Vampire Slayer Murdered in Key West - Mick Murphy Short Stories Read Online Free PDF

Soul museum opened there’s no shortage of replicas,” I said.
    “Damn,” he stood up. “Two bodies, two swords, it’s gotta be the same killer,” he pointed toward the sword and pirate flag, “who is scared and that makes him more dangerous than methodical. Unless you’ve got an idea about a suspect, Chief, I think you need to call FDLE.”
    “Yeah,” he sat at a barstool, his back to the body. “But let’s give our detectives a few hours on their own, maybe they’ll come up with a suspect.”
    The Florida Department of Law Enforcement is like a state FBI and is used often by small municipalities in the Florida Keys when major crimes occur. Sherlock regularly uses the FDLE crime lab in his investigations.
    “Someone at the marina must have seen something,” I added in support.
    “You’re right there, Mick,” Sherlock answered a little too quickly, “people saw you, but no one saw anyone before you got on the boat.”
    “Well, then,” I stuffed the cigar back in my mouth, “they didn’t see Tony get on, so they missed him, why not the killer?”
    Two police cars pulled to a stop in the parking lot. It was time for the investigation to get going and I knew that meant talking to Tracy.
    “Give your statement to the officer outside,” the Chief said. “And come to the station when Luis calls you. Any idea why Lucky was looking for you here, when the bar’s not open?”
    “None,” I lied.
    “You were lookin’ for the first vic and he got himself killed,” Sherlock said flatly, “you were comin’ to meet this vic, and he’s dead. Do me a favor, Mick, go home and stop lookin’ for people!”
    • • •
    I didn’t go home, because I needed the package Lucky had left with Tracy. A section of the sky filled with rain clouds, but to the north, the sun shined. I rode my bike to Harpoon Harry’s, knowing it would be hours before the police finished at the Hog’s Breath.
    The breakfast crowd had gone and it was too early for the lunch bunch, so I grabbed a table in back and Ron, the owner, brought me a mug of black coffee and the menu. I ordered an egg and cheese sandwich on Cuban bread.
    “You mind if I join you?”
    Attorney Shawn Eden stood there, a warm smile spread across his freshly shaven face. I poured sugar into my
con leche
and pointed at the empty seat across from me.
    Shawn is a big man, in size and in the community. His thick mop of hair has turned gray, but once it was as black as his attorney’s heart. His family has been in the Keys for forever and he is a Conch, the name given to local families that have lived here for generations. His dress code is colorful print shirts, creased linen pants, and expensive loafers without socks.
    Ron brought him a mug of coffee and Shawn waved off the menu.
    “A shame about your friend,” he said and poured four spoons of sugar into his coffee. “I talked with him recently about my backing the treasure hunters.” He couldn’t stifle a laugh. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but those guys were anything but treasure hunters.”
    “You made a lot of money off their treasure, counselor,” I sipped my coffee.
    “I met the three of them back in the ‘60s,” he closed his eyes. “More than forty years ago. I was fresh out of law school and I had my degree. What you see here in Key West today, that’s not what it was like when I came home.” He pointed toward the harbor and Waterfront Market, “That area there was filled with shrimp boats, PT’s was a tough country-western bar. And the shrimpers weren’t bringing in much shrimp, but they had a lot of square groupers to unload,” he laughed, again. “God, what a town this used to be.”
    Square groupers are bales of marijuana. Key West businessmen backed local fishermen and they made fortunes bringing in loads of marijuana from mother ships offshore. It went on into the 1980s, but then the smugglers switched to cocaine and the rules changed. The money was better, but DEA and