He gave her a hand up into the cab of the truck, which had worn, fake leather seats and smelled of body odor and cigars.
Bob opened the back door to the warehouse and then jumped up into the driver’s seat. The old diesel truck roared to life as he turned the key. They pulled out of the warehouse and into the fenced yard behind. He took a minute to close the sliding gate that protected the parking area.
Bob didn’t say a word for five minutes or so, intent on navigating the busy traffic. Once they eased out of the commercial district he broke his silence. “You a lawyer or somethin’?”
Janie paused for a moment. “Paralegal, actually. I work for a lawyer. I’m a researcher, I do all the bullshit work so my boss can charge the big bucks.”
Bob grinned and made the turn off of Highway 41 and headed inland on Corkscrew Road. “Jack’s in trouble I guess?”
“It would appear so.” Janie looked at the ashtray brimming over with cigar butts and ashes. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Nope, as long as you got one for me.”
Janie was relieved and passed one to him, then held the lighter for him before lighting her own. Finding a fellow smoker these days was like finding a soul mate. Never any questions asked and no prejudice.
“We can fly under the radar in a fruit truck. I’m gonna take you into the swamp a bit where you will meet some more of our boys. They’ll take you to him. Then I’m off for another load. Hopefully we can get you back to civilization in one piece once you’ve done your thing.”
“One piece? Okay. How long a ride?”
“Not that long, actually, forty-five minutes, an hour maybe. Not sure exactly where your drop-off is. There’s an old bridge a ways from here. Know it when I see it. You know . . . Jack’s not a bad kid. Couldn’t see him doing it, that’s why we’re all behind him.”
“Who’s ‘we?’”
“His family, his people.” Bob drove in silence for a few minutes, finishing his smoke. “He’s half-blood. He don’t know the history, makes him a perfect target.”
“Target?”
Bob sat for a minute collecting his thoughts. “Got another smoke?”
Janie offered him the open end of the pack and lit another for herself.
“We’re sure he’s been framed. You see, this all goes back a hell of a long way, least a hundred years.”
Janie tipped her growing ash into the nearly full tray on the dashboard. “Like cowboys and Indians?”
Bob smiled. “Closer than you might think. We like the term native, but don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.”
“So sorry.”
“There are some old families that have lived here in Florida probably one hundred and fifty years. Some say they were outcasts, criminals, who knows, but they were not wanted where they came from and they were not wanted when they arrived. If you get a chance to talk to Gramps—he’s Jack’s grandfather—he might tell you more. It’s not like all of the old white families are bad, just a few. See, that’s the root of it. We were once a very much more spiritual people. The old timers like Gramps can tell you. Our ancestors could see them for what they were. In English they’re called devil’s spawn. Some might call them bad witches. They’re powerful, not just in an occult sense. They’re behind a lot of shit that goes on down here. We don’t like them and they know it. It’s not like an all-out feud or anything. Shit just pops up every now and then; always seems to happen when they have an agenda. That’s what makes us nervous.”
Bob tossed the butt of his cigarette out the window.
“So you’re saying that Jack Walker has been framed in order to deflect attention away from something else?”
“Don’t really know. It could be that they’re just trying to piss us off. I wouldn’t doubt it. They never did like the fact that we have the gambling rights here. Anyway, it’s all conjecture on my part. We just want you to prove that he isn’t guilty.”
Janie sat in silence. She could see the possible motive behind framing Jack; however, the evidence against him was pretty damning. If he was framed, the perpetrators had done a good job.
“You mentioned bad witches. Are there good ones? Is there such a thing, or are you just trying to get a rise out of an old broad?”
“Ha. Yep, they exist. Witch is what they call them in movies. We call them spirit talkers. There are good ones and there are bad ones. Gramps is a good one—the last of a kind.”
“So what about this Satanic cult, do you believe that stuff?”
Bob paused. “I do and I don’t. I’m not sure that I believe in the devil stuff, but I do think there’s a bunch of old families down here that have a political agenda. What I find strange is that they’re at odds with the Republicans. I could see if there was a Democratic agenda at hand. These folks are deeply Republican. I think they like to control things down here. They’re clearly not getting their way with that Clean Water Bill. I look at Senator Hunter as a rebel. Rebels are not taken kindly to down here in the South. He’ll find himself dead. These people are not to be messed with.”
Time passed quickly as she pondered the information given her by Jack’s cousin. It was all a little farfetched, and certainly hard to prove. Before she knew it, Bob was pulling off the road just before a small bridge that ran over a river.
“They’ll be down below in an airboat. I dare not stop. Nice to meet you, Janie Callahan, I think you’ll do a good job. I can sense it, even if you are a hot old broad.” He smiled.
She accepted his handshake and climbed down out of the truck. Before she could blink, Bob’s truck was moving and back on the road heading east, leaving her in a cloud of dust. She felt uneasy. What if her next contacts were not here? It would be one hell of a long walk back to Bonita.
****
She cursed her shoes as she cautiously made her way around the abutment. She half-slid, half-hopped down the gravel hill to get under the bridge. She was relieved to see an airboat up on the bank.
Two young men standing next to it, one with long black hair, turned her way as she unceremoniously slid down the rest of the way on her backside to end up in front of them. The closest young man quickly moved to give her a hand, which she gladly accepted. He was tall and athletic and wore a long-sleeved hoodie and khaki shorts. His face was handsome—a kind face with a wide smile, which set her at ease instantly.
“You must be Miss Callahan?” said the other young man. He was shorter and a bit on the chubby side; he too disarmed her with a kind smile. “I’m Nathan, this is my cousin Josh. Hop in, we should get going right away.”
“Janie Callahan—Janie is just fine. Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Knock yourself out. Better do it now, because once we’re moving you won’t be able to.”
Janie lit up, drawing a curling wisp of smoke from her mouth up to her nose. She looked at the boat dubiously as she was helped in. It was a long flat aluminum shell with seats and a huge, caged-in propeller and motor on the back. Its bottom was littered with fishing equipment and dried blood, probably from fish—at least, she hoped it was from fish. It was rusty and dented. A rifle sat on one of the bench seats, and Josh picked it up as the three settled in. Nathan fired up the motor, which shuddered and spat out dark black smoke before it settled down to a somewhat steady roar.
The craft lurched forwards, slowly picking up speed, until they were moving faster than Janie figured they should be going. She faced forward and let her hair fly directly backwards almost into Josh’s face. Nathan veered sharply to the right and headed directly into the long grass. Janie was relieved to learn that there was water under it. Josh yelled in her ear, “Don’t worry, he knows where he’s going, done it a thousand times. No one will see us through the grass!”
Janie nodded. She wanted some time to contemplate the information she’d received from Bob, but the wind, the tall grass, and the noise from the motor made it nearly impossible to think. She crouched forward and bided her time. They rode almost an hour before Nathan slowed the craft. He veer
ed into a canal that seemed to stretch for miles. He then turned the boat sharply to the left, and within seconds they were in a small lake. On the far shore Janie could see a small collection of huts with grass reed roofs. They sped across the small body of water and approached an island where Nathan expertly beached the craft. Janie was helped out by Josh.
“I’m supposed to tell you that you should keep it to an hour, if possible. We’ll need to get you back before dark. There’s a big storm moving in.”
Janie nodded. Her attention was diverted to a young man walking towards her. He was a little over six feet tall. She recognized his face immediately from the case file and TV news. Before he had a chance to speak, Janie extended her hand towards him.
“So, you must be the infamous Jackson Walker?” Unexpectedly, he blushed, his eyes looking down towards the ground. This was not the face of a killer. “Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a couple of days. Let’s get away from these bugs.” Her hair was a total disaster, she was coated with a layer of sweat, and she needed a smoke. She didn’t bother to ask permission.
“Yes, it has been quite the fiasco. My aunt says that Peter is a good lawyer?” He guided Janie towards one of the small huts.
“Damn good, but we need to give him something to go on. So let’s not waste any time.”
Janie squashed her cigarette with the toe of her shoe before they entered the dwelling.
The inside of the hut was very basic and smelled of mold. Perhaps it would have been better to stay outside with the bugs.
“Have a seat, Miss Callahan.” He offered her a chair at a small table. He noticed her looking around. “They are called chickee huts. My mother’s people used to live in them and they’re still scattered throughout the Everglades. Now they use them as fishing huts, way points. Pretty basic, I’m sorry.”
“Janie, please. I guess it’s a good place to hide.”
“Okay, Janie it is.” Jack’s voice was deep and calm. Janie was drawn to his big, sensitive blue eyes. “I guess so. I think the fact that we’re on the reserve is more important. The authorities won’t come out here.”
“Where should we start?” She opened up her notepad and clicked on the end of her pen. She looked him in the eye. “Your file states that you have had substance abuse problems?”
“Jesus Janie, nothing like poking at a sore spot. I’m sure my aunt didn’t bring you out here to dig up the past.” He slumped in his seat, his cheeks a bit flushed.
“Character background, Jack. Sorry, if we go to court, the district attorney is going to rip a hole in your history to draw a connection between past indiscretions and present. Satanic killer, drug abuser, they will beat the hell out of you for this.”
Jack took a few sips from his beer. “I’ve had my problems, but no more than most professional athletes.”
Janie put down her pen. “Look, Jack, if we’re going to get anywhere, you’re going to have to lay off the bullshit. I buy the steroid story, that’s old news on the sporting front, but the cocaine and marijuana charges, sorry, that’s not common, won’t help us . . . nope. Your last charge was over a year ago, four ounces of marijuana. When’s the last time you smoked up?”
“Months ago.”
“Come on Jack, you expect me to believe that? If I’m going to help you, I have to believe that what you’re telling me is the truth. I can see in those big blue eyes that you’re lying, a jury will see right through you.”
Jack looked up at Janie. “Nate and I lit one up last night.”
“I want you to cut that stuff out right now. We don’t want any traces of it in your blood. You will eventually have to turn yourself in. You don’t want to get caught.”
“Like hell I’m turning myself in!”
“Okay, just please me and let me use the position as a premise.”
“Fine, but I ain’t doing it.”
“Any other drugs?”
“A bit of Ecstasy, Sarah liked that shit. She had me put some coke on her private parts. I suppose I may have ingested some of it.”
Janie tapped her pen on the table, resisting the urge to joust with the comment. “So what’s your story, Walker?”
“I’m probably going to sound like every criminal you have ever spoken to, but . . . I’m not guilty. I didn’t do what they say I did. Unless you believe this basic apriorism, we’re wasting our time here.”
“I am not paid to believe you, Jack. It’s my job to disprove the premise that you’re guilty, sometimes an inch at a time. Let’s put it this way: I want to believe you. You seem like a believable young man. Prove to me that what you say is true. Now let’s start at the beginning. No bullshit.”
Jack started at the old lake house where the bodies were found and gave his accounting of the events. Janie took notes, prodding him here and there for more detail. When he finished she sat for a moment in thought.
“Okay, it sounds like a reasonable story. It still doesn’t prove anything. Your prints are all over the place. You evaded the police.”
“Maybe I should have turned myself in right there, but the situation was just too bizarre, that’s why I bolted. I was scared. Who wouldn’t be?” He paused for a moment. “The part that doesn’t make sense to me is how they knew to come to the house? How did they know to come right at the time I was there? It was pretty late at night and there wasn’t another house close to that place. Someone called this thing in. Wouldn’t the cops have a log on that sort of thing?”
Janie tapped her pen on the desk. “Now there’s something. I’ll make an inquiry once I am able to. From what I can see, that might be the only tangible point to be taken from the set of events. However, the Marshes might have called 911, which is totally plausible. This should be easy to check.”
“The police car got messed up with the blue pickup truck, like, banging into each other, and the cops passed the truck. Both were looking for me. I just don’t see how they would have known that anything was wrong at the Marsh house. I think someone tipped them off. Maybe Buck called them in. Why go through such an elaborate set-up and not have the cops come?”
“Okay, I just might buy that. Anything else you can think of that might be important?”
“Well, actually, lots. I think I might have killed a man later on in the night.”
Janie dropped her pen on the table, her eyes meeting Jack’s. “Do go on.” She pulled out her pack of Marlboros and lit one up. “Got an ashtray in this place?”
Jack went into the kitchen and brought her the old tin can he had been using to drink out of. Somehow he felt bad downgrading the can’s purpose; it had been the only useful item available to him over the past day and a half. “This’ll have to do. Would you like a beer?”
She declined after a bit of hesitation. “Thanks, but I need to keep a clear head. Maybe when we’re finished. The can will do nicely.”
“Where to start . . . I went directly to my girlfriend’s apartment—you see, I think she is involved in all this.”
“Who is your girlfriend?”
“Well, we met four or five months back at work. Her name’s Sarah Courtney. That part’s all normal, but she was a . . . devil worshiper, belonged to this cult. The way she explained things, it wasn’t all that bad, more of a philosophical point of view than a religion. I started going with her to weekly meetings. I didn’t support their point of view, but I did appreciate the intellectual discussions that took place. I didn’t know if anything was going to come of our relationship, but I was willing to go along with it to keep seeing Sarah. I’ll admit it, she had me whipped pretty good.”
“Too much information, Jack, but do go on.”
“No, I think it’s important. She was almost too good, if there is such a thing. It was like she was professional or something, perhaps she was getting paid really well to fuck me. At least that’s what it seems like in hindsight. Either that or she had a spell on me, maybe both?”
“I don’t believe in spells, nor do juries.”
“We were at a m
eeting the night all of this started. There’s this old lady who runs the church; her name is Henrietta. She asked me to deliver an envelope to the lake house. She started making promises about getting me a tryout with the Saints, pretty unrealistic now that I think about it.”
“Do you have the envelope?”
“Dammit, no, I left it in my car. I parked it a couple blocks away from Sarah’s place. I could shoot myself for that.”
“What’s your license plate? Do you have your keys, and what’s the make?”
Jack reached into his pocket. “Yeah, here they are, it’s a faded red Ford Taurus.”
“I’m going to call it in and have the car broken into. That envelope could be your savior.”
“It’s under the floor mat.”
Janie had discounted much of the information Bob told her, but there were more than a few coincidences, the occult stuff set aside.
“So, you take this envelope up to Clewiston and go into the house.” She paused. “Why did you go into the house?”
“Well, I forgot to mention, I went there with one of the church members, an older guy named Buck. We knocked several times and no one answered. He said he knew the people and didn’t think it would be a bad thing to go in. I didn’t want to leave a wad of money sitting on the front step, and the door was slightly open. I thought I would just leave it in the front foyer. Once I get in there, I started seeing that things were not right, and one thing led to another. It was a set-up. I think it was planned from day one.”
“Okay, I buy that. I don’t know if a judge will. We need more.”
Jack frowned. “Buck seemed like such a nice old guy, but then the fucker pulled a gun on me. I told you what happened after that point.”
“Do you know where Buck lives?”
“Well, no, you see, I don’t know where any of those weirdoes live. It was all hush-hush.”
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