by Tom Hansen
Pancho laid in the gravel employee parking lot behind the hospital trying to move, but kept falling in and out of consciousness. A few minutes later, Roy Jackson appeared from around the corner of the building and handcuffed him. He dragged Pancho by his feet over the rough surface to a sheriff’s department squad car, then thrust him into the back seat. A few seconds later, Pancho felt a sharp pain in the back of his leg and realized that Jackson had stuck a needle in him.
Pancho awoke again later, but only for a moment, as he was dragged once again from the car into another building. The skin on his back had been shredded from the gravel and the pain was excruciating. But before passing out for the final time, he vaguely remembered seeing Sheriff Bonty. That was Pancho’s last memory.
“Ready to talk, son?” asked Sheriff Bonty with a rough tone.
“Why am I here?” muttered Pancho. “What did you do to Mr. Phil?”
“I’ll ask the questions, amigo,” responded Bonty. “Why were you in Phil Bennett’s room last night?”
* * * * *
Taylor Creek winds through Seminole Bend as it makes its way to Lake Okeechobee. Hidden behind thick sawgrass and palmetto bushes, it flows directly behind the sheriff’s department, unnoticeable by anyone who doesn’t know it’s there. But hungry bass love to hide in the lily pads and only the locals know about this fishing hole. Otis and Lance thought they might find the Mexican orange picker Pancho dangling some grub on a hook out there.
An hour or so before midnight last night, Otis and Lance were coming up from the river when they noticed the sheriff’s car pulling into the jailhouse parking lot. Not wanting to be noticed and questioned by the law, they ducked down in the tall grass. They watched as Roy Jackson pulled what appeared to be an unconscious criminal out of the back seat and drag him feet first into the building. Thinking that was rather inhumane, the two newest employees of the Willy Banks Private Investigator Firm slinked to the backside of the office where the cell blocks were located. Lance got on Otis’ shoulders and peered through a tiny, barred window and witnessed Jackson propel the lifeless man face first onto the concrete floor while the sheriff watched. The insentient creature was Hispanic and Otis and Lance wondered if he could be their man Pancho? They decided to come back in the morning and find out.
CHAPTER 63
Saturday, March 13, 1982
9:45 a.m.
O tis and Lance slept in Cousin Lenny’s stolen Buick next to the dumpster behind McDonalds. Lance had dined many a breakfast on someone else’s half eaten Egg McMuffin and hash browns that had been dropped on the dirty floor. Breakfast would be over at 10:30, and Donny Douglas would bring out the morning trash from the inside garbage bins. Donny was a hardworking employee and a Seminole Bend High School freshman who covered his zits with Calamine lotion hoping the girls wouldn’t notice. Lance had befriended Donny and sometimes Donny would sneak out a small cup of hot coffee to wash down the cold eggs and oversyrupped pancakes. But this morning Donny invited both Lance and Otis into the restaurant. He said the manager had to leave on an emergency and had appointed him in charge for a couple of hours.
Lance and Otis were sipping on hot coffee and eating a complimentary sausage biscuit when Deputy Johnny Murphree entered and walked to the counter. He was stopping by for a quick breakfast before heading to work. Lance and Otis looked at each other and nodded, then Otis got up and approached Johnny.
“Hello Officer Murphree,” said Otis shyly as he reached out his arm to shake hands. “Don’t know if you ‘member me, but I was the one who woke you up soze you could call my brother Willy Banks who was in jail down in Miami. I be Otis, Otis Banks.”
Johnny Murphree gripped Otis’ hand and returned the greeting. “How could I forget? It was in the middle of the night!”
“Yes sir. Sorry ‘bout that, I really am. Did you talk to Willy? Is he okay?”
“Not sure, but I think so. He hasn’t called me back.” The deputy picked up the brown to-go bag off the countertop and turned to head out. “So, I have to get back to work, Otis. If you hear from Willy let me know, okay. I need to speak to him.”
“Wait sir, please. My friend and I need to ask you a question. Just one minute, please. Won’t be long, I promise.” Otis motioned for Johnny to join him and Lance at the table. Reluctantly, the deputy agreed.
“One minute, that’s all Otis. I need to be at work.”
Johnny sat down and nodded at Lance. He didn’t want to shake his grimy hand before munching down the four Sausage McMuffins awaiting his taste buds. “What can I do for y’all?”
“You ever met the man who saved Willy’s life when he was attacked by a gator last month out on the Kissimmee?” asked Lance.
“No, he dropped Willy off at Angler’s Delight Marina and hasn’t been seen since. Even Willy doesn’t know who he is, so why you asking?”
“I think that Mexican man is locked up in your jailhouse.”
“That’s absurd!” exclaimed Johnny. “All our officers are helping out at the airplane crash site. Sheriff Bonty ordered us to detain any possible criminal in the sheriff’s holding van that’s out at the marina and there was no one locked up yesterday. We’ve only got one officer on duty at the jail and right now it’s Bonty, who I’m supposed to relieve. He won’t be happy if I’m late, seeing he worked the whole night shift, so I best be going.”
Johnny started to get up and Lance reached over and grabbed his wrist. Johnny jerked his arm back to release himself from the hold, then leaned down and pointed his finger at Lance. “I am an officer of the law, sir, and you won’t be touching me again. Understand?!”
“That rich rancher, Roy Jackson, was driving the sheriff’s car last night. He got out and yanked the Mexican man outa the backseat. Poor fella was sure enough out cold, and Roy dragged him over the rocks and into the jailhouse feet first!” interrupted Otis. “We both saw it, and then we snuck up and peeked through the cell window. The Mexican guy had been beaten up pretty darn good, he had.”
“Impossible,” replied Johnny. “Bonty wouldn’t have let Roy Jackson drive a sheriff’s vehicle or arrest anybody. Makes no sense.”
“We telling ya, Deputy Murphree, it happened just like we say. And we pretty sure he’s the Mexican man my brother Willy is looking for.”
“Okay, come on over to the jail in a few minutes and wait, but make sure the sheriff is gone. If the Mexican man is in a cell, I’ll let you talk to him. But if he ain’t, I don’t want to hear no more nonsense talk. You got it?”
“Yes sir! Thank you Mr. Johnny. We’ll be over shortly.”
Johnny drove away in the squad car as Cliff Sutton and Lew Berry were just pulling into the parking lot. Lance and Otis got in the Buick and turned on the radio. They needed to kill time for ten minutes or so.
CHAPTER 64
Saturday, March 13, 1982
10:00 a.m.
L ew had driven the rented Trans Am with Cliff riding shotgun. Neither said a word until they had ordered breakfast and found a seat in a booth by the window. Lew wasn’t going to speak until Cliff said something, so he took a sip of coffee and glared into the coroner’s eyes. With paranoia setting in, Cliff decided to go first.
“Mr. Berry, do you mind if I call you Lew?”
“That’s my name. Do you mind if I call you Cliff?”
“No problem. So let me begin by saying how terribly sorry I am for the loss of your son.”
“What about my son’s wife, Cliff? What about her? Aren’t you sorry about her, too?” Cliff looked out the window. If the coroner only knew what other losses Lew had suffered!
“Yes, I am. But as I told you on the phone earlier this week, I know the remains in Brett’s truck were not your daughter-in-law’s. The bone structure fits a man over six feet tall. I’m hoping the news is good that she is still alive. I haven’t heard back from the FBI, so I don’t know how your conversation went.”
“They think Sheryl was on the flight that crashed in Miami last month.” Lew looked away again
. Hope was nowhere to be seen in his eyes.
“Really? So why do they think that?” Cliff had a surprised look on his face.
“A severed finger was found at the crash site with a wedding ring on it that had Sheryl and Brett’s initials carved on the inside. The blood type was the same as Sheryl’s.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Lew!”
“Well, that’s not the end of it. Yesterday the FBI confirmed that my wife, Janet, was on the plane that crashed here.” Lew began to weep and wiped his eyes with the paper towel on his tray.
Cliff paused a long time, not knowing if he should say what he was thinking. But this conversation was baffling him and he wanted answers as much as Lew. “Lew, sorry to say this, but that is quite a coincidence, having two family members killed in airplane crashes within a month of each other. Wouldn’t you say? Something’s not right about that, if I do say so myself.”
Lew decided that Cliff could be trusted. He certainly seemed empathetic towards the tragic events of the past couple of months, and let’s face it, with Phil Bennett gone, he needed a new friend. So Lew gambled and told the coroner everything that had happened since he arrived in Florida. He left out no details.
When Lew stopped talking, Cliff was staring at him with his mouth wide open. It was an incredible story, so incredible that he too believed that something sinister was taking place in Seminole Bend. He had never trusted Sheriff Al Bonty, and now he may have realized why.
CHAPTER 65
Saturday, March 13, 1982
10:30 a.m.
O tis and Lance waited for Sheriff Bonty to pull out of the jail parking lot, then they pulled in and parked near the front door. Johnny Murphree met them there.
“You were right,” said Johnny before the door had even closed behind Otis and Lance. “Bonty locked up a Mexican man last night following a citizen’s arrest by Roy Jackson. He said the man had been disturbing the peace over at Gregorson Hospital. I went back and asked him his name. He said it’s Pancho. He had been roughed up pretty good, just like you said.”
“Can we talk to him, Johnny?” asked Otis.
“Let’s do it.” The three men grabbed plastic chairs from a nearby office and went back to Pancho’s cell. They propped themselves down outside the iron bars.
After Pancho was told that Otis was Willy’s brother, he figured he could trust all three, including Deputy Murphree. He said he would speak openly, but he was very hungry and asked for a bite to eat. Johnny unlocked the cell door and said, “Let’s go back to McDonald’s. I don’t think I need to worry that you will escape.”
Otis, Lance and Pancho got into Johnny’s squad car and drove back to McDonalds. As they entered the restaurant, Lew Berry noticed him and stood up. “Pardon me, Cliff, I’ll be right back.”
As Lew approached, Pancho saw him and the two men embraced.
“Mr. Lew, I’m so happy to see you again!” Pancho wouldn’t stop shaking Lew’s hand.
“You know this man?” Johnny asked Pancho while motioning to Lew. Otis and Lance looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.
“Yes sir. This is Mr. Lew. Long story, Mr. Deputy, please, I will tell you everything.”
“What happened to you?” Lew ignored Johnny and pointed at Pancho’s injuries.
“Let’s get Pancho some food,” interrupted Johnny. “Then he can tell us all what happened.”
Lew went back to his table and pushed it next to the adjacent one, then pulled up six chairs. A few minutes later Otis, Lance, Pancho and Johnny sat down with Lew and Cliff. Pancho devoured two Egg McMuffins and three hash browns in less than a minute, then washed it down with orange juice. Everyone was startled, including Lance who spent most days hungry himself.
While waiting for Pancho’s digestion to kick in, the others introduced themselves. Otis decided to start.
“I’m Otis, Otis Banks.” Otis nodded at the group. Then he decided to be polite and introduce Lance. “And this here’s Lance Billips, my good friend and now we’s business partners with my brother Willy.”
Lew perked up. “Willy Banks? Willy Banks the deputy? You’re his brother?”
“Yes sir. But Willy ain’t no deputy anymore. He got fired this week and now he’s a running his own private investigator firm, and me and Lance are his top agents. How do you know Willy?”
“I’ve been looking for him all week. I met your older brother’s fiancé, Abby, at BoldMart. I think he has some information about my son Brett Berry’s death.”
“You Coach Berry’s daddy? Sorry ‘bout what happened to him and all. But Abby ain’t no fiancé, Mr. Berry. My big brother Tyrus, he ain’t never got no plans to marry her. He left the night Tyrone was born. Tyrone is Tyrus’ kid and he be my nephew.”
Johnny Murphree interrupted the conversation. “Pancho, perhaps we should start from the beginning. Otis and Lance here think you may be the guy who saved Willy’s life last month. Is that true?”
Pancho put his head down and nodded. “Yes sir. I sorry I didn’t tell anyone before now. I was scared to tell.” Pancho paused for a few seconds, then told everyone the story about how he had skipped work and gone fishing when he came upon Willy in the swamp. Then he talked about his friendship with Miguel and how he came to operate the underwater shuttle between Oliver Harfield’s mansion and the Kissimmee River. He explained that this was how he met Lew Berry.
Lew then told everyone about his week in Florida. Cliff Sutton had already heard the story, but picked up on a few more details the second time around. Johnny pulled out a notebook and was taking notes like a good deputy should. When Lew had ended his narrative, Pancho told the story about last night in the hospital and how Roy Jackson had knocked him out, but he was still able to see Jackson spray something in Phil Bennett’s nose. Now it was Cliff’s turn to pull out a notebook.
Johnny looked over at Cliff and asked, “Were you planning on doing an autopsy, Dr. Sutton?”
“Yes. I noticed several tiny blisters on the cartilage tissue inside Phil’s nose that could be a fast-acting form of the carcinogen beta-propiolactone,” replied Cliff.
“Now, I pretty sure I was like third or something in my class, which is why I didn’t bother to graduate, cuz I figured I was already smart, you know,” interjected Lance. “But I don’t reckon I done heard them words, carseat bepropiltone, before?”
“Sorry,” replied Cliff. “In other words, the spray could be some sort of arsenic, I mean poison. Phil’s records didn’t indicate that he was being treated for nasal congestion or any other illness that would require a nasal inhalant.”
“So what you are saying, Doc, is that it’s possible Roy Jackson intentionally tried to end Phil’s life?” inquired Johnny. “Perhaps with a bottle of poisonous nasal spray like Pancho claims to have seen?”
“Yes, deputy, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say. I believe another term for it would be called murder.”
Johnny looked at Otis. “Where is Willy now?” We need him to help us nail Sheriff Bonty, Roy Jackson and Oliver Harfield. He may know more than we do. Last I heard from him he was trying to get out of jail down in Miami. I know, because I was trying to help his cause.”
“We ain’t heard from him since we talked to you,” replied Otis. “Ya think he could still be in jail down there?”
“We need to find him fast,” said Johnny, then glanced over to Cliff. “Dr. Sutton, please do your autopsy on Phil right away, then hang tight at your office. I don’t think I need to tell you, but Bonty or Jackson will come looking for you if they know what you’re doing. When we know something about Willy, I’ll call you. I’m going to park the squad car back at the jail. Lew, you need to drive us down to Miami. We don’t have much time. As soon as Bonty figures out that I’m not at the jailhouse, he’ll be coming back. When he sees me and Pancho missing, he won’t stop looking until he finds us. So let’s get moving!”
CHAPTER 66
Saturday, March 13, 1982
11:00 a.m.
O
tis, Lance and Pancho crammed into the back seat of Lew’s rented Trans Am, and Lew pushed his personal belongings and pictures onto the passenger side floor so Johnny could get in the front. As Johnny was strapping himself in with the seat belt, he noticed that a picture had slipped out of the top envelope that was lying on the floor. He reached down and picked it up, then did a double take as he examined the photo.
“Where did you get this picture?” asked Johnny as he handed it to Lew who had just cranked the ignition.
“FBI in Miami. It’s a picture of my wife having coffee with someone in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, a couple of days ago.”
“Do you know who the man is?” Johnny asked the question as though he knew the answer.
“No idea, Johnny. Why?” Lew gave Johnny a speculative glance. “Do you know who it is?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m pretty sure it’s Roy Jackson.”
“Roy Jackson!” yelled Otis from the back seat. “What’s that sonabitch doing with your wife?”
“You think this could be Roy Jackson?” Lew asked nervously again to Johnny.
“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure looking at his back. But take a look at that gigantic gold ring he’s wearing on the hand holding the coffee cup.” Johnny pointed at the ring. “It’s a little grainy from this distance, but you can barely make out engraved crossed swords and a huge diamond. Word around town is that a Jasurbian prince gave it to Roy when Roy invited him out at the ranch during a vacation.”
“Why would Roy Jackson be having coffee with my wife?” pondered Lew to himself, however, loud enough for all to hear. “She’s never met him.”