Holly was having dinner on the Delano’s terrace when she looked up and found Harry Crisp standing a few feet away, staring at her.
“Why, Harry, what brings you to South Beach? I thought the FBI worked in grubbier surroundings.”
“Evening, Holly. Mind if I sit down?”
“Please do. Would you like some dinner?”
“Thanks, I’ve already eaten.”
“Drink?”
“Well, why not? I’m off duty.” He flagged down a waiter and ordered a mai tai. “And don’t put a little umbrella in it,” he said to the waiter.
“I guess you tracked me down through Ham,” Holly said.
“Yep.”
“What’s so urgent?”
“I want to know what you’re doing down here, Holly.”
“Sorry, Harry. I’m tired of the FBI’s one-way information highway.”
“What do you want?”
“Full disclosure.”
“About what?”
“About every aspect of this case.”
“Which case?”
“Harry, this isn’t getting us anywhere. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Okay, full disclosure?”
The waiter came back with Harry’s mai tai; there was a little umbrella in it. “No tip for him,” Harry said as the waiter walked away. He tossed the umbrella onto the table. “So, tell me what you’re doing down here.”
“Harry, I don’t believe I received a confirmation of our new arrangement, the one about full disclosure.”
“All right, all right, full disclosure.”
“That means an answer to any question I ask?”
“Any relevant question.”
“Harry, if I ask a question, it’s relevant. Now, if you’re ready to deal on equal terms, two-way information highway, say so; if not, please go away and leave me to enjoy this very good dinner.”
“All right, two-way information highway.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Harry.”
“Now tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I’m solving the murder of Carlos Alvarez.”
“Who?”
“Come on, Harry, Grant must have told you about this.”
“Not much.”
That was good, Holly thought. Grant was being close-mouthed.
“He’s the guy who broke into my house repeatedly and tapped my phones. He turned up dead in the Indian River.”
“And you’ve solved it?”
“Not yet, but I’m on the way. Oh, by the way, Carlos also killed your two Miami property developers and tried to kill Ed Shine.”
“What?”
“No kidding.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Carlos was spotted at a Miami shooting range by somebody who was connected connected. He was a crack shot. He bought or was supplied with a Winchester twenty-two rifle, went to the range to sight it in, and had a silencer made for the rifle and his own forty-caliber Heckler and Koch semiautomatic. Isn’t that what your Cuban developer was shot with?”
“Yes. We recovered a slug from the inside of the guy’s car door. The nice Mercedes upholstery kept it from being deformed too much, so we can probably get a match, if we ever find the gun.”
“My people are going to start searching the Indian River around the North Bridge for the gun tomorrow morning. I think Carlos was shot there with his own gun, and my guess is the shooter tossed it, along with Carlos.”
“Send it to me when you get it, and I’ll run the ballistics.”
“You send me the bullet and I’ll run the ballistics.”
“I have a better lab than the state.”
“Maybe, but this is a murder that occurred in my jurisdiction. If I send you the gun, I want a receipt stating that it will be returned when the ballistics have been run.”
“Okay.”
“Something else. After Carlos was spotted at the range, I think he was hired by a guy named Pio Pellegrino, who runs a restaurant.”
“Pellegrino’s? I’ve eaten there. Good place, if you can get a table.”
“I’d like you to run a check on Pio’s background, his father’s, too, see if they’re connected, and if so, to whom.”
Harry was taking notes now. “What’s his father’s name?”
“I don’t know. Try the phone book.”
“I’ll see that it’s run down.”
“Harry, if Pellegrino isn’t running this thing, then he’s connected to whoever is, so don’t start walking all over this with your big FBI feet, okay? Don’t bring him in for questioning, and if you have him watched, for God’s sake don’t park an FBI van outside his door. Be subtle, Harry.”
“We’re always subtle,” Harry replied.
“Like the green SUV with the two agents inside that was parked at the Santa Maria church? Like the female agent you had following me when I was shopping for shoes? Please.”
“I’ll take special steps,” Harry said through clenched teeth.
“What’s Grant Early working on, Harry?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“So what happened to the two-way information highway, Harry?”
“It’s not relevant.”
“I should have known you’d do this. I spill everything I’ve got, saving you many man-hours of legwork, and you stonewall me.”
“Holly, I mean it, Grant’s case is not relevant to your investigation; it’s a whole separate thing.”
Holly sighed. “Harry, if I find out it isn’t, I’m going to come over to your house and shoot you in your sleep.”
“It’s a federal crime to threaten an FBI agent, Holly.”
“So, arrest me.”
Harry smirked at her. “Not yet.”
“Not while I’m doing your work for you, huh?”
“You’re not doing my work for me; this stuff is just frosting on the cake.”
“I want to hear about the Pellegrinos by lunchtime tomorrow,” Holly said, sliding her card across the table. “My cellphone number is on the card.”
Harry pocketed the card. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, getting up and tossing a five-dollar bill onto the table.
“The drink’s on me, Harry,” Holly said.
“Gee, thanks,” Harry replied, picking up the note. “Talk to you tomorrow.” He walked away.
Holly went back to her dinner, now cold. “You’d bloody well better talk to me tomorrow,” she said aloud to herself.