Cap's Place: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 1)

by Robert Tarrant

  I finished my drink and told Justin that I was going to go in to get some sleep. He said that he’d sleep on the couch in the great room again. As I left him sitting at the table, I noticed that he still had the inch of scotch in his glass. He hadn’t touched it.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The next morning while the three of us were having coffee on the patio, I told Sissy about my thought that we should meet with PJ to see if she could remember anything that would help with the investigation into Allison’s death. I told her everything I could remember about the Miami reporter. Sissy said she knew that Allison was taking classes at Broward College and that Allison dreamed of being a television reporter someday. We decided to all go out for breakfast and I’d call PJ and set up a meeting. Justin said that he’d drive his own car so that Sissy and I could go directly to meet with PJ. We went to the same cafe that Sissy and I had gone to a couple of days earlier. I knew it was violating the rules of a secret agent to go back to the same place twice, but I knew where it was and didn’t feel like driving around looking for a new place with Justin following us.

  After we had placed our orders, I went outside and called PJ. She told me that she was busy right at the moment and couldn’t talk but agreed to meet in two hours. She suggested the Moonlite Diner again and before I could say anything she was gone. I guess she doesn’t follow the secret agent rules either.

  We were on our second pot of coffee before breakfast came. We had gotten the last open table when we arrived. Families out for breakfast on Sunday morning. I swear half of the tables included three yelling kids. What is it with kids anyway, why can’t they just talk, why do they need to yell everything they say? When we finished our breakfast and were walking out I noticed that the line waiting to be seated was at least seventy percent kids under ten. Note to self, do not go out to breakfast on Sunday morning.

  Justin told us he’d meet us back at the guest house after we finished our meeting with PJ. We had plenty of time, so I drove south on A1A through Fort Lauderdale. Traffic was heavy but we were in no hurry. I think it was good for Sissy. A little dose of normalcy in a life that has spun out of control. Hiding behind high tech equipment, being protected by someone who until a couple of days ago was a simple deck hand but in reality is a lethal weapon, from a threat no one can identify. Very surreal to say the least. Luckily, she only knows the half of it.

  At the diner we found a corner booth in the back. We both ordered Cokes. I couldn’t stomach any more coffee this morning. I was tempted to order a Landshark but thought the better of it. Our drinks had just been delivered when PJ and Tim walked in. For some reason, I expected PJ to be alone. PJ ordered an iced tea and Tim ordered coffee. We made the obligatory small talk until their drinks arrived.

  After the waitress left I broke the ice, “Any luck with the video Moe found?”

  Tim replied, “Yes and no. We were able to enhance the video and read the plate. A rental from an outfit at Miami International that specializes in high-end vehicles. Mostly SUVs. BMW, Lexus, Escalade, that kind of stuff. They even add touches like fancy wheels and subtle pin-striping to their vehicles. Provide vehicles for special events. Bowl games, Super Bowl, that kind of stuff. Always something going on in this area. Plenty of high rollers coming and going. They all have an entourage. They like the high-end trucks to get around.”

  I interrupted, “So did you ID the driver?”

  Tim’s expression indicated he didn’t appreciate my interruption, “No, at least not yet. We may not be able to at all.”

  Before he could continue I again interrupted, “Why not? Didn’t he need a driver’s license and credit card to rent it?”

  Tim snapped back, “I thought you were a prosecutor once. Never see anyone use bogus ID and credit cards?”

  I accepted the rebuke, “Sure, I understand. I guess I thought it would be more difficult with a car rental. Seems like they would run the credit card when you arrived. Would know it was bogus by the time you returned.”

  A look of smugness crept across Tim’s face, “Oh the card is legit. At least it’s not stolen and has been paid up in the past. Our guess is that this guy is a real pro. Bogus New York driver’s license. Credit card account in the same name with the same bogus mailing address as the license. Card does have a use history, but it has been paid online from a bank account in New York that sits there with money but no other activity. It was opened a couple of years ago with a cash deposit of thirty-thousand dollars and no one has touched it since. It’s been used to pay on several other credit cards. All of which were issued in bogus names as well. None of them have been used in months. Looks like someone who frequently switches identities.”

  I was impressed with all they had learned since last night, especially on a weekend. I guess the security departments of the credit card companies and banks never sleep. Probably can’t in today’s fraud prone world. I asked, “When is he due back with the SUV?”

  Tim replied, “That’s just it. The truck was returned at six on Saturday morning. It’s already been cleaned and gone out again. Not that I would expect to find anything in the truck. Someone this professional isn’t going to leave anything behind. Miami detective talked to the rental people early this morning. Same people working this morning as yesterday. Couple of people at the counter and a shuttle driver. No one remembered anything significant. Guy, average height and build, nothing stood out. He dropped off the truck and took the shuttle to the terminal. The shuttle driver said he vaguely remembered the guy. Since it was early, he was the only one on the shuttle. Driver tried to make small talk, but the guy didn’t seem interested so he let it drop. I doubt if anyone at the rental company could pick him out even if we already had him in hand. Certainly nothing there to lead us to him.”

  PJ and Tim looked back and forth at each other. It was obvious that they were leaving something out. I asked, “So what else? I have the distinct feeling that there is something more about the guy.”

  PJ took a deep breath, “After we got the plate number from the vehicle that had been at Cap’s, I remembered that I’d never heard from Escapade P.D. about the plates on the vehicles leaving shortly after Sissy was attacked. I called Lieutenant Mills. You met him that night in Sissy’s room. Turns out that they had the registration information on the plates of vehicles leaving the lot. Time and location fit witness statements. Unfortunately, Mills had gotten involved in something else and had told one of his sergeants to contact me with the information. The sergeant forgot to contact me and Mills forgot to check. It slipped through the cracks. One of the plates was the same as the one captured at Cap’s.”

  I didn’t do well hiding my ire, “So, you could have known exactly what vehicle you were looking for as early as Thursday. We could have been looking for him the whole time.” PJ exhaled and nodded. Tim stared down at the table.

  We all sat quietly for a couple of minutes before PJ broke the silence. “Sissy, I’m sure Jack told you that we’re trying to learn more about the project Allison was working on with a reporter named Weston out of Miami. A project for one of her classes at Broward College. Did she ever mention it to you?”

  Sissy smiled, really more of a sneer than a smile, “Every time she wanted to remind me that I hadn’t finished college and she was going to. After we’d seen some woman reporter doing a dramatic piece on the news, Allison would tell me that was going to be her in a couple of years.”

  PJ asked, “Did she ever mention what the project was about? What the topic was?”

  Sissy drew a deep breath as if she felt that increased oxygen would help her remember, “Not really. She said things about it being really big, how people would really be surprised, but I always thought it was just her bragging. I can’t remember her saying what it was about. I asked a couple of times but she’d just give me her smug look and say it would all come out soon enough. Her whole attitude pissed me off, so I intentionally didn’t ask any more. She thought she was so much better than the rest of us.” A pained look clou
ded her face and Sissy gasped, “Oh, I shouldn’t be talking about her that way.”

  PJ reached across the table and patted Sissy on the back of the hand, “That’s okay Sissy. We all know you don’t mean any harm. You’re just telling us how things were. We understand.”

  Sissy looked up and said, “What about her computer? Can’t you tell what she was working on from her computer?”

  PJ looked at me, then back to Sissy, “We haven’t been able to find her computer.”

  I interjected, “Sorry, I forgot to mention that to Sissy.”

  Sissy asked, “What about her flash drive? Did you find that?”

  PJ, Tim, and I took turns looking at each other. Finally, we all three, nearly simultaneously, said, “What flash drive?”

  Sissy looked at each of us in turn, “Allison was always saving everything on a flash drive. At least the couple of times I saw her working on the project on her computer. You know, when it was slow at Cap’s. She would have her computer setting on the end of the bar and she’d be working on it between customers. She always had the flash drive in the computer and when she went to wait on a customer she would take the flash drive with her. She’d put it in her pocket. I even saw her put it down the front of her bra when her shorts were too tight to get her hands in the pockets.”

  PJ asked, “So you think the project was on that flash drive?”

  Sissy cocked her head to one side and answered, “I know it was. Allison told me a long story one time about a classmate who had her computer stolen and lost a whole semester’s work. Allison said that wasn’t going to happen to her so she backed everything up on a flash drive. This project was the most important thing she was doing. The internship was her only class this term. It was two terms long. Summer and fall. She had worked on it through the summer term, and was to finish up this fall. It was on that flash drive. I’d bet on it.”

  Tim rubbed his chin, “Sissy, you mentioned Allison carrying it on her person when she was working at Cap’s, but do you have any idea where she kept it the rest of the time?”

  Sissy looked down at the table. Finally, she looked up shaking her head. “No, not really.”

  We all remained quiet. Each lost in thought. Maybe the flash drive made no difference. Maybe it was gone with her computer and phone. I wondered why no one else had mentioned it. Her roommate nor her mother. Probably because everyone was asking about the computer and it just never occurred to them. Sissy had just happened to remember. Yet, Allison probably had the flash drive with her when she was killed and it was long gone. I could feel the energy leaving the table as if someone had pulled the plug on one of those inflatable beds.

  PJ seemed to get her focus back first, “We’ll start looking specifically for this flash drive. Maybe we can turn something up. We have one other lead on this project Allison was working on. One of the other reporters at the Herald mentioned a freelance reporter that this Weston sometimes worked with on more involved pieces. A guy by the name of Dockery. Charles Dockery. We called him but he blew us off. One of those guys who believes adamantly in the right of the free press. Wouldn’t even meet with us.”

  Sissy looked perplexed, “He wouldn’t even help you try to solve the murder of another reporter?”

  Tim answered, “That’s where it stands at the moment. We’re a long way from giving up. Probably shouldn’t have called him on the phone. Should have just shown up on his doorstep. Harder to say no when you’re looking them in the eye.”

  I interjected, “That’s no doubt true, but some of these guys are damn stubborn. They’re protecting society from the government. Everything involving government boils down to freedom of the press to them. I had a case where a reporter went to jail rather than answer questions during a trial of a gang banger charged with murder.”

  Sissy asked, “What happened? Did he finally answer the questions?” She chuckled, “Or is he still in jail?”

  “Defendant was killed one night in the jail. Ended the trial. Judge released the reporter.”

  Tim grinned, “Might have been more than freedom of the press. Maybe he was afraid that if he testified he’d end up dead.”

  I admitted, “I’m sure that was a factor.”

  Tim responded, “Don’t think that’s the case here. From what we’ve learned, this guy is just one of those right wing nuts. Everything is a government conspiracy. We’ll keep coming at him but I’m not confident we’ll ever get any cooperation.”

  PJ looked toward Sissy, “How you doing Sissy? You holding up okay?” Sissy had a faraway look in her eyes. That thousand-yard stare. PJ reached across the table and patted her hand again. “Sissy, you okay?”

  Sissy’s eyes cleared and she gave a forced smile, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Jack is watching out for me. Just . . . err, Jack is a good bodyguard. I’m fine. I was just wondering if I’ll ever have my life back to normal.”

  A quizzical look crossed PJ’s face. She looked toward me and then back to Sissy, “Anything you need? Anything we can do?”

  Sissy responded, “No, no, we’re fine. It’s not you guys. I trust you guys totally. It’s just that after the Pinnacle I think it’s best if I just stay hidden. You know with Jack.”

  PJ smiled at Sissy, “Sure I understand. You need to know that countless people are working on this investigation. The attack on you, Allison’s murder, the Weston murder, the whole thing. Something will break. You’ll get your normal life back. I promise.”

  I remembered PJ promising to protect Sissy when this whole mess started. That hadn’t worked out too well. For once I kept my mouth shut.

  We agreed to call PJ on Monday morning. Sissy and I left in my car. I let Tim pick up the check this time.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Sissy and I drove back to the guest house. Justin was already there sitting on the patio having a beer. I grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, which Justin had restocked with Landshark, and we joined him. I’m starting to like this guy. Anyone who remembers to replenish the Landshark can’t be all bad.

  We recounted our conversation with PJ and Tim. Justin listened intently. I thought I noticed the slightest uptick in interest when we got to the part about the rental SUV being dropped off at the airport Saturday morning. The slightest smirk, but maybe not. Maybe it was just me seeing things that weren't there. It was when we got to the portion about Charles Dockery that Justin started to ask questions, “So this Dockery won’t even meet with the cops?”

  I replied, “Guess that’s where it stands at the moment. I’m confident that they’re not done leaning on him. Maybe he’ll come to see the light. Of course we don’t even know that the story they were working on has anything to do with Allison’s death or the threats against Sissy.”

  Justin looked directly at me with those gray laser eyes, “Too many threads to be coincidence. My guess is that the reporter and Allison were killed as a result of their investigation and that somehow Sissy has gotten swept up in the mess. That’s my guess.”

  Sissy sat still with her face frozen in unmasked fear, “Oh my God, these people are going to find me, kill me, and I don’t even know why.”

  I leaned forward, placed my hands on either side of her shoulders holding her firmly, looking directly into her frightened eyes, “No one is going to find you and no one is going to kill you. Justin and I will see to that.” When I told her this before I had my doubts. For some reason, I now believed my own words.

  The light returned to her eyes and Sissy forced a smile, “I know, it’s just that sometimes I get really scared. Look what happened to Allison. Now that reporter, too.”

  Justin set down his beer and said, “I don’t think we should wait for the cops. I think we need to talk to this Dockery.”

  I cut in, “If this guy won’t talk to the police he certainly isn’t going to talk to us. What are we going to do, beat it out of him?” The second the words were out of my mouth I wished I had them back. Justin probably needs no encouragement to beat information out of people.
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br />   A faint smile crept across Justin’s face, “That’s certainly one option, but I was thinking of something a little more subtle. If we beat him we’ll need to kill him or we’ll be the next ones the cops talk to. Somehow, I just don’t think that standing on his freedom of the press principles is justification for killing him.”

  I sighed with relief, bringing another faint smile to Justin’s face. I cautiously asked, “What subtle approach do you have in mind?” Probably some psychotropic drug treatment that will erase his memory after we get what we want.

  Justin reached up and scratched the top of his stubbled head and answered, “Most reporters are motivated by notoriety as much as by money. They’re all looking for the next Watergate, the Pulitzer. That’s how we get him to talk to us.”

  I replied, “Sorry friend, you lost me.”

  Justin rubbed his chin. I could almost see the gears spinning in his mind. A light sparked in his eyes. In most people you might call it a twinkle, but in Justin it was a definitely a glint. “Here is what we do. We have Sissy call him and say that she’s the personal assistant of Mr. Jackson Nolan the television documentary producer. That Mr. Nolan has been discussing a segment for 60 Minutes with the other reporter. What’s his name? The one killed?”

  I thought for a minute and remembered his name through association with the town on the edge of the Everglades, “Weston. That was his last name. I don’t know his first name.”

  Justin continued, “Doesn’t matter. We can get his first name from the internet. Must be articles out there with his name. Anyway, Sissy tells this Dockery that Mr. Nolan has been talking to Mr. Weston about the 60 Minutes piece and that they were to meet as Mr. Nolan was coming through Miami on his way back from South America. That Sissy can’t locate Mr. Weston but that his name, Dockery, is listed as part of the investigative team and she is hoping that he would be willing to meet with Mr. Nolan to give him an update on the progress of the project in order to keep it in the production schedule. I’m willing to bet he’ll jump at the chance to tell Mr. Nolan everything he knows about the investigation. He probably has already begun to consider the project his rather than Weston’s.”