Cold Case Killer Page 3

  I could think of no reasonable response. “Maybe that person walking Scot-free is a she. You don’t know it’s a man.” I remembered the breathy voice on the phone.

  “He or she, that person’s still walking free. Maybe right in Key West. That thought scares the bejabbers out of me.”

  Maxine’s voice took on a hollow, frightened quality that made me wonder if she had received a warning message, too. And perhaps a phone threat. I wanted to ask her, but I felt wary of hearing her answer. Nor did I want to tell her about my threats. If I learned that we’d both received threats, it’d be harder for me to refuse her request for help. Yet, I wondered what help I could offer. I didn’t want to build up her hopes.

  “I’ve read about Randy’s case, his arrest, his imprisonment, but many of the details have slipped from my memory.”

  “They’re still very fresh in mine, Keely. And in my Randy’s. You willing to listen to them? You got time to hear me out?”

  “You’ve traded me an hour’s cleaning for an hour’s massage. I can listen while I work. If you want to talk about your son, I’ll listen, but I still can’t promise you help.”

  Maxine squirmed into a more comfortable position. “Back in the 1980s Randy worked as a diver for treasure salvor Mel Fisher. You’ve heard of him, right?”

  “Everyone in Key West hears a lot about Mel Fisher. Guess every boy who could swim and dive wanted to dive for him. Wanted to help find the sunken galleon Atocha. Punt’s dad, Beau Ashford, was one of those boys. Punt, Jass, his twin sister, and I were high school friends and because of that, Beau and his first wife were my mentors for many years after the death of my mother. If it hadn’t been for Mel Fisher’s generosity to Beau and the Ashfords’ generosity to me, I might never have been able to open this business.”

  It embarrassed me to realize that I’d been doing much more talking than Maxine. I hushed and listened for whatever might come next.

  “My Randy was one of Mel Fisher’s Atocha divers. In those days Mel had little money to pay the boys. He managed to feed them, and he housed some of them in an Old Town apartment so crowded they had to sleep in shifts. Dive. Sleep. Dive. Sleep. That formed their routine. My Randy had it a little better than most. He could sleep at home and that’s what he did on most nights.

  “In his time off, Randy dated Dyanne Darby, a waitress at Sloppy Joe’s who lived in an upstairs apartment near the bar. When my Randy went to call for Dyanne one Christmas Eve, he found her lying dead with blood all around her.”

  I said nothing, but I empathized with anyone unlucky enough to find a corpse.

  “My Randy, he rushed to her to see if he could help her, to see if she might still be alive. But no. She lay dead. Randy called the police for help. But instead of helping, they arrested him. Although he shouted that he was innocent, he faced a murder trial. People presented lies against him. They lied. And I think some jury members were prejudiced against him right from the git-go.”

  “Why would they be prejudiced?” I asked.

  Maxine cleared her throat, then cleared it again. “My Randy had two or three arrests on his record. Minor things like shoplifting. Traffic problems. Nothing major.”

  “So he had a rap sheet.” Criminals—the underbelly of society.

  “That shouldn’t have mattered in his murder trial. And to make matters even worse, each day’s court happenings made national headlines. The bigwig judge turned into a grandstander. He enjoyed playing Mr. Important while he heard the jury verdict and then sent my Randy to prison.”

  “Randy’s lawyer didn’t appeal his case?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, he appealed, but it did no good. I think he had a bad lawyer—a what-do-I-care lawyer. I couldn’t afford to hire no lawyer for him, so the court appointed one. Not top-notch in his field. A low-notch lawyer. That’s my opinion. Top-notchy lawyers had so many clients they didn’t have to depend on court appointments for a living.”

  I agreed with Maxine’s assessment of court-appointed lawyers, but just then my office door burst open and Consuela flounced inside interrupting Maxine’s story as well as her appointment. Her intrusion spared me from having to voice my opinion on court-appointed lawyers.

  Today Consuela wore a bright purple sarong, five-inch heels, and a hibiscus tucked behind her ear peeked through the flow of her dark hair. Consuela’s a wannabe writer, and her present state of excitement made me wonder if she’d finally found a publisher willing to publish her Spanish-First-Language book for children.

  “Keely! Keely! I have good news for both of us.”

  Consuela’s appearance seldom meant good news for anyone, but I smiled at her.

  “What’s up, Consuela?”

  FOUR

  Consuela stood close to my front window, and I knew she hoped passers-by would look inside and admire her as they would an exotic picture. She misses few chances to seek the limelight, and her actions made it clear that she thought nothing of interrupting me or my client in the middle of a treatment.

  “I have the name of a new client for you—Ace Grovello.” She did a turn in front of the window and waved at a friend passing by. “Perhaps you already know him?”

  “No. I’ve never heard that name before. Tourist or local?”

  “Local. And he’s my new boyfriend.”

  “So what else is new? I mean you have a new boyfriend every few days.” I stepped back to Maxine and continued her massage.

  Consuela’s gaze followed me and she scowled when she stepped closer. “Maxine! I didn’t know you were Keely’s client. I suppose you think I’ve been two-timing Randy.”

  “Randy don’t blab to me about no girlfriends,” Maxine said.

  “Well, Randy and I have been dating—quite a few times, but that doesn’t make him my significant other. We aren’t in a serious relationship or anything like that. I have every right to date Ace or Gus or any man I choose to date whenever I choose to do so.”

  “Consuela, you have an appointment with me at ten.” I glanced at my watch. “How about leaving Maxine and me alone now and telling me your big news when you return? This’s Maxine’s first appointment and I guaranteed her privacy.”

  “You’re telling me, Consuela, that I’m intruding?” She took up her stance by the window once more, and I wondered if she intended to spend the morning posing there.

  “Please don’t get bent out of shape, Consuela, but we can talk about your big news later. I’m dying to hear more.”

  “Well, I don’t want you to die, so I’ll tell you right now as I intended to do all along. Is okay with you, Maxine?”

  Without waiting for Maxine’s response, Consuela continued. “Keely, we have a deal, you know?

  “Refresh my mind, please.”

  “You know perfectly well what deal! You promised me a free treatment for every new customer I bring in who signs up for your introductory six-week series. Today I give you the name of Ace Grovello, my new friend. If Randy had told me his mama was interested in reflexology, I could have recommend her and earned a second freebie.”

  “Please, Consuela.” I nodded toward the door. “If Ace Grovello comes in asking for treatments, I’ll give you credit—as promised.”

  Consuela walked to my desk and helped herself to some brochures before she flounced from my office, slamming the door as she left.

  “I apologize for the intrusion, Maxine. Guess I should have locked the door, but few people barge in unannounced.”

  Maxine chuckled and wiggled her toes. “No problem. No problem at all. In fact I’m interested in my Randy’s friends. He doesn’t talk much about his comings and goings. Like to know who he’s hanging out with. What’s Consuela’s last name?”

  “Nobody knows. She keeps it a deep secret—says really famous people don’t need last names. Then she cites Cher and Madonna. And Boy George.”

  “Well, I hope my Randy don’t go ga-ga over Consuela. He may fall like a ton of squid for the first woman who smiles at him. My Randy, he’s had enough of being
treated like pond scum. Wish I could warn him that Consuela has lots of fish in her sea.”

  “Don’t see how you can do that without letting him know you’ve talked to her. Has Randy found a job yet?”

  “He’s looking. But no luck yet.”

  “Maybe you could give him some of your extra clients. Cleaning is an equal-opportunity job. Would he consider cleaning houses?”

  “He might, I suppose. But who’s going to want an ex-con roaming their home? Any little thing gets lost, he the first one they call a thief.”

  “What about the hotels? They’re always advertising for cleaning people. I see Help Wanted signs in lots of windows.”

  “Same problem. What hotel wants an ex-con on the premises? Any little thing go wrong and my Randy, he’d be blamed. Anyway, I couldn’t recommend hotel cleaning to him when I refuse hotel work myself.”

  “Maybe you could take on a hotel job and then after a few days, a week or so, pass it on to Randy. Think that might work? If he really needs a job, he can’t be as picky as you are.”

  “No, that won’t never work. I don’t talk to hotel people. Don’t want any of ’em thinking I’m even slightly interested in their offers. I’m not into cleaning up broken furniture and spring-breaker vomit in rooms that have held eight or ten kids besides the one or two who rented it. No way.”

  “I can’t fault you for that.” I sighed. “So you’re Randy’s sole support?”

  “So far that’s true. Last week he did win some money up on Ramrod Key. Boondocks, the tiki bar, has a mechanical-bull game on some nights. Last Wednesday they offered a prize to the guy who could stick on that bull the longest. Randy won. One hundred dollars. Not much, for sure. He gave most of it to me for groceries, but he held a little back for marijuana.”

  I wondered why Maxine was telling me this. “He’s a user?”

  “Afraid so”

  “A dealer?”

  Maxine hesitated. “Not a dealer. At least not yet. I hope he’ll never deal drugs, but the temptation must be great. Read the papers. Headlines tell everyone there’s big bucks in dealing.”

  “Big money, and sometimes death—if the deal goes wrong.”

  Maxine lay quiet and silent. Neither of us said more about drugs or drug dealing. I usually give a short first treatment, hoping the client won’t be worn out and will want to return. Now I raised the chair to its upright position, and brought Maxine’s shoes and stockings to her.

  “Well, what do you think, Maxine? Are you willing to book another appointment for next week?”

  I thought she might say no. I saw our work exchange deal flying out the window, but she surprised me. She paced across my office. She peered behind the privacy screen and into my apartment that she cleaned on a weekly basis. Then she stopped and faced me head on, meeting my eyes with her direct gaze.

  “I received a warning note this morning, Keely.”

  For a few moments I could only hear the humming of the refrigerator.

  “What sort of warning?”

  I forced calmness and a casual tone. I needed to keep her talking. I wasn’t sure I wanted to reveal my own note and phone call just yet. I really wanted Punt’s advice before I talked about the warnings to anyone.

  “The note, it almost scared me from leaving my house today.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her bloomer pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me. I read words almost identical in meaning to those in the note I’d received.

  NOSE INTO THE RANDY JACKSON CASE AND YOU DIE.

  I wanted to tell her about my note, but for some reason I held back.

  “And this morning I also received a threatening phone call, Keely. Man? Woman? I couldn’t tell. I’m guessing a woman. Don’t know why. Guess it just sounded like a woman, maybe a woman with a head cold.”

  “What are you going to do about the warnings? Have you reported them to the police?”

  “No police. Not yet. I don’t know what best to do. Again—another reason I’m asking you for help.”

  “Who helped get Randy released from prison? He had to have had assistance from somewhere. Maybe those same people could help you now or at least offer you some advice.”

  “The preacher man, Reverend Soto, visits prisoners from Key West. He’s a real do-gooder. He’s the one who suspected someone had framed my Randy. That preacher, he talked to important bigwigs at the courthouse, and he persuaded them to reopen my Randy’s case. What could my Randy have done from a prison cell? Not much, that’s for sure. His efforts would have amounted to nothin’.”

  “I read about the use of DNA evidence.”

  “Right!” Maxine’s gold tooth glinted as she smiled. “My Randy, he’d been locked away years before law men began using the DNA thing to catch crooks. Reverend Soto, he raised a DNA stink until authorities reopened Randy’s case and used the DNA stuff.”

  I couldn’t imagine the dignified Reverend Soto raising any kind of a stink, but I didn’t argue the point. “And someone listened to him.”

  “Right. Someone listened. About that same time a college class in Illinois began raising a ruckus and proving that innocent victims in Illinois were doing prison time. Those college kids, law students the papers said, were helping get innocent guys set free. That’s what Reverend Soto hoped would happen in my Randy’s case.”

  “And it did.”

  “Yes. Finally. It took months. Reverend Soto prodded Attorney Shelley Hubble from the Hubble and Hubble Law Firm to bust her ass in Randy’s behalf—pro bono. That means for free, Keely. Someone had raped Dyanne Darby. Shelley Hubble helped prove that the DNA samples taken from inside Dyanne’s body did not match Randy’s DNA. Randy got Dyanne’s blood on hisself when he tried to help her, when he tried to tell if she might still be alive.”

  Maxine had been talking so fast I held up my hand like a traffic cop to slow her down. Her agitation hit a nerve in my brain. I knew I had to share my morning warnings with her, to let her know she wasn’t alone. Or maybe I needed to let myself know I wasn’t alone.

  “Maxine, look at this.” I pulled my warning from my pocket and began unfolding it. She snatched it from my hand, running her finger under each line, silently mouthing the words as she read.

  “And minutes before you arrived here, I received a threatening phone call, too.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Like you, I couldn’t tell.”

  “So what are we going to do about all this?” Maxine looked up at me as if we had suddenly become partners and as if I had the answer written on my forehead.

  I drew the drapery across my office window and set up the CLOSED sign before I led Maxine behind the privacy screen and into my apartment. We sat on the edge of my bed since books and clothes and newspapers occupied both chairs.

  “First, let’s think of who might have known we’d been discussing helping Randy find Dyanne’s killer. That’s the thing that’s scaring someone. Randy’s been proved innocent of that crime, and someone out there feels threatened. That person doesn’t want the case reopened. Somebody doesn’t want the real murderer to be found.”

  “The real murderer, he likely the one who wrote these notes and made the phone calls.” Maxine rolled her tongue over her gold tooth and stared across the room, deep in thought.

  “Keely, who have you told about this?”

  “Me? I’ve told nobody. I had no intention of getting involved in this murder case. No intention at all. I’ve spoken of it to no one—not even Punt. Maxine? Who have you told about it?”

  When Maxine looked at the floor and hesitated before she replied, I knew she’d talked to somebody besides me.

  “It’s hard for me not to talk about my Randy. It broke my heart to see him in prison. Now it’s breaking my heart to see him so hopeless and angry. Only a wee part of my brain admits that my own son, my Randy, in his anger and bitterness, could be a threat to society.”

  “Who’ve you talked to, Maxine?” I grabbed a ballpoint and some paper from the end table beside my bed. �
�Let’s make a list. You’ve alerted someone you’ve talked to and now we both may be in danger.”

  Maxine squirmed and punched a bed pillow. “I talk to the people I work for. Talk comes easy for me. Especially talk about my Randy. There’re the Smiths. The Currys. The Edmonds. The Gallaghers. The…”

  I laid my ballpoint aside when I realized Maxine’s list could go on and on. “You’ve talked to all those people, maybe asked them to help you help Randy, right?”

  “Right.” Maxine scowled. “I’d even hinted that you might be helping me.”

  I stood and glared at Maxine. “And I’m guessing those people you’ve talked to have talked to their friends, their families. When people talk about murder, everyone pricks up their ears. It’s only natural. Everyone’s interested. After all your talk, anyone on this island could know that you and I are interested in knowing who murdered Dyanne Darby.” I picked up the ballpoint and threw it across the room. I shredded the notepaper and let it flutter to the floor.

  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

  “You bet I am. You had no right to get me involved. I had no intention of investigating this cold-case murder. None at all.”

  “You had no intention of investigating.” Maxine repeated my statement and then smiled. “Do you mean that’s how you felt yesterday? That today you feel differently? Today you’re willing to help me?”

  “No. It doesn’t mean that I’m willing to help you.” I retrieved the ballpoint, ashamed of my temper tantrum. “But I can see that I’m already involved whether or not I’m willing. You have to help yourself, Maxine. I refuse to lift a finger in your behalf—unless you agree that both you and Randy will go with me to talk to Punt Ashford.”

  “I can’t afford no private detective. No way. I told you that. My Randy can’t afford one either. Why bother Punt Ashford to listen to us when we can’t pay?”

  “There’s a chance that Punt might take your case—pro bono. For free.”

  “I know what pro bono means. I told you that. And I’m not going begging to Punt Ashford or anyone else.”

  “It might not be begging.” I left my perch on the bed, hurried to my desk, and grabbed my phone. “If there’s a search for the Darby killer, it’ll be a high-profile case.”