The Butterfly Forest (Mystery/Thriller) (30 page)

Dave looked at me, his left eyebrow rising, his eyes trapping the afternoon light off the bay.  “You said earlier that you were betting on the Gonzales family making Palmer’s bond.  Is this why you interrupted that live televised news conference?  You wanted to play the Gonzales family hand?”

“I didn’t know about the Gonzales clan then.”

“Yes, but you suspected something much deeper than Palmer.  When you were holding that composite sketch, like a matador waving his cape, you were enticing the bull to come from somewhere.  And now you know the big bull is Izzy Gonzales’ uncle, Pablo.”

“Amazing how the pieces start to fall together.”  I smiled.

“I know you’re not being cavalier.  But now that the genie is out of the bottle, in this case, Pablo Gonzales, he might become the raging bull.  You’re no longer waving your cape with the backup of a police squad behind you.  Sean, you could be grasping an empty bottle to throw at him.”

“If I get close enough, a bottle will work fine.”

Dave scratched his three-day growth of whiskers.  He shook his head.  “I try not to ever underestimate you.  I’m assuming you planned this because the local constables had reached a dead-end, and you saw no other path.  However, I’m thinking that you knew, if you could get an ID on the composite, it would result in a lower bond for Luke Palmer.  And if Palmer made bond, he’d be a moving target for someone.”

“He’s a target in or out of jail.  On the outside is his best option because it can lead directly to the source.”

   Dave watched Nick and Elizabeth at a distance, Nick introducing her to Martha and Bill Orbison, retired teachers living aboard a houseboat.  “Elizabeth’s affable, or she’s trying very hard to be in spite of the death of Molly.  Your relationship with her is catapulting you into an area where your own personal danger level will be off the charts.  These drug cartels buy and sell people like cattle.  Frank Soto’s a good example.  If you rock their boat, they have ways of finding you.”

“Not unless I find them first.”

“So, I was right.  All along you did think they’d make Palmer’s bond.”

“I thought someone connected to the murders would.  And when it happens, we’ll see, the money will come from an anonymous source.  It’s late.  Bond will probably be made in the morning, but I’m calling the jail.”  I put my cell on speakerphone, called information and asked to be connected to the Marion County Jail. 

“Booking, Marion County,” said a woman through background noise.

“I’m checking on the status of a man being held in custody, Luke Palmer.”

She said, “He bonded out before my shift started.”

I thanked her and disconnected.

Dave said, “Somebody made it happen very fast.  Maybe he caught a bus to California.”

“Or maybe he’s gone back into the forest.”

SEVENTY-FOUR

Later that night, after Elizabeth and I ate a dinner of broiled flounder and shrimp with Dave and Nick, we said good night and came back to
Jupiter,
Max leading the way.   “I went to the master berth to grab a few of my things.  She followed me in.  You’ll be comfortable sleeping in here.” 

“It’s amazing how large the bedroom is,” she said, smiling.  “You’d never know this room is down here just by standing up on the dock and looking at your boat.”

“You’ll have privacy and some small degree of spaciousness.”

“Where will you sleep?  I don’t want to take your bed.”

“
Jupiter
has two staterooms, and she sleeps six people comfortably.  When I’m on the boat, sometimes I fall asleep on the couch in the salon, and sometimes Max and I have been known to climb topside and catch a breeze sleeping under the stars.”  I stepped to a small chest near the bed, opened the top and took out a .38 Smith and Wesson.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a loaded .38 caliber.  It holds six shots.”  I took the pistol out of the holster and showed her where to find the safety.  “If you need it, hold it with both hands, then aim at the chest and squeeze the trigger.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Someone with the Gonzales family, probably Soto, tried to kill you with arsenic, thinking it’d be ruled a suicide.  Should there be a next time, they’ll be quicker and deadlier.  I want to make sure there is no next time.”

She was quiet, stepping to the porthole and watching the lights across the water.  “At dinner, you said Luke Palmer is out on bond.  Dave said that since Palmer supposedly saw the shooting of Molly and Mark, maybe they’d go after him before me.  Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

“Do you think they’ll kill Palmer?”

“If they can find him, yes.”

“Maybe they’ll never find him.”

I touched her shoulder.  “You’re going to be fine.  Do you
believe
me?”

She nodded.

“Good.  Put your things away and join Max and me on the bridge for a nightcap and a great view of the bay.”

Topside, I shut off the overhead lamp.  In the darkness, I leaned back in the captain’s chair and watched a shrimp boat slide out of the marina and chug into the Halifax River.  The shrimper’s running lights pulsed in the dark wake as the boat headed south a half mile before it would take a left into the inlet and emerge into the Atlantic Ocean.  I caught the scent of blooming mangroves and wet barnacles hugging the air while the tide pulled and eased the ropes holding
Jupiter.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth climbed the steps to the bridge.  She’d changed into jeans and a light blue sweater.  She sat next to Max, who had drifted off to sleep on the bench seat.  I asked, “Would you like a drink?  I have scotch, vodka and Irish whiskey
up here.  Wine and beer are down below.”

“Vodka’s fine.  Water, ice and some lime, if you have it.”

I opened the small liquor cabinet and fixed the drinks, wrapping Elizabeth’s glass with a napkin.  She sipped once and looked out across the marina to the Ponce Lighthouse.  “It’s beautiful up here at night.  You can see from the river to the ocean.”

“After the Tiki Bar closes, and the marina becomes quiet, you can hear the breakers crashing when the wind is not blowing.”

“Do you miss your old house on the river?”

“I do.  When I’m here I miss it.  And when I’m there I miss the boat and the people in the marina.”

“You’re friends are kind, especially Nick and Dave.  Thank you for making me feel at home.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s cool tonight.  Would you sit next to me?  We can pick out the constellations together.” 

I looked at her face, and for just a second, I saw a glimpse of what she may have looked like as a girl.  It was in the way she held her head and absorbed the stars, a half smile, the roll of her shoulders, eyes that reflected the vastness of the universe.  The moment was no longer than a flash of lightning.  It was almost too quick for the eye to transmit the image to the brain.  But it was there, if only for a blink, a second of pure innocence, a snapshot of an expression I’d seen in Molly.            

“Let’s just sit and look at the twinkling stars and the plump moon,” she said.  “I lost my husband, and now my only child.  You lost your wife.  We’re like two lost souls gazing up at the universe trying to connect dots that are too far apart.”

“They’ll come closer.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Do you miss your wife as much as the day she died?

“More.  I miss her more now than ever.”

“I understand that.  Let’s just sit here and take in the heavens together, okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled as I sat next to her.  She reached over, slipped her hand in mine and said nothing.  We sat that way for a long while, the breeze gentle off the ocean, the rising moon minting gold coins across a shimmering bay, the stars bold as holiday lights in a wreath that hung on the doorstep of the universe.  Elizabeth yawned, tired eyes looking at the dark ocean, her head now resting on my shoulder.  Then her breathing became steady, and her body pressed against mine.

  It was good to see Elizabeth sleep.  I simply sat there with her for a while, my eyes catching the rotation of the lamp in the lighthouse, my thoughts wondering if there was light at the end of this dark tunnel and where it would lead.  I looked over at the woman who slept against my shoulder, her face still not at a complete rest.  I’d soon help her down the steps and into the big bed.  When she awoke in the morning, she’d read my note. 

By that time, I hoped that Joe Billie and I would have found Luke Palmer before Pablo Gonzales did.

SEVENTY-FIVE

Joe Billie was sitting under an oak tree on a cinder block in his yard when I arrived at seven a.m.  He was carving a stick.  Long strands of Spanish moss hung straight down from the lower limbs of the oak, one gray beard nearly rubbing its whiskers on Billie’s shoulders.  He looked up at me without moving his head.  He sat next to two piles of palmetto fronds.  One pile was fresh, most of the leaves green.  The other pile looked like stacks of dried tobacco leaves.

I parked and got out of my Jeep.  Billie stood.  I said, “Looks like you’ve been doing some serious harvesting of palm fronds.”

“I’m building a small chickee next to a dock.  It’s for a restaurant on the river.  The chickee will look like a thatched gazebo when I’m done.”

“Where’d you learn to build them?”

“My grandfather.  It’s how the Seminoles built their homes in the Everglades.”  He stood and lifted a small backpack. 

I said, “There’s plenty of food and water in the Jeep.”

“I figured you’d bring those things.  I’m bringing something else.”

“What might that be?”

Billie grinned.  “Call it a first aid kit.  I’m hoping we don’t need it.” 

“Have you spent a lot of time in the Ocala National Forest?’’

“From time to time, since childhood.  It’s a damn big place.  Many years ago, it was where our forefathers fought wars with the U.S. government.  And all that stuff gets passed down from the elders through the tribe.  Kids today, Seminole kids, don’t seem to care about the old wars.  They simply can’t relate to those events or spending time in nature.  They miss out on the wisdom of it.”

“There’s a different kind of war going on now, a drug war, and some of the innocent causalities fell in the forest.” 

Joe Billie nodded and walked toward the Jeep.

I wondered what he was carrying in his backpack.

AS WE DROVE NORTH on State Road 19, I called Detective Sandberg.  “Do you know who put up Palmer’s bond money?”

“Someone who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about getting it back.  Palmer’s high risk.”

“Palmer’s a dead man unless your office has a tail on him.”

“He bonded out so fast it’d make your head spin, O’Brien.”

“If he disappears, the only eyewitness to Molly and Mark’s murders is out of the picture, and the picture of Izzy Gonzales will fade all the way back to Mexico.”     

“I spoke with the bonding company, Kramer and Schmidt.  All they did was fill out the paperwork.  Seems Palmer’s got friends with some deep pockets.  The bonding company indicated that a friend of Palmer’s, someone who wished to remain anonymous, used his own money to make bail.  Kramer and Schmidt walked the paperwork through the system.  It’s my guess that they got a nice gratuity for doing so.”

“Palmer’s our chance to stop these people.  Elizabeth Monroe is in hiding.  After an attempt on her life and after burying her daughter, she’s existing like a war refugee until Soto and Gonzales are stopped.”

“I feel bad for Miss Monroe.  We’re looking for Palmer.  My guess is the pot is picked.  We couldn’t find it.  So here’s what I have: a composite drawn by Palmer.  Now Palmer’s flown the coop.  Maybe somebody’s layin’ for him, but we don’t know that.  So that leaves us with photos from Molly’s camera that clearly IDs Soto but not the mystery man.  We only can assume the composite does.  We have matching .30-.30 bullets and DNA from a cigar lifted out of a grave that we can’t get a match.”

“Maybe I can help you.”

“That’s the last thing Sheriff Clayton wants.  Don’t give him an excuse to arrest you for interfering with a police investi—”

“Three people are dead.  One more might be.  Palmer walked on the Sheriff’s watch.  Elizabeth Monroe is fighting to stay safe.  Time is of the essence.  You’ve got my help.  Whether you take it or not is up to you.  I’ll call you when I find something.”  I hung up.      

Billie was quiet as I turned off State Road 19 into the Ocala National Forest, heading west onto a spur road, which the locals called Bear Lane.  “Luke Palmer told me he saw the guy toss the cigar out of the car as it passed Bear Lane and Panther Path.  He said it wasn’t far from a sign that marked a hiking trail called the Yearling Trail.
”

“You said Palmer told you the man who tossed out the cigar caused a fire.”