by D P Lyle
“God, I hope not. I couldn’t live with that. The thought that something I did led to her murder.”
“So, back to the original question. Anyone you can think of that might want to harm you?”
“Not really. “
“But?”
“A couple of guys. One worked for my software development group. A guy named Ely Thompson. We caught him stealing sensitive documents. Had designs on going out on his own. I fired him. But that was years ago.”
“Could have percolated,” I said. “Some folks can hold on to a grudge.”
“Can’t argue with you there. But I heard he wasn’t well. Had some heart issues or something. I know he moved. Orlando, last I heard.”
“And the other one?” Nicole asked.
“Jason Hughes. Young kid. Early twenties. Sued us. Maybe two years ago. Claimed a copyright infringement. A program we developed that tracks medical records and payments. Better than anything out there.”
“And?”
“He developed something similar. Independently. We showed the court all our R and D documentation. Showed we had been working on it for a couple of years. The judge tossed his case. He wasn’t happy.” Henry massaged a temple. “The irony is that he was a very bright kid. The kind we would have hired.”
“We’ll need to talk with both of them.”
“I’ll have all their info for you tomorrow.”
I pulled into Henry’s drive and then helped him carry his luggage to the front door.
“God, I dread this,” Henry said. “The house will seem so empty.”
“Sure you want to stay here? I can take you to a hotel.”
“And then I’d have to face it tomorrow. I’d rather be home right now.” He unlocked the door and then looked at me. “I had nothing to do with all this. Nothing.” I nodded so he went on. “Fact is, I want to keep you guys on the clock. To find whoever did this.”
“Isn’t that what the police are doing?”
“Sure, but I know Ray can do things the police can’t.” He pushed open the door. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Back in the car, I headed toward The Point.
“I feel sorry for him,” Nicole said. “He seems so sad. Almost lost.”
“Didn’t seem too broken up to me.”
“You have to look around the edges. His eyes, his voice. He’s hurting.”
“Unless he hired someone to whack his wife.”
“He didn’t,” she said.
“Okay, Sherlock, how do you know that?”
“Intuition.”
Lord, help me.
Back at Nicole’s, I called Ray, bringing him up to date on what Henry said, giving him the two names Henry had offered, and telling him Henry wanted to keep Ray on the case.
“I figured he would.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’ll give Henry a call and then talk with Walter in the morning,” Ray said. “See how it all shakes out.”
“I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”
“What are you up to now?” Ray asked.
“Watching a very beautiful young lady with a bottle of tequila prance naked around her living room.”
That was true. Nicole had gone to her room and returned sans clothing, towels in one hand, a bottle of Patrón and two glasses in the other. She pushed open the door and stepped out on to the deck. A warm breeze came off the Gulf.
“Lucky you.”
“Yes, lucky me. Looks like it’s hot tub time.”
“Don’t want to interfere with that.”
“Wouldn’t want you to. See you around eight.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE WILBANKS BROTHERS were as different as two people could be. Not in appearance, mind you. Both tall, pushing sixone, rail thin, with brown hair that could use a good washing, pulled back into ponytails. Many thought they were twins, but in truth, Darrell had two years on Darnell, Darnell a bunch of IQ points on Darrell.
Their biggest differences resided in their personalities. Darrell, twenty-four, acted more like fourteen. Mind and body always in overdrive. Jumpy. No focus. His life one party after another, happy hour beginning around ten in the morning most days. Not to mention his love of meth. Probably a big reason he could never sit still, never carry on a real conversation, thoughts and words flitting this way and that. He never finished high school, not even a GED, and slid from job to job, always leaving after a few weeks because of some insult or slight, real or imagined. Darrell simply didn’t play well with others.
He was the same with women, snagging and shedding them with a disturbing regularity, as if he feared that if any stayed around too long they’d take root. Darrell rarely showed fear of anything, probably because he rarely grasped the true nature of any situation. Always bragged that he never walked away from a fight. Often preferring that to dialogue. Darrell believed that everything would always work out well. For him, anyway. And, indeed, things usually did. One of those guys with a golden umbrella hanging over his head that protected him from all the chaos he stirred up.
Darnell was a different thing altogether. Twenty-two, yet seemed ten years older. Actually had a couple of responsible bones in his body. Quiet and soft-spoken, he endlessly tried to rein in his brother, an impossible task that he went about with a calm and thoughtful demeanor.
After snagging a legitimate high school degree, Darnell signed on with a local AT&T store at eighteen and never left. Actually liked the job. He dated some, no one steady, and drank only after sunset and on weekends. His meth use was a fraction of his brother’s. Yet even Darnell had to admit his brother’s golden umbrella had saved him more than a few times. He hoped it would be unfurled in their current situation but he had a bad feeling about this one. Darrell had led him further out on the plank than he’d ever been and Darnell couldn’t shake the feeling that their life was on the verge of unraveling.
“What time is it?” Darrell asked.
“Five after four,” Darnell said.
Darnell’s six-year-old Honda Accord, gray with a primered left front fender, was parked just off Highway 180, a hundred yards or so short of where Fort Morgan Road splintered off, the fort itself sitting near the tip of the sandy spit where it had since its construction just after the War of 1812. Dauphine Island, across the way, guarding the other side of the entrance to Mobile Bay, wasn’t visible at this time of the morning. Nudged up behind Darnell’s Honda was a yellow VW bug that belonged to Darrell’s latest squeeze. Heather Macomb, a seventeen-year-old high school senior, who had snuck out of her house to “see Darrell off.” The trio stood on one of the many low sand dunes that flanked the road and faced the beach that angled down to the dark waters of the bay.
“They should be here soon,” Darrell said.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Heather said.
Darrell gave her a glance. “You don’t have to.”
“Don’t be pissy. I mean, what kind of person has you meet him out here? In the middle of the night?”
“The big man don’t like attention. He says meet him here, we meet him here.”
Heather shook her head, her long dark hair swaying behind her. “Who is this guy, anyway?”
“I told you. He’s the big boss. He ain’t got no name.”
Heather kicked at the sand. “That’s just silly. Everybody’s got a name.”
“This one you don’t want to know.”
“How do you know?” she said, more than a sliver of defiance in her voice. “You’ve never met him.”
Darrell picked up a loose rock and threw it across the beach. It almost reached the water. “Don’t have to. Raul knows him. Raul got us this job. That’s all I need to know.”
“Okay, what’s his name?”
Darrell looked at her. “Better if you don’t know.”
“Bet you don’t know, either.” She pointed her chin at him.
“Oh, we know. Don’t we, little brother?” Darnell didn’t say anything so he contin
ued. “But you have no reason to know, and he likes to keep a low profile.”
Heather apparently wasn’t finished challenging him. “So why does this mysterious boss dude want to meet you out here in the middle of the night?”
Darrell brushed sand from his hands. “Because he’s a careful guy. That’s why he’s the boss.”
“I don’t like this.” She grabbed his arm. “You’re going out on a boat for a business meeting? Who conducts meetings on a boat? All secretive like this?”
“The kind that’s going to make us rich.” He hugged her to him. “Don’t worry none. We’ll be back tomorrow morning with enough money for that trip down to Disney World we talked about.”
She stepped back. “I still don’t like it.” Her lower lip descended into a pout.
Darrell laughed. “You miss me already?”
“It’s just that my parents are going away for a couple of days, and I wanted to spend them with you.”
“You will. Starting tomorrow.”
“That’ll leave us only one night. With my curfew, we never get to spend an entire night together.”
“I know. But me and little brother got business to attend to. Ain’t that right?”
Darnell shrugged.
The three turned toward the water as the sound of a powerboat broke the silence. Still far out, around the point, the thick seaside air carrying the vibrations.
“That’ll be them now,” Darrell said.
“Sounds like a fishing boat,” Heather said. “How are you going to do business on that?”
Darrell laughed. “That’s just our taxi. The boss man has a big yacht. Probably around the point and out in the Gulf.”
“Oh.”
“Supposed to be a floating palace.”
“Really?” Heather’s eyes lit up. “I’d like to see that.”
“You can’t. Fact is, you ain’t supposed to be here. No one’s to know where we are.”
The sound of the powerboat increased second by second as it seemed to near the point. They’d be able to see it soon.
“You better scoot,” Darrell said.
“Something isn’t right about all this,” Heather said.
“You’ll see. We’ll be down at Disney before you know it. Now get going.”
“What about Darnell’s car?” Heather nodded toward the Honda. “You just going to leave it here?”
“One of the boss man’s crew is going to pick it up. Needs it for some job.”
“What job?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He stretched and gave a half yawn. “We do as we’re told.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Ain’t supposed to. Now scoot.” He patted her jean-clad butt.
“So, how’re you going to get back home? When you get off the boat tomorrow?”
“You’re going to pick us up at the marina.” He smiled.
“What if I’m busy?”
Darrell rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
She set her jaw and her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “I have stuff to do. Important stuff. Just like you.”
“You mean like pick us up tomorrow morning?”
She sighed, her shoulders relaxing in resignation. “Okay. What time?”
“I suspect early. Seven or eight.”
“I’ll be there.”
He hugged her, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “You’re the best.”
“But you’ll owe me.” Now she gave a fake pout.
“Disney World, here we come.”
He walked her to her car. “And don’t tell no one about this.”
“I won’t. You know that.” She climbed in her car, lowering her window. “Be careful.”
“Nothing to be careful about.” He tapped the roof of her car. “See you tomorrow.”
She backed up, pulled a U-turn, and drove away.
“That wasn’t smart,” Darnell said as her taillights faded in the distance. “Bringing her here.”
“She’s cool. She won’t tell nobody. Besides, she’s one of the best fucks I’ve ever had.”
“You and your pecker. You need to rein it in.”
“Cut me some slack. Just because you ain’t gettin’ any.”
“And you ain’t gettin’ nothing legal.”
“Trust me on this,” Darrell said, “that girl’s all woman.”
Darnell shook his head. “That ain’t it, anyway. Raul said don’t tell no one. I’m sure that included your seventeen-year-old bimbo.”
Darrell produced a small glass vial from his pocket. “You need a little tune-up.” Using a tiny metal spoon he dipped out a dose of meth, snorting it loudly. He extended the vial toward his brother.
“I’ll pass. Clear thinking might be best here.”
“Suit yourself.” Darrell filled his other nostril, sniffing and shaking his head, then rubbing his nose with the heel of one hand. “Man, this is some good shit. Sure you don’t want some?”
“I’m sure.”
Darrell returned the vial to his pocket as the boat appeared, a faint white smudge in the darkness. It turned toward the beach. They grabbed their duffels and walked down the sandy slope to the water’s edge.
“She’s right, you know,” Darnell said. “I don’t like this either.”
“You worry too much.”
“We don’t even know this guy.”
“Don’t need to. All we need to know is he’s the guy paying. And Raul vouches for him. Says he’ll have more jobs for us. Big money jobs.”
“Maybe,” Darnell said. “But he better not find out Heather was here.”
“He’ll never know. How could he?”
“I think he can find out most anything he needs to.”
The boat was now a hundred yards out, closing.
“That’s true. He found us. Hired us. This is going to be our gravy train.”
Darnell snorted. “According to who?”
“Raul.”
“I don’t trust him, neither.”
“Jesus, little brother.” Darrell clapped him on the back. “You can screw up anything.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means we have a good gig here. We did good work for him. Time to reap the rewards.”
The boat’s engine dropped a few notches as it began a slow slide toward the beach.
Darrell shook his head. “You worry when there’s nothing to worry about. Same way Mom was when she was still with us.”
“Don’t go there.”
“I’m just saying, she worried about everything. Even worried about worrying.”
That was true. She had been a natural-born worrier. Of course her meth habit, which finally took her, added to her innate paranoia.
The boat slid up against the beach with a soft scrape. Three men stepped off.
“Howdy,” Darrell said.
Brief introductions followed.
Joe Zuma, short, thick, dark, Hispanic, greased back hair, muscular tattooed arms hanging from a blue University of Florida sweatshirt, sleeves ripped off at the shoulder.
Frank Boyd, tall, thin, shaggy blond hair, jeans, black t-shirt.
Carlos, no last name given, Hispanic, stood apart, head down, no eye contact, as if he wanted to remain invisible.
“Where’s your car?” Zuma asked.
“Up there,” Darnell said. “On the road.”
Zuma’s dark gaze fell on him. “And the other car? Who was that?”
“Other car?”
“The one that just drove away.”
“Oh,” Darrell said, laughing. “Some chick was lost. Asked for directions.”
“This time of night?”
Darrell looked at him but said nothing.
“You know her?” Zuma asked.
Darnell didn’t like where this was going.
Darrell didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest. “Nope. Never seen her before.”
Zuma nodded and glanced at Boyd. He said, “Let’s have the keys.” Dar
nell handed them to him and he tossed them to Carlos. “You got everything you need?”
Carlos nodded.
“Get going.”
Carlos climbed the slope from the beach to the road while the four men settled into the boat, Boyd at the wheel. He backed away from the beach, fired a “hold on” over his shoulder. The big Evinrude spun to life and the boat jerked forward.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I WAS STILL nursing a hangover brought on by too little sleep, too much tequila, and way too much Nicole when I climbed into her SL. I had said we could take my Mustang, which sat in her garage right next to her red Mercedes, but she insisted on driving, saying that riding with me was “boring” and “like going to church with a little old lady.” I started to launch a defense of my manhood but though better of it. A losing battle, for sure. Besides, I could console myself with the fact that Nicole probably thought the F-22s the top guns flew out of Pensacola were boring. Head throbbing, I held on as Nicole launched from her driveway, spun around The Point, and in a whirl of wind climbed to warp factor four. Definitely not boring.
First stop—Ray’s. It was just shy of eight a.m.
Ray and Pancake sat on the deck, papers strewn before them, coffee cups nearly empty, a Dew next to Ray. I poured coffee for Nicole and me and refilled Ray’s and Pancake’s cups. I sat at the table, Nicole next to me.
Pancake rummaged inside his canvas bag and pulled out Nicole’s laminated ID card. He handed it to her.
“I’m official,” she said. She looked at the photo. “Hmm. Not a bad picture considering it was a bad hair day.”
Get real, I thought. Nicole didn’t have bad hair days. Or really bad anything days.
“You look mighty fine,” Pancake said. “Bad hair and all.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him. “Maybe you should consider photography.”
He shrugged. “One of my many talents.” His red eyebrows gave her a couple of bounces.
“And the others?” she asked.
“Too many to enumerate.”
“Are you guys finished?” I asked.
“Probably not,” Nicole said.
I looked at Ray. “What’s the latest?”
Ray nodded to Pancake.
Pancake flipped open a red folder. “Walter has accumulated a long list of folks who might think he’s Satan. He does about every kind of law. Contracts, divorce, liability, criminal defense. Boy’s a regular jack of all trades.” He handed me a stack of papers. “These would be the most likely possibilities.”
