Fatal Decree

by H. Terrell Griffin

  “I can handle this, Chief,” she said.

  “I know you can, J.D., but not with your side split open. You heal a bit and then get back and take over the case. We need you.”

  I hadn’t slept well for the three hours I lay in the bed. I was worried about J.D. and the fact that somebody was trying to kill her. But I was also puzzled by her reactions the previous evening. She had never kissed me on the lips before, and I didn’t know if we had passed some threshold, or if it was just the circumstances.

  I was sitting on the patio sipping coffee and watching the birds when the sliding glass door to the living room opened. “Matt? Can you help me with this bandage?”

  She was barefoot, wearing the same pants she’d had on the night before and a green shirt from a set of scrubs that had been given to her at the hospital to replace her bloodied and ripped blouse.

  I followed her into her bedroom and sat on the bed next to the package of bandages and tape one of the nurses had given her as we left the hospital. She raised her shirt and I pulled the tape off as gently as I could. The cut had not been stitched, but was held together by a number of small butterfly bandages. The laceration wasn’t too big, about three inches in length. Her skin had a reddish-orange hue left over from the antiseptic poured over it by the hospital doctor. I rubbed some antibacterial salve from the package onto the puckered skin of the cut. “That’s going to start scabbing over soon,” I said. “How bad is the pain this morning?”

  “Mostly gone. I did feel it when I rolled over on that side during the night, but otherwise, I think it’s okay.”

  “You’ve got to check in with the doctor tomorrow. Why don’t you stay here until then and let me play nurse?”

  She smiled. “Pour me a cup of coffee, and let’s talk about it.”

  I finished bandaging the wound, and she followed me to the kitchen. I poured coffee into a mug that had the Army Special Forces logo on it and we sat on the patio. “Jock sleeping in?” she asked.

  “No. He was up early. Said he was going to Starbucks and then to spend some time with Gene Alexander. We’re supposed to meet him for lunch at the Old Salty Dog.”

  She was quiet, sipping her coffee, and looking at the bay. “Matt,” she said finally, “we need to talk about last night.”

  “I know. We’ve got to find the people who’re trying to kill you. Maybe the one from last night will tell us something.”

  “I’m not talking about that.”

  I let out a breath. “I know.”

  “You don’t want to hash this out?”

  “I very much do, J.D., but I don’t want whatever we have to blow up in our faces.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “We talked about this once before, that night at Mar Vista, back in the summer.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’ve never brought it up again. Like what we said to each other was a mistake.”

  “You’ve never mentioned it either.”

  “I know. I’m scared of you.”

  She laughed. “Right.”

  “Maybe I’m just afraid of my feelings.”

  “And that’s exactly why we have to talk.”

  “You first,” I said.

  “Chicken. Okay. Here it is. Last night I was scared out of my wits. I’d been stabbed by a maniac in a dark parking lot at midnight. It was the third time in four days that somebody tried to kill me. Jill was there, trying to help hold me together. It wasn’t working. Adrenalin was pumping and God knows what other hormones were taking over my system. I was about to break down in front of all those cops and paramedics. Real detectives just don’t do that. The word would be out that I was just some silly female. And I didn’t care. Screw ’em all. I had almost died and I didn’t think I could spend another day with the fear that put in my gut.

  “Then I saw you coming through that door, and it was like some kind of calm came over me. It was really weird, but I knew that you’d take care of me. I don’t mean like protecting me from the bad guys. It was just that I knew you cared about me, not the detective, just plain old me, warts and all.”

  “You have warts?”

  She smiled. “I’m serious, Matt. My girlfriend Deanna and I had talked about you over dinner. She thinks I’m crazy not to just grab you and hold on for dear life. See where it takes me.”

  “Deanna? Your buddy from Miami? That’s who you had dinner with?”

  “Yes. Who did you think I was meeting?”

  “I was afraid it was some man.”

  She laughed, that big laugh that turns me into jelly every time I hear it, the one that makes me want to spend the rest of my life telling her funny stories, trying to jimmy just one more burst of laughter out of her.

  “I didn’t think it was that funny,” I said.

  “Ah,” she said, “I think I like a little jealousy in you.”

  “It’s an ugly emotion,” I said, laughing, despite myself.

  “It’s sweet.”

  “So Deanna thinks I’m a catch.”

  “Well, she didn’t actually say that.”

  “But you think I am.”

  “I do.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it?”

  “You scare me, Matt.”

  “Why?”

  “Your instinct is to always protect me. That will eventually smother me. If I let myself fall in love with you, I’ll end up becoming just an appendage of Matt Royal.”

  I leaned forward and took her hand, looking her in the face. “J.D., I do try to protect you, but it’s not like you think. I’m not hovering over you thinking that the girl needs me. I would expect you to protect me, too. We’re a team, and team members look after one another.”

  “But you want to be the team leader.”

  “No. It’s like Jock and me. I’d do whatever is in my power to do, anything, if he needed it. That includes dying. And I know he feels the same way. Neither one of us leads, but we’ve taken care of each other since we were twelve.”

  “And you want to take care of me.”

  “It’s not like that. Look, when I was in the army, I was part of a team of twelve men, all trained to be the best soldiers in the world. I protected each of them and each of them protected me and each other. That’s what a team does, covers for each other. It’s a joint effort. That’s the way I see us.”

  “I don’t know, Matt. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”

  “You were married once.”

  “For about three months. That sure didn’t work out very well.”

  “I won’t ever hit you.”

  She laughed. “That jackass only did it once and I beat him to a pulp and left.”

  I grinned. “That’s a pretty good reason for me to never hit you. Why did you marry a guy like that?”

  “I was young and stupid. I didn’t see the bad side of him until after the wedding. And it all started off with him trying to control me.”

  “I’m not that man.”

  She smiled. “I know you’re not. I know the kind of man you are, but I’m still gun-shy.”

  “You kissed me last night. What was that?”

  “That was me feeling a great need for you and being very glad that you were there.”

  My phone rang. I ignored it. It kept ringing. “You better answer that,” said J.D.

  “Not now.” But I picked it up and looked at the caller ID. “It’s Bill Lester,” I said.

  “Answer it. We’ll talk later.”

  “Matt,” the chief said, “I’m just turning onto Broadway. I need to talk to you and J.D.”

  “Coffee’s on. See you in a minute.” I closed the phone, looked at J.D. “Bill wants to talk to us. Must be important.”

  “I’m not exactly dressed for company,” she said.

  “I’ll take you home for some more clothes later, but you’re staying here for the next couple of days.”

  “Is that an order?” Her voice had tightened.

  “It’s a request,” I said. “I
need you close. For my sake.”

  She smiled. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’ll stick around.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Bill’s news wasn’t good. The guy who had attacked J.D. had lawyered up. “He’s not saying a thing. He was hollering for a lawyer before they got him into the patrol car.”

  “Do we know anything about him?” asked J.D.

  “His name is Fred Bagby. He’s from Jacksonville, on parole, and recently released from Glades Correctional. Sound familiar?”

  “I’ll be damned,” I said. “All three of them were in Glades. That’s got to be the connection.”

  “And,” said J.D., “I bet Bagby didn’t check in with his parole officer.”

  “Bingo,” said the chief. “We need to follow up on any connections at Glades.”

  “We’re already working on that,” said J.D.

  “I know, but we’re not getting anywhere. We need to build a fire under the warden down there. It ought to be easy enough to cross-check cell assignments and see if these three guys ever intersected with somebody J.D. has crossed paths with.”

  “A call from the governor would probably get him moving,” I said.

  “Do you know the governor?” asked the chief.

  “No, but I know somebody who does. David Parrish.”

  “The U.S. Attorney?” asked Bill.

  “He’s in court today,” said J.D.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “Deanna Bichler is arguing motions against him today in Tampa.”

  “I’ll call him,” I said. “Leave a message on his cell phone. He’ll get back to me during a break.”

  “This is critical,” said Bill. “If we can find somebody with a connection to J.D., we’ll probably know who’s running this show.”

  I made the call, got David’s cell, and left the message. “David, Matt Royal. Please call me ASAP. J.D.’s in a lot of trouble.” I left my number.

  Parrish called back in ten minutes. “Is J.D. okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. “For now. Somebody tried to kill her last night. That’s three tries in four days.”

  “How can I help?”

  “You’re buddies with the governor, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We know who three of the bad guys are. They all served sentences in Glades Correctional at the same time. None of them have any connection to J.D. that we can see. The warden down there is supposed to be checking any contacts they had with any inmates that might have a grudge against J.D. I think he’s dragging his feet. I thought the governor might have a little chat with him. Maybe light a big fire under his ass.”

  “I’ll call the governor now. You should be getting some pretty quick action.”

  “Thanks, David.”

  I related David’s end of the conversation to the others. “Maybe the governor can break something loose.”

  “In the meantime,” the chief said, “I want J.D. protected.”

  “I can take care of myself,” said J.D., an edge to her voice.

  “Yeah, I know,” said Bill, “but if I were in your shoes, I’d want somebody covering my butt.”

  J.D. smiled. “I’ve got Matt.”

  “Not enough,” Bill said. “You stay here with Matt and Jock, and I’m putting a uniform outside the house.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?” asked J.D.

  “I do. And I’m still the chief and that makes me your boss.”

  “He’s right, J.D.,” I said.

  “I know,” she said. “I know he’s right and you’re right, but I don’t have to like it.”

  “Bill,” I asked, “would you do this if the cop were a male?”

  “Damn straight. Whoever is trying to kill the detective here is real serious about it. And there must be a bunch of them. We’ve arrested one, killed one, and both the guys on the boat got away. They’re still out there. If she gets killed, I’ll have to train a new detective, and I sure as hell don’t have time for that.”

  J.D. grinned. “Okay. If you put it that way. I sure wouldn’t want you to have to teach somebody else the fine art of detecting car break-ins.”

  He laughed and pointed his finger at her. “There you go.”

  Bill waited around until the officer he’d called appeared at the front door. “I’ll be in the car, Chief,” he said.

  Bill Lester took his leave and passed Logan Hamilton coming up the sidewalk. They chatted for a moment and Logan came on into the house. “So, Matt, the chief tells me you’re shacking up with this cute little chick.”

  J.D. said, “As soon as I get my gun, I’m going to shoot him. I’ll be in the shower.” She strode out of the room with a smile playing on her gorgeous lips.

  “You know,” I said to Logan, “she just might do that.”

  “What? Shoot me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah, I think she’s sort of got the hots for me and doesn’t want you or Marie to know it.”

  “That’s probably it. I’ll put it on your tombstone.”

  “I wanted to see how she was doing. Glad to see she’s full of piss and vinegar, as usual.”

  “It was a close thing, Logan. Have you heard anything about it on the island?”

  “Sure. A lot. I had breakfast at the Dolphin this morning.”

  No surprise there. News travels fast on a small island. I filled him in on everything we’d learned.

  “Where’s Jock?” he asked.

  “He’s visiting with Gene Alexander.”

  “I take it J.D.’s okay,” said Logan.

  “She’s fine. She got her left side sliced up a little, but it’s not too bad. She wants to get back to work.”

  “She staying here?”

  “For a couple of days.”

  “Be careful, Matt.”

  “I know.”

  J.D. came out of the bedroom, cell phone in hand. “Matt, a Sarasota detective called and wants to meet with me to take a statement. Can you take me back to my condo? I’ll shower there and get into some clean clothes.”

  “Sure,” I said, “and I’m going downtown with you.”

  She gave me a frown, but didn’t argue.

  “I’ve got to go,” said Logan. “I just wanted to make sure J.D. was okay. Watch your back, Matt. Hers, too.”

  “I will,” I said.

  But as it turned out, I didn’t do a very good job of watching anybody’s back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Sarasota Police Department is housed in brand-new quarters on Adams Lane a couple of blocks from the judicial center. J.D was wearing fresh clothes and her equipment belt with a nine-millimeter pistol holstered at her side. Her gold badge was pinned to the front of the belt. She looked tough, but I could tell from the small grimaces she made from time to time, her side still hurt.

  I left my pistol in the glove box of my Explorer, knowing I couldn’t get it through the metal detectors that were sure to be in the police station lobby. An exception was made for fellow cops. J.D. announced herself and we were told to take a seat in the waiting room. Detective Robson would be right with us.

  Within minutes, the detective came through the door leading from the reception area to the interior of the building. He was a tall man with gray hair, a prominent nose, sunken cheeks, and sallow complexion. He was wearing a beige suit, a light-blue button-down shirt, and a tie patterned in blues and reds.

  “Detective Duncan?” he asked, as he walked up to us. “I’m Harry Robson.”

  J.D. and I both stood. “I’m J.D.,” she said, “and this is Matt Royal, my babysitter.”

  He looked at me. “I don’t understand,” he said, shaking my hand.

  “My chief wants him to look after me,” said J.D. “He’s okay, and he’s brighter than he looks. Tougher, too.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Robson said. His look said that he didn’t like being jerked around.

  “Sorry, Detective,” said J.D. “Matt’s a good friend
and Chief Lester thought he should stick with me for a few days. The chief also put a uniform outside my house. Matt’s house, actually. We left him on the key.”

  “J.D.’s a little defensive,” I said, “but somebody has tried to kill her three times since Sunday. The chief is just being careful.”

  “You’re on the Longboat force?” asked Robson.

  “No,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I still don’t get it, but y’all come on back. This shouldn’t take long.”

  We were taken to a small interview room that held a table and four chairs. Nothing else. Robson told us to make ourselves comfortable and left us, saying he’d be right back. J.D. and I sat quietly, my thoughts going back to our unfinished conversation of the morning, wondering if we were both reacting to the events of the past few days, or if there really was a future for us that held more than just friendship.

  “He’s calling Bill Lester,” J.D. said.

  “Babysitter?” I asked.

  She grinned. “What would you call you?”

  “Gallant protector?”

  “I can see that. But, you’d be wrong. Grown-up detectives don’t need protecting.”

  “How about companion, then?” I asked.

  “I think that implies that we’re more than friends.”

  The door opened before I could reply. Robson came in and took a chair across the table from J.D. “I called Chief Lester,” he said.

  “I thought you would,” said J.D.

  “He said that even though Mr. Royal isn’t law enforcement, he’s family and should be treated as such.”

  “Thank you, Harry,” J.D. said.

  “He also said that Royal’s the toughest son of a bitch he ever met, with the possible exception of somebody named Jock, who is also family.”

  J.D. smiled at that. “Did the chief also tell you that Matt’s a lawyer?”

  “Good Christ,” said Robson. “No. He didn’t mention that.”

  “Don’t let it bother you, Detective,” I said. “I’m a retired lawyer and I’m only here as a babysitter. Nothing official.”

  He laughed. “Everybody says you island people are strange. You ready, J.D.?”

  “Shoot,” she said.

  J.D. talked into a tape recorder. Robson asked a number of questions, got answers, doubled back to some of the same questions, got the same answers. When he was finished, he sat back and said, “Thanks, J.D. I hope I wasn’t too intrusive.”