Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1) (14 page)

The shadows were growing longer as I swung into the fenced parking lot surrounding the Sheriff’s Office complex. The place was familiar, but it didn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling. I headed inside and told the receptionist who I wanted to see. A few minutes later, an attractive brunette wearing khaki slacks and a green pullover shirt with the department emblem on the right breast entered the lobby. She wore a semi auto, probably one of the Beretta 9 millimeters the Sheriff’s Office carries and a gold Sheriff’s star on her belt. She was petite and shapely, but her face was dark as a summer thunderstorm.

I could see how Cary Hunt would be attracted her. She was medium height, slim, and, cute. Her brown eyes seemed enormous. If she smiled, she’d be a knockout.

A stone-faced Detective Kristin Wagner greeted me with a perfunctory handshake and said, “Follow me,” then lead the way through a labyrinth to her cubicle on the second floor.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Everett?” she said when we were settled in her space.

Her cubicle was Spartan. No personal pictures, no knick knacks on the desk, her workspace was all business. Even her stapler was dull gray.

“I’ve spoken to Cary Hunt. He didn’t mention you by name, but I’ve developed…”

She put her hand and said, “Let me stop you, Mr. Everett. When I got your message, I reported my relationship with Mr. Hunt to my commanding officer. I’ve nothing but good things to say about Cary. He was kind to me at a time when we both were hurting. He put his marriage back together and moved on. I respected that. I haven’t seen or talked to him since.”

All this information came spilling out. Her eye contact was steady. Her face was tense. Broken hearted and with her job in jeopardy, she sat stoically in front of me.

“I’m sorry you did that Detective. I’d hoped to spare you that. What we discuss...”

“I should have come forward sooner, but I was….” She closed her eyes and looked down. Then, without looking up again she said, “I was afraid.”

We talked for more than an hour. I got the story of her life between the tears and the defiance.

“How did you meet,” I asked.

“I spoke at a Chamber mixer, you know, crime prevention stuff. He introduced himself afterward. I made an appointment for some investment advice. He was really sweet. It started with a drink and soon we were seeing each other, but I knew it couldn’t last. He loved his wife even if she treated him like dirt. When he told me his wife was sleeping with someone else I thought I might have a chance at a future with him, but that wasn’t going to happen.”

“How did his wife find out about you, Kristin?”

“I don’t know. We were careful. I guess she had Cary followed.”

Not careful enough, apparently
, I thought to myself. The Sheriff’s Office had phone records and hotel bills. It was only as matter of time before they found out about Kristin, but I kept that thought to myself.

She sighed. “I went into the relationship with my eyes open. I knew it wasn’t as if he’d leave her, but I fell in love. When his wife found out, she insisted he end it.”

“She didn’t want a divorce?” I asked.

“Nope.” She laughed. “They have an iron clad prenup. She’d be left with a small allowance for a few years and then nothing.”

“That doesn’t help Cary any. Any idea how his wife found out or who her other man could be?”

“Not a clue. We didn’t talk about her all that much. It sort of spoiled the mood, if you know what I mean. I know she flirted with half the men under 70 at the country club. I think she slept with some of them too, but Cary was convinced she was seeing someone regularly in addition to the occasional one-nighter. I watched their house when Cary was away a couple times, but only her girl friends showed up,” She said, the disappointment evident in her voice. “She threw some pretty wild parties because some of her friends would spend the night.”

“Did he have other problems, drugs, gambling, anything like that?” I asked. “Maybe he said something about his wife’s bad habits.”

“No. He wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s very conservative,” she replied.

He wasn’t conservative enough to keep him from sleeping with Kristin, but that was another story.

Kristin rubbed her eyes then put her chin to her chest. She was toast.

“How long ago…”

“We broke it off two months ago,” she said.

The general’s intuition had been right
, I thought.

“When do you go to IA?” I asked. Having been in the sights of an Internal Affairs’ investigation more than once, I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“I go up at eight,” she said, looking at her watch. “I need to go.”

“They’ll read you your rights, give you a list of policies you ‘allegedly’ violated. They’ll take your badge, and gun, and then escort you from the building,” I said, “You’ll be suspended with pay pending the investigation.”

“You were a cop?”

“Former Deputy MacDonald Everett, Mac to his friends. I hope you’ll call me Mac,” I said, trying to sound hopeful. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped to spare you that,” I said.

“Save it Mac. I knew it could come to this.”

“Look, they’ll order you make a full statement. Hold off on that. Be polite. Make an appointment to come back and take a lawyer with you. Tell the truth about the affair, but leave his wife out of it wherever you can. You’ll be a murder suspect
and
a suspended cop.”

“Thanks Mac. Know the name of a good lawyer?”

I thought about giving her Ashton’s name, but decided against it. I gave her Charlie Ross’ card and told her to call him right away.

“I have to report to IA. Here,” she said, handing me a business card. “The cell number is mine. Call if you need any help. Don’t know what a suspended cop can do but muck things up, but if you need me, call.”

I said I’d call and we both knew it was a lie. She walked me to the hall door and pointed me toward the exit. It was dusk when I hit the parking lot. It had been a hell of a day.

I felt bad for Kristin. She deserved a break and I doubted she was going to get one. I dialed Ashton as I hit the parking lot and she sounded pleased to hear from me.

“Hi, how’s it going,” she said.

“It’s been a busy day. There are some new things in the works with the crime scene and the cause of death. We should have some good news soon.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “Call me when you know more.”

“Whatever you say, Ashton.”

Once I got on I-4 headed toward home, I tried to sort out what I’d learned. It was all a muddle. Both Cary and his wife were having affairs, but they seemed to have patched things up. Kristin didn’t appear to be a ‘woman scorned’ and apparently took the break up as well as could be expected. No suspect there. I would have to ask Cary about the gambling. Had he and his wife hidden their habit? Had they gotten the country club set involved? Was she bumped off because she owed a bundle to a bookmaker? I didn’t know, but it was good stuff, sure to raise reasonable doubt at trial, if it came to that. Most troubling of all were the cut up magazines. Had Stephanie Hunt made the notes sent to the general?

Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was wrong. I looked around and there it was. My analytical thoughts evaporated as I went into laser focus. My shadow was back, but this time the tail was driving a dark sedan and still not doing a very good job of being inconspicuous. I was off the surface streets so they had the drop on me. I continued east on I-4 away from my office while I decided how to handle it.

A sudden sound startled me out of my hyper vigilance. It was my phone. I assumed it was Ashton, but to my surprise, it was the tennis pro, Rad Wozninek.

“MacDonald Everett,” I said, picking up the phone.

I took another quick peek in the rear view. The bastard was still back there.

“Mr. Everett, this is Rad, from the country club. You said I could call you?”

“Yeah, Rad, how can I help you?”

“Well, I’m not sure what it means, but that girl, Candi, when her lesson was over she asked who you were. I told her and she was all excited. Silly girl never acts her age,” he said. “She asked what we talked about and I’m afraid I told her about Mr. Hunt and the death of his wife.”

“What did you tell her?” I asked. I looked in the mirror to watch my pursuer.

“What I said isn’t as important as what she said to me. She told me Mrs. Hunt and Ms. Greer approached her father about a loan. It wasn’t Mr. Hunt, it was his wife.”

This new dope sure changed the lay of the land. What was their game?

“Did Candi say why they wanted the money?” I was intrigued.

“No, but she said her father turned them down and Ms. Greer and Stephanie were angry with him. It’s important, isn’t it?” He was all excited.

“I don’t know, but it sure could be. Thanks for calling. I’ll follow up and get back to you tomorrow,” I said. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn’t do anything until I got rid of the tail. “Thanks again for calling.”

“Good night, Mr. Everett. Good luck.”

I had to shake my shadow before I could sort out things. I dialed Stan hoping to catch him before he left to meet me. I didn’t want to stand him up. I got his voice mail so I left a message I would be late and for him to let Roscoe know.

I figured it was about time these torpedoes had their ticket punched and I knew just the spot. Interstate-4 snakes diagonally across the peninsula from near Tampa to Daytona running right through the heart of Orlando to connect Interstates 75 and 95. The traffic thinned out as we continued east out of Orange County into Seminole. Twenty-five minutes later, I hit the high arched St. Johns River Bridge and picked up speed entering Volusia County. I was a mile from the Deland exit where I knew there was a county fairground right off the interstate. Deserted at night, it was just the place to deal with the tail. The long drive would lull the agents following me into carelessness. Hopefully they weren’t big goons.

I accelerated in the left lane as I approached the Deland exit and took the off ramp on the right at the last possible second. The sedan missed the exit and had to back up to follow. My tires squalled as I rounded the exit’s tight right hand curve losing sight of my pursuers just for a moment. I punched it, made another hard right onto Highway 44, and then floored it again. I made one more right into the fairgrounds just as I saw headlights behind me turn onto Highway 44.

I braked hard and skidded to a stop on the gravel access road kicking up a cloud of dust. I killed the engine and lights, but knew my rear end would reflect in the other car’s lights and they’d see the dust. I fumbled in the console for a moment then found the roll of quarters I kept there. The loose end of the plastic sleeve crunched in my hand. I jumped out, ran a couple yards back toward the highway, and dove into a shallow weed filled ditch just as the sedan came careening around the corner. I wished I was packing heat, but carrying a piece creates its own set of problems. The crate was a Nissan with what looked like two bruisers inside.

It skidded to an abrupt stop when its lights hit the rear of my Honda. My pursuers sat for several minutes trying to decide what to do. I stayed low behind a clump of weeds, thankful for overdue mowing. I pinpointed their location, just as they killed the motor. I was starting to sweat and my hands shook, but it wasn’t fear. It was the memory of hiding in weeds like these five clicks outside Tikrit, waiting, like now, to spring an ambush. I forced the thoughts from my head.
Focus, Mac, focus.

Then I heard two doors open, and the crunch of two sets of feet on the gravel.
Good, there were only two of them
, I thought. Closer and closer they came. I took a quick peek through the weeds and saw neither was a big man. One was a beanpole, and the other one was husky, but short and maybe a little older. I couldn’t tell if they were packing, but it didn’t matter I had to take them.

The two thugs walked right passed me, intent on the car, exactly as I’d hoped. When they were a couple yards past me, I slipped out of hiding.

I went to the middle of the road, avoiding the Nissan’s headlights. I took a deep breath and went for it “Grab some air. Do it now!” I shouted in my best command voice.” Once a Ft. Benning Drill Sergeant teaches you to project an order, you never forget it. It worked. They both froze and raised their hands, but then exchanged a glance.

“Don’t be stupid. I can plug you both and be gone before the echo disappears,” I warned.

I was running a colossal bluff. I flexed the fingers of my right hand around the roll of quarters, wishing it was a nine or some other burner. A closed-fist punch is a recipe for broken bones, but with a sleeve of coins, or hell, even a pack of lifesavers, you have more mass behind your punch and support for your hand. I was ready. When they seemed settled with their hands over their heads I said, “What are a couple of idiots like you doing shadowing me?”

They didn’t respond, but exchanged another look.

“Who ordered the tail?” I demanded. “Is it a hit?”

“Hell no, we weren’t going to hurt anybody,” the shorter one, who was on the left, said. He was older, and heavier, but more muscularly built than his partner who was giving him the stink eye. The short one would try to take me.

“Look, we was just following orders,” the bozo on the right said as he started to turn my way.

“Hold it right there. Don’t turn around or you’ll get a case of lead poisoning,” I bellowed.

“Listen mister, we don’t know what this is about,” the one on the left said.

“Yeah, we was just told to follow and report,” the taller one said. He was a gangly beanpole. “We got a call to follow a grey Honda.”

“The same one you followed this morning,” I said. “Then you got called off, sudden like, right?”

“Yeah,” the one on the left agreed. “Alan said to tail you and report in first thing in the AM. We got ID,” he said as he started to turn.

“Hold it, dumb ass. You
want
me to drill ya’? Try that again,” I said as menacingly as I could.

“OK, OK, we’re cool, whatever you say mister.”

“Did Alan tell you who you were shadowing or why?” I asked.

I took a couple quiet steps closer and one to my right. I didn’t want them to zero in on the sound of my voice.

“Naw, he don’t tell us nothin. He just said to follow you,” the one on the right said.

He’d move first
, I thought.

“He tell you
who
you were supposed to follow. You’re lying. Dirt bags like you get shot for lying,” I shouted.

Neither man spoke or moved. I shifted my left.

“Did Alan tell you to get caught, 'cause that’s what you did,” I said. Short and fat was startled I’d moved again. “I had you spotted five minutes after I left the Sheriff’s Office. This’ll set you up real good with your boss. Maybe we should call him now.”

The squat guy snuck a peek over his left shoulder. He was ready to come for me. I took a couple more steps toward him then side stepped into the headlights. Standing in the light he knew exactly where I was, but the lights would blind him when he turned around. He dropped his shoulder telegraphing his turn then charged me. I was ready. The taller one pulled a piece. Change of plan, I had to get him first or die. Squat guy’s charge floundered when I side stepped and tripped him as he sailed by. I launched myself at the one with the gun. Blinded by the headlights he tried to shade his eyes with his free hand as he struggled to see me. I cut beanpole off at the knees with a flying tackle and his piece went sailing into the darkness. The roll of quarters added weight to my punch. I straddled the guy’s chest and before he could react, landed three solid rights to his jaw. The man didn’t have a chance to resist. He was out cold. My $10 sap worked perfectly.

The crunch of gravel behind me signaled the shorter gunsel had recovered and was rushing me from behind. I dropped the quarters, pivoted and instead of standing took a three-point stance. I side stepped at the last possible second and clothes lined the guy with my right arm then used my left to cinch down on his neck. The man struggled, but the chokehold was set. I shifted my weight and arms to the right and bore down hard over his carotid artery. With the difference in our heights, the duffus didn’t have a chance. His arms flailed for a few seconds, but soon his knees buckled. He was out like a cheap light bulb. I let him go and he dropped face first to the road.

Had I been up against a couple pros I might have had a problem, but these two were morons. Both of my assailants were unconscious on the dark road and I wasn’t even out of breath. I patted them down, turned out their pockets. Both had cards from Barber Investigative Services. The shorter one had a .38 Special in an ankle holster.
Too bad, if he’d used his head instead of his muscles, he might have taken me,
I thought. I stripped the piece out of the holster and dropped it in my back pocket.

I retrieved my roll of quarters, then drug first one then the other unconscious halfwit back to their car. A quick scan of the Nissan’s interior turned up nothing of interest except a pair of handcuffs in the center console. I was about to pocket the bracelets when a little mischief came to mind. I opened the driver’s side door and heaved the short stocky guy into the driver seat. I closed the door, stood the taller one up, and leaned him through the open driver side window. I cuffed the two together, left hand to right through the steering wheel. These two weren’t following me any more tonight. I retrieved a bottle of rye from my trunk. I wasn’t drinking anymore and there wasn’t much in the bottle anyway. I splashed the rye onto the two sleeping beauties, wiped it sown with my shirttail, and then dropped the bottle on the passenger side floor.

I pulled the .38 from my pocket, wiped it down too, and tossed it on the floor next to the dead soldier. I grabbed the cell phone off the tall guy’s belt and dialed 911 then dropped it next to the bottle and the wheel gun. I was about to take a powder when one more idea came to me. I undid the tall guy’s belt and fly then pulled his pants and skivvies below his knees. The booze, a burner, and handcuffs on a passed out half-stripped guy would make a great story for the cops who found these bozos. These two goons would have a swell time explaining their way out of this one.

I beat the bushes in the ditch and came up with the tall guy’s gun. It was an inexpensive Bersa Thunder .380. I hefted it in my hand and pulled out the magazine. The little pocket pistol was lightweight, held seven plus one in a single stack and was well made. Not a bad little piece and it looked new. I decided it was a fair payout for not smoking these two goofballs. Beanpole wasn’t going to complain.

I headed back the way I’d come with the cruise control set just below seventy. A few minutes later three Volusia County Sheriff’s deputies, blasted by eastbound with lights and sirens.
Wonder if they’re headed for the fairgrounds
, I thought. It looked like I’d made a clean sneak. Those two dumb mugs weren’t going to let on they’d been taken by one unarmed guy. Besides, they had a lot to explain.

I stopped for a drive through burger and got home just after eleven. It had been a long day. I made my way up the back stairs, giving a wave to Dave. The Drunk Monk was quiet for a Friday night. I fumbled for my keys, opened the door, and let it slam behind me. I ate my burger while I typed up my interview notes then did internet searches on the new names I’d collected. There was something on everyone. Jon Canning, Rad Wozninek, the victim’s friends, Tawni Williams, Libby Davis, all showed up with pictures attending events, going to concerts or sports events, but there wasn’t anything substantial other than their social media pages. I’d have to run the rest of them in the morning. I was beat. I was about to call it a night when the door buzzer sounded. “Yeah,” I said.