by David Bishop
“Your reasoning pretty much eliminates Son-Carter and Father-Franklin, but not Governor Lennox. Are you saying you believe our client, Governor Trey Lennox, killed Mary Alice Phelps?”
Max looked over at Nora while he answered Jack. “No, we’re not saying the governor killed his sister.”
Nora looked directly at Jack. “And we’re not saying the governor didn’t kill her.”
26
Jack awoke from a deep sleep complete with a dream featuring Janet Parker. With her ten-year old son, Roy, Janet had lived next door to Jack in D.C. After she moved out of state, they continued to talk and had done so last evening. Janet said she was considering a return to D.C. Jack knew he could do a hell of a lot worse than Janet Parker and her son, but he just wasn’t ready. Ever since the killing of his wife, Rachel, Jack, as a form of self-preservation, had walled off his heart. Janet had the smile, the mind, and the body that would make a perfect mate for a cabdriver or a captain of commerce—even for a private detective.
He sat on the edge of his bed and picked his watch off the nightstand to see six-seventeen. The gray light was squeezing in around the closed horizontal blinds that covered his window. He turned on his cellphone to find a text message from Dan at the county sheriff’s office: “DNA IN ON CIG BUTTS—PHELPS CASE. I’M HERE ‘TIL NOON. COME BY OR CALL LATER. PICTURE’S FILLING IN.”
At seven-twenty-five, with his insulated coffee mug in hand, Jack drove out of hotel parking. On the way, he buzzed Nora. She and Max were just leaving the hotel and were only a few minutes behind him.
Jack walked into Dan’s room near the back of the sheriff’s department. Max and Nora were coming down the hall from the opposite direction.
Dan, holding a cold piece of pizza, rotated his desk chair around to face Jack. “The sheriff and CC should be here any minute. You wanna wait for them?”
“No. What’d’ya got?”
“There was sufficient genetic marker information obtained from the saliva on each of the two cigarettes butts. The test was a PCR-based DNA typing method that—”
“Dan. Please. I’m sure all that’s fascinating, but come on. The DNA results are the end for you. They’re the beginning for us.”
Dan smiled and nodded. “The state police had direct access to the body of Carter Phelps who was killed in Tallahassee. I had them check his DNA against the butts. The results came in about ten last night. They got to me by text. Carter Phelps smoked the cigarettes you found in the tray on Norma Taylor’s lanai—one-hundred-percent match.”
“That means the son might’ve killed the mother.” Max shook his head.
Jack scooted up to sit on the counter. “Whoa. What we know is Carter spent time on Taylor’s lanai, smoking cigarettes, and probably watching his mother’s home. Sure, that’s nutty in its own way, but the rest is supposition.”
“You guys are the detectives … but, can I make a comment?”
Jack pointed at Dan. “As long as it’s not about that cold cheese pizza you’re holding.”
“Why would Carter Phelps use a neighbor’s house to watch his mother’s home?” He took a bite from the limp slice of pizza.
“You’d expect so, but the relationship between Carter and his momma was apparently estranged.”
Max switched on his Irish brogue. “If he did it, it was for the oldest of reasons. Carter Phelps wanted his momma’s moolah. The question of the moment being: Was Norma Taylor an accessory? He gets momma’s dough. Norma Taylor gets his momma’s house. Or did Carter somehow use Taylor’s lanai without her knowing about it. Either way, the son died in a revenge killing, but by whom?”
Jack put up his hand like a traffic cop. “Let’s not jump too fast. It remains possible Carter’s murder was for something unrelated to his mother’s death. … That he, in fact, did kill his mother remains only one from a collection of possible explanations.”
After leaving Dan’s small lab, Jack asked Max and Nora to walk him out to his car. They went out the backdoor of the building and headed that way.
“I didn’t want this conversation to be overheard.”
Nora and Max moved closer.
“The FBI has a very active DC field office. During the years that each of you were with DC homicide you had to connect up somewhat with sources inside the FBI. I’d like you two to tap into those contacts. We want some off the record chats. I can’t shake the feeling that the group of lawyers is hooked into this somehow. They used to represent Governor Lennox and they currently represent the developer who wants the movie house.”
“Will do, Boss.”
Nora nodded her agreement.
Jack continued. “One of the lunch club ladies we interviewed, Pauline Goddard, was once married to the lead guy, Walker. Sarah Sims was married to Greene, the other senior partner. That firm keeps crisscrossing this case.
“Pauline Goddard described the law firm as having made it big as mob lawyers and fixers. That coulda just been a mean-spirited former wife tossing dirt at her ex. Then again, it could be the tip that points where we need to go. Neither the former Mrs. Goddard nor Mrs. Sims ever worked in the firm. It’s possible they had no idea how deep the firm’s dirty dealings went. I need you to find out what the feds suspect about that firm. We know Governor Lennox stopped using them. Was that for bad service? High fees? Or just distancing himself from a few unsavory lawyers before making a run at the White House?”
Nora glanced toward the sheriff’s department and turned to put her back toward the station. “When you got back from having dinner with Lieutenant Reynolds, that first night we arrived, didn’t you tell us that Ann used to work at that law firm? Isn’t that where she first met Governor Lennox?”
Jack ran his finger across his upper lip. “True. The law firm of Walker & Greene keeps showing up around every corner of this case.”
“Why not ask Ann about the firm?”
Jack leaned against his car, putting the side of his face toward the stationhouse. “It’s best we not get our corroboration from the same source we got our original information. Let’s use fresh contacts. People who don’t have an ox to gore on this case—your contacts inside the FBI. I still plan to ask Ann more about that law firm. Then we can match up what she says with what you two hear from the Bureau. Let’s keep this among the three of us.”
Nora wrinkled her brow. “Do you have doubts about Ann?”
“Ann has history with the governor. Both Ann and the governor have history with the firm of Walker and Greene. Ann’s known Sergeant Wilmer for years. And he’s the one who went out alone and first dealt with the death of the governor’s sister. Wilmer has admitted his less than careful conduct at the Phelps scene. From what I’ve heard his incompetence at the Phelps scene was very out of character. That leaves us with assorted whys. … Let’s put it this way: I have no doubts about the three of us.”
Max reached into his pocket and took out the key for one of their two rental cars. “We’ll head back to our hotel and work the phones from there.”
Max made spiced tea for himself and Nora. To avoid having three voices on the phone at the same time, Jack headed for his room and called Shirley Germane.
“Shirley, Jack McCall, where are you ladies on your decision about selling your theater?”
“We’re leaning toward doing it. We agreed to sleep on it over the next few day and then meet to see if we’ve changed our minds. If we haven’t, we’re going to sell. Jan Davis remains strongly in favor, and Mitzi still wants us to hang onto it. As for me, mostly I’m tired of hassling over it. The fun’s gone. I expect we’ll sell, like I said, we’re leaning that way, but we haven’t formally decided. It’ll be another day or two.”
27
Late that night, while watching the news rehash what he already knew, Jack got a call from Eric Dunn. Like a modern pirate, Eric sailed the waters of rumors, lies, and gossip, taking his plunder from the secrets hoarded by those who deserved the hell that came with his disclosures.
Whether true or fa
lse, Eric’s stories moved like bacteria. They left a tavern on Trinity Street in the body of a carrier. You couldn’t see them on the boulevard, but you knew the stories had glommed onto some who walked the pavement. At the corner, they’d invisibly reproduce themselves and send their offspring into the minds of others passing by, thereby spreading their circle of infection. After a good night’s rest, these multiplied carriers would deliver the hints and innuendoes to the water coolers and breakrooms of the working world. Other strains moved through neighborhood coffee klatches. In the process, both the truths and the imaginings became the latest information passed along by everyone: Did you hear? Do you know?
Eric Dunn was calling to deliver on his promise of putting Jack in touch with Governor Lennox’s former chauffeur. “His name’s Morgan Howard. He goes by Morg. I’ve alerted him. He’ll talk to you. I texted you what you need to make contact.”
“Thanks, Eric. I won’t forget your help. Oh, why was he let go?”
“I asked him that. He wasn’t. He quit. Morg said, ‘Governor Lennox is an okay dude.’ As I got the story, Morg and his brother started a diner in Ocala, Florida. The plan was Morg would keep his job with the governor while his brother got the diner turning a profit. That happened, so Morg jumped ship and went to join his brother.”
“He’s got no axe to grind about the governor?”
Eric Dunn laughed. “No. He liked the guy. Said he could be a bit of a hard ass now and then, but Morg chalked that up to the pressures of being governor.”
“What’s the going rate, what kind of tip should I offer him?”
“Don’t bother. I already took care of Morg. He’s content. Still, if he knocks it out of the park for you, show your appreciation. He’s not expecting more, so whatever you lay on ’im will be a surprise.”
“I appreciate you setting this up, Eric.”
“Hope it helps, old buddy. Get back to me when you’ve got the juicy details. I want to tell it all in a later column.”
28
Jack got to the sheriff’s office while the sky was still morphing from dark to light. He drove while fighting his instincts about Lieutenant Ann Reynolds.
He turned off his headlights and lingered in his car like a teen on watch, unsure if his girl was out with her friends like she said or with another guy. He was parked at the intersection of Smart Street and Dumb Road and would soon have to turn one way or the other.
As far as he could see, the streetlights created a series of still visible light islands on the pavement. Every few minutes, a person walked by on the front sidewalk, their lips tightened down on a cigarette, conning themselves into believing their bad habit was offset by the aerobic exercise of their walk. Their smoke wafted in the same direction the wind pulled the palm fronds. The view resembled that of a tiny neighborhood inside one of those miniature ceramic Easter eggs.
If he was right about Ann, why was he considering helping her? Maybe God knew, but Jack didn’t. She had the carapace of a tortoise, but the soft chewy center of your favorite holiday candy. Jack knew what the wise play was. If he didn’t choose it, his life would forever fit like a good suit altered to the wrong size.
He saw himself as a tough, standalone man. Truth be said, he liked that image. He even nurtured it. He wanted a relationship like he and his wife Rachel enjoyed before she was killed. His instincts told him Ann Reynolds could never sub in for his dead wife.
Jack often shook his head at the lamebrain things he saw some people do, convinced he’d always pick the smart choice over the stupid one. At least he thought so before now. His dilemma wasn’t a new story. Like so many man-stories, magic music played in his head when he watched her walk. If he made the wrong choice, he’d be chest-deep in the same shit as the lamebrains.
Sure he wouldn’t find his answers in the parking lot, he smiled at a fleeting thought of Janet Parker and went inside.
At a few minutes after eleven, Ann Reynolds walked into the sheriff’s station. Jack met her at the door to the case room. “Have you eaten?”
“Good morning.” Ann glanced to see that no one was watching, then placed her hand on Jack. “No. If that’s an invitation, I accept. How many are going?”
“Just us. Max and Nora are on their phones back at the hotel tying a few loose ends on a case we wrapped up just before leaving DC. Lucky me, I’ll get you all to myself for an hour or so.”
“Well, aren’t you a cheeky bastard. Where shall we go?”
“How about Keke’s? They’ve got quiet booths. I need information about things you know far more about than I do.”
“Keke’s? I thought you were about to suggest room service back at your hotel.”
Jack grinned. “A nice plan for another day. Like I said, Max and Nora are working their phones from the hotel. Seeing it’s on one of our other cases, we didn’t feel it was appropriate to use the sheriff’s facilities. I really need to pick your brain.”
“What about my place?”
“Nice as that sounds, I’ll take a raincheck. We really need some talk time.”
Ann’s face showed concern. “What is it?”
Jack guided her from the elbow. “Let’s get going. Keke’s isn’t all that far.”
“Great. I drove in without having breakfast. I’m famished.”
“Okay, Detective McCall, we’re in one of Keke’s high-back booths. Now, just what’s so secretive that I supposedly know so much about?”
The waiter came to their table. Jack ordered an Italian Chicken Panini. Ann opted for Keke’s Florida Waffle that came with bananas, strawberries, and blueberries. She asked for the fruit on the side rather than on top the waffle.
When the waiter left, Jack sat sidesaddle and leaned forward. “It’s not all that secretive, but we need to be sensitive to gossip in light of,” he leaned still closer, “Trey Lennox’s, shall we say, maybe candidacy. What I need to know … I should say we, this is your case as much as mine.”
Ann grinned. “I feel I’m back in British intelligence.”
“I need to know about Governor Lennox. In one way or another, his thread crisscrosses all through this case. He came to DC to hire me to work his sister’s death. He used his power as governor to get you assigned to these deaths. He’s the brother of Mary Alice Phelps, who just may be the key to solving all these murders. His sister’s money is the big pile of cash on the table and, with her son dead, Lennox moves up to first position to get her millions. She was an advisor of sorts to the ladies who own the movie theater the developer is pushing to get his hands on. And, many people expect that next year Lennox’ll announce a run for the presidency.… Oh, and he’s a former client of the law firm where you used to work. A law firm with a shady reputation. The law firm Lennox abruptly stopped using. I need you to tell me what you know about the Walker and Greene Law Group, and my PI firm’s client, Governor Trey Lennox.”
“Well, boy, where do I start?”
“All this kept me awake last night and I wasn’t about to call and wake you. I apologize for you not having time to prepare. Just react and roll with it. Start wherever.”
“This’ll be random, but okay. I got a job with Walker and Greene when I first came here from the U.K. Lennox was a client. I started as a secretary and legal assistant to Mr. Walker. Lennox was his client, well, technically the firm’s client, but Walker quarterbacked everything the firm did for Lennox. Even back then there was talk about his being a political star on the rise.”
Their food came. Ann spread butter over her waffle, added a little syrup, and kept the fruit on the sidelines.
Jack watched a small bubble rise in one of the square holes within the waffle. “Is the firm’s shady reputation deserved?”
“There was talk.” She began whittling the waffle with her fork. “Sure. Around the water cooler and over drinks after work. I was the new kid on the block, as you Americans say. I had no anecdotal information to toss into those discussions. So, I just listened. We all knew the firm charged huge fees and got them bec
ause they went the extra mile for their clients, or so it was said. They bragged about it, but none of the partners in the firm ever defined the limits on just what going the extra mile entailed. I should add Walker and Greene always paid their staff very well so we were sharing in those fees. Nobody wanted to get axed and have to go to work in another firm. We all believed that’d mean having to take a pay cut.”
“Why did Trey Lennox drop using the firm?”
“I wasn’t about to ask him, so I got nothing beyond scuttlebutt. Supposedly, he was cleaning up his trail in case he decided to make a run for the presidency. It was anticipated that if he ran without doing that, being connected to the law firm of Walker and Greene would bring claims of Lennox being involved with unsavory goings on. Ties must sometimes be cut … I guess.”
“How did the bridge come about that took you from Walker and Greene to the FDLE? And eventually being handpicked by the governor to assist Sheriff Jackson department with homicides, while you kept watch over the case of his sister’s death?”
“It’s not a new story. Lennox has an eye for the ladies—normal dude, right? But the appetites of those who run for high office are grist for the political mill. The insanity of politics requires candidates reimage themselves as not being normal. You Americans are so provincial it boggles my mind. Anyway, I was a single woman, new with the firm and Lennox was a major client. Little things he said made it obvious he was sniffing on my porch. He liked my accent. Back then, it was even more British than it is now. And, well, like I said, he was a major client. Walker told me that it was completely up to me. He made it clear the firm was neither encouraging nor discouraging me from dating Trey Lennox or, for that matter, any other client.”