Murder at the Canaveral Diner (A Florida Murder Mystery Novel)

by Jay Heavner

  “You need to keep moving forward. If you don’t, you fall over and crash. I know Kay and your son were an important part of your past, but it will drive you crazy thinking on what can’t be undone. This life is full of disappointments. Things turn out vastly different than we could have ever imagined, and to be completely honest, not what we believe we deserve. My advice and I know it’s easier said than done, is to weep deeply over the life you hoped for. Mourn for your loss. I know it stings and hurts like hell. You have a choice. You can wallow in your problems, or make a deliberate decision to refocus and move forward. Embrace the life you have like a lost friend you have found again. Live for the now, not longing for the past you can’t ever have again. Move forward out of the wasteland and count the blessings of today.

  “Roger, we all know we’re gonna die. Nobody gets out of this life alive. It’s terminal. Live while you’re alive. A lot of people think they have forever on this planet. Why not live like you died, have come back, and all this is extra?”

  Roger nodded, “That sounds like something my wife would say to me.” “Wish I could have met her.”

  “I think you two would have hit it off just fine.”

  Roger and Bill said nothing as mile after mile sped by. Bill looked at his watch and said, “You know, we just might miss the worst of Jacksonville rush hour traffic. Hope there’s no accidents.”

  “Or road construction.” “Fat chance of the latter,” Bill said. “They started rework on that road right after it was finished decades ago and will probably still be working on it the day the world ends.”

  “Government job,” Roger said. “Yup. Government job.”

  “Wonder what been going on while we were gone? Wonder if there’s anything new on this case waiting for us when we get back.”

  “Roger, I have a feeling there is. I think we have enough pieces of this puzzle to get some idea of the overall picture.”

  “Let’s put them together when we land and see what we have.” “Sounds like a plan.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Roger looked off at a large field by the side of the road. “Isn’t that cotton growing over there?” Bill looked. “Yeah, I think it is. What of it?” “Reminds me of my wife.” “You lost me on that, good buddy. You’re gonna have to explain.” Roger said, “The slaves used to pick cotton back in the dark old days.” “True. Don’t want to return back to them either.”

  “My wife, Kay, used to call it America’s ‘peculiar institute.’ She said it was a term slave owner’s used to cover up the diabolical nature of slavery. You know I told you how we ended up getting married. Our unplanned pregnancy moved things along. It wasn’t the ideal start, but I’m so glad we did it, and abortion was not an option for her. The college wanted groupthink, and when I really began to think, they couldn’t have that. Teens aren’t the only ones facing peer pressure to conform. With all the madness going on with the administration trying to get rid of me at the college, she and our young son were the one thing I could count on to bring me joy in those troubled times. I’m so glad we chose life. I’m so glad we didn’t listen to some of the advice about ‘choice’ and ‘women’s health.’ I’m so glad she believed our unborn child had a right to life.”

  “So how is slavery and abortion connected?” Bill asked. “Several ways. Our government sanctioned both. Both dehumanized human life. Under slavery, blacks were seen as not human or lesser humans. You could ship them like cattle like Hitler did. You could deprive them of basic human rights and treat them as objects of ownership. They were looked upon as an inferior life form. Politicians made bold assertions of the economic benefits of slavery.

  “Today, the unborn child is referred to as a mass of cells, fetal tissue, and embryos rather than more humanizing alternatives. They talk about the rights of the mother and ignore the rights of the child, and both end up being harmed. The deaths of millions have been normalized by thinking of them as less than human. Some pundits even say abortion is merciful by preventing poor children from facing the grave struggles of life. Slave owners did the same when they pointed out the economic woes of freed blacks.”

  “That’s some pretty heavy thought, Roger.” “I’ll get off my soapbox in a minute, but I need to finish. Millions of un - born humans have been killed for the convenience of those already blessed with life. The irony is too that this injustice of abortion affects the black community the worst. In some cities, more black children are aborted than born. There is no greater gift than life. We commit crimes slavers would have balked at, and the eugenicists like Margaret Sanger cheered, and they still do. She referred to blacks as ‘weeds.’ People like her believe we own life and can do with it as we want. Old Charley Darwin described the black man as less evolved and subhuman savages. Sound familiar?”

  “It does,” Bill said “I’m so glad we chose life. The time I spent with my son and wife were the happiest days of my life. It’s what kept me sane when I was being railroaded at the college. I often think on what could have been, and I get depressed, and I drink too much.”

  “Roger, I don’t know what I can do to help.” “Then just hear me out. I miss them so much. I would rather died than them.” He paused. “It makes me feel good that there are people alive today because of her. She volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center and was more than willing to share about her unplanned pregnancy. She was able to talk many young women into choosing life for their unborn child. She also counseled those that had abortions. She was so full of compassion, not the ire and judgment they expected. Every abortion has two victims. She was so understanding. Some young children living today are part of her legacy. Some women who were contemplating suicide are alive today because of her. God, how I miss her.”

  Bill looked at Roger with sympathy. “I don’t know what to say.” “Then say nothing and just listen to the words falling out of my heart. I’m about done.

  “William Wilberforce, an Englishman, worked to see that black people were seen as humans deserving rights like everyone else. He helped bring on a paradigm shift stemming from an understanding of life as it was intended to be. He was ridiculed as an extremist, an idealist not in touch with reality. He was told his defendants weren’t worth it. Didn’t he care about the well-being of those who benefited from slavery? What about them? In the end, this short little man broke the back of one of history’s most evil practices. I’m so glad slavery is no more. My wife and son convinced me abortion is a poor choice. I’m just happy for the time I had them. My wife was a good Christian woman.”

  Bill said, “So I guess she talked to you a lot about God and all that religious stuff?” “She did. She was never preachy, but always seemed to be teaching me stuff as you call it. You see, before she became a believer and even though she had been raised in the church, she determined to study the evidence and then using her reasoning powers and intellect, analyze it for herself and come to a conclusion. She was determined to find the truth. I think that’s why she was so patient with me. She saw I needed to follow the same route in this journey.” “So where are you now?”

  “I trying to be very open-minded to the facts and give the Bible a fair hearing. I listened to what the preacher had to say. I sometimes read it and still do. I’m interested in learning about it rather than pronouncing judgment from a position of abject ignorance like I’ve seen many so-called open-minded, educated people. I wanted my journey untainted by some in our culture. I’ve seen so much unwarranted disdain and disrespect. Often I’ve seen a conceited assumption from the elite who believe the beliefs are a product of blind faith, void of reason and thinking. I haven’t found that to be the case. Though I may not have it all figured out and am still a sojourner, I’m inclined to believe my wife was right. In the meantime, I’m gonna continue studying and searching for an answer.”

  Bill said, “I can see why you are so good at ferreting out an answer to a problem,” Roger said, “Yes, I’ve been told that is one of my strong points. I believe in high standards. I can’t tell you
how many times I’ve seen the results of biased, poor work. Researchers ignore conflicting data that doesn’t go along with their assumptions.

  That gives junk science. Police investigations with predetermined outcomes produce wrongful convictions. Journalists who cherry-pick facts and distort images to support an agenda. Our media can become nothing more than a device for mass misinformation and manipulation usually using emotions. Factual errors, logical flaws, and significant omissions always produce bad results.”

  “Very true.” “Bill, do I ever miss her. When all that crap was going on at the college, when all I heard was criticism and mocking, and it got me down, she was there. She was my cheerleader. She’d lift me up when I was discouraged. She kept telling me that some good would come from all this. It knocked the wind from my sails when she and my son died. I knew the desperation of a becalmed sailor in the middle of an endless ocean.”

  Bill hesitated. “Mind if I ask you a really hard question?” “No, go ahead.” “Why haven’t you blamed God for what’s happened to you and turned your back on Him?”

  “That is a hard question Bill, but it deserves an answer. It would have been so easy to say how would a loving God do this to me? Why me?” “And you answer is...?” Roger said, “Life happens, to the just and unjust. This world has some great things and some horrible things. Seems like in everyone’s lifetime, we all are the other guy who’s had bad things happen from time to time. That’s just the way it is. It rains on the good and the bad just the same. I have to admit sometimes I felt like Job’s wife. You know, old Job in the Bible. She told him, ‘Curse God Job and die.’ His response in his misery said it all, ‘Shall I accept good things from God, but not the bad also?’ Job believed God was in this somehow even though he didn’t understand. Just the same, he’d trust in his God. In time he’d understand.” Roger paused. “There have been days I’ve felt like ending it all, but somehow, I feel and know sometime I’ll understand. In the meantime, I drink to ease the pain.”

  Bill glanced at Roger. “You look like a burden just rolled off your back.” “Yeah, it’s hard to talk about, and when I do, it wears me out. You good with driving some more? I think a cat nap would refresh me at this time. The big meal didn’t help either.”

  “Go ahead. I’m good. Catch some shut eye. And glad I asked for the abridged version. My ears were wearing out.”

  Roger laughed. “Be glad I’m sleepy. Don’t tempt me to get on my soapbox.”

  Bill rolled his eyes. “You? On a soapbox? No way. I can’t image that.” They both laughed. Bill said, “Oh, while I’m thinking about it, there’s a retired fellow in Canaveral Flats, I believe you’d like to talk to sometime. His name’s Dr. Jones. He was a missionary in some country where there was a lot of persecution. I remember him saying, ‘Whatever happens, just or unjust, pain or pleasure, compliment or criticism, you take it into the purpose of your life and make something out of it. It becomes part of your story, your testimony.’”

  “He sounds like an interesting character. Thanks,” Roger said “Our little town’s filled with interesting characters. I can assure you of that.” Bill laughed at his own joke. “One last question, in a nutshell, tell me your philosophy of life as you see it now.”

  Roger said, “Glad you want the nutshell version. You don’t want to get me on a roll. My eyes are getting droopy too. Well, let’s see. Family is important. Work hard. Have honor. I believe in law and order. I can’t see how this world was created by nothing. Something had to do it. All life is important. Don’t take it for granted and don’t destroy innocent life. Truths exist as sure as the sun rises in the east. It doesn’t change with the whims of society. Some of the biggest fools I have ever met were on college campuses. Facts are facts and to some who say they are most tolerant and accepting; they’re blind to the fact they’re not, and they will try to shut you up when you point their folly out. But I have a big streak of stubborn and will continue doing what’s necessary to find the whole truth, no matter how unpopular some my findings might be with some people. I’m a truth seeker, and the truth can be hard and uncomfortable. Often it’s like an alarm bell goes off in my head when things get too comfortable, and I wonder why. That good enough?”

  “Yeah, that’s a lot of cud to chew on. Should keep me awake while you catch some more shut-eye.”

  Roger curled up in the seat best he could and soon was fast asleep and snoring softly.

  Bill looked at his sleeping companion and smiled. Yes, he had chosen wisely. Roger was the right man for what he wanted.

  CHAPTER 16

  Five years ago at the Canaveral Diner “How did you get in here? I told you I never wanted to see you again, Love,” she snarled and emphasized the last word. “Get out. Get out now!” Those were the last words she ever spoke. She heard a clicking sound and fell to the ground. She moaned as pain rocked her body. Helpless, she watched as the man pulled a bottle from his jacket and poured some of its contents on a rag which he then held covering her nose and mouth. He watched as her eyes closed and her breathing became slower. She stirred, and he put more liquid on the rag which he returned to her face. Each time he did this, her breathing slowed and finally came to a stop. He smiled, but she’d died too soon before the real fun had begun. No matter.

  Carefully, he removed her clothing one piece at a time and placed them neatly in a pile nearby. He sneered as he mounted her dead body. The words, “Oh, this is so good,” slipped from his lips as he climaxed.

  He pulled his pants back up and tightened his belt. A look around the kitchen area told him where the knives would be. A particularly wicked looking one called him. Use me. He picked it up with his gloved hand. The first thrust into her heart yielded little blood. Yes, she was dead. He smiled cruelly as rage filled him. Twenty-three times he stabbed her. He counted every one. His anger was spent after the first eighteen strokes, that and the fact the tip of the knife had broken off. No matter. The last five were just because he could and wanted to. He had his reason. He laid the bloody knife on the counter where it could be found.

  Her blood trickled across the tile floor along the crack and ran into the floor drain. Pity, it had to end like this. He felt a twinge of sorrow as he looked at her naked body with her legs spread wide. He’d leave her like this. He wanted to remember her this way. It seemed only a fitting end. Oh, and he needed something to remember her by.

  Satisfied, he tiptoed around the corpse and the blood trail coming from it. He looked out the peephole of the service door and saw the coast was clear. He quickly exited and locked the door behind him. A devious thought came to him. Should he leave the key outside in the double cylinder deadbolt lock? Why not? It would give the police something to think about. Was it important or a red herring? Yes, he would leave the key and see how it worked out.

  The distant street light barely illuminated the back parking area. Quietly, he slipped across the lot and followed the path through the tangle of Brazilian Pepper trees to the Florida East Coast Railroad tracks. Anyone seeing him at this hour might write him off as a hobo or homeless man continuing his wandering to nowhere. A street crossed the tracks, and he took a left there and walked deliberately to his car in the Scotty’s Lumber Yard parking lot.

  The door creaked as he opened it and got in. He smiled as he thought of his deed tonight. He was satisfied he would not be found out. Only he would know what happened and why. How much would Florida Today have to say about his activities?

  How accurate would it be? What would they miss or leave out? No matter. He heard the sound of an approaching train. Its bright light hit the windshield as it rounded a slight curve and temporarily blinded him. As his eyes adjusted back to the darkness, he saw the last half of the long train pass with its cars full of heavy limerock.

  He started the car, and its lights penetrated the night. He yawned and realized how tired he was. His first killing had left him pleased but exhausted. He’d sleep like the dead. A triumphant laugh escaped his mouth. Someone else was sleepi
ng like the dead.

  It has been so easy. Was it always this easy if you planned it right? He wondered and smiled.

  Yes, he was tired. Maybe he’d skip work today. The world could get along without him for a day. It would get along without her. Taking a life had drained him, and he’d need time to recharge. No matter. She was dead, and he was free. That’s what really mattered.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Who’s there?” the gravelly voice asked. “Will Corbett, it’s Roger Pyles of the Canaveral Flats Police Department wanting in. I need to talk to you.” “Oh, Roger. I’ll buzz you in. Just a second.” Roger heard a clicking sound as the door unlocked. He walked in, went through a second door, and found himself in an office room. Will Corbett was sitting at a desk and working on some paperwork. He looked up and said, “Let me finish this report, and I’ll be right with you. It won’t take but a moment. Help yourself to some coffee and please put a lid on the Sty- rofoam cup. Can’t tell you how much paperwork’s been ruined by spilled coffee, including my own. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay.” Roger found the coffee on a small table near the wall. It was black as used motor oil like he liked it. He poured a cup, put a lid on it, took a sip, and sat down in a metal chair in front of the coroner’s desk. “Good coffee, just like I like it, hot and black.” He laughed at his own little inside joke, but Will paid him no mind. He was focused on the report.

  Roger watched as Will worked his way down the page and signed his name at the bottom. “There,” Will said. “Another mindless paperwork report sent from some anonymous bureaucrat who probably won’t read it, and if he or she does, most likely won’t understand it anyway. Just has to be done to satisfy some government requirement in a law written by pompous fools with no understanding of what people in my position do daily, but what else is new?”

  Roger laughed. “So tell me how you really feel.” “You don’t want to know. It’s been one of those days. Seems like I’ve been filling out government forms all day just because I have to. I wish the idiots who implemented this would have to be held responsible for all the money they waste, money we could use to bring this place up to date. There’re some advantages to working with the dead. They don’t complain, don’t give back talk, and don’t demand you fill out foolish forms.”