Seminole Bend

by Tom Hansen

  Lew replaced the cardboard covering over the shattered glass door, then drove to the end of the driveway where he parked the car. Before getting out, he looked closely at the two photos he took from Brett’s house. Lew needed the missing Polaroid picture to confirm his theory, but that wasn’t going to happen. He laid the prints on the dashboard and got out of the Trans Am.

  As he was about to follow the hedge to Miguel’s shed home, Lew stopped and watched two men exit the back seat of a black Lincoln Continental and enter the front door of the mansion. That normally wouldn’t have surprised Lew, except one of the passengers was wearing a sheriff’s uniform. Lew wondered why an officer on duty would be riding in a civilian car and not in a police vehicle.

  The shed door was open and Miguel was replacing the sharpened blade onto the push mower. “Hi Miguel,” said Lew in an unruffled voice. He didn’t want to startle him again this morning as he had last evening.

  Miguel jumped up and gave Lew a big hug when he saw him in the doorway. “Hola Señor Lew, mi amigo! You come back, why?”

  “Come with me, please,” motioned Lew using hand gestures to point in the direction of Brett’s house. He pulled out another $100 bill from his wallet and used it as a carrot to intrigue Miguel to follow him.

  Miguel looked up to the windows of the Harfield estate to make sure no one was watching, then said to Lew, “Okay, okay. Pronto! Señor Harfield fire me if he sees me gone.”

  Lew and Miguel slithered along the shrubbery at the property’s edge, pausing at times to check for unsuspecting onlookers. When they were certain no one was watching, they ran across the road and up Brett’s driveway to the house. Lew stopped and bent over, his hands firmly placed on his waist. Sweat was beading from his forehead and his Polo shirt was drenched. Both his clothes and heart chambers were getting quite a workout on this short trip to Seminole Bend!

  Lew led Miguel to the patio door and using hand gestures combined with short English words, asked him if he could fix it.

  “Si yes! I fix it, but need glass,” answered Miguel as he nodded and pointed to the frame.

  “Yes, okay. I’ll get the glass and come back.” Lew was happy to know Miguel could do the job, but realized the next two problems might be difficult to overcome. He would need a pickup truck to transport the glass, and then find a way to get past the security guards for a third time. Lew wondered if Phil owned a pickup truck.

  * * * * *

  Lew got back into his car while Miguel bustled along the hedge back to the shed. The Lincoln was still parked in the driveway circle near the entrance to the Harfield mansion. He was about to turn left and head toward the exit to the Estates when he noticed something peculiar in Harfield’s driveway, a few feet from the No Trespassing sign posted on the property fence. Lew shifted the Trans Am back into park and got out. He stood in the middle of the road trying to figure out why there was a rectangular metal grate set into the decorative path to the house. Lew had seen it before but thought it was a drainage trench for rain runoff. But now with a second look, he noticed it was actually a solid four by six-foot iron hatchway with no slots to drain water. Odd.

  Lew ignored the warning sign and walked up to the hatch. It was fastened shut with a two-foot sliding cylindrical bar and two locks, one at each end of the rod. Someone was going to great lengths to keep people out of this vault. Lew looked up. He heard chatter coming from the mansion’s front door and noticed the two men from the Lincoln were just about leave. They were shaking hands, but clearly the noise level was high and Lew guessed the men were arguing about something. He ran back to the Trans Am, fired it up and hurried toward the security gate. The young guard checked the clock and wrote the time on the clipboard next to Lew’s name.

  “Thanks,” said Lew. “Hey, by the way, my son was looking at putting in a new sliding glass door. I may be back with a pickup truck to deliver it. That okay with you?”

  “Thought you said you were heading to the airport?” replied the guard. “Don’t matter, though, cuz I’m done working in a few minutes. Sheriff Al himself will be on duty after me.”

  “Sheriff Al? Is he the sheriff of Seminole Bend?”

  “Yep. One and only.”

  “Why would a sheriff work the security gate out here at the Estates?”

  “Good question, Mr. Berry. Not sure and I don’t ask cuz it’s none of my business.”

  “How long will he be working?”

  “Noon to one. Then George Dellon comes in and replaces the sheriff.”

  “He works for just one hour? How many days a week?”

  “Oh no, not each week. Sheriff Al only works one day a month.”

  “You’re saying the sheriff works as a security guard here only one day a month and for only one hour at a time?” Lew had an incredulous look on his face. “Okay, well thanks again. It’s much appreciated!”

  Lew waved at the guard and drove away. He pulled off the road about a quarter mile from the guard post, got out and locked the doors to his Trans Am. He then snuck back towards the guard post behind a line of palm trees and hid behind a hibiscus shrub about twenty feet from the hut.

  With his nose firmly planted between two pink flowers while thorn scratches were slicing up his face, Lew watched the Lincoln Continental that had been at the mansion stop next to the security gate. Exiting from the back seat was the man with the uniform. He slammed the back door shut and the Lincoln continued down the road away from the Estates. Sheriff Al Bonty opened the door to the guard post and entered. A few minutes later the teenage boy left and walked up the road into the Estates.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” breathed Lew to himself. “The kid lives out here. So much for my dropout theory.”

  Five minutes later, an eighteen-wheeled semi drove up and stopped at the guard post. Lew examined it closely, but could find absolutely no markings on it whatsoever. No letters, no numbers, no logos, nothing! The truck driver conversed with the sheriff for a minute or so, then proceeded to enter the Estates. Lew checked the license plate: RJCorp, registered in Florida.

  Lew scampered over a couple of property fences and followed the slow moving semi up the road, keeping out of sight. The last fence Lew climbed was his son Brett’s, and he hid behind the arched entrance as he watched the truck pull into the Harfield mansion across the street. The trailer stopped directly over the iron ingress and the driver stepped down from the cab and crawled underneath his vehicle. Moments later, he wormed his way out with a cylindrical metal bar, two locks and a key in his hands. He placed the objects on the ground and walked back to the cab.

  Lew peered under the truck and noticed the two doors of the hatch were propped open to a vertical position instead of being laid flat on the ground. The bald, bulky truck driver went back to the cab, but then disappeared, most likely through a connecting door from the cab into the trailer. Lew guessed that the floor of the trailer must also have an opening and odds are that it is currently located directly over the underground vault. Who builds a truck like that?

  The rear doors to the trailer remained closed. Because they were sealed, and the fact that the iron hatches to the underground compartment were opened at a ninety-degree angle to the truck, whatever was being moved in or out of the subterranean vault was shielded from view. Lew assumed that was the plan.

  Well, shields work just fine in both directions, so Lew crouched down and tepidly crossed the street to the truck. Surveying all around him and seeing no one, he rushed to the side of the trailer, picked up one of the locks and yanked the key out of the keyhole. He hoped the burly truck driver wouldn’t notice the key missing when he re-locked the vault doors. Lew then hustled back to his hiding place across the street and held his breath. After a minute, he stuck his head around the corner and exhaled. No one had seen him.

  Lew could hear clanging and assumed something metal was being moved either into or out of the truck. It was closing in on one o’clock when the hatch doors closed and the truck driver slid the rod back into place. The lo
cks were in the open position and the man clicked them shut on both ends. He first placed his hands in his jeans pockets, then patted his shirt pocket. He then squatted down and looked under the truck and around the hatch. Lew knew the driver was looking for the missing key.

  The driver glanced at his watch and decided it was time to hit the road. He climbed into the cab, shifted the semi into reverse and carefully backed out into the street. When he was out of sight, Lew sprinted across the street and to the iron covering. He knelt down and unfastened both locks, then slid the rod out of the slots. He surveyed the area for any onlookers, and when he was sure no one was watching, he lifted one door to the hatch and flapped it over onto the driveway. What he saw next was very puzzling. About thirty feet down was a water channel that either started or ended right below him. Lew could see that the canal seemed to veer towards the mansion, but his vision was limited. However, he clearly saw the floating vessel directly below the entryway.

  The vessel appeared to be a five by eight-foot rectangular watertight container that was as high as it was long. The top of the container was the point of ingress and the entry was similar to the driveway hatch: two metal doors that swung open on hinges. However, there were no locks anywhere in sight. There was a nine-inch propeller coming out one end of the container attached to a mechanism and bracket. Inflatable floatation devices were wrapped around the box, mainly for damage control, but could also raise and lower it in the water. Barely visible to Lew were two rails on the bottom of the canal. Obviously, the propeller generated thrust while the rails guided the vessel through the water. Lew wondered what was in the container, or what had been in the container that was now being trucked away. The hatch was too far down to reach, so a ladder must have been used to move the items from the container to the truck, or vice versa.

  Lew closed the driveway hatch and locked it. He tossed the key on the ground to avoid suspicion in case the truck driver told someone it was missing, then ran across the street to his son’s property. He hurried back to his car the best he could while dodging bushes and climbing fences. Lew slowly pulled out onto the Estate’s entrance road trying not to attract attention from the security guard, aka sheriff. But as he was attempting a Y-turn, he stopped directly in the middle of the street and gazed at the hut. It was empty!

  Lew remembered the teenage guard saying that the sheriff was on duty for only an hour when he worked a shift, but why would he leave before the next guard showed up to relieve him? It was only a few minutes past one, so it was possible the next guard was a bit late, especially if the guard was another youngster who had spent Tuesday night fishing and cuddling up with a six pack. And where did the sheriff go? He arrived to the post in the Lincoln Continental, but who picked him up? Lew was puzzled. Is it possible the sheriff caught a ride with the semi driver?

  Lew completed his Y-turn and gunned the Trans Am back down the road to Seminole Bend. By now, Willy Banks would have reported for duty, so he couldn’t catch him at his home. He would try again at the sheriff’s office, this time in person. Lew couldn’t pin it down, but something was fishy . . . and it wasn’t coming from bass boats on Lake Okeechobee.

  CHAPTER 36

  Wednesday, March 10, 1982

  2:00 p.m.

  “D eputy Willy Banks is no longer employed by the Seminole Bend Sheriff’s Department,” said Johnny Murphree with a solemn tone. “That’s all I can tell ya.”

  “How’s that?” asked Lew Berry. “I just talked to his brother’s ex-girlfriend yesterday and she told me I could find him here.”

  “Just happened. If you’ve been talking with Abby, I’m guessing this here’s a personal request. Maybe you can find him at home.”

  “It’s both personal and professional, sir. My name is Lew Berry and I’m the dad of the basketball coach here at the high school who was killed in an accident. I believe there’s some strange things going on regarding his death and that Willy might have some answers.”

  Johnny was about to respond until he noticed an overweight man with a felt cowboy hat emblazoned with a five-star badge appear from the men’s room next to the reception desk. The sheriff approached Lew and shook hands.

  “And what makes you think Willy Banks would have any information about your son’s accident?” questioned Sheriff Al Bonty. “Oh, pardon me. I’m Al Bonty, sheriff of Seminole Bend County. And I’m sorry about your son’s death and that his wife is missing.”

  Lew and Johnny Murphree simultaneously looked at the sheriff and hesitated a moment. They must have been thinking the same thing. Could it have been a slip of the tongue or an honest mistake? Lew was about to find out.

  “Wife missing?” inquired Lew with a raised eyebrow. “I thought Sheryl died in the accident?” Only the FBI had information that Sheryl was possibly kidnapped, or at least that’s what they told him.

  Sheriff Bonty’s face turned bright red as he stammered through his explanation. “Well, of course she died in the accident. Did I say missing? No, I mean she definitely was killed along with your son.”

  Johnny Murphree turned his face away from Al Bonty and rolled his eyes. Lew noticed. And then Lew noticed something else.

  “I feel bad about you good folks working down here at the sheriff’s department,” uttered Lew sarcastically.

  “Why’s that?” inquired Sheriff Al.

  “I mean, you all must not get paid much for all the hard, dangerous work you do, right?”

  “We get paid just fine, sir,” replied Bonty sharply. “What makes you think we don’t?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to upset you,” said Lew smugly while shrugging his shoulders. “I just figured that if you have to moonlight, you probably aren’t getting much of a salary, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think any of my deputies are moonlighting, but if they are, it’s really none of your business or any of our taxpayer’s business what they do after hours.” Sheriff Al was becoming feisty.

  “I’m not talking about your deputies, Sheriff. I’m talking about you.” Lew poked his finger at Al Bonty’s face, stopping just millimeters from his big nose. Johnny Murphree was now watching the two men with awe. Lew had broken no laws, so he couldn’t be arrested, but Sheriff Bonty didn’t take well to being disrespected. This was getting interesting!

  “What do you mean ‘me’? I’m not following you, Mr. Berry.” Feisty to angry in a few short seconds, Al was losing control.

  “Don’t you work as a security guard at the gate to the entrance of Seminole Bend Golf Course Estates?” Lew locked eyes on his victim. Sheriff Al’s mouth dropped open, then closed. He obviously had no response.

  “Didn’t I see you there just a few minutes ago?” egged Lew relentlessly. “Could have sworn you rode to work in a Lincoln Continental and left in a semi-truck. Interesting combination for a commute, wouldn’t you say?”

  Sheriff Bonty looked at Johnny Murphree, and then noticed two other deputies had heard the conversation and were standing in the hallway listening to every word.

  “You need to leave now Berry.” The conversation had disintegrated from politeness to contempt in a few short minutes.

  “Yes, I believe I do. Have a good day, Sheriff.” Lew exited the building with a smile and a nod to Al Bonty and his deputies.

  Sheriff Bonty glanced ungracefully at his deputies and ordered, “Get back to work, y’all! That whole conversation was just a bunch of horse manure. That old man’s just seeing things, that’s all.”

  Johnny Murphree wasn’t quite so sure.

  CHAPTER 37

  Wednesday, March 10, 1982

  2:15 p.m.

  L ew made the decision not to bother Willy today. If he just lost his job, he would be in no mood to answer questions. Instead, Lew drove his rental car to Bennett’s Airboat Palace to see if his new buddy had a pickup truck. He needed to fix Brett’s patio door before heading back to Miami.

  Phil Bennett was gassing up an airboat at the dock when he looked back and saw Lew’s Trans Am pulling into the par
king lot. He replaced the nozzle onto the rusty pump and walked over to greet him.

  “Decided to take me up on that fishing proposal after all, eh Lew?” teased Phil as he gripped Lew’s hands to welcome him back. “Well, as luck has it, I hear they’re biting big time today!”

  “Would love to, Phil, but I have a favor to ask.”

  “Shoot. I’m happy to help whatever you need, friend.”

  “Do you own a pickup truck?” inquired Lew. “I think I better fix that patio window we busted up before heading out.”

  “You know anything about fixing windows?” asked Phil skeptically.

  “No, but remember Miguel, that gardener across the street?”

  “Yep, sure do.”

  “Well, he said he knew how to fix it. Just need to get him the glass.”

  “When did you see Miguel?”

  “This morning,” replied Lew. “Let me show you something, Phil.” Lew reached through the open passenger window of the Trans Am and grabbed the envelope of pictures and pulled out the photos of Pancho. “Do you recognize this guy?”

  Phil studied the pictures closely then glanced precariously at Lew. “Yep, I sure do. That’s that Mexican man I told ya who went fishing with me and Miguel. Where did you get these?”

  “You got any Coke in your palace and a place to sit and chat?” asked Lew. “It don’t have to be a throne either.”

  “Yep, got both,” answered Phil. “Please enter my kingdom!” Phil pointed to the door and the two friends walked in.