Loitering with Intent

“Have you got coordinates?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how accurate they are. If you like, I’ll take you out there. How about we meet at the yacht club in an hour? The boat’s name is Rosie, and she’s visible from the front door of the club.”

“You’re on,” Stone said. “See you then.” He hung up.

“Stone,” Dino said, “here’s a thought: You’ve got the guy’s cell phone number; why don’t you just call him up and talk to him?”

“I thought of that; he’d just hang up in my face, and he might stop using the cell phone or change his number, and we’d have no way at all to trace him.”

“Okay, it was just a thought.”

They finished breakfast and headed for the Key West Yacht Club.

ROSIE TURNED OUT to be just as Tommy had described her: a fat, 30-foot fiberglass bathtub, with engines, a cabin and a fl ying bridge up top.

Tommy welcomed them aboard; the engines were already running.

“Tell me something,” Stone said. “If we all went up to the fl y-bridge, would this thing turn upside down?”

Tommy laughed. “It looks that way, but she’s well ballasted.”

He edged out of the boat’s berth and began running along the east side of Garrison Bight, not far off the Roosevelt Boulevard sidewalk.

“There’s a little channel here with six feet or so,” Tommy said. “All that open water to starboard is not navigable by anything more boisterous than a kayak; too shallow.”

They picked up some channel markers and headed out of the bight, then under the bridge and into more open water. Five minutes later they were running at 25 knots, and Tommy pointed to their destination on his electronic chart plotter. “Keating’s phone was right about there,” he said.

They ran on for another twenty minutes, then Tommy began to slow down. “See those boats out there?” he asked, pointing.

“Yep,” Stone replied.

“That’s roughly where we got the location of the phone.” He slowed down further as they approached the moored boats. There were a dozen or so, all but one powerboats.

“Let’s get a close look,” Stone said.

“Okay, we’ll check every boat.”

Tommy’s cell phone rang. “Yeah? You’re sure? Where? Thanks, keep me posted.” He hung up. “We’re wasting our time out here.”

Tommy turned back toward Key West and pushed the throttle forward.

“Why?” Stone asked.

“Because they just got another beep about a minute long from back behind us. Looks like Keating’s boat is heading back to Key West. It also looks like Keating is using his cell phone only to make calls. When he finishes, he turns it off.”

“Shit,” Stone said. “You think he’s on to us?”

“Nah, but he’s sure being careful. If he was on to us he’d just buy a throwaway phone at the supermarket.”

“Okay.”

“I’d sure like to know what kind of boat that is,” Tommy said. “It’s very odd for a boat to be spending the night out at the reef. I mean, I suppose a guy might go out there to have a few drinks and get laid, then feel too drunk to drive home, but it’s not a usual thing to have a boat out there at two in the morning.”

“Maybe he’s meeting somebody out there,” Dino said.

“A drug delivery? That’s possible, I suppose, but the Coast Guard might notice two boats out together and take a look. Halfway up the Keys there are two balloons moored to cables that are fi fteen thousand feet long. They run them up and use down-facing radar to catch smugglers who are flying low in airplanes or doing odd stuff in boats. I think two boats out at the reef in the middle of the night might draw their attention, but probably not one boat.”

“Let’s make a pass at Key West Bight,” Stone said. “Maybe we’ll see the boat.”

“Okay.” Tommy ran past the cruise ship docks and the waterfront hotels and slowed as he passed the breakwater.

“Nothing but boats,” Dino said. “I think it’s too much to expect to get lucky doing this.”

“You’re right, Dino,” Stone said, looking around. “We’re just wasting Tommy’s fuel. Why don’t you let me fill up your boat on my expense account, Tommy?”

“Okay,” Tommy said, aiming at the fuel dock. They spent twenty minutes there filling the tanks, then headed back toward Garrison Bight and the yacht club.

Once Rosie was secured in her berth, they went into the club to get a sandwich and a beer.

“Stone,” Dino said, “how much longer is your law fi rm going to let you loiter in Key West before they pull the plug?”

“I don’t know,” Stone replied, “but I’m surprised Bill Eggers hasn’t already been on the horn.”

Stone’s cell phone vibrated.

“Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.”

“Speak of the devil.”

“Give me a report.”

Stone put aside his sandwich and spent five minutes bringing Eggers up to date.

“You mean you’re on an island that’s four by five miles, you’ve already spotted this guy once, and now you can’t fi nd him?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” Stone said. “It would be nice if you would call his old man and get me some background on the guy—

how he makes a living, who his best friends are, anything that would give me a lead. This is a lot harder than you think.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Eggers said. “I’ll call you when I know more, and I’ll expect you to know more by then.” Eggers hung up.

“Is he pissed off?” Dino asked.

“No more than usual.”

“You didn’t tell him about the cell phone.”

“That would just have raised his expectations,” Stone said, pick-ing up his sandwich again.

“So what are we going to do this afternoon?” Dino asked. “We’re sort of out of leads.”

Stone brightened. “Tennis, anyone?”

11

THE OLDE ISL AND Tennis Club was on the tourist map, next to and part of the Casa Marina Hotel, the first big tourist draw to Key West, built by the Standard Oil and railroad magnate Henry Flagler. Stone and Dino called Chuck Chandler, then dressed and drove over. They found Chuck in the pro shop.

“Hey, guys,” Chuck said. “You want to go hit some balls? That’ll give me a chance to look at your game.”

Stone and Dino had played together before. Stone had the better serve and stroke, and Dino was good at the net. Chuck stood back and hit against the two of them. After a few minutes, Chuck said,