"Detective Srurgis for Detective Castro," he said. "Oh, hi. Thanks for calling back. ... Really? Well that's interesting-listen, could I put someone else on the line? Our psychological consultant . .. Yeah, occasionally we do... .Yeah, it's been helpful."

Placing a hand over the mouthpiece, he said, "Hang up and punch my extension number."

The recorded voice broke in, thanking me for my patience. 274

I cut it off, made the conference adjustment, introduced myself.

"George Castro," said a thick voice on the other end. "We all set now?"

"Yeah," said Milo. "Dr. Delaware, Detective Castro was just saying he's been waiting for someone to call him about Derrick Crimmins."

"Waiting a long time," said Castro. "This is like Christmas in the summer. Tell the truth, I gave up, figured he might be dead."

"Why's that?"

"Because his name never showed up in any crime list I could find, but bad guys don't just give up. And that kid was real bad. Got away with multiple murder."

"His parents," said Milo.

"You got it," said Castro. "Him and his brother-Cliff. Cliff was older, but Derrick was smarter. What a pair. Kind of a pre-Menendez Menendez, only the Crimminses didn't even come close to getting arrested. It was my curse. It's been jammed in my craw ever since. Tell me what you have him on, the little bastard."

"Nothing definite," said Milo. "Can't even find him. So far it looks like scamming and homicide."

"Well, that's our boy, to a T. I got to tell you, this really takes me back. I was new to Miami Beach. Did a year on Bunco, then Homicide. Moved down the year before from Brooklyn for the sun, never thought about what being named Castro would mean in Miami." He stopped, as if waiting for laughter. "And I'm Puerto Rican, not Cuban. Anyway, I worked some pretty ugly stuff up north. Bed-Stuy, Crown Heights, East New York. But none of the scum I met ever bothered me as much as those brothers. Killing your own folks for dough-dad and stepmother, actually. It was a Coast Guard case, because the boat blew up in the water-half a mile offshore-but we did the land work. No doubt at all about it being dirty. Someone rigged a pipe bomb to the fuel tank, and the whole thing turned into sawdust. Three people died, actually. Old man Crimmins, his wife, and some Cuban kid they'd hired to captain. They were out marlin fishing. Boom. Shreds of bone, and that's about it."

"Did the Crimmins boys build the bombs?"