Stairway to the Bottom – Chapter 2
I am about two or three chapters from finishing my next book – Stairway to the Bottom – so I am taking the easy way out of this blog column and giving you chapter 2 of the new book while continue writing. My plan is to have it available the middle of next month.
Chapter 2
Stairway to the Bottom
I sat on the front steps until the patrol car showed up. When Billy Wardlow arrived I knew it was his first assignment because the city's tight budget didn't allow for overtime. I showed him where the body was and he sent me outside.
When he came out, Billy told me he found no sign of a struggle inside. I already knew that so I nodded. Of course, we were not considering how the body got there, just that nothing else was out of place. He began inspecting the porch windows and then went into the backyard looking for signs of forced entry.
Detective Luis Morales showed up a little after seven. Cuban born, Luis came to the States as child on a leaky boat with his mother. That's how he remembers it, anyway. He was on the city's police bike patrol when I came to Key West. Now he's a lead detective and my nemesis because I've sailed to Cuba. Even as a patrol cop, he would turn boaters in to customs and immigration if he thought we'd been to the forbidden island. We don't get along and my friend the police chief thinks Luis is a talented cop. Luis considers himself God's gift to women and too often women seem to agree.
I walked him into the kitchen and wondered how he'd handle me finding the body.
"Do you know her?" He checked the blood smears and brain matter on the wall, careful not to step in the puddle of blood collected around the body and gun, as he talked to me. I wanted to ask him if he knew her, but kept my mouth shut.
The body was face down, her arms stretched out toward the gun. Luis took it all in as he waited for my answer.
"Not from this angle," I said. I didn't know her.
Luis looked from the floor to the wall and back, ignoring my sarcasm. "She was shot in the face, hit the wall, and fell forward." He was speaking to himself. "Probably close range."
"Her gun?" I pointed toward the blood soaked automatic.
"We'll test it, see if it's the murder weapon and find out who owns it."
Outside, I told him about the phone messages. He listened to them on my cell and had Billy take it to the station.
"I want copies of them," Luis said. "I'll get it back to you as soon as I can."
I couldn't win the argument, so I said nothing.
"The guy who lives here," he checked his small notebook, "Dick Walsh. Tell me about him."
We sat on the steps waiting for others to show up.
"He moved here about three years ago," I said. "Bought this house and the water sports business on Simonton Beach. He said he's from New Zealand."
"How do you know him?" He took notes.
The sun was rising and it would soon bathe the street in heat and humidity, but the large tree in the front yard would keep Dick's house shaded and cool. The morning breeze carried the scent of tropical flowers and brewing coffee.
I needed a café con leche, the caffeine jolt of the strong espresso, steamed milk and extra sugar mixture could make this early morning fiasco bearable.
Two police cars stopped out front and Sherlock Corcoran, the crime scene investigator, parked his van in the driveway. The nickname came with the job and few knew his real first name, or cared to. The cops, Harry Sawyer and Charlie Bauer, nodded but didn't talk to me because of Luis.
"Hold that thought." Luis got up to meet them.
They gathered at the van and spoke softly. Sherlock pointed at me and Luis nodded. The two cops helped Sherlock with bags and went into the house without acknowledging me as they passed.
"How do you know Walsh?" Luis sat down.
"I'd see him around. Schooner, the Hog, one of the bars," I said. "After a while he was with someone I knew or I was with someone he knew and we were introduced."
"Simple as that," Luis smiled.
I hunched my shoulders and said nothing, but I thought what an asshole he was.
"Yet when he kills this woman, you are the one person he calls." It was an accusation not a question. "Interesting," he said with a devious sneer.
"You don't know he shot her or if I'm the only one he called," I said harshly. "He could have found her or he might've been abducted by her killer. Think of some alternatives, Luis, don't be a shortsighted ass.
"Unlikely he found here," he said, ignoring my opinion with a toothy-smile. "There's no sign of a struggle, so I wouldn't expect abduction." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "He would've called us if he walked in and found her, but he called you multiple times instead. Is there a reason he wouldn't call the police?"
"I've had drinks with the guy, I've rented Jet Skis from him, I'm not married to him," I said.
"He gave you a discount on the rental?" It was a question that he didn't care about the answer to.
"He gives all locals a discount," I sighed because Luis knew I wasn't involved, he just wanted to make my life difficult. The Cuban twit is good at that. "What about the gun? Most people don't run around with silencers."
"It could be his, or do you know it isn't?" He was challenging me, not believing what I'd told him.
"We never talked guns, so I don't know if he even owns one."
"We'll find out," he said as Sherlock walked out with the gun and silencer in an evidence bag.
"The magazine's full, the gun hasn't been fired," he growled. "Not the murder weapon."
"What caliber was the murder weapon?" Luis looked up at Sherlock.
"I'd only be guessing."
"Guess," Luis said.
"From the looks of the back of her head, I'd guess a forty-five," he muttered. "The ME called and he's stuck in traffic at the light on Big Pine. He'll have a better guess when he gets here."
"Traffic," Luis groaned. "He should drive in Miami. Anything else?"
"Yeah," Sherlock smiled. "This is an old silencer. Screws onto the barrel and the Beretta has had the serial numbers burnt off, with acid would be my guess," he said stressing guess. "You don't see many of these old Berettas anymore, everyone wants the fancy forty-fives. They're a pair."
"A pro's gun?" Luis stood up and stared at the evidence bag.
"I'm done guessing," Sherlock said as he turned to go back in the house. "We're searching for the bullet, in case it's intact, but I doubt it."
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