Trevar's Team 1 Page 14

  Morning reports were simply shorthand versions of the prior day’s activities. Summer’s few words were via telephone. Debra was no longer pledging eternal love. She wanted to keep her options open. That translated to the fact that Deb needed the drugs and danger provided her by Anita Cruz, et al. Summer was going to fill her morning taking a long motorcycle ride. Midmorning she planned to resume duties. It was her way of dealing with disappointment.

  After a shower, I slipped into a t-shirt, denim shorts, and I stepped into canvas deck shoes. Casual, since I didn’t plan on doing much more with the morning than taking a walk on the beach. My soul needed revitalization.

  As I walked the shore, I appreciated the neatly folded pleats of sand. The ocean’s waves were tiered. Their splashing made me aware of how alone nature was. Probably as alone as I felt. I studied the curlicues of foam left behind by the tide. To my side were green knobs of earth that stood like turrets of vegetation. Behind the hummocks was a road.

  My barefooted amble took me to the edge of the ocean. The wetness beneath my feet cooled me. Looking back, I studied my footprints. They were fading tracks—analogous to the evidence of this case. Time distorted clues. Memories crowded behind new memories in the minds of those we’d interviewed. There was an impending urgency to solve this case before it became an unsolvable leftover.

  I squatted down to examine the coruscating pebbles and shells as they blinked. No amount of diversion took my mind from the problem. I questioned my ability to solve the case. Though Summer believed my desire for Lilia was skewing my objectivity, I was certain that wasn’t the case. Trevar’s Team was hitting certain barriers that needed to be broken down.

  My mind scoured the information. The tireless searches within the investigation hadn’t yielded the break we needed. I chastised myself for possibly missing a clue along the way.

  Finally, as I turned to go back, I viewed the shifting dunes that were off to my side. They were comparable to the trio chasing our tails. Erosion happens. Earth had a lot of it going on. Everything brought me back to the unresolved murders. One positive thought—Lieutenant Powers was also, undoubtedly, tearing his hair out over the case. And I had considerably more hair to volunteer.

  When I arrived back at the wooden steps leading to the road, I sat to dust sand from my feet. Rachel called and reported she was having lunch with one of the women who worked in Homicide Records Department. Maybe the missing medical examiner’s report would surface. By process of elimination, we had determined it was the toxicology section of the report. The trio was starving for any disclosure, no matter how relevant.

  By the time I reached The Radclyffe, my mood had shifted at least another couple of times. I quickly perused the Shiny Sheet. The Palm Beach Daily News was affectionately known as the Shiny Sheet because of its high quality—heavy, slick paper.

  Glancing up, I saw Summer enter. She slumped down onto a kitchen stool. “Any news?” she questioned.

  “Nothing in the Shiny Sheet. Things have gone quiet about the killings. Palm has gone quiet.”

  “We have gone quiet,” Summer mumbled.

  “Was your ride okay?” I questioned.

  “Sure.”

  I poured orange juice for us both. “And?”

  “I stopped by one of Cruz’s hangout bars to run a couple leads. I checked on Cruz’s ex-lovers. No match on the dark-haired Latina, who blew Jeremy away. Seems Cruz likes blondes and redheads. Not that I figured there was a connection.”

  “Good to check for hidden corners.”

  She paused to take a drink. Frowning, she added, “There was one other lead.”

  My body leaned forward. “It was?”

  “One of the punks at the bar said she’d heard that a radical anti-gay group might have been involved in some way. They didn’t like Sylvia performing at the AIDS benefit. And there were rumors about her being lesbian. That didn’t thrill them.”

  “Any names?”

  “Get this—they call themselves Hand of God. They’re based out of Miami. They vilify gays. Some religious project of hate. God tells them they’ve got to save the race. White, straight, male-dominated—you know the profile.”

  “Crime-spree material?”

  “Not that anyone can verify. There was talk they’d become proficient with explosives. The target is abortion clinics and gay bars. A batch of zealots making their statement.”

  “A batch of hussies!” Pluma croaked loudly.

  I laughed. “Now you’ve set Pluma off.”

  Summer teased, “I don’t know why we keep that foul-beaked bird around.” Standing, she went to Pluma’s cage. She pressed her face near Pluma. “You’re a rotten tailed little bird.”

  Pluma cocked her head. “Batch of hussies! Batch of hussies.”

  Summer reached through the bars to tickle the bird’s head. Summer’s sinewy strength could take her body through steel walls, yet she had the gentle tenderness of eaglet feathers when she wanted to show her soft side.

  Summer was a difficult person to interpret. When interrogating a suspect, she would look away wistfully in another direction. With a lackadaisical gaze at the wall, she’d even hum. Yet later, she could recite the conversation verbatim. She had that look now.

  “Anything else going on?”

  “There was a woman’s wrestling playbill hanging up in the bar. Hammer has a match tonight. I’m going to check out Hammer’s famous clothesline chop. We might need to know how to counter it.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a counter for it.”

  Summer took another sip of juice. “I’ll make one up. I like to exploit the enemy’s weakness.”

  I turned, nearly killing my own whisper. “I hope you don’t ever need to try it.” Hammer was a great deal stronger, brawnier, and battle savvy than Summer was. After a quick, cautionary glance back in her direction, I muttered, “Please be very careful.”

  I immediately called Rachel to suggest that she pay a visit to Miami’s Hand of God Society. She was perfect for the assignment. Her credentials are in order, certainly. Rachel has snob appeal. The attitude was developed as part of her being the daughter of a wealthy, conservative Southern judge. Cross that with her terrific acting ability, and if she couldn’t get the scoop on them, no one could.

  I spent the remainder of the afternoon going over files and making phone calls. By late afternoon, Rachel called back with her report. The group leader was so impressed with her shammed-up background that he offered her a free membership. He explained their anti-sin formulae. Those leprous fags could die on an island. Anyone killing a fetus should be hung slowly by the neck and other extremities. Those assisting should be blown apart. Their arsenal, he bragged, was busting at the seams. Guns and ammo were stored in the Dakotas. The last paragraph of their propaganda stressed that they abhor violence.

  Rachel herded the conversation to the Grant murder. She wondered if that was a boast-able issue. No, they hadn’t participated in the killing. But because Sylvia supported those malicious, diseased sex fiends, he figured the killer should be decorated. Sylvia shouldn’t have tried to help those pansies, he ranted.

  Mr. Hand, as Rach referred to him, was a very righteous, married father of ten. He was teaching his children his beliefs. He found out what Rachel thought about both his organization and his organ when he attempted to pin her against the office wall. He slipped his hand up her skirt, and she gave him a knee to his groin. Mrs. Hand could breathe easier for a week or two while Mr. Hand nursed his wound.

  That provided me with enough chuckles to get me through the afternoon.

  I had just begun refocusing on the files when a messenger arrived with a small package. Inside, on Breakers stationary was a handwritten note from Lilia. She invited me to dine with her. Included in the package was a soon-to-be-released CD. Sylvia’s final release. While getting ready for dinner, I played it. Sylvia’s lyrics were of hope. She sang that love awaits each heart. For love was the heart’s true home. I not only wanted to find a home f
or my heart, but I also wanted to find out who killed the singer of those haunting, lovely lyrics.

  Dressing for dinner with Lilia took longer than my usual chore list. Scrub clean and cover my body was my normal routine. For Lilia, I needed Rachel’s nod of approval when I pulled garments from my closet. I settled on a canary yellow dress pant and floral top set. By the time I arrived at The Breakers, I had glanced at my watch to see I was very nearly on time.

  When her door opened, Lilia was absolutely luscious. Dressed in a sheer coral pullover blouse and body tight pair of bronze-colored slacks, she was magnificent. Around her neck was a long, dangling scarf that fell across her breasts. Coral, aqua, melon, and ivory colors were brightly coordinated.

  Just as the meal arrived, Lilia received a telephone call from her agent. They spoke in Spanish, and I decided Lilia’s voice was even sexier in her native tongue. She motioned for me to pour wine. The dinner cart had been placed beside the table. The steaming dinner was ready to be served. Candles were lit, and the room dimmed.

  When the conversation was finished, Lilia hung up but continued speaking in Spanish. Then she quickly stopped. I told her in Spanish that we could continue the evening conversing in her language if she liked.

  “My agent speaks very unreliable English. She has often transposed dates, so I make it a point to discuss business with her in Spanish. But English is as comfortable for me by now as Spanish,” she replied.

  After the waiter had left, she motioned for me to be seated. In front of me, she placed the appetizer. She had selected a salad capped with salmon, steamed with lemongrass, and encrusted with pistachios. “Excellent cuisine.”

  “I didn’t know what you might enjoy, so I ordered a variety. The entrees are tournedos and also one of my favorites, blackened duck with caramelized vanilla sauce.”

  “Sounds divine. Oh, by the way, thank you for the CD.”

  We extended the stemmed tulip glassware high and clanked them. “To Sylvia,” she toasted. “The world will miss her songs.”

  “Lilia, I want desperately to find her murderer.”

  “You will. I have great confidence in you.” Her fingers curled the goblet’s stem.

  “Your agent, what does she look like?” I suddenly questioned.

  Lilia laughed. “She is about five-foot tall. Portly, and in her late fifties. Do you wish to meet her?”

  I chuckled at that. “You must think my past has been one of christening every bed in Palm Beach.” I shook my head. “No, I don’t care to be fixed up with your agent. I just wanted a description to see if she matched the woman who killed Jeremy. There’s clearly no match.”

  “And why would my agent want to harm Jeremy?”

  “I just need to exclude everyone. The question was, admittedly, out of the blue,” I confessed with a laugh.

  “I thought it might be your playgirl instincts surfacing.”

  My hand reached to touch her fingertips. “Lilia, my past has been wild. But I know I have it in me to be a devoted lover.”

  “Beryl, Sylvia also said those words to me. She professed her love, and she deceived me. It was her way to flirt. My father was a philanderer. He had a loving wife, a family at home, and he wanted more. I gave Sylvia my complete devotion. It was not enough.

  I replied, “It’s difficult to imagine anyone wanting more than your love.” She looked away a moment and then served the entrée. Her arm touched mine. My mouth went dry. I wondered if she would ever be able to forgive my past and trust me. “Lilia, with all my heart, I wish I’d never touched another woman.”

  “Perhaps there was something in your childhood that made you as you are.”

  This wasn’t the time to milk tear-ducts with my life story. “I just grew up in a different world than you. I was unsupervised and very lonely. I shouldn’t have been with anyone until now.”

  “And now?”

  “I wish I could take it all back and begin again. Past loves are meaningless now,” I disclosed to us both.

  “Sylvia told me she thought you were probably very good in bed. That night we met, she wanted to make me jealous. Was she correct?” Our fingers brushed, then softly clasped. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you.” She released my hand.

  “I didn’t answer your question because I wasn’t expecting it,” I replied with a lilt of optimism. “No need to apologize. The question means you’re curious.”

  With her sexy voice, she inquired, “That is good?”

  “Yes. I believe it means that one day I might be able to show you my answer to your question.”

  A smile touched her lips. “Perhaps one day.”

  The dessert was rich and decadent slices of sour cream pound cake, topped with berries and rum sauce. Coconut flakes decorated the sauce. Our conversation was virtuously free of references to other women or to love. We discussed subjects that were not in the vicinity of our vulnerabilities.

  After dinner, she played her guitar for me. Her rendition of Sagreras’ El Clibri was one of the loveliest sounds I’d ever heard. Or felt.

  11

  NOT MANY OF my recent morning awakenings were lovely. Kicking covers from my body, I woke with frustrating mini-dreams that staggered through the night. There were thoughts of Lilia. I’d been engaged in a wonderful dream about Lilia. It began with last night’s parting kiss.

  From there, my dreams degenerated into a shouting match with Summer. That was the obvious remnant of Summer when she returned to the yacht last night. She was in a very miserable mood. She mentioned that Hammer’s famous clothesline chop nearly beheaded an opponent. The wrestler was also sensitive about negative comments from the audience. Summer joked that seeing Hammer steamed was well worth the price of admission. However, Summer was obviously depressed about seeing Debra on the arm of Anita Cruz.

  I’d cautioned Summer to be very careful. She’d commented that she’d be fine. After all, she said, I’d taught her everything she knows. My response was just as sarcastic. I told her I may have taught her everything she knows. But I hadn’t yet taught her everything that I know.

  She hated it when I talked like that. She retaliated by mentioning that even if Lilia gave me the time of day, she would eventually dump me. Even if she had kissed me and discussed love, it wasn’t anything serious for Lilia. Summer maintained that she was a beautiful, famous woman. One of a kind, she’d remarked. Admittedly, there were enough private investigators to begin a new country. Contrary to the handful of cases where celebrities marry their bodyguards, it wasn’t a likely scenario.

  Summer knew I was star struck. I’d always loved films. I was in awe of those who could take me away from my own perilous, neglected childhood. In the movie theater, the story spun me away from the reality of the slums. The screen offered me salvation. The Celluloid pilgrims took me away with them to safety. I rode in Bentleys, aboard stagecoaches and starships. Actors knew the way to Paris, Caracas, Dodge City, and Constellation Andromeda. Movies and books were my truest home. Perhaps, I thought, my adolescence was hurdled with great heresy, but it quelled the pain.

  Something from this case had set up my reoccurring dreams from childhood. It seemed to be the final portion of every night’s sleep. When I was very small, some of my first memories were of being alone and contained. My parents would go out drinking, and they often locked me in a closet. I’d press my face near the base of the door for any air that might spill into the stuffy closet. I’d beg to be released. Let me out of here, I’d pleaded.

  And this was my concluding dream of last night. I’d tumbled with incoherent dreams all night long. Life had not allowed me to write my own exculpatory clause for being a person with such dreams. I knew I needed to put all my energy in the real time. I ruminated that was where I’d been delving for weak-to-nonexistent leads.

  One thing was for certain, the team was scouring the underside of every rock imaginable. Rachel reported that she would be picking up photos of whacko’s known for stalking celebrities. She would drop the photos b
y Lilia’s suite to see if Lilia might recognize a mug shot of anyone who might have been around Sylvia before she died. That was a longshot—since the alarm system had been shut down to allow her killer access into the mansion. Records showed that Sylvia, or someone, had turned off the system immediately before the murder took place. That told us she knew the killer. Or the pizza deliveryman.

  While showering, I attempted to gather guesses. Speculation didn’t get anyone to court. My best deductive skills told me that Deb’s gang had done it. Even if some of their clothing had been blood-splattered, they could have easily ditched everything they wore that night in the world’s biggest Laundromat. They had The Turquoise Debra. And the time to have pitched all incriminating evidence overboard miles from shore before the crime was even discovered.

  After dressing in casual slacks and t-shirt, I entered our office. Notes from Rachel and Summer told me they were out. They were exhaustively searching leads. I had slept in after the night of disturbing dreams.

  My mind searched for a missing particle. Often cases would come together with a quick resolution. The police had been outwitted, and we were seemingly outwitted as well. Clues were preponderantly stacked against Cruz and Hammer. But it would take admission. Hard and fast evidence was nonexistent.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a delivery messenger. In the package was a note from Lilia. It stated that she wanted to give me a gift as a token of her affection and appreciation. I flipped back the lid to see a gold brick-mesh watch. Diamonds encircled its dial. I clasped it on my wrist.

  This case was a jousting match for the love of my lady. Or at least the lady I wanted to be mine. And I had been bucked off my trusty steed. But my meek spirit, under the guise of prudence, had not allowed me to put my head down and charge. I wondered if I believed myself to be boxing out of my weight. Did I honestly believe the case’s solution was going to be revealed by accident or by one random clue surfacing?