by Jay Heavner
There were two gates in the ornate woven wire fence around the property, one for pedestrians with a walkway up to the front door and a second for vehicles. The driveway split. One side led to a small garage on the left, and the right side led back to the larger structure.
A well-manicured yard with several flower and herb gardens surrounded the house. Roger looked for evidence of a dog, but saw none. The last thing he wanted was getting bitten by a sneaky dog hiding somewhere as he approached the house.
A thud on the windshield started him. He watched the acorn remains bounce to the hood and then disappear over the side. “Squirrels, most worthless animal in Florida aside from palmetto bugs. Glorified tree rats,” he grumbled to himself.
“Dumbest too. Never can figure out which way to go once in the road. Right, left, right, left, THUD. No wonder they‘re always lying dead in the street. At least the ones up north were big enough to eat, especially the fox squirrels.”
As he got out of the car, a salty breeze from the Indian River brushed his face. The smell of rotten river grass and dead fish found his nose. He won- dered if the town of Titusville was dumping sewage into the lagoon. He hoped not, but anything was possible. Central Florida was sure a beautiful area, but like everywhere on this planet, the effects of human activity, good and bad, could be seen. Mistakes had been made in the past, and it would take time and millions of dollars to try to fix, but it could be done. He’d seen the progress being made in the Potomac River up home. Maybe one day it would again be clean enough to swim, fish, and boat in. For- tunately, the Indian River had never gotten that bad, and he sure hoped it didn’t.
Roger opened the gate, took a second look for a dog, but again, saw nothing suspicious. He walked up the flagstone walkway, took two steps up to a porch that pretty much wrapped around the whole house. His mind’s eye imagined some older people dressed in their Sunday best swaying back and forth in a glider and fanning themselves in the days before air conditioning. The house looked to have been built to make the best use of natural air flow with the widow’s walk area at the very top of the house. There was no doorbell, just a large knocker which he used. He heard someone coming over creaky floors. The door opened, and a large deeply tanned man, six foot three or so, wearing a muscle shirt that accented his broad shoulders and thick arms answered the door. He looked at Roger suspiciously. “Yes?” he said.
“I’m Roger Pyles, the police agent investigating the death of your ex-wife. I’m here on the appointment the sheriff’s department arranged.”
“Then, please come in and accept my apology for not greeting you property. You didn’t look like Jehovah’s Witnesses, no Watch Towers to sell, or Mormon missionaries, no bicycles. I thought you may be a door to door salesman. Sorry, please come in. You’re late.”
“I am. There was some kind of parade going on in the old downtown area. There was probably some back way to get here, but I’m new to the area and still discovering the alternative routes.”
The man smiled. “Yes, the city’s trying to revitalize the historic area. Parades are one way to get people back visiting. My family was among the early settlers to the area when the fishing was excellent, but the mos- quitoes would carry you away. The locals have their own club called the Mosquito Beaters, though I’ve never been to any of their meetings.
Where’re my manners. Come in.” He opened the door and put out his hand. “My name’s James Odom, but most people call me Jim or Big Jim.” Roger shook his hand and said, “I can see where the Big Jim name came from.” Roger looked at the massive biceps and wondered about possible steroid use. “I have some questions for you about the case. Where would be a good place to do this interview?”
“The kitchen table would work well. You could spread out any notes or papers you have on the case there. Good place for taking notes too. Care for coffee? I brewed a pot of Jamaican Blue Mountain a while ago. I thought you would be here sooner, but I can make a fresh pot if you like.”
“Thanks, it will be fine as is. Can’t say I’ve ever had Blue Mountain. I’ve tasted some exotic blends while doing archaeological work overseas, but somehow missed this one. Liked about all of them, even the one made from beans that went through a jungle cat’s guts. Only one I didn’t care for was when the locals mixed coffee and cardamom.”
“Very well. Come with me.” Jim led Roger through the old house. It was spotless. Everything had a place and was in it. You could have eaten off the floor it was so clean. The only pictures he saw were of a man and a woman both of whom were dressed in clothing fashionable after the Civil War. They had sour expressions on their faces.
“Have a seat,” Jim said and pointed to a chair at a table. It appeared to have been the original that came with the house. “I’ll get us both a cup.” “Thanks. Do you mind if I tape this meeting?” Jim hesitated for a moment as if the idea didn’t sit well. “No, go ahead. I have nothing to hide.” He poured the coffee in a china cup, placed it gently in front of Roger, then got himself a cup, and sat down at the small table across from Roger. “Where do we start?”
Roger put a folder of notes and papers on the table and looked up friendly like, but also firmly. “In the beginning,” Roger spoke into the microphone with the usual information needed to start: Where, When, Who, and Why they were there. “Mr.
Odom, tell me about yourself and your family. You have a magnificent old and beautiful house. How did you come to own it? Have you been in the area long? I’m sorry if I may ask a bunch of questions that may be obvious, but, as I said, I’m fairly new to the area and need some background.”
Big Jim began, “My family history in the area goes way back as I mentioned. This was my great-grandparent’s dream house. They had an interesting history too, but I won’t bore you with it. I acquired the house after my parents’ deaths about a decade ago when they were killed in a collision with a semi carrying grapefruits on the way to a local packing house that closed recently. I was their only child. Their fortunes went up and down on a seemingly regular basis. It was on a down point when they died. I used their life insurance policy benefits to pay off the debts on the estate. When the dust settled, all I got was this old house and a closed down little theme park south of town.”
“That wasn’t the place called Tropic Paradise possibly?” “It was and is. It has something to do with how I met my ex- wife, but let me tell you about the old theme park and my story will make more sense to you.”
“Okay, go on.” “The park was every kid’s dream place to have growing up. It had an Old West town called Dodge City they patterned after the TV series, Gunsmoke, which was popular at the time. It had all the characters and of course a Long Branch Saloon, but no alcohol, but they did have shootouts and hangings every hour.
Marshall Dillon every day would bring justice to the blackhearts who were always dry-gulching some innocent family or cowpoke. It also had an Indian village, boat and train rides, food, gift shops, lots of animals, and other fun stuff.
People loved Monkey Island. As I said, it was a great place to grow up in. “Like everything else in this state, it had its booms and busts. During one of the downturns, Johnny Weissmuller endorsed the animal theme park, and things picked up again. He lived in central Florida and would be at the park on a regular basis doing appearances and sign autographs and pictures.”
Roger said, “Johnny Weissmuller? You have to mean the fellow who was Tarzan?” “One and the same.”
“This area does have a lot of history.”
“It does, and some of it’s not so pretty,” Jim said. “What area doesn’t have some unpleasant history?” “True. Anyway, it was some past history that soured my parent’s relationship with him. Weissmuller was a world-class swimmer. That’s how he got the Tarzan part in the movies. My mother was also a world-class swimmer. What most people don’t know is there was a four-minute nude swimming scene in one of the Tarzan movies that never made it to the final cut.
Maureen O’Sullivan was the actress in the film,
but my mother was her stand-in double for that scene. When my father found out about it, he was shocked and livid. My mother had never said anything about it. My father became suspicious there might be more to the story, and their relationship with Weissmuller went south rapidly. He pulled his support because of some alleged charges of animal treatment. And it didn’t help that during one of the numerous after-hours events, an elephant got loose, found her way to US 1, and was struck and killed by a passing truck.
“Not long after that, Disney World and Sea World opened up in nearby Orlando, and it was all steady downhill for my parents’ park. My father turned the trained dolphin loose in the Indian River. People have told me he’s still out there dancing on his tail. The monkeys found or made a hole or both and escaped into the surrounding woods. There’s a gas station up the road now used for repairing buses. The guys have to lock up their lunches, or the monkeys will steal them.”
Roger stopped him. “This is all well and good, but how, if at all, does it relate to this case?”
“I was getting to that,” Jim said. “My parents were nudists as was Johnny. Some of the regular events held after regular hours were adult in nature. I learned a lot about human behavior long before I should have.” He stopped. “How does this relate to the case? I used to frequent the nude area on Playalinda Beach out on the Canaveral National Seashore.”
“And Missy was a nudist.” Roger said. “Correct. I met her during a volleyball game. I spiked the ball. It was a perfect set up, and it drove her to the ground. She fell flat on her back legs flying, and I fell in love right there. We all helped her up. It knocked her silly. They sat her in a folding lawn chair to recover. I told her I was sorry and talked with her as she pulled herself back together. We spent the night together, thought we were in love, got married, and soon found we had very different ideas on our relationship.
“She kept wanting to do skin movies and go to the nudie beach. She said the money was good, and she couldn’t see the harm in showing off and using her attributes. I wanted it all for myself and no more showing off all her skin to the whole wide world.
There were some other things too, and our love soon turned sour. She left, and I was glad to see her go.”
“I see you have a deep tan, Jim. Do you still go to the nude beach?” “No, I haven’t been out there since she left me. I have a little private place I go now and sun my buns out of the public’s eye.”
“So who do you think killed her?” Roger asked. He folded his arms. “Well, it wasn’t me. I wanted her gone and got that. That cop was a suspect, no? He had motive. I know your report must show they had a nasty breakup just a few days before she was murdered. We’d been divorced for some time, and I’d moved on. My money’s on the cop. They know how to kill and get away with it. I heard there was another suspect or two, but they really didn’t tell me much for obvious reasons. And I had an alibi. The cop didn’t.”
“That’s interesting. Tell me, what do you do for a living, Jim?” “I’m a timekeeper for PLE Supplies in Cocoa. Before that, I was their star salesman. I was tired of the travel required in the job. They didn’t want to lose me, so they offered me the timekeeper position. I’ve been doing that for years now.”
“As I said, I’m new here. What does PLE Supplies do?” “PLE stands for Police and Law Enforcement. We can supply anything they need from clothing, radio equipment, batons, tear gas. You name it, have it in bulk. We supply all the local agencies, many statewide, and some federal agencies I know you’ve heard of and maybe some you haven’t.”
“You’re still working there?” Roger said. “Yes.”
“Do you have any objections to me contacting them?” “None. You’d do it even if I said no, correct?” Roger said without emotion, “If I felt it’s necessary. I’ve always made it a practice of following the scent trail wherever it leds me no matter how faint it is. I’ve solved some cases everyone had given up on and turned a few slam dunks on their heads by catching something others missed. No brag, but I’m very good at what I do. I think this case is nearing a conclusion.”
The muscle-bound man’s controlled face let slip a look of surprise, but he soon recovered. “That’s good news. It will be good to have the whispering voices stop. This chapter needs to finally close.”
Roger nodded. “Agreed. I’ve got enough information for today. I’d like to quit now and possibly get back with you soon if need be. Is that good with you?” Roger could see this sudden end disturbed the other man who tried not to show it.
Jim responded, “If you think it best. I was expecting more. My time is valuable, but I would be agreeable to seeing you again. Call first. I have a life to live, and you could show up to an empty house.”
“I’ll try to do that. Thank you.” Roger shut off the recorder, grabbed up the file he’d laid on the table along with the recorder, and rose to his feet. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you. Also very insightful. I got what I wanted today, and as I said, I may have some more questions for you soon. Thank you for the great coffee and seeing me on this short notice. I too look forward to the putting of this case in the Closed Category Box. I’ll find my way out, thank you.”
Roger exited the house at a leisurely pace. His eyes scanned the rooms and hallways on the way out. He opened the door and turned to see Big Jim right behind him. “Oh, you surprised me,” Roger said casually. “I just thought of one last question.”
Big Jim’s face showed some concern. “What? What do you need to know?”
“What was the elephant’s name, the one that died in the highway?” A look of relief came to Jim’s face followed by something that appeared to be puzzlement. “Ellie. Her name was Ellie. Real original. Why do you ask the elephant’s name?”
“Have you ever read any Agatha Christie?”
“Only a little I was forced to in high school. Can’t say I do much reading.”
Roger said, “She wrote mysteries about crime. One of her characters was a stuffy little Belgium gentleman named Hercule Poirot. He was always talking about using his ‘little grey cells’ on his cases. The little gray cells of my brain were talking to me. They said that I should ask that question, so I did, and now I know her name was Ellie. Thank you.”
Roger saw confusion on the man’s face, but he did nothing to answer the questioning look. “Goodbye,” he said as he shuffled on to his vehicle and got in. Jim was still looking at him from the doorway. Roger tapped his head imitating the little detective further. He gave a knowing smile to Jim, waved, and then drove off.
Jim responded with a half-hearted wave as he watched the vehicle disappear. He shut the door and locked it securely. He walked into a dimly lit small room that had the curtains pulled and unlocked a chest. Then he pulled his shirt off, folded it neatly, and laid it on a nearby chair. After placing a necklace around his head, he touched the human nipples, his souvenirs, from his activities. As he read from his journal on the table, he remembered how he had gathered each one. His hand went into his pants, and he began to pleasure himself. They were all starting to run together in his mind except for the first and the latest. He’d had fun with all them, the living and the dead. This nosy cop must be dealt with. Jim had never had sex with a man, living or dead. He wondered what it would be like. This man convinced him he wouldn’t stop searching for answers until he had them or died trying. Maybe he could see that both happened for Roger. And why had he asked about the elephant? What had he been trying to tell him? Why did he ask as he stroked his own little trunk? How much did he know? A plan came to him as he climaxed. This man knew too much. He must be dealt with, soon.
CHAPTER 27
Roger pulled up to the closed gate in his vehicle. He got out and walked to it. The number on the metal warehouse building said 8743, nothing more. This had to be the place. He knew he’d followed the directions he’d been given to the letter. A fence surrounded the entire property, building, and an empty parking lot. He heard a voice call his name. “Roger Pyles.”
H
e yelled out, “Yeah, that’s me. Where are you?” “I’ve been expecting you.” Roger now knew the voice was coming from a speaker on the side of the building. “I’ll open the gate, and you drive through. Park in the lot, nose to the fence. The door marked Employees is open. Come on in and up the stairs to the office where the large window is. I’ll meet you there.”
“Roger that. Roger do.” Roger chucked to himself. “I always wanted to say that.” Roger got back in his car, the gate opened, and he drove in and parked. He walked in the building and saw the office at the top of the stairs. He could see a man sitting at a desk near the large window that overlooked the warehouse interior. As he climbed the stairs, a door swung open, and a huge man stood in the doorway. He said, “Mr. Pyles. I’m Dan Mason. You contacted me and said you needed to see me when convenient, and it concerned one of my employees, Jim Odom. Come on in.”
Roger shook the huge hand. Dan Mason had to be 6 feet 4 or 5 and had some of the broadest shoulders Roger had ever seen on a human being. Roger wondered if the man had to turn sideways to pass through some doors. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mason.”
“You can call me Captain Dan, but it usually gets shorten to Cap’n Dan. It’s how I’m known around the area. Welcome to my business. My father started it years ago from scratch and built it to what it is today. We’re one of the largest companies of its kind in America.”
“Why do they call you Cap’n Dan?” Roger asked. “I love boats and being on the water. This is the state for it. Lots of sunshine, water of every kind, fresh, brackish, or salt. Rivers, estuaries, lakes, and the ocean. You name it, we got it. You’ll have to come along on one of my fishing trips. Always love to have company.”
“Thanks for the invitation. I’ll keep it in mind. My experience in Florida with boating’s been in a john boat on the Indian River where me and another fellow encountered a killer manatee.”