Stuart Woods - Choke

“That’s what I don’t understand. I asked Tommy, but he didn’t say anything. He just told me to go home and not to leave town.”

“That’s good advice, the part about not leaving town,” the lawyer said. “I think Sculley believes you, and that’s why you weren’t arrested. I think that’s a very encouraging sign.”

“You really think so?”

“I can’t think of any other reason why you’re not in jail right now,” the lawyer said. “They’ve got motive, opportunity, and physical evidence. That could put you away, unless they have some other evidence that’s exculpatory. Are you aware of any evidence like that?”

“No,” Chuck replied.

“Then Sculley must believe you instead of Mrs. Carras. I just hope Sculley’s boss believes him.”

“Me, too.”

“You ever hear anything from that girlfriend of yours? What’s her name?…”

“Meg. No, I haven’t heard from her.”

“It sure wouldn’t hurt to have her back here telling what passed between you before you went out on the Carras boat.”

“I’ve no idea where she is; she’s been gone long enough to be almost anywhere by now.”

“Well, let’s hope she turns up soon. Chuck, you have a drink and get some rest. We’ll just handle this as it comes, okay?”

“Okay, and thanks.” Chuck hung up the phone and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He sat for a while, sipping his drink, staring into space, then he had an idea. He picked up the phone and dialed Billy Tubbs’s number.

“Hello?” his star student said.

“Hi, Billy, it’s Chuck; can I speak to your dad?”

“Sure, hang on.”

Chuck drummed his fingers on the saloon table, not wanting to do this, but unable to think of anything else.

“Hi, Chuck, it’s Norman Tubbs.”

“Norman, I wonder if I can ask a very large favor of you?”

“Chuck, after Billy’s performance in the Naples tournament, you can ask just about anything of me.”

Chuck took a deep breath and asked.

The following morning Chuck and Norman Tubbs sat in the Tubbs airplane at the end of the runway and waited for a clearance from the tower to take off.

“Where you want to go?” Norman asked.

“I want to fly, as low as you legally can, up one side of the Keys and down the other. I want to look at every anchorage between here and Key Largo.”

“You got it, Chuck,” Norman said.

“Nine, two, three, five, Delta, cleared for takeoff,” the tower controller said. “Say direction of flight.”

“Three, five, Delta,” Norman responded, “I’ll be doing some low-level sightseeing, once we’re past the naval air base.”

“Roger,” the tower said.

Norman pushed the throttles forward, and the little twin Cessna roared down the runway. He switched frequencies to ask the naval air station for clearance to cross their air space, and when he had, he pulled back on the throttle and descended to five hundred feet, then he put ten degrees of flaps in and dropped the landing gear. “That’ll get some drag out, keep us slow,” he said. “I don’t think we should get any lower than five hundred feet, unless there’s something specific you want to look at. What are we looking for, anyway?”

“A catamaran of about fifty feet, yellow hull, sloop rigged.”

“At anchor?”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

“This have anything to do with a girl?”

“Of course it does, Norman.”

They started up the east side of the Keys, and each time they came to an anchorage they circled, looking for the catamaran. It took them nearly two hours to reach Key Largo, and, after circling the marina there, they headed down the western side of the island chain. It went faster, now, because there were fewer boats on the western side, because the water was shallower, which wouldn’t matter much to a shallow-draft yacht such as a multihull.

They were nearly back to the naval air station on Boca Chica, having had no luck, when Chuck pointed east. “There, in the distance.”

“Way over yonder, under sail?”

“Can we take a look at her?”

Norman banked the airplane into a steep left turn and after he cleared the eastern shore, started a descent. “I’ll get you down good and low,” he said. A minute later he said, “There, we’re at about fifty feet. That do?”

“That’ll do fine,” Chuck said, keeping his eyes glued to the yacht. “Can you go any slower?”

“I’ll bring her back to ninety knots; that’s the best I can do without risking a stall, and I don’t want that at this altitude.”

The airplane’s flight became mushy, now, and Norman seemed to be making very large movements with the yoke to keep the airplane steady on course.

“Go astern of her,” Chuck said.

Norman made a correction.

Chuck watched as they neared the yacht. Her color was yellow, and she was sloop-rigged. In a moment he was sure it was the Haileys’ catamaran. “That’s the boat, Norman! Can you circle her?”

“Sure, but I’m going to put the gear up and gain some speed; I don’t want to dump us into the drink.” Norman banked the airplane to the right, and Chuck strained to see who was at the wheel. There was no one.

“She’s under self-steering,” Chuck said. “Can you make a low pass right over her cockpit? Let’s see if we can scare up somebody.”

Norman did as he was asked, and as they passed over the yacht, a woman’s head popped up through the hatch.

“There she is! It’s Meg!” Chuck shouted.

“Looks like she’s headed toward Little Palm Island,” Norman said. He maneuvered the airplane astern of the yacht and checked his heading. “Yeah, she’ll make it on this tack. There are always a few boats anchored inside Little Palm.”

Chuck winced as he remembered his night on Little Palm with Clare. He would never feel the same about the place again. “Okay, that’s it,” he said to Norman. “We can go home now.”

“Home it is,” Norman said. He switched to the Boca Chica frequency and announced his intentions.

Back on the ground, Chuck ran for a pay phone and called the club.

“Olde Island Racquet Club,” Merk’s voice said.

“Merk, it’s Chuck. I know I was supposed to be there in ten minutes, but something important’s come up. Can Victor take my lessons this morning-maybe this afternoon, too?”

“I’ll check,” Merk said, and there was the sound of rustling pages. “I’ll have to cancel at least two,” Merk said.

“Can you put somebody on the ball machine instead of a lesson?”

“Okay, I can put one of them on the machine. Maybe I’ll take the other one myself.”

“You’re a good guy, Merk; I’ll make it up to you.” Chuck hung up the phone and ran for his car.

He was nearly to the bridge to Stock Island and U.S. 1 before he remembered he’d been told not to leave town.

Tommy rang the bell. When Clare Carras came to the door, she no longer looked the grieving widow. She was dressed, if one could call it that, in the smallest excuse for a bikini he had ever seen. It was composed mostly of string, and it concealed so little as to be very nearly invisible. Her skin was rubbed with oil, and she positively glowed from the sun.

“Good morning, Mrs. Carras,” Tommy said, trying not to gulp.

“Good morning, Detective,” she replied. “What can I do for you?” She did not move to let him into the house.

“Mrs. Carras, it might be very useful to our investigation if you would give us permission to search your house.”

“Search my house?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. As I said, it would be helpful to our investigation if you would consent to a search.”