Stuart Woods - Choke

“Relax, we’re not looking for weed.”

The boy looked relieved. “I don’t use the stuff myself.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “What’s it like around here at night?”

“Pretty quiet.” The boy pointed at a sign. “We don’t have no liveaboards. Mostly we got private fishing boats and that kind of thing.”

“Any boats missing from the marina this morning?”

“Three or four have gone out since I been here; I came on at nine.”

“I mean, any boats missing, like stolen?”

“Funny you should mention that,” the kid replied. “A guy complained that a little Whaler and outboard was gone; looks like it was stolen.”

“Any idea what time?”

“It was here when I closed up at seven last night, and it was gone this morning when I got here.”

“You get many transients in here?” Daryl asked.

“Nah, they go to the other marinas where they got fuel, water, power, like that. All we got is slips.”

“So everybody here is a local?”

“Pretty much; I don’t know any boats that ain’t.”

Tommy pointed at the black scooter. “You see that come in here?”

“Nope, it wasn’t here last night, but it was here this morning.”

“You know the guy who drives it?”

“Never seen it before today; most of ‘em’s red around here.”

From the car there came the squawk of the radio.

“I’ll get it,” Daryl said, and trotted toward the car.

Tommy gave the boy his card. “Call us if you talk to anybody who saw that scooter arrive, will you?”

“Sure,” the boy said, and stuffed the card into a pocket of his cutoffs.

Tommy arrived back at the car in time to hear Daryl sign off. “What’s up?” he asked.

“The Coast Guard picked up a body out near the reef. White male, six feet, one-seventy, brown hair, nude.”

Tommy sighed. “Let’s go take a look at him,” he said.

Tommy and Daryl arrived at the morgue just as the medical examiner was about to begin his postmortem examination. The man was standing next to the body, gowned, with a large scalpel in his hand.

“Doctor,” Tommy said, “I don’t mean to trespass on your turf, but do you mind if I look him over for a minute before you cut?”

The ME stepped back. “Help yourself,” he said. “You fellows want some coffee?”

Daryl was staring at the white, swollen corpse that had been Merk Connor. He shook his head.

“No thanks,” Tommy said. “You have some, though.”

The doctor stepped a few paces away, poured himself a cup, picked up a pair of surgical gloves, came back to the table, and handed them to Tommy.

“Thanks,” Tommy said, pulling on the thin gloves. He began with the hands.

“I’d like to know what you’re looking for,” Daryl said. “Might come in handy sometime.”

“Just logical stuff.” Tommy lifted the right hand. “There’s no bruising to the knuckles or fingers; no broken fingernails.” He looked up at the doctor. “Got some gloves for my friend here?”

“Sure.” The doctor tossed Daryl the gloves.

“You take the other side,” Tommy said. “Check the hand.”

Daryl picked up the left hand gingerly and peered at it. “Same over here,” he said.

“So he didn’t put up a fight. Now let’s check for puncture marks at vulnerable places, like around the heart.” Tommy stretched the waterswollen skin. “We’re looking for something not too obvious, like an icepick wound.” He checked the throat as well, then he went down the body, looking for other evidence. “Help me turn him over,” he said to Daryl.

The two men gently turned the body until it was facedown, and Tommy repeated his close examination. He stopped at the back of the neck. “Look what we got here,” he said.

Daryl and the doctor stepped forward to see.

“We got-what would you call that, Doc, massive bruising?”

“That’s close enough,” the doctor said.

“At the base of the skull,” Tommy continued. “Okay, somebody tapped him one with something heavy, but not hard-not hard enough to break the skin, anyway.” He was parting the hair on the back of the head. “Yeah, the bruising is confined to an area about, what, two and a half inches?”

“What sort of object are you talking about?” the doctor asked.

“Classically, a blackjack, but this is a little large for that. It was just something heavy, like a large wrench or a piece of pipe, probably wrapped in cloth. I’ll bet you’ll find some fibers there on closer examination.”

“Very good, Detective.”

“Okay, that does it for me, Doc; let’s turn him over again, Daryl, so the pro can get at him with the knife.” The two detectives rearranged the body for the doctor. “All yours, Doc.”

“Before I get started, why don’t you give me your best guess, Detective?” the doctor asked.

“Okay,” Tommy said. “We know he was alive around, what, midnight, Daryl?”

“That was the last time I saw him.”

“So the time of death would range from the early hours of the morning until, well, before dawn. My guess, from the condition of the body, is he wasn’t alive much more than an hour after he was hit on the back of the head. He was lured to the marina, slugged, undressed, taken out near the reef, and dumped. Cause of death, drowning, following trauma to the head. Oh, and he was probably highly intoxicated.”

The doctor’s eyebrows went up. “Why do you say that?”

“Because whoever killed him wanted us to think that he got drunk, went for a boat ride, and got himself drowned.”

“Well,” the doctor said, “I don’t get much in the way of murder around here, and when I do, it’s a straightforward gunshot or knife wound. I might have missed the bruising at the back of the head. It probably would have worked if you hadn’t been here to educate me.”

Tommy shrugged.

An assistant came into the room. “Here’s the blood alcohol,” he said, handing the doctor a slip of paper. “It’s off the scale.”

The doctor looked at the document. “Point four three; point one zero is legally intoxicated. If somebody hadn’t hit him, he’d have passed out anyway.” The doctor retrieved his large scalpel, inserted it at the point of the chin, and sliced down the body to the pubic hair, then opened the stomach, and the smell of sweet alcohol filled the air.

“Rum,” Tommy said.

Daryl stepped away from the table, his hand over his mouth.

“Well, I think we’ve got all we need, Doc. I’ll look forward to your full report.” He placed a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Come on, kid; let’s get out of here.”

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Daryl said when they were back in the car. “That move with the knife, all the way down his…” He put his hand over his mouth again.

“Yeah, that’s always the first cut,” Tommy said. “Take some deep breaths.” He put the car in gear and drove away.

“Where we going?” Daryl asked when he had recovered himself.

“Let’s go talk to Chuck and Victor,” Tommy said.

“Why them?”

“Because they’re all we’ve got. I’m Clare’s alibi, so she didn’t do it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, your brain will start working again in a minute.”

Tommy found Chuck, Victor, and Meg in the clubhouse, counting socks, shorts, shirts and tennis racquets.

“Chuck, we need to talk to you and Victor separately. Daryl, you talk to Chuck; Victor, you come with me.” Tommy led Victor outside and pointed at a courtside chair. “Sit,” he said.

“What’s going on, Tommy?”

“It’s time you and I had a real serious talk, Victor.”

“Shoot.”

“You were here all day yesterday, is that right?”