Deadly Catch, page 16
“Sure, but don’t forget that Debra works the night shift at the hospital. If Lamar is still seeing Marilyn Harper he could be going to her place at night, especially now that she’s alone.”
“Good point, and thanks a lot. You just increased my workload.”
Around noon on Sunday I drove to Parkersville. It was time to spend some more plastic. I spent the better part of an hour at Wal-Mart looking at computers and digital cameras, and settled on an HP laptop and a Lumix camera with a twelve-power zoom lens. I’d gotten a good deal on the camper by buying last year’s model still in stock. The leftover cash from the insurance settlement was enough to pay for the laptop and camera.
I pulled out of Wal-Mart and headed for 98. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I noticed a metallic-black Cadillac pull out behind me about a half block back. I was sure I’d seen that car before, or else its clone, a few days ago when I’d met Bo Pickron at Canal Park for our little chat. It had been parked in front of one of the shelters; some ritzy tourists having a picnic or wetting a hook, I’d assumed. There couldn’t be that many Cadillac CTSs in this area. I checked the mirror again.
There were two men sitting in the front, but the sun was glaring off the windshield and I couldn’t make out any features. My gut was speaking to me again, so I hung a right a couple of blocks from the highway. Sure enough, the Caddy followed. I took another right. The car was hanging well back, but it made the turn. I drove downtown, noticed Redmond’s Sporting Goods was open, and made a left and turned into their small parking lot. I got out and headed for the door. Using my peripheral vision I saw that the black Caddy had pulled over and stopped in a parking space about a block and a half back.
Inside Redmond’s, I recognized that the clerk who had tried selling me the snake boots was working behind the counter. “Mr. McClellan, I see you survived your hike into Grand Gator Bay,” he said, smiling as I approached. “What can I do for you today?”
“Just window shopping,” I said, impressed with his recall. I suppose it went with the territory. “Is there a back entrance?”
His eyes widened a bit, but he motioned to a hallway and door at the back of the store with an exit sign above it. “It locks automatically behind you.”
Outside, I cut across an alley and circled back down a side street for a couple of blocks until I was behind the Cadillac. It sat parked a half block ahead. I walked down the sidewalk until I was almost alongside the car. A quick glance told me it was a rental. I rapped my knuckles on the rear fender. Through the tinted glass I saw the guys jerk in surprise. A second later the passenger-side window powered down and a head with thinning, sandy-blond hair stuck out a bit to get a better look at me.
I leaned down a little until I could see them both through the open window. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
Blondie glanced over at the driver, a hefty man with a head full of black hair slicked back like a young Elvis. His body was Older Elvis. Elvis gave a nod to Blondie and opened the driver-side door. Blondie followed suit, unfolding his lanky frame from the car and standing directly in front of me on the sidewalk.
“Yeah, we gotta message for ya,” Elvis said, walking around me until he was beside his buddy.” There was nothing about the voice that remotely hinted of having roots south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
Both wore sunglasses and were decked out in casual trousers, bright print Hawaiian-style shirts, and polished leather shoes. Their clothing might’ve passed for touristy wear in Miami Beach, but here in the Panhandle it was almost laughable. The King looked around my age, Blondie a few years younger despite the retreating hairline.
“What’s the message?” I said, eyeballing one, then the other.
Elvis glanced around at the surroundings while the blond beanpole kept his eyes locked on me. The King turned around slowly until a pistol stuffed in the back of his trousers grabbed my attention. “Lay off,” he said, turning back to face me.
“Lay off? Of what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Blondie growled, his voice deeper than his stout cohort’s. I guess it had farther to travel up and out. “We know who sent you.”
“Oh, yeah? And just who would that be?” I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about but decided to play along. I hoped they couldn’t see the nervousness I was doing my damndest to keep at bay. If they’d tailed me to Canal Park and had seen me talking with Bo Pickron, that might be enough to keep them in check, for the moment, anyway. Still, I wished to hell I had my shotgun in hand. I made a mental note to reconsider buying a handgun.
Elvis reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a comb, and ran it through his hair a couple of times, then put it back. My gut tightened, but I tried not to let my eyes show anything. That comb and the one I’d found near my burned trailer were identical twins. “I’m gonna say this one more time,” he said, giving me a stare that even through the shades felt as icy as a cold north wind. “Back off. And tell your boss we’re onto him. Tell him shit sometimes runs uphill.”
And just like that, they climbed back in the fancy wheels and drove away.
Back in St. George I took a chance and called the police department. I recognized Beth’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Is Patrolman Owens on duty today?” I said, trying to disguise my voice.
“Yes, sir, but he’s out right now. I can patch you through if you like.”
I declined Beth’s offer. The last thing I needed was for her or Ben Merritt overhearing J.D. and me talking.
St. George isn’t that big of a place, maybe three miles of highway along the beach from city limit to city limit, but it took damn near an hour of riding around before I spotted J.D.’s blue-and-white a block off the beach on Seventh Street near The Green Parrot. He had pulled over an older-model Toyota and was talking through the window to a young brunette. I slowed down to make sure Ben Merritt wasn’t with him and then pulled to the side of the road behind his cruiser to wait for him to finish the traffic stop.
He looked back at me and held up a finger, either shooting me the bird or signaling he’d be a minute, and continued the conversation with the brunette. Another few seconds passed, then J.D. leaned into the open window, and he and the girl kissed.
I grinned as he approached my truck. “Taking bribes from the public already?”
His face flushed. “No, sir, that was my girlfriend. You didn’t see that, okay?”
“See what?”
He blew out a breath. “Thanks.”
“Your boss man around?”
“No, sir. He comes on at four, then I’m back on at midnight.”
I’d noticed the conspicuous lack of policemen since I’d been in St. George. “Aren’t you guys a little short-handed?”
J.D. glanced toward the highway, looking east to west. “Yes, sir. A couple of men up and quit in the spring. Couldn’t get along with the chief, is what I heard. That’s when I hired on. I heard some talk we’re supposed to be getting somebody else soon, though. The chief likes to run a tight ship, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know the type.”
“The County sends a car over now and then when we need a break,” J.D. said.
I nodded, remembering that I’d seen a green-and-white cruising the streets of St. George on a few occasions.
J.D. looked down, shuffling his feet. “I been keeping my eyes and ears open like you said.”
“And?”
“I heard Chief Merritt on the phone once. I think he was talking to somebody at Barfield’s. I also seen him with Clayton Barfield, Brett’s daddy. They were talking out in the parking lot back of the station, but I couldn’t make out anything they said.”
I nodded. “Good, keep it up, but be careful.” I looked around. “Have you ever heard Chief Merritt talking to anybody from up north, or hear him mention anything about somebody from up there?” What the hell, it was worth a shot.
“Up north? You mean like Yankees?”
“Yeah.”
J.D. mulled it over a minute. “No, sir, not that I can think of, except maybe tourists down here on vacation. Nothing official-like, though.”
I nodded. “Is there anywhere we can go where we won’t be seen? I’ve got something I think you’ll be interested in seeing.”
J.D. thought for a moment. “Yes, sir, my daddy’s place. Him and Mama are on vacation up at Lake Martin. We can park in the garage, and I got a key to the house. You follow me, but keep back a block or so, just in case.”
I followed J.D. for several blocks through an older residential area of St. George about a half-mile inland from the beach. He pulled into a weathered concrete driveway, got out, and swung open the doors of a detached wood-framed garage. I drove in and parked beside his cruiser, then followed him out a side door to the back of the house. He unlocked the door, and we stepped into the kitchen. It was an older home but clean and well-maintained.
“You want a Coke or something?” J.D. said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle.
“No thanks.” I pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. He sat across from me, and I slid the manila envelope to him. “Take a gander at these.”
J.D. slugged down about a third of his Coke and began looking through the stack of 8×12s. He gave a low whistle. “Where’d you get these?”
“From Tom Mayo’s widow. She said Tom had been conducting his own investigation because Ben Merritt kept interfering when he tried doing his job.”
Another whistle. “The mayor’s wife and Lamar Randall?”
I took the photos back when J.D. finished gawking at them. “So, we have Chief Merritt sitting in Mayor Harper’s car,” I said. “We have Chief Merritt and Brett Barfield together. Lamar and the mayor’s wife. Lamar and Brett. And you saw Merritt and Clayton Barfield talking behind the station.”
J.D. drained the last of his Coke. “Why do you think Coach Mayo would’ve took that picture of the Barfields’ fishing boat?”
I spent the next few minutes filling J.D. in on what I’d found out for sure, my theory about Clayton Barfield using his fleet of boats to smuggle drugs, and how Ben Merritt might be in on the deal by looking the other way and keeping Brett Barfield out of trouble.
“But why would the mayor have been in on it? Them two families don’t like each other—except for Brett and Maddie, I mean.”
“Mayor Harper stood to lose most of his wealth to Maddie once she turned twenty-one and inherited what her father left her,” I said. “George Harper might’ve been counting on his cut of the drug money as a hedge against that.”
J.D. looked confused. “Call it a retirement fund. And, there’s something else.” I pulled out my wallet and handed J.D. the newspaper photo of Brett. “Look at this real good and tell me who it reminds you of.”
J.D. gave the clipping a quick glance and shrugged. “It’s Brett Barfield. That’s his senior picture.”
I nodded. “But look again. The shape of the face, that cleft in his chin. You’ve seen the Harper Realty billboards around town. Friendly George?”
J.D. looked from the clipping to me, his eyes wide. “Wait a minute, are you saying . . . ?”
“George Harper was Brett’s biological father. Sheriff Pickron admitted it after I’d figured it out. You do know Bo Pickron is Mrs. Harper’s brother, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“George Harper and Brett’s mother used to date back in high school. They had an affair years ago, after they were both married. My guess is the honorable mayor was paying Chief Merritt to keep Brett out of hot water, and when Tom Mayo busted Brett with the marijuana, Merritt made sure the charges didn’t stick. It wound up costing Mayo his job and maybe his life.”
After emphasizing just how dangerous this whole mess might get if word leaked out, I swore J.D. to secrecy and left. I hoped I could trust him. I’d counted on men younger than him to cover my back in more dangerous situations, but they were highly trained Marines. If this young police officer couldn’t keep his mouth shut, I might wind up in a real world of hurt. Or worse.
I jolted awake. Was I dreaming, or was somebody knocking on my door? I leaned over to the nightstand and squinted at the clock. It was a little after midnight, and I was still groggy from a few too many beers. Another knock. Thinking it might be Kate or Jerry and Donna needing help, I switched on a light and hurried to the door without checking out the window first. Big mistake. I opened the door to face a pistol clutched in the meaty fist of Elvis.
Elvis and Blondie barreled their way in without invitation, Blondie greeting me with a short but effective punch to the solar plexus. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air.
Elvis grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head up until I was staring him in the face. “I don’t think we got our point across in town this aftanoon, friend,” he said and then slammed me upside the head with the gun butt. “Lay off!”
Friend? I thought, as the world spun and the light faded. With friends like these . . .
Kate checked the schedule at work and called the next morning to let me know Lamar was supposed to have the coming Tuesday off. She also found out from Tonya Randall that her mother was still working the four-to-midnight shift at the hospital. She didn’t press her luck and try to find out what day or days Debra Randall had off from her nursing duties.
I didn’t bother telling Kate about my little run-in with the goons from up north. I was nursing a headache, and Elvis’s blow had raised a nice goose egg, but surprisingly there was little bleeding. I guess being thick-skulled has its virtues.
I did call Bo Pickron to tell him about yesterday’s afternoon chat and late-night visit with my two new “friends.” He seemed duly unimpressed.
“Look, Sheriff, those guys were in a rental car, and their accent tells me they’re from somewhere up north. This thing is obviously more than a local deal. Maybe it’s time you called in the State or the Feds.”
“No can do, McClellan, unless you got some hard evidence that I can show ’em. They won’t lift a finger on a whim.” I thought about the comb I’d found near my burned trailer and mentally kicked myself in the ass for throwing it away.
Pickron did promise to have his men keep an eye out for the car, which I described for him in as much detail as I could. “Don’t count on us finding it, though,” he said. “Chances are they already ditched the car across the state line somewhere and rented another since you ID’d ’em with it.”
At dusk I left the highway and turned onto the dirt road that ran through the woods parallel to the side boundary of Harper property. Checking the Google map again, I stopped where the sandy rut road made a hairpin turn south toward a cypress swamp. I pulled off and parked behind a thick clump of underbrush. Scratched the hell out my Silverado doing it, but the truck would be hard to spot if anybody happened by. I backtracked down the road until the underbrush thinned some, then worked my way through the woods and came to the white fence marking the estate boundary. I climbed over and snuck back a couple of hundred yards along the fence line until the house was in sight. Using trees and bushes for cover, I eased within thirty-five or forty yards of the house.
I made myself comfortable in a spot where I was well concealed by a hedge and had a good view of the driveway and front of Tara. The air was hot and sticky. I was wearing my camos, sleeves and neck buttoned tight because the mosquitoes were out in force, but a light breeze and bug juice spared me some discomfort.
Kate and I already had photo evidence linking Lamar Randall and Marilyn Harper, but getting up-to-date photographic proof that their affair was still ongoing since Maddie’s death and Brett’s disappearance might prove important to the case. I waited, hoping that if Lamar and Marilyn were feeling amorous tonight they’d do their thing early, leaving plenty of time for Lamar to beat his wife home from her shift at the hospital.
It wasn’t long before I was fighting sleep. It reminded me of being on a listening post in the Marines, only there was no one else along to spare me a couple of hours of shut-eye. I had six hours watching all to myself. By eleven-thirty the only visitors to Tara were the aforementioned squadrons of mosquitoes, scattered fireflies, and a family of chattering raccoons that passed within a few feet without detecting me. I gave it up for the night and headed home.
Tuesday was Lamar’s day off from Gillman’s, so I was back on post by seven that morning. I knew his wife wouldn’t leave for work until midafternoon, but Lamar might use some excuse to get away from the house for a while. If he did, I wanted to be ready and not blow the opportunity.
At ten I heard the sound of an engine break the calm. I grabbed the binoculars I’d borrowed from Kate and made sure my camera was at the ready. Soon a van appeared out of the trees and made a half circle around the drive. I focused the binoculars at a rectangular sign on the car door. Adele’s Cleaning Service, then a couple of lines in smaller lettering I couldn’t make out and a phone number in bold along the bottom. No Lamar, but the attractive young woman with big boobs and eggplant-colored hair who climbed out broke the boredom. I wondered if Friendly George or Marilyn had made the hire. My money was on the mayor.
Adele left around one in the afternoon. I made myself comfortable against the tree at my back and dozed off for a while. In the Corps I’d learned to be a light sleeper; if another vehicle came driving up, I’d hear it.
I was on full alert again by four, the time Debra Randall began her shift at the hospital. The hours dragged by, darkness fell, and I spent another wasted night waiting for lover boy. Not even the raccoons bothered to make a show, although a possum walked by close enough that I could’ve reached out and touched it.
They say the third time’s a charm, and I damn sure hoped it would be. I was getting tired of spending hour after hour waiting for Lamar and Marilyn to get their hormones in gear. Back on station at five-thirty Wednesday afternoon, I didn’t have long to wait. I was barely settled in when I heard a vehicle’s engine in the distance and getting closer by the second. I readied the binoculars and camera. Bingo!
