Six John Jordan Mysteries

by Michael Lister

  “Tell me what my motive is,” he said.

  “It’s internal,” Steve said. “It’s anger. It’s rage. It’s violence. It’s not outwardly motivated. Oh, I’m sure she did something to set you off, but that’s all you needed. She was just a trigger.”

  “You had more of a motive than I did,” Richie said.

  “Yeah, I did it,” Steve said, his voice full of a mean sarcasm.

  “Well, I didn’t. That’s all I’m saying. I swear to Christ, I didn’t do it.”

  We passed near Kathryn’s cabin, and I felt both excitement and guilt.

  “See,” Richie said as soon as the small boat became visible. “That’s the abbey boat. It’s been here at least a week.”

  The small wooden boat was tied to a stump and half hidden by the hay-colored underbrush. It looked nearly identical to the one we had just seen in the waterway.

  “Why’d you move it over here?” Steve asked.

  “I wasn’t using it in the waterway and I figured Kathryn would use it if it was over here.”

  “Damn you’re a nice guy,” Steve said. “But from now on, I don’t want you even saying her name. Understand? You better not come within twenty feet of her. If you do, rather than take a chance, I’ll cut ‘em off just to be safe.”

  “I’ve got to get lunch started,” Richie said, beginning to turn. “You know where to find me.”

  “You better be there when I come looking for you.”

  Richie walked away.

  For a moment we stood there in silence staring at the lake and the small boat.

  After a while, Steve turned to me and said, “What the hell’s goin’ on here?”

  I shrugged.

  “You think that’s Tammy’s blood on the other boat?”

  I nodded. “I do. Maybe some of her killer’s too.”

  “Why the hell use the boat in the first place?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t know.”

  “Can’t see the devil paddling away in it,” he said.

  I laughed.

  “And where’d it come from?” he asked. “You think it’s the stolen one?”

  “I do.”

  “So it could’ve been someone from the outside,” he said.

  “Why not leave in the boat? Why just paddle back to the dock?”

  He shook his head. “For a moment I thought we found something, but all we got is more questions.”

  37

  “I understand you have evidence that proves my client’s innocence,” Ralph Reid said.

  He and Father Thomas had come out of his cabin and joined us at the water’s edge.

  Steve shook his head. “We’ve got a little blood in a boat. Don’t even know if it’s related.”

  “But if it is—” Reid began.

  “It could belong to Father Thomas,” Steve said. “Could prove he did it.”

  “It doesn’t,” Father Thomas said, “and it won’t.”

  “I’d really like to believe that, Father, but there’s a lot of physical evidence against you.”

  “What happened wasn’t physical. It can’t be explained in physical terms. That’s why your search for a killer is so vain. Human agency wasn’t involved.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” I said. “Even if what you’re saying is true, it’s not purely physical or Tammy would still be alive. What happened to her ended her physical life.”

  “You’re right, of course. All I meant was her killer’s not flesh and blood, but spirit and darkness.”

  “And yet,” I said, “we have a stolen diary, a stolen boat with blood in it, and a drowning.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “How do you account for those things, Father?” Steve asked.

  “I don’t. I don’t have to.”

  “Well, I do,” Steve said. “And everything else that’s happened.”

  “It may be your job, but it’s arrogance to think there’s an answer for everything.”

  “How did your skin get beneath her fingernails?” Steve asked.

  “It had her scratch me,” he said.

  “It?”

  “The demon.”

  “Did it also have you scratch her?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I only tried to restrain her.”

  “Did the two of you have sex?”

  Reid jumped in. “We’ve already been over all this. We’ve answered all your questions. Why, when you have evidence pointing in another direction, are you asking them again?”

  “We have evidence now,” Steve said to Father Thomas. “We’ll be able to prove it if you lie. Did you have sex with her?”

  For a moment Father Thomas hesitated. Finally, he shook his head. “No,” he said so softly it was difficult to hear, “I did not.”

  “Well, somebody did not long before she was murdered, and we’re gonna find out who.”

  “We’re going now,” Reid said, “but let me remind you that if you ignore the evidence of the boat and its implications, I’ll clobber you with it in court.”

  Steve’s eyes widened and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. “Tell me you didn’t plant it after the fact to establish reasonable doubt.”

  “I didn’t,” he said with a self-satisfied smile, “but I’m glad you agree it creates reasonable doubt.”

  38

  I found Kathryn crying in her cabin.

  “Was it that bad?” I asked, a small smile on my face.

  She was wearing the same clothes as this morning, which were wrinkled and grass-stained in spots from our alleged picnic, and her hair was sticking up on one side from where she had been lying on it.

  “It was wonderful,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re crying,” I said as if having Muscle-fat’s gift for stating the obvious.

  She nodded.

  “What’re you crying about?”

  “Nothing,” she said, “and everything.”

  There was nothing manipulative in her words or tears. She was just as genuine as she had been in all our previous encounters. I had merely interrupted her private experience of existential suffering.

  “Is it a rainy-days-and-Mondays kind of thing?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” she said. “Just the noonday demon.”

  I nodded.

  “You sound like you have some experience with it,” she said.

  “Hello darkness my old friend,” I said.

  “Mine’s hormones,” she said. “What’s your excuse?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’ve learned there’s nothing I can do about it,” she said. “I just hang on, wait it out, try not to kill myself.”

  “How often does it happen?” I asked.

  “Usually not more than a couple of times a month. Not counting my period, which is a different shade of blue.”

  “Anything I can do?” I asked.

  “Just be gentle. I need a non-demanding, TLC-filled afternoon.”

  “So it’s probably not a good time to ask you about the tape,” I said.

  She looked puzzled. “What tape?”

  “The one you took from Father Thomas’s camcorder night before last,” I said. “The one that’s supposed to exonerate him and implicate the devil.”

  “Oh, that tape,” she said with a forced smile. “I really need to get out of this cabin. Tell you what, take me into town for an early dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  39

  Bridgeport had changed.

  Far from the fishing village I had visited as a kid, it was now a quaint touristy town of gift shops, art galleries, and eateries. A restored theater housed a local acting company and hosted traveling players, and a turn-of-the-century inn stayed booked year round.

  As we strolled down the sidewalk past the toggery, kitchen shop, and bookstore, I gazed out at the great bay and the barrier island of Pine Key beyond. Shrimp, oyster, and sailboats bobbed beneath the midday sun, as cars slowly cr
uised the causeway.

  We ate at a place on the corner I had eaten at as a kid, but only the good food remained the same. North Florida’s filmmaker, Victor Nunez, had shot scenes for a couple of his movies here, and framed one-sheets from his films hung around the room.

  “My depression doesn’t scare you?” Kathryn asked after we had ordered.

  I shook my head.

  “You’re not afraid I’m like this most of the time, that I’m unstable, maybe even dangerous?”

  “Are you?”

  “No,” she said. “And I didn’t kill Tammy.”

  I nodded. “But you did take the videotape from the room.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “You knew it was in there and had time to get it when Steve came to get me.”

  “Father Thomas could’ve taken it,” she said, “or the killer.”

  “That’s true,” I said, “but it was you. You offered to keep the camera in your cabin because you wanted to use it to see what was on the tape.”

  “I knew I couldn’t hide the whole thing, so I just took the tape, but then I wanted to see exactly what was on it.”

  “You took it to protect Father Thomas,” I said.

  She nodded.

  Our food came, and we ate in silence for a while, bits and pieces of the various conversations of the early evening crowd around us drifting over to our table.

  The quality of Kathryn’s beauty was more obvious now, sitting across from her in the unflattering light of the restaurant, than it had been at any other point I’d been around her. Her soft, delicate features, her pale, unadorned skin, her thick blond hair, and the deep brown of her eyes were just short of mesmerizing, her unselfconsciousness only adding to the effect.

  “Whatta you gonna do?” she asked.

  “Watch the tape.”

  “With or without Steve?”

  “Without the first time.”

  “Then what?”

  “Depends on what’s on the tape.”

  “Just remember he’s a good man,” she said. “He’s helped so many people over the years. He’s been like a father to me. No matter what’s on the tape, don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t.”

  “What about me?” she asked. “Whatta you gonna do about me?”

  I knew what she meant, but to stall I said, “Whatta you mean?”

  “Do you suspect me more now?”

  I shrugged.

  “What about what happened last night and this morning? It was so wonderful. I hope I haven’t jeopardized anything we might have had.”

  I thought about it. I wasn’t sure what we had, but so far she hadn’t really done anything that would make me unwilling to explore it.

  “Do we need to talk about that?” I asked.

  “What?” she asked. “Our future?”

  I nodded.

  “You told me up front your heart belonged to Anna,” she said. “We agreed to just let this be what it is and not try to make it into something it can’t be.”

  “That’s a lot easier to say than do.”

  “Especially for us girls.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “Though the reason we’re even having this conversation is that I’m still hung up on my first love.”

  “So that could be me if our timing were better?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  She considered me for a moment. “There’s nothing typical about you, is there?”

  I could tell by the things she was saying and the way she was acting that it would be best if we slow down some, but could we? Would we? Would we be able to resist the urge to define and possess and want more?

  “Maybe what I should have asked is if you think less of me,” she said.

  “For trying to protect Father Thomas?”

  “You can’t be sure that’s all I was doing.”

  “True.”

  “But it was” she said. “I swear it. I’m not trying to hinder your investigation. Just the opposite in fact. And I can prove it.”

  “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

  “I’m the one who put Tammy’s diary in your room.”

  40

  We were getting into my truck when we saw them. They were walking toward a car across the street in front of the hardware store. I got Kathryn’s attention and pointed to them.

  Her eyes grew wide in alarm. “The two who attacked us?”

  I nodded.

  She ducked beneath the cab of the truck, though they weren’t even looking in our direction.

  “Get in,” I said. “Let’s see where they go.”

  We jumped in, Kathryn crouching down in her seat.

  “You’re gonna follow them?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You wanna stay here?”

  She hesitated a moment, seeming to think about it. “No, I guess I’ll go, but can I call Steve?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I was gonna suggest it.”

  She opened her purse, withdrew her phone, and began tapping Steve’s number.

  The two men backed out of their parking place and drove in our direction. When they passed by, I let a couple of cars get between us, then pulled out and began to follow them.

  They drove out of the downtown area and headed toward Highway 98, which ran along the coast between Pensacola and Carrabelle. Taking a right on 98, I followed three cars behind them as they drove back in the direction of St. Ann’s.

  Seeming to rise out of the bay, the empty shell of Gulf Coast Paper Mill loomed in front of us. In contrast to the abandoned mill, the new Bridgeport marina next to it was alive with activity—boats trolling into and out of the bay, fish being unloaded on the docks by sun-burned families and their charter guides, and people coming from and going to the Café on the Dock.

  “Where is he?” Kathryn was saying.

  I glanced over at her.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” she asked. After a pause, she added, “Can you reach him by phone or radio?”

  The car directly in front of us turned, leaving only two between, and I slowed to increase the gap.

  “Well, would you have him call Kathryn as soon as he can? It’s very important.... What?... Oh yeah, hold on. What’s your cell phone number?”

  I told her, she repeated it into the phone, then reiterated how important is was that Steve return the call as soon as he could.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “They’re not sure. Left the abbey about an hour ago, checked in, and told them he’d be ten-something for a while, which evidently means unable to be reached. They’ll continue to try him, but said he would check back in as soon as he’s able to. I wish he were here.”

  “I have a gun if that makes you feel any better.”

  “I probably shouldn’t’ve come,” she said.

  “My previous performance what’s inspiring all the confidence?”

  “I can still feel the way he held me, still smell him, still feel his grip around me and the blade of the knife against my throat. At first it was cold, but then, when he pressed it harder into my skin it got so hot it seemed to burn.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t put you in danger. Let me just see where they go so I’ll know where to come back with Steve, okay?”

  “Thanks. And sorry to be such a baby. You’re certainly not seeing me at my best today. Found out I battle with depression, steal evidence, lie about it, and that I am just a big fraidy cat.”

  Perhaps I should take all these as signs, but I didn’t––and didn’t feel my objectivity had been so compromised that I was incapable of doing so.

  “Yeah,” I said, “if you weren’t so good in bed...”

  Nothing I could discover about her could detract from the mystical experience I had with her earlier in the day. In fact, being exposed to her flawed humanity allowed me to resist the temptation to make an idol out of her, but instead enabled me to better focus on the true source of the encounter.


  She smiled.

  “Not too depressed or afraid if you can smile like that,” I said.

  “Both are reasonably mild.”

  The cars in front of us slowed and I could see that the two men we were following were turning.

  “Aha,” I said.

  She looked over at me. “Aha?”

  “That’s what I say when I get a big clue.”

  “And you had the audacity to say something about ransacked?”

  “But look,” I said. “I think an ‘aha’ is warranted.”

  She looked back to see them turning, her eyes widening when it registered that they were turning into the paper mill.

  “The mill? I thought it was closed. Aren’t they blowing it up tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’ve been using some of the front offices, but everything should be cleared out by now.”

  I continued up the bridge above the railroad tracks, pulled onto the shoulder, parked, and watched as the two men parked their car next to the two others present in the huge empty lot and walked inside the business office.

  “You think they work for Ralph Reid?” she asked.

  “I do,” I said.

  “Why would he get men like that to do what they did?”

  “Think I’ll go ask them,” I said.

  “But—” she began.

  “You can sit inside the little café in the marina and keep trying Steve. You’ll be safe.”

  I made a quick U-turn, eased back down the bridge, and took a right onto the road that led down to the marina. All along the road, new buildings were popping up in anticipation of the tourism boom being predicted to result from the Gulf Coast Company’s developments. According to the signs, every new business was either a bank or a real estate agency.

  When Kathryn didn’t say anything, I looked over at her.

  “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  She gave me a small shrug. “I guess. What would you do if I said it wasn’t? You seem set on doing it.”

  I let out a long sigh. I was getting frustrated with her and I was beginning to let it show. “I can take you somewhere else. Just tell me where.”

  “Café on the Dock is fine. I’m sorry. I can’t help that I’m scared.”