As much as he hated politics, his hatred was dwarfed when compared to his utter disdain for politicians. To FJ, a disturbing majority of politicians were people equipped with such an anemic set of skills that he wouldn’t have one working as an intern for a landscaping concern he owned.
But, politicians had value solely based on their positions.
Once a politician could no longer claim ownership of a particular position, they fell into a unique category of people FJ referred to as “the spent waste.” Meaning ex-office holders were garbage; having fully served whatever specific use he had for them. Should they make a triumphant return to an “FJ recognized” position, they were promoted from the waste heap and back into the group of the hated but useful.
He never chose a politician but rather chose the position held. The elected public servant could be brilliant or a complete and total moron; it didn’t matter. Only the position mattered. Didn’t matter if the politician holding a particular office was a republican, a democrat, independent or any one of the other major or minor parties: All that mattered was the position and FJ’s ability to influence the person holding the office.
District Attorney was not a position he valued, but Julie Steinberg was not long for the DA’s position. With Congressman Walter Wiggins agreeing that his time, and his usefulness, was reaching the finish line and with him further agreeing it was time to allow FJ to handpick his replacement, Steinberg should soon occupy an important position as far as FJ was concerned.
“The last thing you need is to have a murder investigation and resulting court case extending beyond Election Day. In fact, I’d say since Congressman Wiggins needs to announce his intention to retire in a matter of a few days, I’d suggest you tie this case up before primary day. Not that you will have a competitor to worry about in the Democratic primary, but our pesky two-party system will certainly produce a Republican candidate you’ll need to defeat. And, if I were consulting your opposition, I would instruct your opponent to attack your lack of dedication to the position of trust the voters of Pinellas County elected you to. How in the world could someone so disinterested in seeing to completion a murder that has so upset the local community ever be trusted to hold the position of a United States Congresswoman? That’s what I would advise your opponent to drill into the district voter’s tiny minds. So, I’ll ask again, do you understand the importance of delivering a swift, and may I add, convincing conviction?”
“Are you suggesting I offer a plea to Jessica Gracers?”
“Please do not answer a question with a question. That practice is better used during public speeches delivered.”
Julie stirred in her seat. Though an accomplished lawyer and having earned a reputation for having ice in her veins, sitting across FJ was a wracking ordeal.
“Yes, sir. I do understand how important it is for my office to get a swift conviction.”
“Not your office,” FJ corrected. He smiled and fixed his gaze on Julie’s eyes. He shook his head with quick, subtle movements. “Don’t pass off any potential failure on your office. You are in charge, aren’t you? You hold the position of District Attorney, correct?” FJ’s smile widened a bit as he pointed his index finger at Julie each time he said “You.”
“You’re right, Mr. DeNuzzio,” Julie said, adding a manufactured smile of her own to mirror FJ’s. “So, allow me to rephrase my answer: I understand how important it is that I deliver a swift and convincing conviction in the Sam Gracers murder case. And I will do exactly that.”
“No matter the costs?”
“No matter the costs.”
“Good to hear,” FJ said. “I have some other tasks I need completed once you’ve put Jessica Gracers in prison and have secured the election. Oh, and don’t worry too much about the whole election. Campaigning is for those lacking knowledge in the ways of manipulating the voting sheep. I’ll see to your victory. You put Jessica Gracers away where she can’t provide any interruptions.”
Chapter 22
Derek was sitting at the end of the hotel bar when Nikkie strolled in. She had called him during her drive back from Sarasota and her meeting with Donald Reagan, telling him they needed to talk. She had suggested that before they take another step in their investigation, they needed to decide where in the hell the investigation was leading.
“We have too many paths to explore,” she told him. “Too many rabbits to chase down holes.”
“Not sure what your day produced, but mine sure was interesting. You inviting Maryanne to our palaver?”
“Palaver?” Nikkie questioned through a small laugh. “You’ve been reading again, having you?”
“The Dark Tower by King. Damn good words in those books. Palaver just so happens to be my new favorite.”
“Wonderful. And, no, I won’t be inviting Maryanne Jenkins to our ‘palaver.’ She’s one of the topics we need to talk about.”
Derek was nursing his drink as Nikkie pulled up a high-back chair and sat down next to him at the bar.
“I think today was a bad day for me,” Derek said, his eyes set on the mostly still full glass of scotch in front of him.
“Why? What happened?”
“May have lost my taste for cheap scotch.”
“How absolutely horrible,” Nikkie remarked, sarcasm dripping from each word. “May as well shut down the agency and get jobs as Wal-Mart greeters.”
“Hilton is to blame.”
“Come again?”
“He gave me some high-end scotch during our sit down on his climate controlled backyard patio. I’m a changed man, Nikkie. A changed man.”
“Wait, you had drinks with Brian Hilton? What the hell did you do to make that happen? Threaten him with your gun?”
Derek spent the next ten minutes detailing his time with Brian Hilton. About his side of the story. About what Hilton shared about FJ and the partnership. Derek told Nikkie about the tiny public library, his quick and far from exhaustive search of Hilton’s first floor.
“Didn’t find anything of interest, and certainly didn’t find the Lee Child book Jessica told us about. Didn’t see the book in the free library thing, either.”
Derek continued, sharing as many details of his time and conversation with Hilton as he could recall. He ended his part of the palaver by telling Nikkie, “Brian’s the type of guy you can’t help but like. Really wanted to hate the guy, or to at least not trust a word he said. But, that’s not how things turned out.”
“You think he was telling the truth? About being gay?”
“Wasn’t interested in testing his honesty about that subject. Doesn’t matter, anyway. If he is gay, he wasn’t having sex with Jessica.”
“You don’t think gay people can have sex with members of the opposite sex?”
“Not sure about woman,” Derek said, feeling the warm flow of embarrassment crawling over his face. “But men have certain equipment which needs to be…motivated? Not sure how else to say it. And if Hilton isn’t attracted to women, his equipment won’t get motivated.”
Nikkie just shook her head. What looked to Derek like a very small smile was standing still on her lips.
“The brain is the only equipment which needs to be motivated, Derek. And if given the proper stimulation or motivation, I have no doubt Brian could have performed.”
Nikkie was silent for a few minutes, considering what Derek had told her. She contrasted what Reagan believed about Hilton to Derek’s impressions. After ordering a white wine, and after Derek ordered himself a twelve year old, single malt, Glenn Fiddich scotch, Nikkie began with her role in their palaver.
“He may be a likable guy, but his explanation for what he did at his lodge doesn’t hold any water.”
“Questionable, I agree. But, if what he said about Jessica is accurate, about how she stalked him and may suffer from some mental illness, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have taken the same drastic measures as he did.”
“Did you call Sam Gracers’ lawyer yet?”
“Meetin
g with him tonight at seven. You and I, that is.”
Nikkie smiled at Derek, then, playfully, nudged him with her shoulder.
“Glad you’re including me, Mr. Cole.”
Derek swirled his drink in his hand a few times, with the slightest smile crossing his face.
“I also called Detective Gonzales. Gave her the rundown of my meeting with Hilton and asked her to dig through the archives for information on the Craig Washburn murder.”
“She find anything of interest?”
“She was busy. Said she’ll get to it tomorrow. Also told me the DA, Julia Steinberg, has been around the police station a lot more than usual as of late. She told me the DA’s had at least four one-on-one meetings with the Sheriff and a couple with Detective Mathers.”
“Is that unusual?” Nikkie asked.
“DA’s and the police work hand-in-hand, especially on high profile murder cases. But, even with Gracers being a wealthy business owner, that many meetings is suspicious in my book.”
“Seems to be plenty of suspicious things about this case. More than its fair share.”
Nikkie talked for ten minutes, telling Derek about her meeting with Donald Reagan. Derek spent most of the time listening to Nikkie with his mouth partially open and his eyes wide in amazement.
“Holy shit balls,” he said after Nikkie finished. “Gotta give some credibility to Reagan being messed up in the head, but, damn, if his accusations are spot on, this case just got a whole lot bigger.”
“And,” Nikkie said, “gives Hilton motive.”
“How do you figure?”
“Jessica and Brian both said Brian and Sam were somewhat close. They worked for this FJ DeNuzzio guy and, according to both, also worked together at times. Let’s say Sam discovered that Brian was scamming people into selling their businesses to him, by working with crooked doctors and having them convince the business owners they had a type of cancer caused by stress. Sam puts some pressure on Sam, maybe he threatens to go to the police…”
“Or to FJ,” Derek interjected.
“Or to FJ, right. Brian gets nervous, devises some plan to kill Sam and pin the murder on Jessica. Not sure how he pulled it off nor how to explain Jessica’s story about how long her and Brian’s affair had been going on, but, to me at least, it does give Hilton a hell of a motive.”
“You’re right about the timeline. Maybe Sam was squeezing Hilton to get some piece of the action. Maybe he wasn’t going to turn Hilton in but was instead blackmailing him. If that’s the case, Hilton may have started putting his plan together a year and a half ago. Damn patient man, if that’s the case.”
“Like I said, we have too many rabbits to chase down and too many holes to chase them into.” She paused a beat. Took a long pull from her wine. “I suppose we now need to palaver about which rabbit we chase first.”
“I’m already sick of the palaver word, but I agree And, I have some ideas.”
“Shoot.”
“You start chasing down the two doctors Reagan told you about. Maybe give them a call. Ask them some questions. See if they get nervous.”
“Makes sense.”
“Also, while I was with Hilton, he got a phone call from a guy named Matthew Steel. He told me he was expecting an important business call when he first invited me in. After the call ended, he walked out holding a bottle of damn good scotch and two cigars.”
“The very scotch which changed your life?”
“Same damn bottle. Hilton said he just closed the biggest deal of his life. Maybe you should track down this Matthew Steel. See if there’s any connection between him, Reagan, and, I know this may be a long shot, but to the doctors as well.”
“Perfect,” Nikkie said. Whenever Nikkie started to feel excited about the progress of a case she was working, or when the case took on a new, unexpected direction, her enthusiasm became palpable. It practically poured out from her skin. No matter what she may be doing at the time the excitement hit, a wave of seriousness and anticipation washed over her. She was practically vibrating as she sat beside Derek. “And you? What rabbit are you going to chase?”
“I want to meet with this FJ DeNuzzio guy. Get a feel for him. Find out if he’s someone we need to chase.”
“All roads seem to lead to him, don’t they?”
“Not sure if they all do, but the ones we’re traveling on seem to.”
Nikkie grew silent. To Derek, she seemed to collapse in on herself. The excitement and enthusiasm which was pouring out of her just ten seconds ago, seemed to have vanished like the scent of a rose in a hurricane.
“Something else you need to tell me?” he asked.
She smiled a small grin, finished her wine, then slowly started shaking her head.
“Maryanne Jenkins,” she said, more like a question than a statement. “What’s your take on her?”
“Still think she’s Caribbean. Beyond that, she seems capable. Maybe a bit too busy to be handling a murder defense. Why do you ask?”
Her smile widened a bit.
“She’s not Caribbean,” she said. “That accent you picked up on is caused by her disease. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything, but I think you knowing more about her is important to our case. She has ALS. Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
“That’s a hell of a disease, from what I’ve heard. Fatal, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Most patients die within three years of diagnosis. Maryanne was diagnosed over a year ago.”
“That sucks, but, not sure if you’re feeling bad for her or bad about something else?”
Nikkie turned quickly to face Derek. Pulled her long, dark hair from her face.
“Jessica Gracers is a millionaire, right? At least she was married to one, making her, under the law, a millionaire as well.”
“I suppose.”
“How many millionaires would choose a one lawyer law firm, with one location, which is within walking distance to the local jail?”
“You thinking Maryanne is involved somehow?”
“No. Not at all. I just don’t get why Jessica would hire her instead of some high-powered law firm out of Tampa. Why choose a small-time lawyer, who probably specializes in small-time cases, to defend her in a murder charge? It doesn’t make sense. At least not to me. Maybe I’m missing something. And I’m not suggesting Maryanne isn’t a good lawyer. Maybe the best around. But, still, a millionaire hiring a lawyer like her? I don’t know.”
“Guess we should ask Jessica about her decision.”
“You think it’s a rabbit worth chasing, or am I thinking too much?”
“I think that I’m not thinking enough,” Derek offered. “Really is strange that Jessica hired Jenkins, I suppose. Lots of lawyers in town. Lots of powerful, influential ones. I don’t think Maryanne Jenkins is one of them.” Derek grew silent for several moments, as both he and Nikkie were lost chasing thoughts around their minds.
When their thoughts were mostly corralled and their drinks emptied, Nikkie turned again to face Derek.
“It’s four o’clock now. We are meeting Sam Gracers’ lawyer at seven, which leaves us a couple hours to start chasing rabbits. I’m going up to my room to call those doctors Reagan told me about. You do whatever your wonderful little mind tells you to do. We’ll meet down here at six-thirty. Okay?”
“I guess our palaver is over.”
“For now, it is. Just for now.”
Chapter 23
Brian Hilton had just finished his fourth scotch, “Big deals demand big celebrations,” he thought, when his cell phone rang. He recognized the number.
“Doctor O’Connell, I presume.”
“We’re fucked. We’re all fucked and you need to get us unfucked.”
“Whoa,” Brian said. “Back it up. What are you talking about and please watch the language. It’s far from professional.”
“That Reagan guy, he met with a private investigator today. She just called me ten minutes ago.”
“What are you talking about?
What private investigator?”
“Nikkie something or other. I stopped remembering when she started asking about Reagan and how I was connected to you and to Ruggerio down in Tampa.”
Brian’s thoughts were swimming in a sea of scotch, desperately trying to find solid, stable ground.
“This ‘Nikkie’ work alone?”
“She mentioned some guy’s name. Said she worked for his agency.”
“Derek Cole? Did she say the agency was Derek Cole’s?” Urgency was climbing into Brian’s voice, something Timothy O’Connell picked up on.
“I take it you know this Cole guy? Yes, that was the name she used.”
“She told you she met with Don Reagan and that he said what?”
“Said Reagan didn’t believe he ever had cancer and that I was working with you and Ruggerio to scam him into selling his business to you. I brushed it off, as best I could, but she was sharp. Kept on asking questions. I had to hang up on her.”
“Son of a bitch!” Brian barked.
“That’s not all. She asked if Matthew Steel was a patient of mine.”
The call went silent. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Inching towards twenty.
“Hilton? You still there? What the hell…”
“I’m still here,” Brian said softly. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Unlike when finding contact information for Donald Reagan, Nikkie had an abundance of issues getting in touch with Matt Steel. Her first call was to his Nashville based business, where Mr. Steel’s personal assistant would only tell Nikkie, “Mr. Steel is out of the office and won’t be in for a few days.”
“This is urgently important. Can you give me his cell or home number?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. But, I will take your name and number and if I speak with Mr. Steel, I’ll pass on your information.”
Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 15