I thought about PJ's words and then said, "Everyone paints Debbie as a free spirit. Maybe after she and Jessica had their fight she just never looked back."
PJ replied, "Maybe a guy would do that, but I just don't see a girl doing something like that." I gave her my best impression of a insulted frown.
After we finished breakfast we started the drive for Port St. Joe. The small bit of driving I did yesterday had contributed to my feeling that I was doing my part for our little team, so I convinced PJ to let me drive. Our route south on U.S. 98 took us by Tyndall Air Force Base and along the Gulf through the little community of Mexico Beach. I had seen a brochure in the hotel referring to this area of the state as the Forgotten Coast and I started to gain an understanding of the name. Where every square foot of Atlantic coast is built up in the area we live, long stretches of this Gulf coast are undeveloped, a fact that in itself must contribute to a slower pace of life. I may just need to come back here and explore sometime. Drive back, not fly.
Once we entered the town PJ directed me on a quick tour guided by her mapping app. My first impression was of a well-kept small Florida town, not overly prosperous, but not dying like Pineywoods. Definitely holding its own, probably primarily based on tourist dollars. After our short sightseeing spin, PJ directed me to the Gulf View Realty located on a wide street dotted with tourist shops, small restaurants, and a couple of bars that peaked my interest.
We entered the colorful building to find an elderly man with thinning gray hair and heavy bags under his tired eyes sitting behind one of the two metal desks in the small space. The walls were littered with fliers showing available properties. He looked up at us and forced a smile. "Hello folks, can I help you?"
PJ stepped forward projecting interest in the fliers on the wall and said, "Yes, we are interested in property in the area and we were hoping to contact Debbie Chapman. Is she available?"
The forced smile evaporated and disappointment dripped from his voice. "Ah, she's out on a showing. Should be back in thirty minutes or so. Can I have her call you?"
PJ replied, "I noticed a small restaurant across the street, we'll have coffee and then stop back."
"Suit yourself," was his curt reply.
We walked across the street and found a table in the front window. I ordered a coffee and a danish and PJ ordered an iced tea and no roll. Of course.
After a sip of her tea PJ said, "I just don't seem to be able to focus today. This interview is important, damn important, but I just can't get my head into it. We're down to six days, or should I say Freeman's down to six days. He can't afford for me not to be on my game." Deep creases radiated from her eyes.
I leaned forward and locked her in my gaze. "Whoa there young lady, you can not take on the responsibility for Freeman Robinson's plight. A hell of a lot of people had their hands in his situation before you even knew he existed. You're not responsible to right the wrongs of all of those who went before you. All you're responsible to do is turn in the best effort you can. That's all you can do. That's all any of us can do in this life, and I can attest that you're doing all humanly possible."
"Not if I can't focus on Debbie Chapman."
"It's not like there aren't things going on in your life. Yesterday alone you nearly died in a plane crash and you had to console your daughter in a time of grief. Besides, I know you, once we sit down with Debbie you'll have the same laser focus you always do."
A faint smile crossed her face. "Thanks for the pep talk, Jack." She reached for her tea but stopped and looked me in the eyes saying, "And thanks for calling me young lady." Yup, no doubt about it, she's all woman.
I looked out the window and said, "I'll bet that's our Debbie Chapman coming now." A small woman of the right age range with short blond hair was walking purposefully across the street toward us. She was dressed in tight yellow capri pants, a flowered top, and gladiator sandals.
PJ looked up and said, "Yeah, she used to be a brunette, but I'll bet you're right."
As the woman entered the restaurant, the waitress behind the counter, who had waited on us, looked up, nodded and said, "Hi Debbie." Bingo.
Debbie Chapman approached us with the same purposeful stride she had exhibited crossing the street and said, "Are you the couple who stopped in the office looking for me?" Since the only other customers in the place were seated alone at opposite ends of the counter it was a pretty good guess.
PJ replied, "If you are Debbie Chapman, we are. I'm Patty Johnson and this is Jack Nolan."
She extended her hand with its well-manicured brightly-polished nails and shook our hands. It was a confident handshake, not the limp fish extended by so many women. "Yes, I'm Debbie Chapman. Pleased to meet you Patty Johnson and Jack Nolan." No doubt repeating our names as a means of committing them to memory.
PJ indicated the vacant chair at the table, "Please join us."
Debbie settled into the chair and casually crossed her hands on the table in front of her. Her expression was interested but passive. I noticed numerous deep lines radiating from around her eyes even though she wore considerable makeup. Probably the result of too much Florida sun. She withdrew two business cards from her pocket and placed one in front of each of us. "So, what type of property are you interested in?"
PJ produced a business card from her purse and placed it in front of Debbie. "We're not here to inquire about property, Debbie. We're investigating Jessica Parry's death and we are hoping you can help us."
Debbie's eyes narrowed and she set back in her chair crossing her arms in front of her. "I see. I misunderstood. I thought you were looking for property." She picked up PJ's card and stared at it as if she was reading each word letter by letter. Then she dropped the card back to the table as if it was a hot coal and recrossed her arms. It was obvious that she was stalling. Finally she continued, "I really don't see what I can help you with. I'd left town before Jessica's death. I've never been back, so I don't know anything about the circumstances of her murder."
PJ smiled softly and said, "We understand that. What we were hoping was that you could tell us about circumstances around the Bennett household. You were Jessica's best friend, so I am confident you can help us understand the relationship between Jessica and her step-father, Butch Bennett."
PJ's smile nor her flattery, seemed to have any impact. Debbie shook her head as she said, "It's been so long, I don't really remember much." PJ and I waited, but nothing additional was forthcoming.
"We understand that Jessica and Butch were close when she was young, but sometime along the way they developed an intense dislike for each other. That's what we've been told by others we have talked to, but we know that as Jessica's best friend you would have the most accurate picture of things between them."
I noticed that one of Debbie's feet was bouncing quietly on the floor and her hands were gripping deeper into the arms they were hugging. PJ let the statement hang in the air for what seemed to me like an hour. It was all I could do not to speak myself to break the uncomfortable silence. Finally, Debbie said, "Like I said, it's been a very long time." PJ smiled and Debbie's foot bounced. The waitress started toward our table and I glared at her and subtly shook my head. She got the hint and retreated. Neither PJ nor Debbie appeared to notice.
Exhaling deeply Debbie said, "All I remember is that by the time we got to high school Jessica started talking about what an ass Butch was. How he would get drunk and knock her mother around. That's all I remember."
"Did Jessica say that he hit her as well?" asked PJ.
"Look, I don't really want to get into this. It was a long time ago. Jessica's dead and gone. What difference does it matter now? Didn't they catch the guy that killed her?"
PJ said that we were flying by the seat of our pants, so I decided I could play a role at this point. In a friendly, but firm tone I said, "Well Ms. Chapman, that's the question. Many people believe that they convicted the right guy, but many others are not so sure and since the state is going to execute Free
man Robinson in a few days it's imperative that we determine the truth. You weren't in town at the time of the trial, but Robinson was convicted on minimal circumstantial evidence. If he's going to die for killing Jessica we want to make certain he really is guilty."
Now Debbie looked confused as she asked, "I don't understand, what's Butch Bennett got to do with the conviction of Freeman Robinson?"
I glanced toward PJ and she took back the lead. "As Jack said, the evidence against Freeman was minimal, but he was convicted. At this point that will not change, unless we find the person actually responsible for Jessica's death."
"So, you don't think Freeman's guilty and you think it was Butch Bennett that killed Jessica?" Her expression didn't display anything close to acceptance of our theory.
PJ tone was conciliatory, "We have very real reservations about the conviction of Freeman, yes. Do we know that he is innocent, no. Unfortunately, the original police investigation was very shoddy and that fact alone creates doubt about his guilt. What we are attempting to do is examine alternative theories to see if they are viable. If the original investigation had been pursued properly it would have focused on those closest to Jessica first and worked out from there. That's why we're interested in the relationship between Butch and Jessica at the time of her death. That makes sense doesn't it?"
Another long period of silence before Debbie said, "I don't know, they didn't like each other, but I don't think that means he would kill her." I found her statement surprising, she was the first person I could recall that we talked to that didn't think Butch capable of the murder. People may not have had an opinion as to whether he actually did it, but no one was saying they didn't think him capable. Now the person closest to the situation, outside Amanda, was saying she didn't think him capable. Of course, it could just be the fact that Debbie is one of those people who wouldn't think anyone she knew personally to be capable of murder.
PJ obviously picked up the same concern as her next question was, "Do you think Freeman Robinson capable of Jessica's murder?"
"No, not in a million years." Her hand went up to her mouth momentarily and then she regained her stoic demeanor. "But, of course, a jury did convict him, so who am I to say."
PJ started to say something but Debbie cut her off. "Listen, I don't think I can help you and I do have my business to attend to today. Maybe we can talk more tomorrow or the next day, but I really do need to get going now." She rose from her seat and glanced at her watch before saying, "I have a client coming into the office in ten minutes, so I need to get back."
PJ rose and faced Debbie, partially blocking her route to the front door. "Please Debbie, Freeman Robinson only has a few days to live. We really need your help."
"I'm sorry. I'm just sorry," and she was gone.
PJ sat back down and we watched her back as Debbie hurried across the street and disappeared into the front door of the realty. I looked across the table at PJ and muttered, "Well, that was one hell of a bust. Jessica's closest friend and she's least cooperative of everyone we talked to."
PJ exhaled deeply and cradled her head in her hand with her elbow resting on the table. It was as if every ounce of energy had drained from her.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I noticed the waitress hesitantly glancing our direction. I waved her over and apologized for my earlier scowl, telling her that we were in a business discussion and it just wasn't the best time for an interruption. I gave her my warmest smile and asked for a refill for our drinks. She brought the refills, but no return smile.
I had just taken a sip of my coffee when PJ muttered, "What the hell. I thought she had a client coming into the office?" I looked up to see Debbie Chapman locking the front door of the realty office and almost running to a red Cadillac convertible parked on the street.
I said, "Maybe she made a mistake and was supposed to meet the client at the property, so she's late."
"You're probably right. I don't know what it is about her, I can't put my finger on it, but her reaction just wasn't anywhere in the range of what I expected. She didn't really ask us any questions. Hit out of the blue with this after ten years and she stonewalls us like that. You'd expect that she would at least be curious about the investigation into the death of her best friend. She couldn't know much about what went on in the original investigation, what with the limited contact she had with anyone back in Pineywoods."
I thought about PJ's assessment and said, "Maybe she's still embarrassed about the falling out she and Jessica had just before Jessica's death, so she avoids thinking about that time period at all." I paused, then added, "What really surprised me was her defense of Butch Bennett. She must know how abusive he was. Jessica may have hid it from people like Windy and Olivia Cooper, but she didn't hide it from her best friend."
PJ nodded and said, "Exactly, and Debbie has never had the opportunity to tell that to anyone. Not at the time anyway, so why not want to pour it out to us now?"
I replied, "Unless she's feels guilty that she didn't make the effort to contact the authorities and give them that information at the time."
"Maybe. That's one possibility. I'm just having a difficult time reconciling her behavior, at the time of Jessica's death, or now, with someone who was life long best friends with the victim. It just doesn't add up to me, but I guess I've seen stranger things."
We both fell into silence for a few minutes, before we were interrupted by PJ's cell phone. She looked at the screen and said, "It's Angela's grandmother, I need to take it." She walked outside to answer the call. My stomach began to remind me that lunchtime was approaching, so I perused the menu standing amidst the condiments on the table.
When PJ returned I asked, "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Mary just wanted to confirm that I would be home tonight. She thinks that part of the reason Angela is so upset is because of how close she came to losing me such a short time ago. She thinks just having me there to hug will really help Angela." The worry lines were deepening on her face.
"You'll be home tonight."
PJ's face darken even more as she said, "You know that when we leave we're giving up on Freeman Robinson. We have nowhere else to turn. He will die."
I reached across and laid my hand over the top of hers on the table. "You know that even with the cooperation of Debbie Chapman, the likelihood of us discovering anything at this point significant enough to halt the execution is nearly zero. You understand that, don't you?"
Slowly nodding she replied, "I know that, I just don't want to accept it."
I exhaled and returned the nod saying, "I understand how you feel. The only solace I can take is that we don't really know that he is innocent. We know that he didn't have an adequate defense and that the original investigation was very poor, but we don't really know that he's innocent."
"Yeah, you're right and it's not like I've ever been a real opponent of the death penalty. God knows I've seen enough people that earned it, it's just that I would like to think that everyone who is executed is guilty. Unequivocally, guilty."
I scoffed and said, "Then you need to find something more fail safe than the criminal justice system to administer it."
Another period of reflective silence before I asked, "You getting hungry? I'm getting hungry. Want to eat here," gesturing around the restaurant, "or find somewhere else?"
"Let's go for a ride. Find somewhere else. I could use a change of scenery."
I drove us on an extended tour of the area and eventually onto a small sliver of land that extended into the Gulf and formed the outside perimeter of St. Joseph Bay. Based on the fact that at least half of the businesses had Cape San Blas in the name I surmised that was the name of the finger of land. We saw a food truck, with a large sign announcing Cooked Oysters, parked next to a small cluster of picnic tables on the Gulf side of the Cape. Several of the tables were occupied, which I took as a good sign, so suggested we give it a try for lunch. PJ agreed and we stopped. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it turned
out to be one of the best spur of the moment suggestions I'd ever made.
We ordered a cup of oyster chowder for each of us and a platter of steamed oysters to split. Much to my disappointment they didn't have Landshark, so I deferred to Corona. To my surprise, PJ also ordered a beer. We settled in on a table under the shade of a large palm tree that was leaning at about a thirty degree angle. Not the spot I would choose during a windstorm.
The steamers and chowder turned out to be excellent and the food was a nice distraction. As she was finishing her beer PJ asked the question we were both avoiding. "I'm at a loss. Any ideas about what we do next? I really hate to admit it, but we're out of options."
I looked out at the highway running past our luncheon oasis and said, "I think we make another run at Debbie Chapman. We've got nothing to lose. Let's push her."
PJ frowned and said, "I doubt she's take a call from me and we have no idea where she is."
I pointed at the red Cadillac convertible just passing out onto the Cape and said, "We've already found her. Let's go. We'll harass her until she talks to us or threatens to call the cops."
As we rose and headed for our rental car PJ muttered, "Doubt it'll take long before she threatens to call the cops, but it's worth a try. Anything's worth a try at this point."
It only took us a couple of minutes to have the red Cadillac back in sight on the narrow two lane highway headed out the Cape. I said, "Wonder if she's going home, or to some type of real estate business meeting out here? There's certainly no shortage of property for sale out here."
As we were entering a cluster of buildings housing typical beach businesses, rental offices, beachwear shops, and kayak rentals, the Cadillac slowed and made a turn down a side street in the direction of the Gulf. This street intersected several others running perpendicular like the ribs on a fish. Each rib ran past several Florida beach homes on stilts to protect them from wave surge during hurricanes. Most people had converted the area under the house into garages and storage. When it reached the end of the spine the Cadillac turned onto the last rib, which ran along the backside of the homes fronting the Gulf. Most of these homes were large square two or three story structures with decks wrapping around three sides. As the Cadillac approached the last house on the street, a comparatively smaller, two story, the garage door under the structure opened and the car disappeared inside. The door lowered without us actually ever seeing the driver.
Driven Be Jack_A Jack Nolan Novel Page 27
