Collateral Damage (21 page)

“The lady told me the name of the restaurant the boat left from and the time. I went there and bought a ticket for the boat. I barely made it. I got there just as they were taking the lines off.”

“Did you see the stalker on the boat?”

“No. The boat was crowded. He might have been on it, but I didn't see him.”

“Why did you run?”

“Run?”

“Yeah. After Kat was killed.”

“I didn't know she was dead. She was really pissed when I showed
up. Told me to get the hell out of her life. I left. I figured we'd sort it out when she got back to Charlotte.”

“Did you tell her about EZGo Travel and the stalker?”

“Yes, but she wasn't concerned. Said the guy wouldn't come all the way to Florida to harm her when he could do it in Charlotte. She thought the gift certificate was just one more ploy on his part to get to see her. She said she might as well enjoy it.”

“Didn't you miss her when the boat docked?”

“No. She told me to get lost and that pissed me off. I went to the front of the boat to wait until we landed. When we hit the sandbar, I went back looking for her, but the lights were out and I couldn't see a damn thing. I didn't want to piss her off any more than she was, so I went back to the front of the boat and stayed there until we docked. Then I started for home.”

“When did you first find out that she'd died?”

“When I got back to Charlotte. Her mom called me late that morning. The police had called her.”

“Did you tell the police about the stalker?”

“I called the Charlotte police and they told me to call the Longboat Key Police Department.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Why not? Didn't you think it important that Katherine might have been set up by a stalker?”

“Yeah, I thought it was important, but it wouldn't bring her back. One of the other girls at Hooters had told me this guy bragged about being part of the mob. If he was, I didn't want them coming after me.”

“The mob? What mob?”

“I don't know. I guess he meant the Mafia.”

“Where are the Brewsters?”

“They're at a friend's house outside of Hickory.”

“Why did they run?”

“When Mrs. Brewster told me about you coming to visit, I thought it might be the mob coming for us all. I told them what I thought about the
stalker and the EZGo Travel thing. We decided it would be best if they hid out.”

“What about you?”

“I doubt they know who I am. Besides, I've got a job and school. I couldn't just leave town.”

What's the name of the waitress at Hooters who told you about the stalker owning the travel agency?”

“Sally. I don't know her last name.”

I looked at Jock. “You got anything else?”

“No. I think you covered it, Counselor.”

We headed south on I-485, exited, and pulled into the parking lot of a Hooters Restaurant.

The Happy Hour crowd was there, mostly blue-collar types drinking beer and chatting up the waitresses. Jock and I took seats at the bar and ordered drinks, a diet Coke for me and an O'Doul's for Jock. When the bartender brought them, I asked, “Is there a waitress here named Sally?”

“I can't talk about that.”

“Did you know Katherine Brewster?”

“Yes.”

I handed her a card that showed that I was a lawyer in Longboat Key. “I'm trying to help her family find out who killed her. Katherine's boyfriend, Doug Peterson, told me that Sally might have some information that'd be helpful.”

“Let me ask around.” She took my card and left.

Jock and I sat and sipped our drinks. In a few minutes a woman in her mid-twenties came to the bar. She had the card I'd given the bartender in her hand. She stood next to me and said, “I'm Sally. Katherine was a very good friend of mine.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” I said. “We've just left Doug Peterson. He said you might be able to help us.”

“If I can.”

“Doug says that Katherine was being stalked by one of the customers here. Do you know who that was?”

“Yes. His name's John Doremus. Or at least that's what he said.”

I looked at Jock. “John Doe is the name of the owner of EZGo,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sally, do you know anything else about him?”

“Not really. He told me one time he was involved with the mob, but I didn't believe him.”

“What kind of mob?”

“I assumed he was talking about organized crime.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“No. He hasn't been in for a while.”

“Do you remember the last time you saw him here?”

“No. But I don't think he's been in since Kat died.”

“You wouldn't happen to know where he lives?”

She laughed. “No, and I don't want to know.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He's about forty years old, dark hair that he parts in the middle. Wears it short, not a buzz cut, by not much longer than that. Has a lot of acne scars on his cheeks, a receding chin, a nose with a little hump on the bridge. He's big, about six feet tall, pretty heavyset, a belly that hangs over his belt. Talks with some kind of Yankee accent, like from New Jersey or New York. His teeth are very white. They might be caps, or maybe he had one of those cosmetic whitening jobs.”

“You're very observant,” Jock said.

“Gotta be with creeps like that. If I saw him outside the restaurant, I'd run the other way. Do you think he killed Kat?”

“Don't know,” I said. “He's what the police call a person of interest. I'd like to talk to him. Do you think there'd be any credit card information on him in your computers?”

“No. He always paid cash.”

“How often did he come in?” Jock asked.

“Almost every night. He usually came in late and stayed until closing. I think he always hoped one of the girls would go home with him.”

“Did any of them ever go out with him?”

“I never heard of any who did, and I kinda doubt anybody would. He was too creepy.”

“Did he seem to take an inordinate interest in any of the girls?”

“You mean other than Kat?”

“Yes.”

“He hit on everybody, but Kat seemed to be his favorite. I tried to warn Kat that he could be trouble, but she always saw the good in everybody. Said he was probably just lonely. Maybe her soft heart got her killed.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Did you ever see him in here with any Asian men?”

“Asian? No. Not that I remember.”

“How about an Asian woman?”

“Definitely no. I never saw him with a woman at all.”

“How did he dress?” I asked “

What do you mean?”

“Did he wear a suit and tie, casual clothes, jeans?”

“He usually had on a pair of dress slacks and a golf shirt. They were nice clothes. Expensive looking. He seemed to have a lot of money.”

“How so?”

“He always flashed a wad of bills when he was paying for his drinks. He was a good tipper and wore a big diamond ring on each pinkie.”

“Two rings?”

“Yes. I thought that was a little much, but you know how some guys are.”

“Are you sure they were diamonds?”

“No, but they didn't look like glass. I guess they could've been cubic zirconia. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

“What now?” asked Jock. We were in the rental car, pointed toward the airport and home.

“I guess we'd better see what we can find on Doremus.”

“I guess. But that sounds like a fake name.”

“Could be. Can your guys check him out?”

Jock looked at his watch. “A bit late today, but I'll call in the morning.

I wonder why he wanted Katherine on Anna Maria?”

“I don't follow you.”

“He went to a lot of trouble to get that gift certificate for the Anna Maria Inn. He obviously wanted Katherine to go there. Why?”

“So he could get her alone?” I asked.

“Sure. But why Anna Maria specifically?”

“Good question. Got any ideas?”

“He might have wanted to be somewhere that he was comfortable.

Knowledgeable about the area. Wanted to impress the girl. Maybe he has a home in the area.”

“That is worth checking out,” I said. “Doremus can't be a common name. If we can find that same name on properties in Charlotte and in our area, we'll be able to find him.”

“Deb can probably do that as quickly as the agency,” said Jock. “We won't get much priority.”

I looked at my watch. It was a little after nine. I pulled my phone out and called Deb.

“Where are you?” I asked. “Working?”

“I'm in bed. It's my day off.”

“Little early for sleeping isn't it?”

“What makes you think I'm sleeping?”

“What're you doing, then?”

“Duh.”

“Oops. Whose bed are you in?”

“My own.”

“Who's there with you? “None of your business.”

“Deb, I worry about you.”

“Forget it, numbnuts. I'm all alone watching an HBO movie.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I'm sure. What do you want?”

“A little favor.”

“I've heard that one before.”

I told her what I needed. “If you can't reach me on my cell, it'll be because we're in the air. Leave a message and I'll call you when we land.”

We landed at Tampa a little after midnight. We were the last flight in and there were only a few passengers on our plane. The airport was quiet, the little kiosks and restaurants that lined the concourse closed and dark. I turned my cell phone on and checked for messages. One from Deb. I called voice mail, listened, and hung up.

“She found somebody,” I said to Jock. “There's a John Doremus who owns a home in Charlotte and a condo on Seventh-Fifth Street West in Bradenton.”

“That's got to be him.”

“Maybe we should have stayed overnight in Charlotte,” I said. “He's not likely to be here this time of the year.”

“We've got to check it out.”

“Yes. We do. Tomorrow.”

An hour later we were home on Longboat Key. I typed up notes on our activities the past two days and e-mailed them to J. D. and Chaz Desmond. Then I went to bed.

J.D. called early the next morning, waking me from a dream that had something to do with beautiful women. “What're you doing?” she asked.

“Dreaming.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yes. It's okay.”

“It's also after nine. You never sleep this late.”

“Yesterday was a long day. We got in late.”

“I got your memo. Do you think this is the same Doremus who was stalking Katherine Brewster?”

“It's got to be,” I said. “That's not a common name.”

“Do you want me to go see him?”

“He may be in Charlotte. Why don't Jock and I stop by his condo? If he's here, he might get spooked by a cop.”

“Yeah, like he wouldn't get spooked looking at Jock.”

“You've got a point.”

“Go see him. Let me know what you find out.”

Seventy-Fifth Street West is a north-south artery linking Manatee Avenue to Cortez Road. The apartment complex where Doremus lived was only about five miles from the Cortez Bridge that led to Anna Maria Island. It was late morning when I knocked on the door. A black man opened it. He was in his late sixties or early seventies. He had a head full of gray hair, a face that easily wrinkled into a grin when he greeted us, and a voice that was deep and Southern.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“My name is Matt Royal. This is Jock Algren. I'm a lawyer on Long-boat Key, and I'm trying to find John Doremus.”

“You've found him. I'm John Doremus.”

“Sir,” I said, “the man I'm looking for is white and about forty years old.”

He grinned. “You've probably noticed that I don't fit either of those descriptions.”

“Do you own a home in Charlotte, North Carolina?”

“I do. Y'all come on in and tell me what you want with a white guy with my name.”

The condo was large and tastefully furnished and neat as a pin. The only sign of disorder was the pile of newspapers lying on the floor next to a recliner. It looked like the
Wall Street Journal
, the
New York Times,
and the
Sarasota Herald-Tribune
. Doremus caught my glance at the papers and said, “I like to keep up with what's going on in the world. Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you gentlemen.”

“I was surprised to find you here in August,” I said.

“I live here year round. My wife lives in the house in Charlotte. We're separated. Seems to make the marriage better.” He chuckled.

“We came up with your name by running a property search in both Charlotte and this area,” I said. “You popped up, but you're obviously not the man we're looking for.”

“Why are you looking for him?”

“Do you remember the murders on the dinner cruise boat about two months back?”

“Sure. That was the big news around here. At least for a couple of days.”

“The man we're looking for is a person of interest in those murders.”

“What's your interest, Mr. Royal, if I may ask?”

“I'm representing a family whose son was killed the same day over on the beach. The murders may be connected. Jock and I are trying to find this guy named Doremus to see if he can help us out.”

Jock stirred in his chair. “Mr. Doremus, can you think of why someone would be using your name in Charlotte?”

“No. Why?”

“It could explain why a white guy has an unusual name, a name that shows up owning property in both areas,” said Jock.