by Scott Cook
“Jesus, Sharon…” I muttered. “Why do I get the feeling I just heard the most abridged version of any story in history?”
She laughed, “It’s a long one, that’s for sure. And I don’t even know the half of it.”
“And then your dad takes off and then your mom dies a few years later…” I said softly. “Sharon, I’m…I’m so…”
“Don’t fret about it, babe,” Sharon dismissed my concern. “It’s history. Yeah, all this shit has dredged up some bad memories… but I need to deal. My mom died almost twenty years ago. My dad five…and that’s just life. As much as that sucked, it sort of pushed me to where I am, I guess. I might have been unlucky in family, but I’ve been very fortunate in friends. First Uncle Rick always treated me like his own daughter. I met Scott and he’s as true blue as they come. Wayne, you and Juan… just to name a few. That’s what I need to focus on.”
“That’s a great attitude,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I don’t know if I could get over my mom being murdered… and never knowing why…”
“Yeah, that’s a tough one,” Sharon admitted. “Now that I’m a cop, it’s sort of odd knowing that my own mother’s death is an open cold case.”
“Have you ever looked into it?”
Sharon sighed, “I’ve been tempted. I’ve always kind of chickened out, I guess. Harry O’Malley was one of the investigating detectives. He said there was just no evidence. Not even any good list of suspects, other than my dad, of course. But a spouse or former spouse is always a suspect in a murder case.”
“I’m kind of surprised,” I admitted. “You’re almost as curious as Scott is. Haven’t you ever wanted to look into it in more detail and… I don’t know… resolve it?”
Sharon laughed a little bitterly, “Yeah, at least once or twice a year. Yet I guess… I guess I’m afraid to.”
I looked over at her.
She shrugged and blinked away a little moisture. I took her hand again and she said: “A murder investigation is very invasive. A good investigator leaves no stone unturned. You find out a lot about people when they’re killed…”
“And you don’t want to know too much about her,” I observed.
Sharon nodded and bit her lower lip. I could see that this conversation was getting harder for her by the moment, “No. Uncle Rick always told me to leave it alone. That even me becoming a cop should be for myself and not just to gain access to the case. It was better for me to accept what happened and remember my mom as she was. He was right, too. That and I wouldn’t have been allowed to look into the case anyway. There’s a reason they don’t like to let police officer’s investigate homicides of their personal acquaintances or loved ones.”
“Personal feelings taint the investigation?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Sharon replied a little hoarsely. She cleared her throat. “I could gain access now, thanks to my rank… but… well… it’s been eighteen years and then some. Why rip open old scars, right?”
“I understand,” I said. “I’m sorry… let’s change the subject. Let’s talk about something happier.”
“Like sex?” Sharon asked with a slight smile.
“Are you coming on to me?”
“Oh God yeah.”
We laughed. It wasn’t hearty but it did cut through some of the tension and kept things from descending into gloom.
When we got to Eagle Feather Eco Adventures it was nearly four o’clock. We found that the police had visited the place and had barred entrance to the small store/gift shop with yellow caution tape.
“Scott says the night they took Rick, he came and found the office a mess,” I explained to Sharon as she led me around to the back of the small building and the dock. There were canoes and kayaks as well as a sizable pontoon boat and what looked like a flats skiff with a poling platform over the motor and a big casting deck forward.
“They wouldn’t have found anything here,” Sharon commented as she sorted through the keys on her key ring. “Rick isn’t likely to keep anything incriminating… whatever that might be… someplace this well known.”
“Then what the hell are we doing here?” I asked.
“We gotta start someplace, Shirley Holmes,” Sharon replied as she unlocked the back door and pulled one side of the tape off. “I want to see what Scott saw. And I know a few things about this place nobody else knows.”
Although the Collier County Sheriff had been there, they hadn’t cleaned up much. The gift shop and store in the front of the building wasn’t disturbed. However, the small office still had file folders strewn all over the place, the desk was a mess and somebody had yanked the two big drawers out and had spilled the contents all over the floor.
“Jesus,” Sharon cranked as she began to sift through the rubble. “Couldn’t the fuckin’ cops have at least tidied up a bit?”
“Maybe they feel it’s a crime scene and don’t want it disturbed?”
“It is a crime scene,” Sharon grumbled. “But they’ve already had to go over it. Uncle Rick was snatched on Thursday night… early Friday morning, I guess.”
She began to straighten things out, compiling papers and notebooks into neat stacks and then placing them back into the drawers. Not knowing what else to do, I squatted down and started to pick up file folders and stack them into neatened piles. Some of them had papers half spilling out and I made sure they were put back together. Others had loose sheets lying nearby. It was going to take a considerable effort to reorganize it all.
“Don’t go to so much trouble now,” Sharon said and sighed in frustration. “Let’s just stack them together. Nothing much to worry about now… I guess I’m just trying to… I don’t know…”
“Put things to rights?”
“Yeah… but it’s not gonna put the situation to rights,” Sharon lamented. “Okay, let’s get down to the reason we’re here… help me with this cabinet.”
Both tall filing cabinets were made from heavy wood. Not the usual aluminum or cheap office store wood you usually found today. These were solid and even emptied of most of their files, must have weighed two hundred pounds. They weren’t pushed together, though. There was one cabinet in one corner and the other in the opposite corner. There was enough room for us to wrap our arms around one and begin to slide it across the hardwood floor.
“Geez…” I wheezed. “What’s in this thing, lead bricks?”
Sharon puffed out a short laugh, “Old world craftsmanship… fuckin’ cock… I’m about to shit a lead brick… ah!”
We managed to wrestle the cabinet a couple of feet from the wall. I wasn’t sure why we’d done this, until Sharon bent down and pressed a hand to one of the floorboards that had been covered by the cabinet. One side popped up a couple of inches and she lifted it, the two-foot by two-foot section of floor swinging upward on recessed hinges.
“A trap door?” I asked in amazement.
Sharon grinned, “Not quite. A hidden safe.”
“Why do I feel like we’re in one of those National Treasure movies,” I remarked as she reached into the hole and began to turn a large combination dial.
“In a way, we are… if you look at Uncle Rick’s life and the life of his father, grandfather and ancestors… you’re looking at a genuine slice of Florida history. Pioneers, soldiers and the Calusa people.”
“What is it you intend to find in there?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Sharon said. “Well, I know what I’m looking for… it’s just I don’t know if it’s gonna help. But after this, we’re going over to Rick’s place and snoop around there, too. That is, if there’s enough light… not sure I want to try and find the place in the dark. Or try and come out in the dark for that matter.”
“Doesn’t he own a house over on Chokoloskee?” I asked, more confused than ever. “That’s what you told me on the way over. Why would the darkness matter?”
Sharon opened the door to the safe and peered inside. There were some papers, a couple of stacks of cash in wrappers and a
few other odds and ends. She pulled out something that had been rolled up and the roll folded so as to fit inside the safe. She grinned and closed the door.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A chart,” Sharon replied, resetting the spring-loaded wood floorboards. “This’ll help me find the place again. We’ll take the Maverick.”
I’ve never felt less like a private investigator than I did at that moment. I was lost and entirely useless, or at least it seemed so, “Huh? Can’t we just drive over the causeway?”
“Help me slide this back,” Sharon said, taking hold of the cabinet again. “We’re not going to his house on Chokoloskee. Or, well… we might stop by, but that’s not the place I’m talking about. Rick’s got a little secluded fishing cabin deeper in the Ten G’s. That’s where we might find some kind of damned clue.”
“Kay…” I muttered as we replaced the cabinet. “How do you know all this shit?”
“I’m his niece, Lisa,” Sharon explained. “He trusts me. There’s a lot more to Rick Eagle Feather than meets the eye. Hell, probably a lot more than even I know. His laid-back Florida cracker attitude and his kind but worldly Indian mannerisms are just… well, I wouldn’t say a put on. They’re real… it’s just that he’s like… I don’t know… much deeper. He’s far wealthier than he lets on, too.”
“I never knew you were such a mystery,” I half-joked.
“Not me, babe. I’m pretty boring when it’s all said and done. But I grew up in this area and Uncle Rick taught me a lot. He’s trusted me with a lot, too. I’m hoping that’ll help us find him now.”
From the top drawer of the desk, Sharon pulled out a floating key fob with a single key attached. She then led me back out through the rear entrance and to the dock. She climbed down into the eighteen-foot skiff and waved at me to come aboard.
“2018 Maverick 18HPX-V,” Sharon stated as she opened a small hatch in the center console and turned a battery switch. “One-fifty Yamaha and she draws nine inches. Even less on a plane with the right trim. These flats skiffs practically skim board in water hardly deep enough to tickle your ankles. She’ll do forty knots in a pinch, too. Get the lines, would ya’, sweet tits?”
I laughed as I uncleated the bow and stern lines. Sharon tilted the outboard into the water and it started on the first try. The four-stroke rumbled to life and yet at idle purred quietly.
Sharon turned on the chart plotter and reached for the chart she’d placed on the bench seat. “Okay… I won’t need this until we get south past Chokoloskee a bit. The bay is well marked until we hit the Ten Thousands for real… hmm… yeah… I think I remember this…”
“You sure you know where we’re going?” I asked.
“It’s been a long time,” Sharon admitted. “But this is well marked and I’m sure it’ll come back to me when I get close… you got your gun?”
“You planning on shooting somebody?” I asked wryly, thinking of Scott.
Sharon winked at me as she handed the chart over and backed the skiff away from the landing. “I hope not… but it’s not a somebody that I’m worried about. Lot of nasty critters out there. Gators, wild hogs… python’s maybe.”
“Oh, well doesn’t this sound delightful,” I grumped as Sharon shoved the throttle forward.
The small boat seemed to leap from the water and in less time than I’d have thought possible, we were planed off and skimming across the glassy water of Chokoloskee Bay with our hair flying in the slipstream. It was exhilarating, racing out into the bay, its water shimmering in the golden light of late afternoon.
“Lot different from sailing, huh?” Sharon shouted, more over the wind than the engine.
“Oh yeah,” I said.
“Maybe we can talk Scotty into a power boat,” Sharon commented as she rounded a channel marker to head more southward. “In addition to the yacht. He’s got the bread now, doesn’t he?”
“Good point,” I replied. “He’s got like three income streams… no four! Shit, I need to start pumping him for some more sugar daddy type stuff.”
Sharon cackled as she shoved the throttle to the stops and the boat surged forward, the wind becoming so powerful we had to squint. “Yeah, right! What’s the point of having a dude with a little money? Hey… next time you’re on your knees, y’know… gobblin’ it… pause and let him know his old buddy Sharon wants a new car, kay?”
I chortled and frogged her, “You’re such a filthy bitch!”
“I calls em’ like I sees em’, hot pants.”
We sped onward toward the wilderness and whatever adventure awaited.
25
I left the Senator around four o’clock with a heavy weight on my soul. It was entirely possible that the man who’d just hired me and had given me a three-thousand-dollar retainer was indeed my true enemy. It was equally possible that he was right and it was Congresswoman Marsha Davies. The one thing that mollified me was that I had no doubt that I’d find out the real truth in time. Although that truth was currently obscured by heavy fog, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d discover it eventually.
In the meantime, Lisa and I had just added six grand to our little business’ bank account.
What troubled me more was the current whereabouts and disposition of Rick Eagle Feather. He’d been taken by a pretty considerable team. Two vehicles and half a dozen men. The only thread I had to pull was that I’d taken out three of them and that Collier County might have identified them by now.
I sent Lisa a quick text before leaving Marco Island and she said that she and Sharon had just arrived at Rick’s eco tour facility. Maybe with Sharon’s help they’d turn something up.
Then something else popped into my mind. Lisa had told me about her meeting with Doctor John Pak at the Randell Research Center on Pine Island. The archeologist stated that somebody had broken into the museum facility and had stolen the artifact that was then buried in Davenport. The thief had circumvented the security system and the theft hadn’t even been noticed for nearly two days.
“Hmm…” I mused, deciding on a course as I headed away from Naples. “Perhaps it’s time for good Doctor Pak to fall under the scrutiny of the Evil Doctor Jarvis… the evil scrutiny… nyhehehehe!”
Yes, it was Sunday… but the ladies had met Pak the day before, so it was possible he worked weekends. I’d make an attempt the old fashioned P.I. way before I used the resources of ICE again. I’m not quite sure why, but there was something about mixing these two aspects of my life too frequently that worried me.
I’d somewhat reluctantly agreed to join Colonel Warner Grayson’s team a little less than five months before. Although I believed they did good work, and I’d certainly been involved in some of it… I still enjoyed the freedom of being my own boss. Of doing things my own way. Yet the power and the resources of ICE were astonishing and very long-reaching. It certainly made my job easier at times.
Perhaps it was that which caused my unease. Using their intelligence gathering capabilities which included but were certainly not limited to agents, satellites, top-level computer hackers and next generation surveillance gear… was very tempting. Pulling the ICE badge and getting myself out of any local law enforcement snafu was as well. And ICE was hardly my only resource, should I need any support.
There were my other connections as well. I was friends with the head of a large, organized crime family. This family also had long-reaching hands as well as sharp ears and eyes. Then there was Jack Brody and his salvage operation. Not only did he have an advanced ship at his disposal, his captain was a secret agent with Britain’s MI6 service.
I also had wealthy civilian friends like the Arguses, Ramon Tavares and even Andrea Wellesley of EcoLife. Hell, I also could name quite a few cops as personal friends, too. Wayne, Sharon and Juan… Alex Munoz in Saint Pete, Sheriff Jeff Pelton of Monroe County and Harry Bride of the Monroe County Marine Patrol just to name a few. Shit, I could go even further than that… there was Charles Conklin, once an engineer now a mercenary
. I could even call on Clay Delaney, former Force Recon Marine… although his wife Missy would probably kick my ass around the block for drill if I did.
A pretty substantial and impressive network. I was glad for it, and yet somehow, that was the problem. Calling on these resources whenever I wanted smacked of a deal with the devil. As if each time I dipped into this wellspring of talent… I was somehow diminishing something. I couldn’t quite say what then… just that utilizing my network was something I should do sparingly.
I suppose it’s analogous to a wounded patient in the hospital who’s given a button to push whenever the pain gets too much to bear. At first, he only uses the button when absolutely necessary. Yet over time, he pushes the button more frequently, for less and less pain until it’s no longer to relieve the hurt but to induce the pleasure.
Then again, maybe it was simply my own independent streak balking at getting help.
“Fudge it,” I stated to my empty jeep. “Fudge it in the A! We shall grind whatever grist the mill requires! Isn’t that so, Watson?”
Watson, as usual, had nothing to add.
Stupid Watson.
I called the Collier County Sheriff’s department and was connected to CJ Wright.
“Good to hear from ya’, Mr. Jarvis.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting something interesting,” I replied.
He scoffed, “Not at the moment. I suppose you want to know if we found out anything on that bucket of stiffs you left at the Shell station. By the way… any news on Rick Eagle Feather?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” I replied. “I take it from your question that your be on the lookout alert turned up nothing so far?”
Wright sighed wearily, “Nada. A lot of land to cover, not enough cops, too much time… they could be anywhere. Nothing on your end, though, huh?”
I sighed, “No. His niece and my partner are looking into that now. I thought they might have already gotten in touch with you.”