From the front seat of Wilson’s car, I called Darcy and Patricia and had them start digging up anything they could find on an Alexus. Patricia said she’d tried to call Constance but couldn’t get through. On a hunch, I called McAllister.
“I hear our boy’s on the run,” he said.
“Yep,” I said. “You were a big help before.”
“I read about the car blowing up. Nice work.”
I said, “The prostitute they got busted with said Galston’s girl’s name is Alexus. He’s got her up in an apartment but she couldn’t tell us where. Any ideas?”
“What’s the name, again?”
“Alexus. Like the car, so I’m told.”
“I don’t think I know that one. I can check around, call in a few favors.”
“I’d appreciate it. So would the government.” I hung up.
Wilson and I were on Seventeen heading toward West Ashley when McAllister called back.
“I got something,” he said, “but I’m not sure how good it is.”
“I’ll take it, whatever it is.”
“Galston knows everybody’s looking for him. I was told he was packing as we speak. He’s got a boat waiting in the City Marina.”
“Thanks.” I ended the call.
Wilson looked at me. “What?”
“City Marina,” I said. “And we better hurry. We might be too late.”
Wilson’s car was at a stretch where Seventeen became a divided four-lane. At the next light, he blasted his siren and cut ahead of a line of cars waiting to turn left, made a screeching U-turn around them, and headed back the way we came. He radioed it in and was told there were no units in the area.
The police captain patched through. “I hope you aren’t working a case on suspension, Detective Wilson. I thought I made it perfectly clear you were to take time off. If you continue, I will have no choice but to proceed with termination.”
Wilson held the radio in his hands but didn’t press the button to respond.
“He sounds like one of my commanding officers,” I said.
“He’s a real peach.” Wilson slalomed through the traffic with one hand on the wheel. He brought the radio to his mouth. “The suspect is on the run and there are no units in the area, sir. I can make it in fifteen minutes. The feds want this guy. He—”
“I know who he is, Detective Wilson,” the captain said. “But the fact remains you cannot pursue a suspect while under suspension. I am ordering you to stand down.”
Wilson threw the radio in the backseat and punched the accelerator harder.
“We’re not stopping?” I asked.
“We’re not stopping.”
Charleston Harbor was full of boats. The parking lot was well lit and virtually empty. Parked in a handicapped spot was a black Escalade with the vanity plate MLG ONE. The tailgate was open. I got out of Wilson’s car and ran toward the yachts. Wilson went to find someone who worked there.
Floodlights illuminated the dock. With no triple-extra-large shapes in sight, I turned and headed to the parking lot. As I passed one of the boats, a life preserver flew at me at the speed of light and tagged me in the face. I lost my footing and fell, sliding across the rough wood surface. Splinters tore my knees and hands. Galston jumped from a boat and kicked me hard in the stomach. The wind blew out my lungs.
A woman yelled, “What are you doing, Mike?”
The decking vibrated underneath me. The fat man rushed down the dock like an elephant on the loose. I got to my feet, gasping for air, and stumbled, losing sight of him when he left the main dock. Wilson was nowhere to be seen. I staggered toward the parking lot. My stomach throbbed where I’d been kicked. The black SUV appeared when I turned the corner. Galston headed toward it. I aimed my gun and fired. The front tire went flat.
“Stop running . . .” I gasped, “or the next one . . . will be in you.”
Galston did what I asked. I closed the distance between us to less than ten feet. He turned around.
“You gonna kill me, kid?”
I cocked the hammer, my breath returning. “You set me and Darcy up. She almost died.”
“You can’t shoot me. You’ll never get away with it. I got too many friends.”
I sighted on his melon head. “You killed my uncle. Why?”
“Listen,” he said, staring at my gun. “Take it easy. I didn’t kill anybody.”
“I count at least three dead and one with a hole in her shoulder, and you’re telling me you didn’t kill anybody.” My finger tightened against the trigger. I thought of my uncle dying in the alley. “Man doesn’t have the right to avoid reaping what he sows.”
Sweat beaded on my forehead and I brushed it off with my free hand. I could taste blood. I wanted blood. But something clicked inside me and I lowered my gun. “I’m thinking I’ll like you better in jail.”
Galston raised his right hand. In a tenth of a second, I registered he was holding something metallic and shiny. I jerked my gun up. The blast came quick. Galston’s face exploded and blood sprayed everywhere. He slumped and fell forward. A silver, two-shot Derringer dropped from his right hand. Behind him and to the left stood Wilson, legs spread apart, his pistol locked in both hands. I realized I hadn’t gotten a shot off.
The police captain came to the docks and personally escorted Detective Wilson away. I sat in the back of an ambulance swabbing Galston’s brains and blood from my face with alcohol wipes. His funeral would not be open casket. A paramedic cleaned my wounds and removed the splinters in my hands and knees.
An Infiniti pulled in close and Darcy’s mouth dropped when she saw me. “Yikes. You all right?”
“Better than Galston.”
She scratched the bandage over her wound. “I guess he got what he deserved.”
I said, “I would have preferred to watch him and his empire go down, but I guess it will go down without him. How’d you find out about this so fast?”
Darcy winked. “I told you I was good. Mind if we get shots for the paper?”
“Do I have to smile?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said. “In fact, I’d prefer if you stretched out on the gurney and let them stick IVs in. You know, play to the dramatic.”
“Fat chance of that,” I said.
“Where’s Detective Wilson?” Darcy asked.
I threw blood-soaked wipes into a biohazard bin. “His boss took him away. I get the feeling he might not be a detective much longer.”
With Galston out of the picture, I thought it might be safe to find a more permanent residence. Since mine no longer existed, Shelby and I were moving into Uncle Reggie’s old house. Thursday morning, when I called about picking my dog up, Chauncey’s wife asked if I could wait until the afternoon. Apparently she was giving him a special grooming treatment. It sounded like a stall tactic but I relented. She also informed me he was letting her feed him.
Just great.
I decided to spend the time at the Pirate’s Cove before I went to get him.
About two o’clock Darcy strolled onto the back deck. I was making drinks for a couple on holiday from Australia.
She took a seat in front of me at the bar. Her arm was still in a sling. “I got an interesting call from a friend of yours.”
“I don’t have any friends so that kind of narrows it down, don’t you think?”
She ignored what I said. “Be a good sport and fix me a bloody; extra Tabasco. You might want to pour yourself one as well before I tell you what I found out.”
I mixed two Bloody Marys, one with a shot of Ketel One, the other a virgin, and both with a lot of hot sauce. In honor of ex-detective Wilson, I put miniature plastic umbrellas in them along with celery sticks and straws and handed the one with vodka to Darcy.
“On the wagon again, I see.” She took a long drag on the straw. “Not bad. You might have found your calling.”
“Mixing drinks for pretty celebrities in paradise is easy. Throwing those same celebrities out when they get too drunk is icing on the cake.” I took a drink from my glass and added pepper from a shaker. “So who called?”
“A guy named Chad. Said you and he are old acquaintances. I think he’s one of the guys with the car you blew up. Am I right?”
Bonny flew from her perch and landed on my shoulder. I propped a foot on the shelf underneath the bar and leaned forward. “Yep. What does he want with you?”
She took another drink. “Says he’s got evidence showing he and his coworker, Freddy, were in Daytona with their boss when Fisher was killed.”
“He just wants a get-out-of-jail card. Like I can give him one.”
Bonny gave me a kiss and flew back inside.
“Either way,” Darcy said, “I’m going to see what he’s got.”
I lit a cigar. “You’re not going alone.”
She stirred her drink. “Why do you think I’m sitting here in front of you making nice in the thong, Einstein?”
After another pull from my drink, I said, “I thought you didn’t wear thongs.”
Darcy gave me her trademark grin, the one she reserved for TV audiences and me when she felt like it.
I told Paige I was leaving and walked Darcy to the Audi. I’d had to pay serious money to a detailer to get the garbage smell out if it.
As I held the door open for her, she said, “This car is not you.”
“I know.”
We shot up the Isle of Palms Connector to the city of Mount Pleasant and onto I-526 to Daniel Island. I parked in the empty back lot of a marina where Shorty—aka Chad—had told Darcy he’d meet her. While we waited, she called Patricia. I checked my twenty-two, the one I’d bought from Big Al. From a distance, it looked like a bigger caliber semiautomatic. The cops had taken my other guns and it was all I had left.
Within five minutes of our arrival, a jacked-up Nissan Titan pickup with oversized off-road tires pulled into the lot and parked next to us. Chad climbed from the truck. He wore wraparound sunglasses, a pink muscle shirt hanging loosely, showing off his arms and pectorals, and white gym shorts.
Darcy and I got out of the Audi.
Chad pointed to me. “What’s he doing here?”
I said, “I came to see what I can blow up next. This is a nice truck you got here, Shorty.”
Chad said, “Whatever. Thanks to you, I can’t go home. The police are looking for me.”
I said, “Gee, that sounds familiar.”
Darcy had her purse looped around her good shoulder. She opened it and took out a miniature recorder. “You mind if I record this, Chad?”
Chad wiped sweat from his forehead and shrugged. “Naw. It’s probably better if you did.”
She said, “You called me. What have you got?”
Chad reached into his pocket. I pulled the gun and pointed it at him, hoping he didn’t know what caliber it really was. “You better just be scratching your jock.”
He held up crumpled paper. “Easy, man. I got receipts that show we wasn’t even here when that accountant was killed.”
“Where were you?” I asked.
“Daytona. Mr. Galston took us down there for a long weekend.”
Darcy walked to him. “Can I see those?”
He handed them to her slowly.
She unfolded the papers and read.
Still holding the gun on him, I said, “Where’s your buddy? Freddy, right?”
Chad didn’t move. “He left when Galston went down and the cops connected us to them people dying.”
Darcy waved the papers. “How do I know these are real?”
“Call the rental agency and the boat charter. They got records.”
“If they don’t,” I said, “I’m coming after you.”
Chad swung himself into the cab of his truck. “You’re gonna have to get in line.”
I watched him drive away and wondered if he was thinking about all the wrong turns he made to end up here.
Darcy and I headed to the bar. On the way, she called the places the receipts were from and found them legit. The boat charter had a picture of Galston and his boys with their catch.
Reluctantly, I called Trish and asked her to hold onto Shelby a little while longer. She could not mask the joy in her voice over the phone. I wondered if I shouldn’t pull him out of there and put him in a kennel before she filled out adoption papers.
Bonny kept me company as I went through my uncle’s emails when someone rapped on the door. We turned to see who it was. Detective Wilson waved his right hand in greeting. In his left hand was a large envelope.
Bonny said, “Hey kid, know who signs your paycheck. Squawk!”
Wilson came in and sat on the couch. “You got that right, little lady.”
I said, “How you holding up?”
“They’re trying to decide what to do with me so I’m still on unpaid holiday.”
I said, “I’ve got not-so-good news.”
He stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “Well, boy, spit it out.”
“When Fisher was killed,” I said, “Galston and his crew were deep sea fishing down in Daytona.”
He plopped on the couch and propped a foot up. “We got the wrong guy?”
“I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have pulled the gun if he was innocent.”
“Figures. Dumb bastard. Wanna hear something funny?”
“What’s that?”
He clapped his hands together, obviously not concerned about Galston’s demise. “His girlfriend, what’s her name . . . Alexus? She split. The executors of Galston’s will think she walked away with several million in cash because it’s gone, too. Guess she finally got her payday.”
“That is pretty funny. So how about dinner on the house?”
“Now you’re talking. But that’s not why I came.”
I dropped a paper I was holding on the desk. “Well, boy, spit it out.”
“Remember the parking garage ticket you gave me?”
“Yes.”
“I know the owner of the garage and asked him if he’d get me a list of the credit card numbers used after eight PM the night your uncle was killed. It’s what we call a long shot because the guy could have paid in cash or used another parking garage or parked in one of the lots.”
“And?” I said.
Wilson leaned forward on the couch. “My buddy did me one better. He had his secretary take the list of numbers and get names. Thanks to all this identity theft going around, businesses can call and run a check on a number. She typed out a list of forty names for me.”
“For you? I thought you said he had her do it.”
His face reddened. “You’re missing the point, here.” He handed me the list. “Recognize any names on it?”
The secretary had added the time of entry and exit to each line. Eleven names down, between a Mr. Carl Long and Ms. Jacqueline Carman, was the name of a company. Ashley River Recovery clocked in at six forty-five and out at eight fifteen.
He said, “You find something?”