by Sam Cade
“I’m from Black Point. I was a year ahead of Jimmy in high school.”
Shedd started some heavy nodding, started tapping his index finger to his head. “It’s coming back. Montoya. Montoya. You the football guy?”
Jake nodded. “Yep.”
“You’re Bonnie’s boy, right?”
“That’s right. She adopted me a year after her son was killed. I was about to go into the foster system.”
“Sounds like something Bonnie would do. Awful about her son. I sure do remember that. She’s a very nice person. We went to high school together. Now. Why the hell are you out here looking to talk to old Johnny Earl?”
“I’m in town because somebody blew up Bill Burnham’s Rolls Royce. First, your dogs are poisoned. Second, a few days later his car blows apart. Third, you’re a trained demolitions expert. And, you’re on television telling America you’re gonna get the guy.”
Both Jake and Shedd were sweating in the humidity and hot sun. Jake’s shirt stuck to his back. Landry was back with the water. Jake gave the water to Rowdy.
“The army taught me everything about demolition and I ain’t forgot none of it. So, add ol’ Johnny Earl Shedd to any list you want. You need to know one thing. If I wanted to blow Burnham to shreds, he’d be gone.”
“I’d like to see the video from the day the dogs died.”
Shedd pointed at the drive.
“How ‘bout you head on down the road. Tell Bonnie I asked about her. Tell the pricks in Washington to kiss my ass.”
THE TAHOE PULLED OFF THE PROPERTY ONTO GREAT BAY ROAD. “Rowdy, that’s one dangerous man. Glad we made the drive.”
Jake looked at Rowdy in the rear-view mirror. “Did I just see you smile? You did, boy. You just smiled.”
61
Friday, June 7, 2019
JAKE MADE HIS WAY ACROSS GREAT BAY ROAD wearing tennis shorts, a tee shirt and flip-flops. It was 77 degrees with dead-still muggy air at 5:40 a.m. Déjà vu struck. He’d made this stroll over a thousand times as a boy.
Woo Chow waited with his arms crossed. Seeing Jake, he extended his left arm, tapped his right pointer finger on his wrist. You’re late.
Jake smiled out an apology.
Woo’s thin chest was outlined in a black compression tank-top that fit him like skin. He wore three-quarter length yoga pants. His feet were bare on the damp grass. Woo emanated the same degree of danger as a shy, home-schooled girl reading Harry Potter.
Jake squinted. “What’s this, Woo?” He pointed up and down at his outfit. “Are you under contract with Lululemon?” Woo howled a laugh. Jake smiled, kicked off his flip-flops.
“Like the old days, Woo, tighten up my form.”
“No talk. Just thought and movement through morning serenity. Mindfulness, Jake. Smoothness. Like sun warming the air. Let’s get loose.” Woo began to lead Jake through light stretching exercises.
JAKE MADE IT BACK TO THE KITCHEN AT 6:35 to eat a quick breakfast with his mother. “Taking the kayak from the pier down to Point Clear and back in a few minutes. We’re eating at Woo’s tonight.”
The six-mile kayak round trip over the morning glass on the bay was serene, nothing like frantic D.C. rush hour traffic. Only gliding pelicans, happy gulls, and a haze hiding the mid-bay lighthouse. A great place to think about Shedd.
NINETY MINUTES LATER Jake was buzzed through the steel door into the business operations of the police department
The receptionist said, “Pike’s in his office looking at ESPN porn.”
“Thanks.”
“I want to tell you about my visit with Johnny Earl,” said Jake to Pike, in his office.
Pike held up his pointer finger to Jake, picked up the phone, hit one button. “Kaitlyn, you mind bringing a cold water and a peach tea back here? Thanks.”
Jake launched into the visit in detail. Explained that Shedd saw him on video from the street onto the property, saw him load his pistol. “Old buzzard had me strip, too.”
“Strip?”
“Yep. He was careful. He didn’t give a crap about me being an agent. Literally said F off.”
“So, what’s your read?”
“No doubt in my mind he could have done it. There was a younger guy out there doing some work. Went by Landry, maybe thirty or so. Know him?”
Pike leaned back in his chair, placed his shoes on the desk. “Oh, yeah, we know him. Landry Parnell. Likes to fight. Keeps a job but he’s a small time pissant. Nothing serious. Glad you mentioned him, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“He works for Mayfield Engineering and Infrastructure, an outfit based in Mobile that does road work and bridge building across half the country. Pretty bigtime company. And they do a lot of demolition.”
“So, Landry Parnell has explosives at his fingertips?” said Jake.
“That he does,” nodded Pike.
Kaitlyn interrupted with the drinks. “Here you go, guys.”
Jake read her name tag looking for a last name. “Thanks, Kaitlyn.” Their eyes caught each other for a moment. Wondered if he knew her. Her name sounded familiar.
“You don’t remember me, do you Jake?”
He thought, oh no. He didn’t remember. Still, something was there, a flint of a light in his mind.
She rescued him. “P.E. class when you were a senior. I was a year behind you.”
Jake stood. “That’s right, absolutely. We played basketball and war ball. I had a blast in that class. That was right after Christmas ‘til the end of the year.”
“Yep, the good ‘ol days. Well, it’s good to see you, Jake. You look great by the way, like you could still play ball.”
“Yeah, yeah, you too, Kaitlyn. Thanks for speaking.”
As Kaitlyn left the room, Jake stepped to the door to watch her stroll down the hall. Maybe five-five, 130, shapely calves in a conservative office skirt.
“Pike, you won’t believe this. She weighed at least fifty, maybe sixty pounds more in high school. Heck, I don’t know, maybe 200. She was a tomboy bruiser, but cute, you know? Country cute. But, now...yeah.” Jake shook his head. “Whoa. She’s blossomed.”
“She’s terrific, I agree with you there.”
“One other thing about Johnny Earl’s video setup. When I asked if he had anything from the night his dogs were killed, he said yes. Was smug about it, wouldn’t share anything. He did say Bill wouldn’t have the balls to come on his land. I agree with that.”
“No, the little general wouldn’t have the guts,” said Pike. “But, hiring somebody? I’d go with that. I think we’re getting somewhere. He admits he has something on video. He’s got motive to retaliate. He’s got documented expert training in explosives. His buddy Landry probably has TNT, dynamite, C4, or what have you at his fingertips in some warehouse at work. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I’d say we oughta talk to a judge about a search warrant.”
Jake nodded, took his last sip of water from the first bottle. “Sounds good. I’d love to go out with you on a search if you need somebody.”
“Absolutely.”
Jake reached the door to the lobby. He glanced to his left. Kaitlyn was speaking on the phone using a headset. She had a nice silhouette, a prim nose, good posture, hair dropping just below her ears that was a natural silky dirty blond like a California beach girl, and a smoky voice. But skin too healthy for a smoker.
She felt Jake’s eyes, slipped off her headset, shook her hair loose, and looked his way.
“Good to see you back in town, Jake. And, oh, for what it’s worth, I run down to Wildfire every Friday around 6:30 for a couple of beers and some outstanding brisket. If you get bored, stop on by. I’ll catch you up on everybody.”
“Great seeing you, too, Kaitlyn.”
Jake went outside and hopped on his fat-tired beach cruiser to head two blocks over to Wild Bill’s. He started thinking. Certainly, he couldn’t go wrong with beer and brisket mixed with a confident and courteously assertive woman. A couple beers would likely bring the k
ind of allure to her voice you could listen to all night. He knew he’d sworn off those cheap pickup short-term romance girls. But this wasn’t the same thing. He’d known her since she was in the eleventh grade. Sure had. She had a smile in her eye when she asked, too. No, no, nothing cheap about this.
Things were starting to gel in Black Point.
62
JAKE WAS STILL THINKING ABOUT KAITLYN as he took a seat in Bill’s office, two blocks from the police station.
“Okay, Pike’s digging down on Shedd. But I’m in town for something bigger. First thing I need is all the banking information on the money you sent overseas. Date, bank name, account number, country, exact dollar amount. I need everything you have that coerced you to give up five million.”
“Oh, no. Oh, hell no. Whoever that was, they’re gone. I’m sure of it.”
“Somebody blew up your car four days ago.”
“Yeah. That hillbilly, Shedd.”
“I need the email. I’m asking nicely. Otherwise we’re gonna subpoena every scrap of banking data and every email from the date you opened business. We wouldn’t even know you were involved if you wouldn’t have called sounding like a mad man. Secondly, Bill. I need access to all legal cases going back three years. Everything.”
Bill shook his head vigorously. “Not a chance. That’s very, very confidential.”
“You don’t need to worry about some bunch of rednecks you represent, you need to worry about whoever took five mil from you. Shedd might kill you. These guys will kill you. They know you’re sitting on some big money. If I was them, I’d come back to the suckers who gave up some cash, which is you. I need the video they sent, too. Look, we’re getting all the same stuff from the firms of the dead guys.”
“Did the dead men pony up cash?”
“Don’t know yet. Another thing. I need your CPA firm. I need five years of financials on you.”
Bill sat upright in his chair, “What?” Indignant.
“Five years, Bill.”
“Let’s go see Theo,” said Bill.
“That your accountant?”
“Nope. My stepson. He handles IT and research. Come on.”
Jake followed Bill down the steps, around the corner, and down the hall almost to the rear exit door.
Bill knocked on a closed office door. Nothing. He banged a little harder with his knuckles. Nothing. He twisted the knob and walked in. Jake followed. The room was dark except for three oversize Dell monitors blowing back blue light on the man Jake had seen two days ago in the office.
Theo Fuller felt their presence, turned around, slid his headphones off. He was listening to some ambient beats on Soma FM, totally relaxed. Jake noticed his eyes, couldn’t tell if they were red, but both upper lids had a sleepy droop. Stoned?
The office was spartan, no windows, walls painted black. Theo worked off three folding tables with a faux wood vinyl finish. There were two keyboards and a large Canon fax/copier. No folders or loose papers anywhere. Theo was all digital, everything filed with strokes on a keyboard. Jake spotted two Mac laptops attached to charging cords, thought they might be for Theo’s personal use.
A framed poster was on the wall from the show Mister Robot. It was an eerie black and white shot of the unstable, oddball cyber-hacker character peering out of a dark hoodie. His two big bug eyes conveyed a natural creepiness. The tagline was ‘Control is an Illusion’. An old computer enclosed in plexiglass rested on a table under the poster.
Nefarious looking hidey-hole, Jake thought
“Theo, this is Jake Montoya. We went through school together.”
Theo stood, extended his right hand after Jake presented his. His black tee and jeans looked like they were on a ghost. Jake couldn’t remember when he’d seen pastier looking skin. “Yes, I’ve heard of you, Mr. Montoya. You played football with Bill,” said Theo.
“Please call me Jake, Theo. That’s right. You ever play?”
“No, never. I’m not much of an athlete.”
“Here’s the deal, Theo. I’m in the FBI now, down from Washington. I’m here looking into cases of extortion and murder related to two attorneys out of state as well as Bill’s run in with extortion. I’m sure you know he’s been a victim here.”
Theo looked to Bill. Bill nodded.
“Yes, I know a little about it. It’s insane. Who could do something like this?”
“We don’t have much yet. Whoever it is, they are smart and dangerous. When they kill, it’s ugly. Here’s what I need. And Bill agreed to it, so we’re speaking to you. I need files on every case y'all have handled over the last three years. Put them on a disc, thumb drives, whatever. I need to get this info to D.C. Plus the video you received from the extortionists. We’re looking for connections, if any, between Bill and these other lawyers.”
Theo sat down, leaned back in his office chair. He gazed into space a moment, then looked at Jake. “Want to make it easy?”
“Well, sure. What’re you thinking?”
Theo reached back, grabbed a can of Monster, took a swig and wiped his hand across his mouth. “I can have this stuff ready for viewing in less than an hour. They can see it in D.C. this afternoon. You can view it online yourself today.”
“Great.”
“I’ll create an account on Microsoft’s OneDrive’s cloud storage. I’ll pay for a year of storage. Aunt Liz can call you in a little while with the username and password. You guys can download anything you want and save it to your servers. Sound okay?”
“Sounds awesome.”
Walking towards the lobby, Jake reminded Bill he needed the information where he sent the money. Bill frowned, said, “Upstairs.”
Bill printed the neat invitation from his email including instructions.
“The money was wired the day after that invitation, straight to Panama,” said Bill.
Jake studied the page. “International Legal Services. I’ll be damned. Jot down your accountant’s name and number on a piece of paper for me.”
Bill scribbled something on a quarter-sized legal pad then looked up.
“You’re gonna get me killed, Jake.”
“Well, yeah, probably. I’m curious. How’s that work having your ex-wife’s sister run your office?”
“Works way better than my marriage did but I’m not sure why.”
63
FORTY MINUTES LATER. Killing time, Jake sat in the Black Point public library, a gorgeous stucco, brick, and glass structure, with the New York Times opened to obituaries. He was reading about an orthodontist from Buffalo who’d been quoted saying he’d only lived as long as he did because he got out of the tooth business and built a tennis resort in Florida. “Hated dentistry,” the guy said. I’ll bet Jake was thinking when a text chimed from his phone.
It was Liz from Bill’s office.
onedrive.com
USER: lawyer/burnham/cloud
PW: MontoyaFBI
Jake replied. Thanks
He scrolled through his phone contacts until he found Randy Garrison FBI. Texted.
Have movement here. When can we talk?
The reply was almost immediate. 60 minutes.
Jake dictated into his phone. I’ll call you.
He read fifteen more minutes, finishing with the David Brooks column. He put the paper back on the shelf, neatened up the stack, left quickly through the front door, running into a blanket of wet heat.
AT THE COTTAGE, JAKE FED ROWDY TWO BUDDY BISCUITS, grabbed several Fig Newtons and a sweet tea for himself.
He chewed a bite of cookie as he flipped open the laptop, signed on. He looked on his phone at Liz’s text containing the login credentials. Pulled up One Drive, signed in. Bam, Burnham’s files. Scrolling around, it only took a moment to know this will take a while to review.
Jake tapped a speed dial number. An answer after two rings. “Garrison.”
“Randy, Jake here.”
“Jake, you’re on speaker. John Simmons and Emmett Cater are in here with me. John’s in f
orensic accounting. And, as you know, Emmett’s in the Behavior Analysis Unit.”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Jake.
The men said, ‘Hello, Jake”, almost in unison.
Garrison continued. “The heat’s building since we spoke a few days ago. The director called me yesterday. And you know that’s all we need. Oh! One very positive thing. I told him you’re in Alabama and that you know the lawyer there. First words out of Blanton’s mouth were ‘Tell Montoya he’s reinstated.’”
“Fantastic, Randy, thanks.”
“It’s all you, man. So, what’s cooking?”
“First of all, I got a guy that has a great reason to go after Wild Bill Burnham. He thinks Burnham killed a litter of newborn hunting dogs. Poisoned.”
“Damn. What kind of bastard would do that?”
“It wouldn’t be Burnham himself, but he could have orchestrated it. The dog guy is an ex-military ordnance guy. Strong credentials. He’s in his late sixties now, no recent run-ins with the law, but he’s dangerous. The locals say he’s the kind of guy that could kill somebody if provoked. His daddy and brothers were rough, Dixie mafia kind of guys, but they’re all dead now. So, what I’m saying is this car thing might not be the killers.”
“What’s the dog guy’s name? Let us run background up here.”
“Johnny Earl Shedd.” Jake spelled it for Garrison.
Jake heard laughter on the other end. “Jake, this is Emmett. Let me get this straight. You got a lawyer named Wild Bill Burnham who is a billboard showboat wearing a big Stetson. And you got some redneck old man named Johnnie Earl Shedd who blew up a Rolls Royce because somebody killed his dogs? Hell, I’m almost sure I saw this episode on Dukes of Hazzard back in the eighties.”
Jake heard more wild laughter back in D.C.
Jake was laughing when he started to talk. “I was wondering if y'all would notice that. John, this is for you and your team. Wild Bill sent a tad over five million overseas to Panama.”
Whistles from Washington came through the phone line. Jake grabbed a quick sip of tea. “I’ve got all the banking contacts. I’ll text that to you when we hang up.”