“I did,” Rachel said. “Looks all new and clean to me. Nothing to see inside. Let’s go back.”
“How many of our side went inside?”
“All of us,” Rachel answered, a bit confused with Derek’s odd question.
“The number. How many went inside, not counting these two inflated assholes?”
“Me, Jessica, Nikkie and the whatever the hell the forensics guy’s name is.”
“Four. Right? Four of us walked inside. Got a lay of the place. Probably took a bunch of pictures?”
“Yes, but…”
“Warrant allowed us five people. I’m the fifth.”
The two men looked at each other, smiled then stepped from Derek’s approach through the front door.
“Be our guest,” one said. “We certainly don’t want to obstruct justice.”
But before Derek could take a step towards the door, Rachel increased her grip on his arm and pulled him to the side. She dragged him nearly all the way across the front of the porch, stopping only when the wrap around porch made a slow arch to the side of the log cabin.
“Is there a reason you’re dragging me across the porch?” Derek said.
“Listen to me, and please listen good. There is no reason for you to go inside. All it will do is piss you off. Trust me, trust Nikkie, and trust your client: The place was scrubbed clean and all the furniture was replaced. There’s nothing to see inside.”
It may have been the way Rachel had said “inside” that caught Derek’s attention.
“Well I just walked a few miles outside and there’s nothing to see outside either. What are you trying to tell me?”
“We should leave. All of us. Let’s get out of here, find a place to eat and discuss what happened at this lodge.”
“I don’t even know you,” Derek said, relaxing his body, “but I’m going to trust you on this one.”
“Thanks. I need you to do two things for me.”
“And they are?”
“One, get Fred Amasini to leave on his own.”
“Who the hell is Fred Amasini?” Derek asked.
“The forensic specialist I just spent five incredibly boring hours driving up here with. I swear, the man may be good at what he does, but he is the least interesting man in the world.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him his services are no longer needed for the time being. I’ll let him drive my car back to Tampa. I’ll need you to take me to wherever he leaves it.”
“Fine. No problem. What’s the second thing you need me to do?”
“I told you there’s nothing to see inside the house, right?”
“That you did.”
“When you walk down the steps, take a look at the ground to your left. Near the shrubs.”
Chapter 14
It was close to three in the afternoon before Fred Amasini reluctantly agreed to drive Derek’s rental car back to his home outside Tampa alone.
“Five hour drive is a long time for someone as tired as me to be driving alone,” he was saying as Derek closed the car door on him. He didn’t have anything against Fred; he just no longer needed his area of specialty. Add to that his intense interest in sitting down with Rachel to learn what she had felt was so important to discuss.
Nikkie and a quite distraught Jessica Gracers climbed into the back of Rachel’s county-issued Chevy Caprice, while Derek took the passengers seat.
“Did you see it?” Rachel said as she put the car in gear and headed back down the driveway. “Did you see what was in the shrubs?”
“A blue shoe cover. Cloth. The type doctors wear.”
“And moving men. And anyone who doesn’t want to track dirt or mud into a house.”
“Well,” Derek said, “considering Jessica said all the furniture in the place was new, it really doesn’t surprise me that one of the delivery men accidentally left a shoe cover behind. What’s the big deal?”
“How many cars did you pass during the last twenty miles driving here?” Rachel asked as they neared the end of the driveway.
“Didn’t keep count. Noticed a few, I suppose.”
“Notice the white panel truck?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. You’re thinking the movers finished moving in all the old furniture right before we arrived.”
“And taking out the old furniture,” Nikkie said.
“You didn’t happen to catch the license plate, did you?” Rachel asked as a smile played across her lips.
Derek twisted his body in the seat towards Rachel.
“Why, Detective Gonzales, I think you trying to tell me something.”
“It was an Alabama plate. Commercial. I have a strange thing with plates and remembering them.”
“You call it in yet?” Derek asked.
“Sure did. And based on my information I received just a few minutes before you finished your little nature walk, I have a pretty good idea where that truck is headed.”
“Brilliant!” Nikkie said. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“The old furniture,” Jessica said, after a bit of a delay. “The old furniture will be on that truck. Right?”
“Unless they burned it somewhere on Hilton’s property. You didn’t notice any smoldering leather couches during your nature walk, did you Private Investigator Cole?”
“I prefer ‘Freelance Detective,’ and, no, no smoldering leather couches, mattresses, rugs or anything one might expect to find in a lodge.”
“So, where are we headed and what are we planning to do when we get there?” Nikkie asked.
“Dothan, Alabama. I have the address of the moving company. Small firm named ‘Southern Boy’s Moving Company.’ One of the deputies back at my station is contacting the local cops in the area. I expect to hear back from them soon. They have at least two hours head start on us, meaning the truck is probably damn close to Dothan by now. The deputy is asking the local cops to contact me as soon as they see the truck arrive at the moving company’s parking area.
“I highly doubt Hilton told the movers to destroy the furniture. That would have been a red flag for them. Not that movers for a company called ‘Southern Boys Moving Company’ would give two shits about red flags, but, if Hilton went through the trouble of getting all new furniture delivered just in time before we showed up, I’m thinking he wouldn’t do anything else to raise suspicions.”
“So,” Nikkie started, “when we get there, then what? We can’t just demand to see the furniture in the back of the truck. Plus, we sent our forensics specialist home.”
“We get a judge to issue a warrant for us to take possession of the furniture,” Derek said. “Actually, Maryanne will need to handle that.”
“So?” Rachel said, “Why aren’t you calling Maryanne Jenkins yet?”
Rachel pulled the car into a truck stop just south of the Alabama border. The place seemed buzzing with activity. More cars than trucks in the parking areas.
“Busy place,” Derek said as he climbed out of the car.
“This truck stop is well known in the area. Big place for gay men to connect.”
“Like a pick up place?”
“More like a place for members of the gay community to get together to talk, meet, share the challenges of being a gay man in the south.”
“Can’t say I know much about the gay culture but I would have thought a truck stop wouldn't be the most accepting place for gay people to use as a community hall.”
“Did cause plenty of trouble at first. But after a while, the community kept growing and wasn’t going to be bullied into staying away.”
“Economic boom for the place’s owner, I’d bet.”
“I'm sure that helped the owner grow more accommodating.”
Derek asked Nikkie to call Maryanne about getting a warrant for the furniture in the truck. He sensed they had formed a closer working relationship than he had formed with Maryanne. While Nikkie was explaining what they’d found at the lodge and the details of the missing furniture, Rachel received a call from a police officer f
rom the Dothan Police Department.
“We’re all set,” Rachel said as she ended her phone call. “They have two squad cars at two different locations, looking for the truck. Turns out Southern Boys Moving Company is run out of the two owner’s homes. The truck will end up at one of their houses soon. The officer will call me as soon as the truck arrives. Any luck with Maryanne?”
“There may be a problem,” Nikkie answered. “Since the moving truck with the possible evidence in the back is crossing state lines, getting a search and seize warrant is a matter for the feds. Maryanne is making some calls, but isn’t hopeful she can get this turned around all that quickly.”
“Then we sit and watch the truck until the feds come through with the warrant.”
“Well, Derek, if things with the feds take as long as most things with the feds do, waiting and watching will be a problem for me. I need to be back on duty tomorrow by nine.”
“How many hours back to your department?” Derek asked.
“Depending on traffic, I’d say around seven.”
“We’ll give you an hour buffer. If we get nothing from the feds by one, you head back and I’ll stay.”
“We’ll stay,” Jessica said. “That furniture and whatever evidence we find on it, is my way out of this horrible mess. I’m not leaving till we do whatever it is we need to do to clear my name.”
Finding the moving truck was easy. Simple, actually. An officer from the Dothan Police Department spotted the truck pulling off the main highway leading into the city. He followed the truck through the city and parked behind it when the truck driver and his passenger climbed down from the cab. The officer instructed the men to leave the contents of the truck untouched and that there would be “people from Florida” showing up to take possession of whatever was in the back of the truck. The truck driver and his passenger simply nodded in cooperation, then walked into the same house.
Simple.
Things got more complicated when Derek, Nikkie, Rachel and Jessica arrived.
As Rachel exited the car to speak with the Dothan Police Officer, Nikkie called Maryanne to tell her they were at the scene with the truck and to ask about any progress getting a warrant.
“Nothing yet,” Maryanne had told her. “And I have a feeling getting the warrant is going to take a while.”
“We may not have a while,” Derek commented. “I have a bad feeling those brothers are making phone calls right now.”
As Nikkie ended the call, the truck driver and his partner walked out of the house. They walked directly to the truck. When the driver pulled the keys out of his front pocket, Derek shot out of the car.
“You boys planning on going somewhere?”
Neither man answered. They continued towards the moving truck.
“Hold it right there, gentlemen,” the Dothan cop called out. “I have orders to make sure this truck stays exactly where it is and that nothing is removed from the back.”
“Y’all need to see my driver’s license, or my proof of ownership?” the driver asked.
The driver was in his mid-twenties; greasy hair, greasy black t-shirt and a brown-tooth of a smile. He spit out a load of brown saliva.
“My brother and I have more work that needs to be done and the people paying us have given us what they call a ‘deadline.’ So, pardon my lack of respect for you, officer, but our client has informed us that unless you have a warranty to show us, we are free to finish our duties.”
“You mean a ‘warrant’?” Derek asked.
“Whatever you want to call it. Y’all got one of them or, can my brother and me be on our way?”
“We’re expecting to have a warrant any minute now,” Rachel said.
“I am not a college educated man,” the driver said, “but it sounded like you said you do not have either a warranty or a warrant on your person. Is that what I heard you say?”
“Do you know what you’re hauling?” Derek asked.
The driver turned his tobacco stained smile towards Derek.
“Well, seeing as how my brother and me drove to where out client paid us to drive, and then loaded up the contents in this truck with our own hands, I’d have to say that we are aware of our haul. Ain’t that right, Bobby? Ain’t we aware of what we’re hauling?”
“Yup,” Bobby said. “We are aware.”
Bobby looked like the polar opposite of his brother. He was clean shaven, wore his hair styled by a professional and not by a plastic comb and the clothes he wore, though a bit dirty from his day of manual labor, were well fitting and only a whisper away from what those familiar with “working class” fashion would describe as “current and sharp.”
“I’m willing to bet neither of you gentlemen are aware of why we are interested in taking possession of the contents of your truck,” Derek said, taking a few steps closer to the driver.
“Now that would be a very true statement. And what is also a true statement, is that we don’t give a rat’s ass about you or your interests.” The driver turned towards the Dothan cop, and said, “Officer, are we free to go about our business?”
The cop shrugged his shoulders, looked at Detective Gonzales.
“Don’t suppose you have the warrant yet?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Then, I’m afraid if these two Dothan citizens want to be on their way, nothing stopping them.”
“How much?” Jessica, who had stepped out of the car to better hear the conversation, asked. “How much for whatever is in the back of your truck? Name your price. Five thousand? Ten? Name it?”
The driver smiled, glanced over at his brother. He kicked a few pebbles sitting at his feet. He pulled off his “Roll Tide” hat, scratched his head before answering.
“Thing is, we’ve already entered into an agreement, which included payment for us to keep everything in our possession. Now, you seem like a nice lady, so I can imagine you’d understand the importance of my brother and I keeping our word.”
“Twenty-thousand dollars,” Jessica said. “I’ll write a check out for twenty-thousand if you just give us one hour to do what we need to do with the furniture in the back of your truck.”
“Checks bounce.”
“Mine don’t.”
The two men looked at each other, obviously considering Jessica’s offer. After several moments, the driver started shaking his head.
“I think that hour would cause us to miss our deadline. We do thank you for your offer, but it’s a ‘no can do’ on our part. We free to leave, Officer?” he asked the Dothan cop again.
“I suppose so.”
They followed the moving truck north through the city. Though he had no way of being certain, Derek had the sinking feeling if Maryanne wasn’t able to encourage the feds to “hurry the hell up,” the furniture along with any and all evidence it contained, would soon be destroyed.
For nearly an hour, the truck headed north with a Dothan City Police car behind it and a Pinellas County issued, unmarked Chevy Caprice not far behind. Inside the Caprice, Derek and Nikkie were calling everyone they believed might be able to help them.
Derek spoke at length with Ralph Fox; a retired chief of police in a small, Upstate New York town whom Derek had met while working a case. The two had become friends once the case was closed and Derek often relied on Ralph’s experience and wisdom when dealing with challenging situations.
“Now Derek,” Ralph said after listening to Derek detail the complexity of the situation, “you call yourself a ‘Freelance Detective,’ still I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds to me like you’re gonna need to go all freelance if that warrant from the feds doesn’t come in.”
“I’m with two cops. One is driving the car I’m in right now and the other is fifty feet in front us in his marked car. Not sure how they’d take me going freelance.”
Rachel gave Derek a sideways look, frowned, then shook her head.
“Immediate feedback I’ve just received suggests the aforemen
tioned members of the law enforcement community would not appreciate any freelancing activities on my part.”
The sinking feeling in Derek’s gut was getting worse.
Nikkie, who had called Maryanne Jenkins the second after the truck driver had started the engine, was sitting in silence, cell phone pressed to her ear and her eyes darting between the white moving truck and the car’s clock. She was pleasantly surprised at how long the drive to wherever it was they were going was taking and dismayed at how long the feds were taking to deliver the much needed warrant.
After they had been following the moving truck for a little over an hour, the truck made a left hand turn onto a dirt road. “Private Property. No Trespassing,” signs were posted on either side of the dirt road. The truck pulled up past the signs, then, after stopping, the driver climbed down from the cab.
“Stay inside,” Rachel instructed.
She climbed out of the Caprice, walked over to where the driver was speaking with the Dothan City cop. Less than a minute later, Rachel walked back to the car.
“We can’t follow any further. The two moron’s family owns the land, including the road we’re on. The driver told the Dothan cop he expects him to enforce Alabama’s private property laws. Cop agreed. Told me we’re free to park on the side of the main road but not to step foot on any privately owned land.”
Twenty minutes later, from the air conditioned Chevy Caprice, Derek, Nikkie, Jessica and Rachel Gonzales saw black smoke rising in angry twists from several hundred yards down the private road.
“Holy shit balls,” Derek said. “They’re burning it all.”
“Now what? Now what the hell do we do?”
Jessica was leaning against the front bumper of the car, watching what was certainly the furniture from Brian Hilton’s lodge going up in smoke, along with her hopes of getting her name cleared. Her emotions were checked; not showing anger, despair, hope or any emotion besides that which one who feels time is working against them displays.
“I think you three should find the nearest gas station and fast food place. Fill up and get us some food for the long drive back to Tampa.”
Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 10
