Chasing a Dead Man

by Kathryn J Bain

  She got out of bed and walked to the window. A few stars were scattered in the sky, and the moon was hidden partially behind a cloud.

  Hoover started barking. The security light at the neighbor’s house behind them blinked on and off like a strobe light at a party.

  Pamela caught movement out of her peripheral vision. Tension rippled through her shoulders.

  Was she seeing things?

  There it was again. She swore, a silhouette appeared in the dark. Her pulse raced. Should she call the police?

  The dog raced up and down the fence. Something or someone was definitely out there.

  She stepped to the side so the intruder couldn’t see her.

  Within seconds, Hoover settled down. She inched the curtains back. No movement. Must have been her imagination. Right? Unless… She moved back in front of the window. Could it be?

  Wishful thinking that it would be Phillip.

  A chill raked up her back. Her eyes darted around. A dark silhouette strolled down the road. She moved back to her bed and covered herself up to her chin.

  She considered calling Trish in the morning but didn’t want her to decide to return. Besides, she’d say it was nothing. But deep inside, Pamela knew someone had been out there watching.

  Chapter 9

  Jane waved to Cheryl, a dog walker in her neighborhood being pulled along by six dachshunds.

  “Can we get a dog, Mom?” Liz asked.

  “Not today.”

  “But those are so cute.”

  “Yes, but a lot of work.”

  “And I’m not responsible enough for that.” Luke pouted in the passenger seat. He’d barely said a word since being told they wouldn’t allow him to babysit his sister.

  Both she and Cam thought he was still too young. Maybe a dog would show him how hard responsibility really was, get him off their backs for a while. But then again, with all their outside activities, she’d probably end up being the one to take care of it.

  After she dropped the kids off at their schools, Jane headed to the area of Jacksonville known as Southside or Deerwood, depending on how much money you made and if you lived in the gated community. She buzzed at the gate, and Pamela allowed her entry. Within a few minutes, Jane pulled into the driveway of Pamela Evers four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath home, purchased four years before for $360,000. The value had increased since she first moved in. Probably had a lot to do with the Deerwood Country Club being just a few blocks away.

  Glancing through news articles before leaving that morning, Jane discovered that Pamela Evers’ widowed father had gone in for a routine medical procedure at an area hospital and ended up a vegetable. They sued and received several million dollars. He’d died within two years of the incident, and being the only child, she assumed Pamela received all his money.

  That could explain the false Phillip Evers. Maybe the goal was for Pamela to die in the home invasion so her husband could collect all that money. If so, something had gone wrong.

  Before getting from the car, Jane pulled up the video footage for the Jeffries’ block. The man did nothing but sit outside all day, staring. He barely moved, and when he did, he appeared to rub his back.

  Could his injury be real? Not for her to decide. When she opened the car door, cool February air felt good.

  She paused and admired the colorful flagstone walkway. Pamela opened the door before Jane got to the front porch.

  “Good morning.” Dark circles surrounded Pamela’s eyes. Her hair was unkept as if she hadn’t brushed it that morning. She wore no makeup, which gave her an unhealthy pale complexion.

  Inside, the home was larger than Jane had guessed. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were almost the size of Jane’s entire house. The aroma of coffee filled the air.

  “Where do you wanna start?” Pamela asked.

  “Did your husband have an office or somewhere he kept his important papers?”

  “There’s this room.” She pointed with her head to a closed door. “It’s got a file cabinet and desk. Phil—” She cut herself off. “My husband used it a lot.” She hesitated before going on. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to go in, but the police already searched it.”

  “They were looking for a shooter, not someone missing.”

  She nodded understanding. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?”

  “Coffee’s always good when you’re digging through papers.”

  Pamela smiled before she disappeared into the kitchen. The room held a two-drawer file cabinet and a desk with a laptop. The police must have returned it already. There was no way they’d have not taken it.

  Jane took off her jacket and sat down at the desk. She scanned through about a half dozen files. Mainly bills, all in Pamela’s name. Same with the house, two cars, and several bank accounts. Jane came across a $500,000 life insurance policy on Pamela dated a week before the shooting. She had Phillip down as her first beneficiary, the secondary was to the American Red Cross.

  In the second drawer, Jane found funeral bills for Pamela’s father and work invoices.

  In the bottom drawer, there was tax information. The false Phillip Evers had made $45,000 two years before, Pamela made a little over $60,000. Jane flipped through files further in the back and came across one marked Retirement.

  Inside was a business license for the Phillip Evers Insurance Agency. Just below was a quarterly bank statement.

  She scanned the first month, then the next, and then the third one. All had the same information—one deposit and one withdrawal. The deposit in each case was $8,000 and then two weeks later, he’d withdraw $5,000 in cash. The same figure each month, and the amount of the deposit kept the money from having to be reported under the Bank Secrecy Act.

  Footsteps headed her way. Pamela brought in a floral cup and placed it on the desk.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” She disappeared faster than she’d appeared.

  Jane returned her attention to the bank statement. All the cash moving around bothered her.

  She was sure the police made a copy of the statement. According to this bank statement, there was almost $50,000 in the account. She’d bring it up to Detective Iverson to get his perspective. He’d also have more luck getting the bank to talk to him then she would.

  Jane took a picture of the statement with her phone and returned the file to the cabinet. She found nothing to show Evers had taken money from any of Pamela’s accounts. Nothing to indicate who tried to kill him or his wife.

  An hour later and a lot of reading through documents, Pamela returned.

  “Any luck?”

  “The guy is a total mystery.” Jane stood. “I think I’m done here. Did your husband ever ask you for money?”

  “No, never. He had his own.”

  Jane got up and replaced the files back into the cabinet. “Did he keep anything anywhere else?”

  “Just the bedroom.” Pamela turned, then abruptly stopped. “Oh, and in the attic. He had some boxes, but the police took a bunch of them out. I’m not really sure there’s anything left to find.”

  Jane followed Pamela to the back of the house. “Let me check the bedroom first, then I’ll head up.”

  They passed a group of photographs hanging on the wall. One with Pamela as an adult, in what appeared to be at her college graduation. The rest, she was a teen or younger. None of her husband.

  One picture was of a bunch of kids holding a banner with the words written Beaumont Elementary School, A Private Girl’s School.

  “That seems so long ago.” Pamela touched the frame. “Almost a lifetime.”

  “Time flies.”

  Jane looked closer at the photograph. “Is that you?” She pointed to a small, thin waif of a thing with blonde hair. Her smile was awkward with teeth growing in.

  “Yeah. Trish is the floating head.”

  Pamela laughed, but she was right. In the back, a girl peered between the shoulders of two boys. Something was off about the picture
, but Jane couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “She gave me that last week when I was stuck here. Thought it might cheer me up, I guess.”

  “So, you two have been friends a long time.”

  “Not really. We happened to bump into each other one day at the Town Center.” Pamela looked over her shoulder as if making sure no one was listening. “Don’t tell her this, but I didn’t remember her at all. I didn’t see her again until when I woke up in the hospital.” Pamela looked down at the floor. “She was the only visitor I had other than the police.”

  “None of your friends came by?”

  “I don’t really have any.” She led Jane down the hall.

  Jane got it. For some it was hard to make friends. Made it easier to be alone. She had a brother the same way. If it weren’t for work and family, he’d probably never see daylight.

  Pamela turned into a large room. “Here we go.”

  Though the lady had lots of money, she didn’t seem to be over the top in her spending. Her dark king-sized bed had an upholstered headboard with a decorative trim. There was a matching six drawer dresser with a mirror, a six-drawer chest, and a two-drawer nightstand. All worked with the light burgundy flower patch quilt Jane was sure she’d seen at Kohl’s. Folded pajamas lay across the arm of a chair under a light in the room's corner, creating a nice reading area.

  Jane hadn’t seen a blip of dust anywhere. The woman kept the place impeccably clean.

  A floral freshener gave the room a sweet smell. A flat panel television hung over a gas fireplace on one wall. On the other was a walk-in closet. Sheer panels hung over a sliding glass door leading outside to a pool.

  “This was his dresser.” Pamela touched the six-drawer chest with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes welled with tears. She turned away.

  Jane opened the first drawer. An old watch, two empty envelopes from his insurance company, and a couple business cards with Evers’s name were in the felt-lined drawer. She took a card to check the address out in Orange Park later. She continued down through the dresser drawers only to find underwear, socks, and a few ties. The last two drawers were empty.

  The guy didn’t have much.

  She headed to the bed and checked under the mattress. Nothing. Then under the bed. Not even a dust bunny unlike under Jane’s where they’d formed an entire village.

  She next pulled open the nightstand bottom drawer which held an empty journal and the remote for the television. The top drawer had some pens and some pictures. None of which were of the husband. Next to the pictures were 9-millimeter bullets.

  “Whose bullets?” she asked.

  “Phillip’s. He pulled it from the closet and put it there for protection.”

  “When?”

  She looked at the ceiling for a moment, then said, “A couple of days before the break-in.”

  The man was expecting trouble.

  Jane headed to the bathroom. Nice. She’d love to have a whirlpool bath to soak in. Burgundy towels that matched the color of the bedding dangled from a rod between the shower and tub. Two sinks, plenty of room to move. Jane assumed the small room in the corner held the toilet. She wasn’t sure she’d like having such an enclosed space to go in, but to each their own.

  It would definitely keep smells down from Cam on chili night.

  Shaving supplies and some woodsy cologne were all that she found in the medicine cabinet.

  Within five minutes, she was in the walk-in closet, searching all the coats and pants pockets for anything that might give a hint to this man’s true identity.

  Nothing.

  “I guess the attic is next,” she said to Pamela, who sat on the edge of the bed with a forlorn look in her eyes.

  “It’s this way.”

  They stopped midway in the hallway. Pamela pointed. “It’s up there. I need a footstool to get to it.”

  A chain dangled from a square panel about a foot from Jane’s head. “Good thing I was born tall.” She reached up and tugged the decorative pull and the door groaned opened. A set of stairs tumbled down. Jane caught them before they hit the redwood flooring.

  “Do you know if there’s a light?”

  “To the right.” Pamela pointed.

  “You don’t have to come up if you don’t want to.” Jane glanced at Pamela’s white pants. “Might get dirty.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” She paused. “I was going to make some soup for lunch. Would you like some?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Loneliness came across in the woman’s voice. Not that Jane needed another friend, but some people needed to know others cared.

  Besides, lonely people had a tendency to talk.

  Jane climbed the creaky ladder to the attic. A musty odor hit her as she got to the top step. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, wishing she’d kept her jacket on. She felt around until she hit the light switch. Footprints showed in the dust on the floor, and a couple cobwebs hung in the corners.

  Three plastic boxes lined up against the wall in front of her. She ducked her head to ensure she didn’t hit a rafter and scooted over to the boxes. Fingerprint dust from the police coated the edge of each. She opened the lid on the first. Nothing but clothing. Same with the second and third.

  She went to straighten and smacked her head against the rafter.

  “What the…” She rubbed her sore head.

  She knocked where she’d hit. Hollow. She tapped the next rafter over. Solid. Returning to the hollow piece of wood, with her knuckle, she tapped up and down the plank. Within two feet it became solid again. She felt up and down the board. Her fingers hit a notch of some sort. She pulled on it, and several squares of laminated plastic fell to the floor.

  Driver’s licenses.

  Chapter 10

  The next day, wind and rain had moved in. Winston dropped a couple quarters into the meter. She tightened the belt of her coat around her as she tried to avoid the eye of a homeless guy heading her way. Another was across the street. Too many seemed out and about these days. She had no problem giving to the poor, but if she gave to one, the other would expect something as well or could turn violent. Even here in front of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, she didn’t feel safe. Too bad they weren’t at a shelter, safe from the cold.

  She cut across the street and headed up the steps into the Police Memorial Building. Cold air from the air conditioner hit her though it was only fifty out. The buzz of voices surrounded her. She stopped at the front desk and asked to speak with Charles Iverson. After calling him, an officer directed her to his office.

  Winston stopped short to keep from running into a lady who scooted around a couple of men stopped in the middle of the hallway. Phones rang and voices murmured behind closed doors. In a back office, the smell of stale coffee hit her. Detective Charles Iverson sat at a desk in the corner. He looked up as she approached.

  “So, what do I owe this honor?” His smile showed bright white teeth.

  “Noticed you’re working on two cases I’m interested in.” She picked up a bottle of pink liquid from the desk. “What case is this for?”

  “The two girls killed on the Northside and dumped from a moving vehicle.”

  “Bad one.”

  “Doesn’t help they were selling themselves.” He shook his head. “Most cops wouldn’t care, but they were only in their teens. They at least deserved to live long enough to know how stupid they were being. Or for their mammas to find out and snatch a knot in their heads.”

  “I agree.” She always enjoyed his light southern accent.

  He got up and grabbed a chair from a nearby desk and motioned for her to sit. “Want something to drink? We got coffee and water.”

  “No offense, but I wouldn’t try that coffee if you paid me.”

  “Tastes as bitter as it smells. That’s the way we like it here at the JSO.” He chuckled. Parentheses formed around his eyes. “So, what cases you wanna talk about?”

  “First one is Kevin Newberry.”
She placed her briefcase on the floor and pulled out a notebook.

  “That case is closed. The person who killed him is dead.”

  “And the parents are now suing the JSO.”

  “True.” Charles shifted in his seat. “What’s got you interested in that?”

  She explained how the Newberrys had come to her for a probate and now this lawsuit had come up. “They would like to ensure the parents get nothing. Tell me about this young man’s family.”

  He reached over and clicked away on his keyboard. “Turns out our killer had a juvie record.”

  “For what?”

  “Now you know juvenile records are sealed.”

  Winston lowered her head and raised her brows. “But you and I both know you pulled the police report after this guy killed the Newberry kid.”

  He let out another low chuckle that caused her stomach to stir. His blue eyes shined. A stark contrast to his dark hair and complexion.

  “Turns out our young Joseph had a fairly healthy arrest record. Twice for shoplifting, once for carrying a concealed weapon, and when he was fifteen for robbing a nearby convenience store. The arresting officer said he got probation on that one because there was no proof of a weapon, though he’d told the clerk he did. Claimed he just said that to scare the cashier.”

  “Too bad. If he’d been in jail, Kevin would still be alive.”

  “I agree.” Charles took in a loud breath. “Everything said this Kevin Newberry was a good kid. He was working to pay his way through college.” He shook his head. “Such a waste.”

  “The news suggests there’s a video that shows Xavier didn’t have a weapon when the officer shot him.”

  “The news doesn’t do news, they do gossip. Hoping to stir up trouble.” Charles leaned back in his chair.

  “No racism involved?” She trusted his answer. Charles’ father was of African American descent, and he would know racism as much as the next man.

  Charles shook his head. “The cop who shot him was also black.”

  Winston glanced through her notes. “I understand Joseph Xavier has a brother who’s serving time. Reginald.”