Free Hawk Channel Chase by Tom Corcoran Page B

about Bay Point?”
    “That article in the paper this morning? Zip. I went to a party up there two months ago. It was dark. A year ago I observed while the county processed a crime scene… What am I saying?You were there.”
    “I’m talking yesterday,” I said.
    “What’s to know? If it was county crap, I’m out of the loop. When was the last time you saw Mr. Hammond’s dog?”
    I shrugged and shook my head.
    “Surely there’s an answer to that one,” said Watkins.
    “Can I think about it and call you in a while?”
    “When was the last time you heard Manilow?”
    “Saturday night, around nine p.m.”
    “Four days ago.”
    “Three and a half days ago,” I said. “Almost to the hour.”
    Beth nodded. “There was another reason I didn’t ask you to take pictures. Are you still seeing Bobbi, your deputy?”
    I almost shrugged but went the gentleman route and nodded.
    “I know she pisses you off every time she calls you with a police photo gig. You deserve better treatment from a woman you’re dating.”
    “How does that…”
    “I didn’t want to join her club.”
    “Whose do you want to join?”
    She started toward the street. “Call me if you think of anything helpful.”
     
    I had less than an hour to get to Summerland, but I wanted to make sure that Carmen, if she was at home, knew about Hammond. I also wanted to meet her houseguests and check on their job- and home-hunting progress. Plus, their goal of reacquainting themselves with Key West had sparked my curiosity. I envied their search for the island life they had missed because of their parents’ decisions. After years of watching the trickling exodus, I had lost hope of seeing many, or any, departed Conchs return to Key West.
     
    I hiked the lane andfound the young men loading duffels, five or six Hefty Bags and several grocery sacks into their Honda. The shorter of the two hoisted a satchel while he pressed a phone to his ear.
    The taller boy gave me a suspicious look then relaxed. “You must be Alex, the neighbor.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jason Dudak.”
    “You guys packing to leave already? Giving up on the old island?”
    “No way,” said Jason. “That geek there is Russell, with his mama on the line. We’re having a glory moment because in the last hour and…” he checked his watch, “in the last eighty minutes we both got jobs plus a place to live.”
    “Fast work,” I said.
    “The jobs, we hustled a couple days. The apartment, some guy that works at Greenacres, the yard maintenance people who hired Russell, he said, ‘You dudes need to score a crib, I got bunks.’ His roommate split for the Ukraine owing him, like, sixty-five dollars.”
    “You didn’t go with Greenacres?” I said.
    “RPP   Construction. Pounding nails, which will work some sweat out of me and keep me outdoors, both of which are good.”
    I knew the men who had started RPP years ago. It had changed hands several times, along the way earning a negative reputation. I once heard someone speculate that its initials stood for Rape, Pillage and Plunder.
    “You going to live off the island?” I said.
    The other boy approached, snapping shut his phone, reaching to shake hands. “I’m Russell Hernandez. Did you know me when I was little? Everyone I’ve met the past two days knew me when I was three years old.”
    “I missed you that time around,” I said.
    “Our new home is on Elizabeth Street,” said Jason. “Four or five of us, we’re not sure, in two rooms upstairs from the woman who owns the house.”
    I had to laugh. “Sounds like the standard arrangement when I first hit town. I would’ve put up with anything, I was so happy to be here. I didn’t know why I was so content, but I sure as hell felt it.”
    Russell clenched his fist in the air. “The first thing that got me was a whiff of Knights Key, like this combination of fish damp and salt and seaweed. It gave me a preview of Key West smells.”
    “Okay, but before