by Ace Beckett
If a driver missed the curve he would tumble down the side of the cliff and into the stream. I could hear the rushing water from my perch on the road. If a man walked north toward the traffic, which is the safest way to walk on a highway, was startled and jumped left to avoid being hit, he would have launched himself into air, probably hit about six feet or more from the road and, because the incline was so steep, kept rolling, eventually splashing into the flowing stream. If he was intoxicated he definitely could have drowned easily. The incident was not murder or manslaughter. If charged the driver would have hired a good attorney and gotten, if not an acquittal, a guilty verdict on a misdemeanour. The only other place I had seen such steep inclines, dangerous waters and narrow roads in a stretch between Loveland and Estes Park in Colorado. A very scenic stretch you wouldn’t want to drive at night after one too many drinks.
I looked up and down the road. If there was a witness to the accident where could he have been standing? He couldn’t have been on the right side of the road behind the straggler, the driver would have seen him. He had to have been close, maybe just on the other side of the road. But if so, the van’s headlights should have revealed him to the driver too and Kuster didn’t mention any other nightwalkers. What were the odds of two people being out at ten at night walking on County Road 57?
I looked up and saw no houses or residences. Ever if a watcher had been up on the hill he could not have seen the face of the driver. For someone else, the killer, to know about the incident, the story would have to come from two of the hunting group. Or…
Was one of alleged sleeping passengers actually awake? Could one of them have watched the incident but said nothing? Possibly. If Harper or Mary or Keegan had woken up a minute or so before the man went off the road, perhaps he or she kept silence about it. Perhaps he or she repeated the tale to a close friend in later years.
I shook my head. Like my colleague, and with all respect to the deceased straggler, I didn’t think anyone would start a mass murder spree for a homeless man. There was something else, some other reason for the killings.
My smart phone buzzed and I saw it was Chet Franklin’s number. I had called him earlier but got a message. I answered.
“Hank, sorry I missed your call. I had a meeting. Have another question?”
“As a matter of fact I do. I was wondering if you told anybody about the van incident twenty years ago?” I said.
His answer wasn’t immediate. Which made me suspicious. The pause was about thirty seconds.
“It was a very uncomfortable memory for me, Hank. I keep quiet about it except for once during my marriage I mentioned it to my wife. She said it wasn’t my fault and there was nothing I could have done, and said forgot about it. Which I had until you showed up. But no, I told no one else.”
I was about to ask another question when Franklin hung up on me. His voice had been shaky, not steady.
It had been a very important question.
And I didn’t believe Franklin’s answer.
I had been impressed with the man. I thought he was honest, solid but very likeable. I didn’t see any deception or guile in Franklin. So why would he lie?
When I drove into the hotel’s parking lot I sighed because it has been another frustrating day. I unlocked the door and was pleasant surprised when I saw Astrid, in a small blue towel, dripping water she ran toward me. She jumped into my arms and I kissed her.
“That’s a wonderful greeting!” I said.
I kissed her again. She always looks totally delighted to see me, which to a non-religious man, always seemed like something of a miracle.
“Sorry, I got you all wet.”
“That’s OK. But how did you…”
She gave her delightful smile again. “I convinced the desk clerk I was your girlfriend.”
“You do have powerful powers of persuasion.”
“I told him I wanted to surprise you so he gave me an extra key.” She wiped off the towel and tossed it around my neck. “That may be illegal. But at times I am extraordinarily bad girl, perhaps you’ve noticed that.”
“No, never have.”
She pulled on my shirt so my lips came closer to hers again. A low sultry tone came into her voice. “I trust you like a little spice in your life.”
“I definitely do. Actually, I like to see your bad girl side every once in a while.”
The sultry voice dropped even lower. “Honey, you are going to get your wish.”
Some time later Astrid slipped on her black glasses to read the burgundy menu at the Prime Angus Restaurant, which no doubt served some of Franklin’s cattle. Some women don’t like the wear glasses but I always thought the dark glasses make Astrid look even sexier, if that was possible. Her long blond hair flowed over she shoulders as her green eyes scanned the menus. Someone told me once that blonde hair and green eyes are a rarity. I always meant to check that statement on the Internet but have just never got around to it. If it is a rarity, that’s rather said for the human race. Blonde hair and green eyes are beautiful together. There should be more blonde haired, green-eyed ladies walking around.
A waiter walked up with his pad and asked if we would like a drink.
“Yes, a glass of wine. What would you recommend?” Astrid said.
“Ma’am this part of the country is known more for excellent steak than wine but our house wine is always excellent. Do you prefer white or red?”
“I like both but tonight I’ll be drinking red.”
“Our red wine is magnificent, madam.”
She nodded. “I’ll take it.”
He briskly wrote down her request then turned to me. “And you, sir.”
“I’ll have the white wine.”
He took the drink menus and handed us the dinner menus. Astrid looked around.
“This is somewhat fancy for the Florida Panhandle. Oh, I didn’t mean to sound snooty but…”
“As the waiter said, this is not known as wine country. But this is one of the best restaurants in the county. You only get the best.”
“Even though I’m bad girl sneaky at times.”
“I’ve always found that to be one of your most wonderful traits.”
She laughed. “So tell me about your day.”
I shook my head as the waiter returned with the wine. “Have you decided yet?”
“The Filet Mignon,” Astrid said. “With mashed potatoes and those choice carrots.”
“What type of dressing would you like on your salad?”
“Ranch, please.” She smiled. “I have to save some room for dessert. Your dessert menu looks scrumptious.”
“I don’t mean to brag, ma’am but desserts gather us almost as many compliments as our wine does. And you, sir?”
“The Prime Rib, with rice and potatoes. French dressing with the salad.”
“I haven’t seen you two here before. Are you visiting?”
“Yes. Astrid will be returning tomorrow and I will be staying a few more days.”
“I hope you enjoy your visit,” the waiter said.
“He’s a nice guy,” Astrid said.
“Yes. Maybe I look like a good tipper.”
“You are a good tipper.” She picked her wine glass and sipped. “Wow, that is good. The waiter wasn’t exaggerating.” She took another sip of the wine. “So tell me about your day.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t much, just a routine day. Actually it was an exasperating day and then you came along and saved it. I was puzzled and frustrated when I walked into the motel room. What I thought was an honest man and a genuinely likeable man lied to me and I don’t know why. I was thinking there was no dishonesty in this guy and no guile but…”
“What did he lie about?”
I gave her a brief summary of the case. Then took a large sip of my wine.
“That’s strange. Maybe he was just embarrassed that he had mentioned the incident to someone.”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. But there’s every reason
to tell the truth. I told Chet Franklin his life is in danger. It’s imperative to get every fact about the death of that homeless man out in the open. The more facts we know the better off we are. And the guy seemed intelligent and rational to me. Going through a bad time but even so…”
“What do you mean a bad time?”
“His father, who built a huge agricultural empire in this county, with branches of his company in other counties, is elderly and dying. He probably has only a few weeks to live, maybe a few days to live for that matter.
“Sometimes in situations like that you’re not thinking straight and you can make some wrong decisions. People react differently to stress,” she said.
“That’s true but on the phone he waited before answering. I don’t think that was a sign of stress because of his father’s medical condition.”
The waiter returned and put two salads down on the table. I picked up my fork.
“Let’s forget about the case and have dinner. What time to you have to go back tomorrow?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I have two days off. I can sneak into your room again.”
The next morning Astrid did not have to sneak into my room. I left the adjoining door unlocked but I warned her we were not going to have a relaxing or exciting day. Although no police department took me seriously I had the sense time was running out in this case. I thought going to the Winter Springs Police Department with the theory. But if the three people had been murdered two were out of state and all three out of the jurisdiction of local police.
However an additionally sneaky Astrid was highly skilled on the Internet and I asked her to see if she could trace a John Kuster, graduate of Winter Springs High School. She called up the reunion web site and got the phone numbers of the three organizers.
“I need to see how much information they have about. That could help narrow the search. It’s something of a long shot, honey.”
“I know but I have to take some long shots,” I said.
She was smiling and humming at the computer when I left for the police department. Private detectives used to do a lot of legwork. Now they do a lot of computer work. Thankfully, the Bent Tree Sheriff’s Department was small but very efficient. The county commission had funded a new building and a computer upgrade two years ago. The deputy Janice Sizemore who guarded the high-tech system looked spiffy in her dark green uniform. The silver badge on her chest sparkled. So did the black leather belt where her gun was located. But she showed a huge smile when I came in and wish me a good morning. When I explained I was looking for records of a man drowned twenty years ago her smile didn’t diminish a millimeter. She offered to find records for me.
“If you’re not familiar with system it might take a while to figure it out. I should be able to fine the files for you in a few minutes,” she said.
“Thank you very much.”
She pointed toward the back of the buildings. “There are several tables there you can sit down at, I will bring you file.”
I thanked her again.
Less than ten minutes later she walked up and placed a thin folder on the table. At first I thought it was empty but when I opened it there were reports inside, each on a single sheet of paper.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lancaster. We have almost nothing on the death of Lytrell Moore. We had to run a DNA sample just to get the identification. All we know is he was born in Oakley County fifty-six years before he died. His record shows minor criminal and traffic offenses. He did spend some time in two county jails totalling about fifteen months. No felonies on his record and when he died two decades ago no one claimed the body. He was buried at county expense.”
I skimmed over the two pages. Deputy Sizemore had summed them up very well.
“He had no family that we knew about. Apparently he wandered into the county and was headed out when he died. There’s nothing more we know about him.
“Two sheets of paper,” I said.
“Yes, one is the medical report. He definitely drowned and he had alcohol in his system. If he had been driving the level would have been close but not exceeding the legal limit. The alcohol could have affected and is probably the reason he slipped from the road.”
I nodded “I didn’t think there would be much but thank you for your time deputy.”
“Will there be anything else?”
I nodded. “Yes, I did want to ask you one more thing. I just arrived in the county a couple of days ago. But I know a month, maybe six weeks ago, a man named Todd Hedly was killed. He was involved in drugs. Has the killer been found?”
She nodded. “Found and copped a plea. I forget the man’s name but he was a low-level drug dealer. There was some type of argument and Hedly was shot and killed. It was a basic open and shut case, the shooter is ready to make a plea at his next court appearance.”
She took the file back and I slogged out of the room. I was tempted to knock on an investigator’s door and spill my theory of murders of Winter Springs High School graduates but I figured it would be a waste of time.
As I left the station I realized I had not seen the tan Sonata today. I frowned. I thought the Sonata might be a lead. But I hadn’t been followed to the sheriff’s department. Which meant the driver was just could have just been having a wacko day on the road or, for some reason decided not to follow me anymore. He probably figured I wasn’t close to solving the case so he didn’t have to waste his time.
But one question still nagged at my mind. If you wanted to kill three people why not just shoot them? The murderer was very careful to disguise the deaths and the disguise prevented a homicide investigation but it certainly took a great deal of time. If there had been some slip-up and North Caroline investigators concluded Mary Laurie had been murdered there still remained no clues as to why. I’d had been on the case for weeks and I still hadn’t identified a suspect.
I called Chet Frankly again but got his answering message. I had a hunch he wouldn’t be calling me back.
Perhaps it was time to go into private security work. I knew the president of Coastal Security, a large firm that operated from the Florida Keys to Jacksonville and west to Pensacola. I had a standing invitation from him to join the firm. I’d got high pay, medical insurance, a 401-K, a pension after twenty-five years and exciting work. I tended to doubt the last one – I wasn’t sure how exciting the work would be - but I’m sure the president was telling the truth about the first four benefits. Of course this case hadn’t been all that exciting and I wasn’t getting medical or a 401-K. Besides, Astrid would be happy if I had a full-time steady job.
That night I called Stephen Bates. He answered then asked to put on me on hold for a moment but he didn’t keep my waiting long. Thirty seconds later he was back on the line.’
“Sorry for the delay, Hank. I wanted to come into my study, which is actually filled with my kids’ toys and other stuff but I still call it my study. I shut the door so we won’t be disturbed.”
“We probably could be disturbed for the fresh revelation I’m going to tell.”
“The case is not going well?”
“There is still a problem with clues. Peter Gunn or Mike Hammer never had a case like this.”
He chuckled. “I just saw an old movie last week starring Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade. Those were the good old days.”
“I did get one clue. I know the connection between the three students,” I said. I briefly related the background.
“That’s interesting. Did you decide the third death, the guy into drugs, was not connected with the others three?”
“Yes, it was a drug disagreement that escalated into violence. The police found the murderer and he will plead guilty in a few weeks. The Hedly murder wasn’t connected to the other three but Chet Franklin was. I don’t know why he suddenly clammed up on me and now he won’t return any of my calls.”
“I didn’t know him too well but that doesn’t sound like him.”
“Stephen, you have paid me a good amount of mo
ney and I’m not sure I’ve delivered. If I stay on the case I’m not sure I can break it open. I can’t give good odds on that so if you want to cancel our agreement I understand. You’re spending money but there’s no guarantee of a return and honestly there doesn’t seem to be a high probability of it.”
“No! Absolutely not, I’m not going to give up on this. I don’t want the murderer to get away, we need to see this through. Frankly, I think you’re doing a good job, Hank. I want you to keep on the case, at least for a while. You need more money?”
“No, I’m fine. This wasn’t an attempt to get a bigger payment, you’ve been very generous. I just wanted to give you an accurate update.”
“Stay with it. I’m not ready to give up. The murderer must not get away.”
My organization skills are dismal. I have misplaced paper files and digital files, I even leave sunglasses in shops or on bar countertops. Astrid finds my keys when I misplace them and besides even if I desired too I could not be a lawyer. A prosecutor has to lay out his case in explicit detail and he has to have the evidence filed to back up his theory of the crime to the jury. I’d lose half the files before I walked in the courtroom. So was Astrid busily stacking papers together, printing out information and stacking it up neatly. I wrote what I remembered of the interviews with witnesses in North Carolina, Georgia and Florida, adding in the possibility I was followed in Winter Springs.
I had a feeling I might be laughed out of the Bay Tree Sheriff’s Department but I had a moral obligation to tell investigators of my suspicions. I would take the neatly stacked files in with me to booster my case, while Astrid busily typed at the computer. She didn’t like how I had phrased some of the interviews so she was doing a rewrite, getting everything neatly in order, refining and revision the words so I can present my best argument.
The outside of the Winter Springs Sheriff’s Department appeared to have been scrubbed, the inside looked just as clean. Detective Al Douglas didn’t look as welcoming, he was just under six-two, with a beefy chest and deep set black eyes. He had a scowl on his face. I figured he didn’t trust private detectives or had eaten something at breakfast that disagreed with him. Considering the size of his chest and arms I didn’t particularly want to disagree with him. He spent a long minute looking at me. He blinked.