by Tom Turner
“So I noticed.”
“So, back to Ronnie Wallace, nothing on him?”
Bull shook his head. “Not a thing. He’s in the weeds.”
Jackie’s phone rang. She looked at the number. “Speak of the devil,” Jackie said. “It’s Annie Oakley. I’ll make it quick.”
Bull smiled and nodded.
“Hey, what’s up?” Jackie asked.
“I did something really stupid,” was all Ryder said.
“What?”
“I went to the house on Morning Glory.”
“But we—”
“I know, I know. I said it was stupid.”
Ryder told Jackie what happened. Jackie glanced over at the conservative older couple next to her and wondered what they’d think if they could hear both sides of her conversation. Horrified, was a word that came to mind.
Jackie winced when Ryder told her about how the man named John had suddenly appeared, looking to take a “test drive.”
What? mouthed Bull when he noticed Jackie’s shocked expression.
Jackie shook her head and held up a hand. “But you’re okay?”
Ryder assured her she was.
“Where are you?”
“Driving back to my place,” Ryder said. “Where I’m going to take a nice, long shower, then have a big cocktail or two.”
“All right, I’ll check with you in the morning,” Jackie said, biting her tongue to keep from chewing her sister out. “You get any more crazy ideas, try to suppress them.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Okay, well, good night,” Jackie said and ended the call.
“What was that all about?” Bull asked.
She didn’t quite know how to answer the question. So, she laughed, which gave her time to think. “Too much to explain, tell you later,” she said finally.
The waiter came and Jackie ordered the firecracker shrimp platter and Bull, the Tybee tuna.
Bull asked Jackie how she liked living on Mercer Island. She told him how she had given thought to moving into Savannah itself, where there were a lot more people her age and more single men and women. But she had a nice group of friends and there were always a million things to do, even though she was often a fifth wheel. She said how she liked living on a beautiful, secluded island while having all the benefits of a city only twenty minutes away.
After a drink Bull loosened up and talked about his marriage to a woman who had been very social and wanted him to dress up and go out, when all he wanted to do was hang out at home and read a book or watch something on Netflix.
They talked about kids and how they both wanted to have them, but at thirty-six and thirty-two, respectively, time was a-wasting. They talked about vacations they had taken and how he was dying to go on a river cruise on the Danube and she wanted to see Africa.
And before they knew it, they had finished dinner and it was ten-thirty.
Jackie looked around the restaurant and realized they were the last couple there. Their waiter was giving them that unmistakable look of, Don’t you folks want to be asking for the check right about now? as he pointedly looked at his watch for the second time.
“Wow, time flies when you’re…not talking shop,” Jackie said.
Bull looked at his watch and laughed. “Yeah, no kiddin’.”
He raised his hand for the waiter, who rushed over in two seconds flat. “Coffee? Dessert?” he said without enthusiasm.
“Just the check, please.”
“Yes, sir,” and he scurried off.
Jackie looked at Bull and smiled. “So, I’ve been thinking, Harry… in appreciation for the mint the other night and the cheese omelet the next morning, I’d like to invite you over for one of my killer margaritas.”
“Sold,” Bull said without hesitation.
Jackie smiled. “I can show you my artwork, too,” she said. “You’ll be impressed to know that not only do I have a Joseph McGurl, but a Suzanne Sullivan as well.”
“Very impressed,” Bull said as the waiter handed him the check. “But, more importantly, do you have a Keurig?”
“Just so happens I do,” she said. “And a full supply of Barista Prime Coffeehouse coffee.”
36
In the restaurant parking lot, Jackie told Bull that she had nosy neighbors and didn’t want to get their tongues wagging about a strange car parked in her driveway. Bull volunteered to park down the street, but she suggested they both pull their cars into her two-car garage.
After they got to her house, Jackie mixed up a batch of her signature margaritas. Then, glasses in hand, she showed him her paintings. He liked them both. After Jackie set her holstered Glock on an end table, they settled onto her couch.
They started watching Billions on Showtime but didn’t get very far into it when the necking began. After a few minutes, Jackie pulled back. “This just may be the night.”
Bull smiled and stroked the back of her neck. “I can wait, you know.”
“I can’t,” Jackie said, leaning forward and kissing him.
“Well, in that case...” and Bull’s hand went to Jackie’s bra strap.
Then she pulled his shirt over his head and a minute later they were in bed.
The man parked his car on the golf cart path off of the street that ran perpendicular to Log Cabin Drive. He pulled it in far enough so no one could see it from the road. Then, from under his seat, he pulled out a knife, climbed out of the car, and slipped the long blade under his belt. It hung halfway down his thigh on his right side.
He had Googled 121 Marsh Circle earlier in the day and came up with a listing for when the house had been on the market three years before. It included a fact sheet with all the particulars, plus a floor plan. It was making his job even easier.
He took a right off of Log Cabin onto Marsh Circle and noticed he wasn’t alone. Up ahead were four deer that bounded away as he got close to them. It was eerily quiet except for crickets. A hundred yards farther, he saw a sign that said 121. There were no lights on in the house. It was 11:40 p.m.
He stopped to picture the floor plan in his head, then walked around to the side of the house that had no bedrooms. As he got to the end of the house, he saw the wooden porch that ran the entire length of the back of the house and which looked out over a long, narrow lagoon in back. He took two steps toward the porch and on his third stepped on a branch that made a sharp, cracking sound. He froze and stayed in that position for a full half-minute, but heard nothing from inside.
“What was that?” Bull asked, pulling back from a long kiss with Jackie.
They were in a tight embrace on her bed.
“Just a branch,” Jackie said.
“Why would a branch snap when there’s no wind?”
“I don’t know, a deer maybe. Come on, Harry,” she said, pulling him closer, “you don’t need to be a detective all the time.”
He gave her a quick kiss but pushed himself up from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
The man stepped up to the porch and listened. Nothing but the cacophonous chorus of crickets again. He saw three sets of sliding doors in the back and he edged up to one of them. He slowly slid it to the left and it moved a few inches. He pushed it another foot and it slid smoothly and noiselessly. He turned to one side, slipped in, and made out the shapes of furniture inside. He had a Maglite Solitaire flashlight in his pocket but decided he didn’t need it. He could see well enough without it. It was just a matter of not bumping into anything.
To his left, he could see double doors that he remembered led to the master bedroom. He slowly shuffled toward it, not lifting his feet, then put his left hand on the right doorknob as he drew the knife from out of his belt. He gently pushed the door in then stepped inside. He made out the shape of a bed and shuffled toward it as he raised the knife over his head.
A light snapped on and he saw a man in boxers on the other side of the room with a large semiautomatic pistol in his hand.
“Well, hello, Ronnie,” Harry Bull sa
id. “We were just talking about you. Drop the knife.”
Ronnie Wallace lowered the knife and let it slip out of his hand, where it fell on the hardwood floor.
“Now kick it over,” Bull said.
Wallace put his foot up to the knife and shoved it across the room.
Wearing a white bathrobe, Jackie walked in from the adjacent bathroom. She stopped and scowled as she recognized him.
“Why don’t you just shoot him, Harry?”
“I was thinking about that,” Bull said. “Problem is his blood would get all over that pretty wallpaper of yours.”
“Yeah, that’s Brunschwig,” Jackie said. “Goes for twenty dollars a yard.”
Jackie walked up to Wallace as Bull edged a few steps to one side of him, his pistol trained on Wallace’s chest.
Jackie got to within a few feet of him, then leaned forward and spat in his face. “That’s for the sucker punch.”
Wallace wiped his face with his sleeve as Jackie started to walk away.
She suddenly spun and kicked him in the crotch.
Wallace doubled over in pain.
“And that’s for spelling my name wrong,” she said, backing up to where Bull stood.
“Nice,” Bull said. “I see that kickboxing came in handy.” Then to Wallace, “Okay, Ronnie, turn around.”
Wallace was still bent over. “So your girlfriend can boot me in the ass this time?”
“Do it,” Bull said, louder. “And put your hands behind your back.”
Bull walked over to the chair where his pants were and pulled out his handcuffs from them.
Jackie took them from him. “I’ll do the honors,” she said, then went back over to Wallace.
Jackie snapped the handcuffs onto his wrists.
“They’re too tight,” Wallace said.
“Tough shit,” said Jackie.
“Now, walk back out into the living room,” Bull said. “We’re gonna have a little chat.”
Bull followed Wallace into the living room as Jackie went back into the bedroom, then into her walk-in closet.
Bull pointed to a sofa. “Sit down,” he said to Wallace.
Wallace sat and Bull took a seat across from him.
“So, we got you for attempted murder,” Bull said. “Worse, attempted murder of a police officer, which adds another five years.”
“Bullshit, I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”
“What you didn’t know doesn’t matter,” Bull said. “But, tell you what, if you testify that John Redmond put you up to this, maybe we could bring it down to, let’s say, B & E.”
“Who’s John Redmond?”
Bull shook his head. “Cut the shit. You really gonna play that game?”
Jackie came back out wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and running shoes.
“I was just telling our uninvited visitor,” Bull said to Jackie, “that instead of attempted murder maybe what happened here was a burglary gone wrong. If he gives up John Redmond, that is.”
Jackie nodded. “Major difference in jail time.”
Bull nodded. “Yeah, as much as twenty years. Problem is, he’s playing like he doesn’t know who John Redmond is.”
Jackie shrugged and thought for a second. “Well, you can still shoot him. A guy shows up with a knife in the middle of the night, nobody would have a problem if he ends up dead.”
Bull smiled. “I’m keeping that option open.”
“‘Cause we really don’t want your brother getting this slimeball off again.”
“Good point,”—then, eyeing Wallace—“of course, that B & E would be off the table if you were the one who killed Miranda Cato.”
Wallace shook his head violently. “Not me. I wasn’t even around.”
“Where were you?” Bull asked.
“Up in Beaufort.”
Bull shrugged. “So, you couldn’t have driven down from Beaufort, snuck in the house, and knifed Miranda Cato in her bed?”
Jackie nodded. “Yeah, with the same knife he came here with. It’s beginning to look like an open-and-shut case, Harry.”
Wallace leaned forward, his eyes fiery. “I didn’t fuckin’ kill her.”
“Then who did?”
Wallace eyed Bull. “If I tell you, I skate, right? No charge for anything, not even a B&E. I was never here.”
Bull looked over at Jackie. Neither one said anything for a few moments.
“Let me talk to you a sec,” Bull said to Jackie.
Jackie followed Bull across the room to a far corner.
Bull lowered his voice. “You do realize we’re going more than a little rogue here.”
Jackie nodded. “Yeah, I do. And it’s the only way to nail all of ‘em.”
“So, let’s do it.”
They returned to Wallace.
“Okay,” said Bull, “you’ve got yourself a deal.” He turned back to Jackie. “You got a pocket recorder, by any chance?”
Jackie nodded and walked out of the room.
“But if you don’t tell us everything,” Bull said, “the deal’s off. And you’ll do a nice, long bit up at Baldwin State Prison.”
Jackie walked back in with a pocket recorder and put it down on the coffee table in front of Wallace.
“Speak loud and clear,” Jackie said. “No mumbling.”
Wallace heaved a long sigh. “It was Redmond.”
“The guy you didn’t know three minutes ago?” asked Bull.
“It was Redmond,” Wallace said, louder this time.
“And was it Redmond who ordered you to come here?”
Wallace nodded.
“So, tell us exactly what Redmond—for the record, that would be, John E. Redmond of Atlanta, Georgia—told you to do here,” Bull said.
“No,” Wallace said. “First, write out a piece of paper that I have full immunity. Ain’t gonna be charged for anything that took place here tonight.”
Jackie eyed Bull. Bull nodded.
Jackie walked over to an antique desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a yellow, lined pad. Then, from another drawer, a pen.
She handed it to Bull, who wrote out a few sentences. Bull held it up in front of Wallace. “You can read, right?”
“Asshole,” said Wallace. “Date it.”
Bull scribbled the date, folded it up, and shoved it into the breast pocket of Wallace’s shirt.
“So, I repeat the question. What did Redmond tell you to do?” Bull asked.
Wallace flicked his eyes at Jackie. “Kill her.”
“The recorder doesn’t have eyes,” Bull said. “Who’s her?”
“Jackie Farrell.”
“Why? Why did he give you that order?” Jackie asked.
“‘Cause you’re up his ass.”
Jackie frowned. “Charming,” she said. “What does that mean exactly?”
“You know damn well. Goin’ after Miranda’s Cato’s killer,” Wallace said.
“And her killer was John E. Redmond. Right?” Bull asked.
Wallace didn’t respond.
“Confirm that,” Jackie said.
Wallace nodded.
“What the hell did she just tell you,” Bull said, pointing at the recorder. “That thing doesn’t have eyes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Redmond killed her,” Wallace said.
“Killed who?”
Wallace shook his head. “Miranda Cato. Je-sus.”
“How?” Bull asked.
“With a knife.”
“Be more specific,” Jackie said.
“He went into the house in the middle of the night and stuck her,” Wallace said.
“When was this?” Bull asked.
“‘Bout a year ago,” Wallace said.
“And how do you know this?” Jackie asked.
“He told me,” Wallace said.
“Who’s he?”
“Jesus, who the hell you think? Redmond.”
Bull glanced at Jackie and smiled.
“And where is Redmond now?” Bull asked.
Wallace mumbled something.
“Where?”
“His house on Morning Glory,” Wallace said.
“He’s there now?”
Wallace nodded.
“Who else is there?” Jackie asked.
“His girlfriend and a few other girls. Couple johns maybe.”
“What’s his girlfriend’s name?”
Wallace didn’t answer.
“She asked you a question?” Bull said. “What’s the girlfriend’s name?”
“I don’t know. She’s a blonde with a stud in her tongue,” Wallace said.
Bull stood and eyed Jackie. “Well, let’s go pay ‘em a visit.”
Jackie nodded. “We just need to make sure our friend here doesn’t go anywhere.”
Bull looked around the room. “You got any rope?”
“Matter of fact, I do.”
“Wait a minute, our deal was you let me off,” Wallace said, his eyes slitty. “You said I skate.”
“Yeah, you do,” Bull said. “After we got Redmond in our hot little hands. We don’t need you tipping him off. Tellin’ him we’re on our way.”
Wallace didn’t say anything.
Bull looked back at him. “Which pocket are your car keys in?”
“Right side,” Wallace said with a sigh.
Bull walked over, reached in, and pulled them out, along with Wallace’s cell phone.
One of the local Savannah judges was a second cousin of Bull’s.
Bull called him, apologized for the hour he was calling, and asked him for a warrant. Bull explained that he had probable cause, but wanted to be as cautious as he possibly could. Particularly since his brother Mason might be representing John E. Redmond and would be looking for a way to pick apart the case.
Bull’s cousin asked him if it could wait until a reasonable hour.
Bull politely told him it couldn’t.
When he hung up, Jackie was shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you related to everyone in this town?”
37
The front door at 128 Morning Glory Drive was locked, of course. So Jackie pressed the buzzer. It was 1:02 in the morning. Even considering southern hospitality, it was unlikely someone would open up and greet them with a welcoming smile. After getting no response, Bull pounded on the six-paneled mahogany door three times and shouted, “Savannah Police.”