by Tom Hansen
“Lance, it’s me, Willy. I need a big favor.”
“Willy. Where you at, man? Otis and me been waiting for you over at Sal’s Steakhouse. Said you be there at nine.”
“Did you find the Mexican?” Willy asked impatiently. He needed a quick response from Lance because he had only three minutes allotted for the call.
“No, man. But we think his name is Pancho. When we asked the Mexican orange pickers up at Quick Stuff if any of ‘em saved a ‘big ass black man’ on the Kissimmee, a couple of ‘em chuckled and told us that this skinny dude they work with named Pancho told ‘em some tale like that. They also said some older white dude come down to Quick Stuff looking for him just last Wednesday morn when they was being picked up. Even called him by his name. Kind of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say, Willy?”
“Okay, Lance. I need you and Otis to do two things for me. First, go to my friend Deputy Johnny Murphree’s house and wake him up. He lives on Second Street, two houses up on the right from the auto parts store. Tell him I’m in jail in Tamiami and I need him to call me right away. Don’t know the number, but tell him to call directory assistance. Then, keep looking for this Pancho dude. Go over to Quick Stuff this morning before sunrise and see if you can get a description of the white dude that was asking ‘bout Pancho. Then check every fishing hole around.”
“What you doing in jail, Willy? Dang man, you’re a cop not a robber.”
“Long story, Lance, and I ain’t got much time left. Please, you’ve got to convince Johnny to call me right away.”
“Hey, me and Otis are the best damn employees you got. If we can’t get the job done, nobody can!” Lance was beaming with pride at his new found PI career. Soon he could move out of the phone booth into a comfy apartment. He went over to the stolen Buick and woke up Otis, who was curled up on the back seat and snoring so loud it was driving the mallards back home to Minnesota. “Wake up, Otis my man. We back on the clock!”
* * * * *
Officer Shubert escorted Willy back to his cell. Willy told him that he couldn’t reach the person he tried to call, but left a message for the man to call him at the PD. Shubert was working alone tonight because the other night officer had called in sick, so he had no problem allowing an incoming call put through to Willy Banks. Willy had been very respectful and Shubert was willing to reward him for his consideration. He didn’t observe many courteous behaviors from criminals while working the night shift.
An hour later Shubert returned to the cell block and ushered Willy to the phone on his desk. “You got a call from some guy named Murphree. Is that who you were expecting?”
“Yes, sir, that’s him. Thank you.” Willy took the receiver, but didn’t turn his head away from the night cop. He wanted Officer Shubert to hear. Shubert took a seat in the lopsided desk chair and went back to working on a report he was filling out.
“Hey, Johnny. Sorry ‘bout the late call. Need your help again, buddy.”
“Well, I dang near shot your brother and his friend! They come pounding on my bedroom window a few minutes ago. What the hell are you doing in jail, Willy?”
“Long story, Johnny, but trust me when I tell you I ain’t done nothing illegal. At least not yet.” Officer Shubert who was pretending not to be listening glanced up. Willy looked at him and whispered, “Just kidding!”
Johnny hadn’t heard the whisper, but he was trying to process what Willy had just said. “What do you mean by ‘not yet’?”
“Johnny, can you please tell Officer Shubert that I am a Seminole Bend sheriff’s deputy?” Willy again looked directly into Shubert’s eyes. Now the desk officer’s entire face contorted into an incredibly puzzled expression as he fixed his gaze right back at Willy.
“Put him on,” replied Johnny with a tone of disgust in his voice.
Willy handed the phone to Officer Shubert. “Would you mind speaking to my friend?”
“This is Officer Jerry Shubert of the Tamiami Police Department. How can I help you?”
“Hi Jerry. My name is Johnny Murphree and I’m a deputy sheriff for Seminole Bend County. I understand my friend Willy has found his way into your nice abode?” Johnny purposely said “friend” instead of “colleague” because he was trying to be very careful with his words. If he claimed that Willy was still working for the sheriff’s department and Bonty found out, he would be looking for a new job, too.
“Yes sir, deputy, he has been booked on possession of burglary tools, which is a third degree felony in Florida, as you know.”
“Hmmm. What exactly was in his possession, Jerry? You don’t mind if I call you Jerry, do you? And please call me Johnny.” This was Johnny’s way of softening up the conversation and assuaging the predicament Willy was in, whatever that may be. He had no idea what type of tools Willy had, or even why he had them.
“No sir, Johnny, I don’t mind. You can call me Jerry. So, Mr. Banks had a pair of wire cutters, a crowbar and a ski mask on the floor of his vehicle.”
After a moment’s pause, Johnny said, “Well, there’s an easy explanation for that, Jerry. Willy was sent down there to recover those tools from the home of a man we recently booked on a breaking and entering charge up here. We need them for evidence in a case we’re prosecuting in a few weeks.”
Like Willy, Johnny despised lying. But after speaking to his ex-fiancé at the governor’s office earlier, Johnny knew Willy was on to something and he needed to talk with him soon. A white lie here or there for the good of the order wouldn’t be so bad.
“Okay, that makes sense. But why was he driving an old Nash Rambler instead of a sheriff’s vehicle, and why hadn’t he put the items in an evidence bag?”
“Our vehicles were all being used, Jerry. We offered to pay Willy the going mileage rate to take his own car down there. Why he didn’t put the items into an evidence bag is beyond, me. That is certainly not acceptable here and he will be reprimanded for it.” Johnny was hoping Jerry was buying it. He wished he could see his face.
“Johnny, this all sounds credible seeing that Willy has been nothing but respectful since he was booked. But we are planning on sending him to the courthouse for a hearing by a judge in a few hours. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”
Johnny was desperate. It was time to mix a bit of truth into his batch of lies. “I understand, Jerry, but I’m three or four hours away and quite frankly, we need Willy back here as soon as possible. He’s working on a very important case that needs immediate closure. I know this is a strange and unethical request, but if you could simply tear up the police report and let him go, perhaps you would be doing a huge favor for the people in our county and even yours. The case he is working on involves a series of murders in the Seminole Bend area. If Willy’s suspect is not caught, every citizen in southern Florida is at risk. Have you been following the news, Jerry? You may have heard about the deaths here last month.”
“I read about a basketball coach and his wife dying in a weird accident. Is that part of it?”
“Yes sir, Jerry. And it is much more complicated than that. So, what do you say?”
“I would need to contact the arresting officers and tell them your story. I also need for you to verify that you work in the sheriff’s department at Seminole Bend. Sorry, Johnny, but I’m just doing my job.”
“Of course, Jerry. My badge number is 461385 and my name is John Murphree. That’s Murphree with two e’s at the end, not a y. You should have a reference book that lists all police and sheriff’s officers by name and also by badge number.”
“Yes, we do, Johnny. Give me a minute, okay?” Officer Shubert pulled out the reference book from the middle drawer in his desk and found Johnny’s badge number. It correlated correctly with his exact name and spelling. Then he flipped backwards a few pages and found a William Banks registered as a deputy in Seminole Bend, too. The reference book was a year old and Willy hadn’t been fired until recently. “Yep, found it, Johnny. You check out okay and so does Willy. Now let me get ahold of Mel
and Todd. They were the arresting officers and are working until six.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll hold.” Johnny was beginning to think his story may work. Willy, listening nearby, had a mild clue what the conversation between Johnny and Jerry had involved when he overheard Officer Shubert mention the burglary tools not being put in an evidence bag. Willy guessed that Johnny’s story made it look like Willy found the tools on someone he was investigating. He wasn’t sure how Johnny responded to him driving his own car or why he was sent to Miami, so if asked, Willy would have to play it by ear. He likely would need to corroborate the story somewhere along the way, but he was starting to feel some hope.
Officer Shubert went over to the desk by the window and pushed the button on the two-way radio. “Eighty-seven, this is base. Do you read?”
“Go ahead base. What’s up Jerry?” Officers Mel and Todd had just parked their squad car at Yummy’s, the all night donut shop on Highway 41.
“Please come to base as soon as possible. No emergency.”
“No emergency? Does that mean we can have a donut and coffee first?”
“Negative, eighty-seven. But if you want to bring a dozen back with you, it would be much appreciated.”
“Okay base, we’ll be right there. Chocolate frosted or blueberry?”
“Both. See you soon. Over.” Officer Shubert hung up the mic and went back to Willy who had been standing by the front desk the entire time.
“Willy, take a seat please. It will be a few minutes, but I think there’s a chance we could release you tonight.”
“Thanks, Jerry. Any chance I could speak to Johnny while we’re waiting?” Officer Shubert nodded and handed the receiver to Willy.
“Hey Johnny, thanks man.” Willy was careful not to say much or ask what Johnny had told Shubert. He hoped Johnny would divulge what he said to get Willy released, but Johnny never did.
“Okay, Banks, you owe me even more. That there detective agency of yours best be hiring because I truly believe my job’s in jeopardy now thanks to you. But listen closely. I made the call to my ex, you know Carla Evans up in Tallahassee, to check out that phone number you gave me. By the way, that may have been a good thing cuz I think we’re getting together in a few weeks. Anyway, she checked it out and get this, the only call to the South Florida DNR during that time frame you were there was from the governor’s office. And listen to this, it originated from the private executive phone line. Yep, you guessed it. Daughtry himself made the call.”
“You don’t suppose the governor lost his hunting license and needed a replacement, do you?” The race of neurons was firing up again in Willy’s brain.
* * * * *
Officers Mel and Todd were none too happy that all their paperwork may have been for naught. But on the other side of the coin they wouldn’t have to waste time in Judge Platt’s courtroom for an inquiry examination. Judge Platt could never try a case or conduct a hearing without babbling on about something insignificant, and it was difficult to stay awake. Many a police officer, juror and even defendant had been reprimanded for dozing during a trial. Mel and Todd liked the idea of one less Platt parable to capitulate.
“So you’re one of us, huh Banks? Why didn’t you tell us that when we arrested you?” Mel had a natural curiosity that complimented his investigative skills.
“During the arrest, it really didn’t matter. You did the right thing by booking me, regardless if I was a cop or not.” Willy was walking on thin ice and he needed to extoll some charm.
“When I asked what the wire cutters, crowbar and mask were going to be used for, you didn’t reply. Why not?”
“Any police officer knows at that point it is time for some legal representation. I didn’t think that if I told you the truth, you would believe me.”
“So what is the truth, Willy?” Mel was a good cop. He wasn’t going to release Willy until his curiosity was quelled.
This was the make or break point. The right answer could get him released. The wrong one, and Willy would be attentively focused on Judge Platt’s anecdotes in the morning. “I was gathering evidence from a criminal investigation in Seminole Bend. I believe my colleague clarified that with Jerry.” This was the extent of what Willy perceived based on what he overheard between Johnny and Officer Shubert. Willy thought about crossing his fingers again.
“He’s right, Mel,” said Officer Shubert. “He’s needed back in Seminole Bend with that evidence, so let’s get him back on the road.” Mel paused and said nothing for an uncomfortable minute or two. He was thinking about the ramifications if anyone found out. Freeing a possible felon without going through the proper procedures could be a career-ending mistake for all three officers.
“Alright then, Jerry, shred the report.” Mel glanced over to Willy. “Best be on your way, deputy. We towed your car over here and it’s parked out back by the dumpster. Here are your keys. For our sake and yours, go directly home, okay?”
Willy took the keys and said, “Yes sir officers, and thank you. Someday I hope to repay the favor. Any of you like to fish for speckled perch? I’ll show you where to find the big and tasty ones out on Lake Okeechobee and you’ll have piquant memories to write home about.”
“We’ll take you up on that offer, Willy,” replied Jerry with a smile while Mel and Todd nodded. “Been longing for some time away from the hustle and bustle of the city.”
“You are always welcome, my friends. Now, any chance I could get those items I need for evidence in my case?”
Officer Todd handed over the evidence bag and Willy carefully removed the wire cutters, crowbar and ski mask. A piece of paper also came out of the bag and fell to the floor, but Willy didn’t see it. Mel picked it up and said, “Deputy, you dropped this.” He reached his hand to offer it to Willy, then stopped just before Willy could get ahold of it.
“By the way, what exactly is the scribbling on this paper all about?” Mel asked. He then gave the paper with the etching from the satellite dish to Willy.
“Not sure, Mel. I found it with the other items and wasn’t sure if it was important. I plan to send it to our lab when I get back to Seminole Bend. Thanks again, guys!”
Willy turned and walked through the front doors as the three Tamiami police officers watched him leave. He went around to the back by the dumpster, unlocked the Nash Rambler and turned on the ignition. There were still a few hours of darkness to work with, so he turned onto Highway 41 and headed west. He knew he would have to find a good hiding place for his vehicle while he was snipping away at the FBI’s fence. Mel and Todd were still on duty until dawn.
CHAPTER 52
Friday, March 12, 1982
3:00 a.m.
A t the western edge of town, a new housing development was under construction. Everglades Estates was literally where humanity met the swamp. There were three completed homes, each one a model for the types of houses that would be built in the ten-acre development. The sign at the entrance said:
Everglades Estates
Be one with nature
Track homes from the $90’s
Willy wasn’t sure what was meant by a track home. None of the lots appeared to have enough room for sprints or running long distances in the backyard. A swimming pool, maybe, but certainly not an oval track. No matter, Willy found this area perfect for hiding his car. The model homes were empty and eight new houses were just being framed up. He had scoured the area around the FBI’s auto impound facility driving his Rambler back and forth on Highway 41 and Coral Way, plus north and south on several city streets. Everglades Estates was about two miles from the FBI’s lot, but he could reach it with a twenty to thirty-minute jog. He backed the Rambler into the unpaved driveway of the furthest house that was being constructed from the entrance.
Willy left the crowbar in his car so he could run faster, then jogged down the shoulder of Highway 41. He knew his own strength very well and he figured he could rip the door off Berry’s truck by hand if need be. With nervous adrenaline pumping th
rough his veins, he began to run faster. When cars approached, he ducked down behind shrubbery or trees in the ditch. Not many cars were out and about at four in the morning, and there was only a small amount of scattered, ramshackle concrete block homes in the area. Doubtful the folks inside them were business executives that would commute to Miami during the six o’clock rush hour. Anyone heading west on the Tamiami Trail, the nickname for US 41, wouldn’t see civilization again until they arrived in Naples, which was ninety miles away. Venturing through the Everglades at night wasn’t recommended as there were only a few places to pull a car over should it break down, and AAA offered no towing service in or out of the infamous swamp.
Willy arrived at the northwest end of the perimeter fence at 4:15 a.m. and quickly hid behind a large hibiscus. He wanted to move several more yards down the fence line to make it a faster approach to the impounded autos, but when a car approached driving slowly west on the highway, he decided to make this his point of entry. He wasn’t going to chance getting back on the road after he noticed the occupants of the slow moving vehicle. It was Mel and Todd.
Willy snipped a three-by-three-foot gap in the fence using his wire cutters, then placed the ski mask over his face and squeezed through the hole. Once inside, he noticed the facility had thirty-five to forty cars slotted in numbered parking spots on well-worn asphalt. He thought he would recognize the Berry’s truck even with its damage, but he carried the license plate number in his wallet just to be sure.
Willy crouched down and took two steps forward towards the cars. That’s when the first bark vibrated his eardrum. Within seconds, two more barks, then every hound in the confines of the lot were singing their egregious melody. Willy hoped they had recently been fed. Willy wished he had brought his crowbar.
High School football is demanding and an excellent test of stamina, especially for athletes that compete in the Deep South. Temps in the nineties and humidity to the max during August workouts builds determination, and now Willy was about to see if all those sweaty high school days carried over to real life situations. He tore off his ski mask, shifted into his best linebacker athletic stance and studied the entire field of play, which of course was dotted with dusty and damaged automobiles instead of running backs and wide receivers.