Quint Mitchell 01 - Matanzas Bay by Parker Francis Read Free Book Online Page B

supportive thing for her to do. You don’t know how much it lifted my spirits.”
    “And …” I waited for the rest of the story.
    “She wanted to know how she could help. I told her you and I were friends. That you were a private investigator.”
    “I see.”
    “She asked for your phone number and I gave it to her. I’m sorry if I took advantage of our friendship, Quint. You probably didn’t want to get involved in such a messy affair.”
    “Not at all. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you, and it can’t hurt to have the wife of the murder victim on your side. Hopefully, the police will take that into consideration, although Mrs. Marrano seems convinced they’ve already made up their minds about this case.”
    He hung his head as if it had suddenly become too heavy to hold erect. When he looked up, he stared directly into my eyes. “You’ve got to believe me, Quint. I didn’t kill him. I admit I let my temper get the best of me. Marrano and the St. Johns Group were about to disembowel St. Augustine with that damned Matanzas Bay project. Hot-headed, yes, but that doesn’t make me a murderer.”
    His eyes glistened with emotion as he spoke. I had no doubt he was telling the truth. But what about the bayonet? “Jeffrey, I have to ask you again about the bayonet.”
    He nodded slowly, and I knew he’d been anticipating my question.
    “You must have checked to see if it was still there when you went home last night.” He was still nodding. “Was it?”
    The nodding stopped. “No. It wasn’t there.”
    “You understand what this means? The murder weapon was in your possession, and the police will want to know how it ended up in Marrano’s chest.”
    “I was awake all night asking myself the same question. I honestly haven’t seen it since our dinner two weeks ago. I don’t know what happened to it.”
    “Have you had any visitors lately?”
    He thought a moment before replying. “Had a few neighbors over for coffee and pancakes last Sunday morning.” He hesitated, then added, “Oh, one of the city maintenance workers came by last week with something he’d found in the park by Oyster Creek Marina.”
    “What was that?”
    “A piece of pottery. I brought him back to my storeroom to show him some other examples.”
    “So he was in the room. Did you notice if the bayonet was still there?”
    “No. I’m sorry.”
    “Who else has keys to your house?”
    “Several neighbors, but it’s not like my house is a bank vault. I don’t have any special locks or security. It’s a quiet neighborhood, and sometimes I even forget to lock the door.”
    “Has that happened recently?”
    Poe rubbed a thumb over his chin, giving the question some thought. “As a matter of fact, I noticed the back door was unlocked last Thursday morning. I remember it because I’d gone out and done some weeding in the garden after work Wednesday and assumed I’d forgotten to lock it when I came in.”
    “Was that unusual?”
    “As I said, I’ve left it unlocked before, but …” Poe paused and scratched his head again. “I guess I’m losing it. Turning into the absent-minded professor.”
    “You know sooner or later the police will find out you had the bayonet in your possession. Your prints might even be on it.”
    I saw uncertainty and fear reflected in his eyes. “Do you have a lawyer?” I asked.
    “You think I need one?”
    “Probably a good idea. It would be best if you came forward with the news about the bayonet rather than waiting for the cops to dig it out. They’d think you were trying to hide it from them.”
    “God, I don’t know what to think. None of this makes any sense.”
    “Let’s go back to your run-ins with Marrano. Did you explain to Chief Conover and his detectives why you were fighting the project?”
    “I don’t think they understand or even care.” He shook his head, and pink circles blossomed on his cheeks. “Lord knows I’ve watched them put up all kinds of tacky