Vindication

by H. Terrell Griffin

  “Did he show up?”

  “No. He called and told me he would have to put off his visit. Josh and I moved back to Cordele, and Danny came to see us a couple of weeks later, I think it was. He told me he’d met a woman, fallen in love, and gotten married, and that he’d made a terrible mistake. He told me that he didn’t really love the woman and he was going to file for divorce. He was very sad. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so I didn’t push. I didn’t understand it, but I thought maybe he just wanted to get married and found somebody. He was in his forties by then, and maybe his biological clock was running. He apparently jumped into something he didn’t think through. He thought it was now or never, and when I turned him down, he went to his backup plan. A week later, he was dead.”

  “How did you find out about his death?”

  “His brother called me. I didn’t even know Danny had a brother, but Charles told me he’d just found out about Danny’s death and he wanted me to know that Danny had taken out a life insurance policy payable upon his death to a trust he had set up with Josh as the beneficiary. My name was on the policy because Josh was a minor and I was named as trustee. Danny had changed our address with the insurance company the week before he died. Changed it from the Valdosta apartment to here in Cordele. I think it was right after his last visit.”

  “Did he say anything about being sick or thinking about death when he was here that last time?”

  “No. He was depressed about his marital situation, but certainly not suicidal. If he was sick, he didn’t mention it to me.”

  “So why do you think you’re responsible for his death?”

  “If I’d agreed to marry him, he wouldn’t have met that woman he married. I think she killed him.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “From what Charles told me, Danny had sold all his assets and mortgaged his home and put all the money in joint accounts that his wife cleared out the day after he died. They cremated his body without ever doing an autopsy or finding out what caused his death. The wife left town with all his money the day after she cleared out the bank accounts. It just seems suspicious to me.”

  “Did you ever follow up on your suspicions?”

  “No. I wasn’t his wife and I had no standing to do that. I didn’t have a clue as to how to proceed even if I thought we could prove anything.”

  “Does Josh have any memory of his father?”

  “Some. He was almost two and a half when Danny died. At first he would ask about his daddy, but that finally stopped. He tells me that he has snatches of memory of him and Danny playing out in the yard. He took a copy of that picture with him when he went off to the Army.” She pointed to a small bookcase on which sat two eight-by-ten photographs, one of a younger Grace with a man and a small boy, both of whom had red hair. They were grouped in front of a bush overflowing with bright red roses. The other picture was of a handsome young man with red hair wearing Army camouflage, standing on a dusty plain with mountains in the background. Afghanistan, I thought. “That was taken on Danny’s last visit,” she said, pointing to the photo with the little boy. “We were out in the backyard and my mom snapped the picture.” She pointed to the rear of the house.

  “Is this your mom’s house?”

  “Yes. She left it to me when she died about ten years ago. It’s the house I grew up in.”

  “Did you ever share your suspicions about Olivia with Josh?”

  “No. He was too young at the time of Danny’s death and by the time he was old enough to discuss it, I didn’t want to burden him with my suspicions that his father might have been murdered. Better to let him think Danny died of natural causes. Which he might have, for all I know.”

  “What did you do with the money from the life insurance policy?”

  “I put it in an interest-bearing account and used the money to help support Josh and me. The principal is still in the bank, all two million dollars, plus some more now that the interest is still running and Josh didn’t need anything while he was in the Army. As soon as he figures out what he wants to do with his life, I’m going to give it all to him. That’s what his daddy would have wanted.”

  She noticed that my glass was empty. “Let me get you some more tea,” she said.

  “Thank you.” She left the room, and I quickly used my phone to snap a picture of the photos on the bookcase.

  Grace returned with a pitcher, filled our glasses, and asked, “Now. Where were we?”

  “You never married?” I asked and took a sip of the tea.

  “No,” she said, smiling. “The right man just never came along. I suspect I compared them all to Danny, and they came up wanting. That wasn’t fair to them. I’ve thought for a long time that I should have married Danny when he asked me to. I would probably have learned to love him and I would never have had to think about other men. Josh would have had a daddy, which he really needed when he got a little older. And Danny might still be alive. As it turned out, Danny’s dead, Josh grew up without a father, and I’m what we used to call an old maid schoolmarm.”

  “You seemed a little worried about your son when James first contacted you this morning. Why was that?”

  “Just the mom coming out in me, I guess. I worried every day when he was in Afghanistan and when Mr. Hurt called this morning, I was afraid Josh had gotten in trouble again.”

  “Does Josh have a car?”

  “Yes. He bought a van just before he left for Florida.”

  “What kind of van?”

  “I don’t know one from the other. It was just a van to me. A used one. He said he got a bargain.”

  “Was it like a passenger van or more like a work van? One without side windows.”

  “A work van, I guess. He was going to fix it up with a mattress and portable potty so he could live in it down in Florida and not have to spend money on hotels.”

  “What color is the van?”

  “White.”

  “Any markings on it? Graphics, that sort of thing?”

  “No. Just plain white. Why?”

  “No particular reason. Just my lawyer brain trying to be thorough. Have you told Josh he’s about to come into two million dollars?”

  “No. He doesn’t even know about the money. I wanted to surprise him with it. Now that he’s an adult, there’re probably legal requirements that I turn it over to him, but I planned to do that anyway.”

  I had no more questions. We drank our tea and talked about life in Cordele for a few minutes and then took our leave. James drove us back to his office and offered to take me to lunch. I explained that I needed to get on the road, thanked him for his help, and headed south on I-75.

  CHAPTER 28

  I SLEPT LATE on Sunday, enjoying the soft bed in Esther’s guest room and the languor stirred by the memories of an evening spent with my lover. It was nearing nine, and the sun slanting through the east-facing windows of my bedroom was struggling to overcome the air-conditioning. I was coming awake slowly and reached across the bed for J.D. Then I remembered the kiss on the forehead and the soft closing of the door as she left early that morning. Time to get up.

  It was nearing sundown when I had arrived at Esther’s house the day before. J.D. had borrowed Judy’s car and parked it in Esther’s garage out of sight of any nosy neighbors or The Villages security patrols who might want to know whose car was parked in the driveway while Esther was in jail.

  J.D. opened the front door to my knock, and I was engulfed by the aroma of frying chicken. She hugged me, gave me a kiss, and said, “Dinner’s about ready. Sit down on the sofa and relax. We’ll be ready to eat in fifteen minutes.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “I was hoping for sex, but fried chicken is better.”

  She made a face. “I’ll remember that. I don’t mind frying chicken, you know.”

  “That sounds like you’d rather toil over a hot stove than roll around in the hay with me.”

  “You are one perceptive man.”

  “I was
kidding,” I said.

  “I wasn’t.”

  If she hadn’t been smiling when she said that, I would have thought I’d stepped in it again. My big mouth, which she once told me wasn’t nearly as funny as I thought, is apt to get me in trouble. I’d have to work on that some.

  Over dinner, I filled J.D. in on the details of my trip and what I’d discovered. “It’s still a jumble,” I said. “I can’t see a picture taking shape.”

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Josh Hanna, for one. He’s Danny Lathom’s son, and even though he was very young when his dad died, he does have some vague memories of good times. Over the years, he may have built Danny up into a hero, an icon. And if he had any indication that Olivia killed his dad, he might have come down here and taken care of her.”

  “That might not be a bad hypothesis,” she said.

  “Yes, but how would Josh have found out anything about Olivia? I didn’t think his mother shared any of that with him. She said she didn’t and I believe her. She spent the last twenty-two years living for that boy. She never spent any of the life insurance money on herself. She just used the interest to make life a little easier for her son than she could provide on a teacher’s pay.”

  “Are you sure about that? Is the principle of the life insurance still in the bank?”

  “James Hurt is going to check on that. Discreetly. He said he could probably find out if she had a large sum in the bank even if he couldn’t get the exact amount.”

  “How?”

  “I asked. His answer was, ‘It’s a small town.’”

  “And the van?”

  “Grace couldn’t tell me a lot about that, but it’s troubling. The bartender at World of Beer saw a white van and we know the make and model. What we don’t know is whether the van Josh bought is even close to the one that almost ran over the bartender. I’d like to know more about that.”

  “If his mother didn’t tell him about her suspicions concerning Olivia, would Josh have any way of knowing anything about the circumstances of Danny’s death?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “When did he get home from Afghanistan?”

  “A couple of weeks before Olivia was killed.”

  “So if he knew something and was out for revenge, he could have found her schedule and come to The Villages.”

  “I guess,” I said, “but that seems to be a pretty good stretch.”

  “Her speaking schedule was posted on her website and on her publisher’s website as well. I checked.”

  “That would presuppose that Josh would have known that Olivia had become a semi-famous writer.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably a stretch. Want some dessert?”

  “I saw that lemon meringue pie cooling on the counter.”

  She smiled. “Just for you. And I’ve got something else for you.” She put a slice of pie in front of me and handed me four photos. “Will Hall gave me these on Thursday. You can clearly see the rental car coming into Hillsborough Village and here’s the picture of the driver.”

  “Olivia Lathom.”

  “Exactly. Here’s the van, we think.” She explained to me how the device worked to hide the license plate. “You can see that it came into the Hillsborough gate at twelve fifteen Thursday morning and left at one twenty. Just about enough time to make it to Brownwood, drop the body, and almost run over Amber Marris at one forty-five.”

  “That’s probably the van Amber saw. I wonder if it could be Josh Hanna’s?”

  “But if it is Josh’s, wouldn’t he have been in the Hillsborough Village earlier if he’d killed Olivia?”

  “Good point,” I said, “but maybe he was in another car, one that Will wasn’t looking for, and he left after the murder to go get his van to transport the body.”

  “If he had a car, why wouldn’t he just have put the body in the trunk?”

  “Maybe he was driving a golf cart.”

  She showed me the picture of the man driving the van. “Is this Josh?”

  “No. This guy looks a lot bigger than Josh and Josh has red hair.”

  “Do you have any idea who this guy is?”

  “No. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “How about these?” She put two photographs on the table.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “The one is Olivia Lathom and the man she was talking to at Barnes & Noble just before the book signing. The other is a headshot of the guy. Look familiar?”

  “No. I’ve never seen him. Have you shown those to anybody else?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s keep them to ourselves for now. He might be important or he might just be a fan. Let’s let this thing develop a bit before we start showing the pictures around.”

  We finished the evening on the sofa watching an old war movie starring a young John Wayne, and to tell you the truth, we may have snuggled a bit. We made an early night of it since J.D. had to leave before dawn. “It wouldn’t do for the new bookstore chick to be seen leaving the house of the prominent defense lawyer,” she said.

  I finally rolled out of bed, showered, and used Esther’s golf cart to drive to Darrell’s Diner in the Pinellas Plaza. I found a table near the door. I ate a big breakfast, lingered over my coffee, and read the morning paper. There was a follow-up story about Olivia Lathom’s murder, but it pretty much admitted that the writer didn’t know any more than he had a week ago. Not much help.

  I sat and mulled over my day. I needed to type up some affidavits that I would send to two of Esther’s teaching colleagues in Atlanta that would attest to her good character. I had talked to the women and they were happy to help. I’d email the affidavits, have the women sign them on Monday morning before a notary, and email them back to me. I would also need a couple from Esther’s neighbors, but I would take those by their houses and notarize them myself. Once I got the prosecutor’s paperwork on Monday, I’d fashion a response and file it by Wednesday in time for the hearing set for Thursday.

  The affidavits would be very similar and, thanks to the copy and paste function on my computer, it wouldn’t take me long to draft them up. I couldn’t risk spending the day with J.D. lest we manage to blow her cover. For better or worse, I had the day all to myself.

  I was finishing my coffee when I noticed a large man come through the diner’s front door. He appeared to be in his twenties and wore a ball cap, dark sunglasses, and a full beard. He walked straight to my table and sat down facing me. He looked vaguely familiar, and I was wondering if I knew him when he said, “Listen up, asshole. You need to get out of town. Now. Go back down to the Keys and stay there.” His accent was southern and country.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why should I leave?”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be on your way before the sun goes down.”

  “What? Did you think we’re in Dodge City? Get out of town before sundown? Are you a friend of Logan Hamilton?”

  “Who the hell is Logan Hamilton?”

  “He’s the only friend I have who’s dumb enough to set up a stunt like this.”

  “I don’t know nobody named Logan.”

  “Then I have to assume you’re just some dumb peckerwood who showed up to interrupt my breakfast.”

  “Are you calling me dumb?”

  “Yeah. If the shoe fits and all that.”

  “I could wipe up this restaurant with you, asshole.”

  “I doubt that. Who sent you?”

  “Nobody sent me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “You’re messing in something you don’t know nothing about. Big mistake.”

  “And what would I be messing in that causes you to object?”

  “The case you’re working on.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Murder most foul.”

  “What?”

  “A quote from the Bard. Don’t tax your brain. It might make you constipated.”

 
“I don’t know nobody named Bard, but I know you’re going to be in a heap of trouble if you don’t walk away from this thing.”

  “I’ll give it some thought. In the meantime, don’t ever interrupt my breakfast again.’’

  He slammed his left palm on the table and started to rise. As his hand came off the table, I grabbed his thumb with my thumb, my fingers wrapping up his wrist. I used all my strength to push his thumb back against his wrist. It’s a quick maneuver and causes almost unbearable pain. His first instinct was to withdraw his hand, but I had a solid grip that he couldn’t loosen. He raised his right arm, his hand balling into a fist. I pressed harder on his thumb. He yelled. “Put your fist down,” I said quietly. He did as ordered. Pain constricted his face. I stood, looked him in the eye, and said, “You scream like a girl. You ever bother me again, you won’t be able to use that hand for the rest of your life. Are we clear?”

  He nodded.

  “One more thing. Longboat Key is not down at the end of the state. It’s off the coast of Sarasota. You got that?”

  He nodded again. The whole fiasco hadn’t taken more than a minute. The diner was about half-full and the murmur of conversation had stilled abruptly when the bearded man screamed.

  A harried-looking man wearing a short-sleeve dress shirt and a knit tie came from behind the counter. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “No. This man was just leaving. Do you know him?”

  “No, sir.”

  I looked at the bearded man. “You’re leaving quietly, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay.” I let go and he left the restaurant holding his left hand with his right.

  I turned to the man whom I assumed was the manager. “I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

  “Not your fault. I saw him come in and just sit down. I could tell he was acting ugly. Your breakfast is on the house. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

  “Thank you, but it wasn’t your fault either.”

  “Still on the house. We don’t tolerate that kind of stuff in here.”