by Diane Capri
Bending over, I let go of their collars and put my leg across their chests, then my entire body in front of them.
“Back up! Back!”
I managed to get Harry and Bess to move enough to allow me to step through the threshold and close the door behind me, keeping the dogs inside and a solid oak barrier between them and the guns.
When I straightened up to my full height, removed the apple from my mouth and wiped the drool off my chin, I stared Drake straight into his satisfied little eyes.
“What do you want?” I asked him, not making any attempt at small talk.
Drake nodded to the perky young female who handed me a folded piece of paper.
“Feel free to read the warrant before you let us in, if you’d like,” he told me.
With nowhere else to stash it, I had to put the apple back in my mouth again while I opened the warrant, feeling like a complete fool.
While I read the document, Drake turned to the perky assistant and placed a too-familiar hand on her shoulder.
In an exaggeratedly friendly tone, he said, “See, I told you, Barbara. Judges are the same as everyone else. They relax at home in their sweatpants, just like you do.”
He addressed me next. “Ms. Shading here has this idea that because you’re a federal judge, you’re somehow more special than mere mortals. She thinks you and your husband would never, ever do anything illegal.” His tone took a harder edge. “But I assured her that you’re not any different from the rest of us. Thank you for helping me prove it.”
The young woman, Barbara Shading, looked down at her professional pumps. I recognized her now as a recent presenter at our local bar association lunch.
Drake’s reputation for sleeping with his assistants suggested he was trying to make points with this one. But based on her presentation, she’d seemed wiser than other women Drake had impressed over the years.
Besides, I’d heard she had a high-powered boyfriend already.
If Drake sought to seduce Barbara Shading by demonstrating his power over me, I took some pleasure in knowing that he’d underestimated her.
Ignoring Drake as best I could, I read the warrant. They were here to collect George’s gun logs. The ones I’d removed from the gun club. So much for Curly’s discretion.
I groaned when I saw that the warrant was signed by one of the Hillsborough County judges who disliked me because he’d been denied my seat on the federal bench.
The warrant gave Drake the right to enter the premises to search and seize the gun logs. But there was no way I was going to let that happen.
Once they came inside, they could seize anything else they found “in plain sight” during the course of the search. Because this was legal harassment, pure and simple, I knew they would stretch the plain sight concept as far as they could go. The flat would be a mess when they left and who knew what they’d take.
My thoughts flew to my journal and the Thomas Holmes file that Jason had given me. Both were lying in plain sight on my desk. Not to mention the pictures I’d taken at the Andrews house.
No way would I would Drake a chance to seize any of it.
Besides that, Michael Drake had never been in my home and he wasn’t coming in now, not if I could help it.
After stalling as long as possible by reviewing the warrant thoroughly, I sighed.
“Drake, your warrant seems valid. You’re entitled to the logs. I’ll give them to you,” I told him, not friendly.
He sneered at me again. “We can come in and get them ourselves.”
Drake knew as well as I did that this turf war was one I wouldn’t want to lose. Nor did he want to lose face in front of Ms. Shading. We engaged in a silent battle of wills.
Harry and Bess continued barking on the other side of the door. Although the police officers had put their guns down, they remained willing to shoot, if need be. Harry and Bess just wanted to play; they wouldn’t hurt Michael Drake, no matter how much I’d love them to chew him up and spit him into Hillsborough Bay.
But no one else knew that.
I let the barking speak for me for a few moments.
“I don’t think my dogs would actually bite you or your colleagues,” I left that thought hanging for a few seconds. “But I can’t promise you that. And then what? One of you could get hurt. And these officers seem willing to shoot. You don’t want me to sue you for harming my dogs, do you?”
Drake seemed temporarily nonplussed. Thwarted for the moment, he considered what to do next.
Ms. Shading interjected, “We don’t really need to go inside if she gives us the logs, do we?”
Apparently still hoping to get her into bed, Drake wavered. It was the brief opening I needed.
“I’ll bring the logs to you,” I told him, as I turned the doorknob, quickly slipped back inside, and flipped the lock.
A few seconds later, Harry and Bess continued to bark their heads off playing this fabulous new game, and Drake began pounding on the door again.
“Judge Carson, open this door! Judge Carson, we have a warrant! Judge Carson!”
I hurried into the den, snagged the gun logs off the wing chair where I’d tossed them earlier, dropped the apple into the wastebasket and hot-footed it out to the door again. Between Drake’s knuckles rapping forcefully enough to make the hardware rattle, I opened the door and slipped back out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me.
“Here,” I said, breathing hard as I thrust the logs into Barbara Shading’s hand. “This is what you came for.”
Drake glared at me and I glared back.
I said, “Now get out.”
He hadn’t served the warrant before he’d entered onto our private island and walked, bold as brass, into Minaret. When he’d continued up the spiral staircase and made it all the way to my front door, there was no chance he’d thought he was standing on public property. He’d be in trouble over this whole incident, if I chose to make a big deal out of it.
I watched him consider his very limited options before Ms. Shading turned to him and suggested that they get back to work.
I’d embarrassed Michael Drake in front of two police officers and a woman subordinate. We both knew he wouldn’t let me get away with that.
He glared at me with barely controlled hostility and said, “Until we meet again.”
Until they’d exited the restaurant, I blocked our front door. The action made me feel brave, but really my legs were too rubbery to move.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Tampa, Florida
Sunday 7:00 p.m.
January 30, 2000
MY RELATIONSHIP WITH SHELDON Warwick was purely superficial. He was one of Florida’s two senators long before George and I moved here. He’d had to support my nomination as a U.S. District Court Judge and to steer me through the confirmation process, which he had done smoothly and expeditiously.
We traveled in the same social circles and had a number of common friends. His wife, Tory, is a casual friend of Kate’s. And, of course, they ate at George’s from time to time when they were in town.
Otherwise, I seldom had any dealings with either of the Warwicks. I didn’t even know they had a son until David Andrews told me.
So I didn’t know them well enough to arrive at their Bayshore mansion unannounced. They probably wouldn’t have invited me in, had I attempted to do such a thing. But my visit from Drake, following so closely after Olivia’s news that he’d convened the grand jury, made me realize I was running out of time. For expediency, and for no other reason, I called first.
I’d reached Tory, the Senator’s wife. After she apologized about two dozen times for beaning me with the crystal when last we’d met, she said sure, I could come by for a drink before they went out to the symphony this evening.
When I arrived, the maid escorted me into the drawing room where Senator Warwick stood, holding a two-onion martini, dressed in his tuxedo, waiting for his wife to come downstairs. He offered me a drink and I declined. He didn’t i
nvite me to sit down, so we stood by the bar and talked like two guests at a cocktail party.
“Senator,” I began, controlling myself by sheer force of will. “Call me Sheldon.”
“Sheldon,” I started over, “I want to talk to you about General Andrews.”
“That’s not a subject I’m prepared to discuss with you, Willa. Not now or ever. Choose something else,” he said. Firmly, but without belligerence. The voice of a man in control. One who gets his way. Always.
“Unfortunately, Sheldon,” I emphasized his name, too, “short of throwing me out, and since your wife knows I’m here you’ll have to explain that to her, you’ll need to answer me.” I was not going to be bullied by Sheldon Warwick. Not anymore. “Drake just left my house and he is presenting evidence to the grand jury. We don’t have time to fool around.”
To my way of thinking, Warwick had more to do with George’s arrest than anyone else. He’d gotten George involved in some secret plan to thwart a sitting U.S. President. In some countries, that alone would have been treason.
“And if you throw me out, I’ll find another, more public way to talk to you. Maybe you’d like to do this in front of my good friend, Frank Bennett?”
I was quite sure Sheldon Warwick would never want to respond to my questions about General Andrews on local television. But it wasn’t an empty threat. I would involve the media now, if I had to. I had little to lose.
Warwick’s eyes narrowed into small slits as he judged my sincerity.
“So, it’d be easier for both of us if we just did this now,” I told him.
Warwick drained his martini glass and poured himself another, without changing the onions. I forged ahead. “I want to know why President Benson appointed General Andrews to the Supreme Court.”
“Maybe he thought Andy was the best man for the job.”
“We both know that’s not true. It had something to do with Thomas Holmes.” I waited a couple of beats, “And his murder.” I watched Warwick closely. He’d played political poker for a long time. His facial expressions gave nothing away.
Instead of focusing on my use of the word murder instead of death, Warwick took a different tack.
“Who is Thomas Holmes?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “Won’t work, Sheldon. You knew Thomas Holmes because he was at West Point with your son. You also know how and why he died and that President Benson wanted it all kept quiet.”
Much of this I was just guessing. But I had to push somebody’s hot buttons, and soon.
“My wife will be here any minute.” He looked toward the staircase and called up, “Victoria, Willa’s here and we’ve got to get going. Come on down, dear.”
“Nice try, Senator. Now you’ve got about three minutes to tell me what I want to know. Because otherwise, when I leave here, I’m going straight to Frank Bennett, tell him what I know so far, and let him run with it.”
He thought about it for a little while. We heard Tory yell down that she’d be with us shortly. He wanted to call my bluff, I knew. But what would he do?
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Tampa, Florida
Sunday 7:10 p.m.
January 30, 2000
FINALLY, WARWICK SEEMED RESIGNED to my tenacity. He answered my question quickly without fanfare.
“Thomas Holmes was a cocaine addict. He supplied Charles Benson with drugs and tried to lead him into addiction, which Charles was resisting, but Thomas kept pushing.”
He drained the martini and plopped both onions into his mouth. “When the President told Thomas to leave Charles alone and never sell Charles drugs again, Thomas refused on both counts. President Benson discussed it with me and I suggested he ask General Andrews to arrange for Thomas’s transfer overseas. Thomas could have been court marshaled for drug use, but that would have been devastating for Thomas.”
“Not to mention the bad publicity for Charles and the President,” I said.
He shrugged in response.
I hadn’t known about the drugs. In fact, I’d thought Thomas was gay and he’d tried to seduce Charles. My theory was that Andrews had killed Thomas out of gay panic. So, I was wrong.
But the rest of the story was pretty much what I’d figured. “And how did Thomas Holmes get killed, Senator?”
“That really was just an accident. Olivia thinks Andrews killed her brother, but that is nonsense. Thomas was taking target practice in Korea, where he was posted, and he ended up fatally wounded. He was alone at the time, and no one found him until it was too late to save his life, unfortunately. There was a full inquiry into Thomas’s death at the time. A stupid accident. That’s all it was. I told Jason to give you the report. Didn’t you read it?”
I should have known. Jason wouldn’t have gone out on a limb to give me that file without his boss’s permission.
The realization pissed me off. So I pushed his buttons a little harder.
“I don’t believe you. I think Andrews killed Thomas or had him killed. And I think you and President Benson knew about it. Maybe you were both involved in it.”
His eyes narrowed as he returned my steady gaze.
“I don’t care what you think, actually,” he said, as calmly as if he was discussing the weather. “And before you go to Frank Bennett, you might keep in mind that there are laws against such outrageous defamation, even of public figures.”
Tory Warwick picked that moment to walk into the room.
“Hello, Willa dear,” she said as she gave me a small southern hug and kissed her husband on the cheek.
“Tory, you’ve taken so long to get ready that we’re going to have to go or they won’t seat us,” he said. “Willa, I’m sorry we have to rush. It’s been a pleasure.”
He called the maid to show me out and I was on the front porch with the door closed behind me before I knew what happened.
I’d just been non-ceremonially dumped like a stinking, over-ripe melon.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Tampa, Florida
Sunday 7:30 p.m.
January 30, 2000
SENSORY OVERLOAD. I NEEDED space, to drive with the wind rushing at me, blow the cobwebs out of my thinking and to take a really long walk along the sand. I wanted to hear the Gulf pounding in big waves, noise to silence my confusion and help me find the missing pieces of the puzzle that was General Andrews’s murder.
My Detroit origins must have returned to me on a primordial level, because driving fast comforted me, always had. That didn’t explain the hypnotic pleasure I got from experiencing pounding waves on the sand, which I assumed was even more basic to human evolution.
I left Warwick’s house and sped over Gandy Boulevard and across the Gandy Bridge as quickly as I dared. This drive used to be fairly quick, but in the last few years Gandy has become almost as progress-choked as Dale Mabry. And progress means traffic.
It might have taken me less than fifteen minutes to make it onto I-275 south. I wasn’t really checking the time. I opened up Greta’s engine on the interstate and when I looked down at the speedometer again, it registered more than a hundred miles an hour. I backed off a little.
The freeway wasn’t crowded and I could weave in and out of legally poky vehicles.
In no time, I was driving toward St. Pete Beach and Treasure Island.
The speed and the wind didn’t blow away all the ugliness I’d heard today. It was dancing around in my head when I parked the car, put two quarters in the perpetually ravenous meter, picked up my journal and walked toward the water.
There were a lot of condos in this area, but I was mostly oblivious to the other people on the beach. It was a little cold for bathing suits, but there were a number of tourists lying on the sand, turning blue.
It amazed me when tourists simply did what they came here for, regardless of the weather. Vacations were like that, I guess. This was the time they intended to spend at the beach and, by God, they were going back with a tan, even if it meant enduring hypothermia to get it.
> I don’t remember what I thought about while I walked, but when I became conscious again, I found myself near Sunset Beach. One of Kate’s bridge club friends has a condo here, and I was walking at the water’s edge in front of her condo complex when she spotted me.
I wasn’t surprised. It’s nearly impossible to go anywhere without running into someone I know. We say Tampa is the big city with a small town feel, and this was one of the reasons why. People from bigger, more impersonal places like Miami, Chicago, or Los Angeles didn’t understand this about Tampa, but it’s true. Everyone knows everyone here.
It’s foolhardy to assume one can behave badly without being noticed. The local joke was that if you wanted to have an affair, you had to go out of town.
Dottie was only about twenty feet ahead of me when I finally saw her. She came toward me, waving a handkerchief, calling my name. I couldn’t focus on her small talk, but my “ums” didn’t seem to deter her. Dottie could talk for thirty minutes to a wrong number. I’d seen her do it.
Finally, she took my monosyllabic responses for disinterest, but misinterpreted the cause. Dottie was what Kate called a little ditzy. It’s true she was not a genius, and she was more involved in her bridge club than world events, but Dottie was a sweet soul and I often thought the world could have used more like her. There was not a mean or ugly bone in her body. If she wasn’t so flighty, I’d have been able to tolerate her in larger doses, some other time.
“Are you and George getting along alright, Dear?” she asked, putting her arm around my waist and walking along with me.
“What?”
“I said are you having trouble with George?”
“Oh. No.” I must have sounded less than grateful for her sympathy.
She drew away from me slightly. “Aren’t you upset about his arrest?”
“Not really.”
And I wasn’t, not at that moment anyway. I wasn’t even thinking about George.
I was thinking about Andy, Deborah, Robbie, David and Donald, and how pathetic they were.
I was thinking about how horrible growing up in that household must have been and whether that would’ve been enough to make one of them kill their patriarch. How difficult to be homosexual, trying to serve in the old army. Maybe the new army, too. And how much harder General Andrews had probably made it.
