The weather turned sour Sunday evening and we closed early. Monday was pretty slow around the bar. Mondays are usually our slowest days, but the still threatening weather made this one even slower. Moe had taken a rare day off, I think he was just tired of talking about the shooting. I spent the morning helping Marge reconcile some invoices. Marge is usually right on top of the bookkeeping, but I think the construction project with all of the little decisions involved in it has impacted her usual orderly routine. Funny, the idea of building an addition to accommodate entertainment seemed much simpler when Marge and Moe first presented it to me. I can't complain though because they've made most of the decisions necessary as the project progressed. The same business model they use in the day-to-day operations around here.
I was just considering having some lunch when Elena came in the back door. We had talked on the phone Sunday. She was quite upset when I recounted the story of Saturday night, but she was in the midst of finishing a proposal she was to deliver Monday morning, so she couldn't come to see me. That was okay with me, because I really wasn't certain where I wanted things to go with Elena. I knew that I needed to address her recent smothering behavior, but hadn't really decided what I wanted the outcome to be. As usual, I'd be making it up as I go along.
These difficult conversations with Elena would be easier if she wasn't so damn good looking. She was dressed in slim fitting jeans and a short cropped jacket. Her platinum blond hair was pulled up on top of her head. It made her look as if she was wearing a glowing crown. She rushed up to me and threw her arms around my neck. She purred, "Oh Jack, I'm so glad you're all right. What a terrible experience. Just having you tell me about it was scary enough, I can't imagine what you went through." As I gazed into those warm blue eyes I could feel my resolve draining away.
We sat in a corner booth and had lunch. Elena kept stroking the back of my neck as she made me retell the story again. Her public display of affection was a bit much, even for her. I kept trying to edge away, but in the corner booth she just followed me along the seat. Several times I had every intention of bringing up her recent efforts to keep tabs on my location and its impact on folks working at Cap's, but somehow the conversation always shifted another direction. Her lunch time visit was actually quite short as she was scheduled to make a site visit for another project she was starting somewhere near the airport in Fort Lauderdale. Her architectural design business seems to be doing very well since she quit working exclusively for her dad and went out on her own.
After Elena left I realized I was relieved that she hadn't asked what I had been doing on the days she couldn't locate me. I don't know why, but for some reason I didn't want to tell her I was spending all of that time with PJ. Come on Jack, you and PJ are all business, what have you got to feel guilty about?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Monday evening I had gotten a text from PJ asking if I was going to be around Cap's on Tuesday. Duh, where else would I be. She said she had a productive Monday, was going to spend Tuesday morning in the office on additional follow-up and she would stop by Tuesday afternoon to share what she'd learned.
Tuesday morning I was diligent in finishing all of my assignments for the day. I had been busy attending to my own life, but I just couldn't shake the thought that Freeman Robinson was sitting in a cell knowing he had less than two weeks to live. It was about 2:00 p.m. when PJ came in the back door. Tuesday had dawned a beautiful day and after a couple of days of overcast skies the beach crowd was out in full bloom. The morning sun worshipers were starting to trickle in to find some cover and rehydrate, so our afternoon crowd was growing. I suggested that we could talk more freely if we went upstairs to my apartment. To my surprise, PJ readily agreed.
As PJ spread her files out on the table I got us a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator. Seeing the Coke reminded me of Moe, which in turn reminded me that PJ didn't know about our incident Saturday night. I kicked off the conversation with, "After you dropped me off Saturday evening we had a little excitement around here."
As I told the story she exhibited her cop face, but by the time I finished, her look had morphed into one of sincere concern. She reached across the table and placed her hand on my arm. Tingles of electricity caused me to shift in my seat. She said, "My God Jack, I'm so glad all of you are okay. How is Moe's head?"
"Hard as ever. He's down to wearing a large Band-Aid and telling people he bumped it on the corner of the counter in the kitchen."
PJ shook her head. "You were all so lucky. Just another example of how many nuts there are running around out there."
I asked, "Speaking of nuts, any luck identifying that guy in the black pick-up? The one I got the picture of. Do you think he was the guy that ran us off the road?"
She opened one of her file folders and shoved a mug shot across the table. "With the license plate it wasn't very difficult to find him in the system. That's the guy who was in the truck behind us on Saturday, isn't it?"
I immediately replied, "Yeah, it sure is."
"He's got a fairly impressive rap sheet. Mostly drugs and larcenies with a couple of assaults thrown in. Did a stretch in prison and appeared to be working hard at drawing another stretch when all of a sudden about five years ago he found a way to stay out of trouble."
"So you think he cleaned up his act?"
PJ replied, "Not necessarily. An alternative explanation is that he's now somebody's snitch and they're insulating him."
"Okay, what's that got to do with us?"
She pointed at his arrest record, "Most of his arrests are by the Pineywoods Police. A couple, including the one that sent him to prison, were the Sheriff, but otherwise it's been Pineywoods. And guess who the arresting officer was on most of them?"
"Chief Davies."
"Give the man a cigar."
I said, "So you think he's a snitch and might be amenable to doing some other tasks for the chief if asked."
PJ leaned back in her chair and drew a deep breath. "It's purely conjecture, but yes. It's certainly possible that he's doing the chief's bidding in trying to keep us from poking our noses into the case."
I nodded and said, "Well, at least we know who we're up against."
"We may very well. Let's just keep our eyes open when we're around the Pineywoods area."
PJ took a long drink of her Coke and then seemed to notice mine for the first time. "What no Landshark? Is there a statewide shortage or something?"
"No wise guy, I thought I would be of more help if I waited to start imbibing. I don't drink all day, everyday, you know."
"Really, that's not what I hear from Marge . . . and Moe . . . and Dana . . . and . . ."
I cut her off, "Okay, okay, enough dissing Jack. Did you accomplish anything else yesterday?"
"Just kidding you Jack." Another pat on the arm and more electricity. "I got a call from Dr. Burns yesterday morning. He said Amanda has brought up our visit several times. Each time he attempts to engage her in conversation about it she only replies that we can all talk more the next time we're there. I think a return visit to Amanda is our number one priority. Her ex is still right up there on my list of potential suspects."
I said, "Works for me."
PJ shuffled a couple of file folders from the pile she had been working from. "Unfortunately, I came up empty with Brian Young's family. After a couple hours of computer toil and several phone calls I tracked his father and brother down in Texas. Windy's memory is pretty good. They're working as welders in the oil fields. Work for the same company. I was able to get cell numbers for both of them, but neither of them had any interest in talking to me. They each gave me the same general kiss-off, said they didn't know anything about the case except what they read in the paper and never heard Brian talk about it."
"Do you believe them?"
"I don't know. One of the reasons I don't like to interview people on the phone is because it blinds you. No opportunity to observe them as they answer your questions. Unfortunately, it was our only
option in this situation. We certainly don't have the time to go to Texas to talk to them face to face. I really have no reason not to believe them. Even if Brian was involved it doesn't mean his father or brother would have any knowledge. It was a long shot in the first place."
I said, "Too bad, he sure sounded like he had motive. And maybe the temperament to do something like that."
"So Mr. Prosecutor, are you suggesting that you would go to court with only motive and temperament?"
I shook my head. "No, of course not. I just hate to give up on Brian Young. Any other thoughts on how we could dig into him?"
PJ said, "Oh, we could keep digging and see if we can come up with a friend of his from back then, but remember to help Freeman Robinson at this stage of the game we need to come up with a smoking gun. If Young was involved it's not likely that he shared anything with anyone else. If he had, they would probably have come forward after he was killed. Otherwise they're living with the knowledge that an innocent man is going to be put to death for a crime he didn't commit. Most people are probably not going to carry that burden for this many years without cracking."
"So if it was Brian Young, Freeman's just screwed?" It was a rhetorical question and silence engulfed us as we both contemplated it. Finally I asked, "Any luck tracking down Debbie Chapman's father?"
More shuffling of the files. "Well, yes and no. You would think it would be a pretty simple task to track down a federal employee, but that wasn't the case."
"Yeah, Sophia Walsh said he worked for USDA. They couldn't tell you where he's assigned today?"
"Oh, the information seemed to be readily available, the challenge is finding someone authorized to tell you. You'd think you were talking to the CIA or something."
"But . . . ?"
She smiled and replied, "My tenacity was rewarded, sort of rewarded. I located her dad," looking at her file, "Doyle Chapman. He was willing to talk to me, but he couldn't give me much information. At least not anything current. Sounds like Debbie was quite the free spirit. She left town with no real plan for her future other than that she wanted to get away from Pineywoods. Originally, she went to the Orlando area and worked at the theme parks. She didn't even call home for over a month, so Jessica was dead and buried . . . well not buried, but long dead before Debbie even knew about it. Her dad said she was really upset, especially since their last contact had been their fight when Debbie left town. She told her dad she was too ashamed to come back and face Jessica's mother."
PJ looked at a sheet of notes, "Chapman had been transferred to Atlanta. He said Debbie came there a couple of times to visit, but that her mother died several years ago and she hasn't been back since the funeral. He talked to her on the phone a few times over the years, but hasn't heard from her in two or three years. Doesn't have any number for her because she was always using cheap prepaid phones. The last he knew she was working at some hotel in the Panama City area, but that was two or three years ago and he said she never stays anywhere more than a year or so."
I said, "Does sound like she has stayed in Florida though."
PJ nodded slowly and said, "It would seem so."
"Can't you find her in one of your magic databases?"
"No luck so far. Well, let me rephrase that. No luck in finding our Debbie Chapman. Found three others in Florida, but not the one from Pineywoods. I have a call into a contact of mine who has access to some comprehensive databases that I don't. I'm hoping he can come up with something."
I muttered, "Big Brother at its finest."
PJ laughed and said, "Something like that." I love the way her dimples come to life when she laughs.
I said, "So, no Debbie Chapman, yet. No information to give us any insight on Brian Young. At this point, Butch Bennett is our only active suspect. How do we proceed?"
PJ took out a notepad with a short list on it. "I think we need to see if we can get anything out of Amanda Bennett. We know that she testified at the trial that Jessica and Freeman were not dating. There are only two explanations for that. Either she didn't know, and given how close it sounds like she and Jessica were, I find that hard to believe. Or, she lied. If she lied, why? My guess would be that Butch didn't know that they were dating and Amanda was afraid to admit that she did. That's the first issue."
She glanced at her list and continued, "Sophie Walsh said that Jessica had told her that Butch hit Amanda. We need to see if we can get Amanda to admit that. If we do, we need to press her on the issue of Butch hitting Jessica."
"Those are some pretty heavy issues. How are we going to approach her on them? Seems like it would be real easy to push her into a deeper withdrawal than she is already in."
PJ closed her notepad. "Without a doubt. We need to rely on Dr. Burns to guide the entire encounter."
I said, "As I recall, that's the role he intends to play, anyway."
"Yeah, but I think we need to give him more background on our theory that Butch Bennett may be responsible for Jessica's murder. So he can better structure our talk with Amanda."
I suggested, "That may not be too difficult. I got the sense that he has a real dislike for Butch Bennett."
"Right, that was obvious. The issue is whether he believes that line of questioning will hurt or help Amanda. We won't know until we ask."
I asked, "So, when should we attempt to talk to the good doctor?"
She smiled and said, "I was thinking 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. That's when we have our appointment with him." She reached across the table and squeezed my arm for what seemed like just under an hour. The electricity was almost a full blown lightening strike. Holding her warm smile she asked, "You're still going to help me, aren't you?"
Damn, the woman's coming on to me. I've thought it on other occasions, but this time I'm positive. She wants to jump my bones. Well . . . that, or she just wants my help and she's using her ample charms to assure I don't lose interest. I picked up my phone and said, "Let me check my busy calendar." Of course I couldn't because my phone was dead again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When PJ picked me up early Wednesday she was driving a different car. I asked if hers was in the shop and she replied that she thought it might be helpful to change up vehicles if we went back into Pineywoods, so she took one of the pool cars her agency maintains. It was a nearly new Nissan Altima, comfortable and not especially noticeable. The fact that she felt we should attempt to make ourselves less identifiable told me that PJ may have been more concerned about the guy in the black pickup than she had let on.
We arrived at Greenhaven just before 10:00 a.m. The receptionist looked up and smiled as we entered. She rose and said, "Dr. Burns has been excepting you. Please follow me to his office."
Dr. Burns was seated behind his desk when we entered the office. He stood, smiled, and reached across the desk to shake PJ's hand, "Good morning, Ms. Johnson. How are you this morning?" Obviously, I was again wearing my cloak of invisibility.
The damage to my ego was assuaged a bit when he nodded at me and said, "Good morning, Mr. . . . Mr. Nolan."
PJ said, "Please call me Patty." It sounded strange because everyone I know calls her PJ.
Just to entertain myself I said, "Yes, and please call me Jack." No one seemed to notice.
Indicating the same two chairs we had occupied on our first visit Dr. Burns said, "Please be seated. As I told you, Amanda seems to be interested in talking with you again. I don't know if it's because she wants to talk about the loss of her daughter or simply because you represent a change in her routine. Even if it is the second reason I view it as a positive. I realize that you don't have the time to allocate to continue visiting Amanda just as a part of her treatment, but we won't know if she can contribute information helpful to your investigation until we talk with her once or twice more." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands waiting for a response.
PJ said, "We are certainly willing to make the effort to talk with Amanda as often as it takes. Of course, you are correct, we are o
n a very tight timeline. Still, Amanda may be key to pursuing one of our leading theories. In fact, we had hoped to talk with you about our theory before talking with Amanda. We hoped it might help you guide the discussion with her."
I'm not the world's most astute judge of people, but it was obvious to even me that Dr. Burns relished the idea of being in the know. Hope this guy doesn't play poker. If he does he must be a real donor. He gushed, "Yes, of course. Tell me everything, I'll do all I can to assist." Then a quick cloud crossed the elation on his face as he said, "That is, as long as it contributes to Amanda's recovery."
PJ smiled and said, "Oh, we would never expect you to do anything that jeopardizes Amanda's recovery." She was playing him just the way she had played Chief Davies. I wonder if she ever does that with me?
We spent thirty minutes explaining our belief that Butch had been assaulting Amanda coupled with our suspicions that he may have been assaulting Jessica as well. Dr. Burns obviously had insight into the signs and effects of domestic violence. He was very quick to make the leap from thinking that Butch Bennett may have assaulted Jessica to the theory that he may have killed her. So quick that it caused me to wonder if he may know more about the circumstances in the Bennett home than he was letting on.
After we finished our discussion with Dr. Burns he led us to the same room where we had met Amanda last Thursday. Amanda was seated in exactly the same location she had been on our first visit, only this time there was no puzzle on the table in front of her. This time a small pink photo album was open on the table and she was intently gazing at a photograph of Jessica. As we walked toward her, in the otherwise unoccupied room, she looked up at us and the traces of a smile appeared. Her brown eyes were much brighter than on our previous visit and I noticed that her hair was not only brushed but looked as if it had been styled. She didn't look nearly as old as earlier and I realized that she was wearing makeup, subtle, but effective in bringing her appearance closer to her actual age.
Driven Be Jack_A Jack Nolan Novel Page 18
