A Family Man At Last Read online

  Edward had almost forgotten the purpose for the walk to the dock, he was so caught up with memories of years past. He and his dad had attached mooring lines here, bumpers there. They’d worked together whenever Edward could get away from school and, later, his job. They’d laughed often, shared a few beers.

  “Where exactly did you find the body?” Detective Cortez asked.

  He stopped near the end of the dock and pointed down. “Right about here.”

  “The last time you saw your father alive was the night before?”

  “That’s right. Friday. We had about a two-hour conversation when I got in from Miami, and I went to bed.”

  “And when you found him the next morning in the bay, was he wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before?”

  Edward thought a moment. The other officers hadn’t asked him that question, but it seemed an important one. “Yes, actually, he was. Which means this happened late Friday night and not Saturday morning.”

  “Possibly. The coroner will be able to give us an exact time of death.”

  She asked him other questions, some of them repeats of what the officers had asked the day before. What was your father’s state of mind? Did you notice any unusual behavior, nervousness, anxiety? Are you aware of anyone who might hold a grudge against your father?

  “There might be someone from his past,” Edward admitted. “My father put a lot of people behind bars when he was a judge in South Carolina. But I doubt many of those people even knew he lived here on Sweet Pine. He hasn’t practiced law in over a decade. When he bought this marina he was happy to leave that other life behind and run this operation.”

  “I’m familiar with this marina,” Monica said. “My father used to work here. Perhaps you know the name. Juan Cortez?”

  “Oh, sure, Juan. I remember him,” Edward said. “Nice guy, hard worker. My dad depended on him. Where is Juan now?”

  Monica looked away and tapped her pen on her notebook. “He passed away five years ago. A heart attack. I’m surprised your father didn’t mention it.”

  Jeez, maybe he had forgotten. He wasn’t involved in the day-to-day operation of the marina. “I don’t mean to minimize Juan’s value to my father,” Edward said. “Five years ago I was still establishing my career. I wasn’t here too often.”

  “Yeah. I’ve only seen you a time or two.” She looked into the murky water. “Just a few more questions. Did you know many of your father’s friends and acquaintances from around here?”

  “Not many of them. I spend more time in Miami than I do in the Keys. My main employment is with Miami-Dade County. I do try to come down here whenever I can, though.” He paused, thought about what he’d just said. “Though that will no doubt change now.”

  “So you had a good relationship with your father?”

  “The best. I owe him...” This police detective wasn’t interested in the sad tale of Edward Smith, so he cut short his explanation. “Anyway, yes, we did.”

  “And can you think of anyone here who might have reason to want your father dead?”

  The question brought fresh anguish to Edward’s chest. He took a deep breath. “No, no one,” he answered. “If my father had any enemies here, he never discussed them with me, and I never observed any hostility between him and any other person. Look, my dad was happy here, happier than he’d been in years. He was always positive, cheerful, looking forward to living his golden years right in this house.”

  “And you never heard a local person speak ill of your dad?”

  “No. I can only assume that the locals were glad to have him as part of the community. He was an honest, hardworking contributor to the economy. This business brought tourists to Sweet Pine from all over.”

  Monica Cortez stopped taking notes and gave Edward an intense stare. “I hate to bring this up, but I’m told you know the conclusion Cashiers and Patterson came up with, and you’re not satisfied with it.”

  “I do. That’s why I asked for a homicide investigator. My father drank, but so does most everyone in the Keys. I’ve never seen him drunk or unable to handle himself. The thought of him walking out on this dock and just suddenly tipping over is ludicrous.” To further emphasize his case, Edward added, “And even if he had fallen in, which he didn’t, he could have swum a few feet to reach shallow water, where he could have walked to shore with no problem.”

  “I know this is difficult,” Cortez said. “It’s human nature to want to find a reasonable explanation for something we don’t understand.”

  “Do you, Miss Cortez? Do you really know how difficult this is for me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Because I came here on Friday night to spend a weekend with my father, and Saturday morning I find him floating in the bay. This weekend started out no differently than any other in the last fifteen years. And yet, the man I owe my life to is gone. So, yeah, this is difficult for me.”

  “I understand that,” she said. “My questions and comments are merely an effort to get to the bottom of this.”

  He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. He needed this woman’s help. He needed someone to believe that his father hadn’t just tripped on a board and fallen into the water. “I’m sorry. I’m just going through...”

  “I get it,” she said. “You need a minute?”

  “No. Go on.”

  “How was your father’s health the last few years?”

  “Excellent. He was seventy-six years old and didn’t even take a blood-pressure pill. And he was still strong. Patched the roof on this house last year with just a ladder and some tar paper. And if you’re wondering about his mental state, he was sharp as a tack.”

  Cortez put her notebook on a bench at the end of the dock and bent over. She examined the dock and the piling where the judge had been found. She unwound the fabric piece from the bolt, set it on the dock and ran her hand through the water to feel the wood around the piling. After a moment, she uttered a small sound. “Hmm.”

  “What?” Edward asked. “Did you find anything?”

  Cortez stood. “Maybe. It’s probably nothing, but I’m going to call for a diver. He should be here within the hour. I need to check a few things, like when high and low tides were last night and this morning.”

  Edward suddenly experienced a burst of relief. This detective, as inexperienced as he suspected she was, was taking him seriously. “Are you going to wait for the diver to get here?” he asked.

  “Most definitely. If you have something to do...”

  “No. Let’s go up to the house. We might as well have a seat and get out of the sun.”

  They walked back to the house together. Cortez made her phone call. It was as short and efficient as everything else about her. But Edward was becoming more confident about her efficiency by the minute.

  * * *

  SHE’D SEEN HIM AROUND. Most everyone on Sweet Pine Key had seen him, talked about him, speculated about his supposedly mysterious past. But Monica had never met anyone besides the judge and the one guy who worked at the marina who actually knew him on a personal level. Of course, her father had known Edward, too, but since he’d been gone five years, she rarely heard Edward’s name mentioned around the small settlement of Sweet Pine. Sometimes a neighbor might mention that Smitty’s son was on the island. Most times not.

  Maybe that was because Edward spent so much time in Miami. Maybe it was because he chose to stay separate from the Keys’ lifestyle. He didn’t hang out at the local watering holes when he was here. He didn’t brag at the bait shops about his big fishing conquests. Whatever the reason, Monica was fascinated today by the slim, good-looking, six-foot-tall man with the sandy blond hair who looked nothing like Smitty, the judge.

  She’d heard rumors that Edward was adopted. Seeing him close up today, she could believe it. The judge was a stocky five foot, seven inches with a thin ring
of white hair around a bald pate, and had a thick, muscular torso and short legs. Edward was muscular, from tip to toe. Before the end of the day, Monica was determined to find out if Edward was biologically related to Smitty. If Edward wanted a homicide investigation, then she had to have all the facts.

  They sat on the porch of the iconic Florida Keys home that the judge had purchased when he’d made a deal to buy the marina. Folks on Sweet Pine had admired the house for decades. Only a short walk from the dock, it seemed a perfect fit for a man who wanted to leave civilization behind and watch the sun set over the Gulf. As far as Monica knew, since the judge had moved onto Sweet Pine, he rarely took his old Pontiac out of the garage. He was content to ramble around in his two-thousand-square-foot home, play with his boats and walk to the convenience store and liquor seller. Folks said he had his necessities delivered from the nearest supermarket.

  Sometimes he wandered down to Tarpon Joe’s Bar and Grill if he felt uncommonly sociable. Monica had even run into him there and had a few brief conversations with him and the small crowd of senior citizens he attracted. A nice old guy, she’d thought. Friendly and pleasant. And he’d spoken fondly of his son, Edward, who lived and worked in Miami.

  While they waited for the diver to arrive, Monica continued to question Edward. She asked about people the judge talked about, whether he had close friends on the island, whether he ever mentioned having a run-in with one of his neighbors. Yeah, Smitty talked about regular customers who came for bait, oddball tourists who rented boats. But, according to Edward, he’d never argued with anyone about more than the size of the shrimp he was charging ten bucks a dozen for.

  She saw an opportunity to get to the bottom of Edward’s story. “So what about the early years, when you were a boy and the judge was still on the bench in South Carolina? Do you recall anyone threatening him?”

  Edward answered quickly and concisely. “I only met my father when I was sixteen,” he said. “The judge adopted me.”

  So the rumors were true. “Oh, really? Do you mind telling me how that came about?”

  “I suppose not. I was a troubled kid, growing up in the foster system. I got in some scrapes, broke the law a few times. My big break came when I was sent before Judge Smith in juvenile court.”

  “The judge pardoned your crimes?” Monica asked.

  “Heck, no. He sent me to juvie for six months. But he didn’t forget me. For some reason he took an interest. He visited me in detention, made sure I was getting an education, even gave me extra homework that he looked over himself.”

  “And you and he grew close?” Monica said. “I mean, he did adopt you. That must have been a big step.”

  “It was for me,” Edward said. “The judge was waiting when I was released and he took me back to his home, where he lived alone with only a housekeeper. I stayed with him a couple of months, and then he made it official. I became his son.”

  “Just like that?” Monica said, not wanting to sound suspicious, but jeez, a successful judge taking a problem kid home to his house was not an ordinary occurrence. In fact, some people might say that Edward fell into a pot of gold.

  “No, not ‘just like that,’” Edward said. “I proved myself every day to my dad. I worked my butt off to show him I was worthy of his trust. I studied, didn’t run around, broke off with all my old friends. I knew what a lucky break he was offering me.”

  “You even got an education, right?”

  “Went to the University of Miami because they had an excellent program in psychology. It was tough at first. I missed my talks with my dad, but we communicated often, and I went home to South Carolina when I could. I worked on campus, and what I couldn’t earn, the judge provided. Finally got my master’s degree and a doctorate. During that time the judge moved down here, so we were close again.”

  On the surface, Monica couldn’t find any reason to believe that Edward didn’t have fond and grateful feelings of this man who had given him his big break. Edward appeared successful in his own right, so he would have no motive to want to see his father dead for monetary reasons. And it appeared the judge was a thoughtful and caring provider.

  “Did William have any other family?” Monica asked.

  “No. His wife died before I met him. They’d had no children, and he never remarried.”

  Didn’t leave many relatives to question, Monica thought. If she was going to investigate this case, she would have to find motives among the people the judge knew or had known.

  The diver arrived, and Monica put away her writing tools. She and Edward walked with the diver to the end of the dock. He donned a wet suit and went into the water, concentrating especially on a particular piling where she had looked earlier.

  After a few minutes, his head broke the surface. “Yeah, I see what you’re talking about, Monica. There appears to be fresh gouge marks in the wood.”

  “Can you tell if the marks mean anything? Any pattern?”

  “Not really. Looks like about a two-inch vertical line. I can’t tell what it was meant to be. I’ll come back after the tide goes out and get a better look.”

  “Thanks, Carl,” Monica said. “Tide goes out at four fifty this afternoon. I’ll meet you back here,” she added. “But I guess that’s it for now.”

  “I’m going to stay for a while,” he said. “Might have a look around the bottom to see if I find anything.”

  “Okay.”

  Monica and Edward went back to the house to wait. Edward turned on the ceiling fans. The day was becoming typically hot and humid. Monica’s clothes were beginning to itch. She took off her ball cap and brushed strands of damp hair from her forehead, but didn’t loosen the sensible bun at the back of her head.

  “Look, Edward,” she said. “I don’t know if we’ll find anything to corroborate your theory that your father was murdered. But I am truly sorry it happened. I’ll do all I can to ease your mind about this loss.”

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I really do understand what you’re feeling. Like I said earlier, my father died five years ago.”

  “That’s tough. Do you have other family?”

  She stopped short of mentioning every one of her relatives—aunts and uncles and numerous cousins. And her brother. But she did tell Edward about her mother and her nephew, Emilio, both of whom lived with her in her small cinder-block house just up the road.

  “My father thought a lot of the judge,” she said. But then she stopped.

  Carl was coming toward them. He reached the porch and handed her an object in a plastic bag. “Found this at the bottom sticking out of the sand.”

  Monica stared at the five-inch pocketknife with a carved marlin in the wood handle. She handed the bag to Edward. “Do you recognize this?”

  His voice hitched. “I gave it to my father for Christmas last year.”

  “It doesn’t show any effects of being in the water long,” she said. “He could have dropped it Friday night.”

  “And he could have used it to carve whatever you and Carl found in the piling,” Edward said.

  Had the judge carved something of significance in the moments before he died? Monica couldn’t wait to return after the tide went out so she could see for herself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CARL CHANGED INTO shorts and a T-shirt, then tucked the bag with the knife into his duffel. He told Monica he’d see her later. Monica knew he would follow protocol and take the knife to Forensics. Not that much would be uncovered by examining it. The knife had been in the water almost forty-eight hours. The chances of finding identifying marks or fingerprints were slim. Besides, William Smith hadn’t been killed by a knife wound. Monica still believed he’d died by drowning. But she was willing to consider other options.

  Once Carl had left, Monica took out her notebook again and asked Edward a few more questions. He was cooperative, but his thoughts seemed a th
ousand miles away. Finding the knife—a gift—had been rough on him. She could relate to his grief. She had been closer to her father than to any person on earth, and it still hurt to think of him.

  “Did your father always carry the knife?” she asked.

  “As far as I know he did.”

  “What did he primarily use it for?”

  “Any number of little jobs. There always seems to be a use for a knife at a marina.”

  “Where did he keep it when it wasn’t in his pocket?” she asked.

  Edward admitted that he wouldn’t know the exact whereabouts of the knife twenty-four hours a day, but he offered his best guesses.

  “I suppose you’ll want to be here when Carl returns,” she said. “You’ll want to see the marks in the wood for yourself.”

  “I’ll have to see them later. You said low tide would be around five o’clock. I have an appointment at the Fisherman’s Chapel to discuss funeral plans for my father at that time.” He shook his head slowly. “I still can’t believe I’m talking about him dying.” He stared into Monica’s eyes. “I expected to have him around for much longer.”

  “I know, Edward. I’m so sorry.”

  “I wish I’d spent more time with him,” Edward said. “Suddenly nineteen years seems like the blink of an eye. He was in my life for such a brief time—a time when I was concentrating on getting my degrees.” He gave her an earnest stare. “I imagine you feel that way about your father. I’m sorry I didn’t know him better.”

  “You would have liked him,” she said. “Everyone did. Your father especially.”

  “I know my dad depended on him.”

  “Actually, Edward, my father had hoped to make the marina his life’s work. You may know this, but the judge encouraged him by offering him a part of the business if he stayed on.”

  Edward seemed frozen in time. He seemed to have no recollection of this offer. “My dad intended to reward Juan with a percentage of Smitty’s In and Out?”