Seminole Bend

by Tom Hansen

  Sam paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. If he felt a bit of responsibility or remorse for the deaths of the Potts’, he didn’t show it. Willy knew it would be difficult to make him talk. Sam was intelligent and calculated, a tough nut to crack.

  Sam coolly declared, “I’m sorry you drove all the way to Homestead, Deputy Banks. As I mentioned, we don’t keep call logs so I can’t confirm or deny speaking to this Mr. Jackson. I can assure you, sir, that even if we did speak to him, we would not have provided the boat owner’s name or address. That information is not public record.”

  At that moment, the phone on the reception desk rang as did a phone in Sam’s office. Instead of picking up the nearby phone that was within arm’s reach, Sam excused himself and went back to his office to answer the call. Willy found that a bit strange. Calls to the DNR should be about hunting licenses and boat registrations, things like that. Why would Sam seemingly need privacy to answer a simple call to the agency?

  In his haste, Sam left the door to his office open and Willy could see him pick up the phone and then slink down into his chair. Willy couldn’t make out the conversation because Sam’s back was to him and he was basically whispering to the person on the other end of the line. But Willy noticed an electronic gadget that looked like a large two-way radio with the microphone missing sitting on top of Sam’s desk. And glancing beyond the desk, outside the office window, he saw a very unusual contraption. It looked like a giant bowl with a metal rod protruding up from its center. Willy decided he may have to sharpen his private investigator skills and give it a closer look before leaving. How he could do that without Sam noticing was yet to be determined.

  Willy took a few steps toward Sam’s office door and decided to try and listen in on his apparent covert conversation. Sam’s whispers were certainly suspicious considering he worked for a government agency that was dedicated to the great outdoors.

  Sam must have sensed Willy nearby as the whispers suddenly changed to a regular voice to whoever was listening on the other end. “Yes, I will be happy to send out a replacement fishing license. You should receive it in the next couple of days. If there is anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  Then Sam hung up the phone and faced Willy. “Sorry about that, Deputy Banks, but that was someone who lost his fishing license yesterday and needed a new one. Now, where were we?”

  Willy looked at his watch and noted the time. He planned to find out who made the call.

  “Well, I guess seeing you have no information that is useful, I will be leaving. I’m sorry I was a bit obtrusive. You’re obviously a good man, Sam, just doing your duty for the state of Florida.” Willy thought buttering Sam up may work to his benefit. He started away from Sam’s office, but then turned back abruptly causing Sam to accidently stumble into him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sam. I just wanted to ask you about that big old radio thing you got on your desk. Radios are a hobby of mine and I ain’t never seen anything like it. Mind if I sneak a peek?”

  “I’d love to show it to you, Willy, but I have a meeting soon. You were right. It’s a short-wave radio that I use to call my officers who are in the field. It has a range of about a hundred miles. Perhaps if you visit again, I can show you how it works.”

  “Sure, no problem, Sam. By the way, I noticed you don’t have a microphone attached. Is it broken?”

  “Yep, that’s it. We overuse the mics and they need to be replaced. I’m planning on stopping over at Radio Shack in Miami first thing next week.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, thanks for your time, Sam.”

  “My pleasure!” Willy shook hands with Sam and headed out the front door. Sam stood at the doorway and watched him leave. It was apparent that Sam intended to keep a close eye on Willy until he was back on the road and heading towards Miami. Willy fired up the Nash Rambler and pulled out of the parking lot, turning right onto the Ingraham Highway. About a mile down the road, when he knew he was no longer in Sam Dulie’s line of vision, Willy pulled over and parked his car next to an overgrown Sabal palmetto tree. He ambled back to the DNR alongside the highway, keeping out of sight by treading just inside the line of tropical woodland that ran next to the roadway. A half hour later, he was hidden behind the foliage that covered the fence separating the DNR’s back courtyard area from the building. He now had an excellent view of the giant dish with the metal rod, and through the window he could see Sam Dulie holding the telephone to his ear. So much for that meeting he was in a rush to go to.

  Sam’s back was turned in his chair while talking on the phone and he was staring at a wall in his office. That meant if Willy was careful, he could approach the dish without being seen. The fence was chain link, so Willy had no problem climbing over it and into the open courtyard. He ducked down and moved quickly to the dish, then laid down underneath the curved lip so he was out of sight from Dulie. The first thing that Willy noticed was a small cable running from the dish to a hole in the concrete frame underneath the office window. He glanced up to the window and could see the same cable connected to the short-wave radio, or whatever it was, on Sam’s desk.

  Willy estimated the diameter of the dish was about fourteen feet and it was made of fiberglass. The metal rod, or antenna, protruding from the center was about eight feet long. Willy had seen pictures of these contraptions and knew they were called satellite dishes. They were used to transmit data, and even television signals, from a satellite to Earth and vice versa. So why in God’s name did the Florida Department of Natural Resources need a satellite dish? Willy was now convinced that Sam Dulie was more than the boss man who ruled over the flora and fauna of southern Florida. As he turned to make his way back to the fence, he noticed an embossed design on the side of the dish. It was plain old gibberish to Willy, but he touched it with his fingertips anyway:

  صنع في آل القادر

  Just like any good private investigator worth his salt, Willy had a small, spiral notepad and a pencil in his back pocket. He tore out a sheet and placed it over the raised characters, then traced the markings with his pencil. After tucking the etching back in his pocket, he hightailed it to the fence and climbed over, then jogged the mile back to his car. He half thought that Roy Jackson and Sam Dulie would be waiting for him at the Nash Rambler with loaded weapons pointed at his face. He was wrong, but he wasn’t about to take a leisurely drive through the countryside as he made his way up to Miami.

  Willy checked his watch. It was almost two o’clock. He figured it would take about forty-five minutes to get to the FBI’s automobile impound lot that was located west of the city on Highway 41 in Tamiami. He turned left off of US 1 onto Florida Route 821 in Cutler Bay and headed north. A mile or two later he noticed a pay phone attached to the side of a post office. He made a U-turn and pulled into the parking lot. He didn’t have any change, so he dialed the operator.

  “I would like to make a person-to-person collect call to a Johnny Murphree,” said Willy to the operator, then gave her the number in a loud, clear voice. The phone rang at the sheriff’s department in Seminole Bend and sure enough, Johnny was working the front desk, as usual. He hesitated a few seconds, but then accepted the call.

  “Dang it, Willy Banks, you’re going to get me fired! I can’t be accepting no collect calls from anyone, let alone you. If the taxpayers don’t get me, Bonty will. Now, what’s up and make it fast? The phone’s been ringing like crazy all morning, everyone wanting information about that jet crash, you know.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that, Johnny.” Willy paused and thought for a moment. “What jet crash?”

  “You ain’t heard. Where you been, man?” Johnny was dumbfounded that Willy hadn’t heard about the second midair collision over Florida in the past month. It was on every news channel around the globe.

  Willy thought about the giant flash of light and loud booming sound he and Otis and Lance had heard last night. They assumed it was thunder and lightning. “Haven’t been listening to the news, Johnny. But now I know w
hat all the sirens were about and the ambulances I passed this morning heading towards Seminole Bend. What happened anyway?”

  “Don’t know too much yet, so best you turn on a TV or something. But I got to go, so what do you need? And I ain’t making no guarantees!”

  “You know I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important. And if you do get fired, I got a job waiting for you in my private detective agency.” Willy smiled as he could picture Johnny rolling his eyes. “Okay, what I need for you to do is track down a phone number for me.”

  “A phone number? What kind of phone number, what do you mean?”

  “A phone call was placed to the South Florida Department of Natural Resources around one this afternoon. Can you find out who made the call?” Willy decided to cross his fingers. He wasn’t much for believing in luck, but if it could help he had nothing to lose.

  “Well, sure, Willy. I’ll get Sheriff Bonty on it right away,” replied Johnny with more than just a hint of sarcasm.

  “Come on, Johnny. An official call from you to AT & T down in Miami might do the trick.”

  “They ain’t no fools, Willy. I would need some sort of search warrant to pull that off and you know it. Only a judge or the governor can do that stuff.”

  Willy thought for a moment and then said, “Carla Evans?”

  A touch of anger was apparent in Johnny’s voice as he replied, “What about Carla?” Carla Evans had been a paralegal in a local Seminole Bend law office and used to be Johnny’s fiancé. She was offered a career move to Tallahassee to work as a staffer for Hank Daughtry after he was elected governor. Johnny asked her to choose between a life married to him, or a life working in politics. Two weeks later Carla was pulling a U-Haul truck to the state capital.

  “Would Carla be willing to make a call to AT & T to find out who called the DNR?” Willy crossed his fingers again.

  “I don’t speak to Carla anymore Willy, and I think you know that!” Johnny was getting upset. If Willy wasn’t a good friend, he would have slammed down the receiver.

  “Johnny, I understand and I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. But I’m on to something and I can’t tell you over the phone just what it is. Trust me. I need this one favor and maybe we can rid the world of Roy Jackson.”

  “Your favors are adding up, Willy. I plan to cash in on some of them sometime, you know.” Johnny had lightened up a bit. Deep down, he thought this could be a good excuse to reunite with his ex-lover. He decided to give it a try. “Okay, I’ll make the call, but obviously there are absolutely no guarantees! Now, how do I get ahold of you?”

  “I’m at a pay phone in Cutler Bay, but I am heading home. I’ll call you back in a few hours, if that works for you?”

  “Remember, Willy, no guarantees.” Johnny hung up on his friend without saying goodbye. Willy took a deep breath and kissed his crossed fingers.

  CHAPTER 50

  Thursday, March 11, 1982

  2:30 p.m.

  A half hour later, Willy approached the FBI’s auto impound facility in Tamiami. It was set back about a hundred yards from US 41 and the entrance was a sand and seashell driveway that led to a motorized, chain link gate. The entire fence around the perimeter, including the gate, was about eight feet high with rolled razor wire affixed to the top. A guard house was just inside the gate and was manned twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year. If somehow someone was able to get inside the yard, then he or she would need to deal with a dozen German shepherds whose bite was worse than their bark. The facility itself was huge, approximately 90,000 square feet. But because homeowners in the area didn’t want a view from their picture window of an impounded vehicle lot, the FBI had planted queen palm trees twelve feet apart around the entire fence and patched hibiscus shrubs in between the tree trunks so the fence was barely visible.

  Willy decided his only option was to wait until dark and hopefully be able to sneak close to the fence and hide between a hibiscus shrub and the fence. He decided to call Lance’s phone booth in Seminole Bend to let him and Otis know he wouldn’t be able to make a dinner meeting tonight as planned with the mystery Mexican man. Willy wasn’t sure if Lance and Otis had located him anyway.

  Willy drove to a nearby convenience store to buy a bottled water and some junk food to hold him over until dusk. He needed change for the phone booth, too. The convenience store had three pay phones attached to the building just outside the front entrance. He tried calling Lance’s phone booth, but no one answered. By four o’clock, the sunny Florida sky was being replaced by several layers of black cumulonimbus clouds. Thunder crackled in the distance.

  Willy opted to keep his car parked at the convenience store and walk the half mile to the perimeter fence. An empty Nash Rambler parked next to an FBI impound lot could be very suspicious, so there was no need to risk it. The sun wouldn’t set until around 7:30, so Willy had three and a half hours to kill. He climbed over into the back seat to catch a nap. The rain began to dance on the roof, and the soothing noise put him to sleep within minutes. He awoke to loud tapping on his side window and a blinding light in his eyes. Willy shaded his eyes with his right hand and squinted to see who was making all the racket outside. It was two men with flashlights and they each had a badge pinned to their navy blue shirt pockets.

  “Tamiami police, sir, can you please step out of your vehicle?” asked the tall, stocky officer in a stern voice. Willy unlatched the door and exited the Rambler.

  “Hands where we can see them, sir.” It was a direct order, one that Willy had made many times during traffic stops in Seminole Bend. He knew the routine. Willy lifted his arms a few inches away from his pockets.

  “Driver’s license and registration, sir. Is your registration in the glovebox?”

  “Yes, sir. Here is my driver’s license and I will get my registration.”

  “Please, sir, stay where you are. We will locate your registration ourselves.” The tall officer nodded to his partner who walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Inside the glovebox, the registration was attached by a paper clip to a proof of insurance document. When the officer closed the compartment, he glanced at the floor mat.

  “Mel, I think you should come over here and see this,” the officer told his partner who was still examining Willy’s driver’s license.

  “What is it Todd?” replied Officer Mel.

  “You need to see it,” said Officer Todd.

  Officer Mel looked at Willy and said, “Walk with me and place your hands on the hood of the car.” Willy did as he was told and he knew exactly what the officer named Todd had found.

  Mel grabbed the wire cutter, crowbar and ski mask off the floor and walked back over to Willy. “What exactly are these for, sir?” inquired Officer Mel as he held out the objects for Willy to see.

  Instead of lying to the officer, Willy shrugged his shoulders and didn’t reply.

  “Cuff him, Todd,” Officer Mel ordered his partner.

  “Why? What crime have I committed?” Willy asked without losing his temper. He knew anger never worked when confronting an officer about to make an arrest, and quite frankly, Willy would have done the same thing.

  “You are suspected to be in violation of Florida Penal Code 810.06, possession of burglary tools, which is a third degree felony. You have the right to remain silent. From this point forward, anything you say may be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided at no cost to you. Sir, do you understand these rights?”

  Willy affirmed with a nod and said, “Yes, sir. I understand.” There was no use trying to negotiate a Miranda Warning.

  Officer Todd led Willy to the police vehicle and locked him in the back seat. Officer Mel noticed a piece of paper with nonsense writing scribbled on it that was laying on the passenger side front seat. He placed it in the black evidence bag along with the wire cutter, crowbar and ski mask. A few minutes later, the police car was speeding east on Highway 41 with t
he roof mounted light bar flashing, but no siren. Another criminal apprehended before the crime was committed. A great day for the Tamiami PD.

  CHAPTER 51

  Friday, March 12, 1982

  12:30 a.m.

  I t was half past midnight when Tamiami PD’s night desk officer, Jerry Shubert, escorted Willy from his nine-by-nine-foot cell to a pay phone located in the hallway. For his one allotted call, Willy wanted to contact Johnny Murphree to help get himself sprung in some sort of police courtesy to other police kind of way. But Johnny doesn’t work the night shift in Seminole Bend and Willy didn’t know his home phone number.

  “Mr. Banks, you have one free call, so best you make it a good one,” said Officer Shubert respectfully. Willy knew he should be contacting a lawyer, but he didn’t have the time for the legal system to work its way through the dawdling court system. He gambled that Johnny Murphree could take care of this right away, but he was skeptical that he could find a way to get ahold of him this late at night. Shubert called the operator and gave her an account code. The one free call from the pay phone was automatically charged back to the Tamiami PD. Willy dialed the phone booth in the parking lot at Dixie Food and Drug. For the third time today, Willy crossed his fingers.

  Lance picked up the call on the fourth ring. “Yep, who’s calling?”