by D P Lyle
“So, maybe she thought about resisting?” Pancake asked.
“Maybe. Morgan thinks—and from what I later read about Billy Wayne—he used a knife to force compliance. Then he tied his victims in a four-point manner and had his way.” He slid the files an inch or two to the left.
“So, the MO was consistent?” Ray asked. “In each of the three? No deviations that you saw?”
McGill nodded. “The scenes were more or less mirror images of each other. Right down the line. Same restraints, same manual strangulation marks, same DNA.”
“We talked with a prosecutor. Up in Jacksonville. He felt Billy Wayne must have had an accomplice.” A total lie. But he wasn’t sure how else to generate the discussion he wanted to have.
“Why would he think that?”
“He felt that the lack of any struggle meant the victim must have been overpowered. Or intimidated, into not resisting.”
McGill seemed to give that some thought but then slowly shook his head. “I don’t buy it. If by overpowered he means held down, that didn’t happen. There was no evidence of any blunt force trauma, no bruises that suggested manual restraint, and no defensive wounds. Except for the ligature bruising and the arm contusions I mentioned in the Kovac situation, there were no signs of any of that. At least in the three cases I examined. Maybe he saw something different in the others.”
“No,” Ray said. “The others were similar to the ones you handled.”
“Who is this guy? The prosecutor?”
“Can’t say. It was a private conversation. Privileged, so to speak. As is this one.”
“I understand.”
“Just so we’re clear,” Ray said, “you saw no signs of a struggle or resistance from the victims? And the MO in each suggested a single, and the same, assailant?”
“That’s my opinion.”
“And nothing about any of these gave you pause?”
“No.” He stared at Ray for a few seconds and then said, “I mean, could Billy Wayne have had someone with him? Someone who held a gun or something like that? Sure, it’s possible. But I have no evidence that indicated that.”
“We don’t either,” Ray said.
“Good. I’d hate to think I messed something up.”
“You didn’t.”
“I heard through the grapevine, a couple of years ago now, back around the time Billy Wayne finally confessed, that he’d said he didn’t kill everyone he was charged with. But, I can tell you right here, right now, he did these three. His DNA was there. No doubt. And, of course, he did confess to all the killings.”
“He did. Let me ask you about the DNA. You took the samples from the bedsheets in each case. Right?”
“Yes. There was no vaginal DNA in any of the victims.”
“That seems to be his MO after the first victim. So, after you collected it, what happened?”
“We, for obvious reasons, don’t do DNA testing here. I collected the samples and sent them up to the state lab. They did the work.”
“Samples, or the sheets? What was sent?”
“Just the samples I collected. Swabs. The sheets went back to the police department. They held them after that.”
“That’s what they told us,” Ray said. “They kept them locked down until the case was finalized and Billy Wayne packed off to prison. Then they destroyed them.”
McGill nodded. “Pretty standard.”
“We’ll get out of your hair and leave you to your work,” Ray said.
McGill smiled. “It’s never ending, it seems.”
Ray stood. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with us.”
McGill stood. They shook hands. “Hope it was helpful.”
“It was. I have to say, I’m impressed. From everything I’ve seen, you, Chief Morgan and his crew, everyone, did a bang-up job. Under difficult circumstances.”
“We try,” McGill said. “First of all, having this happen here in Pine Key, and then having the FBI breathing down our necks didn’t make it any easier.”
Ray laughed. “You all seemed to have weathered it well.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
AFTER NICOLE AND I finished our breakfast and our chat with Whitney, we walked outside. The sky was clear and clean. Cleaner than me. Each of the cinnamon rolls Whitney had whipped up contained a pound of butter and a cup of sugar. Maybe more. My hands and face felt sticky and greasy. Even a half-dozen napkins didn’t help. I started to suggest another shower, but then we’d be late for our meeting with Patti Ryan. Probably would’ve been worth it, but I knew Nicole wouldn’t go for it, so instead I said, “Going to be a nice day.”
She licked a finger. “I feel like I need a shower.”
Really?
She licked another finger. “But we have a meeting and a shower with you always takes time.”
“Oh?”
“That thing of yours always gets in the way.”
“What thing?”
She bumped her hip against mine. “I’ll show you later.”
“Lucky me.”
“Yes. Lucky you.” Another hip bump.
But, we opted for the shower anyway, thinking we should be a little more presentable before we visited with Patti Ryan at the bank. It wasn’t as much fun as it could have been. Nicole was all business. Quick shower, tan slacks, a lemon yellow RGP shirt, and she was good to go. I opted for jeans and white shirt with a black logo.
We left the hotel under a few clouds but an otherwise pleasant-looking day. A soft breeze came off the Gulf and the day’s expected ninety-degree temp was still a few hours away.
“Get your game face on,” Nicole said. “We have work to do.”
She, the loyal and dedicated Longly Investigations soldier.
A block up Elm Street, we found the Pine Key Farmers and Merchants Bank. A low red-brick structure with a sloping green metal roof, darker green window shutters, and a pair of white columns flanking the entry. Inside, the typical bank hushed silence reigned. To the left a long counter, topped with a glass partition, interrupted by four teller windows. Customers stood before two of them. Toward the rear were four desks, two occupied, one by someone I recognized as Patti Ryan. She looked a few years older than her photo on the bank’s website. Today, she wore a white blouse beneath a gray jacket, glasses dangling from a black neck cord. She smiled as we approached.
“Ms. Ryan?” I said.
“You must be Jake and Nicole.”
We shook hands and sat facing her.
“Please,” she continued, “call me Patti.”
“Thanks for seeing us, Patti,” Nicole said.
“My pleasure.”
Nicole had called earlier to set up the appointment. She had gone over the project and explained why we wanted to meet with her.
“As I mentioned on the phone,” Nicole said, “we want to talk about Noleen Kovac.”
Patti folded her hands before her. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” Nicole smiled. “Anything. What was she like?”
“Smart. Hard worker. Definitely dedicated to the bank. And one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known.”
“That’s what we hear.”
“Her death was a huge shock. I mean, of all people.” She sighed. “That’s true of all the women that were murdered, of course. Each of them was good people. But, Noleen was part of our family here.”
“How long did you know her?” I asked.
“Years and years. At least a dozen.”
“Were you close?”
She nodded. “She often came for dinner at the house, or out to restaurants, with my husband and me.”
“We heard she wasn’t big on social activities.”
Patti smiled. “That’s true. I used to chide her about it. But she did get involved in a few things. She and I belonged to a book club. We worked together on the annual Fishing Regatta. But, true, she liked staying home and reading.” Her eyes moistened. “Lord, I miss her.”
“Are you okay?” Nicole ask
ed. “We don’t want to cause any discomfort.”
Patti smiled, dabbed a tear from the corner of one eye with a knuckle. “That’s kind of you to say.” She sniffed. “I’m just being a ninny.” She opened a desk drawer and removed a tissue, swiping both eyes. “You’d think after all this time I wouldn’t do this. But it still hurts.”
Nicole shifted forward slightly in her chair. “Time never heals as well as they say.”
Patti nodded. “Ain’t it so.” She sighed. “Okay, I’m together again. What else can I tell you?”
“We know Noleen wasn’t married, and the people we talked to said she rarely dated,” Nicole asked. “From what you’ve said, I suspect that’s your assessment, too?”
Patti nodded. “No, she never married. Never found the right guy. Back a few years, four or five, she had a fairly long-term relationship with a guy named Adam. Nice guy. He worked in a bank, too. In Panama City. They met at a Chamber of Commerce event up there.”
“How long did they date?”
“A couple of years. I thought they were the perfect couple.”
“What happened?” Nicole asked.
“His bank moved him to a branch up in North Carolina. Charlotte, I think. A good career move for him, but the distance proved too much. They saw less and less of each other so, as with most long-distance relationships, it didn’t last.”
“How did she handle that?”
“At first, not well, but she got over it and moved on. I heard he did, too. Got married.”
“She date anyone local?” I asked. “Anyone we should talk with about her?”
“A few. But, like I said, not many and not often.”
I nodded.
“She did go out with Detective Munson a couple of times. You might talk with him.”
“Terry Munson?”
“Yep. But then he’s dated about everyone in town.” She laughed. “Even asked me out a couple of times. Back before I was married.”
“So, nothing serious?” Nicole asked. “Between Noleen and him?”
“Oh, no. Just a couple of dates. A few years back. Terry isn’t a one-girl kind of guy.”
“We heard that, too,” I said.
“He’s our local playboy.” She smiled. “But Noleen knew that. I think she went out with him just for kicks. She knew nothing serious would come of it.”
“I take it that’s why you turned him down?” Nicole asked.
“Exactly. Plus, he isn’t my type.”
“Did they part on good terms?” I asked. “He and Noleen?”
“They did. We would still see him out and about. At a bar or restaurant. Sometimes with someone, sometimes flying solo. He’d always stop by and say hello to us, to Noleen.” She paused as if considering something. “I think Noleen liked him okay. But, as I said, no future there.”
“So, he didn’t break her heart or anything like that?”
“No. Noleen wasn’t easily swept off her feet. She was more grounded. Terry was all about the moment.”
“And then he had to investigate her murder.”
Patti nodded. “Sure did. I talked with him a couple of times.”
“How’d he take it?” I asked. “Since they’d at least dated, did he seem uncomfortable?”
“Maybe. He was definitely concerned. I got the impression he took it personally. But, both he and Frank Clark are like that. They do a good job and seem to take everything around here personally.”
“In my experience, a lot of small-town cops think that way,” I said.
“I guess that’s true. Not like big cities. In places like this, everyone knows everyone. Whether they dated or not.” Another sigh. “My impression is that both Detective Munson and Detective Clark feel like this is their town and they’re responsible for keeping things in order. Keeping everyone safe.” She shook her head. “They definitely took Billy Wayne Baker personally.”
“Makes sense.”
“I remember running into Frank Clark once,” Patti said. “A few months after the death of his wife. He was sitting in McGee’s, having breakfast by himself. I sat with him for a few minutes. He was sad, stressed. Said he felt responsible for her death. In fact, for all three victims. Said they should have done more. I told him he was being too hard on himself. I asked him exactly what he thought they could have done.” She looked at me. “He couldn’t come up with a single thing. Not one.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have that job on a bet. Being a cop. The way I see it, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
Was that ever the truth. Tracking the bad guys versus invasion of privacy. Excessive force versus not protecting the citizenry. Strictly enforcing the law versus letting law-abiding folks bend the lines a little. Often making snap decisions, life-and-death ones, on dark streets, inside someone’s home, anywhere and everywhere things go awry. And, getting second-guessed at every turn. Damned if they do and damned if they don’t just about covered it.
“What about Noleen’s brother?” I asked. “I understand he was critical of the police.”
Patti smiled. “Critical would be the polite way to say it. He was furious. Basically tried to instigate a palace revolt.”
“Detectives Clark and Munson told us about that,” I said. “Said they understood but were somewhat surprised because they had been friends.”
“That’s true. Tommy Lee, Clark, and Munson go way back.”
“Sounds to me like he and Noleen were close,” Nicole said. “That could explain his reaction.”
“That was always my take on it. I mean, he and Noleen had the usual sibling stuff, but they were indeed close. She was the big sister. Helped him out a lot.”
“You mean financially?” I asked.
“No. Tommy Lee runs a successful business. He can take care of himself that way. Just being there for him. Advising him.”
I nodded.
“When their parents died a few years ago, an auto accident up near Gainesville, coming back from a football game, they inherited a fairly large sum. So, neither Noleen nor Tommy Lee had financial problems.”
“The parents had a sizable estate?”
“Sizable enough. Plus the house. They sold that almost immediately. Neither wanted to keep it, or live in it, for sure. So, they sold it and put the funds in the trust.”
“A trust?” Nicole asked.
“Yeah. I handled it for them. It was shared. Equally. Noleen was the executor.”
“Why her? Why not both?”
Patti smiled. “Their parents thought Noleen was more mature and had better money sense. And that’s true.”
“Money can be evil,” I said. “No problems between them?”
Patti shook her head. “No. Like I said, each of them was doing fine without it.” She hesitated for a couple of seconds. “Well, maybe except for the boat deal.”
I looked at her and waited.
“Tommy Lee wanted to take some of his share to get a bigger boat. For his charter business. Noleen discouraged him. She felt that he had a good boat and that the charter business could be shaky. I agreed with her. She asked me to talk with him and I did. I told him that things like maintenance expenses, competition, the seasonal nature of the business, not to mention the rising insurance costs, could become problematic. Anyway, Noleen encouraged him to keep that money safe for a rainy day rather than expand his business.” She shrugged. “Of course, after Noleen’s death, he inherited all the money and bought the boat anyway.”
“We saw it,” I said. “Looks nice.”
Patti shrugged.
“How much money are we talking about here?” Nicole asked.
Patti smiled. “You know I can’t talk about that. Besides, I don’t know. Not anymore. Tommy Lee moved all his accounts to a competitor shortly after Noleen’s death.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ONCE OUTSIDE THE bank, I called Ray. Told him of our conversation. “Interesting,” was his only response, but added that he and Pancake would look into Tommy Lee’s finances.
I didn’t ask how. I knew. Pancake was going phishing. And hacking. And spoofing. Or was it spiffing? I could never keep all the techno-babble straight.
Earlier, as we walked to the bank, Nicole had called Sally Foster, Frank Clark’s next-door neighbor, asking her if she was willing and had time to chat. Sure. She was off and would be home most of the day. In and out. To call before we headed over. Nicole did and we got the green light. As Nicole pulled into the drive, Sally Foster pushed open the front door.
The house was a small craftsman style, white with charcoal trim and a pair of dormer windows interrupting the roofline. Flowers filled the brick-lined planting areas to each side of the entry stoop. She beckoned us inside and we gathered in her living room. Two large multi-paned front windows made the room feel light and comfortable. Nicole and I sank into an overstuffed white sofa, Sally sat to our right in a plum-colored wingback chair. She offered coffee, but we declined.
On the coffee table I saw a collection of a half dozen snow globes. I picked up one. It was a Florida beach scene with two palm trees, a blue sky, and a yellow sun. I shook it. The “snow” swirled and then slowly settled over the trees and beach. Cool.
Nicole flashed me a look. Like a mom disciplining a five-year-old. I put the globe down. I never get to have fun.
“Sara gave me that one,” Sally said. “I love it.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “Snow in Florida.”
Sally smiled. “It does happen. Rarely.” She leaned back in her chair. “Betty Lou called me yesterday and said you might be coming by. She told me about your project.”
“We’ll have to thank her,” Nicole said.
Sally smiled. “She does have her finger on the pulse on everything around here.”
“And she’s a funny lady,” I said.
“She is. And a very decent soul.”
“Thanks for seeing us,” Nicole said.
“Your documentary sounds like something we could use. Not just this town, but everyone. I’m tired of Billy Wayne Baker being some kind of cult hero.” She sighed. “Particularly with the younger crowd.”
