Sunshine State

by D P Lyle

  “It doesn’t smell that way to us,” Munson added.

  That’s when Chief Morgan arrived. He didn’t look happy either.

  “We need to talk,” Morgan said.

  “Okay.”

  Morgan looked around. “Not here.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  WE GATHERED IN the gazebo. Our de facto office. I had always considered it private and cozy. It didn’t feel that way about now. Nicole, Ray, Pancake, and I sat. Morgan didn’t. He leaned against the rail, flanked by Clark and Munson.

  It felt like the OK Corral. The Earps and the Clantons squared off in a claustrophobically confined area. I could taste the tension in the air. Problem was that down there in southern Arizona, in the suddenly appropriately named Tombstone, everyone was armed. Here, only Clark and Munson were, something they made painfully obvious, each with a hand resting on a service weapon. At least we had Ray and Pancake on our side. Evened the odds. Sort of. I wished I’d paid more attention at our Krav Maga classes. I hoped Nicole had.

  “So, talk,” Ray said.

  He looked calm. Pancake, too. Me? I thought I might throw up.

  Morgan looked at me. “Maybe you should tell us about your visits with Billy Wayne Baker.”

  “We can’t really talk about any of our interviews,” Ray said. “It’s a privacy issue.”

  Morgan sighed. “I don’t think that posture will help here.”

  Ray shrugged. “You obviously have something on your mind, so why don’t we start there.”

  Ray and I might have our issues, but one thing I never doubted was his poise. Grace under pressure as he liked to put it. I didn’t feel all that graceful.

  “I had a chat with the warden up in Raiford,” Morgan said. “One of the guards, too. One that overheard Jake’s talk with Billy Wayne.

  Uh-oh.

  “Enlighten us,” Ray said.

  “Okay, let’s play it that way. Seems much of the dialog revolved around Billy Wayne saying he didn’t kill a couple of his victims. Said someone else might’ve done them.” His knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing behind him. “Seems he directed you this way.”

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  “Then what exactly?”

  “He confessed to all the murders,” I said. “What’s to discuss?”

  Morgan came off the rail, widened his stance, scratched an ear. “Makes me think that maybe all this documentary crap was simply a cover for you to come in here and snoop around.”

  I felt Nicole coil. She squared her shoulders. “The documentary is real.”

  “If you say so,” Clark said.

  Her jaw came up. “I do.”

  Lord, I loved her. She was a warrior of the first order. Of course, pissing off a group of armed cops might not be the best move, but it felt good.

  For a brief moment, Morgan looked like he wasn’t sure how to handle the standoff. He recovered quickly. Looked at me.

  “Is that how you remember your conversations? Billy Wayne denying some of the murders?”

  “I’d say Billy Wayne Baker isn’t exactly the most reliable source for anything,” I said. Did I say that? That was a good answer. I think Morgan wanted more so I continued. “I was simply gathering background info on his activities. What he confessed to or didn’t wasn’t part of that.”

  “What exactly did he say his activities here in Pine Key were?”

  “I guess you know that about as well as anyone. Except maybe Billy Wayne.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Munson said.

  “Just what I said. Whatever he said he did or did not do would have to be taken with a grain of salt. Don’t you think?”

  I was on a roll.

  “I guess it depends on whether you believed him or not,” Morgan said.

  “Would you? Believe anything he said?” This was now getting to be fun. I felt poised.

  Even better, that seemed to deflate Morgan a notch. Definitely on a roll here. Ray thought so, too. I sensed more than saw a slight smile at the corners of his mouth.

  “Have we done anything since we’ve been here that would make you think we were in Billy Wayne’s corner?” Ray asked. “Anything other than working on our film project?”

  Morgan glanced up toward The Boardwalk, hesitated a second, then gave a quick nod. “Can’t say that you have.”

  “Then, there you go.”

  “I just have a nagging feeling that things aren’t as they seem.”

  “Are they ever?” Pancake said.

  Morgan shrugged.

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can say to convince you that we’re legit,” Nicole said. “Except wait and see. Once this project is completed, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  Morgan stared at her. “I hope that’s the truth.”

  “It is.”

  Well, not entirely.

  Morgan gave a quick nod and looked at me. “Just so we’re clear here, Billy Wayne did or did not say some of the killings here weren’t his work?”

  I glanced at Ray. He gave me a slight nod.

  “No, he didn’t.” Technically that was true. Though he slipped up, let the truth slip out, Billy Wayne admitted nothing directly. “And, like I said, why would I believe him if he did? He left his DNA at each scene. Hard to deny he was present, don’t you think?”

  Morgan gave another nod.

  I continued. “So, I don’t see anything Billy Wayne Baker has to say on his guilt or innocence has any relevance here. Or carries much weight.” I hesitated a couple of seconds. “Unless you have any doubts. Know something we don’t.”

  Ta da. That was a great answer. I somehow refrained from standing and taking a bow. Nicole thought it was good, too, as she placed a hand on my arm, giving it a slight squeeze.

  “I have no doubts as to Billy Wayne Baker’s guilt,” Morgan said.

  “Then we’re all on the same page here.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “WHAT’S THAT?” CHIEF Charlie Morgan asked.

  “It’s a phone,” Ray said.

  Morgan scowled. “I can see that. But what’s it doing on my kitchen table?”

  It was now nearing seven in the evening. After the confrontation in the gazebo, Ray, Pancake, Nicole, and I had sat down in Ray’s room at the Tidewater and gone over various options on how to move forward with the investigation. Everyone had an opinion but, in the end, we all agreed. Or rather, Ray agreed for us. It was time to bring Morgan inside. Let him know what we knew. Or better, what we suspected.

  “It’s a pre-paid burner,” Ray said. “One of a pair purchased two years ago up in Panama City. January of 2016 to be exact.”

  “And this means what?” Morgan asked. He maintained an air of casual curiosity, but it was facade. I could see worry gather in his face. Guess he knew we wouldn’t be here, in his home, unless it was something intended for his eyes only.

  “It was a cash transaction,” Ray said. “Small independent phone store. January would put the purchase a month after Loretta Swift’s murder and a month before Noleen Kovac and two months before Sara Clark were killed.”

  A crease now appeared in Morgan’s brow. “Okay.” He said it slowly. His mental wheels no doubt ramped up.

  Ray nodded to Pancake.

  “According to its call log, this phone was only ever used to call one number,” Pancake said. “The other phone purchased at the same time.”

  “So the two are married to one another,” Ray said.

  Pancake continued, “There was a flurry of communications during the months surrounding the murders of Noleen Kovac and Sara Clark, then nothing.” Pancake paused. “Until a few days ago.”

  The crease deepened. Morgan picked up the phone, examined it. “Where’d you get this?”

  “From Tommy Lee.”

  That seemed to knock Morgan back. “He gave it to you?”

  Ray shrugged. “Not exactly.”

  Morgan’s face hardened. “You telling me you broke into Tommy Lee
’s house and stole this?”

  Ray shrugged but said nothing.

  “Okay, I get it,” Morgan said. “But if we’re going to talk turkey here, you’ve got to come clean. This is all off the record.”

  Ray smiled. “I’m not worried about that.” He waved a hand. “It’s four against one as to what’s said here anyway.”

  Morgan scowled.

  “But, we’re here to clear the air. Tell you how we see all this playing out.”

  Morgan’s shoulders sank, as did his head. He suddenly looked older, tired. I suspected his cop’s mind knew that what was coming wasn’t anything near what he wanted to hear.

  “Go ahead,” he said with a wave of one hand.

  Ray did. He laid it all out. The phones, the timeline, the alibis Tommy Lee and Frank Clark had arranged, Tommy Lee’s money motive, Sara Clark’s affair, the call to the other phone, the person who answered knowing it was Tommy Lee calling, the murder of Tommy Lee. Then, he sat back and waited.

  Morgan said nothing for a full minute. He stared at the phone he still held. Turned it over and over in his hand. His head gave a couple of shakes as if he was absorbing everything bit by bit. His mind trying to put all the pieces together. Probably praying for some other explanation. I could almost feel the pain swelling inside him. Finally, he sighed and looked up.

  “Who answered when you called?” Morgan asked.

  “Don’t know. Male, but that’s about it.”

  “The speaker’s fractured,” Pancake said. “What we heard was all broken and fuzzy.”

  Morgan examined the phone. “I take it this thing didn’t record the conversation?”

  Ray shook his head. “No. It doesn’t have that capability.”

  “Too bad. Maybe I could’ve recognized the voice.”

  “Unfortunately, not an option.”

  “So whoever has this missing phone is the other half of the conspiracy?” Morgan asked. “Along with Tommy Lee?”

  Ray nodded. “That makes the most sense.”

  “And you’re thinking that other person is Frank Clark? Seeking vengeance for Sara’s infidelity?”

  “It’s a common motive.”

  Morgan shook his head. “I’m here to tell you, that ain’t the Frank Clark I know. He worshipped Sara.”

  “Which could mean that her affair only cut that much more deeply,” I said.

  Morgan seemed to shrink. Get smaller. As if all the air had leaked from his body.

  “Let me ask you,” I said. “Do you think Clark knew about her affair?”

  Morgan seemed to consider that for a few seconds. “Not that I ever saw. He never said anything about it, for sure.”

  “Could be an ego thing,” Pancake said. “Not too many guys would shout out that their partner was cheating. Particularly someone like Clark.” He opened his hands, palms up. “If I’m reading him correctly.”

  “Who was Sara Clark seeing?” Morgan asked.

  Ray nodded to Nicole.

  “We don’t know,” she said. “I talked with their neighbor Sally Foster. She wouldn’t say who it was.”

  “But she knew Sara was involved with someone?” Morgan asked.

  “She did. And she knows who it was. Saw him sneaking in and out. At least once. I suspect more than that. She and Sara talked about it and Sara admitted to the affair, but she wouldn’t say who it was.”

  “You’re sure Sally knows?”

  “I am. But, like I said, she wouldn’t tell me who.”

  “She give a reason why not?”

  Nicole shook her head. “Not in so many words, but I got the impression she wanted to protect Frank’s, and Sara’s, reputations.”

  “Sally’s good people,” Morgan said. “Maybe I’ll have a chat with her.”

  “Can I suggest something else?” Nicole said.

  “Sure.”

  “Let me talk to her. Woman to woman. I got the impression that she wanted to tell me but just couldn’t quite get there. I think she will. If she and I can sit down again.”

  Morgan nodded. “When?”

  Nicole nodded toward me. “Actually, we stopped by earlier. Sally wasn’t there. The lady across the street said she’d gone to a matinee play up in Panama City. With some friends. That they were going to grab some dinner. Sally apparently told her she’d be back around eight. I thought I’d call and see if we can chat after that.”

  Morgan nodded, then dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “This is a goddamn mess.”

  “It is,” Ray said. “What’s your next move?”

  He sighed and looked up. “Not sure. I think I’ll give Terry Munson a call. Get his take on this.”

  “Aren’t he and Clark close?” I asked. “He might tip him off.”

  “If Frank’s the one that answered that phone, I’d say he’s already tipped off.”

  He had a point.

  “But, one thing for sure,” Morgan said. “Terry’ll do the right thing. Even if it’s Frank.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  MORGAN TUGGED OPEN the front door, stepped back, and let Terry Munson in. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “No problem, Chief. What’s this about? You were a little mysterious on the phone.”

  He led Munson into the kitchen where they sat. The phone lay on the table near a pair of green, dancing alligator salt and pepper shakers. Morgan lifted it up.

  “What’s that?” Munson asked.

  “A problem. A big problem.”

  Munson shifted in his chair. “You want to explain?”

  “Everything said here tonight is between me and you. Got it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Where’s Frank?” Morgan asked.

  “Home, I suspect. I got the duty tonight.”

  Morgan nodded. He tossed the phone on the table. “I have to say again, everything that’s said here, stays here. Not a word. Clear?”

  “Of course. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Morgan did. He reeled out everything Ray and his crew had told him, ending with, “Did you know Sara was seeing someone?”

  “No. And I don’t believe it.”

  “Looks like she was. Do you think Frank suspected anything like that?”

  “If he did, he would’ve told me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. We don’t have secrets. Not now, not ever.” Munson leaned forward, forearms on the table edge. “Fact is, I simply don’t believe it. None of it. I’ve been to their house a thousand times. Known both of them for years. Better than anyone.” He tapped an index finger on the table to emphasize his point as he said, “And I don’t buy any of this. Sara having an affair? Not possible.”

  Morgan shrugged.

  “Who said she was?”

  “Sally Foster. She apparently saw the guy coming and going. And Sara confirmed the affair when Nicole, that girl with the movie group, asked her.”

  “Who was it?”

  “She wouldn’t say. A least not yet. Nicole’s the one that got Sally to say even that much. She’s going to have another talk with her. See if Sally’ll say who.”

  “When?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe tonight.”

  Munson shook his head. “This is insane. You’re sitting right here, right now, telling me that not only was Sara having an affair but that Frank and Tommy Lee cooked up some double murder scheme? Tommy Lee for money and Frank because his wife was seeing someone? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’m saying that’s a strong possibility.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I’m just not sure what to do next,” Morgan said. “I mean I could get a warrant and search Frank’s place. See if the other phone is there. But I’m not sure that’s the way to do this.” He looked at Munson. “You know as well as I do that there are always several ways to look at evidence. That things aren’t always as apparent as they seem.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Munson picked up the
phone, turned it over in his hand, and laid it back down. “Let me talk to Frank. Feel him out.”

  “Don’t tell him what we have. It could cause him to do something rash.”

  Munson sighed. “Wouldn’t you? I mean, if all this came down on your head, wouldn’t you do something about it?”

  “Probably. That’s why you need to be cool and calm when you talk with him. Don’t spook him or give anything away. Kind of tease it out.”

  “I know how to do an interrogation.”

  “I know. I’m just—hell—I don’t know what I am.”

  Munson stood. “I’m not looking forward to it. Fact is, I might sleep on it. Figure out the right approach. Chat with him tomorrow.”

  “Might be the best plan.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  “PLEASE, COME IN,” Sally Foster said. She held the door for Nicole to enter.

  “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “I just made some tea. Would you care for some?” Before Nicole could answer, she added, “It’s herbal. No caffeine.”

  “That would be nice,” Nicole said.

  “Please, make yourself at home.” Sally waved a hand toward the living room. “I’ll be back in a sec.” She headed toward the kitchen.

  Nicole texted Jake. Two words: I’M HERE. She moved to the window. The one that faced Frank Clark’s house. It was dark except for a single window toward the front of the home. Light fell through the curtains, highlighted by a slight flickering. Probably the TV.

  From where she stood, she could see the entire house and the backyard to the property line, demarcated by a broken row of hydrangeas. Easy for Sally to see Sara’s lover coming and going.

  She returned to the living room and sat on the sofa.

  It had taken her nearly half an hour to convince Jake she needed to talk with Sally alone. That she believed that was the only way Sally would open up. Tell all she knew. Jake countered that he didn’t want her alone that close to Frank Clark. Frank Clark the murderer. She called him a ninny. But he didn’t give up, saying that it didn’t really matter who Sara was sleeping with.

  “Really?” she had said. “What if it was Tommy Lee?”

  “Come on. Frank Clark getting into bed—no pun intended—with his wife’s lover?”