by Jason Deas
Back on the beach house porch, Jim stripped and hung the wet clothing over the porch railing. He entered the house and locked the door behind him. He thought about taking a quick shower, but he was too tired and just wanted to crawl under the covers and go to sleep.
He walked into the bedroom and shut the door. There was a lamp on the bedside table, and he turned it on before turning off the overhead light. The bed looked amazing—like sleeping in a cloud. Jim pulled back the covers. The book of maps was on his pillow.
Chapter 17
Reverend Jim’s private jet waited for Benny at the Palm Beach International Airport. The airport was under heightened security for reasons a police officer would not explain. The officer asked him to wait as Reverend Jim’s airplane was being examined. Benny chalked it up to terrorist threats or something of the sort. As a former lawman, he was happy to comply, and to err on the side of caution.
As Benny sat in a waiting area, his cell phone rang. He answered it before it had a chance to finish the Led Zeppelin guitar riff. He had always liked a phone to ring like a phone, but when he heard you could get it to ring with Led Zeppelin, he changed his mind about the silliness of ringtones.
“Hello.”
“I’m so sorry about the delay,” Reverend Jim said.
Benny looked around with surprise. He thought that Reverend Jim was not making the trip, but waiting for him back in Mississippi.
“You’re here?” Benny looked at his luggage. So much for packing an overnight bag.
“I decided to go see a member of my congregation this morning, who watches the show from Key West, and now the authorities are saying there was something suspicious about our flight path. They are questioning my pilot and searching the plane.”
“Even if you went off your flight path by a hair,” Benny said, “you can’t pick anything up in mid-air unless you have a high tech military plane or something of the sort.”
“Just the way the world is today,” Reverend Jim responded. “It sounds like it’s going to be another hour or so until they’re finished. They will not let me off the plane, but I have asked and been granted permission to have you come on board. We can just sit here and talk while they finish what they need to finish.”
“Fine,” Benny answered. “How do I make my way on board?”
“An escort will meet you.”
“Where?”
“Just stay where you are.” Reverend Jim hung up before Benny could respond.
Benny hit end on his phone and stuck it back in his pocket. He watched the masses of people walking by as he wondered who might be his escort. A huge Hawaiian dude came walking toward him and Benny started to stand up as a girl jumped into the massive Hawaiian’s arms. From right behind the loving couple emerged an African American woman.
She walked straight to Benny and said, “Get up.”
“Excuse me?” Benny said, thinking his incredulity would slow her attitude down.
“I said, get yo’ ass outta that chair and follow me.”
“That’s what I thought you said.” Benny hopped up, amused by the situation and the character that stood before him.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait, I think I’m going to need to see some identification,” Benny said slyly.
“Oh, hell no. No you didn’t.”
“I did,” Benny said, standing his ground. “The airport is on a high caution level, and I think the airport authorities would appreciate my caution—and you should too.”
The lady looked at Benny like she was trying to decide which way to kill him. She stood still for a moment, fighting the urge to tell him where to put his stupid mouth. She finally pulled her ID out of her pocket and held it in front of Benny. Instead of just taking a quick glance at it and being satisfied, Benny took it from her and studied the document.
“How do you pronounce your name?” Benny asked.
“Ms. Crenshaw.”
“I was asking about the first name,” Benny said, being a smartass.
“You don’t get to call me by my first name.”
“Of course,” Benny said, handing her back the document. “Take me to my leader.”
Ms. Crenshaw cracked a smile and asked, “You just a smartass, huh?”
“I’m afraid so, Ms. Crenshaw. I don’t mean any harm or disrespect. This place is just kind of tense today, and I thought I would break up some of the hardness with humor.”
“It ain’t workin’.”
“I see that,” Benny said.
“Now, do you have any more questions or are you ready to go to your fancy dancy little airplane?”
“It’s not my airplane.”
“Tell that to somebody who cares,” she said, turning and walking away. She didn’t even look back to see if Benny was following.
Benny hurried beside her and asked, “Do you mind if we make a quick stop at the duty free shop?”
“Is that supposed to be another one of your jokes?”
“Yes.”
“You still ain’t funny.”
“I thought I would give it one more try,” Benny said.
“If this was the Gong Show, you’d be gone.”
“That was a great show, wasn’t it?”
“Hilarious,” Ms. Crenshaw said, deadpan.
When they made it to the security checkpoint, Ms. Crenshaw led Benny past all the other waiting travelers and to the front of the line. She directed Benny to go ahead. As Benny was putting his shoes on the conveyor belt and loosening his belt, she said to the TSA agent on duty, “I heard a strange beep inside his shirt. You better give him the works.” She caught Benny’s eye and gave him a subtle wink. Benny could have sworn her lip tried to crinkle into a smile, which she smothered.
A TSA agent pulled Benny to the side and gave him the business. He searched and did everything all over Benny’s body short of tickling his insides. When the agent was finished, he instructed Benny to put his shoes and belt back on and told him he was free to go.
Ms. Crenshaw waited for Benny and pretended she had not been watching as Benny strolled up to her.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Benny asked.
“The airport is on a high caution level, and I think the airport authorities would appreciate my caution—and you should too.”
“I’m the one who said that just a few minutes ago.”
“And it bears repeating. Thank you for your wisdom, Mr. James.”
“Are you trying to make jokes now, because you’re not very good at it either.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Ms. Crenshaw said, turning and walking away from him again.
Benny followed her down an escalator and through what felt like a mile of hallways and up another escalator. Ms. Crenshaw pulled a key from her belt and opened an unmarked door and held it open for Benny to walk through first.
“You’re so kind,” Benny said.
“Not really,” she shut the door and walked past him again.
They walked down a stairwell and out a door and suddenly they were on the tarmac.
Reverend Jim’s plane sat about fifty yards away. Ms. Crenshaw pointed to it. “Think you can find your way from here without causing any trouble?”
“It was a pleasure getting to know you,” Benny grinned.
“Wish I could say the same.” Ms. Crenshaw walked away, leaving Benny alone on the hot tarmac.
Benny had met some characters in his life, but Ms. Crenshaw was an entirely new breed of different. He had no idea what to think about her. Was she kidding? Was she serious? A little bit of both? Whatever it was, Benny liked her—she was unique to say the least.
Benny walked toward the sleek business jet. Good money in the preaching business, he thought as he watched Reverend Jim standing in the open doorway. He climbed up the metal stairs as Reverend Jim smiled and welcomed him on board.
The two men sat in comfortable chairs at a mahogany table worthy of any corporate boardroom. A young lady emerged from the small galley and offered to get
the two men drinks. Reverend Jim ordered for both, ordering Benny a Jack and Coke and himself an orange juice.
“Orange juice would be fine with me too,” Benny said.
“I am not offended by the occasional drink, Mr. James. It is the third and fourth drink that invites the devil inside. I myself have a drink to calm my nerves every once in a while, and I am certain your experience at this airport has frayed your nerves a bit.”
“It was definitely a strange experience.”
The drinks arrived and Reverend Jim took his and introduced Benny. “This is my assistant, Elizabeth.”
Benny nodded, said he was pleased to meet her and took his drink. She disappeared as the two men sipped their drinks. Benny could have sworn he smelled vodka and wondered if Reverend Jim was having a screwdriver.
Benny studied the Reverend. Something about him looked haggard, worried, or just plain beaten down. Benny’s mother had hated when people told her she looked tired and she made him promise to never tell people they looked tired—she claimed it was a terrible insult. In his head, Benny asked his mother for forgiveness as he asked, “Are you OK? You look tired. Are you getting any sleep?”
“I’m worried about my boy,” Reverend Jim answered.
“I’m going to find him.”
“He has done terrible, terrible things.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But, I’m afraid it is. He looks to me for guidance, and I have always taught him that sin was the enemy. I know he has taken it too far, and I just want to get him back before he does any more harm.”
“I will find him.”
“Give it to me straight. What do you have?”
“I need more time,” Benny began. “I’ve made contact with a former colleague of mine at the FBI. The case file is almost empty.”
“Empty?”
“Well, empty for an FBI file. They have three murders and one attempted murder. For each murder, they have all the usual crime scene analysis, interviews, and things like that, which basically in my opinion add up to nothing. The attempted murder file is the most interesting.”
“How so?”
“How can I put this?”
“Just say it.”
“OK. Nobody wants to say it, since it is the only scrap of evidence that is supposedly worth a darn, but something about it doesn’t seem right.”
“Why?”
“Do you mind if I speak very directly for a moment? I know your nerves are shot and you’re at your wit’s end, but if we’re going to find your son, we’re going to have to be very honest with one another.”
“Please do.”
“For starters, the FBI does not like to admit when it is wrong.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I, for one, think they were duped by this supposed witness who got away. From what I read of the other three files, the perpetrator in this case does not make mistakes. The only way he makes mistakes is if he wants to. Maybe he wanted her to get away, and maybe he didn’t. Maybe she isn’t fully telling the truth or she’s making the whole thing up entirely.”
“I see,” Reverend Jim said finishing his drink. He pushed a button under the table and Elizabeth appeared again. “Could you please get us another drink my dear?” Elizabeth took the order and disappeared.
“The three documented murders were very clean. Spotless really.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that the FBI has basically what amounts to nothing?”
“Correct.”
“And, you’re also telling me that what you have basically amounts to the same—nothing?”
“I’m afraid so,” Benny said.
The drinks arrived again. Benny took a big gulp of his before he made his plea to keep the job.
“I assure you sir, that I am the best in the business of solving crimes like this.”
“I know you are.”
“If anybody is going to find your son, it will be me.”
“I know you will. I want to know the moment you find anything new.”
“I’ll let you know,” Benny assured.
Reverend Jim handed Benny a check. Benny was not sure whether to open it or not.
“Open it.”
“Holy shi…” Benny stopped before the words could completely exit his mouth. “You don’t have to pay me for the whole job now!”
“That is not for the whole job. That is for this week with a little bonus for all your hard work and your empathy.”
“I…” Benny didn’t know what to say.
Before he had a chance to think about it any further, the pilot came into the sitting area and informed Reverend Jim they had been cleared and approved to take off. The pilot also informed Benny that he had informed security and an officer was waiting to escort him back to the terminal.
“Maybe next time our plans will work out and you can come visit me in Mississippi.”
“I would like that,” Benny said.
Benny shook hands with Reverend Jim and exited the plane. Waiting for him fifty yards away, by the door to the terminal, with her hand on her hip was Ms. Crenshaw.
Benny smiled at her and waved. She didn’t move.
Chapter 18
Over a late lunch, before her show, Benny told Rachael all about his meeting with Reverend Jim, as the two tried to strategize what their next move would be.
“So,” Rachael began, “have you talked to Ted today?”
“I did. I told him how Jessica followed me to his house and apparently he hates her, because he would love to sleep with her and she won’t give him the time of day. So, he’s all on board for going around her back and giving me information on the sly.”
“Feels good knowing we’ve won that round.” Rachael winked. “Does he have anything new?”
“Not exactly. He’s leading a crew that is going over the crime scene for the murdered waitress from the Wingz-N-Legz restaurant, Charlene.”
“Wait a minute,” Rachael said. “I thought she was just missing?”
“Oops!” Benny covered his mouth as if he had really made a slip of the tongue. “Not any more. They found the body this morning and it has been positively identified as hers.”
“Oh my God,” Rachael said. “That poor girl.”
“It wasn’t even a very high bridge. The water going under the bridge was dotted with giant boulders. From the preliminaries, she died of massive head trauma.”
“Did they find any clues?”
“Just some scrapes above her pubic area and some slight bruising around her breasts, but other than that, nothing.”
“My God.”
“If you need to go to the ladies room, it’s cool.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I insist,” Benny said. “Go make your call.”
Rachael ran off to the bathroom to make her call. The deal she had with Benny was working just fine.
It was four days before Benny was able to interview Stephanie Miller’s parents. Her life and death sparked a media feeding frenzy. Thanks to Ted, Benny had an address that led him to a trailer park named Flamingo Flats. A sign, which used to be lit by neon, marked the entrance. The trailer homes were lined up along a gravel drive with very little gravel remaining. Looking at the massive expanse of space, Benny wondered why all the mobile homes were placed so close to one another. He drove past the park each day, only to see news vans with satellite feed dishes camped nearby and reporters hanging around, eager to talk to anyone who knew Stephanie.
Stephanie Mitchell had been a statewide celebrity of sorts for a couple of reasons. She relayed her fame as Miss Florida into a television commercial gig as the bikini clad spokeswoman for a Florida brewery that produced Laguna Lager. Laguna Lager was mainly a regional beverage that trickled a bit over state lines. The beer was mainly consumed by Florida residents, as the brewery was relatively small. The high quality beer and her beauty were all the small company needed to make a healthy profit. Stephanie’s face and body were displayed on
billboards all over the state. The company even ran a few television ads with Stephanie in some smaller markets where they could afford inexpensive ads. Stephanie didn’t have any speaking roles in the ads. Her body said enough.
Some groups had complained that the ads were too revealing. Certain religious organizations had gone on record to say that the billboards were downright disgusting and unfit to be seen by anyone. One group even called the ads pornographic.
It was less than a twenty minute drive down I-95 to the outskirts of Delray Beach. By the fourth day, the vans were gone and Benny decided it was time. As soon as he began down the drive, he noticed window shades being pulled aside and heads poking out screen doors to see who was coming. He was obviously not a threat, as the inquiring eyes quickly disappeared. Someone clearly approved of the Trans Am as Benny heard a rebel yell and what he thought was a “hell yeah!”
The Mitchell home sat at the end of the road. Benny admired the baby blue exterior and Christmas lights, which although it was the middle of the afternoon were turned on. Not to mention it was nowhere near Christmas. Before Benny had a chance to turn off the vehicle, the screen door opened and a shirtless man stepped onto a sagging porch. A corrugated metal roof hung crookedly above him. The man grabbed a pack of cigarettes off a wooden picnic table and popped one in his mouth with one hand as the other dug into his pocket and pulled out a Zippo. He absent mindedly performed a neat little trick, slapping the lighter across his leg to open it, and then slapping it across his pant leg in the other direction to ignite it. He pulled the flame toward his cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Good afternoon,” Benny said.
“Not really,” the man said.
“You must be Mr. Mitchell?”
“I must be.”
Benny tried to guess his age, but the wrinkles in his face and the sunken chest made it pointless. He had the look of a man who had lived hard for too many years. His body had taken the brunt of his neglect. A gray scruff hid red, pocked cheeks. Sad blue eyes contrasted with the rest of his appearance.
