“Well?” she said.
“Well what?”
“Are you kidding me? You have nothing to say? Don’t feel compelled to at least try to explain what you said to Jessica?”
“What did I say?” he said.
“That while she didn’t pull the trigger or plan the crime, that she killed her husband. Remember that little gem? Sure left an impression on me and I’m sure didn’t make our client feel all warm and fuzzy about hiring us.”
Derek turned left into the hotel’s parking lot, drove around to the side closest to their rooms. He put the car into park but left the engine running. Air conditioning doing its best to keep out the oppressive heat and humidity of the Florida summer.
“I have a bad feeling about this case,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He started shaking his head in quick movements. “Hilton denying everything was expected, but there’s something else behind his denial. Someone else, probably.”
Nikkie sighed, started feeling a bit better. She trusted Derek’s intuitions and understood how their last case affected him. During that case, their assistant, Victoria Crown, had her skull crushed by a madman, causing a traumatic brain injury which would cause Crown challenges the rest of her life. Another associate working for Derek had abducted Nikkie. That associate turned out to be an illegal drug supplier. He not only abducted Nikkie when she and Derek were getting too close to discovering his involvement, but also tied her up, gagged her, and put her in a bedroom of a house he then lit on fire. If it weren’t for the local volunteer fire department, she would have died.
Derek had already watched his wife get shot in the head. He held her seconds after she had died, felt the life leave her body and, along with it, a significant part of his own. And since Derek and Nikkie had expressed their growing feelings for one another, she understood why Derek could feel a bit more protective for her. Losing someone else in his life may turn his one time failed suicide attempt into a successful one.
Nikkie glanced out the side window and laughed when she realized they were staying at a hotel chain that shared names with their client’s lover.
“You think this FJ is involved somehow?” she said, releasing the last ounces of her anger and resentment at Derek.
“That I don’t know,” he said, turning his body to face her. “If Jessica is telling us the truth, the whole truth and…Well, you know how the saying goes, then Hilton borrowing her gun twice during the weekend affords him the means to have her gun used to kill Sam.”
“That also means someone else was involved, obviously.”
“Unless he can run as fast as a jet plane, you’re right.”
“So, the question is, who else is involved?”
“And, why was Sam Gracers killed. We figure out why he was killed, I have a feeling we’ll find out who did the shooting.”
“Then it’s all about the how,” Nikkie added.
“Already got that part figured out,” Derek said. “Again, if Jessica is telling us everything she knows—something I doubt, by the way—her weekend getaway with Brian was all part of the plan. He, and whoever else was involved, needed to get Jessica away from the house, to a place and with someone who would refute her alibi. He borrows the gun, telling her he forgot his and needs a gun to protect himself against rabid raccoons. Must have arranged to meet an accomplice during his run, gave him or her Jessica’s gun in exchange for a duplicate. Jessica doesn’t seem the NRA type, so Hilton was betting against her inspecting the switched gun. The next day, Sunday, the day of the murder, he borrows her gun again, meets his accomplice and gets Jessica’s real gun back.”
“The gun that fired the fatal shots,” Nikkie said with an air of understanding.
“Exactly.”
Nikkie thought for a few seconds, and then started shaking her head.
“Time frame doesn’t work, though.”
“How do you mean?” Derek asked.
“Drive time from the lodge to Jessica’s house is close to five hours. She said she arrived home around four in the afternoon but the medical reports list the time of death closer to two. How could her gun be used to kill Sam if she had it with her since eight or nine that morning?”
“Great point, and one I’m hoping Jessica can solve for us. Because, based on the time frame alone, my theory is shattered.”
Derek switched off the car and both walked into the stale, damp air. It was still close to ninety degrees, with humidity levels almost as high. The pair walked inside through the hotel’s side “Guests Only” entrance, to the elevator.
“One more thing I wanted to ask,” Nikkie said as the doors opened to the fourth floor. “At first, you wanted to go to Brian’s house, meet him face to face. You even suggested we bring Detective Gonzales along with us. But now, all you seem to want is to get up to his lodge. I understand what you’re looking for up there, but why not just send a forensics team and local cops while we visit Hilton’s home?”
“Two reasons. First, I want to get a lay of the land. I want to walk the running trail, see where he might have met an accomplice. I want to see how Jessica responds emotionally and physically when she walks back into the lodge.”
“So, she’s coming with us to investigate a possible crime scene?” Nikkie asked.
“Yeah. We need her with us and we need to make damn sure Hilton doesn’t know she’ll be joining us. He might meet us up there if he thinks it’s just you, Maryanne, the authorities and me. I want to see his reaction when she walks through the door.”
Nikkie’s thoughts went back to Maryanne, her condition and how unlikely it would be she’d be able to make the trip. Not telling Derek about Maryanne’s condition felt like she was hiding something from him. But she had promised Maryanne to keep her condition a secret. She would, at least as long as it was possible to do so.
“Makes sense,” she replied. “This is of course assuming Maryanne can get a judge to agree to allow us access to the lodge.”
“I have a feeling she’ll get a judge to agree, based on Jessica’s alibi and the ‘recently recalled’ bit about Brian Hilton borrowing her gun.”
“Okay, that’s the first reason you have about going to the lodge instead of to Brian’s home. What’s the second?”
“I’m thinking we should consider relocating the agency. Been thinking about the panhandle area. Figured it would be a good chance to check the area out.”
“My little multi-tasking partner.”
Chapter 13
August 21
It took more pressure, and a few threats disguised as assurances, than Maryanne expected to get a judge to issue a warrant allowing The Law Offices of Maryanne Jenkins, Esq. and her team of forensic experts and investigators — not to exceed a total number of five people — access to Brian Hilton’s lodge. Though she had pressed for the warrant to allow immediate access to her team, the judge dragged Maryanne’s request through the muddy legal process, delaying access to the lodge for a full twenty-four hours.
Derek, Nikkie and Jessica drove in one car and Fred Amasini, the court approved forensics specialist, drove up in Detective Rachel Gonzales’s county-issued unmarked car. Maryanne had told the team she needed to work on a few “matters of critical importance” and wouldn’t be able to join them for the lodge trip. Nikkie wondered if those important matters involved working the Gracers case or dealing with her disease.
As expected, the drive took close to five hours and had traffic not been so light, Derek could have easily imagined the drive taking closer to six. As they neared Tallahassee, they turned off Route 19, onto Route 98 and made their way towards Port Leon and Brian Hilton’s lodge. The closer they drew to the lodge, the fewer cars they saw. During the final stretch of twenty miles, Derek saw only one motorcycle, a Ford F-250 trailering a thirty-foot trailer, a twenty-four foot, white box truck and three nondescript cars. It seemed the lodge was in a rather remote and secluded area.
“They’re turning here?” Derek questioned, following Detective Gonzal
es as she turned down a narrow, tree-lined dirt road. “Looks more like a trail than a driveway. Figured this lodge of Hilton’s would have a custom brick-lined driveway.”
The hard-packed driveway wound its way over rolling hills, twisting its sinuous path for nearly a quarter of a mile before reaching the single-story, yet very expansive log cabin.
“Not the view I was expecting,” Nikkie said as she took in the view of the area.
“It’s more of a hunting lodge than anything else,” Jessica said, after noticing the disappointed look on Nikkie’s face. “A place away from it all, I suppose. Brian’s not much of a hunter. At least, not that I knew about.”
There were two other cars parked near the lodge, both Mercedes and neither one belonging to Brian Hilton. Before the team could reach the front porch steps, the main door of the lodge swung open. Out walked two men, both dressed in thousand dollar suits, both well overdressed for the heat and the occasion.
“Unless you’ve had some remarkably successful reconstructive surgery,” one the overdressed men said to Nikkie, “I’d say you are not Maryanne Jenkins.”
Derek stepped forward, introduced himself and each member of his party.
“Maryanne was unable to join us. And you would be?”
“Someone whose name is unimportant,” the man said. “Let’s just get this charade of an investigation going so that we can get it over and done with.” He looked over Derek’s shoulder and directly at Jessica. “Time to put this puppy to sleep, doncha think, Derek?”
If Derek had declined to take Jessica’s case, he wouldn’t have thought about her, her case or the events which had brought him to Tampa for more than a few seconds on the plane ride home to Columbus. He might be interested to hear how the case turned out, but wouldn’t even go as far as to ask Nikkie to check her news stream, whatever the hell a news stream was, to see if the case ever went to court and if a verdict had been reached.
He wouldn’t be interested enough to invest the energy.
It wasn’t that he was cold or uncaring. The exact opposite was more the case. Derek gave everything he had to every one of his clients, squeezing out thoughts or concerns for cases he didn’t take. He knew in order to give his “all,” he had to cut off other concerns. That usually meant divorcing himself from caring about rejected clients.
But Jessica was his client. He had accepted her case. So when the overdressed man standing on the porch of Hilton’s lodge tossed a probable insult at Jessica, Derek took it personally. He double stepped up the stairs, putting himself belly to belly with the man whose name was unimportant.
“Funny you should mention dogs,” Derek began. “Because finding which dog shit on the carpet is my specialty.”
There was a stare down, lasting no more than ten-seconds, before Detective Gonzales joined Derek on the deck.
“Okay, boys. It’s too damn hot out here. Let’s get this investigation started so we can figure out which dog needs to be put in the kennel, shall we?”
“Wait a minute,” Nikkie said. “Isn’t someone from the DA’s office supposed to be here with us? Something about ‘full disclosure’?”
“The DA’s office has waived its right to be represented in your snipe hunt,” the other overdressed man said. Derek figured his name was equally as unimportant as the fat, sweaty man standing off to the side of the door. “My associate and I,” he said, gesturing to the man standing beside the door, “are here to protect the contents of Mr. Hilton’s belongings. DA’s office is aware of our presence and is expecting a full and detailed report of your walk-through from us by tomorrow morning.”
“You lawyers?” Derek asked.
“Do we look like lawyers?” the fat, unnamed man said.
“You look like a few Ding Dongs away from a heart attack, since you asked.”
“You look like you’re one more smart-ass comment away from a busted face.”
“Okay boys,” Rachel Gonzales said. “It’s hot out here and there’s a lot of work to be done. Either you two agree to hate each other but end your little pissing match, or I’ll make one of you sit in my car till we’re done here. And I’m not sure I’ll keep the air conditioning running.”
The overdressed man—who must have been at least sixty pounds overweight and was beginning to pour sweat from his hairline as if sprayed with a hose—smiled a broad smile. He stepped aside, gestured with a sweep of his hand towards the front door of the lodge, and said, “Be my guest. Just know, my associate and I will be behind you every step of the way.”
“Great,” Derek said. “Nothing I need to see inside. I’ll let my client guide our forensics specialists through the lodge, since she knows her way around so well, and I’ll hit the trails. Which one of you fat asses is planning on joining me for a little hike?”
Derek headed out alone on the trail, after Jessica told him which trail and which direction she believed Brian had taken during his two runs. The two overdressed and over-fed men, neither of whom Derek believed he would ever share a scotch with, decided their services, whatever those services were supposed to be, were better delivered inside the air conditioned lodge.
Based on Jessica’s recollection, Brian’s runs each lasted around forty to fifty minutes. Considering the rough condition of the path, the exposed tree roots, numerous areas where there were more rocks than dirt on the path, Derek figured Brian’s pace was at most six miles per hour. That meant if he ran for fifty minutes—twenty-five out and twenty-five back—he would have made it around two and half miles before turning around. The forensics specialist suggested he needed at least two hours, assuming there was enough evidence to collect, to complete his duties inside the cabin.
Plenty of time for Derek.
He didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings for the first mile of his hike. He figured if Brian had discarded any important evidence, he wouldn’t have done so till he was at least a mile from his lodge.
At what he figured to be the one-mile point of his hike, Derek slowed his pace. He started paying close attention to the ground; the trees and the general lay of the land. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for but trusted his instincts that he’d know what to look for when he found it. Unfortunately for Derek, and more so for his client, there was nothing on the trail or in the general area of it which sparked his interest.
The closest the trail had come to the main road heading into the lodge was well over a hundred yards. He was expecting to find a spot where the trail and road were close, creating an easy and convenient location for Brian to have met with his accomplice, exchanged Jessica’s gun for a replica and possibly exchanged information. He wanted to come across an obvious place where a careless participant in Sam Gracers’ murder may have dropped evidence. If Brian had met with someone during his runs on the trail, Derek had no clue as to where that spot was. Still, he ventured off the trail near the area the trail and road were the closest, scoured the ground for clues and came up empty.
He headed back to the lodge, disappointed but not entirely surprised at his lack of luck.
He was less than a few hundred yards from the lodge when he heard the yelling. A woman was screaming, near the top of her lungs. He didn’t hear screams of terror but of anger. Of accusations. Of possible despair.
Derek doubled his pace and was soon had line of sight of the lodge. Jessica Gracers was standing beside Derek’s rental car, yelling at the two overdressed men standing on the lodge’s deck. In response to Jessica’s yells, the two men stood smiling, occasionally nodding their heads in exaggerated, mocking agreement. Nikkie was trying to guide Jessica into the car and was standing, facing Jessica, with one hand on the frame of the open rear seat of the car and the other on Jessica’s shoulder.
“Problem here?” Derek asked when he reached within a few yards of Jessica.
Jessica turned sharply towards Derek, her face streamed with tears. Her eyes widened as if she had seen something which had either terrified or enraged her. Derek assumed the look was o
ne of rage.
“They cleaned everything! Everything is different. Those bastards,” she said as she pointed a shaky hand and extended finger towards the two men standing on the porch, “got rid of everything inside.”
It was clear to Derek Jessica wasn’t in the proper frame of mind for him to get details.
“Get inside the car, shut your mouth and calm the hell down,” he said.
Jessica, perhaps shocked at Derek’s dismissiveness, grew instantly still and quiet. She said, in a much more controlled and quiet voice, “Everything is new. Everything is gone.”
Seeing the change in his client, Derek asked, “What the hell are you talking about? What’s gone? What’s new?”
“They took the old couch out and now there’s a new one in there. New bed, new area rugs, new everything in the bathroom. Every piece of furniture inside was replaced.”
“The place is spotless,” the forensics specialist added as he walked up closer to Derek. “Smells of bleach, too. I tested a few areas in the kitchen and bathroom but don’t hold out any hope. Whoever cleaned in there, did one hell of a job.”
Derek turned and walked towards the lodge. He walked up the three steps to the deck where the two full-bellied men blocked his path.
“This little circus is over,” one man said. “Your puppy’s outburst has been duly noted. Time for you to pull up stakes and caravan back home.”
“You like the circus, huh?” Derek said. “Let me guess, your mom was the fat lady? Thought you looked familiar.”
Rachel Gonzales appeared by Derek’s side almost the second after he had finished dishing out his insult.
“Okay boys,” she said. “Let’s break it up.” She took Derek’s arm, gripping him right above his right elbow. She had a firm grip, firmer than Derek expected. Firm enough to distract his attention away from the fat lady’s offspring.
“You go inside?” he asked Gonzales without moving his eyes from the man in front of him.
Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 9
