by Mark Stone
“Is that so bad?” she asked, blinking at me.
“No,” I admitted. “It’s not bad at all. I’m just not sure I’d keep my hopes up.”
“After what happened to my earrings, I certainly won’t,” she said. “He must have thought they were actual sapphires. I guess he figured he could get some money for them.”
“If he’d have known what my bank account looked like back then, he wouldn’t have made that mistake,” I answered.
“They still mean something to me,” Charlotte said. “Which is why, when you’re finished with this case, I’d like them back.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Where did you find them anyway?”
“At a house on Calhoun street,” I answered, figuring I could give her that much, seeing as how it concerned her. “A house that was supposed to be abandoned. What happened when Oscar left, Char?” I asked. “Why did he leave and where did he say he was going?”
“He left because I asked him to,” she said. “He had been staying out very late at night, and I just knew he was up to his old tricks again.” She shook her head. “Lesson on not, I couldn’t let Isaac live around that.”
“Where did he go?” I asked, picking up a ham sandwich and stuffing half of it into my mouth.
“Well, I wasn’t sure at first,” she said, sighing. “He was really pissed off, and said he wasn’t staying in town if even family didn’t want him there. Maybe he conned some pawn shop owner into paying him for the earrings to get him some money for the trip. Though, I still don't know how they might have ended up in an abandoned house.”
“I might,” I answered, finishing the sandwich. “Oscar had always been a clean cut guy when I knew him, but had that changed, Char? Had he let his hair grow out? His beard? Was he kind of scruffy?”
I remembered what that poor single father on Calhoun street said to me about the person who had been living in the abandoned house, about the description he’d given.
“How did you know that?” Charlotte asked, her eyes widening.
“Lucky guess,” I said. “I’m not sure he ever left town, Char. I think he might have been living on Calhoun street for months.”
“Really?” Char asked. “That’s insane. Of course, he’s not living there anymore.”
“No, he’s not,” I said, thinking about what the single father said about the last time he’d seen anyone outside the abandoned house. “But how did you know that?”
“Because,” Charlotte said, picking up a tray of sandwiches and suggesting I do the same. “He got in touch with me a few weeks ago and gave me a forwarding address for his mail and things.”
“Where was it?” I asked, following her toward the kitchen door with a tray in hand.
“Up the coast,” she answered. “In Fort Myers.”
My heart stopped. Fort Myers was where Archer, the man who had been hanged from the rafters in the first abandoned house was from. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I had an idea, one I was going to have to follow up on immediately.
“Charlotte,” I said, setting the tray down before we got to the kitchen door. “Will you please apologize to Boomer and Debbie for me?”
“For what?” she asked.
“For ducking out without saying goodbye,” I answered. “I need to run. There are some questions I need the answers to.”
Chapter 19
I walked into the grocery store with one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t the $2.99 special they had going on off brand cola.
I found the guy I’d arrested a few days ago pretty quickly. After all, box boys usually stayed in the back, and it wasn’t like this bastard was particularly popular around here. He had basically kidnapped a teenage girl and was found in a meth lab on the outskirts of town. The fact that he still had this job either spoke to the forgiving nature of Bob Givens, the man who owned Givens’s Produce, or to some legal stickiness he’d have gotten into by firing the man before he was found guilty.
Just because he hadn’t been found guilty yet though didn’t mean he wouldn’t be, and it certainly wouldn’t stop me from visiting the waste of space at his place of employment.
“Dougie!” I yelled, using his given name and hollering for him from across the stock room. My jacket was pulled back so that my holster and gun as well as the badge on my belt was visible, not because I wanted to intimidate him, but because I wanted everyone in the stock room to know I was a cop and I was here to see this piece of human garbage.
“Seriously?” he scoffed, looking over at me with a brown box in his hand. He dropped it, causing whatever the contents were to bang hard against the floor.
“Seriously,” I said, not breaking stride as I walked over toward him. “Now how about you and me go somewhere we can talk in private?”
“How about you go sit on a traffic cone?” he responded, huffing in anger.
“I could do that,” I responded. “Or I could cause a big enough scene right here and now to get you fired on the spot. Something tells me the fact that you went back to work almost immediately after posting bail means you need this job.” I smiled. “Especially considering that your other source of income is down for the count.”
The meth lab I’d found Doug and his underage girlfriend in had been raided and stripped bare by Collier County’s best. What was more, there would be eyes on Doug in this town for the foreseeable future now and he knew it. He’d have to walk the straight and narrow if he wanted to stay out of prison, and it didn’t get much straighter or more narrow than where we were standing right now.
“Fine,” he conceded, looking around at his coworkers. “Just tell Mr. Givens I’m taking off early. I’ll make it up ion the morning.”
One of his coworkers nodded and Doug glared at me with enough intensity to break glass. “We can talk around back. I don’t want anybody hearing this.”
“Rule of thumb, Dougie. If you don’t want anyone hearing about something you did, it probably means you shouldn’t have done it,” I said, following him toward a pair of double doors in the back of the room.
“You get that off the back of a bumper sticker?” he asked, pushing through the double doors that led out into a back alleyway.
It was hot out here today and, given the tight confines of the alley, none of the soothing Gulf breezes which usually cut through the heat were of service.
“Something like that,” I said, leaning against the back wall of the grocery store and giving the man a once over. Looking at him for the first time since I arrested him, I saw the guy in something of a different light. Skinny to an almost painful degree, he was sloppy and less than dapper. He looked out of sorts in his own skin, like every piece of him itched and he couldn’t find the right spot to scratch. “I assume you heard about what happened at the hospital.”
He looked at me uneasily, staring into my eyes like he hoped he might be able to read something in them. Unfortunately for him, I had been on the beat far too long for something like that.
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head, pulling a cigarette out of his pants pocket, sticking it between his lips, and lighting it. “Somebody came in with a gun or something. I didn’t have anything to do with it though.”
“Oh, I know you weren’t there,” I said, stepping away from the man and the cigarette. It wasn’t that I had anything against smokers. In fact, my grandfather smoked for quite some time. It’s just that when you’re lucky enough to live in a place that smells like the water, it seems like a shame to pollute it with anything. “Because I was there. Shots were fired and two people were killed; an orderly and a priest.”
“Looks like you’ve got bigger fish to fry than me then,” Doug answered, taking a long draw from the cigarette and blowing the smoke in my direction.
“Since you’re not much of a catch, I definitely do,” I answered. “It’s funny you would use that analogy, Dougie. Have you ever been fishing?”
He glared at me wearily. “Everybody’s been fishing,” he answered.
“Spoken like someone whose never b
een out of Florida,” I quipped. “But good. I’m glad you have, because I want you to understand what I’m talking about. You see, in a roundabout way, fishing is the reason I’m here. You need three things to go on a successful fishing trip, Dougie. You need a boat, a rod, and good bait.” I grinned at him. “I’ve got a rod on my boat, Dougie. So can you guess what I’m here for?”
“I’m not following you,” he said, his jaw tightening.
“I didn’t figure you would,” I answered. “I saw the man who killed Father Jameson, the man I’m pretty sure killed the orderly too. He had a tattoo on his hand, Dougie, and wouldn’t you know, it’s just like yours.”
I looked down at his hand, which was covered with a tied off bandanna.
“That’s a coincidence,” he said quickly, but his entire body jerked.
“Is it?” I asked. “I talked to my medical examiner. She’s got the body of the gunman. He died too. Wanna take a guess as to what the tattoo on his hand looks like?” I stepped forward, breathing heavy. “I don’t think you killed anybody, Dougie. Not because I think you’re above it. You’re a drug addict and a dealer too, but you’re young and I don’t think you’ve had time to graduate to murder.” I pointed a finger right into his chest. He flinched. “But you’re involved in this. You know whose behind it, and you know where I can find them.”
“What if I did?” he asked, scoffing at me and tossing his cigarette down. “You really think I’d tell you anything? If you knew anything about this, then you’d know how dangerous it would be for me to open my mouth. You might lock me up. Hell, you might even throw away the damned key, but you won’t kill me, and that’s what would happen if I said anything about this tattoo or what it means.” He looked down at his covered hand. “Not that it matters. I’m getting rid of the damned thing.”
“And why would you do that?” I asked.
“Because I don't need it anymore,” he said. “No one down here does, and that’s all you’re getting from me. I’m not going to be your bait.”
“That’s a shame, Dougie,” I sighed, stepping back toward the door. “Seeing as how much I was enjoying this conversation. You’ve got me all wrong about the bait though. It wasn’t you. The bait is her. I was just giving you a heads up.”
“Her?” he asked, his eyes widening.
“Yeah,” I said, pulling the door to the grocery store back room open again. “Your underage girlfriend.”
He lunged, pushing the door closed forcefully and staring daggers at me. “You wouldn’t!” he seethed.
I wouldn’t, of course. The girl he’d been close to was a child, a victim in all of this. The last thing I would ever do is put her in danger. He didn’t need to know that though.
“You’ll get her killed, man!” Doug said, desperation in his voice. “If he gets wind that you even talked to her, he’ll send that lunatic of his over to take her out! He already wanted her. I was supposed to give her to him to prove my worth or something. I was supposed to let that lunatic have her to show how loyal I was. I wasn't going to though,” he said, nodding furiously. "I would have never done that. I was going to convince them that she was useful, that we could both do it. I could prove my loyalty some other way. I wouldn't have to give away the thing closest to me."
“What are you talking about? Who wanted to kill her? Who is the lunatic you're talking about?” I asked, tilting my head at him.
He swallowed hard. “I can’t. I can’t say anything.”
“Then I guess you’ve made this decision easy for me,” I said, pushing him aside and pulling at the door again.
“Okay!” Doug yelled, throwing his body between me and the door, slamming it shut again. He stunk of smoke and fear as he spoke. “The Hangman, dude. He’ll send the Hangman, and no one gets away from him.” He shook his head. “Just look at your priest friend.”
“Who is he? Who is the Hangman and who does he work for?” I asked, my voice hard and my anger rising.
“Hell if I know,” he said.
“Get out of my way,” I said, going for the door again.
“I’m telling you the truth!” he said, holding his hands up in a praying position. “I never met the guy. Hell, I never even met anyone who ever met the guy.”
“What guy?” I asked. “I’m losing my patience here.”
“Some drug dealer dude, but not like the ones around here,” Doug said. “This guy is a kingpin or something. He has a whole network up north somewhere, and he wanted to dabble down here.” He shrugged. “You know, see what the market was like.”
“And?” I asked.
“And I don’t know,” he said. “After I got out on bail, I tried to call my guy, but he didn’t answer. Then I heard about my contact getting strung up and his contact, the sick guy, wouldn’t answer either. I figured it was best to cut my losses and move on.”
“The sick guy?” I asked, realizing Archer, the dead guy in the abandoned house, must have been his contact.
“Some older guy with cancer. My contact said he didn’t have long left, but he looked fine to me,” Doug said.
I remembered what the gunman said about knowing he was never coming out of the hospital. That must have been the sick guy. He must have known his time was dwindling down. That was why he walked in there to shoot the place up, because someone had to divert attention from the person who killed Father Jameson and because he was ready to die anyway.
“Is that all you know?” I asked, peering at him. “If I think you’re holding out on me, I’ll bring her into this, Dougie. I will.”
I wouldn’t, but it all went to the ploy.
“I swear,” he said. “He works in meth and cocaine, and he’s from up north, somewhere on the water. I don't know where it is, but I heard he's so powerful up there that he even has the cops on his payroll.”Somewhere like Fort Myers, I thought to myself, where Archer was from, where Oscar had moved and, if I was a cop worth my salt, where we’ll be able to trace the gunman to as soon as we had him ID’ed.
“You’re going to have to make a statement, but we’ll keep it under out hats,” I said.
“And Cecily?” he asked, talking about the butcher’s daughter.
“You’ll have to stay away from her too,” I said, disgust filling my voice. “As per judge’s orders, but I will too.” I cleared my throat, and pushed him out of the way. “A piece of advice, keep your nose clean until your trail.”
Walking back through the grocery store, I pulled my phone out to give Emma a call. I needed to verify the tattoo and its placement on the gunman’s body as well as see if he’s been identified. Before I could do that though, it rang.
I answered the phone, reading Boomer’s name across the screen.
“Look,” I said. “I had to run out for a few. There were some things I nee—”
“Get to his house right now!” my best friend said, panicked.
“What?” I asked, my heart pumping faster.
“Father Jameson!” Boomer yelled. “There’s some sort of disturbance at his place! Get there right now!”
Chapter 20
I called the precinct to do a few things for me as I raced the three streets over to Father Jameson's house to find out what was going on. First off, I needed Emma to tell me whether or not the gunman had the same tattoo that Doug and the faux orderly did. It seemed like a given at this point, but building a case required a lot of crossing t's and dotting I's. Besides, I had always been the kind of cop who liked to be sure.
I also requested toxicology reports on the man, to determine whether or not he had been treated for cancer as Doug alluded to as well as the routine dental and fingerprint checks that are run anytime a John Doe is brought into the morgue. The toxicology would take a little while, but that was okay. The main thing on my mind was connecting another dot to Fort Myers. I already had Archer being from there as well as Charlotte's Uncle Oscar (who seemed to be involved as well) having his mail forwarded and things sent to an address in the city. All signs pointed there. I just
wanted another one.
To that end, I also asked Emma to run a check about hanging deaths in the city. Doug was afraid of someone he called the Hangman, and I couldn't run away from the fact that I had come across more people who had died that way in the last couple of days than in the rest of my life combined. I was in the middle of something very big and very dangerous. If I was going to find my way out of it and see justice served, not only for Father Jameson, but for the resident who was killed earlier, I was going to need all the information I could get my hands on.
When I pulled up to Father Jameson's driveway, my sirens blaring, I saw a pair of cars. One I recognized and the other I didn't. Neither were Father Jameson's. That vehicle was still being worked on by my grandfather, though I wasn't sure what the point would be right now.
I jumped out of my truck, slamming the door and surveying the area. I had no idea what was going on here, aside from the call that came in stating some sort of disturbance and noise complaint. As I walked closer, I realized why. Intense shouting sounded from inside the small brick house that sat across from the church; the house Father Jameson had lived in since he came to Naples to serve our congregation. My heart ached as I neared the front porch, thinking of the man who used to live here and the fact that such a kind soul would never again grace this place or its people.
We were all the lesser for that, but I wouldn't let whatever was going on here besmirch his memory. The good priest had been through too much in the last days of his life. I wouldn't let the indignity continue.
I slammed my fist against the door, listening to the screaming coming from inside. Like the cars, I recognized one of the voices and not the other. The familiar one came from Rita Hines, office manager for the rectory and probably one of the people closest to Father Jameson during his life. The other voice was male and obviously very upset as he screamed, "You don't know what you're talking about!"
