Divine Rebel

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Divine Rebel Page 20

by Tom Wallace


  “The death of his wife and son, for starters.”

  “I didn’t know Russell had previously been married and had a child. What happened to them?”

  “They were on a yacht that exploded and burned up.”

  “Where did this happen? And how long ago?”

  “Palm Beach in nineteen-ninety.”

  “Wow, this comes as a complete shock. I had always assumed Dottie was his only wife. However, given their age difference, I don’t know why I never considered that Russell might have been married before.”

  “His first wife came from an extremely wealthy family,” I said. “That’s how Russell ended up with so much money.”

  “You think he was responsible for her death?” Anne asked. “That he murdered her?”

  “He wouldn’t be the first man to murder his wife for her fortune. Many men have done it for much less than what he got.”

  “Maybe so, but…his son? He’d have to be really sick to do something that evil.”

  “Could be the son wasn’t supposed to be on the boat. Maybe he was sick and stayed home from school that day and Russell wasn’t aware of it. Or maybe Russell wasn’t inclined to share the money with his son. With the kid out of the picture, Russell got every penny.”

  “Takes a twisted bastard to do something like that.”

  Twisted. The perfect word for seguing to…

  “Dottie Barker,” I said. “I’ve heard some wild stories about her.”

  “I was wondering when you would get around to her,” Anne said, still smiling. “And I’m betting my name has been mentioned in those wild stories currently making the rounds. Am I right?”

  “As a matter of fact, you are.”

  “And you want to find out if they are true or not, right?”

  “Angel says there is no way they are true. That you aren’t the type of woman to participate in sexual games like that.”

  “You are desperate to believe your daughter is right, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you just aren’t completely sure, are you? But that’s understandable…you’re a typical guy. You have all those mental images of me involved in a threesome with Dottie and some other sexy chick. Maybe we’re in a swimming pool, or we’re all soaped up in the shower. One of those obvious clichés. Well, if you do, you need to wipe them away. Sam is correct…I would never lower myself in such a way. I’m no prude. Every consenting adult is free to do whatever he or she wishes to do, and with as many partners as they desire, but I’m far too traditional for that kind of behavior. Now, here’s the big question: Are you happy to hear that, or are you disappointed?”

  “Happy. Want to know what else Angel said?” I asked. “That you would never sleep with me.”

  “I’m not sure Sam is right about that,” Anne said. “Under certain circumstances I might consider it.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “We would have to live in the same city. Long-distance relationships never work.”

  “Just so you know…I own a house on the beach in Florida. On Siesta Key, to be precise.”

  “As far as bribes go, that’s not a bad one,” Anne said. “I’ve certainly had worse offers. I’ll keep yours in mind.”

  “You owe it to yourself to do that,” I said, standing. “I should get going, Anne. If I drink another drop of wine, I’ll be spending the night with you whether you want me to or not. Thanks for having me over. Dinner was great.”

  “Maybe we can do it again in the future. Hopefully, next time my chief defender can join us.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure Angel will be all in.”

  I wasn’t expecting a goodbye kiss from Anne, but I was pleasantly surprised to get one. It was on my cheek and not on my lips, which I would have preferred. But beggars can’t be choosers, right? And being a beggar, I was content to receive what was offered. You’ll hear no complaints from me.

  Twenty-four

  For more than two-thousand years, the verdict on Judas had been clear and final—guilty as charged. He betrayed Jesus to the Roman overlords for the infamous sum of thirty pieces of silver, then identified his Master in the Garden of Gethsemane by bestowing upon him what would later become known in Mafia lore as the “kiss of death.” For decades, the word Judas has been synonymous with betrayal.

  However, in more recent times, say the past sixty years or so, many scholars have begun to re-evaluate Judas and the set of circumstances that led to his fatal act of handing Jesus over to the hated Romans. Several scenarios have worked their way into the conversation, but among scholars and biblical experts, two have risen to the top of their list.

  The first of these, and the simplest, maintains that if it was God’s plan all along to dispatch his son to Earth and then allow him to be humiliated and murdered by fellow humans, in this case the Romans, why should Judas wear the cloak of blame? After all, he was simply playing his designated role in the Almighty’s big drama? Nothing could be simpler, right? God sent Jesus to die, his death was meant to atone for the sins of all mankind, someone had to betray Jesus, and poor Judas was handed that dark part to play. If you want someone to blame, many scholars argue, then look no further than God himself. He was the Martin Scorsese who directed that movie.

  The second scenario regarding this re-evaluation of Judas is more complex, and it harkens back to what the Jews expected their long-awaited Messiah to be once he finally arrived. Most Jews envisioned a Messiah in much the same vein as David, a warrior-king who would unite the Twelve Tribes of Israel, drive the enemy from the Holy Land, rebuild the Temple, and rule over Israel and the Jewish people in peace forever. At the time Jesus lived, many of his followers were certain he was the Messiah. There is no reason to believe Judas doubted this. And yet Jesus was nothing like the Messiah those followers were anticipating. Rather than challenge the Romans, Jesus preached that Jews should turn the other cheek and love their enemies, a doctrine that disappointed and baffled Judas, who was looking for an ass-kicker, not a soft-hearted snowflake. Judas became convinced that all Jesus needed was a little push, a gentle nudge that would force the Messiah’s true nature to the forefront. How best for Judas to accomplish that goal? Simple. Turn Jesus over to the Romans. Once Jesus was shackled in chains, once he realized his life was in imminent danger, he would strip away his robe of peace, pick up his sword and shield, and fulfill long-held Messianic prophecy by driving the Romans out of the land of Israel. But when none of that happened, when meek Jesus was tried, humiliated, and crucified, Judas, crushed by guilt and acknowledging that his plan had failed, threw down the thirty pieces of silver, then committed suicide by hanging himself, thus cementing forever his reputation as the most reviled villain of all-time.

  For those scholars who ascribe to this re-evaluation scenario, Judas was a sympathetic character rather than the guilty betrayer he had long been believed to be.

  Why am I bringing this up now? Because it relates to me. I have already betrayed one friend by sleeping with his wife, and now I am on the verge of betraying a second close friend. How will I be judged for these two deeds? For the first one, sleeping with my friend’s wife, I know exactly how I will be judged… harshly. I’ll be seen as a traitor, and rightfully so. That stain can never be washed away.

  The second one, though it has yet to happen, isn’t so clear-cut. In all likelihood I don’t think it will be viewed in a negative light within the court of public opinion, especially after all the facts are uncovered. Truthfully, I’m not persuaded this act qualifies as a betrayal. Granted, I may be throwing a friend under the bus, but failure to do so would be, in my mind anyway, the greater betrayal. With this one I’ll take my chances when Judgment Day comes.

  ~ * ~

  When there was a knock on my door I checked the time on my cell phone and saw that it was only ten-thirty. This concerned me because my meeting with Greg Harkins wasn’t until noon. If he was this early, it meant communication between the two of us was less than ideal. Or perhaps he was eager to get the meeti
ng started early, which was perfectly fine with me.

  But it wasn’t Greg Harkins standing there when I opened the door. It was Jimmy Martin and his much-shorter deputy, whose nametag identified him as Hall. My initial thought was that Jimmy had showed up to inform me he had located the spot where the shooter stood when taking his shot at us, and no evidence had been found that would lead to the shooter’s identification. But that thought quickly faded when I saw the look on Jimmy’s face. He was here in his role as an investigator. Delivering a message was not on his agenda.

  “What’s up, Jimmy?” I asked.

  “Mind if we come in, Nick,” Jimmy said. “We need to talk.”

  “Absolutely.” I opened the door wider and motioned for them to come in. “What’s on your mind, Jimmy?”

  “Is your daughter available? She’s really the one I need to speak with. Care to get her for me?”

  “Not until you tell me what this is all about. Beginning with, why do you want to talk to her?”

  “Dorsey McElwain is dead. He was murdered late last night or early this morning in his house on West Second Street. When I retraced his movements yesterday, I discovered your daughter was the last person he was seen with. Naturally, I have questions for her.”

  “What are you saying, Jimmy? That you believe she murdered Dorsey?”

  “I’m saying I need to question her, that’s all.”

  “I’ll get her.”

  “Maybe it would be better if I got her,” Jimmy suggested. “Unless you have a problem with that. Do you have a problem with it, Nick?”

  “No.”

  Jimmy went across the hall and knocked on Angel’s door. It took several seconds before she opened it. If she was surprised to see Jimmy standing there, she didn’t show it. Jimmy told her he wanted to ask her a few questions, and would she mind answering them in my room. She quickly agreed, not bothering to ask Jimmy what this was all about.

  “Where were you last night, Miss Gabriel?” Jimmy asked, once they were back in my room.

  “Why do you care where I was last night?” Angel answered, defiance in her tone. “What business is that of yours?”

  “Let me clarify how this works, Miss Gabriel. I have the badge, which entitles me to ask the questions. Your job is to answer them. Once again, will you please account for your whereabouts last night?”

  “I went to the Convention Center to swim.”

  “What time was this?”

  “About six-thirty.”

  “And how long were you at the Convention Center?”

  “Approximately an hour, I’m guessing, maybe a little longer.”

  “Did you speak with anyone while you were there?”

  Angel nodded, said, “The young lady at the desk who checked me in.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Yes, Dorsey McElwain. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “Did Dorsey swim with you?” Jimmy said, ignoring her question.

  “He did not. But we did talk while I swam.”

  “What did the two of you talk about?”

  “Nothing substantial, just talk.” Angel looked at me, then back at Jimmy. “What’s with all the questions about Dorsey McElwain?”

  “Dorsey was murdered sometime last night, Miss Gabriel,” Jimmy said. “And you were the last person seen with him while he was still alive.”

  “Not the last person,” Angel corrected. “That would be the person who killed him.”

  “Did you and Dorsey leave the Convention Center together?”

  “We left at the same time, yes, but we weren’t together.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “When we left the building, he got into his truck, I got into my car, and we drove away separately.”

  “Was that the last time you saw him?” Jimmy inquired.

  “No, we met at Dairy Queen. I was hungry after swimming, so I had some fries and a soft drink. Dorsey had a chocolate sundae. When we finished eating, we left. Separately.”

  “How long were you at DQ?”

  “No longer than forty-five minutes.”

  Before Jimmy could ask his next question, he was startled to see Greg Harkins open the door and enter the room. I could only imagine what Jimmy must have been thinking. Why the hell was an FBI agent in my room?

  “And what time did you leave?” Jimmy finally said.

  “Around ten,” Angel answered.

  “What happened next?”

  “I came to the motel and went straight to bed. As for Dorsey, I don’t know where he went when we left. Home, I would assume.”

  “Just to be clear, Miss Gabriel. The last time you saw Dorsey McElwain was when the two of you departed Dairy Queen? Is that accurate?”

  “Yes. Now will you tell me how he died?”

  “Broken neck. He was sitting on the sofa…someone approached from behind, and snapped his neck like a twig. He died instantly.”

  “What time did this happen?” Angel wanted to know.

  “According to the coroner, death occurred between eleven-thirty last night and one-thirty this morning.”

  “Well, that rules me out as a suspect. I was here at that time.”

  “Can you vouch for that, Nick?” Jimmy said to me.

  “I didn’t get back to the motel until around eleven,” I said. “Angel’s door was closed when I got here.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “I had dinner with Anne Bishop at her house.”

  “So you can’t vouch for your daughter, right? You don’t know for sure if she was in her room or not?”

  “No, but I believe my daughter is telling the truth. If she says she was in her room, that’s where she was. Besides, what reason would she have for murdering Dorsey McElwain?”

  “What reason did she have for talking with him at all? To me, that’s the big question. And if you think I buy the notion that she just happened to accidentally run into him at the Convention Center, then you’ve been smoking too much crack, because I don’t buy it, not for a second. I happen to believe she purposefully went there to question him, most likely on your orders.”

  “Question him about what?” I said.

  “The Todd Brown case. Apparently, you aren’t going to leave that one alone.”

  “Do you have more questions for us, Jimmy? If not, we need to cut this short. I have an important meeting scheduled.”

  Jimmy cut his eyes toward Greg Harkins, no doubt wondering now more than ever why an FBI agent was standing two feet away with a stern look on his face. Jimmy had to be perplexed.

  “We’re done for now,” Jimmy said to me. “But neither you nor your daughter should even think about leaving town until I get this mess sorted out. We clear on that?”

  “We’re not going anywhere, Jimmy.”

  ~ * ~

  “Don’t look at me like that, Dad,” Angel groused, once Jimmy and his deputy were gone. “I can see what you’re thinking and you are wrong. I did not kill Dorsey McElwain.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” I lied, hoping she didn’t see through my mendacity. “But the timing of his death tells us something, mainly that someone knew he spoke with you and wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Did Dorsey reveal anything important during your conversation?”

  “I didn’t think it wise to press him with a bunch of questions last night. That would’ve made him even more suspicious than he already was. We were going to meet again tonight at the Convention Center. That’s when I planned to dig a little deeper. But one thing I can tell you is that he possessed plenty of knowledge about what’s been going on around here.”

  “How can you be so sure if you didn’t probe for answers?”

  “When I told him you no longer had any interest in questioning him again, that you had determined he had nothing helpful to offer, and that you were planning to query Rabbit for information, Dorsey became very agitated. I would go so far as to say he was offended. He
told me he knew ten times more than Rabbit ever would. And now he’s dead, which means we’ll never know what he might have told us.”

  Greg Harkins was seated in one of the chairs, quietly listening to this exchange between Angel and me. His interest level seemed to kick up several notches when he heard Rabbit’s name mentioned.

  “Rabbit? That’s who we’re going to discuss today, isn’t it?” Greg asked.

  “Yes, it was,” I said. “But Dorsey McElwain’s murder throws a blanket over that plan.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “What are you thinking, Greg?”

  “During my investigation into the Sharon Anderson homicide, I spoke with Dorsey several times in Sheriff Jackson’s office. I got the feeling he wanted to be kept in the loop, to stay on top of what I was learning. Individuals who behave in that manner are always worth a second look. And he went out of his way to be helpful. For instance, when I wanted to interview Rabbit, Dorsey was the person who brought him in.” Greg paused, then continued, “I might be mistaken, but you’ve always given off a vibe that you believe the Anderson-Felton murders are related?”

  “Yeah, but that vibe is not much more than a gut-level hunch. Why are you asking that?”

  “Maybe it’s time for me to make a serious effort at linking the two cases.”

  “How would you go about doing that?” I asked.

  “By investigating the Dorsey McElwain homicide. If what your daughter says is true, that Dorsey had knowledge of certain events, then he might be the connection between those previous two murders. That may be the reason why he was killed. He knew too much. Therefore, he had to be silenced.”

  “Can you get assigned to the McElwain investigation?”

  “Not unless someone reaches out and enlists my assistance. That would have to be either the chief of police or the county attorney. And I think we both know Jimmy Martin is never going to ask for my help. But Mark Robinson might. During our meetings, he came across as a decent guy.”

  “Will you reach out to him?”

  “I could, but going through a back channel might be the more appropriate approach to take.”

 

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