The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan

by Peter J Robinson

  “White okay, or should I find a red?”

  “White’s good for me and you’d better make it a large one.”

  He did as she instructed, making them both large ones.

  Charlie took an exploratory sip, gently swirling the glass in her hand. “Seems I underestimated you. This is really quite good.”

  “You interested in wines?”

  “I’m no expert but I think I know a good wine when I taste it.”

  He reached out in the darkness, turning the bottle’s label towards him. “We could argue about what makes a good wine, but what does this one say?”

  “I thought perhaps it was a Sauvignon Blanc, but it’s actually a rather light Chardonnay. Very pleasant and, knowing you, I’m guessing it’s French.”

  He smiled to himself. “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Know me? You said, ‘knowing you’.” He watched her hesitate.

  “I obviously don’t. Is that what we’re doing out here, then, under the stars?”

  Ignoring her question, he pointed to the bottle. “It’s Australian. Anyway, what did you make of today?”

  He realised she must still be feeling annoyed. Not only did she seem to be questioning Whitland pairing them together, she now knew he had neglected to tell her about his connections with the ranch, and the existence of his daughter.

  “To be honest I’m still considering it,” she admitted, sipping her wine before placing the glass gently back down on the table. “And still being honest I admit I needed to make some adjustments. The big surprise, though, was Sam. By what strange circumstances does someone living on the other side of the Atlantic come to have such a charming daughter? And a Seminole daughter at that.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  She made an exaggerated show of glancing all around them in the darkness. “Seems to me we’ve plenty of time. Everyone else has gone to bed so why don’t we start from the beginning?”

  He commenced by topping up their glasses. “Well, for starters I’m not entirely English; my mother was from California. I met Sam’s mother while I was still in the British Army. She was Seminole and, as you have already demonstrated, most Americans think I’m a full-blooded Brit.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sukie was a lawyer working in Native American affairs. Surprisingly, her parents, Wesley and his wife, were extremely supportive. The answer to our problem proved easier than we imagined; I simply transferred to the US Marine Corps. Sukie gave birth to Sam while I was away… You know the rest.”

  “That was a long time ago, so do you still miss her?”

  He stared into his glass, taking time responding. “Don’t we all miss someone special?”

  “So where does your previous connection with the Department come in?”

  “I was looking for a job when the Marines and I parted company, and Whitland took a chance on me.”

  “I noticed you two get along well together, almost a father and son relationship.”

  Although this sounded like a statement, he assumed it to be a question. Either way he decided not to get involved, if only because the thought had never occurred to him until she just mentioned it.

  “Where did this interest in wildlife come from?”

  Again, he needed a moment to consider. “It always seems to have been that way, though I have to work at it. Conferences, museums, that kind of stuff. Anyway, enough about me, what dark secrets are you hiding from the world, Agent Lacey?”

  She took a lingering sip from her glass and again he leaned across to refill it.

  “Mine’s definitely not a long story. I was born in Tallahassee and got a Master’s in Psychology at Florida State. I joined the Department three years back, working in Licensing, before switching to Enforcement when I transferred down here six months ago.”

  “Psychology’s a big subject, so did you specialise?”

  “My thesis was on Sexual Tension in the Working Environment.”

  Great, thought Royle, just what I need. A bloody psychologist. Was she going to be quietly analysing his actions throughout this enquiry? Or was she perhaps already doing so? And what was this Sexual Tension bit?

  “What about your parents?” he enquired, getting the clear impression she hesitated before answering.

  “Both still up in Tallahassee. We talk on the phone a lot.”

  “So, what kind of thing presses your button?”

  “Can’t say I have any specific interests. I like reading and music, I have a wide taste in music, and I appreciate nice clothes. You’ll probably laugh but I’m also interested in firearms. You’re not bad with a gun yourself, by the way.”

  He guessed she was referring to the afternoon’s deer incident. “I’ve been around firearms a while. Deer or sniper, neither gives you much time to get your shot off. What about boyfriends?”

  “I’ve had my moments but there’s no one obvious at present.”

  Royle nodded his acknowledgement, though this time it was him doing the hesitating. “There’s something else you should know. I’m joint owner of this outfit, together with Wesley.” He thought he caught the flicker of an eyelid in response.

  * * *

  The truth was, Charlie had trouble concealing her surprise at Royle’s latest revelation. It had taken her a full day to find out he had previously worked in the Department alongside Dan Morgan, was half American, and eighteen years ago had married a Native American girl, with whom he had a daughter. And now he casually lets slip he owns the land they had been riding around on all afternoon. Admittedly, Whitland had warned her that Royle’s methods were sometimes unorthodox, but from what she had seen so far that did not begin to cover it.

  She took a long sip from her glass, idly fiddling with it, her eyes briefly meeting his. True, she had been upset at Whitland’s decision they should work together. With Dan missing she was surely the obvious choice to take charge of the section, though she knew nothing then of Royle’s previous time with the Department. She had also noticed how Whitland appeared to leave much of the decision-making to her new partner.

  On the other hand, he was beginning to grow on her. There was something about his calm, objective approach to life that she found both reassuring and perhaps strangely alluring. She was also aware how much she had enjoyed their ride back across the ranch in the dark this evening, recalling the unexpected feeling earlier, here on the decking, as he held her arm waiting for her to finish her conversation with Sam.

  “I should probably have guessed that,” she finally admitted in response to his latest revelation. “Though I’m still confused over which name you answer to. You say it’s Phillip, but Paula and Billy both call you Phil?”

  “Only special people call me Phil.”

  It occurred to her to ask precisely who qualified as ‘special’ but then she changed her mind, on the grounds that it could get complicated. “You’ve not said how you came to be working for yourself and travelling all over?”

  “That just kind of happened. I’m not sure what Whitland thought, though he can’t be too concerned if he keeps asking me back.”

  Leaning across again to refill her glass, Royle found himself surprisingly disturbed by the scent of her hair in the warm night air.

  “I should have explained to you about Sam and my life out here, plus my time with the Department. You probably wish I’d stayed on the plane back to London.”

  She too leaned forward. “Only when you make me mad.”

  He pretended to consider for a moment. “Do I do that?”

  “Not so much since lunchtime.”

  * * *

  Royle and his daughter were out early for a ride next morning, and by the time they entered the kitchen for breakfast Charlie, Whitland and Wesley were already seated at the table, immersed in the aroma of bacon and eggs.

 
; Royle was surprised to see his partner in a dress rather than yesterday’s shirt and jeans. Bet she has a job hiding her gun in that outfit, he thought. “Any idea what time we’re leaving?”

  “As soon as we’ve had breakfast and got our things together,” responded Whitland.

  Consequently, somewhere around nine o’clock, they were all three down by the Chevy. Royle sprung the boot so they could load their bags, including a gun case he had produced from inside the house.

  “Still packing the hardware, Phil?” Charlie joked.

  He rested the case on the steps before opening it and removing two long-barrelled weapons: a fancy-looking Beretta over-and-under shotgun and yesterday’s lever-action Winchester.

  He handed her the shotgun. “What does that do for you?”

  She checked it wasn’t loaded before pressing it against her cheek and taking aim along the upper barrel.

  “Okay, we can see you like it,” he said, reaching out and recovering the weapon.

  “We must give that a try sometime, if you’re up for it?” she suggested, sounding as if she really meant it.

  Meanwhile, though, on the other side of the Chevy, Sam Royle was in the process of giving Whitland a goodbye squeeze.

  “Did she just call him Phil?” the girl asked, wide-eyed.

  Clearly the point had not escaped Whitland’s attention either. “She most certainly did, my beautiful.”

  Their agreed aim was to be back in the office by lunchtime and, as before, Royle drove, immediately calling Paula.

  “What’s on your mind, Phil?”

  “Be a good girl and email Mac a couple of my pictures of that mystery airport photographer. And did they get anywhere with the phone tracking?”

  “I’ll send the pictures, and they’re still trying to find Dan’s phone,” the secretary confirmed. “See you all shortly.”

  That little matter dealt with, Royle settled back with his thoughts. Glancing in the mirror he could easily have formed the impression Whitland was asleep, but he knew impressions could be misleading. Whitland had been around the enforcement side of the Department a long time, and in Royle’s experience there was little his former boss did not know about what went on there. Even if, to those not knowing him, he sometime gave the impression of being unaware of what was occurring around him. Too willing perhaps to let others take on work he should be doing. Or make decisions he should be making. But Royle knew that would be misleading. What could sometimes look like indifference was actually the old department head’s well-proven method of encouraging responsibility in those who worked beneath him.

  Such an example was Royle himself, who after leaving the Marines had entertained thoughts of joining a police special weapons team. However, he was eternally grateful to Whitland for recognising his potential and offering him a place in the Department. Only later did he discover that it had then been Department policy to appoint from an academic background, and Whitland had been seriously criticised for not following procedure.

  * * *

  The Florida Federal Department Head was feeling good after all the uncertainties of the past week or so, despite the fact he still could not account for one of his agents. He had, though, obtained the services of a proven temporary replacement, with the singular objective of finding Morgan. Added to which, a potentially serious staffing incompatibility issue appeared to have been resolved, judging from what he had overheard last night on the decking below his bedroom window. True, he still needed to keep an eye on the situation, though hopefully Royle and Lacey were both professional enough to not let any disagreement interfere with their search for his missing agent.

  In fact, he could not help but be struck already by the obvious strength of the relationship developing between the pair, though he was less clear on whether they themselves realised it. It was also apparent that any fears he’d entertained about Charlie being overshadowed by the strength of Royle’s personality were unfounded. On the minus side it was true he had a little, well, actually a rather large, health issue hanging over him, but that was his business and right now life was looking up. In which case, he settled back in his seat, making a mental note to get the pair together in his office in a day or two to find out how they were doing in their search for his missing agent.

  * * *

  “There’s a place just up the road if anyone fancies a coffee,” Royle volunteered. “Bit rough, but I’m up for it and I’m sure Doug is, even if he has been doing some snoring in the back.”

  Sure enough, three miles farther on a sign ‘Bar’ pointed to a roadside gap in the trees. The building was single-storey timber with more than its share of advertising signs. Of particular interest was the large flashing, red-and-white sign above the barroom door announcing, ‘Weddings Arranged While You Wait – Bring Your Own Gal’, followed a close second by a multicoloured handwritten board promising a ‘Hog Roast Bar-BQ’ for the coming weekend, whilst amongst the proliferation of smaller signs was one proclaiming this the headquarters of the local gun and hunting club.

  Equally interesting was the array of mud-splattered four-by-fours parked out front, most containing pairs of hunting dogs, some of which in Royle’s view qualified more as dangerous wild animals.

  It was obvious Royle’s earlier observation about this place being a ‘bit rough’ was not without merit. It always reminded him of an Australian roadhouse he knew for which the guidebooks warned: ‘Do not go inside unless you’re an experienced barroom brawler.’ Ideally, he needed a quiet coffee, but as neither of the other two shared his view he too headed for the door, though not before going to the rear of his vehicle and rummaging around in the trunk.

  Inside, the place pretty much lived up to expectation. Decorating the walls were numerous mounted animal heads; mostly deer but also a couple of mountain lions. Most customers were engrossed in noisy conversations and few heads turned as they entered. Whitland went to order the coffees, leaving Royle to rearrange a table and chairs in a quiet corner while Charlie headed for the restroom. He could see Whitland up at the bar waiting to be served so, already feeling the lack of air conditioning, he removed his jacket before checking his phone messages.

  Meanwhile, close by where Royle sat, a dispute arose over the time the pool table had been occupied, involving two Seminole youths and what could justifiably be described as a couple of young ‘rednecks’. Quickly the matter came to a head, a punch was thrown and one of the Seminoles went skidding towards the restroom door, just as Charlie emerged. Realising what was happening she forced herself between the remaining upright American Indian and the other two, advising that they back off, whereupon one of the rednecks produced a hunting knife, waving it in her face.

  Normally Charlie wore her handgun at her waist, and Royle watched her instinctively reach for the weapon. But as he had already observed, the dress was not designed with that purpose in mind; the gun was in her bag on the table in front of him. Seeing her apparently reaching for a gun, the owner of the knife became more agitated, pressing the blade against the side of her neck, though even as the cold metal touched her skin her partner was rising from his chair.

  The first the young man could have known about Royle’s presence was the noisy end of a firearm pressing against the back of his skull.

  “It’s just a suggestion, sunshine,” Royle whispered in the man’s ear, “but you might want to take that knife away from my partner’s throat and drop it on the floor.” Then, detecting no response, he tapped the Browning’s muzzle against the man’s head a couple of times. “Now.”

  The whole room heard something heavy hit the floor, Royle moving around to the man’s front and kicking the knife towards the advancing Whitland.

  “Our boss here is about to show you his badge, after which I suggest you and your young friend go somewhere else and learn to play nicely.”

  Royle noted his partner heading for the table. But then, catch
ing sight of the barman, he went across and apologised for what had occurred, suggesting the man rustle up three coffees as a matter of urgency. He also ordered an immediate large whisky, leaving Whitland to bring the hot drinks whilst he took the glass back to the table.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking so don’t go there,” he advised, handing her the glass.

  She was clearly unhappy. “You realise I was about to take the little shit?”

  “I have to say it didn’t seem that way.”

  “I would have had him if you hadn’t butted in,” she repeated, making clear she was annoyed.

  Royle guessed there might be more to this than the obvious. Two days back she had been questioning the need for his involvement, and here she now was having to acknowledge he perhaps had a role to play. He could see how that might annoy her.

  “Like I said, let it go; it happened and it’s over. The important thing is we learn from it.”

  “Couldn’t put it better myself,” contributed Whitland, finally arriving with the coffees.

  Royle watched the colour return to Charlie’s cheeks as she first emptied the glass and then reached for the coffee, nevertheless clearly unhappy.

  “You have to admit it shouldn’t have happened,” she muttered.

  “You’re both missing the point,” interrupted Whitland. He aimed a stubby finger at Charlie. “You got into a bit of trouble,” the finger now pointed in Royle’s direction, “so he came to your assistance. That’s how partnerships work.”

  Royle could see Charlie was not about to let the matter rest. Or not just yet.

  “You do surprisingly well for someone who doesn’t believe in guns,” she exclaimed, continuing to direct her frustration at him. “Where the hell did that cannon of yours appear from?”

  “I can answer that,” Whitland interrupted. “He keeps his favourite toys out at the ranch while he’s away.”

  Royle’s personal weapon of choice was a nine-millimetre Browning Hi-Power single-action semi-automatic. Seeing her outstretched hand he passed her the gun, watching with interest, beginning to appreciate just how comfortable she was with firearms. Apart from its weight, one of the HP’s few faults was that the magazine safety was released by a plunger pressing down on the magazine, somehow adding unwanted tension to the trigger pull. Like many former service colleagues, he had resolved the problem by fitting a modified trigger spring, and he had just watched Charlie checking for this. His growing respect for his new federal partner just went up a couple more notches.