TWENTY-FOUR

After seeing the Reverend Soto back to his church and parsonage, Punt drove to the school where we’d parked before the worship service and stopped the car so we could talk in privacy. “What now?” I asked.

“That’s always the question. What now? Getting the tuft of hair from Soto was easy enough. Who shall we approach next? Arnold Soto. Gus Helmer. We’ve covered two suspects out of five—if you count Beau as a suspect.”

“I think we’d better count him. If for no other reason, it’ll appease Randy. So we still have to talk to Slone Pierce and Ace Grovello. There are other things I’d rather do on a Sunday afternoon. One of those two may be the person who’s after me, Punt—me and Maxine.”

“I think you can scratch Dad from the suspect list, but don’t write Gus Helmer off. We may have his DNA in a baggie, but what do we really know about him? That he’s worked for years as a shrimper. That’s he’s your foot reflexology client. That he’s a married man who cheats on his wife with Consuela.”

“You think a guy who’d cheat on his wife might also commit murder?”

“Let’s just say Helmer’s not a straight-forward guy when it comes to women and it’s a woman’s murder we’re investigating. You can’t deny that Helmer’s strong enough to slash tires.”

“That’s for sure.”

Punt pounded on the steering wheel. “And I don’t think we can dismiss Arnold Soto too quickly either. In his youth he must have been a strong diver to hold a job with Fisher, yet today he seems frail, maybe not muscular enough to slash a tire, but he’s smooth—a very smooth operator.”

“Right. Most ministers are smooth operators. And yes, I know he worked hard in Randy’s behalf—perhaps now he’s working just as hard to cover up his own long-ago sin.”

“Any minister could easily use his robe, sash, and stole along with his position of trust in his community to cover up a darker reality.”

“But I like Arnold Soto,” I insisted.

“Yeah. So do I.”

“If he were guilty, don’t you’d think we’d have a gut feeling, a strong hunch that would warn us? I don’t have such feelings about the man.”

“Nor do I, Keely. But…”

“Yeah, but. Okay, let’s move forward. If we count Beau out for the time being, that leaves Slone Pierce and Ace Grovello. Do you think either of those men will give us a DNA sample?”

“We can ask. If they consider our question an insult and say no, then that’s it. If we’d take DNA from an unwilling person, it could cause trouble later.”

“I suppose the person could complain to the court.”

“Yeah. Might cause a mistrial if the case came to trial. Maybe our DNA request would seem less insulting if we pointed out that a DNA mismatch could put a person in the clear. That’s what happened to Randy.”

“I think anyone might feel insulted at being considered a murder suspect.”

“Okay.” I sighed. “So we’re going to offend both guys. Which one do you think we should we offend first?”

“We’re within a few blocks of Slone Pierce’s house. Why not stop and ask if he’ll talk to us? We can park around the corner from his place so we won’t attract attention from his neighbors and so we won’t give him much lead time in coming up with a reason to refuse our request.”

“Slone Pierce scares me, Punt. He’s not my client, but I see him around town. There’s something about his eyes. They’re like marbles of black ice that reflect no warmth.”

“He’ll know we’ve been here to talk to his wife about her testimony at Randy’s trial. No doubt the two of them have discussed that visit.”

“Maybe she kept our visit top secret. She impressed me as the type who majored in keeping things to herself, especially things that might upset her husband. I have a hunch the Slone-Nicole marriage wasn’t made in heaven.”

“Would you rather talk to Ace Grovello first?” Punt looked at his watch. “The afternoon’s slipping by. Personally, I’d feel more comfortable talking to Slone Pierce in broad daylight.”

I sighed. “Okay. Let’s go for it. Let’s roll.”

Punt turned the Conch cruiser onto Flagler and we drove the few blocks to the Pierce address, parking around the corner. Two guys on skateboards spotted our cruiser and approached us in a whir of wheels. One gave our rear fender a resounding slap that made us both jump in surprise.

“Neat chassis, Mama-o,” the first guy called, whacking the fender again with the flat of his hand, winking, and looking at me while blowing kisses into the air.

“Party tonight at Hog’s Breath, man,” the other guy called to Punt. “Bring the broad along. We’d like to meet her.”

Punt bounded from the car, but before he could say or do anything both boys whirred on down the street, hitching up cutoffs that were riding precariously low on their hips. For a moment I smiled at Punt’s dark scowl.

When we walked toward the Pierce home, the coral rock fence around the property reminded me of a fortress wall. I took care to keep the gate in my peripheral vision while Punt stepped onto the porch and knocked.

At first nobody answered and Punt rapped again—louder and longer. In a few moments Nicole appeared in the doorway clutching her robe at the waist. I wondered if that was her only at-home garment and I suspected that we had wakened the Pierces from an afternoon nap.

“We meet again.” Her lips formed a sullen pout. “How may I help you?”

“We’d like to talk to Slone for a few minutes,” Punt said. “Would that be possible?”

“He’s not home,” Nicole said. “Want to leave a message?”

“No,” Punt replied. “Can you tell us when he’ll return? We’d like to talk to him today if it’s possible. Need to talk to him before he gets involved in the work week.”

“He’s not home.” She clicked the lock on the screen door that separated us as if we might try to barge in. “And I don’t know when he’ll be back. Probably not anytime this afternoon.”

“What the hell’s going on out there?” The voice growled from deep inside the house. “Get back in here, Nicole. Now.”

Before Nicole could obey or refuse, Slone stepped into the living room doorway and stared at us from a distance. He wore nothing but a towel secured around his waist, and his heavy body reminded me of a sleek seal—oily, damp.

“So it’s Punt Ashford—and friend.” Slone glared at us, looking me up and down at the same time he hitched his towel tighter. I knew then we might as well leave, that he wasn’t going to be helpful in any way, but Punt faced Slone’s hostile attitude head-on.

“Slone, we’d like to talk to you on behalf of Randy Jackson. We have…”

“I’ve read all about Randy Jackson,” Slone stepped closer to us. “Know more about him than I want to know.”

“Then maybe you already know that he’s a free man now, a free man who’s trying to find the person who should have been in that prison cell instead of him.”

“I’m totally uninterested in Randy Jackson’s past life or present goals, and I don’t want you or him nosing around my house again while I’m away, bothering my missus. Got that clear?”

“We’ve come to help you prove you had nothing at all to do with the death of Dyanne Darby. You could easily give us undisputable evidence right this minute that’d prove without a doubt that the police need to search elsewhere for the guilty person.”

Slone cocked his head and looked at us through half-closed eyelids. “How you going to do that, gumshoe?”

“All we need’s a DNA specimen from you. If your DNA doesn’t match the DNA found at the Darby crime scene, nobody will ask you anything about that murder.”

Now that Slone stood more willing to listen, Punt poured out the story concerning Randy’s suspicions of the divers.

“You mean you intend to take any DNA sample I might let you have directly to the cops?”

“Yes,” Punt said.

“Ha!” Slone said. “Don’t try to con me. Don’t try to tell me the cops are going to listen to a gumshoe. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I think you’re trying to get me involved in a murder investigation. Well, no way am I going to allow that. Me and Beau are pals, right. But there’s no way I’m going to let Beau’s no-good son cause me to get the police on my tail.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Slone clicked the lock on the screen, opened the door, and stepped onto the porch steps. “Get off my property. Now.”

I was already off the porch and halfway to the gate when Punt spoke.

“Thank you for your time and trouble, Mr. Pierce. We won’t be bothering you again anytime soon.”

Punt didn’t give Slone the pleasure of seeing him hurry away. We walked at a normal pace back to our car, then we drove toward Punt’s office.

“What now?” I asked. “Punt, I don’t like Slone Pierce. He might be the one we’re after—a murderer.”

“That’s a possibility. Maybe he’s afraid Nicole might remember he’s the one.”

“She could be blackmailing him with the threat of telling, right?”

“If she remembers, Keely. It’s all speculation on our part.”

“If he’s innocent, why’s he carrying such a chip on his shoulder? Why wouldn’t he talk to us about a DNA sample? And he’s strong enough to slash tires.”

“Good questions. Good point. No sure answers.” Punt pulled the cruiser into his parking slot and we went inside. His office had a closed smell, but Punt shut the door and didn’t open any windows. We both sat in the chairs in front of his desk.

“Punt, I’ve got an idea.”

“So let’s hear it. I’m ready for an idea, a good workable idea.”

“It’s about saliva. You mentioned saliva on a sealed envelope. You were careful to tape closed the envelope containing Arnold Soto’s hair. Well, why not trick Slone Pierce into licking an envelope and mailing it to us? Then we’d have his DNA.”

“Sounds good so far. How are we going to get him to mail us an envelope?”

“Everyone likes free things. Maybe we can send him an ad—an ad for something he needs and uses. Something expensive that he’d really like to own. Maybe a piece of diving equipment. A dive mask? A scuba tank? Or maybe a free dinner and cocktails for two for anyone who’ll sign up for a demonstration of some piece of diving equipment. Sign up, with no obligation to buy. I get lots of those kinds of ads, don’t you?”

“Keely, I think you’re on to something.” Punt turned to his book shelf and pulled down a catalog, began thumbing through the pages. He looked at ads for scuba tanks, snorkels, motors. “Look at this!” He held the catalog toward me and pointed to an ad for a No-Fail Depth Finder. “We could offer dinner for two to anyone stopping by to examine this. An offer like that would attract almost any diver, fisherman, boat captain.”

“Hold on a minute. Would the police frown on tricking him into supplying us some DNA?”

Punt thought for a moment. “They might. That DNA might not be admissible in court, but I think the police would be curious enough to check it out. If it was a match, then they’d find a legal way of getting the specimen they needed.”

“How we going to make an ad?”

Punt pointed to his computer and printer. “I’ve been sending out flyers for our PI business and I’ve learned to create graphics. Let’s give it a try. Let’s name our make-believe place of business Seaman’s Paradise and say it’s opening next month at a Key West location soon to be announced. We’ll call this offer a Grand Opening Special.”

“We can promise more details to those who sign up.”

Punt made several tries before he came up with a single-page ad that suited us. “We’ll do it in red and black with lots of white space,” Punt said. “Read a book on advertising that said red sells and white space sells.”

When Punt finished working with color and space details, font size, and script style, he ran off a copy of the ad. After that he created a return envelope. All the recipient had to do to receive a free dinner for two was to check the box marked “I am interested, please send more details,” slip the page into the enclosed stamped envelope and drop it in the mail.

“This looks very professional, Punt. You should go into the ad business.”

“Not unless the PI business goes belly up.”

I read the come-on again. “Free dinner and cocktails for two at Louie’s Back Yard, corner of Vernon and Waddell. Ocean view porch dining, indoor dining or deck dining at transom level. Live music on Thursdays. This offer good any time during March.” I grinned. “Sounds so good it makes me want to sign up myself.”

Punt addressed one envelope to Slone Pierce and the other to No-Fail Depth Finders.

“I’ll use my post office box address for the return envelope.”

We studied the come-on, reading it several times before inserting it into the envelope, sealing it, stamping it. We drove to the post office on Whitehead and mailed the letter.

“I need to go to Beau’s house and check it out,” Punt said. “Want to go along?”

“Think I’ll beg off if you don’t mind. I need to get home. Tomorrow’s a work day and I have several appointments. Need to see if I have plenty of supplies and a shelf full of clean towels and slippers. My thoughts have been so fragmented, I’ll need time to organize.”

“Of course,” Punt smiled and drove me home. “I’ll call you tomorrow after your last appointment and maybe we can make plans for approaching Ace Grovello. He should be an easy mark compared to Slone Pierce.”

“I don’t know, Punt. He came in for one appointment, but he didn’t return for a second. Maybe I offended him.”

“You’re not the type to offend people, Keely.” Punt pulled me to him for a quick kiss. “Do you have clients all day tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. An afternoon client called saying she had to cancel, so I told her I’d reschedule her to Monday evening. I don’t usually take evening appointments, but I liked the woman. This time I made an exception.”

“How about seeing Ace Grovello tomorrow afternoon?”

“A rotten way to spend a Monday afternoon, but we do need to talk with him.”

“Right. Why don’t I call you in the morning to make sure your afternoon’s still open. We can finalize plans then.”

“Good idea.”

We shared a farewell kiss, and as usual, it left me sorry to see him go and eager to hear his voice again even if it meant a visit to Ace Grovello. That couldn’t be any worse than our visit to Slone Pierce. Could it? I tried to bury all thoughts of warning notes, warning phone calls, broken windows.