Frank and Lucy headed back to the trailer that Frank rented from Fat Sam. It was on a secluded patch of land among the low sand dunes with easy access to the beach. Lucy bounded through her doggie door ahead of Frank who unlocked the front door and went in after her. He checked his answering machine. The number that connected with the machine was a land line that he put into a small yellow page ad. Although he gave in to carrying a cell phone and had a computer, his cell phone number and email address were only known to a small group of trusted individuals. His business card had the answering machine number. No website for Frank. To him, technology was an intrusion and a pathway to finding him that, given his past, he did not need.
Today, the machine's message light was not blinking. He had been receiving hang up calls on his machine sporadically for the last month. They were always at the same time and from the same number. The number, according to the area code on the caller ID, was from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Of course, with today's disposable phones and Internet calling capabilities, the area code might mean nothing.
After taking a shower, Frank put on his unofficial Florida PI uniform, khaki cargo pants and a dark pullover polo shirt. The ensemble was completed with a pair of black tennis shoes as they were called in the south. Frank still preferred calling them sneakers. He had a meeting with the Bullocks in four and a half hours which gave him about four hours to research the man, his family, and his associates.
Frank sat at his small desk and logged in to his computer. Lucy settled in at his feet and let out a long sigh. As with any search, this one began with typing Travis Bullock's name into Google. The initial search for Travis Bullock received well over 1,000 hits. Adding the term "attorney" reduced the results to 300. Adding Jacksonville brought the number down to a manageable 57. Ten of those hits were from the web site for the law firm of Bullock, Bullock and Cobb. The firm turned out to be a small, but prosperous firm that Mr. Bullock owned along with his wife Margaret Susan "Peggy Sue" Mathis-Bullock and firm founder Stanton Cobb.
A quick check of the firm's web site brought up brief biographies of the partners and associates, a mission statement that indicated a southern conservative flavor, and contact information. Mr. Bullock's biography indicated that he completed his undergraduate and law degrees at Florida State University and was very active in their alumni, donor, and sports booster groups.
"Well Lucy, we know which side of the fence the Bullocks fall on," Frank said.
Lucy lifted her head and gave Frank a knowing look.
"You're either a Gator, a Seminole, or a Bulldog in this part of Florida. Looks like the Bullocks fall in the Seminole camp.”
Lucy cocked her head at this important revelation.
The site also contained a mention of Travis Bullock's position on the board of the Ponte Vedra First Baptist Church, a wealthy offshoot of Jacksonville's First Baptist Church which jump started many of today's mega churches. First Baptist Church in Jacksonville regularly seated 10,000 for services where the faithful were serenaded by a full orchestra and a 250 member robed choir. This church is viewed as the headquarters of the Southern Baptist movement. It also has an iron grip on what was and was not deemed acceptable in Jacksonville.
Peggy Sue Bullock also attended Florida State through law school. According to her bio, she met Travis there and married him soon after graduation. They had always worked together when she was not busy having their four children. The law firm's primary specialty was family law.
Stanton Cobb was the founding partner of the firm. Also a graduate of Florida State, his graduation date put him at about 78 years old. His original firm was in downtown Jacksonville and was founded on providing adoption, divorce and other related family law services.
After perusing the firm's web site for any further insight, Frank moved on to the other search results. Most of the entries were society type stories, fund raisers for new wings at Baptist Hospital, various Republican event photo ops including a picture of Peggy Sue with Sarah Palin during a campaign stop that was part of the ill-fated McCain/Palin presidential bid.
There were also brief articles that referred to Travis' membership on the Baptist Church board and various opinions were made public by the board on the issues of the day. None of the opinions or quotes, however, was attributed to Travis or his wife who served on the Ladies Auxiliary. The church related articles mentioning the Bullocks were fairly constant until 2008 when they stopped completely.
It was amazing how much information could be gleaned, even by the casual investigator, from the Internet. Frank believed, however, that police databases were still the best source to dig up the true dirt, or lack thereof, on an individual or group. The truly deep search would wait until after the meeting with the Bullocks and until after the case was a paid engagement.
Frank stopped by the drive-through barbecue shack and picked up two pulled pork sandwiches and then drove to Kahuna's Surf Shop to pick up Jonesy. Jonesy's surf shop was a front for his law office. He enjoyed modest sales, but not enough to call the business a success. For him, it was more of a hobby, as well as a place to employ some of his more promising ex-clients while they got back on their feet. The real business was in the back in Jonesy's office where he transformed from a younger version of "The Dude" from The Big Lebowski into a sharp-minded legal scholar.
Frank pulled up in his 2004 Lexus IS 300. As Jonesy got in the car, he smelled the savory barbecue sauce from the sandwiches.
"Pulled pork? Are you trying to kill yourself?"
"Does that mean you don't want yours?"
"No, no. Give it to me. You know I hate waste."
Frank maneuvered the Lexus onto A1A South toward the wealthy suburb of Ponte Vedra. During the ride he told Jonesy what he found online regarding the Bullocks and Cobb.
"Do you think the Bullocks' split from First Baptist Church is important?" Jonesy asked.
"It might be. They were pretty active in both the leadership and fundraising aspects of the church and then they just left. It just seems unusual. We don't have much to go on so far, so any little detail that is out of place could be important."
"Well, let's ask them about it and see how they react to the question. That could be just as telling as the answer we get."
Frank and Jonesy neared the area where the Bullocks lived. Frank pulled into the Saw Grass village entrance. This development, like many other recent Florida construction projects, tried to merge opulent living and amenities with the natural setting. Of course, to achieve this careful landscaping, the use of numerous chemicals was necessary to stop the natural from encroaching on the opulent. Frank pulled up to the air conditioned guard shack and told the security officer that they were here to visit the Bullocks. After telling him their names and presenting identification, the cop-wannabe eyed them carefully and went back into his shack to use the phone. After about two minutes, he emerged with a bright yellow piece of paper, instructed Frank to put in on the dashboard, and raised the high-security thin fiberglass barrier arm.
Frank drove down the main road over multiple speed bumps and past many golf cart crossings. After about three quarters of a mile, he turned onto Magnolia Tree Court and pulled in front of what appeared to be about a 5,000 square foot two-story McMansion. The house was a subtle shade of salmon stucco with a burgundy colored tile roof. Frank pulled around the circular brick driveway to the front entrance. As they exited the car, the front door opened and a fit, well-preserved 50-something woman emerged. Frank recognized her as Peggy Sue Mathis-Bullock.
She was very petite and wore yoga pants and a tank top that appeared to actually have been used in the pursuit of exercise. She had longish blond curly hair that was tied back in a ponytail. As Frank and Jonesy got closer to her, the stress of non-stop crying could not hide the intensely blue, intelligent eyes that looked upon them.
"Mrs. Bullock, I hope we are not intruding," Frank said as he reached to shake her hand.
"Not at all Mr. Rozzani,"
she replied as she shook Frank's hand with a firm yet cold grip. "This must be Mr. Jones," she said as she turned to offer her hand to Jonesy. "Travis said you would be stopping by and we are anxious to help in any way."
She walked back through the door and motioned for Frank and Jonesy to follow. She led them through a spacious entry that had wood flooring and high ceilings with wide crown molding, through a family room to a large kitchen with Tuscan decor. She took a seat with her husband at a small round table nestled in a bay window space and motioned for them to sit.
"You have a beautiful home, Mr. and Mrs. Bullock," Jonesy said while looking around the kitchen.
"Thank you dear. We purchased it in foreclosure," Peggy Sue Bullock said, appearing relieved by the distraction. "It was built by a former pro football player as a home that he would eventually retire to with his family. The poor dear went from making millions to bankruptcy. His business manager invested much of his income in real estate during the boom of the early 2000s with an eye toward large profits for himself and his client. When the bubble evaporated, so did the profits."
"Well it is a beautiful home in spite of its history," Jonesy said.
"Gentlemen, I'm glad you agreed to come in today," Travis Bullock said in a tired raspy voice. "You were highly recommended to us by Samuel and several of his associates that are mutual acquaintances."
Frank stopped for a minute to comprehend that Samuel was the name that Fat Sam was known by to Travis Bullock.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bullock, I'd like get some information about your daughter's disappearance and determine if you need our services," Frank started. "There is no reason to waste my time or your time and money if the police turn out to be right about Maggie being a runaway."
"I assure you, Mr. Rozzani, she did not run away," Peggy Sue Bullock interjected. "We do, however, respect your process and appreciate your honesty."
"If we do find reason to believe that the police got it wrong, we can justify our involvement in the case," Frank assured her.
Frank ran down a list of questions related to the Bullock clan. As indicated through his online search, the Bullocks had four children, two sons and two daughters.
The oldest son was Travis III. He was 31 and had risen to the position of Deputy Attorney General for the State of Florida. Melissa, or Missy as she was known, was 29. She was also a graduate of FSU like her parents and older sibling. She majored in business and was now an interior designer in Savannah Georgia. The Bullocks were not particularly proud of Missy based on their reaction when Frank mentioned her.
"Missy was quite the partier through high school and college," Peggy Sue Bullock said. "She's working very hard to turn herself around.”
At this, Travis Bullock's face displayed his skepticism.
The third Bullock child, Robert Bowden Bullock, was 24 and lived in parts unknown in Europe. He spent a semester abroad in Spain and never came back except for family events and only when his parents paid for the trip. He had abandoned his southern conservative roots for a more Bohemian lifestyle. The missing girl, Margaret "Maggie" Bullock was 16.
"We were both 40 when Maggie came into our lives. She was a surprise baby," Peggy Sue Bullock said with tears in her eyes. "She is a model student and we've had her in private school since pre-kindergarten.”
For all of the trouble wrought upon Mr. and Mrs. Bullock by their other three children in terms of drinking, drugs, and carousing, Maggie appeared to be a candidate for sainthood. She had straight-A's, was popular, and was an active member in the church to which the Bullocks belonged.
"Maggie really is the perfect child. We were scared to raise a child in today's world with the prevalence of drugs, sex and other bad influences. Maggie seems to have risen above all of that with a minimum of effort from Travis and me," Peggy Sue Bullock said.
"Mr. Bullock, my research tells me that you were a prominent member of the First Baptist Church here in town until about five years ago," Frank asked. "Yet your daughter disappeared from the retreat associated with another church."
"You certainly did your homework, Mr. Rozzani. You're right. We left First Baptist. We made the switch to Christianity Today about five years ago," Bullock affirmed.
"What caused your family to switch churches after such a long affiliation?" Frank probed.
At the mention of the switch, Peggy Sue Bullock made her own uncomfortable shift in her kitchen chair and glanced at her husband. "Yes, it was a quick transition, but all for the best.”
Travis Bullock shifted in his seat nervously at the question. "Let's just say it was time for a change. The reason for the change is not relevant here."
"I understand sir, I just want to be thorough in my investigation," Frank in an apologetic tone.
"Pardon my evasiveness, Mr. Rozzani. It has been a difficult time and we're just trying to bring Maggie home."
Frank reviewed what he knew about Maggie's disappearance with the Bullocks. He could sense a weakening in Mrs. Bullock's brave facade at the mention of her daughter's name. She grasped her husband's hand firmly. Mr. Bullock looked haggard and drawn from what was likely a night with little sleep.
Frank asked again if there was anything they could think of that might give any insight into why Maggie would disappear.
"Did Maggie have a boyfriend or any close friends that might be able to give us some additional insight into her disappearance?"
"No. No boyfriend," Mrs. Bullock answered a bit too quickly. "She has friends in the CT youth group but none that we haven't already talked to. She was a bit of a loner and preferred her own company, spending time reading and writing poetry as hobbies."
"May we see some of her poetry?" Jonesy asked.
"If you think it might help. I have the notebooks in my office upstairs. I'll get them for you. Is there anything else that I can help you with?" she asked.
"If you wouldn't mind, we would like to look around in Maggie's room, ma'am," said Frank.
"You can if you think it's necessary. Travis and I, as well as the police, have already gone through it from top to bottom."
"Do you think the police might have missed something?" Travis Bullock asked.
"We're just trying to be thorough," said Frank apologetically.
"I understand," Mrs. Bullock said. Her room is at the other end of the house from my office on the second floor. I'll show you the way and then get the poetry notebooks."
Mr. Bullock just looked up with sad eyes as Frank and Jonesy followed Peggy Sue Bullock out of the kitchen.
At the top of the stairs, she pointed down a long hallway to the left.
"Maggie's room is at the end of the hallway on the right. I would help you look in her room, but it's just too painful for me right now. I'll meet you downstairs in the kitchen when you are through."
"We understand," said Jonesy. "We’ll try not to disturb anything."
Frank and Jonesy entered the last room on the right and were immediately struck by two things. First, there was the sheer size of the room. It was a master suite type layout with high vaulted ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, and a large bay window looking out onto the golf course. The second impression was the decor.
"It looks like a unicorn threw up in here," Jonesy observed. "All of these pastel colors, stuffed animals, the teeny-bopper art, and the white canopy bed are about to make my eyes bleed. This isn't the typical bedroom of a sixteen year old girl.”
Everything was precisely arranged and extremely neat. The drawers were filled with neatly folded clothes that were all modest in nature. There were no signs of typical bad teenage behavior hidden at the bottom of drawers, on closet shelves, or under the bed. While Frank perused the walk-in closet that was bigger than his kitchen, Jonesy lifted the edge of the white fluffy comforter and ran his hand between the mattress and box spring. After a couple of passes, he hit something rectangular and hard.
"Well, what is this?"
"Did you find something?" Frank
asked.
Jonesy pulled out a pink, hard-covered 5"X7" notebook with a picture of a unicorn on the front. The notebook was nearly filled with neat girlish handwriting in pale blue ink. He walked over to the closet and found Frank replacing yet more stuffed animals to their resting place.
"Looks like the police were as thorough as ever," Jonesy reported with a half-smile.
Frank looked up and said, "Where did you find that?"
"In the universal teenager hiding place. It's where I hid my Playboy magazines before the Internet made them obsolete, between the mattresses. It's full of writing that Maggie apparently did not want to share."
"Well, let's take it with us. We don't have time to look through it now," Frank said.
Jonesy slipped the notebook into his pocket and they left the room. They headed back downstairs to the kitchen where the Bullocks waited at the table with a stack of four similar notebooks.
"Did you find anything in Maggie's room, gentlemen?" Mrs. Bullock asked looking up with newly moistened and reddened eyes.
Her husband paged through another notebook, presumably containing Maggie's poetry, and remained silent.
"No ma'am, I didn't find anything," Frank said while Jonesy remained silent.
"Well, I didn't think you would," she replied, "but I appreciate your need to be thorough. What do we do now?"
"Unless you can think of anything else, we are through disturbing your day. We have several other leads to follow up on over the next couple of days and then we will get back to you and your husband with our findings," Frank said.
She gave a weak smile and then Travis Bullock joined her to escort them to the door.
"Be sure to contact us if you need anything else, Mr. Rozzani," Travis Bullock said with moistening red eyes.
"I'm sorry for the situation, Mr. Bullock," Frank said. "We will do our best to discover what's happened."
Frank took the four notebooks from the Bullocks and he and Jonesy headed for the Lexus. As they were leaving the driveway, Jonesy took the notebook he discovered out of his pocket and added it to the pile with the other four.
Frankly Speaking - A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel (#1) Page 2
