The Demon Pool

by Richard B. Dwyer

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Special Agent Bill Joyce was working at his desk wrapping up the paperwork from a Haitian sex ring investigation when his cell phone rang. Joyce looked at the caller ID before answering. The number belonged to his old boss, the director of the Florida Highway Patrol. The director had been Joyce’s supervisor fifteen years earlier when Joyce had been a state trooper, before moving to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.

  “Good afternoon, director. How can I help you today?”

  “Bill, I need you to take a look into a sensitive matter.”

  Every now and then, the director would call, asking Joyce to help with some “sensitive matter.” Joyce’s bosses at the Department of Law Enforcement never seemed to mind the occasional favor, and Joyce had learned early in his career not to burn bridges that he might have to cross back over someday.

  The director’s usual air of authority sounded tempered by a hint of uncertainty. He continued, “It seems that one of my boys got his tail in a crack.”

  “Let me guess, director,” Joyce interrupted. “Trooper gone wild?”

  Bill Joyce was one of the few men in Florida who could interrupt the director without losing part of their anatomy.

  “Yep,” the director continued, “the trooper gone wild. Trooper Jim Demore, our shining star, youngest-ever homicide investigator. Claims that he was at a topless joint in Tampa to question a suspect and someone drugged him.”

  “Pretty convenient excuse. Any evidence someone slipped him a mickey?”

  “We got blood test results from one of your labs that backs up his story. But I need to know the whole truth, and I need an unbiased investigator to make damn sure we get to the bottom of this mess without looking like fools. I’m not sure that this wasn’t done to make me look bad.”

  Joyce knew about the Trooper Gone Wild case down in Ft. Myers. Hell, the whole damn state and half the country had heard about the case by now. Embarrassing. Not only for the director, but for all of Florida Law Enforcement.

  “What can I do sir?”

  “I need to get the case he was working on closed. I can’t put the boy back on the street until we complete a formal investigation, not till he’s officially cleared. That might take a while ‘cause we can’t let it look like we’re whitewashing this thing.”

  “What’s the case you want closed?”

  “The Jefferson Briggs’ crash. Tragic accident. Can I count on you, Bill?”

  “Of course, sir,” Joyce answered. “I need to wrap up a couple of things here, but I can be in Ft. Myers in the next couple of days.”

  Joyce hesitated a moment, then asked the obvious question.

  “Why not just hand it off to another accident investigator?”

  “I’m catching heat on this, Bill. I need to get it off my plate. My troopers watch out for each other. You know that, and normally that’s a good thing, but I need this closed. I’m sure there is nothing too it. Just a tragic accident. Can I count on you?”

  “You can always count on me, sir.”

  If the director wanted the case closed, Joyce would close the case.

  “Great,” the director said. “I’ll let his commanding officer know you’ll be down to visit. She’ll understand that it’ll look better to have someone outside of the Highway Patrol wrap this thing up.” The Director sounded relieved. “One last thing...”

  “Sir?”

  “You know, Demore was the trooper who someone tried to blow up the other day. Get the Briggs’ case closed and try to stay away from Demore. Be careful, okay?”

  “Yes, sir. You know me, director. I’m always careful. Always. That’s why you call me.”

  Joyce heard the director’s phone disconnect. He put his cell phone away, opened a browser on his computer, and did an Internet search for “trooper gone wild.” The video and pictures of Trooper Jim Demore had gone viral. An hour later, Joyce closed his web browser.

  In spite of the ugly initial news report, he doubted that Demore had volunteered to be videotaped or photographed doing the nasty with some skank dancer from a topless joint. Nevertheless, at this point, that probably did not matter. The story, with its explicit video and pictures, along with the apparent attempted murder, compromised Demore’s ability to conduct an objective investigation. Whatever Demore had got into, it was now beyond his efforts to straighten out. Joyce picked up his desk phone and dialed the number for Demore’s commander.

  ***

  Major Kant picked up the phone on the second ring. She had just spent half an hour on the phone, trying to get Corporal Demore reinstated. The director would not return her calls, so she worked the chain of command and heard the same response all the way up — “It’s not my decision, major.” Finally, she left two more messages with the director’s office. She hoped this was the expected return call. When she heard Bill Joyce’s voice on the other end, disappointment, and concern, entered the picture.

  “Major Kant, this is Bill Joyce, Department of Law Enforcement.”

  Major Kant and Bill Joyce had crossed paths before. Every senior officer in the Highway Patrol knew of Special Agent Joyce’s reputation as the director’s “hatchet man.”

  “I know where you work, Bill. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m waiting for a call from the director’s office.” Major Kant did not feel warm and fuzzy about receiving a call from Joyce.

  “Not a social call, major. I’ve been asked to shepherd the Briggs’ investigation. I’ll be down to see you tomorrow.”

  Major Kant sighed. “Shepherd” was Joyce’s euphemism for “I’m taking over, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  “I haven’t heard anything from the director’s office,” she said. She felt the resistance rising up in her. “Even if Demore is not reinstated, I have investigators who can handle this case.”

  “I’m sure you do, major,” Kant said condescendingly. “Regardless, I will be down there tomorrow. I need to meet with Demore. Your office. Say ten a.m.?”

  Major Kant knew arguing would be useless.

  “Ten a.m. sounds fine.”

  She found it hard to keep the resentment out of her voice.

  “I’ll have Demore here, reinstated or not.”

  “Very good, major.” Joyce hung up.

  Major Kant sighed once more. Before she picked up the phone to call Corporal Demore, it rang again.

  “Major Kant,” she answered, her voice filled with the irritation she felt.

  “Did Bill Joyce call you? Sounds like he might have.”

  Major Kant recognized the director’s voice. Finally.

  “Yes, sir. I have a meeting with him and Corporal Demore at ten a.m. tomorrow. I am still waiting to find out Corporal Demore’s status.” Might as well be direct.

  “The governor’s office is not happy about this whole mess, but it looks like Demore is clear of any intentional wrongdoing.”

  Major Kant sighed for the third time. A sigh of relief.

  “Nevertheless,” the director continued, “something about this entire incident stinks. I don’t like it. Give Joyce what he wants and keep Demore on a short leash. Let him drive a desk for a while, until he’s officially cleared, and major,” the director paused, “if he gets off his leash, he’ll be patrolling the Florida side of the Okefenokee Swamp in a golf cart...and you’ll be supervising him there. Understand?”

  She understood.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead and Major Kant replaced the handset. What a bunch of crap.

  Major Kant picked up the phone again and dialed. It rang several times before someone answered.

  “Corporal Demore, Highway Patrol”

  “Jim, it’s Major Kant.”

  “Am I back?”

  A simple question, with a not-so-simple answer.

  “Kind of. Be in my office at ten a.m. tomorrow. We’ll go over the details.”

  Major Kant tried to keep it upbeat.

  “Kind of? Not exactly sure what th
at means, major, but I guess it’s better than ‘You’re fired.’”

  “It’s a lot better than ‘You’re fired.’” Major Kant said. “I’ll see you in my office tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And thanks, major. I want to get back on top of this thing.”

  “And I want to make sure this thing does not get back on top of you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Major Kant understood why marines got the name “Devil Dogs.” Once they get hold of something, the bastards do not let go.

  “You’re not back yet, Jim, so stay away from anything to do with the Briggs’ investigation. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

  Major Kant heard the defiance in Jim’s voice.

  “I mean it. You ever spent any time up on the Florida side of the Okefenokee Swamp?” Major Kant asked, her voice humorless.

  “No ma’am. Never had a reason to go up there.”

  “You want to keep it that way. Not much up there but ‘gators and mosquitoes. Know what I mean?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Tomorrow, ten a.m.”

  “Good.”

  Major Kant hung up the phone. God, Demore. I hope for your sake, and mine, you do know what I mean.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Jim Demore found himself in a better mood. The call from Major Kant had come while he and Saffi were driving to the restaurant. Yes, Major Kant had warned him off the Briggs case, but Jim knew there were ways to keep his hand in it without directly disobeying the major. The Briggs’ case was his, and he would be the one to close it. Come hell or high water.

  Jim sipped the black coffee he had ordered as dessert. Saffi used her spoon to play with a scoop of tropical sorbet that sat in the middle of a small dessert plate. Jim put his coffee cup down and smiled at Saffi. She reminded him of a girl out of a nineteen-fifties beach movie. She looked as pretty as any girl he had ever dated and she was just plain nice. Yet, he could not help feeling that she had some secret agenda. After all, don’t most human beings have unspoken agendas?

  ***

  Compared to Saffi’s life of school, the lab, and church, the life Jim described to her was adventurous, dangerous, and exciting. A twinge of jealousy ran through Saffi. While Jim freely shared his high school, military, and Highway Patrol experiences, when the conversation drifted around to relationships, she found herself tip-toeing into an emotional minefield.

  “So, no current girlfriend?” Saffi asked. She decided to jump into the minefield with both feet. Might as well know upfront.

  “Not at the moment,” Jim said.

  Saffi tried to analyze his reply. Flippant? Expectant? Disappointed?

  “Looking?” she asked, pushing the envelope. She smiled, but she was mentally kicking herself. She half-expected to hear the pop-pop-pop of little cartoon balloons appearing above her head, drawn with arrows pointing toward her, containing words like “desperate,” “needy,” “I’m available,” and “pick me, pick me.” You’re a scientist Saffi. Stop being so damn silly.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have ever been ‘looking.’ I certainly wasn’t looking when I met Linda.” Jim paused, sipped his coffee. “She just sort of showed up in my life one day and stayed around for the next couple of years.”

  “Doesn’t sound too romantic,” Saffi said. She carved off a piece of the sorbet and parked it in her mouth. The flavor melted across her tongue, the cold and texture providing a small pleasure all their own.

  “Linda was someone who knew what she wanted and went after it. Can’t fault her for that. She was and still is pretty much about what she wants.”

  “Did she just change her mind about the two of you or did you do something...?” Give him the third degree, Saffi. That will get him interested in you. Dummy.

  “I behaved myself. I mean, yeah, girls flirt with me,” Jim looked embarrassed. “Mostly, I think it was the job. The uniform, probably. A little too pedestrian.”

  He finished his coffee and signaled the waiter.

  “At least she didn’t have to deal with crap of the last few days. Not directly anyway.”

  He paused to order more coffee. Saffi shook her head when the waiter looked at her. Jim continued, more serious that before.

  “Saffi, do you have any experience with the supernatural? The occult?”

  The question surprised her.

  “You mean like am I a witch or something?”

  “No, no, no, no.” Jim replied. He smiled and waved his hands at her as if brushing the idea away. “That’s not what I mean at all. I just keep running into people who seem to be, I don’t know, out there. Way, way out there. Like the woman who owns the voodoo store in Ft. Myers. Candle and magic something. Candle and witches and crap. I don’t know.”

  Jim held up a finger.

  “Wait a minute.”

  He reached for his little notebook, removed it from his breast pocket, and flipped through a few pages.

  “Candle and Wind. Ever hear of it?”

  “I’ve driven past it. Never went in. Jim, I think there’s something you need to know about me. I’m one of those born-again, Christian types, and I take my faith seriously. I would have no reason to go into that kind of store unless it was related to work, or if I happened to feel like poking the devil in the eye a little.” All right, Saffi. At least now he knows where you are coming from. If it scares him off, oh well.

  “I thought you were more of the science-geek type than the religious-geek type.”

  Jim smiled broadly at Saffi. She stared at him for a moment. He thinks I’m a geek. Fine.

  “And what was your grade on that last test we took. You remember. The one on blood evidence?” He wants geek, I’ll show him geek.

  “Okay, okay. I am not the greatest test taker. I got an eighty-nine. I’ll study harder, teacher.”

  A second later, Jim’s face lit up.

  “You blew up the curve, didn’t you?”

  Saffi actually felt a little guilty. All through school, she had pissed off her fellow classmates with her grades. In every class she took, she always blew up the curve.

  “Yep, Mr. Trooper Demore. Afraid I did. Got a hundred. Sorry.” Saffi had put extra emphasis on the words Trooper Demore. “I’ve got brains and religion.”

  “You got attitude, too.” Jim laughed. “Spices up the girl-next-door persona. I like that.”

  Their eyes met for a moment and Saffi felt the spark. She glanced away and wondered if Jim had felt the same thing. A moment of awkward silence followed.

  “Back to the matter at hand,” Jim said, his voice a little softer. “What started off as a routine accident investigation...” His eyes met Saffi’s again. “I don’t know. Now it has a creepy feel to it. Like there is some invisible hand, or force, or power, or some master control person pushing me away from this case. I don’t like it, but it has to be a flesh-and-blood person. I’ve really never believed in the creepy, supernatural stuff.”

  “That’s interesting. You know the traditional Christian view is that in addition to our natural, physical world, there is a supernatural world consisting of God, Lucifer, also known as Satan or the devil, angels, and demons. What most people describe as ‘the occult’ — what you just called the creepy stuff — is actually Satan’s back yard, the part of the supernatural or metaphysical world dominated by the devil and his angels, the demons. That is pretty much the Bible’s view. Do you believe the Bible, Jim?” Might as well find out now.

  Jim’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve read some of it and I heard a lot of preaching when I was growing up, but I would have to say that I am more of a naturalist than a supernaturalist.”

  “I see.”

  Saffi kept her thoughts to herself for a moment. She carved a large spoonful of sorbet from her dessert plate and put it in her mouth. Jim worked on his second cup of coffee. Saffi let the sorbet dissolve before continuing.

  “The occult world exists. That is a fact,” she told him. “It’s just a matter of h
ow you define it.”

  “What do you mean?” Jim asked.

  “Demons and angels, ghosts, spirits. Regardless of one’s personal view, there is little doubt that there is more to our world than purely physical processes. Otherwise, how do we explain morality, music, beauty, self-awareness, and spirituality? There is much more to our world than what can be explained by strict naturalism and evolution.”

  “All right,” Jim said, “let’s presume for argument’s sake that there is a metaphysical world, that the occult world exists. I know a lot of people believe in that stuff, even if I never did. How does it work? If it exists. Do we control it or does it control us? What actually happens when someone pokes around in the devil’s backyard?”

  “Well, the way I understand it,” Saffi replied, “is that, usually, the devil either pokes back, or climbs on board for a ride.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound too good. At least not for those who believe in this stuff. I guess ‘climbing on board for the ride’ means some kind of demonic possession. Right? What about that? I think I remember that being in the Bible somewhere. I know my Uncle Jack, the family Bible-thumper, believed in it.”

  Saffi winced at the words Bible-thumper. Jim’s eyes widened apparently realizing he had screwed up. Faux pas, Mr. Demore.

  “The Bible teaches demon possession, and like millions and millions of people, I believe the Bible is true.” Her voice became very serious. “Jim, if there is a demonic force behind what has happened, you are in real danger. And not just physical danger. Regardless of what you believe, Bible-thumping or not, I would not take this lightly.”

  Jim’s eyes narrowed and a wry smile crawled across his face.

  “Someone tried to blow me up and someone is trying to destroy my career. I am taking it seriously. I just want to make sure I’m not spending my time chasing after the make believe. After all, Briggs and his girlfriend were flesh and blood. I know — I saw the blood. I smelled the dead flesh. They were decapitated, Saffi. It was just about as bad as anything I saw in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “I’m sorry, Jim. That must have been terrible.”