Devil in the Grass

by Christopher Bowron

  “Once she walks through this door, there’s a slight chance you might pick up a tail at some point. The police will find out who Walker’s relatives are, and if they cross-reference that she bought a ticket to Fort Myers yesterday, they will be on her.”

  Janie nodded, her interest growing. “So we’re going to have to prove this guy Walker is innocent. Been here before, Pete; what if he’s not? I have to mess around with some sick fuck. I read what he did to that poor old couple. I don’t know. Can I smoke?”

  Peter shook his head. “Sorry, Janie. Let’s just have a listen to Mrs. Dempsey. The guy was a local sports hero of a sort. He’s got alibis. You want out?”

  “Like hell I want out. I need the money.”

  “Just listen and try to look smart.”

  “That should be easy.”

  Peter’s phone rang. He picked it up and listened for a moment. “Please bring her in.”

  A minute later Myrtle knocked on the door. “Mr. Robertson,” she said as she opened the door, “Mrs. Dempsey is here.” A well-dressed middle-aged woman stepped into the room. Peter stood and walked over to her, extending his hand. “Mrs. Dempsey, pleased to make your acquaintance. Peter Robertson, my clients call me Pete.” He motioned towards Janie. “This is Janie Callahan. She is one of my top investigators.”

  Janie stood up, easily six inches taller than the woman, and politely shook her outstretched hand. It was delicate, yet strong. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dempsey.”

  Janie watched Rebecca Dempsey as she elegantly sat down in the chair across from Peter’s desk. She calmly crossed one leg over the other and placed a small dossier on her lap. Her hair was long and fashionably made up into a coil on the back of her head. Her face was stern, her eyes unrelenting.

  “Mr. Robertson,” she said in a slow, Georgia drawl. “You have been recommended to me by some close friends, whom you represented to their satisfaction. Trent and Patsy Hughes.”

  Peter paused for a moment to think. “Yes, Mrs. Dempsey. The Hughes have been good clients. I represented Trent successfully ten years ago.”

  The woman smiled, aware of the association. “You can call me Rebecca. Your family has practiced law in the state of Florida for generations, Mr. Robertson. You have a good reputation.”

  Peter smiled and nodded, accepting the compliment. “My great-granddaddy started this firm in 1910, Rebecca. We have been representing the unjustly accused in Fort Myers for more than a hundred years. How can we assist you?”

  Rebecca chose her words slowly. “I am sure that you have been following the papers. We have had an incident. My brother’s son Jack, Jackson Walker, has found himself in a predicament.”

  “We have been following the events with keen interest but are not privy to the details, only what can be gleaned from the papers and television.”

  Rebecca acknowledged Peter’s words with a slight nod. “Yes, it is sad, but it is also an unjust story. Now, as you probably know, I live in Georgia. I don’t see my family here very often. But I do know that Jack is a good boy, very clever, always very respectful. My sister-in-law was the salt of the earth, and she raised the boy until her untimely death. He has good values.”

  “Rebecca, pardon my skepticism, but we hear this sort of thing all the time. If the courts believed what they were told by parents, spouses, and relatives, the jails would be empty.”

  Rebecca nodded, accepting Pete’s point. “Jack’s friend claims the boy has been set up, or rather, is a victim of poor associations and circumstance. You have been doing this for a long time, Peter. And yes, I am sure that you have heard the same story from most of your clients. The boy might be guilty, but I owe it to my dead sister-in-law to try and help him.” Rebecca paused. “Peter, my brother John was an alcoholic and an abuser, and beat Jackson’s mother to death three years ago in a fit of rage. It is a sore point in our family history. I have a soft spot for the boy and am willing to pay you to investigate, whether or not we might have a defense. If we could, we would retain you to handle our case. If we are successful, we will continue to use your services with a civil action against those who have wronged Jackson. There are slanderous words being tossed around. He is an aide to Senator Hunter, and I am sure that the senator’s office is trying to distance itself from the inferences being made about Jack. Being associated with a cult is not good for re-election.”

  “If Jack is on the run, Rebecca, he is only going to find a bad end. He needs to turn himself in. We need to speak to him. He needs to stop before he does himself more harm.”

  “He has indicated that he won’t turn himself in until he has found a way to clear himself.”

  Peter pondered Rebecca’s words. “The odds seem long, but this is what I propose. I would have you pay my firm a retainer of $20,000. We will need a week or so to investigate the circumstances surrounding your nephew’s, uh, situation. If at that time we feel there is sufficient evidence to pursue the defense, we will enter into a more formal business agreement. I think you will find our connections and diligence outstanding. Janie knows the streets better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  Rebecca gestured with her head and arms indicating accord. “I was told that you were not afraid to charge.”

  Peter didn’t blink. “You get what you pay for, my granddaddy always said. We will keep a strict accounting of the time spent. Janie is the best, and not a time waster, if that is fine by you, of course? She may be putting herself at risk and there needs to be appropriate compensation.”

  Rebecca turned to Janie and nodded. “The onus is on you, Peter, to show me that we have a case. Let us consider that we have a temporary agreement.” She stood and Peter went around the desk to shake her hand. She offered her hand to Janie and then sat down again.

  “Jack’s mother was Seminole. They have him stuck out in the Everglades somewhere. We will arrange for you to talk with him. It might be tricky, as you may well have figured.”

  Peter stood and began to pace. “I assure you that we are discreet.”

  “Someone from the family will contact you shortly,” Rebecca said.

  Peter pondered things for a minute. “I have an under-the-radar cell phone. I will give another to Janie.” He turned his attention to Janie. “I would suggest you get another one as well, one with a pay-as-you-go plan. Sooner or later we will be watched.”

  Rebecca nodded.

  “Janie, see what you can find very quickly, and then lose yourself for a day. We’ve done this drill before. I mean invisible.”

  Janie nodded. Somewhere she’d missed the part where she was to decide if she wanted the case or not. It no longer seemed an option. Perhaps there would be a big payday; she needed a face lift, her chin was beginning to sag. Once this case was over, she would fly out to California and go to one of those places that pamper you for a week.

  Janie shook Mrs. Dempsey’s hand again, her voice suddenly gravelly. “Good day, Mrs. Dempsey. Pardon me, but I need to get lost.” She winked at Peter.

  ****

  Janie left the office building and walked to the designated smoking area, quickly lighting a cigarette. How in the hell am I going to dig up any decent dirt so fast? She decided that she would visit the obvious spots before she went underground. She slowly glanced around the parking lot and picked out a blue Ford that looked like it might be a cop car. She tossed her half-finished cig on the ground, squashing it with the toe of her shoe. She decided to head to Walker’s place of work. She knew where Senator Hunter’s office was as she drove past it every day on her way into work. It was close. The Ford didn’t follow.

  After a five-minute drive from Peter’s office she saw the strip mall in which the senator’s office was located. She pulled into the parking lot, making a mental note of the green Malibu that had stopped at the side of the road in front of the building.

  Stepping into the front office, a blast of cold air made her shiver. She was greeted by a pleasant young brunette receptionist.

  “Hello there.” The gi
rl’s large bright eyes met Janie’s. “It’s hot out there today, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”

  The receptionist was overly eager, perfect. Janie didn’t have a lot of time to waste. “Hello, darlin’, hot as hell assuredly. I’m supposed to meet someone here. His name is, uh, Jackson Walker, said he’d meet me just before noon. I’m a reporter for the Gainesville Sun, we’re doing a story on post-concussion syndrome among college athletes. We want to see how they’re doing after graduation. It’s a sad story for the most part. Is Jackson in?”

  The receptionist blanched. “Jack . . . Jack is . . . not in today.”

  “Strange, we set this up weeks ago and I confirmed it on Tuesday.”

  “Umm . . . hold on a minute.” She buzzed someone on the intercom. “Graham, could you please come out here?”

  “I hear Mr. Walker has a girlfriend who was supposed to meet with us. What was her name?”

  “Oh . . . Sarah, Sarah Courtney.”

  “Is she from Fort Myers?”

  “Yes, but, didn’t you hear—”

  At that moment a man stepped out of an office and interrupted the receptionist. “I am sorry, ma’am, can I assist you?”

  “Yes, I was saying to the young lady here that I had an appointment with Jackson Walker. I’m here from the Gainesville Sun, doing a sports story?”

  “Ma’am, Jack doesn’t work here anymore. He was let go earlier this morning. He is no longer associated with Mr. Hunter’s office. I’m sorry, but we are closing for the day. If you have any other inquiries, please make an appointment with Mr. Hunter’s press secretary.”

  The girl behind the desk looked flustered.

  “Okay sir, thank you. I will do just that.”

  Janie stepped out of the office, the heat of the day blasting her like a hot sauna after being in the very cold building. She stood and lit up a smoke. The green Malibu was sitting out on the street and she could see two men in the front seat. At this point, it really didn’t matter if she had a tail. The police would most likely be watching the senator’s office. She was still anonymous at this point.

  She took out her little red notebook and started making notes. Senator Hunter was in damage control, disassociating his office from Walker. The police would have had Sarah Courtney’s name 10 hours ago. They would be steps ahead at this point, but she still had to do the follow-up. She would have to bribe someone for the forensic reports, and that would be tough. Her ace in the hole was the aunt and her link to Jackson, and she needed to talk to him. One thing at a time, Janie.

  She tapped Sarah’s name into the Yellow Pages app on her smartphone and found the address. It took Janie forty minutes to arrive at Sarah’s apartment. She parked out front in the visitor’s lot. She lit a cigarette as she crossed the parking lot. The front lobby hadn’t seen a facelift in twenty years and the place stank of moldy, dirty carpet. She went over to the intercom and pressed the button beside S Courtney. There was no answer. She looked around the ceiling for any signs of surveillance, though she doubted this place would have any. Once she was comfortable that there weren’t any hidden cameras, she rummaged around in her large purse and pulled out her lockpicks. It only took her seconds to access the inner lobby and cross to the elevator.

  Sarah’s apartment was nearly straight across from the elevator. She moved casually to the door and knocked lightly. Nothing. She fiddled with the door lock for a moment and smiled as she heard the telltale click of the lock disengaging. She opened the door and slipped in quickly. The apartment was empty, which could mean a couple of things. She needed to talk to Walker.

  Her cell phone rang, the display indicating that it was Peter.

  “Just a heads-up. The police just called looking for information. They know that we have been retained by Walker’s family. It’s time for you to disappear.”

  “Walker’s girlfriend’s apartment has been vacated.”

  “That corroborates.”

  “Let me know as soon as the family contacts you. I can’t do too much else without interviewing Walker.”

  “Will do. Talk soon.”

  Janie’s friend owned a small condo on the south part of Fort Myers Beach at the Estero Beach and Tennis Club. She had the code to get into the place. She decided to ditch her car and take a cab. She would have Pete pick it up tomorrow. As she headed towards Edison Mall, a dark-colored Malibu pulled out of the condo parking lot and fell in behind her.

  She drove purposefully slow, reaching over to the glove box, keeping one eye on the road.

  The car followed as she pulled into the mall. It must have picked up her license plate at the apartment; Sarah’s building would be watched, as she was the suspect’s girlfriend. She parked at the back of the parking lot under a large tree, then stepped out of her car and locked it. The Malibu parked three rows over. She lit up a cigarette and walked casually towards the mall entrance. Janie noticed that the driver remained in the car, and no one followed her in, or entered the mall entrance. Good, a lazy cop. He’ll be watching my car for a while. She smiled.

  Within minutes, she slipped out the far end of the mall and hailed a cab.

  “Where we going, lady?” said the taxi driver.

  “Fort Myers Beach. Drop me off at the South Florida Grill, down the bottom part of the beach, Santini Plaza.”

  “Might be evacuating the beach with that big storm coming, lady. Sayin’ it could turn into a hurricane.”

  Janie smirked. “I’ll take that into consideration. Please hurry!” The driver frowned as he looked at her in the rear view mirror. “Okay, lady.” He punched the meter and made a U-turn in the opposite direction.

  Janie let out a long breath. Her thoughts turned to the approaching weather. Summer storms were a daily occurrence in South Florida. She didn’t think the storm that had materialized over the Keys would amount to much—they seldom did. She’d be off the beach by tomorrow afternoon, and the weather was due the next night.

  After a half hour’s drive, mostly sitting at frustrating traffic lights, the cab crossed the tall bridge at the north part of Fort Myers Beach. The top section of the beach was, for the most part, filled with honky-tonks, beachwear stores, tattoo parlors, mid-priced restaurants, bars, and large multi-level condo developments. Janie didn’t mind the cheap touristy end of the beach; she fit in perfectly. The lyrics for the Rolling Stones song Honky Tonk Women popped into her head. She smiled. “Story of my life.”

  “What’s that?” said the driver.

  “Drive the car. Just talking to myself.”

  ****

  The scenery changed as the cab made the six-mile trek to the south section of the beach. It was less commercial, with higher-end residences and condo developments.

  Janie paid the cab driver from the thick envelope Peter had given her earlier in the day, adding a good tip. “Thanks, ma’am.”

  She stepped into the dark interior of the restaurant and found a seat at the large granite-topped bar. One of her favorite bartenders, Tory, had a large chardonnay ready for her within moments of sitting down. “Cut me off after a couple, got a big day tomorrow.”

  “You’re the boss, Janie. How’s things, haven’t seen you in a while?

  “Same old. You?”

  Tory shrugged.

  “Blue cheese salad and some of those appetizer ribs, please, dear. And I’ve not been here tonight, right?”

  “Like I said, you’re the boss.”

  ****

  Janie was woken by her cell phone. It took her a few moments to register where she was and what was making the noise. She looked around the condo; the sun was just rising over Estero Bay, nearly blinding her as she looked out the window. She turned her head to look out over the Gulf. She’d slept on her friend’s couch as she did not want to mess up the bed. With some reluctance, she picked up her phone and pressed the green talk button.

  “Janie?” She could tell from Peter’s tone that something was up. “I’m going to give you an address. You are to meet a native man, his nam
e is Bob, I think his last name was . . . Okay, here it is: Bracken. Write this down and get a cab there by noon. Now, turn off this phone and don’t use it again. Git it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She hung up and wrote down the address.

  Janie forced herself to her feet and stretched, then put the phone down on the table. “Goddamn it,” she said out loud. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  It didn’t take her long to shower and dress. She figured something low-key: jeans and a designer T-shirt. She looked in the mirror and fussed with her hair. “Not bad, Janie.” She checked her purse to make sure she had her Glock 19 semi-automatic. She’d never used it, but in her line of work, a woman needed protection. She had flashed it a few times, which proved to be a sufficient deterrent.

  She called a cab and took the elevator down to the lobby. She found an inconspicuous place to wait outside and lit up a cigarette. A green and yellow cab rolled up to the front of the building before she had time to finish it.

  The drive didn’t take too long. The address was that of a fruit shipping company close to downtown Bonita Springs. Janie paid the driver and went inside. A young Latina sorting out some bills on a large counter turned to look at her. “Can I help you?” she said with a Spanish accent.

  “I was to meet Bob Bracken here at noon. My name is Janie, Janie Callahan.”

  “Just a minute, I’ll ring him.” She picked up the phone and punched in a short number. After a moment she said, “Okay, I’ll send her back.” She turned to Janie. “Go through that door to the back of the warehouse. He’s just finishing up a load.”

  “Okie-dokie, thanks.”

  The warehouse was large and smelled of fermenting oranges, and the fruit flies were thick. She followed the girl’s directions and went to the back, where she found a man closing the back door of a medium-sized cargo truck. He turned towards her. He was short with a clean-shaven face, she guessed nearly fifty. He had a pleasant smile, which instantly put her at some ease. “You must be Janie?” he said with a South Florida drawl. “Hi, I’m Bob.” He extended his hand to her as she nodded. “I’m Jack’s cousin. I’m going take you to see him. Jump in.”