who’s positively ID’d Junior as being there?’
‘Don’t,’ Whit said. ‘His father owns the boat.’
‘Okay, yeah, but you got anyone who will ID Junior as being the argumentative type you’re looking for?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really? ’Cause Junior wasn’t here yesterday. Neither was I. We been in Houston the past few days, we just drove in this morning. Got a whole bunch of people who will confirm that.’
‘Why are y’all down here? Because someone died on your property?’
‘Junior’s in charge of getting this resort project completed for his dad. You could call him a project manager. You should. He loves it.’
Whit raised an eyebrow. ‘Let me guess. Junior manages the project and you manage Junior.’
Anson grinned. His teeth were yellowed from cigarette smoke.
‘How well did you know Pete?’ Whit asked.
‘I met him just once. Let me tell you. Judge, I find porn boring. I find porn stars even more boring. Especially when they’re male. Pete had all the brains of dandruff.’
‘What about this money Pete and Junior supposedly bickered over?’
Anson cleared his throat. His voice took on a soft volume that had no softness in the tone. ‘Look, Judge, I agreed to tell you what we know, not undergo interrogation. We knew the guy, we didn’t have anything to do with his death, and Mr Deloache is gonna want his boat back pronto.’
‘Mr Deloache is going to have to wait for the investigation to be over,’ Whit answered pleasantly. ‘Mr Deloache, both the senior and the junior, need to answer questions.’
‘Let me ask you one. How many times was Pete shot?’
‘Once.’
‘Where?’
‘The head.’
Anson crinkled his nose. ‘Gee. Once in the head. Can I have suicide for four hundred dollars, Alex?’
‘Or maybe it was an execution,’ Whit said. ‘Gangland style.’
‘Gangland? Christ, I haven’t heard that term since cable showed the James Cagney movie marathon.’ Anson leaned back in his chair. ‘Look, Judge, you want to explore slander, keep talking. We got a whole flock of lawyers up in Houston that wouldn’t consider your ass a light hors d’oeuvre.’
‘Yes, but my ass is planted up on the court bench, and from that vantage point I can call you and Junior as witnesses at the inquest. Mr Deloache, too.’
‘I’ve told you we know nothing. And I got nothing to give you. Judge, except the pleasure of my company and a good cup of coffee.’ He smiled. ‘I bet you know the good fishing spots in St Leo Bay. We ought to get our lines tight some time.’
Whit imagined more of Anson’s boating expeditions involved concrete mixes and pleas for mercy rather than suntan lotion and cheap bait. ‘Thanks for your time. I’ll see you in court.’ He headed for the elevator, Gooch silently following, and pressed the button.
The fishing bonhomie vanished. ‘It’s not a good idea to waste Mr Deloache’s time.’
‘It’s not a good idea to waste mine, either,’ Whit said. The doors slid open, and Whit and Gooch stepped on the elevator. Anson Todd stared at them until the doors slid shut.
‘You’re such a bad ass,’ Gooch said. ‘I released a vast flood of urine into my pants, out of sheer terror.’
‘You do smell funny,’ Whit said. ‘Watch me. I’ll subpoena both of them so fast their beady little eyes’ll pop.’
The elevator doors slid open with a creaky fanfare. Junior Deloache stood there with a box of raisin bran crushed under his arm and a six-pack of beer. He looked like a delivery boy gone to seed but a cold light of calculation touched his eyes.
‘Hi, Junior,’ Whit said. ‘Could we talk for a second? Just outside?’
Junior shook his head. ‘I gotta make sure Anson gets his Mr Plumb-r cereal.’
‘I’d like to see what all you’re doing with Sea Haven. I only have a couple of questions for you.’
Junior shrugged and Whit and Gooch followed him through the dismantled lobby to a large patio, aglow with fuzzy security lights, bare of furniture, with an emptied, cracked pool. A decaying cabana-cum-bar with a graying palm-thatched roof stood nearby, lopsided with neglect.
‘Welcome to Groo-vin’ Central,’ Junior said. ‘Once we get it cleaned up and lure all the young chickies here.’
Gooch said, ‘Oh, yes, I just see chickies flocking here by the dozens.’
‘You gonna have the money to finish?’ Whit asked.
Junior gave him a scornful sideways glance. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Didn’t you owe Pete Hubble serious money?’
‘Most certainly did not.’
‘People at the marina heard the two of you bickering about money. Saw you shoving him around on your boat.’
Junior frowned, but Whit saw he had to think about it first. ‘Your sources are faulty, man. I didn’t owe him money.’
Gooch asked, ‘So what did Pete owe you?’
‘And you would be who?’ Junior asked. ‘You the bailiff for the judge or something?’
‘Gooch is just a friend along for the ride.’ Whit wished Gooch would shut up.
‘There was no owing of any sort, man. There’s a real difference between friends goofing around and arguing. I just got a big voice.’
‘When did you last see Pete?’ Whit asked.
‘A few days ago, last week. He and I took the boat out.’
‘Do you want to talk about whatever this money issue was at an inquest hearing? Because I’ll call you to testify if I think it’s relevant. Or if you’re not cooperating. I’m sure the police would be interested.’
Not testifying, Whit suspected, might be a family virtue long drummed into Junior, probably since he broke the legs of his first G.I. Joe in the nursery.
‘I had no reason to want Pete dead. See, Pete promised me I could be in a movie.’
‘The one he was making about his brother?’
‘Tragedy is not my style. A, you know, different kind of movie.’ Junior swiveled his hips with a not-so-subtle grind.
‘I see. Pete was going to let you be in a groo-vin’ movie,’ Whit said in an understanding tone.
‘Yeah, you’re on board now. Fucking A.’
‘Anson and your dad must’ve loved that idea.’
The smile faded.
‘I got the impression whatever Anson said, you did.’ Whit gently poked the box of raisin bran.
‘Yeah, well, that’s me being nice to an old fart. Anson’s older’n hell, he already got one wheel in the grave.’
‘So with Pete gone I guess your movie career is on hold. Unless you can convince Velvet to cast you in her next opus.’
He grinned. That’s no problem.’
‘Why is that?’
Junior set the cereal and beer down, gently, stood, and rubbed his palms against each other, warming his fists for use. ‘You know, you’re grilling me like chicken, dude, and I don’t got to give you the time of day.’
‘Oh, yes, please let’s get physical,’ Gooch interrupted. ‘I haven’t had a workout today, and you got punching bag written all over your gut.’
Junior started a retort, then seemed to reconsider as he noted the size of Gooch’s biceps. ‘I sure as hell ain’t gonna answer any more questions.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you in my courtroom.’ Whit had found his weapon – Anson’s and Junior’s loathing of court – and wasn’t about to surrender it.
A cold rage lit Junior’s eyes. ‘My daddy’s attorneys will eat you alive.’
‘What’s with these attorneys and the food metaphors? Eat us alive and grilling you like chicken and consider
