14

THE INSIDE OF Charley Boggs’s houseboat looked like he hadn’t lived there for very long. There was a sofa, a big fl atscreen TV and an expensive-looking audio system and a lot of CDs.

“Pretty easy to see where Charley’s interests lay,” Tommy said.

“Yeah, and his interests make the place easy to search,” Dino agreed.

“Let’s look at upstairs,” Stone said. “I predict a bed and another TV.”

Stone turned out to be right.

“Look, there’s a bedside table, too,” Dino said.

“They must love Charley at the furniture store,” Tommy opined. He opened a drawer in the bedside table and pointed. Inside was a new-looking semiautomatic pistol.

“SigArms P229,” Stone said. “Charley lived simply, but he liked the best of everything—at least, the best of everything he owned: TVs, stereos and weapons.”

Tommy pulled on a pair of latex gloves, popped the magazine from the gun and racked the slide, spitting a round onto the bed. He sniffed the barrel.

“Cordite?” Dino asked.

“Gun oil,” Tommy replied. “The deed didn’t get done with Charley’s own gun.” He put the round back into the magazine and bagged the works.

Tommy checked the closet, which contained some jeans and Hawaiian shirts. “He’d blend right in in Key West with that wardrobe,” he said. They checked the bathroom medicine cabinet, which contained a toothbrush and a razor, and the toilet tank, which contained water. They went downstairs and checked the kitchen. There were two cases of Bud in the fridge, along with a jar of peanut butter and some left-over Chinese in cartons. In a drawer they found some utensils, and in a cabinet a few glasses.

“That’s it,” Tommy said. “Do you believe it? I mean, everybody collects a little of life’s detritus, but not Charley.”

“How long did the neighbor say he’d lived here?” Stone asked Dino.

“Since last year. She didn’t say when last year.”

“Did he own a car?” Stone asked.

“There was a motorcycle chained to the electrical post on the dock,” Tommy said. “I reckon that’s his.”

“Was it searched?” Stone asked.

“Search a motorcycle?”

Stone walked up the dock and found the motorcycle, a light Honda. “Do you have the keys?” he called back to Tommy. Tommy produced a plastic bag containing some items and found some keys. He tossed them to Stone. “These were in his pocket.”

Stone found the right key and unlocked a little storage compartment on the cycle. “Hey, hey!” he yelled and held up a ziplock bag with two fingers. “That’s half a key, I reckon.”

Tommy walked down the dock, took the bag, opened it and tasted a sample. “Cocaine,” he said, “and my guess is it’s uncut.”