by D P Lyle
“That’s me. Clever and then some.”
“You wish.”
“I was slick enough to get in your pants.”
I felt her head give a shake against my chest. “You got that backwards, I think. If memory serves, I got in yours.”
“Let’s say it was mutual.”
“Let’s. So, if the cop is the bad guy, why would he do it?”
“That’s what we’ve been hired to find out.”
Nicole propped up on one elbow and looked at me. “Which means we could be walking into a dicey situation.”
“More like a hornet’s nest,” I said. “If we go in there and start asking questions about cases that were long ago solved, and that pointed the finger in another direction, say at a local cop, things could get wonky in a hurry.”
“Unless we have a cover,” she said.
“Like what?”
“I have an idea. At least I think I do.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m not ready to tell you yet.”
“So, it’s one of those days? Where you keep secrets?”
She smiled. “That’s every day.”
“That seems a little unfair.”
“Life’s unfair, Jake. Deal with it.”
“And manipulative.”
She laughed. “It’s what we girls do.”
“My point.”
“Jake, do you really believe that all those years you wooed all those women that you were in charge? That they weren’t the ones doing the manipulating?”
“Wooed?”
“Is that what you got from that?”
Uh-oh. I must have missed something. I gave a tentative nod. “Yeah.”
“That’s why you’re so easy.”
“I thought you liked that,” I said.
“I do. Saves me buying you dinner.”
“So, you’re really not going to tell me your big idea?”
“Let me think about it. Maybe sleep on it.”
“You ready to go to sleep?”
She rolled on top of me. “Probably not.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke refreshed. Last night had been one of those deep REM sleeps. No dreams and I’m not sure I even moved since I stirred in the same posture I had been in when everything faded. Tequila, a hot tub, and a few rounds of Nicole always guarantees a coma. At least I hadn’t drooled on the pillow.
I stretched and rolled over. No Nicole. Out of bed, I slipped on my jeans and headed to the kitchen. Still no Nicole. Then, I saw her. On the deck. Curled in a lounge chair, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, cup of coffee in her hand. I stepped outside.
“I was about to come in and give you a shake,” she said.
“I’m too tired for sex.”
“No, you’re not. But we have a class this morning.”
I don’t feel well, Mommy. Can I stay home from school today? That’s what I thought, but I said, “Cool.”
I flexed both hands. Two days away from Krav Maga classes had done wonders. I could actually make a fist without pain. Almost.
The class lasted an hour and a half. We finished around ten thirty. Next stop, my place, which was much closer than driving back out to the Point. We showered, dressed, and then headed to Captain Rocky’s.
“Looks like you survived the tequila,” Carla said, as we came in.
“Only drank half of it,” I said.
She shook her head. “Only half?”
I smiled. “We’ll work on the rest tonight.”
“I’m starving,” Nicole said. “We have to hook up with Ray and Pancake. What’s quick and easy?”
“Breakfast burritos,” Carla said. “That work?”
“Totally.”
We grabbed a table on the deck.
“Should be interesting to see what Ray and Pancake’ve come up with,” I said.
She nodded. No reply.
“What?” I asked.
“The idea I mentioned last night?”
“What about it?”
“I think it just might work.”
“Tell me.”
“I need to talk with Uncle Charles first.” She glanced at her watch. “He should be in his office now.”
“What does Uncle Charles have to do with Billy Wayne Baker?”
She stood. “You’ll see.” She walked to the far end of the deck, cell phone to her ear.
What was she up to? What I knew was that Uncle Charles, that’s mega, A-List, Oscar-winning, Emmy-winning, DGA President, director/producer Charles Balfour to you, was under a lot of stress right now. I mean, his star, Kirk Ford, even though he was innocent, remained under the shadow of Kristi Guidry’s murder. Kirk’s co-stars, twins Tara and Tegan James, were looking at life-without for doing the actual killing. And Uncle Charles’ crown jewel, the Space Quest franchise, was up in the air. More like a couple of billion dollars had been tossed into a hurricane. It was anyone’s guess if the franchise could be saved, and more importantly, how much of the money would find its way back home.
He had left a major production in Paris and jetted to New Orleans to see the twins and help prep, and pay for, their defense. No easy task since they had confessed. Then, on to LA to hopefully salvage the latest Space Quest episode, the one being filmed at the time of Kristi’s murder, and to do damage control for Kirk Ford, the face of the franchise. The only face now that the wildly popular twins were out of the picture. No pun intended.
I didn’t envy him. Particularly since Nicole now had a “plan.” Whatever it was. I couldn’t imagine Uncle Charles relishing something else on his plate.
Took all of ten minutes for the crew to whip up our burritos and for Nicole to finish her call.
Carla set out plates in front of us as Nicole sat.
“I’ll make a couple of others for you to take to Pancake and Ray when you leave,” Carla said. “Actually, I’ll make three. The big guy never stops at one.”
“Good thinking,” I said.
After we each took a couple of bites, I asked, “What’s your idea?”
“I’ll tell you at Ray’s.”
“I don’t get a preview?”
She took another bite. Around a mouthful she said, “Eat.”
I did.
We woofed down breakfast, grabbed the other burritos, and headed to Ray’s. On the way I asked again what her idea was and she just smiled. I hate it when she does that. Not smile, that’s good, but keep secrets. I tried to pout. Didn’t work. She laughed, muttering something like, “Poor baby.”
We, of course, found Ray and Pancake on the deck, each with a laptop open, Ray a Dew in one hand. I handed Pancake the bag.
“Carla made some burritos for you guys.”
Pancake retrieved one and slid the bag toward Ray.
“I’m good,” Ray said.
“Great,” Pancake said. “More for me.”
“What’s happening?” I asked
“Lots,” Pancake said. “We followed up on what Billy Wayne said. About someone being able to make his life a little less fun.”
I started to say that Nicole had an idea, but she gave me a look. The one that said I’d be better served to stay silent. I hated when she did that, too. Knew what I was going to say almost as soon as I did. I simply said, “And?”
“You already know one of the victims was a cop’s wife and another the daughter of a prosecutor,” Ray said.
I nodded.
“And the girl killed over in Defuniak Springs, Misty Abbott, had a brother who works in the prison system,” Pancake added.
“That’s right,” I said. “But of the three, I think he would be the least likely to frame Billy Wayne.” Ray gave me a slow nod, so I went on. “Not sure how he would have access to the evidence. Be able to plant it.”
Ray smiled. “That’s exactly what Pancake and I thought.”
“Last night, Nicole and I discussed that a lab tech at the state lab could be involved. Either as the killer, which I seriously doubt
, or maybe manipulating the evidence for someone else.”
“It’s a good thought,” Pancake said, looking at Ray. “Of course, that requires a conspiracy. Multiple players. At least two, probably more.”
“Still possible,” Ray said. He took a slug of Dew. “Since fingerprints were found at the first scene, in Apalachicola, I think that one is ruled out altogether. Not only because it was the first one, so no one would know that a killer was at work, but also because prints are difficult, almost impossible, to plant. DNA’s a different story.”
Pancake nodded. “Anyone with access to a sample could easily plant it on the bedsheets. Which is where it was found in every case except the first one. That was the only one with vaginal DNA.”
I had told them earlier what Billy Wayne had said about changing his MO—wearing gloves and using condoms.
“That’s why I think the most likely candidate is the cop,” I said. “He would be local to the crimes and have access to the evidence.”
“And spouses are always the first suspect,” Pancake said.
“To me, that’s the only thing that makes sense,” I said. “Frank Clark, the cop, and the husband. The first killing in Pine Key, Loretta Swift, was Billy Wayne. That would give Clark access to the DNA. The other two are on him.”
Now Ray eyed me. “Came up with that all on your own?”
“He did,” Nicole said. “He’s clever. Told me so last night.” She nudged my elbow. “Something about being clever enough to get in my pants.”
“A fact I can’t get my head around,” Pancake said.
Nicole laughed. I didn’t.
Pancake continued. “I mean look at you, and him. Don’t make much sense.”
My friend. My girlfriend. My life.
Pancake leaned back in his chair. “So, you’re thinking, maybe start with the murder of the cop’s wife down in Pine Key and see what shakes out.”
“And the other victim,” I said. “Number two in Pine Key. Noleen Kovac.”
“Why that one?” Ray asked.
I shrugged. “Billy Wayne was one and done everywhere else. I suspect he could have returned to Pine Key, but somehow that feels wrong.”
“He say anything like that?” Pancake asked. “Like he never backtracked?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Ray finished his Dew and crushed the can. “I agree. My take on this is exactly that. Billy Wayne was a mover. He showed up, did his thing, and left. No rearview mirror. No bounce back. And it doesn’t make sense that two staged killings took place in separate locations. Everything comes together in Pine Key.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“So, Clark’s our initial focus,” Ray said. “We’ll need to find a connection between Noleen Kovac and Sara Clark.”
“Don’t see it so far,” Pancake said. “’Course we ain’t been down there sniffing around yet.”
“Which could be delicate,” Ray said.
“True,” Pancake added. “If we assume it’s Clark, we’ll be rubbing up against him.”
Ray tossed the crumpled Dew can into the wastebasket behind him. “And ruffling his feathers could get out of hand.”
Pancake shuffled through the pages in the folder before him and handed one to me. “Frank Clark. Been on the force there well over a decade.”
“Good cop? Bad cop?” I asked.
“No real issues from what I can tell,” Pancake said. “At least there’s nothing out there in the world.”
“Could be something internally,” Ray said. “Something the department kept under wraps.”
I examined the page that included a fuzzy photo of Clark. Square face, strong jaw, buzz cut, hooded eyes. He looked like a cop. A tough cop. Hell, he looked guilty.
“But why?” Nicole asked. “What would be his motive?”
Ray shrugged. “That’s what we’ve been hired to find out.”
“The motive for the wife could be easy,” Pancake said. “Maybe he and the missus had issues. Maybe he had a little something on the side. Maybe there were money problems. Any or all of those could work. The bottom line could simply be, he saw an opportunity and jumped on it.”
“That makes sense to me,” Nicole said.
Pancake smiled. “Of course it does, darling. You’re smart. And great minds run in the same circle.”
She laughed. “Now, if we could only get Jake up to speed.”
“You two are funny. Maybe a sitcom is in your future.”
Another one of those wonderful laughs from Nicole. “You’re pretty. You don’t have to be smart.”
“I thought you said I was clever?”
“You are. And pretty.”
Pretty? I can’t win.
Bringing the discussion back to reality, I said, “Maybe he also had issues with Noleen Kovac. Maybe something as simple as an affair. That sort of thing. Took the opportunity to get rid of both his wife and his mistress.”
“We’ll have to take a hard look at that,” Ray said.
I nodded. “This really could get tricky. If Clark’s the bad guy, we would be sniffing around in his world. He’d definitely have home court advantage.”
Pancake nodded. “Tricky doesn’t quite cover it.” He nodded to the photo. “Dude looks like he don’t take much shit.”
That was true. Not only did his face look tough and hard, but his chest and shoulders looked thick, muscular. And the badge on his uniform shirt placed the law squarely in his corner.
“How should we approach this?” Pancake asked.
Ray hesitated, glanced out toward the Gulf, and then said, “Not sure yet. Let’s do some more digging and maybe we can figure out a strategy.”
I looked at Nicole. Gave her a slight nod.
“I have an idea,” Nicole said.
Ray and Pancake stared at her.
“I might have a way to avoid a confrontation. Even make Clark an ally of sorts.”
Ray glanced at me.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “She wouldn’t tell me.”
Nicole shook her head. “I had to talk with Uncle Charles this morning before it would even be possible.”
“Okay,” Ray said.
“When we talked yesterday, the cop, the prosecutor, the victim’s father in Lynn Haven, and Misty Abbott’s brother, the prison guard, were the ones of interest. Each of them still in play. But last night Jake and I talked about this. We decided the cop was the most likely candidate.”
Ray nodded.
“And now, if I hear everyone correctly, we’ve sort of settled on that conclusion—the cop is the place to start.”
Ray shrugged. “The only one that really makes sense.”
“If we go in there asking questions,” Nicole continued, “and if Clark has something to hide, he’ll fight back. Maybe the entire department over there will.”
“You can bank on it,” Pancake said.
“What if we went in as if we were doing a documentary on serial killers?”
That got Ray’s attention. He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
Nicole continued. “A documentary that focused on the victims. And their families. The collateral damage that such killings always bring. Then we could make Clark an ally. A chance for his story to be told. Make him a victim of sorts.”
Pancake gave a slow nod. “From what I read, he was distraught over the murder of his wife. I saw a few videos of him talking to local media. He made a good victim. Cried and all that. And when Billy Wayne was arrested, he was interviewed in his home. Said he was glad that a serial predator had been taken off the streets. That Billy Wayne shouldn’t have been allowed to bargain his way out of a death sentence. That he deserved to die for what he had done.”
“Did you believe him?” Nicole asked. “Or was he acting?”
“Hard to say. You and Jake take a look and see what you think.”
“If we go in this way,” Nicole said, “as if we accept all the killings are Billy Wayne’s work, Clark might see it as a chance to be a hero
. And solidify his dirty work as being in Billy Wayne’s lap.”
“I like this approach,” Ray said. “How do you want to put it together?”
“Uncle Charles is on board. In fact, he liked the idea as a real production. So we go in as if we are doing preliminary research on the story. To see if it has legs. Do interviews, review the cases, that sort of thing. Talk to the people who live there. And, of course, the family members of the victims. Who knows? We might uncover a love triangle, or something, to connect the final two victims.”
“And find evidence to implicate Frank Clark,” Pancake said.
“Exactly,” Nicole said.
Ray gave a slow nod. “I like it.”
“Uncle Charles liked it so much he’s going to go ahead and began assembling a production crew. At least loosely.”
“Already?” Pancake asked.
“He never waits until the last minute to do anything. One of the reasons he’s so successful. All he’s going to do is see which producers, directors, writers, film crews, and things like that are available. Nothing concrete.”
“Oh,” Pancake said, “that’s all?”
Nicole laughed.
“I think this could really work,” I said. “And keep us low key.”
“Hell,” Ray said, “it could make us the guys in white hats.”
It crossed my mind that that could easily be the case. Right up until we had to expose our real agenda. And sooner or later, if Billy Wayne was telling us the truth, we would. What would the town think then? I kept those thoughts to myself.
“Good.” Nicole smiled. “I need everyone’s shirt size.”
“Why?” Ray asked.
“Uncle Charles’ production company is Regency Global Productions. RGP, for short. He’s going to overnight some golf shirts with the name and logo.” She smiled. “Then we’ll be official.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Ray said.
“When Jake wasn’t snoring.” She laughed.
Ray stared at Nicole for a few seconds. “You keep amazing me.”
She gave a mock bow. Or was it a curtsy? I could never keep those straight.
“Trying to be helpful,” Nicole said.
“Something you should teach Jake.”
How did I become part of this?
“He’s beyond hope,” Nicole said. She punched my arm. “But he’s cute.”