Shake the Trees (15 page)

CHAPTER 20

Judge James Mason returned from a late Saturday morning run on the beach and was met by Elizabeth at the door.  She wore nothing but a smile as she placed a mimosa in his still sweaty palm.  Under the more is better theory, she had dropped three little blue pills into the concoction of freshly squeezed orange juice and champagne.  Subsequently that morning, she’d twice ridden him to multiple orgasms.  She was now relaxing on the oceanfront balcony.  With the warm salt air caressing her cheeks and the sound of the breaking waves in her ears, she was thoroughly enjoying a glass of chilled champagne.  Elizabeth was celebrating the culmination of several months of planning.

Less than thirty-six hours earlier, the computer program written by Dr. Bob had sent $150 million dollars bouncing around the globe and ultimately to Myanmar.  Slightly more than $132 million would remain in Myanmar for another twelve hours, and then electronically travel through several eastern European countries before eventually arriving in the Bahamas.  Slightly less than $18 million had returned to the United States directly from Myanmar - wired to a bank in New Mexico.  Although the origins of this transfer were less secure, she was willing to assume the risk.  As a favor for Ellen.

Elizabeth was also celebrating the sixth full week of being entirely free of any contact with Marc.  Unfortunately, only two more weeks remained of the eight-week no outside contact portion of his rehab program.  But she would not let the unpleasant tasks ahead interfere with the well-deserved satisfaction of the moment.

Although James had initially been the unsuspecting beneficiary of Elizabeth’s celebration, he was now paying the price.  He’d remained in bed, having thrown off even the sheet to eliminate any unnecessary pressure on his still remarkable but aching erection.  His laptop was at his side.  He’d googled priapism, and was now contemplating the logistics of a trip to the ER while still sporting a fully erect and rock hard member.  He was sure that any hope of maintaining his dignified bearing would be lost to the embarrassment of having a nurse inspect his purple-headed boner.

At the same time as James was researching his condition, Elizabeth was also feeling the need to be reassured.  She was considering a quick trip to her favorite South Beach coffee shop so that she could log on and confirm - or just look at - the blinking balances in the numbered Myanmar accounts.  But she felt guilty leaving James alone in his current but hopefully temporary state.  She reached for her cell phone and dialed.  The landline in the condo began to ring almost immediately.

“I’ll get it, honey,” Elizabeth shouted. 

In a few moments, Elizabeth walked into the bedroom with the house phone in her hand.  “It’s Lorna, James.”

“Jesus Christ!  How the hell did she get this number?”  James whispered in a hoarse yet shrill tone.

Elizabeth put the phone back to her mouth.  “James wants to know how the hell you got this number.”

James sprang off the bed as his manhood bobbled wildly about.  “Elizabeth!  What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  He whispered loudly and urgently.

Elizabeth pulled the phone away from her head and looked at it with annoyance.  “That bitch just hung up on me.  She’s really angry.  She said that you shouldn’t go anywhere.  She’s on her way over here.”

James began to frantically pick up his and Elizabeth’s clothes off the floor, and then scanned the room with a half crazed and wild-eyed look.  “Aren’t you going to help me?’

“No James, I’m not.  I’m going to Half Moon for a double shot non-fat no foam latte.”

“What?  You’re leaving me here alone?  No.  No.  You’re right.  You should probably go.”

“James.  That wasn’t Lorna.  It was me.  I called the landline from my cell.”

“What?  Why would you do something like that?”

“I thought that little Willie could use some shock therapy.”  Elizabeth nodded at James’ midsection.  “It appears that I was correct.”

James looked down at his now deflated member, and a smile of relief spread across his well-tanned face.

Her features froze as she stared at the screen of the laptop.  The sounds of the coffee shop receded and her entire world resided next to the blinking cursor.  Zero balance.  Every one of the Myanmar numbered accounts had a zero balance.  Her mind ratcheted through several plausible explanations, but always returned to the most obvious scenario.  She’d been screwed by Dr. Bob. 

Elizabeth was angry.  At Dr. Bob, of course.  But more so at herself.  She was stunned at her own naivety.  She’d always assumed that Dr. Bob’s relationship with James precluded anything like this from happening.  He worshipped James; James was a father figure on a pedestal.  And Dr. Bob knew how she and James felt about each other.  Dr. Bob understood that James could never be allowed to learn of their scheme.  That he’d never approve.  She and Dr. Bob had agreed that this was the best way to help a man who was too good to help himself.  Or had they?

Elizabeth slammed her laptop shut and walked down to the hard sand along the water’s edge.  She was trying to calm herself and think logically.  Perhaps Dr. Bob had a good reason to transfer the money ahead of schedule.  Upon reflection, this seemed plausible.  Maybe even probable.  She and Dr. Bob had agreed that they would have no contact - electronic or otherwise - until everything had died down.  But she needed answers, and she needed them now.   

The soft sand slowed her deliberate gait as she made her way back up the beach to a corner drug store a few doors down from the coffee shop.  After purchasing a disposable cell phone, she found a bench with an ocean view and sat down while she considered her options.  The disposable cell would display as an unknown number on Dr. Bob’s BlackBerry.  It was quite possible - even likely - that he would choose not to answer an unknown number. But using her own cell was out of the question.  There were too many unknowns to take that kind of a risk.  The same was true of leaving a voice message.

She punched in Dr. Bob’s number on the tiny keypad of the disposable phone and hit send.  A pleasant computer generated voice answered after five rings and provided a series of menu options.  Elizabeth selected the option of entering a number instead of leaving a voice message.  0101911.  All digital code was comprised of a series of 0s and 1s.  If Dr. Bob was watching, he would immediately understand that there was a digital emergency.  A computer problem.  And his BlackBerry would have already collected the number of the disposable cell phone.  She could only hope that he’d realize who had made the call.

After Tillis left the A.S.S. offices, Sam continued to fulfill his duties as CEO.  He was devoid of emotion and acted with an eerie efficiency.  He convened a meeting of the remaining Division Directors.  He instructed the Director of Finance and Investments to freeze all financial transactions of any nature whatsoever until further notice.  He designated the Director of Operations as the point man in dealing with the FDLE, and told him to provide complete and total access and cooperation. Then he returned to his office and called the firm’s accounting supervisor at home. 

She was grilling hotdogs and hamburgers for her nine year old’s birthday party, and wasn’t happy about having her weekend interrupted.  Nevertheless, she was able to quickly direct Sam to the computerized vendor files, and hung up without the usual civilities.  He soon discovered that the $10,000 check to Ellen Hughes remained outstanding.  It had never been cashed.  He wrote down her telephone number, address, and social security number.  Then dialed the number.  It had been disconnected.  He logged onto the internet and brought up Mapquest.  The Miami address was a phony - it didn’t exist.  He was sure the social security number was also fraudulent.

Sam had now been awake for over thirty-six hours and had nothing left.  He closed his eyes and slowly leaned forward.  Waiting for his forehead to come to an ever so gentle rest on the glass-topped desk.  But his head and entire body continued on through the glass.  And then just as effortlessly through the carpet and everything below.  Through time until his forward motion was arrested by a tan plastic chair surrounded by the complete void of empty space.

Sam walked around the chair and sat down.  Then grabbed the chrome bar that had appeared before him and again pulled his form to a standing position.  He leaned over and put his ear next to his mother’s lips.  And waited.  But there was only silence.  Silence and the barely recognizable ringing of a telephone so very far away.  Far away.  In a place he dreaded - dreaded even more than the silence.

Sam shook the fog from his brain.  Then looked down.  It was Sandi.  He flipped open his cell phone, but immediately regretted his action.  He hadn’t thought about what he would tell her.  How he would explain.  He’d only thought about her reaction and the rejection that would surely follow.

“Hello.”

“It’s me.”

Sam could tell that she’d been crying.  “Sandi, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Sam.  It’s terrible.”

Sam’s limbs felt like lead and his stomach fell into his bowels.  “I know.  I know.”

“You do?”  

“Of course.  Sandi, I don’t know how this happened.”

“Sam, without water this place is worthless.  But it means everything to my dad.  I don’t know what will happen to him.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Sandi, what are you talking about?”

“I thought you said you knew.”

“I’m at work.  Uh.  We’ve had some problems.  I thought you were talking about something else.  I’m sorry.  What’s happening there?”

Between sniffles Sandi explained the events of the morning.  Sam listened as his anger mounted.  This was a problem that could be solved.

“Sandi, you have water rights.  Bartholomew Citron is very good.  He’ll take care of this.  You just have to be strong until Monday afternoon.  You have to be strong.  Not just for yourself, but for everyone else too.  I know it’s hard, but you have to.”

“I just don’t understand what these people are thinking.  Ned Ron must have lawyers too.  Shouldn’t they know better?”

“Ned Ron?”  Sam answered as a kernel of dread and fear began to grow and swell into full-fledged panic.

“Ned Ron Incorporated.  That’s the corporation that bought Chubb’s place.”

“Ned Ron?”

“Ned Ron.”

“Oh.”

“Sam?”

“Yes, Sandi?”

“Do you promise?  Do you promise that everything will be all right?”

Sam paused.  Somehow he knew that nothing was going to be all right.  “I promise.”

CHAPTER 21

Tillis looked at the forlorn Ford LTD with disgust.  He’d landed at a small airport near Marco Island, which sat at the northern edge of Ten Thousand Islands.  Most general aviation airports had a loaner vehicle that was made available to pilots for short local day trips.  None of these vehicles were ever fancy, but most were mechanically sound.  This relic had taken the category to a new low.

Tillis looked at the apprehensive face of Sally Cummings and tossed her the keys.  “You said you’d always wanted to drive a seventies-era classic.”

“I was talking about your 1970 Hemi-Cuda.”

Tillis shrugged as he quickly wound down the passenger side window. The sun, heat and humidity of South Florida had faded and cracked every non-metal component of the car, and had also fostered the growth of an eye-burning mildew that had burrowed into the vents and cloth interior.

“Don’t turn on the air,” Tillis advised.

“Why?  I’m burning up.”  Sally screwed the knob around to the full on position.  “Oh my god!  What is that?”  Sally gasped as she quickly turned the dial back to the off position.

“A living organism.  Don’t turn that on again.  It just pisses it off.  I highly recommend the redneck air conditioning.”  Sally nodded and wound down her window as well.

Twenty-five minutes later Sally turned off of Alligator Alley and the pair bounced down a dirt trail for another fifteen minutes before arriving at the crime scene.  The wind-burned team was met by a smiling Billy Bob Williams.  Billy Bob was now over forty years old.  He carried a huge pot belly, as well as a large plug of tobacco between his gum and cheek.  A stream of brown liquid rocketed out of his mouth before he spoke.

“I see that the budget cuts are hittin’ you FDLE boys pretty hard.”  Billy Bob rubbed the stubble of both of his cheeks with a single open palm as he leaned into the open window of the LTD.  “Hold on a minute now.  I think this was one of my patrol cars back in eighty-four.  Smells like it.”  Billy Bob began to laugh at his own joke, but then inhaled a bit of the chaw and his laughter devolved into a paroxysm of teary-eyed coughing.

“Airport car.  I hope you don’t mind us butting in on your territory here, Billy Bob.”  Tillis said.

Billy Bob loudly cleared his throat and spit a large gummy wad on the ground.  “Hell no.  Down here we don’t get into any of those titty-tatty alphabet soup turf wars you big city boys are so fond of.  I’m just glad for the help, Tillis.  But I do have a private contractor for the Department of Natural Resources who’s itchin’ to harvest the gator that done ate on that boy.  You need to let me know when I can cut him loose.”

“Relative?”  Tillis asked.

“Cousin.”  Billy Bob replied.

“How do you know which one?”  Sally asked.

“Which one what?”  Billy Bob replied with both an annoyed and confused expression on his face.

“How do you know which gator done . . .” Sally paused and then started anew.  “How do you know which alligator ate part of the victim?”

Billy Bob let another stream of viscous liquid fly, and placed both hands on the sill of the car door.  Then leaned into the interior of the old Ford and gave Sally a big brown-toothed grin.  “The one that’ll make the most briefcases for purty professional gals like you I expect.”

Tillis got out of the dilapidated Ford and strode over to an older but well-maintained vehicle that resembled an ambulance, but was labeled Monroe County Coroner.  The body had been retrieved from the water and placed in the running and air-conditioned van.  Tillis opened the rear doors of the vehicle and climbed in, folding down a jump seat next to the unbagged body.

The face was unrecognizable.  The arms had been ripped from the body. There appeared to be very little information to be gleaned from the mangled corpse.  A small cooler sat next to the body, from which Tillis removed an evidence bag.  The bag contained two cleanly severed fingers, which bore the blackish residue of fingerprinting ink. 

After a few moments of contemplation, Tillis exited the vehicle and surveyed the area.  Billy Bob and his team had already placed several evidence markers.  The FDLE forensics team had not yet arrived, and Tillis didn’t want to disturb the scene.

“Walk me through it, Billy Bob.”

Billy Bob started with the marker labeled number one and proceeded numerically, discussing tire tracks, foot traffic, and the location of each finger, drag mark, and spent shell casing.  He’d been thorough and Tillis was starting to feel guilty for underestimating him.

“You missed that one.  Next to where you found the fingers.” Tillis said after he’d finished.

“Saved it for last.  We found a pretty good bit of small white crystals.  My taste buds confirmed it was salt.”

“Jesus.  He tortured the poor son of a bitch, didn’t he?”

“Just plain mean.”  Billy Bob nodded toward a muddy and bloated carcass near the water’s edge.  “I figure that explains him shootin’ up that gator for no good reason.”

“Cruel bastard,” Tillis said softly as he shook his head.

“Guess that spic couldn’t swim too good.  But with all that gator blood in the water, there was probably a feedin’ frenzy goin’ on.” One of Billy Bob’s deputies who’d been listening while standing off to the side had made the comment.

Tillis gave the man a sideways glance.  “Who’s the fat red-haired dumbass?”

“New boy.  Ain’t from ‘round here.”  Billy Bob replied.

Tillis had already made that determination, having placed the accent in south central Georgia.  The big red-haired man walked over to where Tillis and Billy Bob stood.

“Who you callin’ a fat red-haired dumbass?”

“Well, I see a couple of fat red-haired guys, but you’re the only obvious dumbass in sight,” Tillis replied.

The man brought a pointed finger up, but his legs flew out from underneath him long before his finger ever made contact with Tillis’ chest.  As he landed on his back with a loud thump, Tillis’ knee made contact with his sternum.  Then Tillis grabbed the man’s Adam’s apple between the thumb and index finger of his left hand, and applied firm pressure.  The big man’s pigmentless skin began to turn red and his eyes widened as he struggled to breathe. 

Two of the other deputies began to move toward the pair, but Billy Bob waved them off with the slightest movement of two fingers held at waist level.  The deputies turned around and moved away, ignoring the scene and pretending that everything was as it should be.

“We can either continue doing what we’re doing, or you can enter the diversion program for big fat red-haired dumbasses.  It’s an educational program.” Tillis commented softly as slowly he released the pressure on the man’s throat.

“Diversion program,” the man croaked.

“Good choice.  First of all, you’ll notice the look on Billy Bob’s face.  That is not a look of concern for your well-being.  He’s concerned that this incident might generate unnecessary paperwork.”

“God-damned right I am,” Billy Bob exclaimed.

“You need to understand that if this incident generates any paperwork whatsoever, I will find you and pick up where we left off.”

The man nodded.

“Okay.  Rule number one.  The Golden Rule.  A law enforcement officer always shows respect for the citizenry he is sworn to serve and protect.  Especially victims.  Especially victims of violence.  And especially dead victims of violence.  Do you understand?”

The man nodded again.

“Rule number two.  You need to educate yourself about and understand the environment around you.  Its people.  Its animals.  Its flora and fauna.  Example.  No man can out swim or out run a gator.  And gators can’t really hear much, and they don’t see too damn well either.  But they can sense small vibrations up to a mile away, and go straight to the source of those vibrations.  That’s how they hunt.  When that big gator was shot, I’ll guarantee you that it made a big scene; they never go quietly.  The vibrations in this body of water would have been totally disrupted.  If that poor boy had understood that, and if he’d been very careful, he might have had a chance to escape a horrible death.”

“Rule number . . .” Tillis’ lecture was disrupted by the third overture of Beethoven’s fifth symphony.

“Over there,” Billy Bob said while pointing to a crook in the branches of a gumbo-limbo tree.  “In that tourist tree.”  While the rest of the world called it a gumbo-limbo tree, most native Floridians called it a tourist tree because of its peeling red bark.

Tillis looked over at Sally and held his hands up.  She briskly returned to the vehicle and pulled on a pair of latex gloves.  Then met Tillis at the tree.  The tree was about thirty feet tall with a large crown.  The trunk was huge at ground level, but at a height of only three or four feet branched out into several limbs about as big around as a man’s leg.  After Sally had positioned herself properly and nodded at Tillis, he gave one of the branches a good shake.  The BlackBerry made a perfect landing in her latex covered palms, but the music had stopped moments earlier.

“I guess the perp put this up there for safe-keeping and forgot about it,” Sally commented as she walked over to where Tillis stood.

Tillis studied the device.  “Looks like someone left us a message.  Or at least a return number.”

“When you said we were going to shake a few trees, I didn’t realize you were speaking literally,” Sally commented.

After donning latex gloves, Tillis retrieved the message while being careful not to erase it.

“0101911,” Tillis repeated thoughtfully. 

“Digital emergency,” Sally responded.  “All digital code is comprised of zeros and ones.”

“Of course.”  Tillis looked at Sally admiringly.  “I think this belonged to Dr. Bob.  Looks like his demise remains unknown in certain quarters.  And therefore was not anticipated.  It may have thrown a monkey wrench into things for the calling party.”

“Double cross?”  Sally asked in immediate response.

“Could be.”  Tillis commented thoughtfully.

“What’s a monkey wrench?”  Sally inquired of no one in particular.

Tillis wasn’t listening either.  “Make sure this belonged to Dr. Bob.  Then run the calling number.  Probably made from a disposable.  If so, I want to know where it was purchased asap.  Ping it, but don’t call that number.  Whatever you do, don’t call that number back.”

Sally rolled her eyes.  “Come on, Tillis.  Give me a little credit.  Please.”

“Sorry, Sally.  But it wouldn’t be the first time a rookie spooked a perp.”

Tillis walked away and stood quietly by himself.  At first studying the trees.  Then his eyes closed and his breathing slowed and deepened.  Sally had heard about this behavior almost from her first day on the job at the FDLE.  Because of his remarkable record in solving homicide cases, everyone said he talked to dead people.  But nobody had ever asked him about it.  Except for Sally.  And she’d asked during her first hour as his partner. 

Tillis had laughed and explained.  She remembered his words.  “Look.  How much of our brain do they say we actually utilize?  Five or ten percent?  No, I don’t talk to dead people.  That would be too easy.  I try to talk to my subconscious.  I try and find out what the other ninety or ninety-five percent has been up to.  Sometimes I get an uncomfortable feeling, and I know that it’s trying to tell me something. The hard part is getting my conscious mind to listen.”

Tillis broke from his reverie and returned to where Sally stood.  “Something isn’t right here.”

Sally looked questioningly at Tillis, but had nothing to offer.  She moved to the shade and got on her cell.  Tillis walked over to where Billy Bob stood.  “Have you heard from Bubba lately?”

“Hell yeah.  He’s retired.  Sort of.  Flyin’ corporate big wigs around outta Tampa now.  But he gets down here real regular.”

“Finally done teaching snot-nosed kids how to fly fighters, huh?”

“Yeah.  But he says those insurance company execs are a bigger pain in the ass than the kids ever were.”

Tillis looked oddly at Billy Bob for a moment and then spoke.  “What insurance company is that Billy Bob?”

“American something or the other.  They also run some kinda old folks homes or some such.  Hey!  Bubba’s gonna be at Mama’s for our usual Sunday fish fry tomorrow.  Why don’t you come by?  I know he’d be tickled pink to see you again.”  Billy Bob ran his tongue across the inside of his lower lip and turned slightly to leer at Sally as she approached.  “And you can bring that girl agent with you.”

“You know something, Billy Bob.” Tillis paused. “I think I just might do that.”

Sally had returned in time to catch the end of Tillis’ conversation with Billy Bob, and a look of concern spread across her face.  “Forensics is five minutes out,” she offered without enthusiasm.

Tillis ignored Sally and continued speaking to Billy Bob. “One other thing, Billy Bob.  Try to hold off on notification of next of kin as long as possible.  Same goes for the press.”

“I can probably hold off on kin till Monday.  Proper verifications and all.  And down here the press ain’t no problem till Monday neither.”