at any hour?”
“Twenty-four-seven,” Jocko replied.
“Does the FBO have a list of hangar owners?”
“I guess, but Cal Waters is who you wanna see.”
“Why Cal?”
“He’s the president of the hangar owners association.”
“And where would I find him?”
“Now? I believe he’s in his hangar—right around there.” Jocko pointed.
Tommy drove around the corner into the next row; only one door was open, and a white-haired man was inside, wiping down a turboprop.
They got out of the car. “Hello, Cal,” Max said. Cal was a semiretired builder, well known in Key West.
“Hey, Max,” Cal said. “What’s up?”
“You know the folks who have the hangar in the next row? South Florida Import & Export?”
“Sorta,” he said.
“Who are they?”
“Beats me. I’ve never clapped eyes on them.”
“Aren’t you the head of the hangar owners bunch?”
“Yeah, and I know them all, except for that one. The previous owner died, and they bought it from his estate.”
“Then we could talk to the estate’s attorney?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“He died about three months ago, about a month after his client did.”
“Marvin Goode?”
“That’s him. Was. By the way, I hear your aunt Maxine gave up the ghost. I’m sorry for your loss, except it isn’t exactly your loss, is it?”
“Not exactly,” Max said.
“You want to sell the Mercedes? Not that I could afford it.”
Max suspected that Cal could afford it, if he wanted it badly enough.
“I was thinking about it, but now all I can do is think about driving it.”
“Is it back from the renovation?”
“This morning.”
“What do you reckon it’s worth now?”
“The guy who did the work says one like it sold last month at auction for $326,000.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Right. You said you’ve never seen the hangar people?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you get a look at a wrecked airplane there?”
“Nope. Jocko said there was one, but they must have taken it away last night.”
“Cal, from what you’ve heard, do you think it could ever fly again?”
“Sure, if you were stupid enough to spend about double what a new one might cost. I think they may still be making them.”
“Want to make a guess why somebody would want the wreck?”
“Maybe they have an aluminum collection at home. More likely, they’re hiding it from folks like you. I heard about the circumstances of its most recent landing.”
“And why would they hide the plane from the law?”
“C’mon, Max, you know more about all this than I do. What’s your guess?”
“None of mine make any sense,” Max said. “What about yours?”
“Something valuable,” Cal said drily.
“That’s wonderfully helpful, Cal. If you ever see that hangar door open, will you give me a call?”
“Sure will.”
“See ya, Cal.” Max turned to leave.
* * *
—
“Now what?” Tommy asked.
“I’m stumped,” Max said. “What do you do when you’re stumped, Tommy?”
“I just keep on truckin’,” Tommy said.
“You’re about as much help as Cal,” Max replied.
18
Stone was at his desk when Joan buzzed him. “A Roberta Calder for you on one.”
“Good morning, Robbie.”
“And to you. Are you free for lunch?”
“Sure.”
“La Goulue at twelve-thirty.”
“See you there.” They both hung up, then Joan buzzed again. “Dino on two.”
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Dino said. “What happened?”
“After you left?”
“Yeah.”
“Dessert.”
Dino chuckled.
“Not that kind of dessert, the kind with ice cream on it.”
“Any way you like it, pal.”
“What do you want, Dino?”
“Are you seeing her again?”
“At lunch. She invited me.”
“Then she must have enjoyed ‘dessert.’”
“Is there any substantive reason for this call?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, get to it, will you? I’ve got work to do.”
“A likely story—you never work.”
“You want to come up here, sit in my office, and watch me work?”
“Too boring.”
“Okay, Dino, I’m outta here.”
“Wait a minute. This is about your other most recent girlfriend.”
“In what city?”
“Key West,” Dino said.
“I had a call from her to tell me her aunt died and left her, among other things, a 1953 Mercedes 300S, fully restored.”
“Listen,” Dino said. “If you play your cards right, you could buy it for a song. She won’t have any idea what it’s worth.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say, Dino. Why would I take advantage of her?”
“To save yourself a couple hundred grand?”
“Goodbye, Dino.” Stone hung up and counted to ten slowly.
Joan buzzed. “Dino again.”
Stone picked up. “What? And make it quick.”
“I talked to a guy who talked to a guy who told me that the wrecked airplane out at Fort Jefferson was salvaged by the FBI and hauled up to Opa Locka Airport, where the Bureau has a hangar. Was that quick enough?”
“What would the FBI want with it?”
“You’re sure I’m not taking up too much of your time?”
“Come on, Dino, cough it up.”
“Apparently, they think it may have been involved in