Quick Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 3)

by Robert Tarrant

  "You're trying to tell me that somehow the federal government was involved in trying to kill Sissy? If that's the case, the government is somehow involved in the killing of Allison and the Herald reporter. What the hell are you talking about?"

  Tim nodded, "I know PJ, it doesn't make any sense. None of it makes sense. I do know that we'll never know the truth. At least, I don't think we ever will."

  Just then Tim's cell phone buzzed. He answered it and listened before asking a couple of questions and ending the call. "That was Jimmie Moore. He ran down the property history on the address in Tampa that the perps are using. It's been vacant for two years. Before that it was a truck repair garage for a short time, a year, or eighteen months, something like that. Business didn't last long. Before that it housed an armored car company for nearly ten years. Company outgrew the building and moved elsewhere. He's running all of the names associated with both businesses. Doubt anything will come from the armored car company, but maybe something will turn up on someone connected to the truck repair."

  PJ stared blankly at Tim as if lost in thought. Finally, she said, "Yeah, okay. I guess we didn't really expect anything from that anyway. Back to Sissy, how does any of it make sense? The feds?"

  "Don't you think I've asked myself that a thousand times? You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you the whole story in hopes the two of us could make some sense out of it, but I knew in my heart that there was no sense to be made of it and I didn't want to drag you into the whole quagmire."

  PJ felt her neck and shoulders burning from tension. She knew a headache was soon to follow. Rubbing the back of her neck she said, "We've got to tell somebody. We've got to find answers."

  Sadness again engulfed Tim's face, "Don't you see, if we do, I'll lose everything? I'll lose my job. I'll lose my marriage, I'm barely holding that together as it is. Marilyn will leave me for sure. She's just looking for an excuse that she can sell to the girls. She doesn't want to be married to a cop, it was glamorous when we started out, but the luster has long worn off. She comes from money, but you know that from Nolan's research into me, and she wants to live in a style I can't provide. We live where we do because her daddy can't stand to see his little girl deprived."

  The building bitterness in Tim's voice softened as he added, "I really don't care if I lose Marilyn, I'm just afraid she'll poison the girls against me."

  The headache bloomed full on in PJ's skull. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and said, "I don't see how we can just forget about this. We're talking about two homicides, maybe three. If this is some kind of government conspiracy it certainly calls into question the suicide of Dockery. Maybe he was just the fall guy. Maybe his death was murder and not suicide. We can't just go home and forget about three deaths."

  There was a hint of pleading in Tim's voice, "What do you think the chances of us proving anything are? You and I are going to go around crying government conspiracy, do you know what the results will be? I'll lose my job for sure and I'd venture a guess they'll take you down somehow, too." Shifting to a more neutral tone, his investigator tone, Tim said, "Besides, we're making a huge leap from the fact that Sissy's location got communicated to the killer to a government conspiracy involving three deaths. No doubt someone in the federal government screwed up and conveyed the information to the wrong people, but that doesn't make it a conspiracy."

  "What the hell else could it be?"

  "Don't be naive PJ, it's no different from prosecutors cutting a deal in exchange for testimony or information. It happens everyday."

  PJ barked, "So you think the feds traded Sissy's life for something more valuable?"

  "Not saying I agree, I'm saying stuff like that happens. I know it and you know it. The outcome of us pushing is that we'll ruin both our lives and nothing will change. No heads will roll, no policies will change. No dark government conspiracy will be toppled. Just you and I will pay."

  The silence filling the car was only mitigated by the background din of city traffic. Eventually, Tim sighed and said, "PJ, promise me you'll talk to me before you do anything more. Please, just do that for me."

  PJ looked at him through sad eyes, "Of course. You're my partner, I owe you that much. I should have come to you directly in the first place. That was my mistake."

  Tim replied, "I understand. Thinking your partner is involved in an attempted murder is a damn heavy burden to be carrying. I just appreciate the fact that you didn't just throw it to Hassinger or IA."

  PJ couldn't stop herself from thinking how close she had come to sharing her suspicions with Lieutenant Hassinger that morning. If it hadn't been for the command staff meeting . . .

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  As I was coming down the outside stairs I realized I'd never been on Justin's boat. Well, it had only been his boat for a few weeks since he bought it from Captain Bob. Bob had run a charter fishing business for several years with Justin as his deck hand. At least that was the story they told me when I first arrived in Florida. Since Bob had said that Justin's occasional long absences were due to a drinking problem, and I have come to know that was totally untrue, I'm not certain how much of the whole charter fishing business story I believe. I'm not much of a boating guy, so I really never paid much attention to their fishing and boating stories.

  As I met Justin he said, "I really appreciate this Jack. I'm still struggling with this fuel system. I hate to admit defeat, but that may be the final outcome."

  "I doubt that I can be of much help. I'm not noted for my mechanical prowess."

  "All I need is for you to throw switches and push buttons at the console while I check connections down below," said Justin as he punched the combination into the gate lock at the entrance to the marina dock area.

  "That I can probably handle."

  We arrived at his forty-one foot Rampage Sport Fishing Yacht and Justin hopped aboard. I was a little more cautious as the hatch leading to the engine compartment was open. I could smell gasoline vapors wafting up from below. Trying to sound knowledgeable I said, "I thought most boats this size were diesel powered."

  Justin replied, "I suppose most are, but this one has had a number of custom alterations."

  I thought, of course it has, I said, "Oh."

  Justin showed me the switches he wanted me to toggle on the main console before he went down into the engine compartment with some type of electrical tester in hand. Every few minutes he'd call out for me to throw one switch or another. A minute later the call would be for a different combination of switches. I was clueless as to what I was actually doing, beyond the obvious fact of tripping various toggle switches. I'm just not a boat guy. After several iterations of the multi-switch exercise, Justin emerged from the engine compartment and said, "No luck. I guess that would have been too easy. Looks like I'm going to pressure test the fuel system. Something is tripping the safety switches."

  I shrugged, "Sorry I can't be more help."

  "Actually, you've been a big help. Thanks. Come on down below and we'll have a beer. It's the least I can do for your help."

  I never have three beers before lunch. Well, seldom. It would be rude to turn Justin down though, so I said, "Sure."

  Justin led the way down into the cabin. The cherry wood interior, off-white leather upholstery, and teak floor didn't coincide with my expectations of a charter fishing boat. Justin pulled open the stainless steel drawer refrigerator and took two Landsharks out, handing one to me. He gestured toward the triangular cherry table and said, "Have a seat. I've been thinking about our conversation Monday afternoon. Have you heard from PJ? Anything more about her suspicions?"

  I slid into the seat behind one side of the table and replied, "No, I haven't heard from her since Sunday. I know she's really busy with some robbery murder case, so that's probably the reason."

  Justin took a swig of his beer and asked, "You think she's gone to anyone else about it?"

  I thought a minute and then said, "No. I'm pretty sure she'd tell me before she
did anything like that."

  Justin sat down in a barrel chair on the other side of the table. He leaned forward and fixed me in his gaze, "I've been thinking about it and I don't think it's a good idea if she takes her suspicions to anyone else."

  I didn't reply, waiting for his reasoning. When nothing was forthcoming I finally asked, "Why?"

  Justin inhaled deeply, "There have been forces at work that you're not aware of, neither is PJ for that matter. It could be very problematic if the wrong people started hearing about someone asking questions."

  I shot back, "You'll need to be a little more specific, Justin. I don't have any idea what you're talking about." The dark look that came across his face made me wish I'd been a little more diplomatic.

  After taking another drink of his beer Justin said, "I'm going to tell you things Jack that you can never tell anyone. Once you know these things you'll understand why you must persuade PJ not to take this any further."

  I replied, "Maybe I don't want to know."

  Justin nodded, "You probably don't want to know, but you need to know. It's the only way we can work together to keep a lid on this whole mess."

  Why is it that every time I get involved in something with this guy I end up feeling my world tilt on its axis? I didn't say anything, I just nodded.

  Justin stood and walked to one of the overhead cabinets, opened the door and flipped a switch, before returning to his seat. A low hum like a refrigerator motor filled the room. From the James Bond movies I've seen, I guessed it was some type of device to prevent electronic eavesdropping.

  Justin leaned back in his chair and began a story that left me with my mouth hanging open. He said, "The guy who killed Allison and attempted to kill Sissy was an organized crime hit man hired by a rogue unit of the CIA. He was probably the one who killed the reporter, Weston, as well. Obviously, he didn't kill Dockery, because I had already killed him before Dockery's staged suicide. The CIA unit has now been disbanded, so nothing is to be gained by creating a stir. In fact, asking questions could eventually lead to us. You and I."

  I interrupted, "You and I? What the hell do I have to do with it? I don't know anything about any CIA unit."

  Justin nodded and said, "If people start asking questions about the guy who attacked Sissy, and how he got his information, they will eventually get around to trying to find out what happened to him. Sooner or later, they'll track him to Lighthouse Point and that means you and I. Once they start poking at us they'll start trying to somehow link us to the deaths of Weston and Dockery."

  "I don't understand why they'd do that?"

  Justin shot back, "Jack, just trust me, there are people out there who would go out of their way to pin those murders on anybody, and we would be prime scapegoats."

  I asked, "So you think Tim, PJ's partner, was tied in with a rogue CIA unit?"

  Justin shook his head, "I doubt that he has any idea what went on. I doubt he knew that he was endangering Sissy. My guess is that he has some tie to the FBI, or the Marshal Service, or somebody like that. He gave them the information and they gave it to the CIA."

  "So it's a huge government conspiracy, multiple federal agencies are involved?" Sarcasm dripped from my voice.

  Justin sighed and then said, "No Jack, nothing like that, but specialized units in the CIA dupe other units of government all of the time. I imagine that's what happened here. Whoever Tim was working with probably asked him to keep them apprised of Sissy's whereabouts. Whoever asked most likely didn't even know why they were asking. So much is siloed these days under the guise of national security that half the time one hand doesn't know what the other is doing."

  "I thought national security concerns were supposed to break down those information sharing barriers?"

  "Get real, Jack. No one wants to share. National security just gives them one more reason to keep other people out of their sandbox."

  I kept asking Justin to repeat portions of his story with question after question. I was looking for inconsistencies. He knew what I was doing, but showed interminable patience. Finally, I said, "So, if PJ raises questions about Tim, it will come out who he gave the information to and then the investigation will go upstream until this rogue CIA unit is exposed."

  "No Jack, no unit will be exposed. Certain powers will deflect the investigation and you and I will end up being the scapegoats."

  My next question was one I feared I knew the answer to, but needed to ask anyway. "How do you know so much about this rogue CIA unit?"

  Justin's face was expressionless, but his eyes glowed as if boring right through me. After a long pause, he said flatly, "Because I killed for them."

  Suddenly everything I knew and everything I suspected about this man came crashing in on me. A cold chill swept through my body as I realized I might not leave this boat alive. No one knew I was here. If Justin decided I was more a liability than an asset I could just disappear. Yet, why tell me these things if he didn't trust me? Maybe it's a test and what I say next will determine if I pass or fail.

  I asked, "But you didn't have anything to do with Allison's death, or the reporter Weston?"

  Justin shook his head, "No. I didn't. In fact it was because of their deaths that I inserted myself into your efforts to protect Sissy. It was a good thing I did, or she would have been killed as well."

  I saw an opportunity to bond and I seized it, "That's right and she doesn't know a thing about you stopping that second attack. Just as you asked, I never breathed a word of it to anyone."

  "I know you didn't Jack. I know you didn't."

  I knew I was probably pushing too hard, but I couldn't stop myself, "Why would the CIA kill those two anyway? Why would they want Sissy killed? I just don't understand."

  Justin didn't seem to hesitate, I took that as a good sign. Maybe he did trust me. He said, "The reporter, Weston, was digging into information that made certain people think he was figuring out the role of the CIA unit. Allison was working with him through her college program. They were considered too great a risk, so the decision was made to eliminate them and consequently any potential leak."

  "But why Sissy?"

  "It was just as we thought, there was a mixup about who the target was. Sissy got confused with Allison. The guy I killed had killed Allison, but thought he had killed the wrong person and that Sissy was his real target. He would not have stopped until Sissy was dead as well."

  "And you don't think Dockery's death was really suicide?"

  Justin shook his head and said, "No, it was not suicide. I didn't have anything to do with it, but I know it wasn't suicide."

  I felt a hollow spot open up in my stomach, "Was Dockery killed because we pointed a finger at him as the guy who hired Weston's killer?"

  Justin nodded ever so slightly, "Probably. We made him a perfect fall guy, who if dead, would bring closure to the whole sordid mess."

  The bile surged up my throat from the pit of my stomach. I took a swig of my beer to keep it down and slumped back in my seat. We were both quiet, the faint humming noise in the cabin the only sound. I don't think I was even breathing. I simply said, "Oh shit."

  Justin replied, "Now you know why it's important that people don't start poking around in this whole mess. Now you understand why PJ must drop her inquiry into Tim's leak of Sissy's location. You do understand?" It was more a command than a question.

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was cotton dry. Words like accessory after the fact, accessory before the fact, and murder were spinning through my mind. Finally, I said, "Yes, I understand."

  We were both silent again. I started to stand, but Justin asked, "Don't you want to know what the CIA was doing? What they were so intent on covering up?" I sat back down and thought about his question.

  I answered, "No, I don't think I do want to know." This time I stood before continuing, "I'm going up to Cap's to grab lunch. Come along, if you'd like."

  Justin remained sitting, "No thanks, you go ahead. I'm going to keep after this fuel
system for a while longer. I'll be up later."

  I climbed the steps to the rear deck and hopped off the boat onto the dock. With each step toward the door of Cap's Place my burden felt both lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter that I'd actually exited the boat, free and uninjured. Heavier that I was going to need to figure out a way to keep PJ from digging any deeper, if I was to stay free and uninjured.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  PJ and Tim checked several more bank locations. Both of them were trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but neither was being very successful. The tension present in the car earlier seemed to have dissipated somewhat, but they were each lost in their individual thoughts.

  The revelation that Tim had been the source of Sissy's location, but that he had given it to the FBI, not some organized crime killer, provided PJ relief from the relentless specter. She needed to no longer struggle with the inconsistencies of the Tim she knew, and the one her suspicions created. Yet, the same revelation opened the door to another very ugly consideration. Somehow the federal government was involved in the murders of Allison and Weston. What does she do with that information?

  As PJ pulled out of the last bank on their list Tim asked, "Want to catch a bite before we head back for the 1:00 p.m. meeting?"

  PJ said absently, "Yeah, sure, got anything in mind?"

  "How about that Greek place over on Federal?"

  "Sounds fine."

  PJ made a u-turn and headed west toward Federal Highway just as the portable radio laying on the center console crackled, "2-0-7 from dispatch."

  Tim picked up the radio and said, "Dispatch this is 2-0-7, go ahead."

  "2-0-7, go to tac four to meet Adam 7. Adam 7 has sight of the Ford Expedition on your alert."

  Tim turned a knob on the radio, "Adam 7, this is 2-0-7, you have eyes on our Ford Expedition?"