The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan

by Peter J Robinson

  Classically constructed of white boarding, a porch, or portico, extended around the outside, overhanging a raised timber deck complete with swing-seat and rocking chairs, above all of which the Stars and Stripes fluttered at the head of a flagpole centrally positioned in a clinically manicured lawn.

  It was difficult guessing how many rooms a family home of that size contained. He realised the ground floor would likely comprise the inevitable roomy entrance hall, a more than large kitchen and equally spacious living room. Plus no doubt a somewhat grand dining room and generous study. He also guessed that entry through the welcoming front door, with its ample porch and imposing ground-to-roof pillars, facilitated access to an attention-seeking staircase, which in turn provided access to six or so bedrooms.

  As Charlie eased the rental into the driveway he saw that a sizeable annex had been added, attached to one end of the building within a large, well-maintained garden, or what his Americans friends were misleadingly inclined to call ‘the yard’. The annex’s ground floor comprised a triple garage and workshop, whereas the upper floor provided yet more accommodation.

  What we have here, then, he decided, is a larger than normal, extremely comfortable family residence, situated in a mature respectable neighbourhood backing onto open land, and some twenty minutes’ drive from the state capital. At a rough estimate he put the property’s value at around $2 million.

  He was brought back to reality by Charlie reaching into the rear seat for the flowers she had bought earlier. “Come and meet my folks. I suspect you and Papa will get along fine.”

  Even as she said this the large front door swung inwards and Ma and Pa Lacey emerged onto the porch. Charlie and her mother engaged in the anticipated long embrace, while her father extended a welcoming hand.

  “I’m Vern. Good to meet you, Phillip.”

  Inside, things were much as he had imagined. Charlie steered him towards a comfortable leather sofa and Babs Lacey sat opposite, at which point Vern suggested they needed a drink after their long day. Watching him approach a well-stocked drinks cabinet, Royle got the feeling he had seen this man before. He nodded his head as Vern held up a whisky bottle, employing thumb and forefinger to indicate a small measure.

  Charlie had warned him dinner would be in the formal dining room and that guests were expected, the two women soon excusing themselves to attend to the kitchen. And for a short while Vern found himself similarly occupied.

  Seizing the opportunity, Royle snatched a quick look around the room. Much in evidence were the obligatory family photographs, including some he was already acquainted with. On the piano, though, were two he had not seen. A silver-framed one of Babs and Vern on their wedding day, plus one of the couple at some official function. Leaning forward to read the caption Royle quickly recoiled, a tingling feeling in the back of his neck. It read ‘The Honourable Vernon and Mrs Lacey’, followed by the date and location.

  Now it all came flooding back. Eleventh Judicial Circuit Court, ten years ago in Miami. The case of Daggart v the People: a week-long appeal hearing following Daggart’s earlier conviction for handling endangered species. Royle had been the lead federal witness, and the presiding judge had been none other than the Honourable Justice Lacey. Daggart, the cheeky sod, had appealed on the grounds that he had failed to receive a fair trial. The basis for this allegation being that the lead investigator, i.e. Royle, was not an American citizen and therefore was unfamiliar with both the legislation and criminal procedure.

  The court heard not only that Royle was an experienced federal investigator but also a decorated war hero. Justice Lacey dismissed the appeal, commending the prosecution team for bringing the matter before the original court. Royle recalled how the judge had some particularly complimentary things to say about his own part in all of that.

  They were both a little older now, but there was no doubting he had the right man. He smiled to himself. Charlie had been playing games with him all along.

  However, at this point his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden exodus from the kitchen, Babs suggesting she show them up to their rooms.

  Charlie, though, had other ideas. “First Phil must come and see the horses. We’ll only be a minute.”

  With girlish enthusiasm she led him out through the patio doors, across a billiard-table lawn and around well-stocked flower beds in the direction of a row of stables. Royle allowed himself to be introduced to each of the four animals in turn, including an extremely capable looking black colt. He watched her pulling the horse’s ears and stroking its velvet-soft nose, unexpectedly finding himself struggling for words. Part of him wanted to confront her regarding her failure to mention her father, aware now that she had deliberately engineered this whole situation. Clearly there was more to Miss Lacey than he yet appreciated. But he also recalled Ed Kimberley’s earlier advice.

  “You forgot to mention your dad’s a federal judge,” he heard himself saying.

  Her reaction was interesting. “You mean like you forgot to mention you own the ranch, have American citizenship, an American daughter and used to work for the Department?” She did not raise her voice, but her dark eyes pierced him like lasers. “Anyway, why does it matter what my father does? You work with me, not him.”

  He moved closer, checking they were out of sight of the house. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry.” Then, placing an arm around her shoulders, he kissed her, his other hand preventing any escape, not that she appeared at all interested in freeing herself. When their lips did finally separate her eyes momentarily remained closed, an expression of surprise on her normally controlled features.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  He continued holding her close, enjoying the feel of her body against his. “It’s time we faced up to it,” he suggested. “We both know what we want, and we’re both adult enough to handle the situation.”

  She stared back at him, their faces inches apart. “But are we sure it’s right?”

  “If Whitland wants to terminate my contract, that’s fine by me,” Royle responded, his lips seeking hers again.

  “Not now,” she gasped, pulling herself free. “They’ll come looking for us.” She turned to him as they started back across the lawn. “You must speak to Papa; they’ve asked Gus Winnings and his wife to join us for dinner, as my former department head.”

  Grasping her shoulders, he turned her towards him, staring into her face disbelievingly.

  “No kidding,” she confirmed. “And you have lipstick on your face.”

  Babs showed her daughter up to the two annex guest rooms whilst the men went to fetch their bags from the car, Royle seizing the moment.

  “Charlie thinks you and I should take a beer out onto the porch, Judge. There’s something you need to know, before Gus Winnings arrives.”

  A broad smile lit up the older man’s face. “You made the court connection, then.”

  A little later, out on the rear porch, Royle outlined to Judge Vernon Lacey the main features of their murder investigation, emphasising how and why he believed Gus Winnings might be involved, though he acknowledged there were obvious weaknesses in their case thus far.

  The judge listened to what he said, realising, as he of all people should, that as things stood any court might be forgiven for believing that Gus’s involvement in Dan Morgan’s death was more imaginary than real. However, he also knew what his daughter had told him and his wife about the abilities of her new federal partner. He also recalled the impact Royle’s past involvement in the Daggart case had had on the court, and of course on himself as the presiding judge.

  “All we can do this evening,” the judge suggested once Royle had finished, “is be aware of any potential risk to your investigation.” But then he decided to do some exploring, knowing they had time to spare before the guests arrived. “Charlie says you have a doctorate – Harvard, I believe?”

&nbs
p; Royle realised she had been discussing him in some detail.

  “Plus an interest in comparing American enforcement methods with those in Europe – particularly the UK?”

  He hesitated, unsure where this conversation might be heading. “That’s certainly one of my interests.”

  “You must have much the same enforcement systems in the UK, surely?”

  Royle realised the judge already knew the answer to his own question. “I guess the difference is in the level of public exposure American agencies get. Which in turn has a lot to do with firearms.”

  “Word is you’re not bad with a gun yourself.”

  Yet more evidence of her confiding in her parents. “It’s a long story—”

  “And Charlie warned you might say that.”

  To Royle’s mind there was an air of déjà vu about this conversation, his mind going back to his and Charlie’s late-night discussion out at the ranch.

  “The armed forces taught me how to handle weapons, and to not hold back if the situation demands it.”

  “Your being wounded on that mission with Morgan, did that bring you two closer?”

  “It’s not something I think about,” he lied, but then the judge surprised him.

  “And it wasn’t any old medal they gave you, it was the Navy Cross. For ‘An Act of Extraordinary Heroism in Combat’.”

  This was getting worse. “It’s just a piece of metal,” Royle suggested lamely.

  “A former Marine lieutenant with the Navy Cross and a former federal agent, plus subsequent contracts with twelve world governments. Not to mention a PhD from Harvard and a master’s from Cornell. Can’t look too bad on your CV.”

  But then the judge paused. “Presumably you don’t know that Doug Whitland and I did law together, here in Tallahassee, a long time ago now.”

  He was right, Royle did not know. So, Whitland knew of Charlie’s background all along. It occurred to him this ‘old-boy’ connection might have a lot to do with Whitland taking her on, perhaps explaining why he had omitted to mention any past connection with her family.

  However, the more he thought about it, the more Royle realised it was not that simple. For example, what might have been his own reaction to being told he was to partner some over-privileged rich girl, all as an apparent favour to her father the judge? Plus of course you could hardly accuse Charlie of being wildly keen on the partnership idea.

  “Doug thinks very highly of you,” the judge continued, bringing Royle back to the present. “Says you’re highly motivated and for all the right reasons.”

  Not for the first time in this conversation Royle found himself struggling for a response. “I’d need to know in what context Doug said that.”

  But then the judge squeezed his arm as they both got to their feet. “You look after our daughter.”

  * * *

  The guests were late, apparently owing to heavy traffic on the freeway, though from Royle’s viewpoint this had the benefit of avoiding any pre-dinner small talk. There were four guests. Gus Winnings and his wife Pat, plus Charlie’s former Licensing colleague Abbie Wise and her partner. The maid served starters while the judge tended to the wine. On his side of the table Royle found himself seated next to Babs Lacey, with Abbie on his right and Gus Winnings on the far side of Babs – far enough away for Royle to discuss Gus with Abbie without him overhearing.

  He soon realised Abbie liked her wine, and by the time the dessert arrived they were getting along like the proverbial house on fire. Apparently, she had recently been promoted as Gus’s secretary and it seemed all was not well in the Licensing office. Nor, for that matter, in the Winnings’ household. Gus was spending more and more time in Europe and Southeast Asia. Although not overly sure what he did there, Abbie thought it had something to do with work.

  It occurred to Royle there could be very little in the job description of a Florida-based Federal Licensing Officer that required his presence in Southeast Asia. “Does Gus take his wife?” he enquired, and the girl seemed amused by the suggestion.

  “Pat likes her home comforts too much, though she sometimes goes to Europe with him.”

  Not for the first time he refilled Abbie’s glass. “Does he have any more visits arranged to Asia?”

  “His annual holiday’s coming up; he could be going then.”

  “What about Europe? What does he do over there?”

  “I’m not sure, but he buys Pat some really nice jewellery.”

  He lowered his voice as he leaned towards Abbie, searching her face for the slightest sign of any reaction. “Does the name Toombs mean anything to you?”

  “Should it?”

  “Probably not. But if you do think of anything then give me a ring.”

  * * *

  Babs Lacey’s evening was equally interesting. The more wine Gus Winnings consumed, the more it became apparent he was disenchanted with his position in the Department, eventually revealing he was considering taking early retirement.

  “What would you do then?”

  He glanced across in the direction of his wife, sitting next to the judge. “I’m considering moving to Asia. I’ve always fancied living out there.”

  Babs was surprised to hear this, not so much by the suggestion as by his frankness. “And what does your wife think to that?”

  Again, he glanced across the table. “I’ve not raised it yet, though I’m not expecting she’ll be keen on the idea.” Then he changed the subject. “Any idea how Royle and that daughter of yours are getting along with finding the people responsible for Dan Morgan’s death?”

  Babs immediately heard alarm bells ringing. “This is the first time I’ve met Phillip. Why do you ask about Dan?”

  “No particular reason. If they do have any success, then we’ll doubtless hear through the normal channels.”

  * * *

  A far more amiable atmosphere prevailed on the far side of the table. Clearly Pat Winnings did not share her husband’s enthusiasm for alcohol, getting as far as her dessert on a single glass of Chablis Grand Cru. Consequently, she and the judge enjoyed a pleasant evening discussing a wide range of subjects, including the apparent virtues of Charlie’s new enforcement partner.

  “I’ve not seen Royle for years,” she explained. “Gus used to be their department head down in Fort Lauderdale. He and Dan Morgan.”

  “I didn’t know that,” the judge lied. “You must have met Dan, then?” He could not be sure, but he thought he detected some hesitation.

  “I knew them both; where one went the other was sure to be nearby. Or at least in the early years. Did you know they were in the Marines together?”

  The judge persevered with the casual approach. “I heard they got themselves a medal apiece.”

  There was that hesitation again. “I met Dan a few times after Royle returned to England. Gus and I keep a place down south, and we occasionally bumped into Dan and Sharon.”

  “I gather Dan and Sharon separated?”

  “She found someone else; Dan was really upset.”

  He could not explain why, but her response left the judge in little doubt that Pat Winnings had seen Dan since he and Sharon separated. “The good news is that Phillip and Charlie are investigating Dan’s suspicious death.”

  Instantly he realised what he had said, though this time there was no doubting it – Pat’s reaction was not what he expected.

  She put down her glass. “It wasn’t an accident, then?”

  Evidently Pat Winnings was unaware of something her husband clearly did know, namely that Dan’s death was being treated as a possible murder.

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “Gus said it was a hunting accident.”

  “Perhaps I misunderstood,” the judge suggested, realising the damage had already been done. “Maybe it was a hunting accident,” but he could see P
at was unconvinced.

  Reaching across she took hold of the wine bottle, pouring herself a generous glass.

  * * *

  Dinner over, Royle helped the judge attend to drinks in the lounge while Babs had the maid serve coffee. As earlier, he made a conscious effort not to become engaged in conversation with Gus Winnings, who in any event appeared somewhat preoccupied. Royle attributed this in part to the amount of wine the Licensing boss had consumed.

  Abbie too was quiet, though Royle thought she stood up to the occasion surprisingly well. Perhaps because all involved were working the next day, coffees and the brandy quickly disappeared, and in what seemed like no time Gus and Pat Winnings were preparing to leave. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, the judge and his wife seeing the couple to their car. Seizing the opportunity, Royle went to the lounge window, making a note of the vehicle’s make and index number: a recently registered smart red Ferrari. Abbie and her partner stayed only a little longer.

  With their guests gone, Charlie yawned and kissed her parents goodnight before heading for the annex stairs.

  Royle also thanked his hosts. “I really enjoyed this evening. It was extremely useful; you’ll be surprised what Abbie had to say. See you both at breakfast.”

  * * *

  Up in the annex, four weeks of suppressed sexual anticipation were consummated in a mutual explosion of desire, precipitated by Royle steering Charlie into his bedroom and closing the door with his foot, already feeling her arms around his neck, her lips seeking his in the darkness. He heard the hiss of the zip as the dress slid down her now naked body, relishing the sensual smoothness of her skin, her fingers exploring his body. Grasping her arms he lowered her backwards onto the bed, her eager hands dragging him with her. Struggling for breath now, he felt her warm thighs encircle his body.

  * * *

  The judge descended the stairs next morning to find his wife laying the big kitchen table for breakfast.