daryl asked.

“Soon. I don’t want to embarrass him at the tennis club; it wouldn’t do his prospects of staying employed much good.”

“Yeah,” Daryl replied, nodding. “I guess that’s so.”

The yellow Porsche Speedster pulled into the parking lot, and Chuck Chandler got out of the car, locked it, and walked toward the boat.

Daryl reached into his pocket for the warrant.

“Put that away,” Tommy said.

“Tommy, you remember what the chief said?”

“Yeah, I remember. I just want to give Chuck the opportunity. It’ll look better in court for him.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Evening, gentlemen,” Chuck said.

“Evening, Chuck,” Tommy replied. “I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you have any objection to our searching your boat, your car, and your locker at the tennis club?”

“For what?”

“For evidence.”

Chuck thought for a minute. “Maybe I should ask my lawyer about that.”

“That’s your right, pal, but it’s not what I would do in your shoes.”

“Oh, what the hell, all right; I don’t have anything to hide.”

“Let’s go to it, then. If you’ll unlock the boat and stay on the afterdeck, we’ll make this as quick as possible.”

Chuck unlocked the hatch and sat down in a deck chair. “Go to it.”

The two detectives started in the forepeak of the boat and worked aft. They had only been at it for a few minutes when Daryl opened a locker and pulled out a twelve-gauge shotgun with a short barrel.

“Looks like a police weapon,” Tommy asked. He took the shotgun and went back to the afterdeck. “What’s this for, Chuck?”

“Pirates.”

“Come on.”

“I kid you not: pirates. There are people around who’ll come aboard your boat, kill you, and take everything you own. Most of the boat owners carry something. That one’s legal; it’s an eighteen-and-a-quarter-inch barrel.”

Tommy handed the weapon to Daryl. “Put it back, and let’s get to work.”

They began again, paying particular attention to the engine room and the bilges. When they’d finished they’d found nothing in the least suspicious. They went back on deck.

“You got a key to the tennis club?” Tommy asked Chuck.

“Yep.”

“Let’s take a drive over there.”

“Right.”

Chuck let them inside the clubhouse and opened his locker for them. “I’m afraid it’s mostly dirty laundry,” he said. “The hotel does it for us once a week.”

“That’s what’s here,” Daryl said.

“Okay,” Tommy agreed. “Let’s take a look at the car.”

They walked back to the parking lot to where the Porsche was parked under a lamp. Chuck unlocked both doors, and the detectives went to work. They found nothing inside the car or in the engine bay at the rear.

“Want to open the trunk for us, Chuck?” Tommy asked.

“Sure.” Chuck walked to the front of the rear-engine car and started looking for the right key, then stopped. “That’s funny,” he said.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s not locked, and I always keep it locked. The day I arrived in Key West some vandal broke off the antenna, so I haven’t been taking any chances on getting my spare stolen.”

“Let’s have a look,” Tommy said.

Chuck opened the trunk and stepped back.

Tommy and Daryl went to work.

“This is a pretty elaborate tool kit to have in a car, isn’t it?” Daryl asked, handing it to Chuck.

“When you drive a restored car, you have to be ready for anything. I wouldn’t trust it to just any mechanic; I’d rather fix it myself if it breaks.”

“Uh-oh,” Tommy said.

“What?” Daryl responded.

Tommy took a Kleenex from his pocket, reached under the spare tire, and came back with a piece of clear plastic hose around eighteen inches long.

“I’ve never seen that before in my life,” Chuck said.

“When was the last time you went into the trunk?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t know, a few days ago, maybe a week.”

Tommy held the hose up to the light and looked at it carefully. “Let’s all go down to the station house,” he said. “Chuck, you can follow us.”

“All right,” Chuck said.

It was quiet in the squad room when the three men walked in. “Daryl, you want to get a fingerprint kit?” he said.

“Sure, Tommy.” He came back a moment later with a briefcase.

“Dust it for me, will you? I don’t think you’re going to find anything, but dust it anyway.”

Daryl did as he was told. A couple of minutes later he said, “Nothing.”

“Nothing, right,” Tommy said. He handed Daryl a key. “Open our evidence locker and bring me the piece of tubing the Coast Guard found on the Carras boat.”

Daryl returned after a moment with the hose, still in a plastic bag.

Tommy wiped the fingerprint powder from the tubing found in Chuck’s car and laid the two pieces on his desk end to end. “Look what we got here,” he said. He pushed the two hoses together. “The original piece was cut in two, and the edges are jagged. They fit together perfectly.”

“Tommy,” Chuck said, “I swear to God, that hose is not mine. I don’t even have any on the boat right now.”

“Have a seat, Chuck,” Tommy said.

Chuck sat down. He looked frightened.

“You see how bad this looks,” Tommy said.

Chuck nodded. “The hose isn’t mine; I never saw it before.”

Tommy held up the two pieces. “Chuck, I’m telling you the truth, now; this could get you the death penalty if you’re not telling me the truth.”

“I swear to you, Tommy.”

“Chuck, this is the last chance you’re going to have to tell me anything you might have forgotten, anything you might have fudged on. The very last chance. Do you understand me?”

“I understand, Tommy, but I haven’t told you any lies.”

“You lied about the affair with Clare Carras.”

“Except that. I guess I thought I was protecting her.”

Tommy nodded. “Last chance, Chuck; I can ignore anything you might have been wrong on so far, but now I’ve got to have the truth.”

“You’ve already got the truth, Tommy.”

“I hope you’re right, Chuck,” Tommy said.

Chuck sat in the saloon of Choke and tried to figure out what was happening. He went to the little bar and poured himself a stiff bourbon, then sat down again and tossed back the drink. When his hands had stopped trembling he picked up the phone and dialed the number written on the card.

“Hello?” the lawyer said.

“It’s Chuck Chandler. You said I could call you at home.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“Tell me what’s happened, and I’ll see if I can help you understand it.”

Chuck told him about the search, about the matching length of hose found in his car.

“And it matched the piece from Carras’s boat?”

“Yes, exactly. I watched him put the two together. They fit.”

“Why didn’t Sculley arrest you?”