Season of Fear

by Brain Freeman

  Cab wondered if Ramona knew that his relationship with Lala was on shaky ground. Among the Cubans he’d met, family was everything, and secrets were few. If Lala had said anything to anyone, it would have sped along the grapevine.

  ‘We should do that,’ he replied. He added with a smile: ‘Although won’t you be busy running the state by then?’

  ‘That’s my plan.’ Ramona folded her hands neatly in front of her. ‘You’re probably wondering why I wanted this meeting.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I won’t beat around the bush, Cab. My sources tell me you’ve gotten into bed with the Common Way Foundation. Is this true?’

  He wondered if Lala had called her. ‘I’m doing some work for them,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘What kind of work?’

  ‘Private work,’ he said.

  Ramona studied him across the table. One of her index fingers tapped her other hand as precisely as a metronome. ‘Actually, I was just being polite. I know exactly what they’ve asked you to do. You’re investigating threats against Diane Fairmont. You’re trying to determine whether there might be a link to the Labor Day murders ten years ago.’

  ‘You’re well informed.’

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘No,’ Cab admitted.

  ‘Let me tell you what’s on my mind. I’d consider it a personal favor if you would resign from this investigation.’

  ‘Resign?’

  ‘That’s right. Terminate your contract with Common Way.’

  Before Cab could ask any of the dozens of questions that sprang into his head, Ramona was interrupted by a phone call. She excused herself and took the call, which turned out to be a long conversation. While the Attorney General was talking, the waiter returned with bowls of soup and grilled cheese ciabatta sandwiches. Ramona gestured for him to eat, and he did.

  He’d finished half his sandwich by the time she got off the phone.

  ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Cab said.

  ‘I’m sure you have questions, but I can’t answer many of them. I’m sorry. You’ll have to take it on faith.’

  Cab took a spoonful of soup. ‘When a politician asks me to take something on faith, I find myself becoming agnostic.’

  ‘I’m a lawyer, too,’ Ramona said with a ghost of a smile. ‘Does that help?’

  ‘Even worse.’

  ‘Here’s what I can tell you. I’ve been kept apprised of these so-called threats against Diane. The FBI doesn’t believe they can substantiate their veracity.’

  ‘In other words, it’s just a bunch of crackpots.’

  ‘That’s one possibility,’ she said. ‘Another possibility is that people at the Common Way Party have manufactured the threats. They may not be real at all.’

  ‘You obviously don’t like the people at Common Way,’ Cab said. ‘This couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Diane is pummeling you in the polls, could it?’

  Ramona took a small bite of her sandwich and dabbed at her lips with the cloth napkin. She ate slowly, like a woman in no hurry. ‘If you read the papers, you know that the spread in the polls is no more than a few points. Hardly pummeling.’

  ‘Even so, I’m surprised you would take the threats lightly, given what happened to Birch Fairmont.’

  She took his measure, the way a woman sizes up a man. Solid or not solid. Fake or sincere. Deep or shallow. ‘May I speak confidentially, Cab?’

  ‘By all means,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you know that before I was elected, I was a criminal attorney. I built a statewide reputation by taking on high-profile cases that received a great deal of media attention. That included Hamilton Brock and the Liberty Empire Alliance. Not a case that my political enemies will allow me to forget. Obviously, I won’t say anything about the specifics of the legal matters, but I will tell you my personal belief that the threat from the Alliance was over-blown in the media. Ogden Bush oversold them as radical domestic terrorists, and he had a specific political purpose in mind, namely, helping the Democrats. However, Brock and his associates were mostly paranoid blowhards who loved guns and spouted off about imaginary government plots. We’re talking about plumbers and realtors. There were some thuggish characters among them perhaps, but not assassins.’

  Cab thought about Brock in prison. He wasn’t convinced that the man was a paper tiger. He also thought about Rufus Twill, with his limp and his one eye. The Alliance wasn’t afraid of violence.

  ‘So who killed Birch Fairmont?’ Cab asked.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Then why do you assume the same person couldn’t be targeting Diane?’

  Ramona leaned across the table. ‘Honestly? Because I believe the Common Way Party would do anything to elect Diane Fairmont as governor. Including falsifying threats if it would churn up sympathy among the voters. It’s no surprise that they’re trotting out the Alliance again, given my own professional history with them. Believe me, Cab, I know these people. I know Diane. Hamilton Brock isn’t the only client of mine who was on the wrong side with her. These people are ruthless and dirty, and you shouldn’t be working with them. They’ll sacrifice you in a minute if it suits their purposes.’

  Lala had told him the same thing. You may find yourself in over your head with these people. Even you. Chuck Warren had used similar language to describe the upstart party. Ruthless. Dirty.

  One thing was certain. People were afraid of them.

  ‘It’s hard to believe that the Common Way Party could be any worse than what we’ve been getting from the other two parties for years,’ Cab said.

  ‘I disagree.’

  ‘And you base this on what?’

  Ramona shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t say anything about that.’

  ‘I’ve heard suggestions that Diane was somehow responsible for the scandal that enveloped the Governor this year,’ Cab said. ‘The Common Way people set up his aide. Do you think that’s possible?’

  ‘Yes, I do. And believe me, I’m no fan of the Governor.’

  Cab eyed the Attorney General with surprise. ‘That’s a serious accusation.’

  ‘We’re under the cone of silence here. I’m telling you what I believe, not what I can prove. I really don’t think that it’s a coincidence that the Governor found himself knee-capped this year. When the Common Way people face opposition, they mow them down. That’s what they’ve done on policy issues for a decade. They’ve been shaping a legislature to their views by targeting candidates and destroying those that oppose them. Now it’s time for Diane to march in and take over.’

  ‘Hamilton Brock called it a coup,’ Cab said.

  ‘I’m not sure he’s wrong about that.’

  ‘Do you think they’ve acted illegally? Or are you just complaining because they’re better at the game than you are?’

  ‘I think people complain about the government – as do I – but at least the actions of the government are largely transparent. There are watchdogs everywhere. An organization like Common Way has a huge endowment that allows them to wield influence behind the scenes with virtually no oversight. I think that kind of power offers an extraordinary temptation to cross the lines.’

  ‘If you believe that’s true, shouldn’t you be investigating them?’ Cab asked.

  ‘What makes you think I’m not?’

  Cab nodded. He put down his napkin on the plate and stood up. ‘I appreciate the warning.’

  ‘Will you do what I asked? Will you quit?’

  ‘No, not yet. Not solely on your say-so. I’m sorry.’

  Ramona stood up, too. She was a tiny dynamo next to him. ‘You’re making a mistake, Cab.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I told them. If I discover that I’m being played, I’m out. Until then, I’m only interested in one thing. Making sure that Diane Fairmont doesn’t suffer the same fate as her husband.’

  The Attorney General frowned. ‘This isn’t about being played,’ she said. ‘I
f it were just that, I wouldn’t care.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘A foundation employee named Justin Kiel was murdered recently,’ she told him. ‘The police concluded that the death was drug-related. I have reason to believe they are wrong.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘For the time being, I can’t say,’ Ramona repeated. ‘I’m just suggesting that you be careful.’

  Cab shook his head. ‘I hope you’re not implying that Diane is somehow involved in a murder. I don’t believe that for a moment. I’m no fan of politicians, but how many of them would really kill to get elected?’

  The Attorney General sat down again and picked up her sandwich. ‘More than you think, Cab. More than you think.’

  18

  ‘Frank Macy,’ Peach said.

  Deacon’s fingers stopped clicking on his keyboard. ‘Who?’

  Peach slapped the paper she’d taken from Justin’s safe house on the desk in front of her brother. ‘This guy. He’s got a long record. Drugs. Guns. Manslaughter. For some reason, Justin was interested in him. I’m betting there’s a connection to his murder.’

  Deacon picked up the paper and studied it. ‘What is this? What does it have to do with Justin?’

  ‘Justin kept a safe house for his computers and papers. Someone ransacked the place, but he missed this. I’ve been digging into Frank Macy all morning. He got out of jail earlier this year, but he’s still in the area. He has an apartment near St Pete Beach. I’m going to find him.’

  ‘Fruity, what the—’ Deacon began. He stopped and stood up to look over the tops of the cubicle walls. When he sat down again, his voice was hushed. ‘Let’s not talk about this here.’

  He led them past the cubicle farm. She could see the office for Ogden Bush on the far side of the building; the door was closed. Deacon guided her onto the street outside. It was a hot afternoon, but the wind had come alive, blowing garbage and dust around the pavement, making her blink. He walked quickly, and she struggled to keep up with him. They were in an area of derelict storefronts and barred windows. He led her three blocks to a small urban park that was little more than a square of dead grass and palm trees, with a row of green benches.

  Deacon sat down. He was wearing an under-sized gray T-shirt, jeans, and dusty boots. He slipped sunglasses over his face and scratched his rust-colored stubble. ‘Okay, you want to tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘I want to know what really happened to Justin.’

  ‘I get that, but why? I know you guys worked together, but I don’t understand what you’re doing.’

  She took a breath. She was a private person, even around her brother, but she decided to tell him the truth. ‘It was more than that.’

  ‘What was?’ Then Deacon tilted his head back and sighed. ‘Oh, man. Really? You and Justin?’

  ‘We were in love.’

  ‘Hell’s bells, why didn’t you tell me, Fruity? No wonder you’ve been so upset.’

  ‘It was something just for us,’ Peach said. ‘We didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I get it now, but I don’t want you putting yourself in jeopardy over this. A murder investigation is for the police, not us.’

  ‘I can’t stop.’ Peach felt her eyes welling with tears. She crumpled into her brother’s shoulder and clung to his arm. The wind blew heat into her face like the open door of an oven. ‘It’s just one more thing, you know? One more thing they took away from me.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘I loved Mom and Dad, and they died. I loved Lyle, and he died. I loved Justin, and he died. Maybe it’s me.’

  ‘It’s not you.’

  ‘Don’t you get lonely without them?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘I miss Lyle,’ she said. ‘With everything going on, all the talk about Labor Day, I’ve been thinking about him a lot.’

  ‘Me too.’ Deacon chuckled. ‘Except I also remember what an asshole he was.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Peach exclaimed.

  ‘Hey, he’s gone, and I’m really sorry, but I’m not going to pretend that he was something other than what he was. He didn’t treat us well. Everything else in the world was more important than we were.’

  ‘He was responsible for us. That wasn’t easy.’

  ‘I’m not saying it was, but you didn’t see what he was like. You were a kid then, but I wasn’t.’

  Peach frowned. In her heart of hearts, she knew Deacon was right, but she didn’t like feeling that way. ‘No, I saw it,’ she said softly. ‘I just don’t like to remember him like that.’

  ‘I get it. Remember him however you like. Believe me, I think about him every time I get into the Mercedes, but then I think: That car probably meant more to him than either of us did. I know that’s harsh.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Peach sniffled.

  ‘Now, you want to tell me what’s going on? What have you been up to?’

  Peach told him. She told him everything – about her late-night phone call from Curtis Clay, about her narrow escape from Justin’s apartment with Annalie’s help, about her late-night search of Ogden Bush’s office, about her discovery of Justin’s safe house, about the article she’d found about Frank Macy. It was a relief to say it out loud. To admit how much it meant to her to find the truth.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said she when she was finally done. ‘You’ve been busy.’

  She expected a lecture. Give it up. Let the police do their job. He didn’t bother, because he knew she wouldn’t listen.

  ‘This guy in Justin’s apartment, the one who claimed to be a cop,’ he said. ‘Who is he? Is there any way we can find him?’

  Peach shook her head. ‘I didn’t recognize him.’

  ‘He sounds like a private detective,’ Deacon said.

  ‘Working for who?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll pull some state photo records for you to look through. Maybe we can ID him that way.’ Deacon hesitated, and he didn’t look happy. ‘You know, there’s something you have to think about. I know you won’t like it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This could still be all about drugs. Drug cases pull people out of the woodwork. Everybody smells money. This Curtis Clay, he could be hooked up with dealers looking for cash or dope.’

  ‘What about the photo I found? What about Frank Macy?’

  ‘You said it yourself,’ Deacon reminded her. ‘Macy’s got a long track record with drugs. If Justin was involved with someone like that, then it’s possible that Macy or one of his allies took him out. I just want you to be prepared if the truth about Justin is something you’re not happy with.’

  Peach was silent. She knew Deacon was right, but she didn’t believe it. Then she said: ‘I need to get close to Macy.’

  ‘No way,’ Deacon said. ‘Doing research is one thing, but I don’t want you going near this guy.’

  ‘I’m not going to walk up to him and start asking questions! I listen. Nobody knows I’m around. If I can get close enough, maybe he’ll say something. This is humint, this is what I do.’

  ‘I know, and you’re very good at what you do, but do you think this guy isn’t? Don’t believe his baby face. Criminals like Macy develop eyes in the back of their head.’

  ‘I get it, but I need to know why Justin was interested in him. If it’s not about drugs, then there’s something else. What could it be? Macy’s been out of circulation for eight years.’

  Deacon hesitated. ‘Okay, look, don’t read too much into this.’

  ‘Into what? Do you know something about him?’

  ‘It’s probably nothing, but I do know that Frank Macy has a connection to Diane. You may not remember. You were still pretty young.’

  ‘What’s the connection?’ Peach asked.

  ‘Do you remember Diane’s son, Drew?’

  ‘A little,’ she said. ‘I know he killed himself.’

  Deacon nodded. ‘I only met Drew a c
ouple times, but Lyle talked about him a lot. He was afraid that Drew’s behavior would undermine Birch’s campaign. It’s one thing that Birch’s stepson had a big drug problem – that’s bad enough – but he also hung out in Tampa clubs and got himself photographed in some compromising positions. And with the wrong kind of people.’

  The wrong kind of people.

  ‘Are you saying Drew knew Frank Macy?’ Peach asked.

  ‘Yeah, he did,’ Deacon said. ‘Macy liked to hang out with rich kids. He knew how to hook them up with street people. Drew and Macy were together a lot. First in college, then in Tampa and Lake Wales. Macy was Drew’s drug dealer.’

  19

  Cab thought he’d become accustomed to the realities of fame, but it still surprised him that he couldn’t go anywhere with his mother without her being recognized. Their afternoon at the Bok Sanctuary was no different. Tarla wore a white summer dress – loose, sheer but not overtly sexy – with a leather belt tied in a knot at her slim waist. Her blond hair was casual and messy, and she wore big sunglasses and almost no makeup. Even so, people began to whisper as soon as she arrived.

  At the welcome desk inside the interpretive center, a hostess in her early sixties finally screwed up the courage to say: ‘Are you …?’

  Tarla smiled. Moments later, she was signing autographs.

  He didn’t have anything to do while Tarla hobnobbed with her movie fans, so he spent his time examining the displays about Edward Bok, the author and editor who had built the tower and gardens in the late 1920s. It was a supremely lovely, peaceful place, designed to embody Bok’s philosophy: ‘Make you the world a bit better or more beautiful because you have lived in it.’

  He knew that Tarla had made the world a better place during her stay. Looking at the glow on the faces of those who recognized her, he realized how much she and her movies had touched lives. He doubted that he would ever be able to say the same thing. Never married. No children. Spending his days delving into dark hearts.

  It didn’t feel like much of a legacy.

  ‘Well,’ Tarla said, appearing at his side again, slightly breathless. ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’