Chasing a Dead Man

by Kathryn J Bain

  Charles was standing near the door at the front exit when she got there. “I’ll walk you out,” he said. “What brings you here?”

  “Jane’s busy.”

  “Did the wife tell you anything I might need to know?”

  “Claimed her son was getting clean, had a job.” Winston glanced around the area before she started relaying the details of their conversation.

  “I guess most parents would want to hope their child was a good person. It would be hard to know you raised a killer.”

  “I imagine.” Charles opened the door for Winston.

  She pushed a strand of hair from her face. “I can’t help but wonder if the job Phillip Evers told his mom about involved murder.”

  ***

  “You’re saying by Phillip taking the gun from the closet, he expected trouble.”

  Pamela hated he hadn’t confided in her. She would have done anything for him. She got up and took her plate to the sink. “Do you think he knew the guy who was … killed?”

  “I’m assuming since he was using Evers’ name. Or at least Evers knew about him.” Jane stood.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It could be this Evers fellow found out about the identity theft and came to confront your husband. Some people are more prone to going after others than contacting the police.”

  That made the most sense in Pamela’s mind. This stranger came to get even, bringing his own kind of justice. Maybe her husband didn’t know how dangerous he was.

  Jane stood. “I’ll head back to the office to see if I can find out anything from the licenses and the key,” Jane said. “I’ll not spend an exorbitant amount of time. If I don’t get far soon, I’ll get with the police. They have better resources and don’t charge.”

  “Thanks.” Pamela recalled Trish’s words about her sister getting ripped off by a P.I. Too bad she didn’t hire Jane.

  “Do me a favor?” Jane put her jacket on to leave.

  “What’s that?” Pamela followed her to the front door.

  “If your husband calls, let me know. If someone’s after him, they could use you to find him.”

  “You think he’ll call.”

  “There’s a good chance, especially if he needs money to hide. This way he’ll have to face me instead of you.”

  “But I’m not afraid of him.”

  “I know. But you should be extra cautious with the other shooter still out there.”

  After saying their goodbyes, Pamela shut the door and made sure it was locked. She glanced out the window.

  Was it Phillip out there last night?

  At once the hair lifted on the nape of her neck. Could it have been the person who shot her, looking for a second chance?

  Chapter 12

  Gabriel stared at the cars pulling into the restaurant parking lot across the street. They did a fairly good business. Every once in a while, he’d imagined what his life would be like if he’d gone into a normal business. He certainly wouldn’t be living in his nice home. And the kids would be going to public school instead of the private Catholic school Analyn wanted them to attend.

  But there’d be less worry.

  A homeless guy sauntered up to one of the patrons leaving the restaurant. The guy gave the haggard man the bag in his hand.

  That’s why the bums and beggars hung around. Too many do-gooders who gave just to make themselves feel better. They didn’t care most of these homeless people were into drugs and lacked empathy for anyone else.

  His brother William found that out the hard way. His car had gotten a flat on his way home from work. He pulled under an overpass out of traffic. A homeless guy was camped there. William asked if he knew how to change a tire.

  Gabriel’s teeth ground together recalling this bum laughing because William didn’t know how to change a tire. He knew, but thought it’d be nice to pay someone who needed the money to do it. Unfortunately, once they got the tire changed, the guy hit William in the back of the head with a crowbar, stealing his wallet and the vehicle. Several passersby’s saw the incident and called the police, but it was too late by the time they got there. William died instantly.

  Within an hour, the culprit had been arrested and charged with his murder.

  William’s killer got life in prison. The prosecuting attorney said it had been a crime of opportunity instead of a planned killing, so he didn’t even try for the death penalty like Gabriel had wanted. Now this piece of trash gets to live in an air-conditioned facility with free meals the rest of his life while Gabriel gets to recall his brother’s last moments on Earth.

  His phone pinged, taking him from the terrible nightmare. Employee 368 had left a text.

  The stranger is leaving now. He had called earlier about a woman he’d never seen visit at the Evers’ home.

  Gabriel typed on the prepaid cell phone. Follow her. See who she is.

  Employee 368: You got it.

  Gabriel Yates swiped his finger across his phone. His shoulders stiffened. What if she were a cop? It wasn’t smart to mess with the police. They protected their own well.

  Could they have the key? If so, it wouldn’t take long to tell what storage unit it went to. He was sure they had a way to figure it out quickly. But then, wouldn’t they know about him by now?

  His hand tightened into a fist. He had to get his family out of here before anyone found out. He’d not lose his children or his wife.

  His phone rang in his hand. He glanced at the number but didn’t recognize it.

  “Hello.” His voice was low, cautious.

  “It’s me.”

  Gabriel’s pulse pounded in his ears. So stunned, he couldn’t speak.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.” Gabriel sucked in a deep breath to compose himself. “I thought you were dead.”

  Chapter 13

  The clouds had separated, and blue sky warmed the air. Jane loved February. It was probably the perfect time of year in the South.

  She glanced at her cell phone. McCay and Winston both had tried to get hold of her. She read Winston’s text. She’d gone to the morgue. Jane huffed a laugh. Winston liked to get involved when Jane had a good case. At first it had bothered Jane, but in time, she came to know Winston had a good mind and insight.

  It had been a little less than twenty minutes since the last text came in. Maybe the parents were still at the M.E.’s office.

  On the radio in her car, Sweet Home Alabama was playing. She jacked it up louder.

  After a check in her rearview mirror, she pulled from the curb. A black SUV also pulled out half a block back. If she’d known someone else was leaving the neighborhood, she would have waited to follow them out. All these little streets situated in circles could mean an afternoon of trying to get back to the main road.

  After a few minutes of being unsure if she was going the right direction, she pulled to the curb. The black car did the same.

  “Hmmmm.”

  She input the Medical Examiner’s address into GPS on her phone. The map showed she was to take a right in two blocks. She pulled out again. The SUV was far enough back most people wouldn’t realize they were being followed, but close enough not to lose her.

  After a few turns here and there, she found herself back on Southside Boulevard. At Beach Boulevard, she took a left toward downtown. Her left leg bounced up and down. While a few cars’ lengths back, the SUV was still visible. The tinted windows made it hard to see the driver. She flipped the dashcam to reverse in the hopes of getting something on film that might help.

  She took the entrance to the Hart Bridge and turned off the ramp to the football stadium. The SUV stayed behind her. There were no longer any doubts. He was definitely following.

  A couple blocks down Bay Street, she came to the police station where she took an empty parking space. The SUV did a quick U-turn. She waited a beat and did the same.

  “The follower becomes the followed,” she muttered. It wouldn’t have done any good t
o stay back since he had to have seen her turn around. She spun her dashcam so now it faced forward.

  “How’s it feel?” she asked when she got on his tail.

  The car sped up. Jane caught the tag number: XJV95.

  They both tore over the Mathews Bridge doing seventy. He picked up speed. She matched. She hoped there’d be a cop on the other side to stop him.

  No such luck.

  On the Arlington Expressway, a car pulled in front her, getting on from the Cesery Boulevard ramp. With a car on her right, one in back, and now one in front, Jane found herself boxed in. The SUV cut off a Ford Fusion to get into the inside lane.

  The Ford screeched its tires and slid toward Jane’s car. She swerved into the median to avoid getting sideswiped.

  The SUV didn’t even tap his brakes.

  Jane jerked her vehicle around the Ford paused on the Expressway. She and the SUV sped down the inside lane, passing two cars. The SUV cut across both lanes of traffic and drove over the grass to get off on the exit for Arlington Road. Car horns blared.

  She glanced at the driver to her right. He raised a finger at the SUV.

  She couldn’t get over in time. Instead, she had to wait to get off on the exit for the Service Road. She turned around in an apartment complex and headed back. At the light on Arlington Road, she took a left and drove to Atlantic Boulevard.

  No sign of the guy.

  Jane parked in a CVS lot and pulled up the website findmyplate.com. She typed in license number XJV95 and clicked on the state of Florida. A photograph of a red VW Bug came up. She clicked on the link for owner information. A junkyard in Tampa.

  Whoever drove the SUV most likely stole the tag. And there would be no way of finding out who it was following her, but she had no doubt, she’d see that vehicle again.

  Jane dialed McKay’s number but found out that both Winston and the Evers’ parents had left, so, she headed to the office. Brenda was busy on the phone when Jane walked in. “We might not have any choice. You can’t go on like this.” Tears formed in Brenda’s eyes. “We both love her, but there comes a time when it’s better for her to be placed in a home.”

  Jane continued to her office; overwhelming sadness set in. She knew in time she’d need to have the same talk with her siblings about the care of her own mother. Thank goodness Mom didn’t have Alzheimer’s or dementia. Such a devastating disease. Parents not remembering their kids, unable to care for themselves.

  She sat at her desk and pulled out the photos of the crime scene from the police report Winston had picked up from Charles Iverson. Little blood spatter. Not much of a mess. No ransacking of the living room. Something she would expect if this turned out to be a burglary or normal home invasion.

  One bullet was discovered with blood wipe. It had gone clean through. Bullets are hot when they cut through the body. Blood becomes seared on to it, thus creating blood wipe.

  There was a photograph of evidence markers on the grass where the police had discovered Pamela. The shooter who killed Phillip Evers hit him in the face as he lay on the floor dying. According to Pamela’s statement, there was a second gunman who shot her.

  Jane scanned down the page. The second gunman had been described by the neighbor as thin and short. Definitely couldn’t have been the missing husband who was muscular and at least six feet. She closed the file and pictured the scene. The terror running through Pamela Evers as she tried to escape.

  No wonder she needed a break from thinking about it.

  Who could have wanted a pregnant woman dead so bad, they’d basically hunt her down?

  The person with the answers needed to be found.

  Jane took out her cell and called a few hotels, starting with the extended stays. No sign of a Phillip Evers. She might get further getting out there and using his photo since he was likely using an alias.

  A few minutes later, Winston walked into Jane’s office. “How’s Pamela doing?” she asked.

  “As expected.” Jane tugged the licenses from her purse and tossed them on her desk. “I found these searching the house.”

  Normally she wouldn’t share information from a case, but since Winston gave her the referral and went to the morgue, she basically had a vested interest. Besides, an attorney knew about confidential information better than any P.I. Jane knew.

  Winston skimmed through the licenses. “Our missing man was definitely up to something.”

  Jane took a swig of water. “How’d it go at the morgue with Evers’ mother?”

  “She hadn’t seen him in years, only started getting postcards a few months ago.” Winston fingered through the licenses again. “He claimed he had a job and was getting clean.”

  “Ri-ight.” Jane knew the one thing you could trust about addicts. They lied.

  “They don’t know why he’d be involved in a home invasion. Claimed he only harmed himself.”

  “I’m sure he never stole a thing in his life.” Jane huffed out a loud breath. “According to Pamela, there were two shooters and the second shooter followed her to the back fence. Strange considering the shootout that must have been going on inside.”

  “You think she was the target?” Winston slid down into a chair across from Jane. “Could the fake Evers have set up the real one?”

  “Anything is possible at this point. It makes sense they were in something together, then the fake Evers turned on the real one.”

  “Why though?”

  “Could be any number of reasons, even killing Pamela for her money.”

  “But she didn’t die.”

  “Could be why the husband’s in hiding. Doesn’t want to take a chance with the police, especially since they would know he was an imposter.”

  “So, what now?” Winston crossed her legs and looked up as if studying the lights.

  “What? No work of your own to do?” Jane laughed.

  “Oh, I’ve got work to do.” Winston’s face reddened. “I’m just finding this more exciting at the moment.”

  Jane understood. She was never one for paperwork herself. “Well, how’s this for excitement? Someone followed me when I left Pamela’s house.”

  “What?” Winston leaned forward. “Who?”

  “I got his license plate, but it turned out to be stolen.” Jane ran her hand through her hair. “If I were a betting woman, I’d say it’s our missing husband.”

  Winston’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

  Jane glanced at the clock on her computer. Three-eighteen. “Cam’s off work early so he’s going to be home for the kids. I thought I’d head over to Blanding to see about Evers’ insurance company out in Orange Park.” Jane stood. “Would you care to tag along?” It might help to have the extra set of eyes if Mr. SUV showed back up.

  Winston smiled. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re not.”

  They both stopped at the front desk. Brenda’s eyes were red from crying.

  “Close up early,” Winston said. “Things can wait.”

  “Is Brenda going to be okay?” Jane backed out of the parking spot.

  “It’s a hard decision, whether to put a woman who took care of you your whole life in a nursing home. Both she and her sister are feeling guilty over it.”

  “That I get. I don’t know if I could put my mom away.” Jane took a right onto J. Turner Butler. “How about you?”

  Winston shrugged. “It’s easier for some kids than for others.”

  Jane tried to figure out what she meant. She waited for Winston to add to her statement, but she didn’t, telling Jane maybe it might be a good idea not to pry.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror.

  No sign of the SUV. Could it have been the false Philip Evers? If so, why? If you were going to fake your death, the smartest thing to do would be to get out of town. If it was him in that vehicle, he was hanging around for a reason.

  All was quiet on the drive over. As they got over the Buckman Bridge, Winston spoke, “Do you think Pamela is in t
rouble? Maybe this guy in the SUV plans to harm her.”

  “I would assume if he were going to, he’d have done so by now. He’s had plenty of time.”

  Winston nodded.

  “If you’re worried, why don’t you stop by and check up on her. I know she could use the company.” Jane slowed for traffic. “The more people coming around the house, the less likely someone is to try anything.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Traffic had backed up heading right onto Blanding Boulevard because of the red light on Collins Road. The line of cars heading left into Orange Park, a small town outside Jacksonville, was even longer.

  Six blocks away from her destination, yet it seemed like miles.

  She finally pulled into the strip mall where a sign hung, “Philip Evers, Your Independent Insurance Agent”. They rushed through the drizzle of rain to get onto the covered sidewalk.

  Jane shook off her coat. “I can’t wait until all this rain ends.”

  “We need it to keep fires at bay during the summer,” Winston said.

  “I know. I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  They walked up to the office, and Jane tried the door. Locked. A sign on the door listed the office hours and stated it closed at 5 p.m. She glanced at her watch. 4:12 p.m.

  A barbershopand diner were to the left and a dance studio and two empty stores were on the right.

  “Up for a drink?” Jane asked as she strolled to the diner.

  Winston’s heels clacked on the cement walkway. She’d never make a good P.I. in those shoes.

  The sign on the diner’s door announced Eileen’s Café. They were open until six. Inside was about ten tables. Each sat four people with not much elbow room. All the tables were white, and the wrought-iron chairs appeared to have little padding. Painted block letters decorated the window, announcing their hamburger special.

  A guy was cleaning up dirty dishes from a table with bleach. He kept pulling his pants up to keep them from falling below his crack. Someone should buy the guy a belt.

  “You can sit where you like,” a woman behind the counter said.