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

by Robert Tarrant

  Dockery cleared his throat and said, “I haven’t been able to reach Weston the past few days myself. He’s really dumped this project in my lap. Something else came along that he thought was just too juicy to pass up. I believe that he has the college student working on the new project with him. I don’t recall her name, I really only met her once. It was at a meeting with Weston and she mostly just sat there looking at him with big cow eyes. I think she had a big time crush on him. Really, there is no reason you and I can’t move forward with the production of my project. I can meet with you anytime you would like.”

  “You say this student . . . had . . . a crush on Weston. What happened? She no longer has a crush on him?”

  Obvious confusion flashed across Dockery’s face. I didn’t know if it was because he was scrambling to craft an answer or because he was surprised by my interest in the student. I hoped I hadn’t pushed too hard. He finally responded, “I think they had quite the torrid little affair for a short time until his editors at the paper found out and read him the riot act. Last thing the paper wants is to have one of their senior writers taking advantage of his position to get into bed with college interns. Print media is having enough trouble staying viable these days without a sordid scandal like that.”

  Dockery’s non-verbal communication seemed to indicate he was lying. Yet, I didn’t know what or how much he was lying. Was the affair between Allison and Weston a lie or only the part about the paper deriding him? I didn’t know how far to push. How to determine if there was a connection between this investigative project and Allison’s death. Then another thought exploded in my brain like fireworks on the 4th of July. What if the affair story was true and that’s why they’re both dead? Maybe Weston had a wife? An unforgiving, vindictive, wife. Maybe Allison had a violent boyfriend? Yet, if it was something like that why would Dockery conceal Weston’s death from me? Why, after I said I was interested in the project, not just tell me that Weston was dead? I would have no choice but to move forward with Dockery. If the cops don’t know why Weston and Allison were killed how could I expect Dockery to know. Maybe he’s afraid that if I know Weston is dead I will shy away from the project. That was Justin’s theory as he concocted this little charade. I just couldn’t be certain. At least not under the pressure of my undercover role play.

  I decided to back off a little and fan his obvious burning desire to have the project considered his alone, “I see. Let me do this. When I get back to New York I’ll sit down with our attorneys. I’ll ask them to craft a letter to Weston stating our understanding that he is no longer involved in the project and that unless we hear differently from him we’ll proceed with you as the project owner. I don’t intend to hold this up attempting to get in touch with Weston.”

  The words were barely out of my mouth when a wave of relief rippled across Dockery’s face, he drained his drink, held the glass high rattling the ice to get the bartender’s attention, and said, “I’m going to have another, sure you don’t want a drink?”

  Wow. This guy does have a problem. That was a double he slammed down in the last five minutes. I wanted to keep pressing to see if I could learn anything more but I also knew I needed to hold to my original scam of needing to hurry to the airport. I shook off his drink offer and asked, “So, tell me Mr. Dockery, who are we going to make enemies of with this story?”

  He leaned back in his chair, looked toward the ceiling and laughed. Unfortunately, the sudden laugh sent him into a coughing fit. The bartender set down his new drink and Dockery took a measured sip while holding his left hand up in a stop signal. Finally, he got control and said, “Excuse me.” Another short sip before continuing, “This story will make enemies of some very high government officials. I can tell you that. To say nothing of some very powerful industrialists. You’re not afraid of controversy, are you?”

  I gave him my most condescending look, “Of course we’re not afraid of controversy. We thrive on controversy. Yet, what separates us from the entertainment rags is that we have our ducks in a row before we put anything out. So, Mr. Dockery you’ll need to have facts in support of your theories. Our fact checkers are very thorough. I do not intend to be a part of another debacle like the Bush military service fiasco.”

  Dockery seemed to puff up a bit, “I could give you an electronic file today with enough facts to keep your people busy for a good long time, but I would feel more comfortable if we had some type of legal agreement first.” The corners of his mouth turned up in an obvious insincere smile, “I’m sure you understand.”

  I replied, “Of course, we wouldn’t have it any other way.” I realized that I was going to need a strategy to really learn if there was a connection between Dockery’s story and Allison’s death. I needed to sit down with Justin and come up with another approach. I paused before continuing, “Give me your card. I’ll have my office contact you in the next couple of days and we’ll set another meeting. In the meantime, our lawyers will get something off to Weston to clear that little hurdle.”

  Dockery reached into the front pocket of his safari shirt and produced a business card. Charles Dockery, Investigative Reporter, with the cell number Justin had located. It was good card stock if nothing else. I had to give him that.

  I stood up and reached out to shake hands, “It was very good to meet you Mr. Dockery. We will be in touch soon. Now, I must run to make my flight.”

  He shook my hand. A cold fish hand shake. “Ah, yes. Great to meet you also. Here, I will walk out with you.”

  Can’t have that. “Thank you, but that is not necessary.” Nodding toward the bar I said, “Besides, I think if you don’t settle up with that young man we’ll no longer be welcome here and we may well want to meet here again.”

  Looking a bit flustered Dockery replied, “Oh yes, of course. Thank you again for the meeting. Looking forward to hearing from you.”

  By the time he got the last of his words out I was already halfway across the lobby headed for the front doors at the fastest pace I could walk without breaking into a trot. The second I was out the door I called, “Taxi” to the doorman. He raised his arm and the first taxi in the long cue moved up to where I was standing at the curb. I nearly dove into the backseat and said, “Airport. Lauderdale. Hurry.” I slumped in the backseat turning slightly to look out the back window as we eased into the beach traffic on South Ocean Drive. Dockery was just exiting the front doors. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like he was headed for the pedestrian bridge to the parking ramp where my car was parked.

  When we got to the intersection of U.S.1 and Griffin Road just outside the airport, I told the cab driver to turn around and take me back to the Diplomat. He looked at me like I was crazy but when I repeated myself he made a u-turn and started back.

  Once I was in my car I called Justin and gave him a quick rundown of the meeting with Dockery. I told him I’d give him more details when I got back but I needed to stop at Cap’s for a few minutes first.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  It was nearly 5:00 p.m. when I got to Cap’s. As I parked Moe came ambling out the back door, “Hi Boss. Yu did stop back.”

  What is it with the attitude toward me around here? “I told you I’d be back. I just couldn’t talk earlier. I was running late.”

  Moe and I stood next to my car and I told him what PJ and Tim told me about the Lexus he found on the security camera disk. While talking with Moe I realized that after my performance with Dockery I was physically drained, but my mind was spinning. I needed to clear my head even before I returned to Sissy and Justin.

  After my short conversation with Moe, I pulled out of the lot, turned south and headed toward Hollywood Beach.

  Given the evening hour on a Sunday in the off season, I found a parking spot on Hayes Street between A1A and Surf Road. A strong cooling breeze was blowing off the Atlantic so business was light at the bars and restaurants along South Broadwalk. From the time I first arrived in South Florida I’ve loved this area. It’s what I envi
sion an urban beach area should be like. Sand beach paralleled for nearly two miles by a wide brick walk. Along the walk are a myriad of bars, restaurants, tee-shirt shops, motels, condos, and the occasional beach front house. The area doesn’t impose the chaos of Fort Lauderdale Beach or the attitude of South Beach.

  I stopped at the walk-up window at Nick’s and bought a Landshark in a plastic cup. Finding a vacant bench I sat down looking out at the rolling waves breaking on the beach. The crystal blue of the sky had drained into the aquamarine of the water leaving the sky a light gray and the ocean nearly black. I alternated between deep breaths of the cool air and long drinks of the cold beer. I felt like a circus juggler spinning too many plates on the end of sticks. Running from plate to plate to keep all of them spinning. I knew that the only way to clarify the thoughts spinning in my mind was to bring them all to a halt and start again one by one. I forced myself to look, and see, the sights around me. The occasional couple walking down Broadwalk. The palms waving in the breeze. The gulls swooping low over the cresting waves. I needed to focus on something, anything, to slow my mind. A slow moving pusher barge headed South toward Miami caught my attention. I tried to imagine what each of the various colored shipping containers held. Could be anything from electronics to textiles. Fertilizer to machine parts. Coffee beans to dope. Coming from who knows where. Headed to who knows where. Wonder how long those containers have been in transit? One pusher barge can occupy a person’s mind just about as long as you allow it.

  Finishing my Landshark, I ambled farther down Broadwalk and bought another in a small market that seems to change its name every six months. My continued stroll south was impeded by a gaggle of Japanese tourists. I finally got around them and through the small crowd starting to gather at the bandshell for the evening’s free entertainment. Finding another empty bench I decided it was time to attempt to bring some order to the jumble of issues swirling in my head.

  First, we had PJ telling us about the threat against Sissy and then the attack on Sissy at Pinnacle. Now we know that Allison, and for that matter Weston, were already dead before Sissy was attacked. I can see a connection between Allison and Weston, either the affair Dockery had told me about or the project they were working on. Those parts could fit together, but how does that connect to Sissy?

  Then, we have the killer at the guest house. At least that’s what Justin says. Maybe that’s just a smokescreen, too? I haven’t seen anything that proves anyone was there. He described the gash to the guy’s face, but I’m certain that the story of Sissy fighting off her attacker at Pinnacle is known at Cap’s by now. Yet, Justin does seem to be everything he purports to be, and he certainly does have access to sophisticated equipment. What would be his motive for fabricating the story of killing Sissy’s attacker? Still if he knows that her attacker had found our hiding place, why is he not pushing to move her? Wouldn’t he be afraid that someone else would be coming? He said that he thought it was safe enough, especially with the intrusion detection equipment he had put in place. Does that make good sense or should he be pushing to move Sissy to somewhere new?

  Then there is the Lexus in the parking lot at Cap’s. Are those related? Was the guy in the Lexus watching Cap’s? Could that somehow have led him to the guest house? That doesn’t fit Justin’s story because the guy returned the Lexus to the rental company after Justin says he killed him. Maybe they’re not the same guy. Maybe the Lexus in the lot has nothing to do with the attack on Sissy. Yet, the guy who rented the Lexus was using an alias. Get real Jack, probably on any given day plenty of people in South Florida use an alias.

  I felt like I had organized things a little in my mind but still had more questions than answers. Okay Jack, make a list of questions and figure out where to look for answers. Is the attack on Sissy related to Allison’s death? Come on Jack, start with something easier. Okay, were Allison and Weston having an affair? Maybe PJ knows from her investigation. She didn’t mention it and you would have thought she would have asked Sissy about that when we met. Could the cops have missed that like they did the fact that Allison backed up her computer with a flash drive? I’ll ask Sissy and if she doesn’t know, I’ll give Allison’s roommate a call.

  Has Justin learned anything more about the guy who attacked Sissy from the identification he took when the guy came to the guest house? If there even was a guy at the guest house. I’ll ask when I get back there. Maybe his identity will somehow point us in the direction of whoever is after Sissy.

  I didn’t know if it was the cool sea air, the beer, or the fact that I had taken the time to organize my thoughts to some degree, but I felt better. I had a couple of ideas to pursue to attempt to put the pieces of this puzzle together. I was ready to go back and give Justin and Sissy the full rundown on my meeting with Dockery.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  It was nearly 7:00 p.m. when I arrived at the guest house. Justin opened the front door as I was walking up. It dawned on me that he always knew exactly when I was coming in from the intrusion detection equipment. Duh! He was holding a dishtowel as he opened the door. I couldn’t resist, “Catching up on your housework?”

  Justin looked momentarily perplexed then responded, “Oh this, Sissy and I have been putting together a homemade pizza.”

  I thought, ‘Oh really, you two are becoming quite the domestic couple.’ I said, “Great. I’m starved.”

  Justin frowned just the slightest, “Well, you’ll just have to starve a little longer. Pizza hasn’t gone in the oven yet. We were waiting for you to get back. Let’s grab a beer and you can tell me all about Dockery.”

  Sissy came out of the kitchen carrying a kitchen mitt. “Hi Jack. I just put the pizza in the oven. Thirty minutes or so.”

  I went out to the patio and Justin joined me carrying two beers. Sissy followed with a bottle of Coke. Justin handed me a beer and gesturing over his shoulder toward Sissy with the corners of his mouth turning up in the slightest smile said, “Our little friend here has decided that after last night she should lay off a bit.”

  I grabbed the opening, “Yeah, they just don’t make women like they used to, do they?”

  Sissy extended her middle finger while sticking her tongue out at us. Justin and I both feigned surprise and disgust. Sissy slouched into a chair and said, “Tell you what. We get all of this mess behind us and I’ll take you two out and drink both of you under the table.”

  Justin momentarily choked on the swallow of beer he had in his mouth but responded, “Well Jack, that certainly sounds like a challenge worth taking.”

  “Damn straight,” I replied. It was good to have some light-hearted banter in the air for a change.

  We all settled around the patio table and I related my meeting with Dockery in detail. When I got to the part about an affair between Allison and Weston, I started to ask Sissy what she thought but Justin interrupted me and suggested that I go through the entire story before we start to dissect it. At first, I was taken aback but immediately realized he was right. Relate the complete story before I get distracted and leave something out. I know that.

  I noticed that while I was talking Justin had slid the notepad on the table toward him and jotted a couple of notes on it. When I finished my story, he stared at the couple of cryptic notes he had made for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, he looked up at me but said nothing. I understood what he was doing. Silence is difficult for most people, especially after they have related a story or answered a question. When faced with silence, most people will continue talking. The silence makes them feel like their answer must not be complete. Silence is a basic tactic employed by all good interrogators.

  It worked. I started talking again, but felt like I was really just rehashing what I had said the first time. Justin made a couple of additional scribbles on his pad as I talked. Maybe more did come out the second time around. I was starting to feel very self-conscious. I didn’t know why, I just felt it creeping up on me. Maybe it was Justin’s stoic stare. For some reason, I wa
s feeling that I wasn’t meeting his expectations. I felt myself starting to babble, jumping back and forth in the story. Get a grip Jack.

  Finally, Justin took an uncharacteristically long drink of his beer and the spell was broken. I took a not so uncharacteristically long drink of mine and tried to relax. Justin turned to Sissy and said, “Sissy, what do you think about Dockery’s statement about something going on between Allison and Weston?”

  Sissy pursed her lips and shook her head back and forth, “I don’t believe it. The only times Allison talked about him it was always negative. I don’t think she had any interest in him outside her college project.”

  I asked, “Any chance she was throwing out negative comments just as a cover? You know, so no one would suspect there was something going on between them.”

  Sissy wrinkled her nose and replied, “Not this kind of stuff. She talked about him having bad breath and sometimes even body odor.”

  Justin chuckled, “Can’t argue that. Doesn’t sound like the kind of thing someone says even if they are trying to throw suspicion off. What other things did she say about Weston?”

  Sissy looked down at the table, obviously searching her memory. She looked up and said, “She didn’t really say much about him. Couple of times she said he was pressing her to finish whatever portion of the project she was working on at the time. She said he was a real slave driver. I don’t think she liked him much, but she wanted to do well in the class. Really, I think her sights were on television and this guy was a newspaper writer so I don’t think she even saw him as a step to her future. More like a necessary hurdle to get over. Besides, what would she care if I knew something was going on between them. She might even brag about it, if it was true. That’s just my opinion.”