Shake the Trees (14 page)

CHAPTER 18

Tillis kept a sharp eye out as he turned on final approach to Peter O. Knight Airport.  The field was surrounded on three sides by the bay, and aircraft had sustained damage as a consequence of colliding with seagulls here.  In one instance, the bird actually busted through the Plexiglas and joined the hapless pilot in the cockpit.  Given family history, Tillis was paranoid about large fowl. 

After landing, he was met by a fuel truck.  The Fixed Base Operator (FBO) largely relied on fuel sales to pay the sky-high rent the municipal government charged to lease the property.  Many pilots chose to only fill their tanks at fields located away from urban areas where fuel was a little cheaper.  Tillis believed in paying his way.

“Top it off.  Jet A with Prist.”

“Yes, sir.  Nice King-Air.”

Tillis realized the young man in his early twenties was probably working for minimum wage.  Just happy to be around aircraft.  Hoping to get a little time in the air.  After fueling the plane, the same employee would return with a tug and tow the craft away from the terminal to a parking spot in a less congested area.  Tillis smiled and handed the uniformed kid a twenty.

“Find her a spot without a water view.”  The statement drew a quizzical look.  “Bird shit.  They love a front row seat.”  Tillis answered the unstated question. 

Tillis turned and walked toward the terminal building.  Upon entering he quickly glanced around, and then continued straight through the small building and out the opposite double glass doors.  There were only a few cars in the parking lot this early on a Saturday morning, and in a moment a new black five series BMW flashed its lights.

Sally Cummings sat at the wheel, looking surprisingly chipper for the hour.  She worked out of the Orlando office, and had arisen before four that morning to be in Tampa with Starbucks by 6:30.  Her thick black hair was pulled back, and her skin was just as smooth as and only slightly darker than the tall latte she’d just consumed.

“How does a FDLE rookie afford a new five series Beemer?”  Tillis asked as he dropped into the passenger seat.

“How does any FDLE employee afford a five-hundred thousand dollar King-Air?”  Sally replied.

Tillis ignored the comeback.  “Are the interviews set?  Did you get my e-mail about the Division Directors?”

“They’re all waiting for us.  Except for the Director of Data Mining - their IT guy.  Apparently he’s gone missing.  Probably not a good sign.  Sam Norden is the Acting CEO and Director of Sales and Marketing.  Interesting background.”  Sally raised an eyebrow and nodded toward a manila file folder laying on the dash in front of Tillis.

“Anything else?’

“The sole shareholder of American Senior Security is a Cayman holding company.  Those kinds of records aren’t public in the Cayman Islands.  I called a friend at Homeland Security.  He said the Caymans have been pretty cooperative since 9/11.  He’ll get back with me.”

“You called the feds?”

“Yeah.  What’s the problem?”

“It’s all a turf war with those guys.  Especially since 9/11.  You need to check with me before you call on that resource in the future.”

“Okay.”  Sally prolonged the pronunciation of both syllables.    

Tillis put his reading glasses on, laid the folder open on his lap, and popped the top off of one of two venti black coffees sitting in the cup holders of the console.  “Try not to hit any bumps while I’m reading.”

“Try not to spill any coffee on my new car.”

Tillis looked over the top of his reading glasses at Sally Cummings.  The thought crossed his mind that apart from race and sex, he might have been looking at himself thirty years earlier.

Tillis and Sally interviewed the Director of Finance and Investments first.  Tillis was more than annoyed that he’d already lawyered up.  Then the Director of Operations.  All in all they had wasted two hours and accomplished nothing.  Tillis was getting annoyed and hungry.  Now it was Sam’s turn.  Sally brought him into the conference room and pointed to a chair.  Tillis continued to study a file that lay on the table, and didn’t look up even as he spoke.

“One-hundred and fifty million dollars is a lot of money to misplace, Mr. Norden.  Have you checked between the couch cushions?  That’s the first place I look when I lose something.”

Sam paused before replying, but Tillis still didn’t look up.  “I don’t think that’s funny.  The money hasn’t been misplaced.  It’s been stolen.”

“You think?”

“I don’t appreciate your attitude, Mr. Tillis.  It’s your job to find the money, and I’d appreciate it if you took your job seriously.”  Sam tried to sound stern but reasonable.

Tillis finally looked up and locked eyes with Sam.  “Its just Tillis, Mr. Norden.  And you’re mistaken.  My job is to figure out who did this and lock them up for the next twenty to thirty years.  And believe me, I take my job very seriously.  So let’s get down to it then.  Did you steal the money, Mr. Norden?”

The color drained from Sam’s face, and he could feel his shirt becoming soaked.  He looked down at his side and saw a huge sweat stain that nearly reaching his beltline.  “What?  You think I did it.  Why?  Why would you think I took the money?”

“Well, Mr. Norden, let’s talk about that, shall we?  You have the technical ability and requisite knowledge.  You’re a computer engineer with a finance degree.  You have the means.  You also have the opportunity.  You’re CEO.  You have one hundred and fifty million motives.  You have no ties to the community, or apparently to anywhere or anyone else.  And you’re no stranger to the concept of the people you work for losing millions of dollars.  What am I missing Agent Cummings?”

Before Cummings could respond, Sam interjected.  “Do you mean San Diego?  That was different.  I didn’t steal any money from those people.”

“I’m sure they would appreciate the distinction, Mr. Norden.  What do you think, Agent Cummings?  Does Sam look good for it?”

Again Sam interjected before Sally could respond.  “But I’m innocent!”

“Now that’s refreshing, Mr. Norden.  And novel.  Let’s just start at the beginning, shall we?  What brought you to Florida?”  Tillis’ tone carried notes of cynicism and boredom.

Sam began to talk.  And talk.  He talked for over seventy minutes.  He began with his life in San Luis and the first visit by Ellen Hughes, and ended with the events of the prior morning.

“Mr. Norden, you need to understand that I’m a cop.  As such, I don’t believe in coincidence.  That story you just told me had more coincidences than . . .” Tillis looked over at Sally who seemed bored by the speech being delivered.  “More coincidences than what, Agent Cummings?”

“Than a hound has fleas,” Sally replied in a monotone.

“That’s it. More coincidences than a hound has fleas.”  Tillis nodded with approval.

“It’s the truth,” Sam replied meekly.

“All right,” Tillis sighed.  “Let’s start with this Ellen person.”

“Ellen Hughes.  The headhunter.”  Sam added helpfully.

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to her?”

“The second time she came to San Luis.  No.  That’s not right.  I spoke to her on the telephone after she left.  When I told her that I would come to Florida and interview for the job.”

“You haven’t seen or spoken with her since?”

“No.”

“This is the beautiful woman you had all the sex with, right?”

Sam looked over at Sally and blushed.  “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call her?”

Sam squirmed in his chair.  “There’s someone else.”

“So you have a girlfriend here in Florida?”

“No. In San Luis.”

Tillis cocked his head sideways.  “So you were banging this hot Ellen chick in San Luis.  But now that you’re two thousand miles away.  Now that you’re here.  Now that you’re all by yourself in hot, steamy, sweaty Florida, you decide to be true to little Ms. Someone Else back home in San Luis?  I must tell you, Mr. Norden, I find this to be highly unusual male behavior on your part.” 

Sally Cummings bit her knuckle.  Sam looked over at her with a confused expression on his face.  “It’s complicated,” he muttered as Tillis’ BlackBerry began to vibrate its way across the conference room table.  Tillis grabbed the device and punched a button.

“I’m in the middle of an interview, Ron.”  Tillis snapped.

“I know, but I thought you would want to know that your flag to local law enforcement turned up a body down in the Ten Thousand Islands area,” Commissioner Alcorn replied.

“Let me guess.  Dr. Bob.”

“Don’t know about the doctor part, but the guy’s name was Robert Delgado Martinez, Jr.”

“Dr. Bob.  Details?”  Tillis looked over at Sally and gave her the peace sign, although in this instance the gesture meant that the tips of Dr. Bob’s boots were now pointing skyward on a permanent basis.

“Well, he got chewed up pretty bad by the gators, but he still had his ID on him.”

“Homicide or stupidcide?”

“Local law enforcement found two cleanly severed fingers and signs of a scuffle, so they’re giving homicide a look.”

“Jesus help us.  Who’s running the show?”

“Monroe County Deputy Sheriff.  Billy Bob Williams.  He’s in charge of everything on the peninsula side.” 

When someone said Monroe County, most people thought of the Florida Keys.  But Monroe County also encompassed the extreme southwest corner of the Florida peninsula.  From the perspective of law enforcement and just about everybody else, the Keys was where the action was.

“I know him.  He’s okay.  Tell him to stop everything and preserve the scene.  Get an FDLE forensics team out there now.  From either Ft. Myers or Miami Dade.  Whoever can mount up first.  Anything else?”

“Well, the severed fingers were the only two undigested digits, but they did get a clean match to a Miami Dade juvy record, so I guess we got a clean ID.”

“Tell Billy Bob I’m on my way, and to bait my hook for me.”

“Bait your hook?”

“He’ll understand.”

“On it.”

Tillis hit the end button and looked directly at Sam.  “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Norden?”

Sam had heard the word homicide and feared the worst.  “Is Dr. Bob okay?”  Sam nearly whispered the question.

“Not exactly.  Someone cut off his fingers and fed him to the gators down in Ten Thousand Islands.”  Tillis replied in a factual and almost nonchalant manner as he organized his notes and paperwork.

Sam turned an even paler shade of white and pushed his chair away from the conference table, bent over to the side and began to wretch into a wastepaper container.  Tillis looked over at Sally Cummings, raised an eyebrow and silently mouthed his words.  “Make sure he puked in there.”  A lot of people could cry on cue, but very few could actually puke on demand.

After Sam partially regained his composure, Tillis continued.  “Mr. Norden, I need to leave now.  I have two requests.  I assume that A.S.S. paid this headhunter Ellen Hughes for her services.  I would like a copy of the cancelled check as soon as possible.  And any other information A.S.S. may have in its files regarding this individual.  Secondly, I would like you to escort Agent Cummings to Dr. Bob’s office so that she can seal and secure it. A forensics team will arrive shortly and you should have access again before Monday.  The computer forensics team should also have completed its work by then.  Oh, yeah.  One other thing.”  Tillis paused and looked in Sally’s direction.  “What is it they say in the movies, Agent Cummings?”

“Don’t leave town,” Sally replied in a monotone.

“That’s it.”  Tillis nodded vigorously for Sally’s benefit and annoyance, and then spoke in a deeper and more ominous tone. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Norden.”

CHAPTER 19

The prolonged bawl that terminated with a pitchy screech seemed to chide Sandi for running late.  But it was a Saturday after all.  Dustin woke up before she was out the door, so she’d fixed breakfast first.  She was finally checking on the maternity ward when the cloud of dust caught her attention.  Several eighteen-wheelers were rumbling up the dirt road to Chubb’s place, pulling flatbed trailers loaded with heavy equipment.  Big bulldozers, front-end loaders, and monstrous excavators made the diesel engines struggle as the loads were pulled uphill.

Then she remembered that Chubbs didn’t own the Circle M anymore.  Everybody in San Luis knew he’d closed yesterday, and that 17.5 million dollars had been wired to The San Luis Valley Title Company shortly after lunch.  It was a done deal.  The largest land sale in the history of the valley, and Chubbs Mulligan was a rich man.  Not just land rich, but money rich.

As soon as she was done with the maternity ward chores, Sandi jumped in her old truck and drove over to the ranch house.  But Rodger had already left to investigate, so she sat down with her mother and a steaming mug of black coffee.

“What’s going on at Chubb’s place?”

“Lord knows.  Your daddy said it looked like a military invasion.  He seemed real upset.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  He’s not a big talker.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Before Sandi had finished her first cup of coffee, Rodger Rimes burst through the door.  His square jaw was firmly set and his face was flushed.  His eyes held a malevolent expression.  An expression that scared her.  One she’d never seen before.

Sandi pushed her chair away from the table and stood.  “What’s wrong, Dad?

Rodger Rimes held his hand up with his palm facing her, and turned away.  As he looked out the double kitchen windows, she could tell he was taking several deep breathes in an attempt to calm himself.  Finally he turned around.

“The new owner of the Circle M is digging an irrigation reservoir.  A huge reservoir.  And it - some corporation - is damming up Canones Creek.”

“They can’t do that,” Sandi nearly shouted.

“The construction supervisor showed me a permit from the New Mexico Department of Natural Resources.  Said there was nothing I could do about it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sandi responded defiantly.

“If they dam up Canones Creek, this ranch will dry up and blow away.  We’d need to sell the herd.  There’d be no point to it.”  Rodger spoke to no one in particular.

“We have water rights!  I’m gonna call that water lawyer Bartholomew Citron out of Sante Fe.  He’s supposed to be the best there is.  This is crazy.”

“Sandi, its Saturday.”  Rodger replied evenly.

“I don’t care.  I’m calling anyway.”  Sandi snapped.

Sandi talked to an operator employed by an answering service, and related the pertinent details and emphasized the urgency of the situation.  Surprisingly, a paralegal called back a few minutes later.  An appointment with Mr. Citron was set for the following Monday afternoon at 1:00 p.m.  The paralegal said he would check with the Department of Natural Resources first thing Monday morning and see what he could find out.  Nothing could be done until Monday.

Sandi set the phone in its cradle and immediately picked it up again and dialed Chubbs Mulligan’s number. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Marilynn.  This is Sandi.  Sandi Johnson.  Rimes Johnson.”

“Oh.  Hi, honey.  Is everything okay?’

“Not really.  Is Chubbs there?”

“Sure, honey.  Hold on.”

“Sandi?”  Chubbs spoke with marked concern in his voice.  “What’s wrong?  Marilynn said you sounded upset.”

Sandi quickly summarized the events of the morning.

Chubbs was devastated.  “Sandi, you have to believe that I didn’t know anything about this.”

“I know that Chubbs.  That never crossed my mind.  I’m wondering what you know about the buyer?”

“Obviously not enough.  I don’t know much at all.  Only that the buyer is a corporation.  A foreign one.  Out of someplace called Myanmar.”

“Myanmar?”  Sandi responded.

Rodger was sitting next to Sandi at the kitchen table and interjected.  “Myanmar used to be Burma.”

“I heard Rodger, Sandi; please tell him I’m sorry.  I feel awful.”

“It’s not your fault, Chubbs.”

“Hell, no.”  Rodger spoke up again.  “Tell Chubbs this doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

“The only other thing I know is the name of the corporation.  I guess it’s the name of the guys that own it.  Or maybe the owner has one of those two first names names.  Uh.  You know what I mean?”

“Sure, Chubbs.  What’s the name?”

“Ned Ron Incorporated.”

“Ned Ron?”

“Ned Ron.”  Chubbs answered.  “Sandi, you tell Rodger I want to help get this thing straightened out.  I’m gonna help make this right.  Including with the legal expenses.”

“I’ll tell him.  Thanks, Chubbs.”

Tillis handed Sally an intercom headset before he began to taxi to the active runway at Peter O. Knight.

“Do we have teams on the way to Dr. Bob’s office and his residence?”

“We do,” Sally responded.

“Tell me about the puke,” Tillis demanded.

“I told you.  He puked.”

“Not whether he puked.  About the puke.”

“What?”

“You know.  Chunky.  Funky.  Clear yellow fluid.”

“You’re a strange man, Tillis.”  Sally eyed him suspiciously for a beat before she continued.  “Okay.  I’ll humor you.  Clear yellow fluid.”

“Just what I thought.”

“What?”

“He’s sick with worry.  Can’t eat.”

“Are you going to arrest him?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I have a choice.  In a few weeks or maybe less a lot of elderly Floridians who signed their homes over to A.S.S. are gonna be kicked to the curb.  We need to figure this thing out - sooner rather than later.”

“So you think he did it.”

“Nope.”

“But you’re going to arrest him?”

“We have means, opportunity, and motive.  I think we’re good on probable cause.”

“But you don’t think he did it.”  Sally repeated.

“No, I don’t.”

Sally took a deep breath and slowly released it.  “Why do you insist on talking in riddles?”

“Look.  Whoever did this is a stone cold killer.  And smart.  Really smart.  Calm, cool, and collected smart.  And they know it.”

“That’s not Sam Norden.”

“Exactly.”  Tillis nodded.

“Then why arrest him?”

“Because that’s what they expect us to do.”  Tillis answered.

“Huh?”

“Whoever did this thinks they’re smarter than we are.  That’s good.  Let’s keep it that way.  Let’s keep them relaxed.  Off guard.”

“Why?”

Tillis paused to look over at Sally.  “What happens if somebody shakes your tree and you’re not hanging on?”

“You fall out?”

Tillis nodded.  “So we put this monkey in a cage.  Then go out and shake a few trees.  See what falls out.”

“You’re a hard man Tillis.”

Tillis turned toward Sally and gave her a toothy grin.  “You have no idea.”

“Oh, but I do.  I understand that pharmaceuticals are extending more than life spans lately.”

Tillis’ grin faded.  ‘She’s good,’ he thought to himself.

Tillis engaged the autopilot and began to relax.  He was recalling a flight he had made to the Ten Thousand Islands nearly thirty years earlier.  He’d been flying a piston powered Piper Seneca that T-Bone had purchased.  His new boss at the FDLE had called him at home one evening and sent him down there to charter a local boat and captain to assist in locating a couple of DEA agents who’d managed to get themselves lost.

He’d departed and arrived in the dark.  An old friend who still had family in the area had made the arrangements.  An over-sized johnboat called a Carolina Skiff was all that was available.  It was captained by his friend’s much younger brother.  A twelve-year old named Billy Bob Williams.  He recalled their conversation vividly, even though more than a quarter century had slipped away.

“Don’t forget the fishing poles and bait, Billy Bob.”

“I thought we was goin’ to look for those DEA boys?”

“Only technically.  My instincts as a fifth generation native Floridian tell me that all you’d do is drive me around all night, and that we wouldn’t go anywhere near those boys.  I don’t want to waste my time down here.”

Billy Bob eyed Tillis suspiciously.  “You talked like a yankee on the phone back there.”

“That’s the language my boss speaks.  I also speak passable Spanish.  But my native tongue is Southern.”

“What ya wanna catch?”

“Snook.  If we return with a cooler full of snook filets, there’s a nice tip in it for you.”

Tillis smiled at the memory.  As dawn began to break that next morning, two helicopters passed low overhead as the little Carolina Skiff made its way home with a cooler full of snook filets.