Chapter Thirty-Eight

Larry Lockwood gave me a broad smile and we shook hands. “All sales are final. Unless, of course, you're here to buy some more goodies, then I'm all ears.”

“You want to buy an uncut emerald?” I asked.

“I'll give you five hundred for it.”

“I paid fifteen.”

“That's retail. Never pay retail.”

“Now you tell me.”

He smiled again and came out from behind the counter where he was restocking Spanish pieces of eight and slapped my shoulder like we were old pals.

“I was, uh… I need to talk to you privately,” I said.

“Yeah, sure.”

I followed Larry to the back of the store, down the hallway past all the photographs. There was a small kitchenette and three offices. Larry's office was the biggest of the three, but only by inches. Space is valuable in Key West. There was enough room for a desk and three chairs. The desktop was clean except for the phone in the corner. No computer, no stray papers, or pens. On the walls were more photographs of sunken ships, divers, and of course, Larry Lockwood with a fistful of gold. I shut the door as Larry leaned against his desk.

“What's up?” he asked.

I remained standing. I needed his help but didn’t want to spook him.

“I may not have been one hundred percent up front with you the other day.”

“Up front about what?”

“You heard about the charter captain that was murdered last week?”

“Chief Dan? Yeah, that was something. I knew him. He ran some divers out for us a couple of times. Good guy. Always good for a laugh.”

“He was an old friend of mine. We served together in the Navy.”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea. Wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Anyway, I'm looking into it.”

“What do you mean? Like, you’re trying to solve the murder?”

“Yeah, I used to be a cop, then a private investigator.”

“Okay, what does this have to do with me then?”

I took a moment, because I had no idea how he would handle the news about Stacy since they had known each other, were most likely old lovers. Stacy hadn’t gone into details about their relationship, but I was sure she hadn’t been talking about just palling around with Lockwood back in the day. I had always been good with the delicate part of the job when I was with Detroit, but you can only hold back for so long. No matter how gentle, you can’t stop pain. The best course of action is to be honest and break the news plainly. And that’s exactly what I did.

“Stacy St. James was killed last night.”

I had seen the look on Lockwood’s face a thousand times before on others. The news stunned him into silence. His mouth slacked as he gasped. I pressed on.

“Someone murdered her, Larry. Police found her body this morning out near the state harbor.”

He brought his hand up to his mouth and whispered, “Jesus.” He walked around his desk, sat down, and said, “Jesus,” again.

I pulled the emerald from my pocket and set it on his desk. Lockwood listened as I explained everything from the beginning: Jankowski and the emerald and Stacy, Stash, Carl Polk, Meadows, all of it. He had difficulty processing the information and fidgeted in his seat. Between breaths and with loud exhales, he would drag his hand over his face and repeat, “Jesus, you’ve got to be kidding.” When I finished, Lockwood said, “But it's fake.”

“You know that. I know that. Peter Jankowski knows that. So did Stacy. And I think Dan Yarnall did, too.”

“Chief Dan?”

“Jankowski hired him to excavate the wreckage. Now he’s dead.”

“Jesus, Cutter! I—I—I don’t even know you. I just sold you that emerald. You’re coming in here and telling me a guy I’ve known for years is a murderer? That he didn’t just kill one person, but two? You have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

“I know it’s crazy, but—”

“And what about this Carl Polk?”

“I think Carl would live a little longer if he got out of town.”

“H-how do I know you didn’t kill Dan or Stacy? I mean, come on.”

Lockwood worked himself into a panic. Too much info, too soon. But the clock was ticking. I had to keep going.

“Larry, would I be standing here if I was the killer? Don’t you think the police would have me locked up?”

“How the hell should I know? What are they saying?”

Lockwood sat back hard against his chair and put his head into his hands.

“Think about it.” I watched him carefully, and after a moment, said, “You knew Stacy.”

“That was a long time ago,” he whispered.

“But you did know her.”

“It just doesn't sound anything like Peter. Doesn't sound like him at all. He’s a businessman. Sits behind a desk. Tends to stay away from hard labor. Not exactly the kind of guy to beat someone to death.”

“Trust me, Larry. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve done this for a long time.”

Lockwood fixed his eyes on the ceiling, his voice barely audible. He was giving up on his arguments, slowly accepting our yet-to-be-announced partnership. He finally looked at me, no emotion, no tell, just empty eyes.

“The worst thing that could happen with Peter’s claim is it gets denied,” he said. “Nobody would charge him with anything. Not unless he took on investors, but I would’ve heard something. Murder seems like an overreaction. And I think you’re wrong.”

“There’s more to it then, but I don’t know what.”

“So, you’re guessing?”

“Not exactly. I’m following information to a logical conclusion.”

“I just don’t see it. I don’t see it.”

“Then think about it, because I need you to see everything.”

Lockwood put his hands in his lap and sat upright in his chair. For a half hour, we sat in silence, haunted by the small voices in our heads.

I waited longer than I should have, but I needed him to be in his right mind before I offered him the final reason for being there. I didn’t want his reaction to be based solely on emotion, even though there was no way of keeping that from happening. But waiting helped remove as much of the impending blow as possible. If I didn’t have Meadows’s twenty-four-hour clock ticking in my head, I would have come back the next day and eased him into it. But with time not on my side, I had to move quickly, and I needed Lockwood to move quickly, too.