Fatal Decree

by H. Terrell Griffin

  I’d have to give her time to wind down, see if she’d call me or stop by. If I didn’t hear from her soon, I’d call her. Probably the next day. If that was too soon, the hell with it. I went for another beer and thought some more.

  There was nothing I could do if she chose to leave the island. That would be her decision, and I’d have to live with the emptiness, kiss a phase of my life goodbye, and move on. Not a pleasant thought, but I knew I’d survive and I knew I’d always wonder about the what-ifs. Over the years of the future, thoughts of J.D. would bring smiles and some pain, but the pain would diminish over time, leaving only the good memories. It was the way of human nature. Perhaps it was time for me to tell her that I loved her. If she left, at least she’d take that knowledge with her.

  The evening wore on, and I thought myself through an entire six-pack and went to bed without reaching any conclusions, other than I’d probably have a headache in the morning.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  I awoke a little before eight the next morning, Friday. I showered, shaved, dressed, and drove to the Blue Dolphin. I sat at the end of the counter and read the morning newspaper. I finished off three eggs, bacon, grits, toast, two cups of coffee, and two Tylenol. I was starting to feel a little better. Damn beer.

  I walked to my car and called J.D. I didn’t like the way she’d left my house the day before. I’d square it with her somehow. The phone rang twice and a computer-generated voice said, “I’m sorry, but that number has been disconnected at the customer’s request.”

  I looked at my phone. I’d used the speed dial feature. J.D.’s number was two, right after the number one with the preprogrammed voice mail. I tried again. Got the same message.

  I drove the block to the police station, parked, and went into the reception area. Iva was behind the desk. “Morning, Matt,” she said.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” I said, sounding a lot more cheerful than I felt. “Is J.D. in?”

  “No, but the chief wants to see you. Said if you dropped by to send you back.”

  She buzzed me through the door leading to the back of the station. I walked down the corridor and stopped at Chief Bill Lester’s office. He looked up and said, “Come on in, Matt.”

  “What’s up, Bill?”

  “J.D.’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “She left the police department and the island.” He handed me an envelope. “She said to give you this. Said you’d be here as soon as you realized her phone was no longer working.”

  I was stunned. J.D. gone? “Gone where? When?”

  “She left last night after she turned in all the paperwork from the murders. Came by my house to turn in her resignation. I talked her out of that. Told her she could have a leave of absence, but only until the end of the year.”

  “Where did she go, Bill?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. Said she had a lot of thinking to do about her future. Maybe she said something in the letter.”

  “She brought this to your house?”

  “No. As she was leaving my house, she said she was going to write you a note and leave it on my desk last night. I found it when I came in this morning.”

  I looked at the envelope. My name was written across the front of it in her neat and very recognizable handwriting, each cursive letter perfectly formed. Above my name were block letters spelling out “PERSONAL.”

  “Did she give you any reason for leaving, Bill?”

  “Nothing, other than that she had to do some thinking.”

  “She’s had a bad time of it the last couple of weeks,” I said. “And Mariah Fuentes is still out there, probably still trying to kill J.D.”

  “Mariah didn’t run her off. She’s got more guts than that.”

  “I know. Maybe too much in the way of guts. But these last two weeks have taken their toll.”

  “Did she say anything to you?” Bill asked. “Anything that would lead you to believe she would just up and leave?”

  “Nothing. I know she’s been a little bored lately and had even been thinking about going back to Miami. But I thought she just had a little case of island fever and she’d get over it.”

  “Apparently, she didn’t.”

  “You’ve got a small force, Bill. How are you going to handle her absence?”

  “I’m going to use Steve Carey as our ‘sort of’ detective and Bob Snead said he’d come in if I needed help on the patrol side.” Snead had recently retired from the force and lived in the village.

  “Matt, I know she’s a lot more than just a friend to you. But give her some space. Don’t go looking for her.”

  “I won’t try to find her, but if you hear from her, tell her I’d appreciate a phone call.”

  “I’ll do it, Matt. Call me if you need somebody to drink beer with.”

  I nodded, and left the station.

  I drove to Coquina Beach at the southern tip of Anna Maria Island. I sat on the sand and watched the sea wash shyly onto the beach, little ripples of turquoise water that was the Gulf of Mexico’s idea of surf. I felt very alone. My lawyer brain told me that I had to talk to J.D., argue with her, point out the weaknesses in her resolve to leave, if that’s what it was. I would tell her more about my feelings for her, bare my shriveled soul, even beg her to stay.

  But the more rational side of my brain told me that was a fool’s errand. J.D. had to work it out for herself. If she were to stay on the island, it had to be her decision. If she wanted me in her life as more than a friend, she had to make that choice. My life was on Longboat Key. She would only become part of that life if she were ready to commit to living on the island.

  I wasn’t making a choice between J.D. and Longboat Key. And I didn’t think J.D. should try to make a decision between me and Miami. Love of a good woman was part of life, but so were so many other parts to it. If I chose to leave my life on Longboat and try to build another one solely on love, I would fail and the love would die.

  I pulled the letter out of my pocket, read the envelope again, put it on my lap, and watched the sea. The beach was filling with families spending the day together, children romping in the surf, dads cooking on grills, moms calling to the children to stay in the shallows.

  I thought about the elderly waitress in the dim little restaurant near the safe house in Miami and wondered what she was doing. Life could turn into a lonely existence without warning. One day you are surrounded by the people you love and the next day they’re gone.

  I mentally kicked myself. I’m not above self-pity, but that is one of several of my traits that I despise. I opened the letter. It was in her handwriting and as I read, I could hear her voice.

  Dear Matt,

  Please try not to be angry with me. I know I’m running away and I know that I’m causing you some pain by doing so. But, I’m leaving because I’m afraid I’ll cause you more pain by staying.

  I tendered my resignation to Bill Lester earlier this evening, and he asked why I wanted to leave. All I could tell him was that I needed to do some thinking about where my life is headed. He suggested that I use some vacation time and the sick leave I’m entitled to from the stabbing and he would grant me a leave of absence for the rest of the time. He gave me until the end of this year to make a decision as to whether I wanted to keep my job. So I have a deadline, and that’s good. It does tend to focus one’s thoughts.

  I’m not sure where I’m going, but I have some money saved and I’ll be able to take care of myself for the time I have, and then some. Please don’t try to find me. Give me the gift of time to sort all this out.

  I love you, Matt. There, I’ve said it. Does that change things for us? It shouldn’t. I have to make my decisions on the terms I set, and the question of whether your feelings are as deep as mine isn’t a part of the equation. But, my feelings for you, well, they color everything, don’t they?

  I am deeply troubled by Jock’s dis
closures of earlier today. It upsets my entire belief system about justice and what I do every day when I put on the badge. Jock is your family, and if our relationship ripens, he will become part of my family. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle that. I’m trying to convince myself that Jock’s a soldier, doing what soldiers do, and there is honor in that. I think that is probably what he is, an honorable soldier doing his duty, and I’ll either come to accept it or I won’t.

  I would never ask you to make a choice between Jock and me. If I cannot put his profession aside and love him for the gentle man I know him to be, then I will choose neither of you. I will simply slip quietly out of your life. Please don’t ever tell Jock what I’ve said here, because if he knew my ambiguous state of mind about him, and if he thought you loved me, he would separate from both of us. I do not want that.

  There are other issues that I wrestle with. You and I have discussed my thoughts of leaving lovely Longboat Key. I would never ask you to go with me, so I know that if I want you, I’ll have to stay. I also know that if I can’t be happy on Longboat, I’ll make your life miserable. So I have to work all that out.

  And once my way is clear and my decisions made, I may find that you don’t want me, and that will break my heart. But, at least, I’ll know that I did my best, made my decisions, and professed my love for you. I can live with the rest of it, good or bad.

  Stay safe, Matthew, and remember that whatever happens,

  I love you,

  J.D.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  As November slipped into history, the key settled back into its languid rhythms. I was unsettled, spending too much time at Tiny’s and the other bars on the island. Logan was back on Longboat and spent a lot of time with me, leaving Marie to fend for herself as he made sure I wasn’t drinking more than was good for me.

  Jeff Worthington was released from the Hillsborough County jail on a five-hundred-dollar bond the day after his arrest. Without either the murder weapon or the testimony of Perez, the prosecutors could not prove that he’d been involved in any of the murders. He could only be charged with the unauthorized practice of law, a misdemeanor.

  Worthington did not show up for his first court appearance a week after his release, and the bond was forfeited. Nobody had heard from him since. He was gone, and the state would not spend any money looking for a man charged only with a misdemeanor.

  Jock made a quick appearance during the first week of December, stayed three days, and went back to the wars. On his first day, he sat me down in my living room and said, “What’s going on, podna? Where’s J.D.?”

  I told him about her leaving, about the decisions she was trying to make. I didn’t tell him about the letter. And I didn’t tell him she had written that she loved me. I knew I was acting a bit like a lovesick high school kid and I was afraid if I gave any of it away to Jock or Logan, they’d think I’d slipped a gear.

  “Are you in touch with her?” asked Jock.

  “No. She asked me to stay clear.”

  “I’d like her to know that Mariah Fuentes is no longer a threat.”

  I was surprised. “Somebody found her?”

  “I did.”

  “Where?”

  “She was in Mexico, living with one of the jefes of a drug cartel.”

  “What happened?”

  “She and I had a conversation,” Jock said.

  “And?”

  “She was the one who sent the Guatemalan gangbangers after you and J.D. She said it was to teach Mr. Worthington a lesson. He wasn’t moving fast enough for her. She thought if she had the gangbangers kill you, Worthington would get the message and take J.D. out. She figured that J.D. would be well guarded after the other attempts on her life and that you’d be an easy target and a grand object lesson for Worthington. One that would let him know that she had other assets and a long reach. Your death was supposed to convince Worthington that he had to move quickly on J.D. Mariah was crazy and none of what she did was the least bit rational.”

  “Was?”

  “She died,” Jock said simply.

  I wasn’t going to ask how. “Did you ever figure out who was paying Gene Alexander for the information he was peddling?”

  “Yes. They died, too.”

  “You?”

  “No. Dave sent some of our other guys after them. I got a chance to talk to Mariah, but that was my only involvement.”

  “So, you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, Matt. Dave has me doing some analyst work, shuffling paper. I think he’s afraid I’m not yet ready to go back to the field.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Dave’s right. Maybe it’s time for me to give it up.”

  “Retire?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I could be a beach bum just yet. I may see if Dave will let me continue with the paperwork. Stay out of the field.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. You’re getting a little long in the tooth to be a field agent.”

  Jock was quiet for a beat. Then he smiled. “Screw you, podna.”

  “With Mariah out of the picture,” I said, “I guess Worthington is the only one left. I wonder if he has the balls to take another swing at J.D.”

  “He won’t,” said Jock.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The day I left here, I went to Tampa and took care of him.”

  “Took care of him?” I asked.

  “Yes. Dave told me on the phone that he was being released that evening. I met him when he came out of the jail.”

  “And what do you mean, you took care of him?”

  “He won’t ever bother J.D. again. Or anyone else. Ever.”

  I let it go then.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  The Christmas season in Florida is a bit strange, a paradox of traditions bred in the cold north juxtaposed against the reality of life in the sun. The temperature hovered in the high sixties and low seventies. People were on the beaches working on their tans, and congratulating themselves for being wealthy enough to spend their winter in the sunshine. The condos and homes along Gulf of Mexico Drive were displays of tasteful Christmas lighting, créches and foam reindeer and Santas, their sleighs resting on green grass spread beneath palm trees. The air-conditioned bars were full of people drinking hot toddies or whatever it was they drank in the cold nights of the season back where they came from. A shopping mall on the mainland had fake snow as part of a display so that the kids could play in it and pretend they were at the North Pole.

  I loved it. The air itself carried a hint of joie de vivre. Happiness permeated our lives and filtered down even to me, pushing away the dark mood I’d been in since J.D. left. I hadn’t heard from her, and I assumed that I probably wouldn’t. Her deadline, New Year’s Eve, was a week away, and I’d been half expecting to hear from Bill Lester that he’d received her letter of resignation in the mail.

  It was Christmas Eve and Logan had been busy planning his annual Christmas dinner. He invited all the singles and those couples who had no family to his home for a noontime feast, all sumptuously catered by a Sarasota restaurant.

  Susie Vaught had decided to keep Tiny’s open that evening until the usual closing time, which was whenever everybody finally went home. She and her husband, Captain Dave, would be at Logan’s for dinner the next day.

  It was nearing eight in the evening, and I was about to leave the house and join Logan and Marie and some other friends at Tiny’s. My doorbell rang, probably a neighbor wanting a ride, too lazy or too tipsy to walk the four blocks to the little bar. Just part of island living, I thought as I went to the door.

  The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen was standing on my stoop. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, framing the lovely face that graced my dreams. Her lips parted in a smile so big and dazzling that I stepped back. Her emerald eyes danced with mischievous glee at the surprise she saw on my face. “Hello, Matt,” J.D. said. “Remember me?”

  I was dumbstruck. I d
idn’t know how to respond, so I stood there like some schoolboy, mute with surprise. Finally, I found my voice. “You do look a little familiar,” I said, “but I can’t quite place you. Do come in.”

  She came through the door, and I closed it. I stood there, facing her, not sure what to do. She opened her arms, and I stepped into them and held her, drinking in her scent, my nose buried in her hair. “God, I’ve missed you,” I said.

  She pushed me back a little, put her hands on my cheeks, and pulled my face down to hers. Her lips brushed mine, and she pulled back again, looking at me as if trying to memorize my face. She closed her eyes and put her lips to mine, not moving, just touching for a long moment, and then she opened her lips and I felt her tongue against mine.

  I drew back and looked at her, absorbing her smile, her eyes, the look of sweet contentment that had settled on her face, and I knew that my dreams of her were finally becoming reality.

  She disengaged herself, patted me on the chest, and said, “Let’s talk.”

  “We can talk in bed,” I offered.

  “Matt, I love you and I love this island and I want to live here forever and I want to tell you about the past six weeks. I want to tell you about how I came to understand Jock and appreciate what he does, and how much I missed you, and—”

  I put my finger against her lips, hushing her, stopping the torrent of words “You’ve already said everything I need to know.”

  “But there’s a lot I want to tell you.”

  “I love you, J.D.,” I said. “We can make a life together. Here on the key. That’s all I need to know for now. We’ve got the rest of our lives to talk.”

  She kissed me again, her hand at the back of my head, her other arm encircling me, pulling me close. The kiss was deeper this time, more passionate, and as it lingered, as we stood there in my living room welded together, I knew that my life was about to change, profoundly, irrevocably, and forever. And that made me a very happy man.