Stuart Woods: Choke

“Then what happened?”

“I said I would get some money, and I started toward the desk.”

“He let you get up?”

“I pretended that I was trying to be helpful. I reached the desk and got the pistol and pointed it at him. He held out his hand and said give it to him, and he started toward me, and I think I shot him twice.”

“Where did you learn to use a gun?” Tommy asked.

“Harry taught me,” she said.

“The gun is a nine-millimeter automatic. Was there a shell already in the chamber? Was the hammer back?”

She rubbed her forehead with a hand. Her face was starting to discolor now. “I… I’m not sure; I don’t remember.”

“Did the man mention the name Marinello or Marin?”

“I told you before, I’ve never heard either of those names before.”

“You shot the big man twice, right in the middle of the chest, tight grouping,” Tommy said. “That means you know how to shoot and where to shoot. Why did you shoot the younger man in the crotch?”

“I’m afraid it’s all a blur,” she said. “I just pointed and pulled the trigger. I don’t feel I really had much effect on where the bullets went.”

The lawyer spoke up. “Do you have anything else of substance to ask, Detective?”

“I think that’ll be all,” Tommy said. He, the chief, and Daryl all stood as Clare got up and was escorted back to her bedroom by the lawyer.

A criminalist from the crime scene team came out the back door. He walked over to the table and placed a zippered plastic bag containing a number of items on the table. “This is all they had,” he said. “Neither of them had any of the usual things you’d expect a person to be carrying. Neither had a wallet. Each of them had one credit card; the big one’s said Mark N. Jefferson, and the younger one’s said John H. Williamson.”

“They’re stolen, you can bet on that,” Tommy said.

“The big one had a handkerchief, dirty; they both had sunglasses.”

“Oh, there’s a Lincoln Town Car out on the street that’ll have their luggage in it,” Tommy said. “But I don’t think you’re going to find any ID. Let’s just run the credit cards and run their prints and see what we come up with.”

The chief nodded to the man. “Let’s get it done. Is the ME ready to move the bodies?”

“Yes, sir; it’s being done now.”

“Get on with it, then.”

The three men sat back down at the table.

“I didn’t think she’d give you anything else,” the chief said.

“Neither did I,” Tommy replied.

Tommy waited until late that night before making two phone calls. He found the home telephone number of Barton Winfield, the Los Angeles lawyer, and dialed it. He figured it would be about dinnertime in L.A.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Winfield?”

“Yes?”

“This is Detective Sculley of the Key West Police Department, do you remember me? You and I and Rita Cortez had a meeting a while back.”

“Yes, I remember you. Why are you calling me at this hour?”

“I told you I’d let you know if I learned anything else about the Marin/Marinello incident.”

“Yes? What have you learned?”

“I’ve learned all sorts of things about you and your business connections,” Tommy said, “and I’ve turned over what I know to the Organized Crime Division of the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“What?”

This was a lie, but he wanted to make the man sweat. “I expect you’ll be hearing from them in due course,” Tommy said. “You’ll be hearing from me again in due course, too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“When you put your two thugs on to Rita Cortez, you made a very big mistake, Mr. Winfield, if that is your name. You made an even bigger mistake when you let them hurt her. I’m going to see that you pay for that.”

“Now, listen here,” Winfield began.

“Your two hoods are dead, pal, and I’m going to see that they’re traced back to you.”

“Dead? I mean, I don’t have the slightest…”

“She took them both out, like a pro. You’re going to have to send better talent next time.”

“Detective, this conversation is over,” Winfield sputtered.

“It ain’t over ‘til it’s over,” Tommy said, then hung up.

He had one more call to make; he dialed Clare Carras’s number.

“Hello?”

“It’s Tommy Sculley, Clare.”

“My lawyer says I’m not to talk to you anymore,” she said.

“You don’t have to say a word; just listen.”

She was silent for a moment. “All right, I’m listening.”

“I know what happened at your house this morning, and I know why it happened. I know that you murdered Harry, and that you had help. I know you’re responsible, somehow, for your ex-husband’s death, too.”

“Can you prove any of this?” she asked.

“I don’t have to, not anymore. When you killed Harry, Clare, you grabbed a tiger by the tail, and you can’t let go now. The people Harry stole the money from know he’s dead, and they know you’ve got the money. And, as I think was demonstrated this morning, they know exactly where to find you. Now you can only do two things: you can run, and if you do I’ll be on you like a pack of bloodhounds; or you can come in from the cold and try to cut a deal. I’ll work with you on that, Clare. It’s your last, best chance, believe me. If you don’t play ball, you’ll have me nipping at your ass, and the colleagues of the two men you killed this morning will be waiting for you at every turn.

“You’re not Harry, remember; you don’t know how to disappear and make money disappear. Without Merk’s help, you’re alone now, and you’re in way over your head. I’ve already seen to it that the dead men’s friends in L.A. know what happened. All I have to do now is wait. You got that?”

There was a brief silence, then Clare hung up.

Tommy called Daryl on his portable. “Hey,” he said.

“What’s up?”

“She knows the worst now; she’ll probably bolt. You stick to her, you hear?”

“Like a limpet.”

“Good kid. See you in the morning.”

Tommy turned in, snuggled up to Rosie, and slept like a baby.

Clare Carras moved at a little after 6:00 A.M. Daryl sat straight up in his car and watched her open the trunk to the Mercedes and toss in a small piece of luggage, then get into the car and back out of the driveway. Daryl waited until she was around the corner, then started his car and drove after her. He picked up his portable phone and started to call Tommy, then thought better of it. This might be a false alarm, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

She turned onto Roosevelt Boulevard and headed toward the end of the island and U.S. 1, but to his surprise, she turned into a large shopping center and went into an all-night supermarket. He parked at the other end of the lot and watched the Mercedes.

Twenty minutes passed, then Clare came out of the market pushing a shopping cart laden with grocery bags. An awful lot of groceries for one woman living alone, Daryl thought. She loaded the groceries into the trunk and returned the cart to the store, then got in and drove back toward Roosevelt. Rush hour traffic, such as it was in Key West, was beginning, and she had to wait for nearly a minute before she could turn left across traffic and onto the Boulevard. Daryl had to wait, too.

Finally, he was able to accelerate through a left turn, ending up in the right-hand lane. He figured she would take a right on Palm Avenue and cross Garrison Bight Bridge on her way home. There were at least fifteen cars between Daryl and the Mercedes now, and he kept an eye on the bridge to his right, waiting to pick her up after her turn. But she never appeared.