by Rod Helmers
SHAKE THE TREES
A Novel
Rod Helmers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. In other words, the author made it all up.
Copyright 2013 Rod Helmers
All rights reserved.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Shake the Trees is a plot-driven thriller that introduces Tillis - a Southern-fried sleuth with a slow drawl, a warped sense of humor, and a steel-trap mind. When $150 million evaporates into the digital ether, popular Governor Chuck Lord calls on Tillis to investigate. Vengeance and greed pervade a cast of co-conspirators that start dropping like flies. Tillis soon discovers that things aren’t as they seem, and matches his unconventional style against the psychotic genius of his adversary and a double cross by unseen hands.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rod Helmers is a graduate of Harvard Law School and was a practicing trial lawyer in California and Florida for the better part of two decades. He has owned and operated a ranch in the mountains of northern New Mexico, has worked as a big game guide in the southern Rocky Mountains, and is a multi-engine rated private pilot. He currently resides in rural North Florida and on the mid-coast of Maine.
PREFACE
First a few words about the Florida Bar Clients’ Security Fund (CSF). The CSF reimburses clients who have suffered financial loss due to the mistakes and misdeeds of their lawyers, and is funded entirely by Florida Bar member dues. Unlike an imagined fund portrayed in these pages, the CSF has been a remarkable success and exceptionally well run, having paid out nearly $30 million dollars to thousands of claimants since its inception.
Now for the unquantifiable. I am deeply grateful for the paths crossed along this mostly solitary journey. To my early readers. Lynn and Glenda. Sarah. Richard. Betty and Winfield. Gary, Cece, and Kris. Thank you. You made me believe. To Donna and Chandler. My heart and my hope. There aren’t even words. Sorry for all the faraway looks and thousand mile stares. It won’t happen again. Until next time.
The tree of revenge does not carry fruit.
~ Dutch Proverb
PROLOGUE
FALL 2000
Flashing lights. Then the vehicles. An ambulance, two police cars, and a SUV with lettering on the side. As she drew closer the letters came into focus. Orange County Crime Scene Unit. She stopped her car several feet from the curb, and ran toward the house.
An older male officer met her at the front door. Nineteen-year-old Elizabeth Hayes looked around his hulking body and saw her mother. She was sitting in a straight-back chair, and held a tissue in one hand and the box in the other. She had been crying and her eyes were red and swollen. A female officer was next to her on one knee taking notes on a small pad. Elizabeth slowly turned toward the vehicles in the driveway and looked past two men quietly conversing near the open rear door of the ambulance. Beyond them lay what could only be a body encased in a large maroon bag.
Eileen Hayes saw her daughter at the door, and began crying hysterically. Elizabeth pushed the officer aside and ran to her. Eileen grabbed her daughter and began sucking in huge gulps of air as her chest heaved. The female officer turned her sympathetic eyes to Elizabeth.
“Is my father dead?” Elizabeth asked with steadfast resignation.
Eileen Hayes wailed at the words. The female officer slowly nodded, and then looked toward the front door and motioned the male officer over.
“Ma’am, the ambulance has left. This officer will take you to the home of a friend or relative. Your daughter will be along in just a moment.”
After they left, she turned back to Elizabeth and spoke softly. “Your mother found him when she came home.”
Elizabeth was upset and crying, but still in control. “What happened?”
“It looks like a home invasion and attempted robbery. I’m so sorry for your loss. We’re still processing the scene. It would be best if we could take you and your mother to the home of a neighbor or relative.”
“I want to see.”
The female officer touched Elizabeth’s forearm in a consoling way. “The ambulance has already left. After you and your mother make arrangements, there will be an opportunity to see your father.”
“I want to see where it happened.”
“Honey, after we’ve completed our investigation, a private company will . . . clean your father’s office. You don’t need to see that right now.”
“I need to see where it happened. I might be able to help.” Elizabeth was no longer crying and held a determined expression on her face.
The officer looked at Elizabeth a long time. “I’ll check with the detective in charge. Wait right here.”
A thin and overworked looking man in his early fifties approached her. He was wearing a pair of slacks and a sports jacket in different shades of brown, but both made out of some type of non-wrinkle fabric. The smell of stale tobacco had burrowed into the miracle fibers.
“Are you sure you’re up to this, Ms. Hayes?”
Elizabeth was sniffling again. “I’ll be okay.”
The detective led her down the hall to her father’s office. Her consciousness seemed to float above the scene taking in every detail. A small thin piece of wood the size of a drinking straw lay off to the side on the floor. As they approached the door, Elizabeth noticed slight scratches on the doorframe and on the opposite wall. Normal in almost any home, but not in her father’s house. The house was nearly new. A row of neatly labeled paint cans lined a shelf in the garage. After the movers had finished and left, her father had touched up every scratch and nick.
Elizabeth was careful not to look up as she approached and then entered his office. A large fireproof safe sat in the middle of the room on the huge Oriental rug. Both folding doors to the closet were wide open. His black leather desk chair had been pushed aside and several papers lay on the floor next to a pool of blood. Elizabeth ran out of the room and into the half bath at the end of the hall, and vomited into the sink. As Elizabeth washed her face and breathed deeply, she noticed the detective waiting patiently just outside the bathroom door.
“I’m okay now.”
“We think that your father refused to open the safe. Do you know what he kept in it?”
“All of our important papers. Jewelry. Some cash for emergencies. The usual stuff.”
“Okay. We’ll talk more tomorrow, but why don’t you go somewhere else for now. An officer will call you when forensics is done here and we can release the premises.”
Elizabeth and her father had always been close. Charles and Eileen Hayes thought they would never have children. Then to everyone’s surprise, Eileen became pregnant. Charles Hayes embraced fatherhood at an age when most men were experiencing a mid-life crisis. He found purpose in the startlingly blue eyes of a daughter he adored more than life itself.
Perhaps because she was an only child and usually in the company of adults, Elizabeth had always been poised and sophisticated beyond her years. She’d never experienced the angst of her teenage friends. She’d excelled at academics, loved to travel, and wanted to become an actress. And she loved to sail their 32 foot Hunter up and down the California coast. Her father at her side, giving pointers and praising her skills. The bigger the swells and the rougher the weather, the more she enjoyed it.
Charles Hayes was an actuary employed by a large life insurance company in Southern California. He had always worked hard and saved even harder. The previous spring he’d made a decision and surprised his daughter on her birthday.
“Daddy, what is all this?” Wrapping paper, an old box that once held a new sh
irt and several brochures lay scattered on the living room floor.
“Dad, this is a brochure for a new 45 foot Hunter.”
Elizabeth picked up the rest of the brochures, and began tossing them in a pile one by one.
“Hawaii. Fiji. Tahiti. Dad, what’s up?”
Charles looked at his wife and smiled broadly. “I’m retiring, honey. We’re doing well, and I’m quitting the rat race early. I’ve ordered the Hunter and we’re going.”
Father and daughter had daydreamed for years about sailing the South Pacific, and now it was all going to come true. Elizabeth screamed and threw her arms around him and hugged until he said uncle.
Then everything changed. Almost overnight. Charles Hayes began staying at work late. When he finally came home, he sat in his office with the lights off. Then went to bed early. He lost weight and developed dark circles under his eyes. And he wouldn’t talk about it. Elizabeth thought he had cancer, but he assured her his health was fine. But she knew something was wrong.
The male officer had taken Elizabeth and her mother to the home of a family friend a few blocks away. Late that evening she left her mother in the care of consoling friends, and slipped outside. She began to walk aimlessly. Her mind continued to replay a conversation she’d had with her father late one evening only a few days earlier.
He had explained where all their important papers were, and told her about the life insurance policy - a one million dollar policy. He had told her that she was the strong one, and would have to take care of things if anything ever happened to him. That was when she had asked about the cancer, and he had told her that his health was fine. And although she’d hesitated at first, she had finally asked him. She asked him if he was going to hurt himself.
He had laughed, and told her he could never rest in peace if his benefits were denied on account of suicide. Not after all of the years he’d spent in the business. He’d gone on to tell her several stories about how relentless life insurance companies were when investigating even a hint of suicide.
Elizabeth nearly leapt out of her skin as her cell phone rang. It took a moment before she returned to the present and could answer.
“Hello.”
“Is this Ms. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Hayes, this is Officer Davis. Forensics and crime scene cleanup are through. I know you asked us to call no matter how late, but we can secure the home and you can pick up the keys tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Officer Davis, but I’m wide awake and only a few blocks away. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
After she’d taken possession of the keys to the house and signed all of the forms, Elizabeth pulled her car into the garage and closed the door behind it. A short fiberglass stepladder hung on the garage wall and a large yellow flashlight sat on a shelf by the back door. She carried the stepladder down the hall that she’d walked a few hours earlier, and positioned it below the attic access panel in the ceiling. She was just outside her father’s office, and could smell the strong disinfectant that had been used to clean his blood from the floor. After closing the office door, she returned to the garage for the flashlight.
Upon reaching the third step of the ladder, she was able to push the access panel aside. There were more small scratches on the trim around the scuttle hole. She poked her head above the ceiling trusses, and let the beam of the flashlight search the dark empty space. It reflected off the pearl grip of her father’s .32-caliber pocket revolver. A four-foot long thin nylon rope was tied to the gun. The other end of the rope was attached to a ten-foot long spring.
The snaking coil of tightly wound metal was skinny - no bigger around than her thumb. She’d seen shorter versions used on old-fashioned wooden screen doors. Snapping them shut with a bang. The far end was nailed to a rafter. Elizabeth climbed back down the ladder and again retraced her steps to the garage. She returned with a hammer and a large garbage bag.
With a hammer in one hand and the flashlight in the other, Elizabeth balanced on a truss and pulled the nail from the rafter. Everything was placed in the heavy-duty black garbage bag and Elizabeth backed down the ladder. She found the straw-sized piece of wood that had apparently been used to prop the access panel open. It had been ignored and eventually kicked to a corner at the end of the hall. After adding it to the contents of the garbage bag, she again climbed the ladder and carefully replaced the access door. Two more trips to the garage found the garbage bag in her trunk and all of the other items placed where her father had kept them.
As she backed out of the garage in search of a dumpster, Elizabeth Hayes felt confident that she had done what her father would have expected of her. Her mother’s future would be secure. The insurance company might have its suspicions, but it had the burden of proving suicide. Without any evidence to support those suspicions, the claim would eventually be paid.
Elizabeth understood why her father had sought death. Now there was a bill to be paid. Another death would not do; that would merely be penalty. She demanded remorse. And for remorse she offered patience.
PART 1
SUMMER/FALL 2007
CHAPTER 1
She was asleep. His heart was still racing and she was sound asleep. Maybe the altitude and a full day in the fresh mountain air had exhausted her, but he doubted it. She was different and the sex was different. It was full of aggression - almost violent. Sam Norden knew something was wrong about Ellen Hughes, and was trying hard to ignore his instincts.
Even though she was breathing heavily, Sam quietly slipped out of bed and groped around for the heavy robe he had last seen on the floor in the corner. He padded through the small kitchen, grabbed a beer and walked out on the front porch. The brisk air of early October felt good against his face.
The aging but solidly built cabin clung to the mountainside, and the few twinkling lights of the San Luis Valley spread out far below. A nearly full moon illuminated the already snow-capped peaks a few miles to the north across the Colorado line. Sam slumped into a decaying rocker, took a swig of beer, and closed his eyes. And then restless sleep took him to the same place - always the same place.
The hollow-cheeked elderly woman lay under a brilliantly white sheet. The small room was nearly dark; the lights were off and the blinds were drawn. Clear plastic tubes slithered around her until they converged and pierced the translucent skin of her forearm. Skin that held only bone, tendon, and sinew. A younger Sam Norden leaned forward in a tan-colored plastic chair. His forehead rested on the chrome rail of the hospital bed.
“I should have been here. I should have been here and things might have been different.”
“You are here.”
The mother’s soft words startled her son. She had been in a morphine-induced sleep for hours.
“No, Mom. I should have been here for you when Dad was sick.” Huge tears, hot and stinging, rolled off his cheeks and onto the sheet.
Her lips moved, but Sam couldn’t hear the words. He rose and placed his ear next to her faded lips and waited for the whispered words. But the words never came.
Sam Norden had grown up in the small western Nebraska town of Union situated hard against the banks of the Platte River. After high school he went off to the University of Nebraska at Lincoln and graduated four years later. A degree in computer engineering brought several offers of employment, but he had been accepted into the MBA program at the prestigious Wharton School of Finance at the University of Pennsylvania. Sam and his parents agreed that it was the opportunity of a lifetime.
A new MBA from Wharton without stellar grades to accompany it meant that the investment banker, mergers and acquisitions, and consulting jobs were out. He was tired of the cold and took a position as a stockbroker in San Diego. A stockbroker specializing in high tech in the 1990s. The proverbial right place at the right time. The rising market brought success and money. Lots of money and lots of toys. And a new wife with material needs.
The joy of success was dampened by concern and eventuall
y grief when his dad had his first heart attack and then two more, and, finally, the last one. Fifteen months later Sam learned that his mother had terminal Stage IV breast cancer. She had been busy taking care of her husband and had ignored the lumps.
The same week he returned home to be with her the NASDAQ fell off a cliff. Calls went unanswered and orders were delayed. When the tech bubble burst for good, so did the bank accounts of several of his highly leveraged clients, as well as his own. There were recriminations and lawsuits and he ended up broke and without a job or a marriage. He ran away to the San Luis Valley.
The San Luis Valley was a sweet spot on mother earth. It was as if an Arizona landscape had somehow been shoved up against the mountains of Aspen or Vail. Beautiful pinion-studded red rock canyon country quickly gave way to high mountain alpine meadows and forests. And its isolation meant that it was relatively unspoiled. The village of San Luis had a population of only 1,800. State highway 82 became its main street for a brief ten blocks.
After too much booze and too much self-pity, Sam reinvented himself. He took the classes and passed the test. With what was left of his inheritance, he bought San Luis Valley Realty. The office consisted of a converted single-family adobe-style home right on the highway on the southern edge of town.
The office staff consisted of Sandi Johnson, a 29-year-old single mother with one year of community college under her belt. She was an organizing force that kept the business running smoothly. Sandi was athletic and attractive in a natural sort of way. She was also a local and her family had lived in the valley for generations. Sam was, of course, an import, and he looked to Sandi for local knowledge and contacts.
