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  I was greeted at the door by a tall, thin man with gray hair, a large Adam’s apple and a patrician nose. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties and had kept in good shape. He invited me in, and I followed him to the back of the house to a room that that was mostly glass. It was shaded by the overhanging oak trees and looked out over a garden filled with azalea bushes. They would bloom soon and bring, for a short time, a blast of color that would overwhelm the senses.

  Betty Bass was sitting on a sofa, sipping from a glass of iced tea. She stood and shook my hand. She was a petite woman with a pretty face just developing the lines that would soon give away her age. She had dark hair going to gray that she wore just short of shoulder length. “May I get you a glass of tea, Mr. Royal?” she asked. I declined and took a seat in a chair facing the sofa. George sat beside his wife.

  I smiled. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”

  Betty returned the smile. “When J.D. called this morning, she said you were a lawyer and a friend of hers and that you were looking into Katie’s case.”

  George said, “I don’t think we ever met, Mr. Royal, but I knew you by reputation. I was a stockbroker in Winter Park before my retirement.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad, Mr. Bass,” I said. “My reputation, that is.”

  He laughed. “Your reputation was sterling. An outstanding trial lawyer and an honorable man.”

  “Thank you for that,” I said.

  “Mr. Royal,” George said, “Betty and I only had one child. Katie was the light of our lives. When she disappeared, I didn’t think we would survive. We have, but it’s been tough. I think it’d be easier if we knew she was dead, if we could find a body and put her to rest. We’ve given up on finding her alive.”

  “Mr. Bass,” I said, “I don’t want to give you any false hope. I don’t have any idea that Katie is alive. Since J.D. joined the Longboat Key Police Department, she is perhaps in a better position to investigate Katie’s case. She’s in the area where it all happened. She can follow up on what the Sarasota Police may have given up on. What she’d like to do is find out what happened to Katie and who murdered her husband.”

  “What’s your interest in this?” asked George.

  “J.D. asked me to help.”

  “That’s it?” George asked. “Why would a detective ask a retired lawyer for help?”

  I held it for a beat, trying to decide how to answer. It was a reasonable question. “J.D. and I are more than friends,” I said finally.

  Betty grinned. “I thought so. There was something in J.D.’s voice when she talked about you.”

  George said, “She’s a sweetheart. She’s kept in touch with us over the years. Checks in regularly.”

  “Mr. Bass,” I said, “I know you’ve been asked some of these questions a thousand times, but I’d like to go over some things, if you’ll indulge me.”

  Both Basses nodded.

  “Okay,” I said. “Have you heard anything from the Sarasota Police in the past year?”

  “Captain McAllister calls every couple of months,” George said. “He never has anything new to tell us. He mostly wants to know if we’ve heard from Katie.”

  I was surprised at that. “Has he said that he thinks Katie’s alive?”

  “No,” said George. “He says he’s just covering the bases. Since they never found her body, he wants to make sure she hasn’t turned up somewhere and contacted us.”

  “Did you know Captain McAllister before Katie’s disappearance?”

  “Not really,” said Betty. “We had heard his name because he was a friend of Katie’s husband, Jim. But that was just in passing. We didn’t know much about him. I don’t think we even realized he was a policeman.”

  “Were you and Katie close?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Betty. “We talked by phone a couple of times a week and she visited us regularly or we went to see her in Sarasota.”

  “When was the last time you talked?”

  Betty was quiet for a moment and then shook her head. “A week before the incident. That’s what George and I call it. The incident.”

  “Phone call?” I asked.

  “No. She drove over to visit. She stayed the night.”

  “Anything unusual about the visit?”

  “No. Nothing. She seemed a little stressed out, but that was about it.”

  “How long did she stay?” I asked.

  “Just the one night. She came over late in the afternoon, watched some television with us, and went to bed early. I made breakfast for all of us and then had to go to my regular shift at the hospital.”

  “You work at the hospital?”

  “I volunteer four hours a week. I’m a pink lady. I work in the gift shop.”

  “How was she when you got home?”

  “Oh, she’d already left for Sarasota. She told George she had to get back because she and Jim were leaving on a cruise. Said she’d call when they got home. I never heard from her again.”

  “Did you ever hear about anybody who wanted to hurt either Jim or Katie?” I asked. “Anybody mad at them or that they’d had a spat with?”

  “No,” said George. “Of course, Katie probably wouldn’t have mentioned anything like that to us. Not unless she thought she or Jim were in danger. She didn’t like to worry us.”

  “Where is Jim’s family?” I asked.

  “There isn’t one,” said George. “His parents died while he was in college, and he didn’t have any siblings.”

  “What about their friends in Sarasota?” I asked. “Do you know who they were?”

  “No,” said George. “I think they socialized a lot with other members of the law firm. They probably had other friends, but I don’t think we ever met any of them.”

  “How often would you go to Sarasota to visit Katie?”

  “Not often,” said Betty. “Maybe a couple times a year. She usually came here.”

  “You never met any of her friends when you were visiting?”

  “No,” said George. “Normally, we’d drive over one day, spend the night, and come back the next day.”

  “How did the marriage seem to you?” I asked.

  “Good,” said Betty.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said George.

  Betty turned to him, a look of consternation on her face. “Now George, you don’t have any basis for that opinion.”

  “You’re right, honey. It’s just a feeling, but I think there were some problems that Katie never mentioned to us.”

  “What makes you think that, Mr. Bass?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. She just didn’t seem happy. There’s nothing tangible I can put my finger on.”

  “I think it was just the normal ups and downs of marriage,” said Betty.

  “It was more than that,” said George. “I think maybe she was being abused.”

  “George,” said Betty, anger tingeing her voice. “Jim would never have hurt Katie.”

  “I don’t mean physical abuse,” said George. “But Jim was an intense guy. I think he was pretty controlling. Katie wanted children, but Jim wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Wouldn’t even discuss it.”

  “He worked hard,” said Betty. “His job put a lot of pressure on him. If the marriage was as bad as you think, George, Katie would have divorced him.”

  “Maybe not,” George said. “Katie would have seen that as a failure. And, more importantly, she would have thought that we would have seen it as a failure. She never wanted to disappoint us.”

  I changed the subject. “Did Jim’s parents leave him any money?”

  “No,” said George. “They had a small citrus operation over near Avon Park, but I don’t think it amounted to much. They made enough to live on, and that was about it. Jim went to college and law school on scholarships.”

  “Were they growers?” I asked.

  “In a small way,” George said. “They owned a grove, but I heard from someone that it wasn’t very productiv
e. Jim inherited it when his parents died, and he had some people running it, but I’m sure it didn’t bring in much income. A hurricane came through there several years ago and took out most of the trees. The land must have had some value because Jim sold it just before he died.”

  “Who stands to inherit Jim’s estate?” I asked.

  “Jim’s will left everything to Katie, and if she didn’t survive him, it would come to us. I hired a lawyer over in Sarasota to probate the will and everything’s just sitting there. Jim had named a lawyer in his firm to be the executor, and he sold the house. Turned everything into cash in accordance with the will. Now the cash just sits in a bank until there is some determination that Katie is dead. I guess we’ll get it sooner or later, but we’re going to give it to charity. Maybe set up a scholarship in Katie’s name.”

  “Do you know how much cash there is?” I asked.

  “Something over twelve million dollars,” George said.

  That was a bit of a shock. A lawyer in Jim’s league would do okay, but I didn’t think he would have accumulated twelve million dollars in cash in the ten or twelve years he’d practiced law. “Would you mind telling me how that much cash came to be?”

  “The house sold for almost a million, and I was told that the grove in Avon Park went for about ten grand. I think all the other money was from cash assets.”

  “Were there any stocks, bonds, mutual funds, that sort of thing?”

  “No. I went through all that with the administrator. Just the house, the grove, and cash.”

  “Do you have any idea where all that cash came from?”

  “I assumed he made it. He was a pretty prominent lawyer.”

  Not that prominent, I thought. “Do you know who was running the grove for Jim?”

  “Yes. Hold on and I can get you the name and a phone number.” He stood and left the room.

  Betty sat quietly for a few moments and then looked at me with tears welling in her eyes. “George may be right, you know,” she said. “About Katie and Jim. She wasn’t happy during the last years. She was coming here more often and staying longer. Never more than three or four days, but before that she’d only been staying for one night, or two if Jim was out of town. There was something sad about her that I couldn’t figure out. She always denied that there was anything wrong, but a mother knows.”

  “What about friends here in Winter Park? Did she see anybody regularly?”

  “No. She pretty much withdrew from all her high school friends. I’d see some of them occasionally and they always asked about her, but she never got in touch.”

  “Did that happen when she went to Miami to college?”

  Betty thought about that for a bit. “No, I don’t think so. I remember times when she came home on breaks and the house was full of her old friends.”

  “When did that change?”

  She thought some more, and I watched as a tear finally broke loose and rolled slowly down her right cheek. “About the time she got serious with Jim.”

  “Did that seem strange to you?”

  “Not really. I guess I always thought she was just growing up and moving on.”

  “Was there ever a time when she cut off contact with you and George?”

  “No, but there was a time after they got married that we didn’t see much of them. Her excuse was that they were busy in Sarasota. Jim was just starting out and trying to build a practice.”

  George returned to the room and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t put my hand on the information about the people helping Jim out in Avon Park. Is it important?”

  “Probably not,” I said, “but if you do run across it, I’d appreciate your letting me know.” I stood. “I appreciate your hospitality, and I hope I didn’t dredge up too many bad memories.”

  “No,” said Betty. “We appreciate your help.”

  “I’ll keep you posted if we find out anything.”

  Betty walked me to the door and reached up, gave me a hug, and whispered in my ear, “Take care of J.D.”

  I smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  J.D. was again sitting in Ann Kuehnel’s living room. Pleasantries had been exchanged and now they were sipping freshly brewed coffee. “Ann, I need to show you a picture and ask if you can identify the man in it.”

  “Is he the murderer?”

  “No. But he may be a witness. I think he might live here.” She gave Ann a copy of the picture captured from the security video.

  “Yes, I know him. That’s Porter King. He lives in 3B.”

  “His car wasn’t in the parking lot this morning, and I had a patrol car check periodically during the night. It doesn’t look as if he came home.”

  Ann laughed. “He has a girlfriend over on the mainland. I think he stays over sometimes.”

  “Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”

  “I’m sorry, J.D. I don’t know his girlfriend’s name. Our manager would probably have his cell phone number, though. You could try that.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check on my way out. What can you tell me about Mr. King?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. He’s a number of years younger than most of the people who live here, so he doesn’t spend much time with us. I’ve heard he was in the oil business in some way and he made a small fortune and retired.”

  “Do you know where he’s from?” J.D. asked.

  “New York City, I think. But I’m not sure about that.”

  “Do you know how long he’s lived here?”

  “About a year, I guess. He bought the place from Clara Johnson’s estate after she died. She was one of the original owners, like me.”

  “Can you think of anything else about the murder?”

  “Sorry. I wracked my brain all night, but there’s nothing more I can tell you. I couldn’t sleep. I never saw anybody killed before. And Ken was a friend. It was just awful. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it out of my head.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see all that, Ann. I’d better go. I need to get back to the station. If you happen to see Mr. King, will you give me a call? I really need to talk to him.”

  “I’ll call you the minute I see him.”

  The women chatted for a few more minutes and J.D. left, stopping by the manager’s office on her way out. She sat for a few minutes in her car, thinking, and then called Martin Sharkey, her deputy chief. She asked him to run Porter King’s name through the databases and see if anything came up. She wanted to know all she could about King before she talked to him.

  She called the sheriff’s forensics office and asked about any results on the car they pulled out of Longboat Pass or any information on the man that was in it. Nothing. She sat for a few more minutes, frustrated at the pace of officialdom. She picked up her phone again and called Bert Hawkins, the chief medical examiner of the Twelfth Judicial Circuit, identified herself, and was put through.

  “Ah, my favorite detective,” said Dr. Hawkins. “You must need something.”

  “Now, Bert, what if I called just to hear your voice?”

  “Then I’d think you had finally come to your senses and dumped Matt and were coming on to me.”

  J.D. laughed. “If you were single, I’d probably do just that. As it happens, I do need something.”

  “What can I do for you, J.D.?”

  “We pulled a John Doe from Longboat Pass yesterday. He should be in your morgue. I was wondering if you could get to his autopsy today.”

  “Already done. I got to it first thing this morning.”

  “I guess the sheriff doesn’t have your report yet. What can you tell me about him?”

  “Not much. He was in good health, probably in his mid-thirties. He didn’t drown. No water in his lungs, but his spinal cord was severed up in the neck area. Died instantly.”

  “Is that an unusual injury?”

  “Very common in car wrecks. Usually we see it in high-speed rear-enders. The lawyers call it whiplash, which isn’t very scientifi
c. It’s a flexion-extension type injury. The head is knocked to the rear and then immediately to the front. If the force is sufficient, it can sever the cord.”

  “This wasn’t a rear-end collision.”

  “I know. I think it probably happened when he hit the bridge railing. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and the force of hitting the railing would have thrown his head into the steering wheel. There was an abrasion on his forehead consistent with that theory. The steering wheel stopped his head’s forward progress, but his chin would have kept going. That would have thrown his head back at an awkward angle, snapping his neck.”

  “Did he have any marks on his body, any wounds, tattoos, surgical scars, anything that would give me a lead on his identity?”

  “He’d been shot sometime in the past, but it looks like a pretty good doc cleaned him up.”

  “How so?”

  “The bullet went into his abdomen and ruptured his colon and took a part of his liver. Whoever took care of him got everything fixed.”

  “Any idea how long ago?”

  “Probably years.”

  “Did you get some blood samples for DNA?”

  “Of course, and I put a rush on them for you. You should have some results tomorrow.”

  “Will you ask the lab to test for any genetic markers that could tell us where he’s from?”

  “That’s a little more complex, but we can do it. Probably narrow down his ethnicity, but we won’t be able to tell you where he’s from. He could have been born in Sarasota, and we couldn’t tell you that, but we could tell you if he is of Chinese extraction, say.”

  “Is he Asian?”

  “No. Not in appearance. I was just using that as an example.”

  “Thanks, Bert. Call me when your wife kicks you out.”

  He was chuckling as he hung up.

  J.D. shook her head in frustration. She was no closer to identifying the shooter than she had been when she woke up that morning. Sharkey called before she could start her car. “King lives at the same address as the murder yesterday, drives a black Acura SUV, and is fifty-two years old. No warrants and nobody’s looking for him. His record is clean as a whistle and he’s lived on Longboat for a little over a year. Does that help?”