The Orchid Keeper: A Sean O'Brien Novel

by Tom Lowe

  She folded her arms across her breasts. “It’s pretty obvious what killed him. Some evil person shot my grandfather in the heart.”

  “Yes, but there could be other things, other forensic evidence the medical examiner might find.”

  Callie looked from Wynona to me and asked, “Do you think Grandpa was murdered because he saw that man in the glades at the time Grandpa found the dead man’s truck? Did that person come here, come to our home, and shoot an eighty-five-year old man in his heart?”

  “I don’t know. But I do think there is a connection.”

  Wynona said, “Callie, do you have someplace to stay tonight, a friend or family? You shouldn’t stay here tonight.”

  “My mother has a close friend in Naples. I could probably stay with her. My parents will be down here in the morning.”

  I could see that Cory was done speaking with the coroner. Cory jotted another few words in his notepad, blue lights raking across his chest and face. He started to make a phone call when I walked to the front steps and asked, “Got a minute?”

  SEVENTY-NINE

  The phone vibrated twice in my pocket. I ignored it as Wynona and I walked from the cabin porch toward Cory Gilson. He said, “Sean, good to see you, although I wish the circumstances were better.” He cut his eyes up to the porch.

  “I agree. Chester Miller was a fine man.”

  “You knew him personally?”

  “I first bought orchids from him when Sherri was alive. And I recently bought some more. What do you have?”

  “Not a lot. Gunshot wound to the chest. Looks to be a powerful caliber … maybe a .45. No spent shells to be found. Nothing seems to have been taken. No attempt to make it look like a robbery. The perp was probably in and out in minutes. Way back here off Highway 41, nobody could hear it. No obvious tire tread marks. Unfortunately, his granddaughter came home and found the body.” He paused, angling his head, waving a mosquito out of his face. “Go on and say it, Sean. I know you’re thinking it.”

  Wynona said, “So am I … so I’ll say it. This has nothing to do with Craig Moffett. It, most likely, has everything to do with whoever Chester Miller saw out there in the glades when he found Thaxton’s truck.”

  Cory took a deep breath and exhaled. “I think you’re right. What looked like manslaughter on the surface, due to the strong evidence, has turned into a double murder.” He glanced over at the coroner’s van. “And, the one person who could ID that guy is dead. Now, all we have is a tire tread impression and a possible make of the vehicle.”

  “Maybe that’s all we need,” Wynona said. “If we can find the vehicle, match the impression, we can make an arrest.”

  “That’s a big if.”

  “It’ll take time, but I think it can be done.”

  “I’ve had a week’s vacation scheduled for almost half a year. My wife and I are supposed to be on a cruise ship next week.”

  “Take your vacation,” Wynona said. “I’m sure the investigation will not be solved before you can return.”

  “I’m partnering with Jose Garcia. He’s one of the best detectives in the department. I’ll introduce you. He’s here tonight. You’ll like working with him. Maybe not as fun as working with Sean, but Jose is a close second.” He smiled and looked toward the yellow crime scene tape in front of the greenhouse and then to an approaching TV news truck. “Somebody let the news hounds from hell in here. I’m glad the body’s bagged and in the coroner’s van.”

  I said, “We need to make sure the reporters don’t try to interview Callie. She’s in no emotional shape for that.”

  “Agreed,” Cory said. “I’ll run interference. Let ‘em get their video shots, keeping out of the greenhouse, cabin and that lab out back. We’ll confine them to the parking lot.”

  Within a half-minute, three other TV news trucks arrived, and four cars behind them. The reporters and camera operators got out. Cory said, “Excuse me for a few minutes. I need to go over there and establish some ground rules. The public’s right to know doesn’t compromise a crime scene. I don’t care if you’re NBC news, CNN, Fox or the Miami friggin Herald. It is what it is.” He walked away, mumbling, quickly corralling three deputies to help him coordinate with the news media.

  I turned to Wynona. “Are you going to do any interviews tonight?”

  “I never come to a crime scene planning to do that, but I don’t mind because I refuse to answer subjective questions or questions that might in any way hamper the investigation, but I’ve found that we can use the media to get our message out. I had a mentor with the FBI, he was a former police chief before growing bored and applying to the Bureau. He used to say, and I’m quoting here: ‘Somebody knows something. Somebody’s seen or heard something. The news media is the best way to reach those somebodies.’”

  I managed to smile, remembering the phone call I’d received when I first arrived. I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the caller log. I recognized the number of the last caller.

  Joe Billie.

  I looked over at Wynona. “Joe Billie called me. Let’s see if we can reach him.”

  EIGHTY

  I made the call from inside my Jeep. With the news media descending on the scene, the interviews going on, I wanted a quiet place to speak with Joe Billie. I made the call and waited. As it went through, ringing twice, I watched Wynona being interviewed by a blonde reporter, hair bobbed just below her ears. I kept my eyes on the cabin’s front porch. We’d asked a deputy to stand vigilant, keeping any media away from Callie. On the fourth ring, Joe Billie answered. “Hey, Sean.”

  “Hi, Joe. It’s good to see that you’re using caller ID.”

  “Your number is one of five I have filed in my phone. It’s not hard to remember.” Billie stood on the outside of his Airstream trailer, moths circling a flood light near him. “Sorry I didn’t get back with you sooner. I was over near the west coast. You know the area well, close to the Flying Eagle Preserve. I have an order to build a chickee for a hotel on the bay in Naples. I cut a truck load of fronds for the job.”

  “I’m close to Naples right now. As a matter of fact, Wynona and I will be escorting a college student from Big Cypress to her friend’s house in Naples. The girl’s grandfather was murdered today. It’s a very bad scene. Did you know a man by the name of Chester Miller?”

  “Yes. Not too well. I’d met him a couple of times. He used to visit Sam Otter. Was Chester the one killed?”

  “Yes.” I told Billie the story and brought him up to date with the investigation into the death of Joe Thaxton. I concluded by saying, “I believe Thaxton’s drone is somewhere in the glades or maybe Big Cypress Preserve. I was hoping you might help Wynona and I look for it. We can show you exactly where Thaxton was last when he flew his drone. Maybe you can see something deputies and searchers missed out there. Can you meet us?”

  Billie looked at the moon coming up over the canebrake, the buttery reflection shimmering across the black belly of the river, a bat chasing moths and gnats. “I’ll do what I can. Can’t make any promises.”

  “I’m the first to understand. When can you come? We can meet you at the entrance to 15 Mile Road off Highway 41.”

  “Today’s Tuesday. I’m supposed to visit the rez on Thursday. Would Thursday morning work?”

  “We’ll make it work. Thanks, Joe.”

  “Save the thanks for if and when we’re successful. I’ve tracked a lot of things in my life. Drones don’t leave tracks. Should make it challenging. See you Thursday at around eight in the morning.”

  • • •

  Two hours later, Wynona and I watched Callie park her car in the driveway of a two-story, Mediterranean-style home near Pelican Bay in Naples. The house appeared to be larger than five-thousand-square-feet. Pitched gables. Clay tile roof. Pockets of soft light showcasing the home’s exterior. The verdant yard was landscaped with Canary Island date palms and sabal palms.

  Wynona said, “I’m going to go with her to the front door. If I detect th
e smallest hint of deception in whomever opens the door, Callie can stay with me or I’ll get her a hotel room.”

  “Good idea.”

  Wynona got out of my Jeep and walked with Callie over a sidewalk adjacent to the front yard, leading to the door. Callie pulled a suitcase on wheels. The front porch light came on and the door opened. From where I sat, I could see a middle-aged woman step out and give Callie a long, heartfelt hug. Wynona smiled, chatting with the woman briefly, and then Callie stepped inside the home, the door closing.

  Wynona got back in the Jeep. “The lady’s name is Janice. She and her husband, Charles, have known Callie since she was in diapers. Apparently, Janice and Callie’s mom attended the University of North Carolina at the same time. Her parents will be coming here in the morning.”

  I started to put the Jeep in gear when Wynona looked over at me. “I feel so bad for Callie. She was as devoted to her grandfather as he was to her. They shared a bond that was sweet to watch. In a way, Callie reminds me of myself when I was her age. Focused. Dedicated to learning as much as possible about what she loves and wants to do with her life. Sean, we have to find this killer. Thank God Callie wasn’t there when he entered the property … or we would have three homicides.”

  “She’s lucky, and I think she knows it. Doesn’t take away any of the pain from her grandfather’s death, but she’s still here to carry on his legacy and build one of her own.”

  “I have no doubt that she will.”

  “I wonder if the perp was watching Chester’s place, saw Callie leave, and entered. He could have driven onto the land with the intent to take out Chester; and if anyone else had been there, they could have been killed, too. That was risky, considering the fact that Chester sells orchids to the public. There could have been customers at the time or any time during …” I backed out of the driveway.

  Wynona said, “If there were customers present, all the killer had to do was stay in his car, lie low until they left. Don’t make eye contact. Then do the hit and leave.”

  “You said hit. Do you think that’s what it was, a contract hit … or was the perp coming back to take out the only witness who could ID him?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that, if Chester had never done those TV interviews, chances are the killer would not have a clue that Chester thought he could recognize him.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Sean, what do you mean?”

  “Unless the sheriff is somehow connected to all of this and might have relayed Chester’s name to whomever is responsible for Thaxton’s killing. If the sheriff hadn’t leaned in so hard on pushing for manslaughter charges against Craig Moffett, I wouldn’t be saying that.”

  “But you smell a rat, right?”

  “I detect police behavior that’s not consistent with the known parameters of an investigation. I think he’s too eager to wrap it up without tying the loose ends. And, now, there are a lot of loose ends.”

  Wynona was silent for a long moment. “If you’re right, do you think that Cory Gilson is complicit? You know him. I don’t.”

  “I don’t know. I do think he wants to keep his job at least until his daughter is out of college. The sheriff’s ultimately calling the shots. It’s sort of a good cop—bad cop, with Cory trying to run a joint investigation with you when his boss is more impatient than the circumstances require. Chester’s murder will remove the heat from Craig Moffett. I just want to find out who is ultimately responsible for the death of Thaxton, because that person is now responsible for Chester’s murder. And, if this goes way up some corporate pedigree, we have an executive who is fundamentally no different than any serial killer, only worth more money.”

  “I wonder how many degrees of separation—the handlers, managers, the PR people … all the built-in buffers there are between him and Joe Thaxton. And now, Chester Miller.”

  “Maybe we’ll find out.”

  Wynona said nothing, watching traffic coming out of an upscale shopping mall. “I have to get my car.”

  “We’ll head back that way.”

  “I wish I hadn’t left it parked near Chester’s cabin. That’s the last place I want to return to right now. But I need to get it.” She looked across the seat at me. “Are you going back to the marina or your house tonight?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, maybe I can help you with your decision. My house in closer than yours.”

  “Good suggestion.”

  • • •

  After a light dinner of turkey sandwiches and potato salad, Wynona and I sat outside on her deck in Adirondack chairs, the moon almost full and breaking through the clouds. We could hear the hoot of a great horned owl in the adjacent woodlands. She looked over at me. “Ever since I was a little girl, I loved the call of the owl.”

  “I hear it occasionally at my cabin on the river.”

  “I remember hearing it there the last time I was with you. In the Seminole culture, the various clans are named or derived from animals. There were many, including the alligator, deer, panther and fox clans. Ours was the owl. And these are inherited from the mother’s side of the family. Members of the tribe were forbidden to marry within your particular clan.”

  “Are you still a member of the owl clan?”

  “Yes, but now it’s so far removed from the culture, it’s pretty much mostly history and not actively present. There are exceptions, of course. People like Sam Otter and the older members of the tribe practice what they were taught. Sam will probably light a special fire for Chester and grieve in the ways of the elders.” She was quiet for half a minute. “I know you still grieve for Sherri and always will. I hope one day your heart will have room for someone who loves you as much as you loved her. I can’t compete with your memories of her, Sean, but I can and do love you.”

  The owl made a long hoot into the night. Wynona took my hand and said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay … what is it?”

  “I’m pregnant. The child is yours … or ours might be the better word. I just wanted you to know.”

  She looked over at me, her eyes roaming my face and slightly welling. She was radiant in the soft moonlight. I leaned closer and kissed her lips, using my thumb to wipe a tear from her left cheek. She smiled and took a deep breath. “I’m only telling you that because I wanted you to know. That’s all. No obligation. No commitment if you’re not ready. Because, for me, Sean … you have to be fully committed if we’re going to have a family together. If not I will raise the child on my own. I won’t abort a gift, especially one conceived in love. It’s too precious.”

  I smiled. “I don’t do things partially. If I commit, I’m fully committed. And I am.”

  She said, “I know that love comes with risks of allowing yourself to be vulnerable. To take emotional chances. And I know, for whatever reason, that’s difficult for you to do. But for me, guarded as I’ve always been all of my life, you are more than worth the risk of failure at this thing called love.”

  “Sometimes the biggest risks are those we take with our hearts. I’ve never been one for playing it safe only cautious in finding what matters. Rather than think of what if it doesn’t work out … let’s focus on what if it does, okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  I kissed her again, warm tears spilling from her gorgeous brown eyes.

  “I love you Sean … and I always will.”

  EIGHTY-ONE

  It was almost nine in the morning the next day when I arrived back at Ponce Marina, Max greeting me like I’d been gone a year. Dave ground Blue Mountain coffee beans and made a pot of coffee. I sat with him and Nick around a table on Gibraltar’s cockpit and told them what we’d found on Chester Miller’s property. Dave sipped his coffee and said, “Sadly, I think this definitely confirms the connection between the unknown suspect that Chester saw in the glades and Joe Thaxton.”

  Nick said, “Who would shoot an eighty-five-year old man—a kind, old scientist, in the
heart like they were shooting a rabid animal?”

  “Whoever killed Thaxton,” Dave said. He looked across the table at me. “Now that Chester is gone as a prime witness, all that you and Wynona have is a tire tread impression.”

  “At this point, yes. Maybe the forensic reports from Chester’s greenhouse will come up with something else. We may have something else.”

  “What?” asked Nick.

  “Joe Billie. He’s going with us to the area spot where Thaxton was shot. Not the place where he died, but to where he was flying his drone at or near the time he was shot. If the drone is somewhere out there, we’re hoping Joe can find it.”

  Dave grinned. “Even for a guy with Joe’s talents, that will be a hell of a challenge unless he’s using a drone, an eye-in-the-sky, to hunt for the one that could be lost in the glades.”

  “I know he has a few tracking tricks up his sleeve, but I don’t think a drone is part of Billie’s arsenal.”

  Dave nodded. “The Everglades is about a million and a half acres in size. Big Cypress Preserve is well over 700-thousand acres. I’d say Joe Billie will have his skills tested to the limits. On another note, you mentioned the hesitancy of the sheriff to pursue this beyond Craig Moffett and manslaughter charges. Chester’s death seems to exonerate Moffett. Do you believe the sheriff is on the take?”

  “I know he’s taken campaign money from some of the industries Thaxton was targeting. Is the sheriff complicit in the deaths? I don’t know. I think he’s too close to the special interests, and that’s a dangerous relationship when it comes to enforcing the law.”

  Nick pursed his lips, exhaling. “How do you deal with that?”

  “You try to keep him out of the way until the evidence pushes him into a corner. Although he was running interference, Wynona and Detective Cory Gilson want to put cuffs on the guy who actually pulled the trigger … twice. And they’d like to get him to tell them who hired him.”

  My phone buzzed on the table. “Speaking of Wynona. She’s on the line.” I answered, and she said, “I got a Miami address for a guy who recently had the oil pan in his X-1 BMW repaired. The BMW service manager returned my call, and according to him, the car had a lot of mud, twigs and what he said looked like sawgrass beneath the undercarriage. He said the owner, Michael Fazio, had it towed to the dealership and told him that the car had been stolen.”