"Ballistics hasn't come back yet.” I lied.
His eyes narrowed at me. "I find that hard to believe."
We stared at each other for a long moment.
His eyes narrowed at me. "I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, Deputy, but I don't like it. Don't think I don't know what you're getting at. I may be retired, but I'm not stupid. That reporter comes to talk to me, tells me that Ray’s still alive. Now you think I went down to Coconut Key and closed a case that should have been closed a long time ago."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face." Frank leaned against the table. "You know what they say, Deputy... The more you stir shit, the more it stinks. Ray Corbin, Ray Coleman, whatever the fuck his name is, he's dead. Good riddance. Who gives a shit? Somebody did the world a favor. That guy was a Grade A scumbag. Be glad he's gone."
I knew this next question wasn't going to earn me any brownie points. "You mind if I take a look around your boat?”
His eyes filled with hate. "Get the fuck off my boat. You got no right to search.”
"You're on the water. I've got the right to do a routine compliance inspection," I said, staring him down, holding my ground. I hated to ruffle his feathers, but I didn’t come up here to make a new friend. I came for the truth.
Anger swelled his face, reddening his cheeks. "I'm in compliance. I've got flares, paperwork, life preservers, and my fire extinguisher is up-to-date.” Frank stood up from the settee, produced the required items, and told me to get the hell out.
I didn't have the right to search the boat, only what was in plain view.
Nothing stood out to me.
I didn't see a .22 with a suppressor. A guy like Frank wouldn’t have kept that lying around the boat. He’d have gotten rid of it after the shooting, if he was responsible.
Needless to say, Frank didn't give me Chris Johannesen’s contact information. But it wouldn’t be hard to figure out.
On the way back to the parking lot, I called Isabella. "I need another favor.”
32
“Iwas just about to call you,” Isabella said. “I’ve been doing some digging on Ray Corbin. His file is classified, and even I’m having a hard time accessing it. Somebody was definitely protecting him. I’ll keep digging.”
“Thanks. I need contact info for a reporter, Chris Johannesen.”
Isabella tapped the keys. A few moments later, she gave me his cell phone number and told me his location.
I thanked her again, ended the call, and dialed Chris. It went to voicemail, and I left a message.
I hopped on the bike, pulled on my helmet and gloves, and fired up the engine. The drive back to Coconut Key didn’t take long, and I definitely got my high-speed fix.
I missed the track and was looking forward to another race day. As tempting as the offer was, I had passed on joining Bill Wembley’s race team. Didn’t have the time.
When I got back to Coconut Key, there was a message from Chris Johanssen. I called him back right away. This time, he picked up.
“Hey, Chris. I just have a few questions for you.”
“I’ve got a few questions for you as well. Maybe we can make this a win-win. I’ve been digging into this case for quite a while. I talked to every one of the victims’ families, the medical examiner who worked on Ray Corbin’s body, the cop who worked the case… You name it. I even talked to Ray’s wife.”
I lifted a surprised brow. “You talked to Dana?”
“Yeah, I reached out to her, and to my surprise, she agreed to talk.”
“So, she knew about Ray’s history.”
“I told her my theory, and she dismissed it at first. Then she called me back a month or so later. I guess she started having doubts. By that time, I had already matched prints.”
“How?”
