“She’s better at this investigation stuff than you are,” he said to himself. “She’ll be fine.”
Derek’s estimation of how long Jackson would be unconscious was a bit off. He was struggling against the rope Derek had used to tie his hands together behind his back, then to both ankles.
“If you get yourself out of that knot,” Derek said, announcing his return to Jackson, “I may even give you a five minute head start before I chase you down and beat you to a bloody pulp.”
Jackson stopped struggling. Dropped his forehead to the hard-packed dirt ground.
“Listen,” he said in a voice more suited to a private conversation, “you let me go, and I’ll give you fifty grand. Fifty thousand dollars, cash! And, I promise that me and my brother will never even so much as get within a hundred miles of you. What do ya say?”
“I say I beat the crap out of you till you tell me where the cash is, take it and testify in court against you. What do ya say to that option?”
“I can tell you more about that case you were hired for. I know a lot more than what I told you.”
“I find it hard to believe Hilton would have shared any information with a scumbag like you. I’m not falling for it. Not going to let you free. You already lied to me once. Don't trust people who tell me lies.”
Jackson twisted his face around so he was looking up at Derek.
“I ain't told you no lies.”
“Sure you did. You lied when you told me you had no idea how Hilton found you and your brother. I figured that out after driving up here from the lodge.”
Jackson gave Derek his best confused look.
“Your brother Bobby is gay. So was Hilton. Hilton told me so himself and the way you mangled O’Connell’s dick told me that either you or Bobby was gay. Figured it was you doing the slashing and stabbing. I bet you did all that right in front of Bobby. Kind of a psychopathic way to be passive-aggressive. The way I figure it, Bobby met Hilton at the truck stop just over the border. He probably goes there every week or so. He meets Hilton, they get to talking and next thing you know, you got some rich guy hiring you for some small jobs. Nothing big at first. Nothing too outside the legal boundaries. But you and Bobby prove yourselves and soon Hilton is dishing out thousands of dollars for you two to handle things he can't handle himself. If I were a betting man, which I’m not, parenthetically, I’d say Doctor O’Connell was a gay man, too. Wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out Hilton met him at that same truck stop. Maybe you didn't want to admit it to yourself that your brother is gay, but you knew it all along. Knew him being gay is how he met up with Hilton. So, you see, you lied to me. And I don't trust liars.”
“You didn’t ask me if me and Bobby had anything to do with that murder down outside Tampa,” Jackson said without pausing to acknowledge or deny what Derek had said. “The one you was hired for to solve.”
“That’s right, I didn’t. Want to know why I didn’t ask you that?”
“Cuz you think I don’t know nothing ‘bout that murder, but you’re wrong. I know all about it. See, Bobby ain’t what people would call a genius, but he’s one of them servants when it comes to technology. Knows how to tap into cell phones. Listening in to conversations when nobody knows someone else is listening.”
“You mean ‘savant,’ not servant.” Derek sat down hard on Jackson’s back. Pinning his already twisted arms against his back. “I don’t think anyone would consider you or your brother geniuses.”
“Goddam man, you’re breaking my arms. Get off me.”
“Not going to break your arms. It’s your shoulders you should be worried about. Tell you what, you tell me what you think I should know about Sam Gracers’ murder and, if I find it valuable, I’ll stand up. If not, I may just sit here till the cops show up.”
“Like I said,” Jackson said, his strained voice a clear indication of the pain he was in, “Hilton used to call us when he needed a job done. Met with the guy six or seven times. One time, Bobby grabbed hold of his cell phone, took some pictures of some of his screens. Next thing I know, we was listening to phone calls Hilton was making.”
“Go on.”
“He made a few calls about Sam Gracers.”
“To whom did Hilton make calls?”
“Bobby couldn’t figure that out, but we know what he said about Gracers. How ‘bout you get off me and I’ll tell you ‘bout one of them calls? What do ya say?”
“I say I’m actually more comfortable sitting here than I thought I’d be. Let’s stick to my original deal. Tell me something I find interesting and I’ll stand up.”
“Hilton was talking to some guy. He said Gracers won’t be able to tell no one ‘bout the doctor scam he was running. I figured Gracers found out about what Hilton was using O’Connell for and was going to blow him in.”
“Go on,” Derek said.
“Said they was all off the hook with Gracers taking a lead in the head. Like it weren’t just Hilton playing the doctor scam. This other guy Hilton was talking with, he was in the scam with him.”
“Already figured that out myself.” Derek leaned back a little, putting a bit more of his weight on Jackson’s arms and back. “Is that all you have for me?”
“Damn, Cole, you’re ripping my arm right out the socket.”
“And if I lean back another inch, that’s exactly what will happen.”
Derek could hear the distant sounds of sirens screaming their demands. He placed the cop cars three miles away.
“You gotta let me go,” Jackson pleaded. “Bobby, he ain’t cut out for being in jail. Fifty grand, man. Come on.”
Derek stood up, relieving the pressure from Jackson’s shoulders.
“Not going to happen. But I’ll tell you what. Police will be here in two minutes. I’ll point them to the Mercedes, let them know whose DNA they’ll find in the trunk. I’ll fill them in on everything I know about you and your brother. But I won’t tell them about you putting that shotgun to my back. I’ll tell them you and I were talking about O’Connell and that I accused you of the murder. I’ll tell them you copped to the crime then you and I got into a little scrap.”
“What the hell will that do for me? Damn, Cole. That ain’t doing shit for me.”
“Won’t get charged for assault with a deadly weapon. That could add five years to your sentence.”
“Damn, Cole. You are a real son of a bitch. You know that? You’re a real son of a bitch.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Jackson rolled over onto his back. Did an awkward sit-up. Spit out some blood that had pooled in the back of his throat.
“You was right about me telling you a lie,” he said. “But you was wrong about that lie.”
“You still trying to convince me to let you go before the cops show up?” Derek shot back. “If so, I give them two minutes before they arrive.”
“I told you two lies.” Jackson smiled as if his dual-lies were some sort of victory. “My brother ain’t gay. Least, not as far as I know ‘bout. He didn’t meet Hilton at that gay place down south. We met Hilton through the guy he was talking to when me and Bobby heard ‘em talking ‘bout that murder case you’re working on.”
“You recognized the voice?”
“I ain’t never gonna forget that voice. Ain’t no way to forget it. Got a rasp to it. Like one of those old, black jazz singers, ‘cept this guy ain’t no singer. Little high pitched but not in a bad way. Bobby said the guy sounded like someone who mixed sand in with his beer. Scratched his throat all up.”
“Who’s the guy?” Derek said.
“He hired us a few years back to take care of some guy who needed taken care of.”
“You shot him in the head with a .380 and dumped his body in the bay, right?”
“I see you know our work.”
“And you and Bobby heard Hilton talking to this ‘sandpaper’ voiced guy about Sam Gracers? About the man whose murder I am trying to solve?”
“Yup.”
“You gonna tell me this guy’s name or do I have to twist your arm right out of your shoulder?”
“FJ,” Jackson said. “FJ is his name.”
Chapter 33
Nikkie had just dropped Derek off at the Tampa airport then received a text message invite from Rachel Gonzales.
Iced Tea at the Overlook? One hour?
When Nikkie arrived at the only area restaurant she knew by name, Rachel was already sitting in a booth in the far corner. Rachel had filled her in on how Matthew Steel confessed to everything.
“He walked right in, told the desk sergeant he needed to make a confession. Sat down with the lead investigator in Manatee County and told him everything. Said he found Hilton passed out drunk. Put a pipe bomb under his seat, then sat around, hoping Hilton would at least come to. Said he was ready to die right alongside Hilton so he could make sure he went straight to hell. He ended up setting a timer for five minutes and then simply walked to where he had parked his car and waited for the bomb to go off.”
“Jesus,” Nikkie said. “How does a guy like that know how to build a freaking pipe bomb? Some terrorist website or something?”
“His business in building demolitions. International business. He’s hired all over the world as an expert in demolitions. Guess if he can bring down a skyscraper he can build a simple pipe bomb.”
Nikkie knitted her eyebrows. Screwed up her face a tad.
“Why in the world would Brian Hilton be interested in buying an international demolitions business? I thought he was focused on medical supplies?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question,” Rachel answered.
“Did you come up with an answer?”
“I’ve been doing some investigating on the side. You know, on the Gracers’ case. Seems every partner in the FJ DeNuzzio group specializes in specific industries, but each has also acquired property or businesses that don’t fit with their specialty. Like Hilton going after Matt Steel’s business. Makes no sense.”
“Any other strange ones?”
“Plenty. Each partner has made purchases that don’t fit into their area of specialty, but each odd acquisition seems to fit together when you look at all the partners’ business dealings. The way I see it, Hilton was buying Steel’s business to compliment the building rights Sam Gracers acquired in Chile two months ago. Turns out, and the details are very sketchy, the area where Sam purchased building rights is occupied by an old office building. That building was cleared to be demolished next January. Guess whose company won the contract for the demolition?”
“Matt Steel’s.”
“Exactly. I don’t know what it all means or how it all ties together, but that’s just one example.”
“This FJ DeNuzzio is getting more and more interesting every time I hear his name mentioned.”
Rachel said, “Have you or Derek approached him yet? Do any digging into his story?”
“Haven’t had the time,” Nikkie answered. “This case has us running in twelve different directions. Every time we think we’re on to something, bam! Something else, or someone else blows up in our faces.”
“Listen, I have to get going. Still working on the Doctor Timothy O’Connell case. But I wanted to tell you the prints on the murder weapon only belong to Jessica Gracers. If Brian Hilton, or anyone else touched the gun, they didn’t leave prints. Have you heard from Derek, by the way?”
“Not yet. He probably just boarded the plane to Alabama. Knowing him, I don’t expect to hear anything till he’s done doing whatever the heck it is he’s planning on doing.”
As Rachel stood to leave, Nikkie’s phone rang. It was Jessica pleading with Nikkie to come by her house.
“I just can’t be alone here,” she told Nikkie. “But I can only leave for errands, and then for only four hours a day. Please, just come over and stay with me. You said Derek’s away doing some casework. Just stay with me till he gets back. Please?”
Nikkie wasn’t happy about seeing Jessica alone; Derek had made her promise she wouldn’t follow his lead and go “freelancing” by herself. But now she stood just outside Jessica Gracers’ home. Alone and not really sure if Jessica was the murderer she and Derek had been searching for.
The front door was partially open. More than a crack but not enough to slide inside without pushing the door. Nikkie stood, half inside, half out, her long, black hair falling like tiny arrows pointing to the floor. She wasn’t one to believe in hauntings, restless spirits or that a house or location could hold captive the energy spilled out from a tragic event. Still, the air inside the house seemed too cool. Like it was cut with a frigid pain. She steeled herself, stepped inside Jessica Gracers’ home, but kept the open door against her back.
She leaned to her right, giving herself a view through the opulently decorated living room and into what she knew to be the kitchen. The tile was still stained crimson, though she could see that someone had worked a brush soaked with detergent over the area. The smell of Ajax cut with bleach whispered at her nose.
“Jessica?” she called out in a weak, tentative voice. “It’s Nikkie Armani. You here?”
“Jessica?” she called again. Louder. More confidently.
“I’m upstairs. Second room on the right.” Jessica’s voice was unmistakable, but more sullen than Nikkie imagined it could be. Desperate, almost resigned.
“Are you alone up there?” Nikkie called.
“Until you join me, I am,” came the response.
Nikkie shook her arms, pushing the unwarranted fears from her body, and climbed the stairs.
She found Jessica where she expected to; in a sitting room, second on the right off the landing. Jessica was sitting, facing the window, in a high-backed chair. Deep brown. Leather. The type of chair that spins around as silently as a broken promise. Looked like it cost more than Nikkie’s first car.
“You probably think I’m crazy,” Jessica said, not standing, not turning the chair around to face her visitor. “Not wanting to be alone in my own house. Crazy. I know.”
“You’ve been through an awful lot lately,” Nikkie offered, as her eyes darted around the room. She was ignoring the works of art hanging on the walls, and was looking instead for anything she could use as a weapon in case Jessica spun the leather chair around and had a gun in her hands. Casting aside her worries about having to defend herself, Nikkie took a few steps closer to Jessica. “Considering what you’ve been through, I would say you’re holding up better than most.”
“Five days, today,” Jessica said. “This nightmare has been going on for five whole days. Each day seems to get worse than the one before. Now Brian’s dead. Everyone I cared for is gone.” Jessica’s right arm fell to the side of the chair.
“Good sign,” Nikkie thought. “Either she’s not holding a gun or is doing so with one hand.”
“Tomorrow is another day,” Nikkie said.
“Day six,” was all Jessica came back with. “I wonder what will happen on day six.”
Nikkie nursed her glass of wine while Jessica plowed through three glasses. Mostly, Jessica spoke, telling Nikkie everything she knew about Maryanne Jenkins. She told her what Sam had accused Maryanne of and about how she found and read a bundle of papers Sam had left, maybe intentionally, on the desk in his home office downstairs.
“What I read wasn’t enough to prove Maryanne knew that what she was doing for Brian was illegal, but it definitely suggested she was involved in Brian’s horrible activities.”
“How did Sam get those papers?”
“I have no idea. Looked to me like a report from a private investigator. If I still had them, I’d show them to you. You’d be able to tell if they were written by a fellow private eye or not.”
“And these papers, they suggested that everything Sam told you about, everything he suspected Brian Hilton was doing was really happening? That he was working with doctors and having them tell patients they had cancer, all so Brian had a better case why they should sell their businesses to them?”
“That and a whole lot more.”
“What else?” Nikkie was sitting on the edge of her seat. She felt she was closer now to understanding how things were all tied together. “What else did the papers suggest?”
Jessica drained the last swallow of wine, reached to the table, grabbed the second bottle of wine and emptied it into her glass.
“The rest of it didn’t mean anything to me. It was about other things about Maryanne, Brian and, of course, FJ DeNuzzio. He’s involved in what Brian was doing. I just know he was. I really can’t remember anything more than the parts confirming what Sam told me about Brian. I was already involved with Brian at the time. I didn’t want to believe any of it, so I think I pushed it from my memory.”
“Yet, despite what your husband told you and in spite of what that report suggested, you continued your affair with Brian?”
Jessica grinned at Nikkie. Let out the smallest of laughs.
“I can’t explain the way I felt for him. In a way, since I had been sleeping with him for almost a year before Sam told me what he told me, I guess I felt I was no better than Brian, no matter what horrible things he may be doing in his business. And, Brian was so different outside of his business world. I wanted to hate him when I read those papers, I really and truly did. But, two minutes after I was with him again, all that wished for hatred just vanished like water vapor from the sea.”
Nikkie leaned back in her chair. Took another sip from her glass. She wasn’t going to get much more information out of Jessica. Four glasses of wine was clouding her brain, making her words mushy and her train of thought scattered. Nikkie decided to ask a couple more questions, then manufacture a reason she needed to leave. She still wanted to get into Maryanne’s office, take a quick look into her file cabinets and maybe dig around her computer for a bit.
“The gun used to kill your husband,” Nikkie began, expecting Jessica to dismiss the conversation her intended questions would lead to, “it only had your prints on it. No one else left any prints behind. Your alibi about being with Brian at his lodge, all but eradicated with his denial and now his death. You hiring Maryanne Jenkins because you believed she would be as motivated to get your case dismissed since you had leverage over her, is also now pretty useless since Brian is dead, meaning your leverage is gone. Yet you haven’t hired a different lawyer. One a little more suited for a murder case. Why?”
Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 21