Suffer Not Evil: A Florida Action Adventure Novel

by Scott Cook

  23

  Interlude: The Predator, Two

  Jean Belmar ate the last bite of her chicken Caesar salad and glanced casually around the large airy dining room of The Hangar restaurant. The restaurant took up the entire second floor of the Albert Whitted airport building, and its entire rear wall was comprised of glass windows that looked out over the tarmac, runways and Tampa Bay beyond.

  “Nice view for an airport diner, huh Jean?” her co-pilot, a middle-aged and good-natured man named Tom Craftport asked.

  “Hell, Tommy, the food here is better than any diner I’ve been to,” Jean said with a grin. “You flying back with me tonight?”

  Craftport shrugged, “Might as well, what else am I gonna do? Or we wait here for Ronnie to get in touch. What’s she up to, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jean admitted. “I haven’t heard from her since I flew up to the facility couple days back. But I know we’re supposed to ferry those VIPs back to D.C. in the morning… so figured we’d get that outta the way and can be back here by this time tomorrow if she needs us.”

  A woman in a tailored business suit strode up to their table. By the look on her face and the purpose of her walk, Jean could tell she was coming for them. At first, the pilot thought that maybe she was the manager or the airport’s director with some bad news.

  “Jean Belmar?” the forty-something woman asked.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Captain Regina Cutler of the Saint Pete Police Department,” the woman said. “Homicide. May I sit down?”

  Jean looked at Craftport and then at the woman, “Certainly, Captain… is there something wrong?”

  Cutler pulled out a chair and sat. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I’m afraid so. I guess you haven’t heard yet… Veronica Bradford was found murdered last night.”

  Jean wondered if her face was as white as Tom’s. He cursed and wiped a hand over his eyes but said nothing.

  “Dead…?” Jean asked in shock. “But I thought…”

  “Thought she was being protected?” Cutler asked with a bit of an edge in her tone. “Apparently not well enough. The story is that she snuck out Wednesday afternoon and her killers picked her up when she went to the home of a local doctor. Sorry for your loss.”

  “What happened to Scott Jarvis and his team?” Jean asked.

  Cutler made an unmistakable sound of derision. Evidently her opinion of Jarvis and his team wasn’t very high, “Guess they dropped the ball.”

  Jean frowned at that. She hadn’t known Jarvis for long, but he wasn’t the type to drop the ball. If Veronica got herself into trouble the way Cutler described, then she must’ve done it intentionally. At least slipping past Jarvis’ precautions.

  “Where is he now?” Jean asked.

  Cutler sighed, “Nobody knows. We were at the scene of… of the incident last night and he simply walked away and vanished. Couldn’t handle the stress and the guilt is my belief.”

  In spite of herself, Jean chuckled sardonically, “Captain… that man is a former cop, seasoned

  P.I. and a Navy SEAL… he doesn’t crack under pressure. I very much doubt that Scott Jarvis went off to cry in his beer. I’d have to guess that he’s going after those responsible.”

  Cutler sneered a little but shrugged, “In that case… any idea where he’d go?”

  Jean did have a few ideas. The prevailing theory was that one of the Bradfords was behind Veronica’s murder. However, she wasn’t sure what to do. One of those Bradfords was her fiancé. It may be better to deal with this in-house, as it were. She’d need to get to the plane and call everyone on the secure line and let them know what was happening.

  “I couldn’t imagine,” Jean said finally. “I only met him a couple of days back. As far as I know, he wasn’t able to collect any evidence or find out anything.”

  Cutler seemed pleased by that. It was very clear that she didn’t care for Jarvis. The police captain handed Jean a card and said: “Okay. Well, if he gets in touch with you, please call me.”

  “Any idea who did it?” Jean asked.

  Cutler drew in a breath and cleared her throat, “As a matter of fact… we believe we may have the perpetrators in custody. One of the three men apparently involved was shot and killed on the scene last night. However, the other two… were found hanging from Veronica Bradford’s railing at her home here in town.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Craftport muttered. “Guess this Jarvis guy is on the hunt…”

  Cutler frowned, “They weren’t hung in the traditional sense. They were suspended from the railing. Hands and feet tied and duct tape over their mouths. One of my detectives was called to the scene this morning and the two men are now in custody.”

  “My God…” Jean breathed. “Have they said anything?”

  “Not much,” Cutler grumbled. “But they will. They say they were hired for the job but don’t know by who. We’ll see about that.”

  Cutler left, Jean paid the bill and the two pilots walked silently out to the Gulfstream. To Jean, the plane seemed somehow haunted now. Although it was technically Bradford Avionics’ plane, it had always been Veronica’s unofficial aircraft. Now that she was… was dead… there seemed to be an alien unfamiliarity hovering about the plane.

  “So what now?” Tom asked as they settled into the flight deck.

  Jean sighed, “Christ, Tom… I don’t know. I’m sure that the cops will get in touch with everybody… but I suppose we should too. We’ve still got to head up to the facility… so we might as well take off.”

  “It’s just so crazy,” Tom glummed. “I know that there was that thing with her boat a couple of weeks or so ago… but for Ronnie to be… I guess I wanted to believe it was just a bunch of hooey.”

  Jean sighed, “I guess not, Tom… okay, let’s start the pre-flight.”

  The pre-flight check went well until jean attempted to start the two engines. On a small display screen in the center of the flight console, an odd error message began to flash in bright green.

  “What the hell…” Tom said. “Error F: 52-A… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. We’ve got good juice in the batteries… fuel and oil temps look fine…”

  Jean frowned, “Me either… let’s look it up.”

  She removed the aircraft’s version of the owner’s manual from a small storage bin in the console between the two seats and flipped to the error index. After a moment she found it and looked up at Tom.

  “This says that an F: 52-A is a command-and-control error… can be caused by hard-coded software failure in command motherboard one… or the solid-state code block unit has been removed or is not installed properly.”

  Tom sighed, “It’s all computers now… sounds like a memory module has failed in the main computer.”

  “I know something about these systems,” Jean said. “BA builds them. You’d have a better chance of winning the lottery on the day a shark bites your leg than one of these solid-state units failing. It’s never happened.”

  Tom blew out his breath. He got out of his chair and opened a small access panel behind him. Inside were the components of the airplane’s main computer, “Well, it happened today… is there a diagram for this thing?”

  Jean showed him the page and they both looked inside. After a moment, she pointed to a slot on the motherboard, “I think that’s it. The damned thing is gone! Christ, don’t tell me some maintenance monkey removed it and didn’t tell anyone…”

  “But then we’d have gotten the error earlier, wouldn’t we?” Tom asked.

  Jean sighed, “Unless it was done here… we’re gonna need to get on the horn to corporate, though. They’re going to have to overnight one to us, or this bird isn’t going anyplace.”

  “Terrific,” Tom grumbled, closing the panel.

  Jean treated him to a half-smile, “One more night for you to visit with Tina. Don’t act like you’re too broken up over that, pal.”

  Tom grinned, “And you?”
<
br />   Jean shrugged, “I’ll get a room or maybe just crash here on the plane. Why don’t you take off, Tom? I’ll call up north and get the ball rolling.”

  “You sure? I hate to leave you with this hot potato in your lap.”

  Jean waved that off, “No biggie. I’ll get the airport to plug us in and then call headquarters. Go ahead, and tell Tina I said hey.”

  Jean sat for a long few minutes in the quiet airplane by herself. Then more than ever, the plane seemed haunted to her. It seemed to hold the essence of a ghostly presence. As if Veronica’s spirit were still infusing the plane with her outgoing and forceful personality.

  Jean didn’t want to believe what Jarvis had said about the Bradfords. She didn’t want to believe what Veronica herself had suspected. But she had been attacked, more than once. And now… and now she was dead. Now the Bradford family could take total control over the company she’d worked so hard to grow.

  Jean didn’t want to believe that any of them were responsible. The thought of Andrew being behind it made her skin creep. She would know that, wouldn’t she? How could she not know her own fiancé was a bloodthirsty killer?

  She couldn’t believe it. She told herself that it wasn’t true. Yet deep down, in a small corner of her heart, she doubted. She had less trouble wondering about Sarah Beth than anyone. Marcus certainly seemed as unlikely as her Andy… but Sarah Beth?

  The day she’d taken Jarvis out riding, the youngest of the Bradford clan had followed them out and taken a couple of shots. If not at them, then near them. Jarvis hadn’t believed it was coincidence. At the time, Jean had just thought he was being paranoid… but now?“Goddammmit…” She cranked and reached for the secure phone handset to call the BA facility. There was no tone. She tried several times and got nothing. Probably due to the removed chip.

  She was just starting to ponder that too when something changed. Although there was no sound, the air pressure had subtly altered in the cabin. As if someone… or something… had moved behind her.

  “Hello Jean,” came a quiet, deep voice from behind her.

  She did manage not to scream, but only just. Her body did seem to leap a few inches out of her seat instead, though.

  She slowly turned around and saw a large man clad all in black looming in the hatchway to the passenger compartment. His face held no amusement, and his sea-blue eyes held no warmth. For reasons she couldn’t consciously articulate, a shiver crawled up her spine at the mere sight of him.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I had to wait until your friend left.”

  “What… what are you doing here?” Jean croaked. “Have you heard about Veronica?”

  The man scoffed, “Oh, I’ve heard. I’m here because I need your help, Jean. I need this plane. I have some… collections to make in Wyoming.”

  “What do you mean?” Jean asked. She felt strange. Not exactly afraid, but not exactly comfortable, either. His demeanor seemed… oddly flat, like somebody in a dream rather than the dynamic personality you’d expect.

  “There is a reckoning to pay,” he said. “Those responsible will be forced to atone for their evil.”

  Jean shivered, “Suppose I refuse to help you? I can’t be part of harming Andy or his family.”

  There was a pause, “I’m not giving you a choice, Jean. I’m not entirely convinced you’re innocent either. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now… but if you refuse to help me, I’ll be forced to treat you as an… adversary.”

  Jean stared at him for a long time. Although his manner was odd, somewhat aloof and cold, she also felt empathy for him. Yet she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know who to trust.

  Without directly challenging her, the man in black was offering her a choice. Entreating her to choose a side. His side or the side of her soon-to-be family.

  “You know I can’t side against Andy,” she finally said, raising her chin slightly in defiance. “Dammit… you know that.”

  “He’s on the wrong side,” the man said. “Maybe he didn’t do this… but one of the four did.”

  “Four?” Jean asked in slight bewilderment. “Do you mean Natalie?”

  “No. Franklin.”

  Jean frowned at that, “Will Franklin? No way.”

  A shrug, “Is that your final decision?”

  “I can’t go against Andy.”

  The man sighed, “Very well. I admire your loyalty, Jean. I can’t approve of it, but I do admire it.”

  “So what now?’ she asked. “It’s not like you can take the plane. There’s a critical component…”

  Even as she said it, and even as he drew the cookie-sized chip from his pocket, she registered no surprise. That chip had been deliberately removed.

  “I’m sorry, Jean.”

  She never even had time to ask why before his other hand shot out, there was a momentary hiss and then Jean Belmar plummeted into a depthless night.

  24

  Lisa’s journal entry 3

  After having dinner with Juan and Sharon, and watching a movie, Jackie and I drove the dogs back to my house. Jackie was in the shower, and I was sitting on the porch while the boys ran around the yard when my phone rang. It was Clay.

  “What’s up, la chica caliente!?” he asked in his usual ebullient way.

  “Just hanging at the ranch, what’s up with you?”

  “Well, we’re all packed up and ready to head south tomorrow morning,” Clay explained. “I tried to get in touch with Scotty with the knotty body… but I get no answer.”

  “Headed south? Uhm… some stuff has happened, Clay… Scott is… uhm… out of contact.”

  He waited.

  “Veronica Bradford was killed last night,” I explained. “Scott… sort of…vanished. And the two guys who actually did the killing were found hanging from her balcony this morning by me.”

  “Damn… he hung them?”

  I explained in more detail, “I think he’s rounding up the suspects or something. But I haven’t heard anything except a note saying he had work to do. His Jeep is parked at the Harborage Marina, and he took the Maverick he recently got.”

  Clay muttered something, “Okay… well, I’ll tell you what. We’re going down to Everglades City with the camper. Gonna spend a few days there and then head to Marathon. Why don’t Missy and I come by on our way and grab the dogs? We’d love to have them, and it’d free you up.”

  “That’s nice, but…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clay offered. “Since our guy passed a few months back, it’s been kind of empty. Be nice to have Rocky and Morgan for a while. Anything else I can do?”

  I sighed, “That’s nice… but I don’t think so. I’m not even sure what I’m doing. I’m looking more into things to try and figure the case out. Maybe if I can zero in on the real bad guys, I can find and help Scott. I don’t know, it’s just weird.”

  At about eight in the morning… what’s up with all these early worms? Don’t they know that the early bird is out there just waiting to pounce? Anyway, about eight, Clay’s big truck rolled up towing his camper. Everybody got out and Missy and the kids hugged me, and I introduced them all to Jackie. She’d already been up and gone for a run.

  “See that, Lisa?” Clay needled. “See the benefits of getting up early?”

  I scoffed, “Everybody knows you Army guys are crazy.”

  Both he and Jackie, both Marines, punched me lightly in both arms. The Delaney clan gathered up the dogs and their stuff and headed out of Chickasaw Oaks on their way south. I said we’d try and get down there before they broke camp and do some boating or kayaking with them.

  “You know,” Jackie suggested when we went back inside to get coffee, “maybe it’s time we started getting more aggressive. You said one of these Bradford people has a ranch in LaBelle, right?”

  I nodded, “Yeah, the uncle. One of Scott’s suspects. So you say we drive down there and confront him. I think you’re right. Because Doctor Campbell is already mis
sing, and the uncle would be the obvious next target.”

  “See? Aren’t you so fortunate that I came along?”

  “Don’t know what I’d do without you, Jackie.”

  We were halfway to LaBelle, right around the Venice area on I-75 south, when I got a call from an unknown number. It turned out to be a very nice lady with a southern accent.

  “Good morning, Lisa, this is Ellen Parker with ICE. I have some further information for you. Its bits and pieces, but you might find it useful.”

  “Wow, you guys are an amazing resource,” I said. “Thank you, Ellen.”

  “My pleasure… now let’s see… the first thing, and Scott would understand this more after reading the financial data I sent him a few days back… is that BA, Inc. has several LLC subsidiaries in the greater Boston area. All managed by Wilfred Franklin. Further, each of those has made regular deposits into an offshore bank account in Grand Cayman. Several million dollars over the past two years or so.”

  “Hmmm…” I muttered. I’d read the information too. “Sounds like somebody is embezzling funds.”

  “Perhaps… I’ve also got something else,” Ellen reported. “I’ve been correlating medical records pertaining to Doctor Felix Campbell and the Bradford family. I’ll email all this along later… but essentially, he’s been connected to them as far back as 1997. Fertility testing on both Julius and Marian Bradford. They tried for quite a while to get pregnant… not until Doctor Campbell put her on some new fertility complex did it finally happen. However…”

  I leaned in toward the wheel, as if getting closer to the speakers would help me absorb the info better, “Go on…”

  “The first three sperm count tests on Julius came back extremely low,” Ellen stated. “So low that unless something had happened to the man previously, he could probably never father a child.”

  “But he’s got a son a few years older than the daughter,” I stated.