Sunshine State

by D P Lyle

  Was cute a demotion from pretty?

  Ray shook his head. “His major asset.”

  “Are you guys finished?” I said.

  “Probably not,” Pancake said. “But let Ray and me noodle on this idea and see if we can come up with a plan.”

  The meeting was over.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TWO DAYS LATER, Ray had the plan hammered out. Nicole and I were in her SL headed to Pine Key. “To get the lay of the land” and “sort out the players” as Ray put it. He and Pancake would follow, after a stop in Jacksonville to see attorney Winston McCracken and gather the information he had on Billy Wayne’s plea deal, which contained details on each crime he had confessed to. They would then visit the nearby regional crime lab where the DNA evidence against Billy Wayne had been processed. Ray wanted to talk directly, and discreetly, with the lab’s director. Get the details on the evidence—and do so off the radar. Apparently, the director was the friend of a friend of a friend of Ray’s. Of course. Ray seemed to have very few degrees of separation between himself and anyone in law enforcement.

  Pine Key nestled along the western Florida coast on a spit of elevated land that seemed to float on the Gulf’s edge. It was sandwiched between the Gulf to the west and, to the east, an estuary that coalesced three small rivers before it swung around the town’s north end, cut through the sandy shoreline, and emptied into deeper waters. It also separated the town from the mainland where Highway 98 sliced through farmland and ferried folks north to Panama City and south to Mexico Beach. The southern edge of town was defined by a network of swampy wetlands, sand dunes, and areas of low scrub brush. At least that’s what the aerial photos I had seen looked like.

  We turned off Highway 98 on to a weather-worn, two-lane black top, where a sign indicated Pine Key was a mere four miles away. I felt a dose of trepidation—yes, that’s the word that popped up in my brain—I do know some big words—a few anyway. I mean, we were going to dig into the life of a police officer, maybe even the entire department. In a town where we would be strangers. Where we didn’t know friendlies from foes. Where any waves could slap back at us.

  I liked Nicole’s idea for a documentary as our cover and believed it could work. Might even give us a degree of celebrity. Hollywood still had cache’ in most of America, particularly in small towns. But, the truth was, I just didn’t know. We could be viewed as interlopers, even scavengers, trying to make hay out of the town’s tragedy. Not entirely untrue, but profit wasn’t our motive. Not really. Ray was being well paid, but this had morphed into something else. A quest for truth, justice, and the American way. At least we told ourselves that.

  Another troubling point was that I wasn’t entirely sold on Billy Wayne being an honest broker of facts. His story of being framed seemed far-fetched on the surface. I mean, his DNA was found at each scene. He said he didn’t kill two of his victims. Two, who like the other five, he had confessed to strangling. If those people had indeed lived in Pine Key, which had suffered three killings, Billy Wayne still darkened this town. Once or three times was the only question. I had no illusions that Billy Wayne was anything but a stone-cold killer. Actually, he was worse than that. Despite his innocent and calm demeanor, he was as evil and predatory as any of his predecessors. Whether he murdered five or seven wouldn’t change that an ounce.

  But, if he was being truthful, there was another killer out there. Maybe still roaming the streets of Pine Key.

  Maybe wearing a badge.

  And carrying a gun.

  As the winding road turned back west, a welcoming sign appeared:

  WELCOME TO PINE KEY

  A Pleasant Place to Live And Play

  Population 3234

  Elevation 24 feet

  Beyond it, a narrow bridge bumped over the waters of the estuary and dropped us into town.

  “Want to go check in?” Nicole asked.

  Pancake had gotten three rooms at a small hotel called The Tidewater. I had no idea where it was, but in a town this size, how hard could it be to find?

  “Let’s take a look around first,” I said.

  Six blocks deep and a dozen long, Pine Key occupied the bulk of a flat plate of land and seemed to be laid out in cocoon-like layers. At least on three sides. Like one of those Russian nesting dolls. I remembered my mom had one. Ray had brought it back from one of his adventures.

  The downtown area along the Gulf was enveloped by several blocks of peaceful tree-lined and well-kept residential streets, all encased by a shell of evergreens and other trees, which added to the town’s sense of isolation.

  Nicole zigzagged among the residences before reaching Main Street, Pine Key’s commercial center. Shops, restaurants, bars, and several small hotels and B&Bs bordered each side. My research told me that The Famous Pine Key Boardwalk, as it was called, lay behind the buildings that lined the Gulf side of Main Street. It was ten blocks long and marked the western edge of the plateau the town sat upon. Several signs indicated passages between the businesses led to the popular tourist attraction. I also knew that The Boardwalk looked out over the Pine Key Marina, famous for fishing and boating. I had done my homework.

  Everything about Pine Key felt relaxed, slow-moving, comfortable, and safe. I wondered how much Billy Wayne’s visit had eroded those feelings among the residents. I suspected deeply and permanently.

  “Nice place,” Nicole said.

  “Sure is. Looks like tourism is the major business.”

  “Lots of shops and restaurants.”

  “And tourists from everywhere.”

  She glanced at me. “How do you know where they’re from?”

  “The pale ones are from up north.”

  She laughed. “Or Canada.”

  “True, eh.”

  We finally arrived at our hotel, The Tidewater. White-trimmed, gray-clapboard, two-story, it sat near the north end of Main Street and faced the Gulf. The air held a salty must, and a gentle breeze came off the water. The sky was blue and pockmarked with wads of fluffy clouds.

  As we checked in, I asked the young lady behind the reception desk, “What’s the favorite local gathering place around here?”

  “That would be Woody’s. It’s just down The Boardwalk. You can’t miss it.”

  She wore jeans and a plain white shirt, untucked, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and gold loop earrings. Her name tag indicated she was Monica. She looked late twenties. Brown hair, brown eyes, pleasant smile.

  “Thanks, Monica,” I said.

  “You guys here to fish?” she asked.

  “No. We’re actually here to research a documentary.”

  She nodded toward the logo on my shirt. “That the name of your company?”

  Uncle Charles had overnighted a box of Regency Global Production shirts. Various colors in each of our sizes. I wore a navy blue one, the logo a large pale blue R within a circle constructed of the full name in script. Nicole’s was lime green with a dark green logo. Went well with her white jeans. Of course, everything looked good on Nicole. Even nothing. But, that’s for later.

  “Yes, it is,” I said.

  “You guys done anything I might’ve heard of?”

  “Space Quest,” Nicole said.

  “Really?” Monica’s eyes lit up. “You guys did Space Quest?”

  “The company did,” Nicole responded.

  “That’s so cool. I mean, like, I love that series.”

  I smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

  “What’s this thing you’re working on?” Monica asked.

  “A story on Billy Wayne Baker.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders straightened. She actually took a half step back. “What about him?”

  Nicole laid a hand on the counter, leaned forward slightly, and smiled. “We’re not here to glorify Billy Wayne. Or do some gory sensational crap.”

  “What does that mean?” Monica asked.

  “We’re exploring a piece on the victims and their families. We call it Aftermath. We think the collate
ral damage people like him leave behind is a story that needs to be told.”

  Monica sighed, seemed to relax a notch. “It sure tore up this town. Real bad.” She glanced out toward the street. “Even now, after all these years, folks still feel off balance.” She shook her head. “Awful stuff just don’t happen here.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said, “evil can show up anywhere.”

  “I suppose. But I’m here to tell you, no one around these parts ever thought they’d see something like that.” She smiled. “We’re pretty boring. We like it that way.”

  “Which is exactly why we want to do the documentary,” Nicole said. “Focus on how someone like Billy Wayne Baker can alter the lives of the victims’ families and friends, even an entire town.”

  “We might want to interview you,” I said.

  “Really? Why?”

  “How long have you worked here? At The Tidewater?”

  “My whole life.” She laughed. “My mom owns it. I was raised here.”

  “That’s why we’d like to talk with you. And your mom. I imagine as the owners of the best hotel in town, you two know everyone.”

  “We are the best.” She laughed. “And Mom, for sure, knows everyone.”

  “Then we want to talk with her.”

  “She’s up in Panama City today. Visiting her sister. My aunt. She’ll back in the morning.”

  “Who else should we talk with?” I asked. “Who knows the most about the town?”

  “That’s an easy one. Betty Lou Thompson. She owns Woody’s. She knows everyone and everything.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Thanks for that.”

  “No problem.” She pushed her hair back with both hands. “Let’s get you guys in your room. I have a nice one for you. Corner. Overlooking the Gulf.”

  “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  RAY STOOD BESIDE Pancake’s dually pickup, waiting for the big guy to fish his keys from his pocket and chirp open the locks. They were in the parking deck behind Winston McCracken’s office. He pulled the door open and climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  They had visited McCracken, signed the agreement between Longly Investigations and Billy Wayne’s anonymous benefactor, and retrieved the records of Billy Wayne’s defense and sentencing hearing. While Pancake drove, Ray shuffled through the pages. The Florida Department of Law Enforcement, FDLE for short, crime lab was only a few blocks away. Took ten minutes to reach the two-story, green-roofed facility and slide into an empty space.

  Ray closed the folder. “I’ll dig into all this later, but on first blush, I didn’t see much we don’t already know.”

  Pancake grunted. “Figured as much.”

  Inside, they approached the reception desk where a young woman looked up. Short brown hair, round black-rimmed glasses, pleasant smile.

  “Ray Longly. We have an appointment with Director Gaines.”

  “Yes, he’s expecting you.” She raised a finger. “Just a sec.” She picked up the phone, punched the comm line, and spoke briefly. She smiled. “Someone’s on the way to escort you to Director Gaines’ office.”

  “Thanks.”

  Thirty seconds later, a young man in jeans and a gray tee shirt beneath a white, knee-length lab coat led them through a door and down a hallway. He held the door as Ray and Pancake entered the Director’s office.

  Robert Gaines stood from behind his desk. “Ray Longly?”

  Ray had never met him. He had reached out to someone he knew in the FBI to arrange the meeting.

  Ray nodded. “This is Tommy Jeffers. Folks call him Pancake.”

  “Pancake? Never heard that one before.”

  “Me, either,” Pancake said.

  They shook hands. Gaines offered them the two chairs that faced his desk.

  “What happened to your face?” Gaines asked Pancake.

  “Pavement one. Me zero.”

  “Ouch.” Gaines sat. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not every day I get a call from the FBI Regional Director.”

  “An old friend,” Ray said.

  Gaines nodded, hesitated as if considering that. “I understand you’re interested in the evidence from the Billy Wayne Baker case.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mind if I ask why?”

  “This isn’t for public consumption. In fact, we hope no one will know why we’re here. Or even that we’ve been here.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  “Not at all.” Gaines leaned back in his chair. “The Regional Director assured me you were discreet. And could be trusted implicitly. So, no, nothing will leave this room.”

  Ray nodded. “Good.”

  “I trust that discretion goes both ways?”

  “It does.”

  “But I have to admit, I’m curious as to why a P.I. outfit is interested in Billy Wayne Baker.”

  Ray held nothing back and explained what they were doing. How Billy Wayne denied two of the killings. Wouldn’t say which ones. What they had been hired to do.

  Gaines nodded. “I had heard that. Back before his sentencing. As far as I know he gave up on that ploy and confessed to all seven.” He looked at Ray. “Unless something’s changed I don’t know about.”

  “Not really. According to his attorney, Winston McCracken, Billy Wayne confessed to avoid a trial and to take the death penalty off the table. At McCracken’s insistence. But Billy Wayne apparently never wavered on his assertion that two weren’t his doing.”

  “And your job is to see if that’s true and to discover which two weren’t his work?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And maybe find out who did do them?” He cocked his head to one side. “If it wasn’t Billy Wayne all along.” He leaned forward. “I’m sure you’ve considered that he might just be pulling your chain?”

  “We have.”

  Gaines gave a half smile. “Sure don’t envy you your work.” He shook his head. “I take it Billy Wayne’s your client?”

  “Sort of. He has an anonymous benefactor who’s paying the freight.”

  “Anonymous?” His head swiveled between Ray and Pancake. “Who?”

  “We don’t know,” Ray said. “That’s part of the arrangement.”

  “I see,” Gaines said. “Strange doesn’t quite cover it.”

  “Sure don’t,” Pancake said. “But, if Billy Wayne’s telling the truth, and not just blowing smoke up our asses, there’s a murderer still out there. Getting a free ride.”

  “Which ones does he claim he didn’t do?”

  “He won’t say,” Ray said.

  Gaines hesitated as if considering that, and then said, “That makes no sense.”

  “It does to Billy Wayne,” Ray said. “Seems he doesn’t want to bias our investigation.”

  “Boy, you sure got your work cut out for you.”

  “So it seems.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Take us through the evidence. What you found and didn’t find.”

  “Okay. First off, he left behind a forensic trail a mile wide. DNA, fingerprints. But those aren’t very helpful with nothing to compare them to. Too bad he wasn’t in any of the databases or we might’ve nabbed him sooner. Saved a few lives.”

  “The DNA in each case was semen. Right?” Ray asked.

  “Correct. Except in the first one—the Marilee Whitt case—we also found his DNA in her fingernail scrapings.” Gaines opened a folder on his desk. “I grabbed our test results on each of the seven cases. We did all the work here. The DNA was unquestionable. Once we had a sample from Billy Wayne, the odds for the least good sample was on the order of fifty billion to one. Pretty solid.”

  “Where were the samples found?” Pancake asked.

  “One from vaginal swabs. And, like I said, nail scrapings. The first case. Marilee Whitt. Down in Apalachicola. But DNA was located on the bedsheets in all seven.”

  “Fingerprints in only the Apalachicola case, right?” Ray as
ked.

  Gaines nodded. “Correct.”

  Ray related what Billy Wayne had said to Jake about changing his MO.

  “Like he learned something?” Gaines said. “Wouldn’t be the first time these guys altered their methods. Which, of course, explains why there was no vaginal DNA or fingerprints in any of the other cases.”

  “So we have vaginal and nail scraping DNA and prints at the first scene and bedsheet DNA at the others?” Ray asked.

  “Yes. But I’d have to say, despite his changed methods, Billy Wayne didn’t seem overly concerned about leaving tracks. Sort of like he wanted to get caught.”

  “Or was just plain stupid,” Pancake said.

  “Not from what I heard,” Gaines said. “The investigators told me he’s a pretty smart guy. They seemed to have no doubt there. So maybe he was cocky, maybe just sloppy. Regardless, he dropped a lot of breadcrumbs.”

  “Any of the evidence seem odd to you?” Ray asked. “Anything that gave you pause?”

  Gaines gave him a quizzical look. “Not sure I follow you.”

  “Maybe not exactly as you’d expect. Any that looked planted?”

  Gaines studied the pages before him. “Not really. I guess it would be odd that no vaginal DNA was found in any of the other victims. But, since Billy Wayne decided to wear condoms with the later victims, not surprising. But, as I said, in all seven it was on the bedding. Probably spilled some while removing the condom.” He shrugged. “Seen it before.”

  “That’s how we figured it,” Ray said. “I take it no condoms were found at any of the scenes?”

  “None were ever recovered. He must’ve taken them and disposed of them elsewhere. Again, common.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Ray said. “And I don’t mean to impugn your lab.”

  “We’re used to it,” Gaines said with a smile. “Defense attorneys have been impugning us for years.”

  “I hear you. Is it possible someone here, one of your techs, could’ve colluded with a killer? Maybe tampered with the evidence?”

  Gaines folded his hands before him. “Anything’s possible. But that would be unlikely. All the testing is reviewed by two techs. And in this case, being it was so high-profile, by me personally.”