Escape Clause

Home > Literature > Escape Clause > Page 21
Escape Clause Page 21

by James O. Born


  “That someone gave him.”

  “So he claims.”

  “Did you fucking check out his story?”

  Rufus just sulked.

  Tasker said, “So this thing is wide open again?”

  “The judge is having Rubie evaluated by a psychologist.”

  “Then what?”

  “The state attorney said he’d probably be cut loose.” Rufus sounded like a beaten man.

  “What now? You got any other leads?”

  “No, nothin’.”

  “You offer a big enough reward and things tend to happen.”

  “The university has put up five grand, the county added a thousand and Dewalt Construction threw in another five grand.”

  “Dewalt Construction, why?”

  Rufus shrugged. “They do a lot of building out here. They often kick in on rewards like this. Why not? They got the money.”

  Tasker just said, “Yeah, I know.”

  Luther Williams stretched his sore back and spread his arms as he got used to his new clothes. He had borrowed a pair of jeans and a nice work shirt from a clothesline off Fifty-fourth Street near the Scott projects. He’d left his prison uniform on the same clothesline, hoping someone would be smart enough to report it to the police. He didn’t want to hide the fact that he was in Miami. At least for a day or two. He figured a few days of watching his ass down here, contacting a few former associates, collecting some debts, that sort of thing, would serve him well after he left. While the cops were scouring Miami for the escaped convict, he’d be safely off to another big city. A big city not in Florida. But first he’d stop in Tallahassee.

  His ride from Gladesville had been harder than he imagined. While the CTX had decent suspension, the engineers weren’t as concerned about passenger comfort in the trunk. In addition, the boxes he had lain on contained various Christmas ornaments and crockery, which tended to break and splinter as the trip proceeded. The result was that when his lady friend stopped at the gas station off the 836 near the Golden Glades interchange, he’d decided to make his exit and risk a hike into Liberty City. He would’ve had a rougher time making it from her condo over on the beach, so it had worked out well. The government-ordered safety latch on the inside of the trunk helped enormously. She never saw him or knew a thing, which he was counting on for when the cops came to question her. He figured it’d take a day or two to run down the visitors that had been seen in the lot, then make the connection to Luther. He pictured the dogs searching out his scent back in Gladesville.

  After a restless night’s sleep between the Dumpsters at the gas station, he decided to make the next leg of his trip. The trip from the gas station had been as lucky as it was easy. He had merely rolled in the back of a lawn-service truck among the cut grass and oily lawn mowers. The fiberglass bed top had kept him out of view of the general public. He’d rolled out at the Scott project. The sprawling complex of subsidized housing had been the center of activity for the area since before Luther had arrived in Miami. No one took notice of him strolling down the narrow road that crossed the property. Watching the ground as he walked in the early morning light, he noticed an old shish kebab skewer on the ground. It was broken and had been discarded, but after Luther’s experiences with shivs over his recent stay at Manatee he snatched up the old utensil. It tucked easily into his waistband. He thought, You never know when you’ll need something like this. He patted his belly where the shiv was hidden and continued on his way.

  Now he finished his conversion to ordinary resident of inner-city Miami by snatching up an old pair of basketball shoes on the front steps of one of the small single-family houses that surrounded the project. He left his prison work shoes in their place. He started toward Fifty-fourth Street in a casual gait, unconcerned that he’d be noticed.

  He headed east, then crossed the street at Seventeenth Avenue. Even though it was early on a Monday morning, he knew just where to go to get his new venture moving again. He needed some walking money.

  Sam Norton was exhausted as he lay in his bed. The sun was up and shining over the Rock and he had only been horizontal for about forty-five minutes. He had organized the search of the surrounding area and pulled out all the stops to find Luther Williams. He had even called the sheriff’s office and hadn’t commented when the FDLE agent, Tasker, joined a team searching the same industrial area where he had shot the last escapee a couple of weeks before.

  His mind turned over all the problems this would cause him. No one wanted to live with the stigma of being in charge when a facility lost an inmate. It was hard enough convincing people the Rock was a tough facility when the state had given it such a sissy name. Now the other captains from Everglades Correctional to Union Correctional would be giving him shit if he didn’t find this guy.

  Then there was the flip side. Without being able to control him, there was no telling what Luther Williams might say or do on the outside. Either way, it made for a bad night.

  He tossed to his right again, twisting the covers from the warm naked body beside him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Sorry, baby.”

  “You need some sleep.”

  “I need to get that son of a bitch back inside.”

  “You will,” she said, the sleepy voice making him smile despite his situation.

  The phone next to his bed rang with the extra loud ringer he had installed to make sure he heard it in case of emergency.

  He snatched it up before it rang again. “Norton,” he said, silently praying for good news.

  It wasn’t.

  thirty-one

  As soon as Rufus was gone, Bill Tasker set about waking up and laying out his day. He knew there’d be more to do on the escape, but there were a few things he wanted to check out on Professor Kling’s murder as well. Now that it was wide open again, he didn’t want the case falling through the cracks. He would see if there were any migrant or labor crews close by on the day of the murder and maybe see if the FDLE crime scene unit from Fort Myers might come over and process the apartment. He’d have to keep it quiet.

  He ate a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal and a banana, then dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that identified him as a FDLE agent. That seemed an appropriate dress for the day. He walked onto the back porch and gave Hamlet his usual dosage of food pellets and changed his water. The little mouse who now masqueraded as a hamster seemed to like the rear covered porch. The girls were convinced he wanted a view from his cage. Tasker had initially been worried about birds or other predators coming onto the porch, but he had secured the cage with a bungee cord to the small table it rested on and checked the sturdy cage. He didn’t think anything could get to his little friend.

  Everything secured in the apartment, Tasker trotted out to his car. It was almost ten-thirty and he wanted to see how the search was coming. As he came out the front door, he was surprised to see a nice, deep blue Crown Vic parked next to his Monte Carlo. It was a second before he recognized the man who emerged from the big car.

  “Hey, Billy, nice hours,” said the director of the Miami region of FDLE.

  “Hey, boss. What brings you out here?” He came down the stairs to greet the well-dressed Latin man.

  “You, my friend.”

  “I don’t usually leave so late. I was working the escape last night.”

  The tall director smiled and said, “I know, I know. I’m sending out a couple of agents from the West Palm office to help. They’re gonna have a thousand leads to check out before nightfall.”

  “That’s why I’m in the tactical shirt. I was gonna help in the search.”

  The director shook his head. “Negative, Billy. You need to finish the Dewalt investigation.”

  Tasker stopped for a second as the director eased into a chair on the porch. Tasker followed his lead, scooting the other chair to face him. “You came out here to personally tell me to work on a stale homicide?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought this was more import
ant for now.”

  “Nothing is more important. Not an escape, not another homicide, nothing.”

  “Who has the juice to get you to drive eighty miles to tell me that?”

  The director hesitated. “I came because I’m concerned about one of my agents. Apparently you didn’t hear me when I told you over the phone to drop the outside homicide inquiry.”

  “I heard you, boss, I just—”

  “You just had to look at it. I know, Billy, when things aren’t right, you have a hard time ignoring them. Well, guess what? You’re not the only cop in the world. Others can solve crimes, too. What I need you to do is finish this goddamn investigation into this fucking kid whose fucking father has the fucking governor’s ear.” He paused and caught his breath. “Finish it, come back to Miami and I’ll turn you loose on the criminals in Dade County. Fuck around any more and you and I will both be out of a job.”

  “It’s that serious?”

  “It is that serious and more. Fucking Ardan Gann told me to order you just to write up whatever you have. I argued for a few days to tie up loose ends and give you some breathing room.”

  “Boss, can I explain what’s going on?”

  The director said, “I know about the murder right here. I know you liked the guy.”

  Tasker told him about Peter Rubie and his interview. Then he said, “What’s the rush on the Dewalt case? You told me to take my time and go slow.”

  The director nodded as he stared out into the field.

  Tasker continued, “I’ve been getting little signs about my presence out here, too.”

  “Like what?”

  Tasker told him about the attack by Linus Hardaway in lockdown, the fight with the ex-inmate at the bar and his encounter with the Aryan Knights.

  “Billy, why didn’t you call me about this?”

  “I kept hoping it was all unrelated. Something stinks out here and I need some time to find out what.”

  “Are you safe at this apartment?”

  “I’m careful now. I don’t need to go back inside the prison, just to the administration building. And I have a few friends now.”

  The director kept contemplating the situation.

  “Boss, I’ll do what I’m ordered, but you always say, ‘Do what’s right.’ ”

  The director smiled. “I hate it when you guys use my words against me.”

  “What do you want me to do? What will Ardan Gann say?”

  The director took a long time, looking out over the cane field, not saying a word. Tasker knew the look. He gave his boss some time to consider things. Then, after almost a full minute, the director said, “You know what?” He looked out over the cane again. “Fuck Ardan Gann.” He looked at Tasker. “Can you keep looking around safely?”

  “I think so.”

  “Can you finish the investigation?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then do it. Keep a low profile, but do your thing. If you’re no closer to resolving it by next Friday, you’re done. Good enough?”

  Tasker couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll call the commissioner, who’ll explain it to Gann. No one should bitch about a little extra time. But you’ve got to sort this shit out.”

  Tasker felt like a new man.

  The director said, “What do you need as far as help?”

  “I might use Jerry Risto if I come up with anything.”

  The director smiled and headed for his car. “I was never here.”

  “Wish I could say that.”

  Just after noon, Luther Williams found the three-bedroom apartment that he knew was used as a stash house for crack and money. He knocked casually, hoping things hadn’t changed too much since he’d been away. He didn’t like standing on the exposed landing of a third-floor apartment in broad daylight. This was taking his plan of being seen in Miami a little too far.

  “Who is it?” asked a voice from inside.

  “Luther Williams.”

  “Don’t know no Luther Williams. Go away.”

  Luther caught himself and smiled. “It’s Cole Hodges. Open the door.”

  There was a slight pause, then the door cracked open with the chain still on. A young black man in an oversized Miami Heat jersey peered out. “Oh shit,” he said and slammed the door.

  Luther heard him fumble with the chain, and in a few seconds the solid door opened for him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hodges. I thought you was, was, ah, away.”

  Luther smiled. “I was, son, but now I’m back. Where’s Scooter?”

  “He’s out right now, sir, but he’ll be back before too long.”

  “Fine, I’ll wait.”

  “I’ll give him a call on his cell.”

  “That’s all right, son. Don’t bother him.” He watched the nervous young man and added, “Why don’t you stay where I can see you?”

  “Yes, sir.” He fidgeted at the request, but stayed where he was.

  “I can see you in the kitchen if you leave the door open. Why don’t you make me some lunch while I wait?”

  The young man darted into the small kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator. He called over his shoulder, “I got some pizza from last night.”

  “That’s fine. But heat it in the oven, not a microwave. I like it crispy.”

  “Yes, sir, right away, Mr. Hodges.” The young man flew at his task like a hummingbird, racing around the kitchen, his shaking hands dropping utensils and knocking over glasses.

  This was what Luther had missed. People willing to make him happy. He hoped Scooter was in a mood to help, too. If not, this apartment would smell of more than old cigarettes and pot.

  Bill Tasker arrived at the admin building just about noon. Among the other things he wanted to accomplish that day was telling Renee Chin he saw her as something more than just a prison inspector acting as his liaison. He had held his growing feelings back for several reasons: his ex-wife, the circumstances, even his interest in Billie Towers had played a role. Now he knew that Renee was special. He still smiled at the memory of her encounter with his ex-wife. Renee’s sunny and positive personality always made him feel lighter. He just hoped she shared some kind of feeling for him. She had given him hints. The quick kiss, the way she dressed for their dinner. He had never been too sharp with women; he’d noticed that guys who thought they knew women were usually the most clueless. He, at least, knew he was clueless.

  He had changed into a pullover and khaki pants. He had even tried to rehearse what he might say, but it had been futile. He’d wing it when he saw her.

  He had other plans for the day. He’d finish reviewing logs and even interview some possible witnesses in the Dewalt death. So far he had no real leads, but he wanted to take some good photos of the marks he had found on the door in the psych ward. He knew the pendant found in Baxter’s personal belongings could throw a wrench in the case if he couldn’t find a reasonable explanation. His only clue was the fingerprint that belonged to Sergeant Henry Janzig. Renee had already eliminated the sergeant as a suspect by confirming that he was in Tallahassee the day Dewalt was killed. Tasker knew he’d still have to look into the matter.

  He’d show the photos of the marks on the psych ward door to the ME and maybe the sheriff’s office crime scene person and see what they thought. Maybe it would lead somewhere. If not, he’d start writing a summary for the governor’s office in the next few days. That way he had a week to look at Janzig and also see what the hell was going on with the Kling murder case.

  He wandered through the administration building, which was nearly empty. The trustees were in lockdown as a result of Luther’s escape, most of the correctional officers were out looking for Luther and no outside vendors had been allowed on the grounds.

  He heard Renee Chin’s voice down the hall and followed her sweet tone that was now in a professional mode. He found her in the library near the taped-off crime scene where the trustee had been murdered the day before. Everyone assumed the killer was L
uther. That included Tasker.

  Renee spoke into her cell phone. “No, Captain Norton is handling the escape, I’m busy on the murder.” She said goodbye, closed the fliptop Nextel and turned to Tasker.

  “How’re you holding up?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Heard you were out all night with the search team.”

  “Yeah, but my boss is sending agents from West Palm to help now, so I’m supposed to concentrate on the Dewalt investigation.”

  “I’m working with the county homicide guys on this. They processed the scene and are processing the murder weapon.”

  “Looks like Luther, right?”

  “Oh yeah. Witnesses, location, even motive. We figured he wanted the murder as a diversion.”

  “The diversion helped me out, too.”

  “How so?”

  “I had a run-in with a group you guys call the Aryan Knights.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday, right when the alarm sounded.”

  “You hurt?”

  “No. Just scared the shit out of me.”

  She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Most cops would never admit they’re scared.”

  “No way. The cops I know admit it. Only a moron isn’t scared some of the time.”

  Renee seemed to relax and leaned against the long conference table. “Who’d you report the Aryan Knight incident to?”

  “A sergeant. Harrison.”

  “Yeah, Stan. What’d he say?”

  “Everything was so crazy he just kind of shrugged and said they were a bad bunch.”

  “He’s right. You’re lucky.” She smiled and patted his shoulder.

  Tasker cleared his throat and said, “Hey, um, Renee. I had something I wanted to talk about. I’m not sure if this is the right place or time.” He hesitated and ran his hand through his hair. “I wanted to say . . .”

  “Yes?” She leaned in closer.

  “What I was going to say . . .”

  Just as he was about to blurt out something—he wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted to say but at least some words—Captain Norton entered the far end of the library.

 

‹ Prev