Frank was on his way home when he spotted an Atlantic Beach fire truck and red fire chief SUV parked in front of the Sun Dog. He pulled into a parking spot and went inside to see what was going on. He found Fat Sam sitting at a table with his cook Louie and two uniformed fire fighters. Other fire fighters were entering and exiting the kitchen. Frank waited until the fire fighters were done with Sam before he approached the table where he sat with Louie.
"Did you have a kitchen fire?"
"Not quite Frankie. You know Louie has been staying in my back room while they repair his place from the last big storm we had. He woke up when he heard glass break in the kitchen last night. When he got up to check it out, someone had thrown a good old-fashioned Molotov cocktail through the window. Louie grabbed the fire extinguisher and put it out before it did much damage. Because it was arson, we called it in."
"Where are the police?"
"Drake was here, but he and his 'Drakettes' concluded that it was kids up to mischief and left already."
"Another stellar piece of police work. Who do you think did it, Sam?"
"Well Frankie, I'm so old that most of my enemies from the old days have died. Besides, if someone from the Big Easy drove all the way over here to do this, the place would have been burned to the ground. Those crazy Cajuns don't do anything half-assed like this. I'd argue that it was kids, but I would have found out who did it by now. I have a lot of eyes and ears out there. The people who did this were amateurs. The kind of amateurs that might stuff a snake into a trailer or throw a brick through a window, if you catch my drift. Somebody wants you off that Bullock case and they think these little pranks on you and your friends will accomplish that."
"Sam, I feel awful that this happened. Do you want me to drop it?" Frank asked, already knowing the answer.
"Frankie, I would lose all respect for you if you dropped this case. These idiots made a big mistake pulling me into this. They now have to deal with my underground militia of homeless, panhandlers, surfers and other colorful beach folks. I call them the 'Fat Samaritans', and they should not be underestimated."
"Well, if your eyes or ears see or hear anything, be sure to let me know."
"You know it, Frankie," Sam said with a big bear hug.
Instead of calling Jonesy, Frank decided to stop by his surf shop and see him personally. Frank entered the shop and was struck by the sound of beach music and the smell of cocoa butter. Dusty, Jonesy's latest client/project/employee was showing a prospective customer some long boards.
"Hey Mr. Frank," Dusty said without missing a beat of his sales pitch. "He's in his office being all lawyerly today."
Frank walked past the displays, past the restrooms, and knocked on the door of the secluded office.
"Enter," was the word of welcome he received. Frank opened the door to see Jonesy sitting behind a huge vintage desk in front of a state-of-the-art computer which was connected to the fastest civilian Internet connection available. His surfer, beach bum exterior belied the brilliant analytical mind that he possessed. Legend had it that Jonesy passed the Florida and Georgia bar exams without studying and likely could have passed them without attending law school. Yet, to look at him, you would think he was just another pretty boy surfer with no future. Legend also had it that Jonesy had wisely invested substantial trust fund money at the age of 21 and was well on his way to purchasing his own island where he could live out his days surfing.
Today, he was truly in business mode. Few people experienced this side of Jonesy. It was truly awe-inspiring.
"Frank, I've been tracing the ownership of Christianity Today. Like many mega-churches, the ownership is set up through a holding company. These holding companies like to have ownership of religious institutions so that they can take advantage of the many tax benefits associated with them. They are sometimes used by less reputable holding companies as a way to launder money from other endeavors that are not as pious."
"Is that the case with CT's holding company?"
"I don't know yet, but the number of layers in their ownership is astounding."
"Number of layers?"
"The CT holding company is owned by another holding company which, in turn, is owned by another holding company, and so on for about five more levels so far. I haven't traced it to its root owners yet, but it smells fishy."
"Well, I'll leave you to keep digging through whatever secret channels you have."
Jonesy looked up and smiled, "Let's just say I have friends in the right places when it comes to corporate finance and banking."
"By the way," Frank said, "did you hear what happened at the Dog?"
"Dusty saw the trucks on the way to work and I talked to Sam right before you got here. The fat man is riled up. I feel badly for whoever did that. He will find out."
"Sam thinks it's related to the Bullock case based on the half-assed intimidation tactics we have all experienced."
"I have to agree. The snake, the brick, and the fire bomb all have the stench of half of an ass," Jonesy quipped.
Frank left Jonesy to his analytical work and returned home to plan his next move.
Frank realized that he had a possible conduit to unseal the Rick Worthington file. After his conversation with Anita, he knew that her hands were tied until he could prove that evidence against Worthington in this case was more than just a suspicion. He fired up his less-than-state-of-the-art computer and looked up the contact information for Travis Bullock III, the eldest son of Travis and Peggy Sue Bullock. The young lawyer had risen through the ranks of the state legal system and was now the Deputy Attorney General in the state capitol of Tallahassee. Perhaps the younger Bullock might have some clout to reach out to his counterparts in Oklahoma for some help with his sister's case.
Frank dialed the number he found on the State of Florida web site. Frank asked for Travis Bullock and was advised that Mr. Bullock was very busy today, but if he wished to leave his contact information, Mr. Bullock or one of his assistants would get back to him within the next three business days. Frank left his name and number even though his next step was to find other means to get what he needed as this appeared to be a bureaucratic dead end. Just as Frank was about to search for contacts in the Tulsa area, his cell phone rang and the screen displayed a Tallahassee number. He answered with his usual, "Rozzani."
"Mr. Rozzani, this is Travis Bullock, Maggie's brother. How can I help you?" the voice asked.
"Mr. Bullock," Frank said, trying to hide his surprise. "Thank you for calling back so quickly."
"No problem, Mr. Rozzani, I spoke with Mom and Dad and they told me you were investigating Maggie’s disappearance."
"Mr. Bullock, I'm not sure how much your parents have filled you in on the case."
"Please call me Travis, Mr. Rozzani. My dad told me about the journal you found. I was shocked when I heard about the final entry. Until that point, I was almost relieved that Maggie had an interest outside of church."
"Travis, please call me Frank, by the way, I'd like to share some additional information with you that I have not shared with your parents. Your dad seems determined to go after whoever impregnated your sister and I'm trying to be judicious with what I tell him about our leads."
Frank was taking a chance that he could trust this man he just met by phone.
"Dad's an old-fashioned guy. He and mom raised us in a different time. If the culprit is an adult that took advantage of her, however, I want to go after him to the full extent of the law."
"I agree, Travis.”
Frank filled him in on what Jonesy and Anita had found regarding Pastor Rick Worthington.
"That guy had quite an influence on Maggie and her peers at CT," Bullock said when Frank was finished. "I met the guy once and he seemed nervous around me when he found out I was a Deputy Attorney General. I'll be glad to see what I can do with my peers in Oklahoma."
"That would be great, Travis. It's up to you what you tell your parents and the authorities. I would just appreciate it if you told
me first."
"Frank, can you send me a dollar?" Travis asked, clearly up to something.
"I suppose so."
"Great, you are now my client and the information we share is subject to attorney/client confidentiality. I will only talk to you about what I find."
Frank was really starting to like this guy.
"I will get back to you as soon as I have something. Was there anything else you needed from me?" Travis said in closing.
"Just one question, do you think Maggie ran away?"
"Honestly, I don't think so. Not without talking to one of us. As far apart as I and my siblings are from her in age, she was not afraid to reach out to us when she needed advice."
"If she didn't call you, do you think she might have called another one of your siblings?"
"My sister, Missy would probably be her shoulder to lean on in this case. She has, how should I put this, experience in the ways of the world. Also, being a female, Maggie might have been more apt to call her than my brother Bobby who is doing who knows what somewhere in Europe."
Frankly Speaking - A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel (#1) Page 9
