The Wind Is Rising 1

by Daniel Steele

  “Add to that the inconvenient little fact that Bell has never had a parking ticket in his 78 years, much less any kind of arrest, and they’re asking us to believe that out of the blue this old man turns into a murderous conspirator who actually supplies the murder weapon to the shooter.?”

  I looked back at Herring, but he was a sphinx. Case was his normal stone face.

  “It’s your call, Dallas, but if it was me, I’d throw their asses in jail and if their sheriff or the judge down there wants to make waves, let them try. We’ve dealt with outside powers that happened to have a wild hair up their ass. We can handle them until they cool down. And those refugees from a Sergio Leone flick should spend a few nights behind bars to cool them down. It’s little enough punishment for attempted murder.”

  Dallas exchanged another glance I couldn’t read with Herring and after a moment, said,’ “Bill, I understand that you’re hot about this. But, I think the wisest move here would be to call a truce, let those deputies go home, let Judge Love and Gregory play musical warrants with us until they get tired and go away. And they will go away.”

  He looked at me.

  “Look, Judge Herring and I have been at this longer than you. Every once in a while you do get into it with another agency, another county. Nobody ever wins. You just wind up spinning your wheels and you lose valuable time you could apply better to real cases. Nobody got hurt. Bell appears to be fine. Let’s just see if we can make this one go away. Okay?”

  I looked from Dallas over to Herring and I sensed there was a lot more going on than was being put into words. What they were saying made perfect sense and only echoed what I’d thought earlier in the day, but there was an undertone that I didn’t understand.

  “Alright, Dallas. You’re right. No point in blowing this out of proportion. These assholes came in here and tried to kill off a witness, but….I’ll handle seeing them off. Be the nice cop, so to speak.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Bill. Things were pretty tense and-“

  “You think I’ll lose my temper, Dallas. I’ll admit I was pretty short tempered for a while, but I’m much more mellow nowadays.”

  Herring gave Edwards a small smile and I thought the earth must have been trembling a bit because Case’s stone face actually broke into a little grin. You bang a hot blonde with the biggest tits in Northeast Florida and EVERYBODY knows about it.

  “Okay. Just be cool. We’ll smooth things over with Bludwurth and we can all enjoy a nice, crisp Fall weekend.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: YOU DON’T STEP INTO A RATTLESNAKE’S LAIR

  I walked back to the room where Deacon and the other two deputies were sitting around. The other two were watching a Jerry Springer trashfest on a television in the corner of the room while playing Poker at a table with cash showing they were breaking at least one city ordinance and another state law without much concern for consequences.

  And Deacon leaned back on the couch on the far wall, his long legs crossed while he watched everyone that walked back and forth alone the hallway facing the room. He actually did have that squinty gunfighter’s stare I’d seen in scores of spaghetti westerns growing up. I’d loved Sergio Leone and Clint Eastwood in the ‘Fistful of Dollars’ flicks. But I had a feeling Deacon might have taken them too seriously.

  “You guys can go. Our people worked it out with Sheriff Bludworth and your Judge and the Sheriff is waiting for you to check in. We’ll have two of our officers direct you to your vehicles and – make sure you don’t run into any traffic problems on the way out of town.”

  They exchanged glances, then looked to Deacon, who nodded. They all got up.

  “You guys head downstairs,” he said. “I’ll be right behind.”

  They trooped out toward the two deputies waiting for them. A handful of secretaries and SAs of both sexes found some reason to be in the area on business and were watching the Satsuma deputies leave and trying not to make it to obvious that they were staring.

  “Could I talk to you for a minute, Maitland? There’s something I’d like to straighten out before I leave”

  He motioned to me and I followed him toward the other side of the room out of direct eyeshot of the hallway.

  “I want you to know there are no hard-“ he said as he swung around with a straight, hard right that if it had connected would probably have sent me to the dentist. But I was already swinging into it with my left and all his blow did was leave me with what would be a pretty good bruise on my upper arm. Reversing my momentum, I hit him as hard as I could with my right from less than a few inches away, straight into the pit of his stomach. I’d learned that kind of straight, hard, short shot carried as much of a force as any blow.

  He wasn’t set for it, probably he never expected me to be ready and prepared to counterpunch. He was doubling over as I pivoted behind him, grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head, and rammed his face – nose first – into the wall. Then I grabbed him back the back of his neck and threw him on his ass.

  A few seconds later there were two secretaries and a deputy coming into the door of the waiting room to find Deacon sprawled on the floor, blood gushing from his nose.

  “Mr. Maitland – what hap-“

  “You need to help Deputy Deacon up,” I told our man. “He tripped over his own feet and fell into the wall. Looks like he smashed his nose pretty good. He might need some help.”

  Deacon reached up and gingerly touched his nose, then wiped the blood onto his hand and stared at it.

  “I’m alright. Maitland was right. I was just clumsy. This place is dangerous. Let me get out of here before I do any real damage to myself.”

  He got to his feet without help and brought a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted up most of the blood. He waived the deputy off when he came over to offer his arm.

  “I’m good, I said. Maitland, I’d appreciate your walking me out. You mind?”

  He had his .45 back and his men were armed, but I couldn’t believe he’d try anything in front of witnesses after what had already happened.

  So: “Sure, Deputy Deacon. Just be careful on the way out.”

  He nodded to me but his eyes had a completely different message.

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. I never make the same mistake twice.”

  We walked out to the parking lot behind the courthouse facing the St. Johns. There were three Jacksonville deputies now. As we walked onto the lot I saw a Channel 12 television truck waiting. There was one cameraman filming, a reporter for a standup, and a third guy I recognized. Tommy Hunter had been a fill-in on-air guy, a camera man and now was moving into the executive realm. I’d heard he’d almost certainly be the next news director there. He knew his business and he was honest.

  Tommy approached me with a cameraman trailing behind, saying, “Mr. Maitland, could I get a word with your friends?”

  Deacon just shook his head. Tommy persisted. Very few cops DIDN’T want to get their pictures on television.

  “Deputy…Deacon, I believe it is. This will only take a minute of your time. And your – outfits – you have to admit they’re – dramatic.”

  “They’re not outfits. They’re what we wear.”

  “Okay, Deputy. Could I just get a word on what brings you-“

  Deacon stared at him and from what I guessed was force of habit dropped his right hand to the hilt of his .45.

  “I already said, I don’t want to talk to you. So get your ass out of my way and your nose out of my business.”

  Tommy was a sturdy six-footer and to his credit, he didn’t move.

  “Tommy, there’s no story,” I said to try to smooth things over. “There was just a little confusion about a warrant Deacon and his men were trying to serve. It’s over now. Like, I said, there’s no story, I can’t comment and Deacon won’t. But look, you already have film of these guys in their outfits. You can run a little video piece about a visit by some unusual lawmen from down South. Why don’t you just let it go at that and everybody will be happy.�
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  Tommy stared at Deacon for a moment, then backed away.

  “Okay, Mr. Maitland. Deputy, sorry to have bothered you.”

  Tommy and his crew faded away and I was standing beside Deacon at the cruiser. The closest of our deputies was a dozen feet away. Deacon spoke softly.

  “Pretty good moves for a pencil pusher. But if I’d had another couple minutes, you’d be heading for a hospital right now.”

  “Maybe. But they don’t pay me for my boxing skills.”

  “Good thing.”

  “So why don’t you tell me what you guys were really doing up here? That warrant, and your story, and that faked outrage…let’s just say it’s a good thing they don’t pay you for your acting skills.”

  He opened the door and then slid inside. The other two were already sitting inside. Looking up at me, he smiled and said, “Why don’t you come down to Satsuma one day and we’ll talk about it. I’d love to show you our little county.”

  I gave him a smile that was more bared teeth.

  “Somehow, I don’t think I’d enjoy it all that much. Give me a rain check.”

  “I’ll be looking for your visit someday soon.”

  I stood watching them. The Friday exodus was about to begin. This was the mini-eye of the storm. The first secretaries and regular workers were either trotting or trudging down the street that separated the parking lot from the courthouse annex.

  As Deacon pulled out, he glanced back at me and gave me a little two-fingered wave. I returned it. We gave each other one last look and then he pulled the cruiser toward the exit on the other side of the block, forming a little caravan with two Jax cruisers following close behind.

  Tommy walked back toward me.

  “You know I’m dying here. There’s so much more going on than anybody is talking about.”

  “You have an active imagination, Tommy. Nothing here. Move along.”

  But I smiled as I finished.

  “You know it’s a bad thing to lie to the media, don’t you?”

  “They’re driving away. No crimes were committed. There’s no story up here. You can call the Satsuma authorities but I think they may be close-mouthed. You can try though. I could speculate like crazy, but there’s nothing definite I can talk to you about.”

  “Why were they here?”

  “They were up here to make an arrest of a man we already are holding as a protected witness in an upcoming murder trial. There was some discussion about their wanting to take him back to Satsuma to stand trial for a murder – murders – down there. We disagreed. We think we have the prior claim to our witness and that they can wait until we’re done.”

  “They sent up three deputies to arrest one man you already have in custody? Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

  “A lot of things about Satsuma seem strange to me.”

  “Can you give me a statement?”

  “No. If Satsuma talks to you, I’ll let you talk to somebody, maybe Dave Brandon. But really, we’re a long way from our trial, their murders occurred just a few days ago. Everything’s up in the air. We probably ought to just say no comment.”

  He looked past me to the courthouse.

  “I imagine I ought to just say congratulations and that I imagine you’ll be enjoying the weekend.”

  “Congratulations? Oh…is there anybody in Jacksonville that’s not privy to my private life?”

  He smiled.

  “I don’t imagine there’s any red blooded American boy that’s ever been around the courthouse that’s not envying the hell out of you. Except me, but-“

  “Yeah, I know. There’s nothing to say. I’m single, a divorced guy. And I have started dating again. It’s not anything to shoot up to New York as a breaking story.”

  “Is she as hot as she looks? Can she be as hot as she looks?”

  I liked Tommy. And he had proved he could keep secrets.

  “Hotter, Tommy. Hotter.”

  He walked away shaking his head. I knew he was joking. He had just married a flame-haired, half-Mexican beauty who worked for the Ritz Carleton on Amelia Island. Roxanne Hunter had probably fueled as many wet dreams in her wake as Myra. And I thought he loved her the way I once had loved Debbie. He was one of the few guys who wouldn’t be envying me.

  The outflow of humanity from the courthouse was picking up the closer it got to 5 p.m. I thought about going back to the office, but something impelled me to cross the block and the street separating the courthouse from the St. Johns. I stood at the metal barricade that separated the sidewalk from the water.

  The St. Johns is as close as you can get to a free, non-prescription tranquilizer in Jacksonville . There was a day, before my time, when the river had been known as the “River That Stinks.” But succeeding administrations had cleaned it up and now it glistened blue and silver under the sunlight. It flowed fairly quickly and it was a WIDE river. The Mississippi in parts might be a more majestic sight, but for my money, the St. Johns was all the river any city could ask for.

  I realized I was still shaking off the shock of what had happened. Not an emotional shock. Not that I’d ever been terrified. But the shock of something unbelievable occurring in broad daylight. Police officers did not function as assassins.

  Oh, there had been some. I knew from the history of Jacksonville before Consolidation that the old Police Department had as dark a reputation as any big city force. There were widely believed rumors that some police officers had carried out murder for hire. There had been more recent instances of officers and detectives working as enforcers for drug dealers and organized crime from outside the city. Jacksonville wasn’t any more immune than Chicago or Detroit or New York or any other big city to that stain.

  But it was new to me because after consolidation in ‘68, the old City Police Department and the County Sheriff’s Office became the Duval County Sheriff’s Office and former FBI Agent Dale Carson had been brought in to clean house. And he had. You could never eliminate all of it because cops were human, and some could be bought and some could be seduced and some were just psychotic bastards that no screening would ever catch. But to as great an extent as I’d heard of anywhere in the country, Carson had succeeded in creating a squeaky-clean force.

  But Satsuma County was a long way away. I’d never heard much about it. There was just a faint, residual feel that I’d heard some bad things, somewhere.

  Now that some time had passed, I had started thinking more coherently. I didn’t believe a word of the warrant, a word from the judge, the State’s Attorney or that Sheriff. It was a set up. But, knowing something and proving it was a different story. I thought I’d come to know Wilbur Bell, and he wasn’t a murderer, or a guy who would hang around with drug pushers or push someone to kill three people.

  I couldn’t prove it which meant that legally there was no way to quash their warrant. But that also didn’t mean anything. There was no way in Hell Wilbur would live long enough to be dragged down to Satsuma and face their variety of justice.

  But, if by some miracle, he did survive, there was also no way in hell I was going to let them have him. I didn’t know how, but I’d step on the warrant. If that meant taking vacation time to go down and do some snooping, that’s what I’d have to do.

  And I’d been mostly concerned about keeping him alive. But if Satsuma kept their warrant and case active, that meant that I’d go into Sutton’s prosecution with my chief witness painted by another law enforcement agency as a cold blooded murderer. That wouldn’t help my case.

  I was watching the ripples in the river that meant fish, maybe schools, were close enough to surface for the sun to reflect off their moving bodies. As I watched one, and then another, broke the surface, jumped a few inches into the air and vanished again. They might be dead in minutes, or still fighting to feed and breed days or weeks later. Life went on, as long as you could keep going.

  It didn’t matter that I had another strike against me in the effort to stare into Sutton’s eyes in the Death C
hamber as they pumped the lethal chemicals into his veins. It had always been an impossible case. I’d just keep on going.

  My cell buzzed. It was Dallas.

  “You didn’t get into another fight, did you? You realize that thing in the witness waiting room was transparent. And did you forget we have cameras in there?”

  “No, I didn’t forget. But if you’ve seen it, you saw him swing on me. I let it pass because you told me to be cool.”

  “You knew what was coming. You let him sucker you into that. That’s not what a cool-headed Chief Assistant Prosecutor would do.”

  “I’m hurt that you would think that of me.”

  “Alright, can the bullshit. You got a little bit of payback. But you didn’t make any friends down there.”

  “I don’t have anybody I want to be friends with down there.”

  “Come on back. We need to talk for a minute.”

  Most of the upper levels were deserted. The door to Dallas’ door was closed. Myra had her things on the desk and she leaned back against it. There were guys that would have given a week’s pay just to watch her breathe.

  “He’s waiting for you inside, Mr. Maitland.”

  As she said it, she ran a thumb over her left breast and I watched the nipple pop up through the fabric. She put her thumb in her mouth, licked and then ran it around and around the engorged nipple.

  “I was thinking of you,” she said without a smile.

  “How can you do that to me when you know I have to be able to think in there, and all the blood is flowing away from my brain right now?”

  She gestured and I stepped toward her. She stroked and squeezed while staring into my eyes and I really did have a hard time organizing my thoughts.

  “I have a little bit of bad news.”

  “Oh. You decided to give up sex and enter a nunnery?”

  “Not that bad,” and she smiled a bit. “I – uh – they used to say an unwelcome visitor has come to visit.”

  It took me a second.