‘What did you find?’ Peach asked.
‘I hooked up with some of my contacts who know the Liberty Empire Alliance pretty well. Word is, their recruitment efforts are strong in the state prison system. If Macy spent eight years there, maybe they got to him.’
‘You think he’s tied in to Ham Brock?’
‘I don’t know. I’m still asking around.’
‘Ramona Cortes represented both of them.’
‘Yeah, I know. Interesting, huh? Look, I’m going to try to follow—’
He stopped talking.
‘Deacon?’
And then again: ‘Deacon?’
She looked at her phone. The call was gone. She tried dialing his number, but she had no signal.
Peach fidgeted impatiently. Suddenly, Lake Wales felt far away from everything. She didn’t know what she was doing here. She spent half an hour pretending to study the newspapers and hoping Deacon would call back, but when he didn’t, she decided she should go. She put the box of microfiche on the shelf to be refiled. She headed for the exit door, but the librarian called to her.
‘Did you find what you needed?’
Peach stopped at the desk and gave her a weak smile. ‘Oh, yes, thanks. It was very helpful.’
‘I’m so sorry again about your fiancé.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You be careful in the storm, okay? The best thing to do is find somewhere to hole up and let it all blow over.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Peach said. She turned away, but as she did, she thought of another question. ‘Oh, there’s one other thing, if you don’t mind. I was wondering, did Justin ask you anything about someone named Alison?’
The librarian stared at her. ‘Alison? I don’t think so. Do you have a last name?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Do you know anything else about her?’
‘I’m afraid not. Just the name Alison.’
Peach thought the woman looked suspicious, as if now this was all about exposing a boyfriend’s affair.
‘Well, he didn’t say anything about that,’ she said, her voice clipped.
‘Okay. Thank you again.’ She added: ‘I appreciate your help. I’m sorry to bother you. Sometimes it’s just nice to talk to someone who met him, even a stranger. It makes him feel not so far away.’
The woman’s face lost its ice. ‘Of course. You know, I do remember something. I didn’t think about it at first, because your young man asked one of the other staff members about it, not me. I simply overheard him. He was looking for someone.’
‘Do you remember who?’
The woman’s brow furrowed. ‘A doctor, I think. He was looking for a doctor who practiced around here ten years ago, and he was wondering if he was still in town. My associate looked it up for him.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Let me think. Wills? Wells? I’m sorry, I wish I’d paid more attention, but I didn’t.’
‘That’s okay.’
Peach was disappointed, but then, with a strange little chill, she reached into her past and pulled out a name. It made no sense. It couldn’t be him. Why would Justin want to know anything about him?
‘Smeltz?’ she murmured. ‘Reuben Smeltz?’
The librarian’s eyes widened with recognition. ‘Why, yes! That was it! I’m sure that was his name.’
‘And is he still alive? Is he still in town?’
‘Let me check.’ The woman tapped keys on her keyboard, and not even ten seconds later, she beamed. ‘Yes indeed. Dr Smeltz has an office—’
‘On East Park Avenue downtown,’ Peach said. ‘Near the old clock tower.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re right. That’s exactly where it is. Do you know him?’
Peach didn’t answer her, but yes, she knew Dr Reuben Smeltz. He was the man who treated her for pneumonia that night at Birch Fairmont’s estate. He was her own doctor.
29
Garth Oakes jogged down the steps of the sprawling lakefront home in Lake Wales. He wore a form-fitting white T-shirt and baggy red nylon pants over his tree-trunk legs, and he carried a large nylon backpack. His black ponytail bobbed as he ran to his Subaru Outback. He dumped the pack in the rear and took a quick, hungry glance at the red Corvette parked immediately behind him. The rain was too heavy for Garth to see through the windshield, so Cab flashed his headlights at him.
Garth squinted, and then he ran for the passenger side of the Corvette and clambered into the sports car. He shook himself like a wet dog, releasing a spray of rain and an aroma of rosemary oil.
‘Well, hey!’ he said. ‘Detective! This is a small world.’
‘Not so small,’ Cab admitted. ‘I called your assistant. He said this is where you were.’
‘Oh, cool, okay. Hope you weren’t waiting too long.’
‘Not long at all,’ Cab said.
A gust of wind rattled the car. Wet leaves and garlands of Spanish moss blew across the chassis. A hundred yards away, the surface of the lake was dappled by the relentless downpour.
‘Woo, what a storm, huh?’ Garth exulted. ‘And this is only the teaser. I’ve got to get back to Tampa before the roads get too bad.’
‘I won’t take a lot of your time.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it, I’m fine.’ The trainer nodded at the house across the street, which had manicured hedges and white columns adorning a long front porch. ‘Been doing weekly massages for that lady for fifteen years. Hundred-dollar tip every time, but wow, it’s like rubbing one of them shar pei dogs, know what I mean? Wrinkles everywhere. People think the massage biz is glamorous, like you spend your days oiling up women who look like Beyoncé. I mean, I’m not saying you don’t get a hot twenty-something now and then, but they’re never the ones who spread their legs and ask if you can give an all-over massage, know what I mean?’
Whenever Garth talked, Cab found himself practicing transcendental meditation to see if he could crowd out whatever the man was saying.
‘Hey, want a power bar?’ Garth asked, digging in his pocket and pulling out a chocolate protein bar. Cab shook his head, and Garth unwrapped it and took a big, chewy bite. ‘Anyway, it’s a living. I’d love to give up most of my personal clients and focus on my training videos, but I’m not there yet. Who knows, Diane gets in, maybe I get a publicity bump, you know?’
‘Beat the Girth … With the Gov?’ Cab asked.
Garth laughed, spitting granola onto the dashboard. His teeth were oddly purple against his Coppertone face. He’d been drinking wine, and he seemed a little drunk. ‘I love it! I love it!’
Cab studied the wet, muscle-bound masseur. A hanger-on, that was how Gladiola Croft described him. Garth stayed close to Diane for the perks it brought him. Money. Access. Clients. Gladiola said he was always around that summer, and ten years later, he was still a fixture in Diane’s life. Cab didn’t think it was sexual. The vibe that Garth gave off was overtly gay. Even so, he appeared to be Diane’s secret-keeper.
‘Listen, Garth, I need your help with something,’ Cab said.
The masseur nodded. ‘Yeah, sure, what ya got?’
‘Someone connected to the Common Way Foundation was murdered last month.’
‘Oh, is this the guy that this chick Peach was talking about? I heard about that last night.’
‘Justin Kiel,’ Cab said.
‘Okay, yeah, what about him?’
‘Did you know who he was? Did you ever talk to him?’
Garth shook his head. ‘Nope, never did.’
‘Did anyone mention him to you? Did Diane?’
‘No, she didn’t even know who he was,’ Garth said.
‘What about a man named Frank Macy?’ Cab asked.
Garth whistled. ‘Oh, yeah, him I know. Don’t mention him to Diane, she’ll go crazy. Peach found that out.’
‘Because of Drew?’ Cab said.
‘Right.’
‘What was their relationship?’
‘Oh, it was complica
ted.’
‘How so?’ Cab asked.
Garth finished his power bar, crumpled the wrapper, and shoved it in Cab’s ashtray. ‘Well, you gotta remember what Drew was like. I mean, here’s a kid who grew up with nothing. Mom’s dirt-poor. Hardly any food on the table. Then she marries a rich entrepreneur, and next thing you know, the kid’s living in high so-ci-ety. Some kids can’t adjust to that.’
Cab waited.
‘Not that Drew was a bad kid,’ Garth went on. ‘I liked him. He just never had his head together.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, for starters, Drew was gay. He came to me for advice, because he couldn’t deal with it. I mean, it’s one thing to be a gay guy like me, buff and all. Nobody’s going to mess around with me, hear what I’m saying?’ He winked at Cab. ‘Guess I’m not telling you anything about me that you haven’t already figured out, huh?’
Cab smiled. ‘No.’
‘Don’t suppose you play for the men’s team.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Never hurts to ask. Anyway, Drew was skinny and shy. Kids in school tormented him. Vicious stuff. So did his stepdad.’
‘Birch did?’ Cab asked, frowning.
‘Oh, yeah. Never in front of Diane, but Drew told me that Birch called him queer and fag and all sorts of other shit behind Diane’s back. Kid hated Birch. Can’t say as I blame him.’
‘What about Frank Macy?’
‘Drew met Macy in college. Lower-class background, but brainy, suave, and ruthless. Bad-ass package. Drew used to bring him to the estate in Lake Wales, like they were buddies. I think he liked the idea of hanging out with somebody who was cool and streetwise, you know? If I had to guess, Drew was probably super-attracted to Macy, too.’
‘Macy’s gay?’ Cab asked.
‘Doubt it. Even if he was, he wouldn’t have looked twice at Drew. But there are plenty of so-called straight guys who don’t mind having another guy suck their dick. As long as they’re not the one on their knees, they figure it doesn’t count. You ask me, Macy wouldn’t have minded Drew taking the shine off when he didn’t have any girls around. I think that would have messed with Drew’s head in a big way.’
‘Did Diane know any of this? Did you talk to her about it?’
‘Later. Much later. After Drew ate that gun. It wasn’t just the drugs that did him in. Drew told me that he and Macy had a falling-out. Macy said he was done with him. I’m thinking he was pretty cruel about it. That was the final straw for Drew, who was fragile to start with. It wasn’t long after that he killed himself.’
Cab shook his head. This was worse than he thought. And more deadly. ‘Did Macy and Drew hang out together that summer before the Labor Day murders?’
Garth nodded. ‘Sure. I mean, it was a pretty sweet deal for Macy, huh? Rich kid always in need of a fix, plus an estate with a swimming pool and free booze. What’s not to love?’
‘Birch couldn’t have been too happy about that during the campaign.’
‘No shit. Lyle went ballistic about it, too. They were afraid the press was going to get wind of Macy. Birch and Diane argued about it, and Birch told Drew he never wanted Macy in his house again. Drew didn’t care.’
‘One more question, Garth. Birch and Diane. Two weeks before Labor Day. What really happened?’
The man’s tanned face lost a couple shades of color. ‘Hey, I really shouldn’t talk about that.’
‘If you think you’re protecting Diane, you’re not.’
‘Yeah, but still. I’ve said too much.’
Cab leaned across the seat. ‘There was an argument. Screaming. You came and told the maid to get out. Why? What did Birch do?’
‘Look, I wasn’t in the room,’ Garth said. ‘I assume the son of a bitch got rough with her.’
‘How rough?’
‘Rough enough that he told me to call a doctor and get him there fast. Then he told me to get the maid out of the house and get myself out, too.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Exactly what he said.’
‘You didn’t check on Diane?’
‘I wanted to, but I didn’t know what Birch would do. It was the worst I’d ever seen him. The guy had murder in his eyes.’
‘Who else was in the house?’ Cab asked.
‘Nobody.’
‘Who else knows about this?’
‘Hardly anyone,’ Garth said. ‘I figure Lyle and Caprice found out, but they weren’t going to tell anybody. Guess that’s about all. Oh, and the doc. Reuben Smeltz. He was Diane’s doctor.’
Cab made a note of the name.
‘And Drew,’ Cab said.
‘Yeah, I don’t know if Diane told him everything, but Drew could see she was hurt bad. She didn’t appear in public again until Labor Day. People were starting to talk about it.’
‘The stress drove Drew into rehab?’
Garth nodded. ‘Yeah, he nearly killed himself with an overdose. Smeltz saved his life and got him back into treatment.’
‘Do you think Drew was serious?’ Cab asked.
‘About what?’
‘Killing Birch,’ Cab said.
He expected a flat denial, but the masseur worked his mouth unhappily, like he was chewing something he couldn’t swallow. ‘Does it matter? Birch is dead. So’s Drew.’
‘It matters. Someone murdered Justin Kiel because he was asking the same questions.’
‘Hey, I knew Drew,’ Garth insisted. ‘The kid wasn’t up to something like that. Bad enough to gun down Birch, but those other people, too? No way he did that himself.’
‘Okay. If he didn’t pull the trigger himself, maybe he had help.’
‘Like who?’
‘Like Frank Macy,’ Cab said. He saw a shadow in Garth’s face as the masseur put two and two together. ‘Come on, Garth. Is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I saw something, but it’s not important.’
‘You obviously don’t think that’s true. What was it?’
Garth was silent, and he squirmed uncomfortably on the car seat. The wine had loosened his tongue, but not enough to get him to spill his secrets. Cab was losing patience.
‘Look, Garth, I’m trying to protect Diane. Justin’s dead. She may be at risk. I need your help if I’m going to keep her safe.’ He didn’t bother to add that if something happened to Diane, the gravy train ended for Garth. No more parties. No more hanging out in the mansion. No publicity bump for his exercise videos. Garth could connect the dots for himself.
‘There’s probably no connection,’ the masseur finally replied. ‘This happened weeks before Labor Day. Way back in July, I think.’
‘What did?’
Garth hesitated. ‘I heard gunshots.’
‘Where?’
‘In the orange groves near the estate. I checked it out. Drew had a gun. He was firing into the trees. Blasting away the fruit. I don’t know, he might have been high. It wasn’t a good scene, you know?’
‘You never told anyone about this?’
‘Are you kidding? No way. I didn’t even tell Diane until later in the summer. I didn’t want to get the kid in trouble.’
‘Was Drew alone?’ Cab asked.
Garth shook his head. He swallowed hard. ‘No. No, he wasn’t alone. That’s the thing. Frank Macy was with him. It was Macy’s gun.’
30
The knife was warm, heated by the dying man’s severed entrails.
When he finally withdrew it from the body at his feet, torrents of rain poured into the wound. The rain spattered the blade, washing pink watery blood over his hands and onto the stone pier. The body below him twitched. The dying man’s breath hacked and foamed; his heart still had a minute or two to beat, spurting rivulets that oozed into the bay.
The man with the knife breathed heavily. It had gone as planned, but it was never easy. First a blow from the flashlight to the other man’s forehead, dizzying him. A jab to the throat. Ankle around ankle, driving him bac
kward to the ground, his skull cracking on stone. And then the knife, opening him up, letting him bleed out.
The storm blotted out everything around him. He could barely see the beach, which was fifty yards away. The industrial buildings bordering the park were dark, deserted shapes. The agitated water slurped against the Picnic Island pier like a noisy blow job. Out in the channel, white lights outlined a giant ore tanker headed for safe harbor, but the ship appeared as disembodied as a ghost floating in darkness.
Below him, the man’s eyes were fixed, like gray stones. It was almost over. He would spend eternity that way, with that same look of impotent, furious surprise. His mouth was stuck open. The blood no longer pulsed from the giant gash. The dead man’s fingers were still curled around the aluminum pistol case, so he peeled them away, taking the handle of the case in his own hand. He had what he needed now. Everything was ready.
He pushed himself to his feet, staring at the body.
‘Don’t move!’ a voice called to him above the rain.
Instinctively, he flicked up the heavy flashlight toward the sound. He saw a gun, twenty feet away, pointed at his chest. The man holding the gun squinted into the bright light. He was bulky, with blond hair plastered to his face. He wore a sport coat, dress pants, and sneakers. He looked middle-aged and soft.
This wasn’t a moment for panic or fear, just cold calculations. Twenty feet wasn’t an easy shot in the driving rain, but if he charged, he was dead. The man was a stranger, but his appearance was no accident. One of them had been followed. Himself or the dead man at his feet. It was bad either way.
The man with the gun came closer, rubbing his eyes. The rain was like a waterfall. The gun wobbled as he pointed it. ‘He dead?’ the man shouted, nodding at the body on the pier. ‘That took balls!’
He didn’t reply. The man had seen the murder play out. That was no good. He watched the man try to keep the gun steady and keep water out of his eyes. The flashlight was bright; it had to be a fat orange blob on his retinas now. The downpour made the man gulp and swallow.
‘Looks like a gun case!’ the man called, gesturing at the aluminum case. ‘You planning on shooting somebody?’
Season of Fear Page 22
