“Who’s this Hardy person?”
“Hardy,” Gil said quickly, “James Hardy. Senator from Vermont. It was his boat. The one that Jackie was on when I—”
He stopped short, probably realizing he’d said too much.
Remington’s mind clicked into high gear. This was what had made him a top-notch, highly-paid private investigator. His mind flashed to the file he had on Gil Dickerson, and then he saw it; his way to the political office he wanted was clear.
“Tell Hardy I’m onto him,” Remington said, and felt himself grinning. “I have pictures of the boat. All I need is to trace the registration numbers on the bow and I’ve got him. It doesn’t matter if the boat never shows up. I know it existed, and that Jackie Ranchero-Doral disappeared on it. Hell, I could probably pin the murder on him, if I really wanted to.”
The phone was silent. Gil Dickerson was clearly chewing on this information.
“What is it you want?” he finally said.
Remington could hear the resignation in his voice. This had turned out better than he’d hoped. Now he had power over two powerful political figures. He didn’t know who this James Hardy was, but if the man was sending assassins, he was deep into the machinations behind the elite in Washington.
“Secretary of State,” Remington said.
“But I can’t—” Gil protested.
“Yes, you can,” Remington said, “and you will. Or I take both you and Hardy down.”
The line was silent.
“Okay,” Gil said quietly, almost a whisper. “You win. I will do it as quickly as I can. But I just want you to know, you will be ending the respected career of Leslie Lee VanAtter. She has been the—”
“I don’t care,” Remington interrupted him, “just do it.”
He heard Gil breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He worried again about the man’s heart giving out. It wouldn’t do to give the Governor a heart attack.
“This will all be over soon,” he said in a calming voice. “Once this is done, the evidence I have will disappear into a safe deposit box where it will rot for all eternity.”
“Good,” Gil Dickerson said, then sighed heavily. “I’ll take care of it on Monday.”
Remington clicked the phone off and inhaled deeply. Not only was he getting used to the smell of skunk, he was actually starting to like it. He looked over his shoulder to see Pepe sleeping in the back seat, curled up with the Gram doll in his arms.
26
The Beginning Of The End
Governor Gil Dickerson was in his new office, typing out the order to fire his current Secretary of State—a woman who had served in that office for years with a huge favorable popularity rating—and replace her with Remington Hoyt Reginald. His hands shook as he typed, knowing he was in a no-win situation. By firing Leslie Lee, he was going to erode public opinion of his first weeks in office. He was also losing her as a valuable political ally. She would likely be shocked, and definitely hurt. Most of her supporters would follow her in opposing him in the next election, thus, Florida would likely go to the other yet-to-be-determined presidential candidate. He was committing political suicide.
But then again, it was obviously better than the alternative. A life sentence in jail at best, the death penalty at worst. He wondered again how he’d gotten tangled up in this mess… and wondered if he’d ever get out of it.
Suddenly his office door flung open wide and his newest intern—a young man straight out of Harvard—burst in, looking apologetic yet frantic.
“Governor,” he said through ragged breaths, “you’re going to want to see this.”
Gil cocked his head to the said. “What? What is it?”
“On the TV, sir,” the intern said, and beckoned him to follow.”
The office he’d taken over didn’t have a television in it, a holdover from the last Governor. He’d have that remedied soon, knowing how important it was to keep on top of the news. He walked into the hall, and found everyone almost jogging toward the conference room.
“Can you believe it?” someone shouted up ahead of him. “They found her!”
Gil quickened his pace to catch up, and pushed his way into the room. The TV was on FNN and Fox Witzer was standing in front of a giant video screen, emblazoned across the bottom of which, in huge letters, were the words: BREAKING NEWS.
The conference room was full of staffers and interns, and the chatter was loud. Gil couldn’t hear what Fox was saying.
He grabbed the remote and turned it up as he said, in a raised voice, “Quiet down, people.”
Fox Witzer was animated, but still retained his news anchor cadence. “Just moments ago,” he said, “Jackie Ranchero-Doral, the missing intern from Gil Dickerson’s senatorial staff, took the stage from Raulerson Hospital in Okeechobee, Florida.”
Gil froze. The remote dropped from his hand. The room full of people fell dead silent.
On the video screen behind Fox Witzer, an image of a press conference appeared. The woman hadn’t started speaking and the anchor was still talking over the feed.
“She is alive and well, apparently recuperating from a boating accident on Lake Okeechobee.” Witzer looked down at his notes. “We have confirmation that she has several broken and missing teeth, a broken jaw, and—”
He stopped and put his hand to his ear. Behind him, the woman at the podium covered with microphones had begun speaking.
“Let’s go live to Raulerson Hospital and listen in.” Witzer stepped away from the video screen and the image enlarged to full screen.
Gil Dickerson could not believe what he was seeing. It was her, Jackie Ranchero-Doral. The woman he had brutally punched—apparently breaking her jaw and removing teeth—and then tied up and sent to the bottom of Lake Okeechobee. He wondered if he was having a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. He had watched her sink to the bottom of the lake.
“Geezus Christ,” he mumbled.
One of the interns near him said. “It’s true! It must be a miracle!”
Gil faked a smile and nodded.
Turning toward the screen, he watched in horror, waiting for this woman to nail him to his cross. It was over. She would tell the world what he had done to her and that would be the end of it all. He would go to jail for attempted murder, and spend the rest of his days rotting in a cell.
He inhaled deeply. It was almost a relief… no more lying, no more hiding. It was all about to be out in the open.
He pulled out a chair from under the large conference table, and sat down. The intern put his hands on his shoulders and tapped them in a celebratory rhythm. Gil watched as his future unraveled.
“Thank you all for coming,” Jackie said, dipping her head toward the microphones. “It’s been an unbelievable couple of days and I’ll try to fill you all in on what’s been going on.”
She didn’t sound like the jaded intern Gil remembered. She didn’t sound like the Jackie that urged him to rub sunscreen all over her body. She sounded… like a nice girl.
“Several days ago,” she continued, “I woke to see the sun streaming into my room at the Raulerson Hospital. Thanks to the doctors and nurses, I was kept alive after an unbelievable accident.”
Here it comes, thought Gil.
“Apparently, I had been out boating on Lake Okeechobee and lost control… or hit a buoy, or something like that. Anyway, the boat is gone, probably at the bottom of the lake. I sustained massive injuries to my head and face, all of which have been painstakingly repaired by the fine staff here at the hospital.”
It was true, she looked amazing, considering the damage he’d done to her face.
“And as far as I know,” she said, “I spent a long time under the water. As in… I drowned.”
A few hands shot up from the reporters in the crowd. She dismissed them by holding up a hand.
“I was clinically dead when I was pulled from the lake.” Her voice cracked slightly. “My body was recovered by two young men—thank you, Nathan and Justin�
��who performed CPR on me.” She paused for a moment and waved to the two boys in the crowd. “And, by some unbelievable chance,” she said, “they were able to expel the water in my lungs and get my heart beating again.”
The crowd cheered and some people slapped the boys on the back.
“I remained in a coma after the rescue, and the doctors were sure I had sustained brain damage from being under the water for such a long period of time. Basically, they were waiting for me, for Jane Doe, to die,” she said, exhaling deeply. “And that’s when I saw the light.”
She gestured to a man standing behind her with the doctors and nurses. He had his hands folded behind his back and smiled toward her.
“Brant Reginald brought me back to life,” she said, and urged the man to step forward.
He was stout, like an ex-football player, and deeply tanned, his salt and pepper hair brushed back on his slightly receded forehead, and with his blue eyes… blue eyes that glinted in the sunlight, it made for great TV.
He stepped forward and took a very slight bow, and then jumped back into the line of people in white coats and scrubs.
She began to speak again, but Fox Witzer broke in with a dossier of Brant Reginald. He documented his time at the Heavenly Father’s Holy Sanctuary Church of Fairhope, a wildly popular television church, with a huge following in Alabama and online. He laid out the details of Brant’s fall from grace and his resignation from the church, adding that the man had disappeared, not only from the congregation, but apparently, from the state of Alabama altogether. The screen showed a video clip of the man with his hand on a young wheelchair-bound girl’s forehead with his eyes closed, seemingly in prayer. This was followed by her leaping out of the chair, healed of her ailment. The screen flicked back to Fox Witzer, who was clearly dubious of the video, and he began to detail the many lawsuits that began to pop up after the case of Aliah Ranchero…
Fox Witzer stopped mid-sentence. He hadn’t seen this coming. There was some sort of bizarre connection here, but he didn’t know what it was. He drew his finger across his neck in a quick slice to signal his producers to cut his mic. They must not have received the message, because he remained live.
“Let’s listen in again as Jackie continues her amazing story,” he said quickly, and walked briskly off camera.
The video feed of Jackie Ranchero-Doral appeared full screen again. She was taking questions from the reporters.
“Who were you boating with that day?” a reporter called.
And that’s when it hit him. The big one. The pain stabbed Gil Dickerson so hard in the chest that he was thrown from his chair. He clutched his heart as the interns and staff around him all raced to his side.
He watched through the fog of his vision going black as they all ran around trying to figure out what was happening. Gil knew. He was dying. His heart had just exploded. Perhaps it was better this way. Jackie Ranchero-Doral was about to nail him, and he would likely go to jail until he died. He didn’t want that. And this way Sandy could hate him after he was gone and he wouldn’t have to be there to deal with that. He could barely hear the television as the hole around his vision began closing tighter and tighter and tighter until he couldn’t see anything. The pain in his chest was unbearable and he couldn’t feel his arms or his legs. This was it… the end.
And then he heard Jackie answer the question.
“I’m not sure,” she said, “maybe just me? I’m sorry, I still don’t have any recollection of that day.”
She didn’t know. She had no idea that Gil had tried to kill her that day. He heard a doctor confirm that it was unlikely she would ever regain her memory of that day. It was gone. Sunk, all the way to the bottom of Lake Okeechobee.
Gil Dickerson smiled. At least Sandy wouldn’t hate him after he was gone.
He closed his eyes and slipped away.
27
Broken Promises
Remington Hoyt Reginald could not believe what he was seeing unfold on the televisions in the Dave’s Isle Sports Bar and Grill. His whole world was falling apart right on live TV for all to see. In a shocking turn of events, the heretofore dead intern, Jackie Ranchero-Doral, who had been having an adulterous relationship with Governor (then Senator) Gil Dickerson, whose apparent beating and murder at the hands of the Governor he was using as blackmail against the man to attain a powerful political appointment in his cabinet, was standing at the podium in front of the Raulerson Hospital in Okeechobee. Whew.
And on top of that, a split-screen view of the Governor’s offices in Florida showed a menagerie of ambulances, fire trucks, police cars, and black, government SUV’s. Something was wrong with the Governor, but the news organizations weren’t reporting what exactly it was.
Remington had a friend in the office who’d said Dickerson was dead as a doornail after having a massive heart attack while watching the Ranchero press conference.
“Of course, he did,” Remington mumbled over his glass of iced tea.
“‘Scuse me?” asked the girl behind the bar.
“Oh, nothing,” Remington said and smiled. “Wonderful tea. Could I get a refill?”
She arched an eyebrow and filled his cup from a nearby pitcher. He took a sip and smiled broadly. When she walked away, he turned his attention back to the TVs and wondered what the hell to make of all this madness playing out on FNN.
He’d just been attacked by a hitman sent by someone named James Hardy to protect Gil Dickerson, but now Gil was (presumably) dead. On top of that, Jackie Ranchero-Doral—who was alive— did not remember the attack by the deceased Governor that had started all of this mess. So, now there was no crime, except for the assault of Mrs. Ranchero by Mr. Dickerson, but Mr. Dickerson was dead. Sure, there had been a cover-up by James Hardy… but he was covering up a murder that didn’t actually happen. His plans of blackmailing his way into office were officially kaput, over, gone.
“Dammit,” he hissed, and banged his fist on the bar.
“Hey, buddy,” the waitress called down to him, “settle down!”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, pointing to the TV, “it’s just that I really liked Governor Dickerson.”
“Yeah?” Her demeanor changed instantly. “I liked him too. I voted for him… twice.”
Remington raised his tea glass. “Here’s to Governor Dickerson, may he rest in peace.”
As he took a sip he looked back up at the screen. He immediately spewed tea all over the bar, and all over the girl.
“Holy hell!” she yelled. “What in the hell was that for?”
He never heard her shouting. He was staring at the screen. On the left side of the TV, the Jackie Ranchero-Doral press conference was being played back, and the portion of the video that stopped Remington in his tracks was the moment Jackie invited Brant Reginald to step forward.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Remington whispered. “Dad?”
As sure as the sun shines and the grass is green, there he was… the esteemed shepherd of the Heavenly Father’s Holy Sanctuary Church of Fairhope, Alabama. Remington watched as they described his father’s downfall from the church and how he’d disappeared for a few days, only to resurface down in Okeechobee. And apparently, according to Mrs. Ranchero’s account, he had healed her.
“Bullshit,” Remington shouted.
“You’re damn right it’s bullshit,” the waitress said, wiping her face. “You’re outta here, buddy.”
“Oh, oh…” Remington said, realizing what he’d done. “I’m so sorry. Here take this. Keep the change.”
He gulped the rest of the tea while catching the last few minutes of the broadcast, and deciding maybe a trip out to Lake Okeechobee was in order, he stood up and walked out to his car, peeking a look in the back window. He’d left it running with the AC on, and Pepe was snuggled up in the blanket. Sliding in as quietly as he could, he put the car in gear and pulled out. He opened his phone to start the G.P.S. toward Raulerson Hospital, and saw he’d missed a message. It was from Taz.
>
-We gotta talk
No shit, Sherlock, Remington thought, Jackass probably still wants money.
That last thought jolted Remington back to the realization he still had the Colpiller case to work with. And now, without the Dickerson case, Taz didn’t have anything to hold over his head. In fact, Taz was now just a piece of shit murderer trying to get money from a man who had nothing else to lose.
Remington realized if he could figure out what Taz had done with the Colpiller girls (Caroline’s body and hopefully kidnapped Mindy), return them to their father, solve the case, and turn Taz in, he could collect the healthy paycheck from Jack Colpiller and get revenge on him, all in one fell swoop.
-Talk now. Where is Mindy?
-Meet me. Alone. I’ll take you to her.
Yeah right, Remington thought, and then kill me too? Taz was trying to lure him to whatever killing hole he’d used for the girls and get rid of any evidence he had about the crime.
But Taz was probably too stupid to figure out that Remington had guessed his plan. The private investigator wasn’t defenseless, if he wasn’t ambushed… like he was by the Snake. He’d have Taz take him to where he was keeping Mindy and Caroline’s body, apprehend him, and take him in. He could still be a hero.
-Ok, where?
-Stiltsville. Yellow and green house.
Remington sucked air through his teeth. Of course. Stiltsville was a collection of old houses about a mile off of Cape Florida and accessible only by water. A perfect place to hide a body and commit a murder. No one would ever hear the victim scream. And these days, no one lived out there. The houses had all been annexed as a part of the Biscayne Bay National Park. It made perfect sense.
Remington turned his car around and headed out to Key Biscayne.
He made a quick call to Jack Colpiller. Jack picked up on the first ring.
“Where the hell are you?” Jack didn’t even say hello. “And why the hell was Taz at your apartment?”
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 59