John Puller 02 - The Forgotten Page 12

She opened up her bag so he could see inside. “I left some things in an upstairs bedroom. A jacket and some slacks. I thought I’d be back for them when I came to see Betsy again, but of course that didn’t happen.”

  Puller holstered his gun. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  “It’s okay. At least I know my heart is strong now. Otherwise I would’ve dropped from a coronary.”

  She was about five-five and in good shape. The definition in her legs and the extreme trimness of her frame made Puller deduce that she was a runner.

  “I’m really sorry about your aunt,” she said. “She was a nice person. Do they know how she died?”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I came here on the day they found her body. I was actually coming to visit another client on this street. The police cars were here and then a hearse arrived. I talked to one of the cops. He said Betsy had been found in the backyard dead. That’s all I know. I thought maybe she had a heart attack or something.”

  “Her official cause of death was drowning.” “Drowning? I thought they said she was in the backyard. Did she actually drown in the bathtub?”

  “No, in the fountain out back.”

  “But it’s not that deep.”

  “Apparently she fell, hit her head, and slipped into the water unconscious.”

  “Oh my God, how awful is that?”

  “Well, if she was unconscious she would have felt no pain or panic, but it’s still not a pleasant way to go.”

  “Who found her?”

  “Next-door neighbor.”

  “Cookie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sure he’s really broken up. They were good friends. It was funny to see them together. He’s short and she’s tall. She reminded me of that lady from The Golden Girls TV show. I’d watch it on TV Land when I was a kid.”

  “Right,” said Puller.

  “She was her own person, and although sometimes she was hard to get along with, I admired her spunk.”

  “Yeah, spunk runs in the family,” replied Puller. “Cookie told me you help him too?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve got a lot of clients in Paradise. Keeps me hopping.”

  “You a native?”

  “No. And I don’t technically live in Paradise. I’m in Fort Walton Beach, which is nearby. I came down here about five years ago from New Jersey. The winters are a lot nicer, meaning warmer.”

  “I bet. How was my aunt before she died?” “She had the typical aches and pains associated with someone of that age. She was on meds— again, no surprise there. She used a walker. She was tall, a lot taller than me, but her spine was curved. She had her good days and bad ones. Like all of us.”

  “Yeah, but she recently had a really bad day.” “Well, yeah.”

  “How were her spirits? Did she seem depressed, annoyed, worried?”

  “Not more than usual. I’ve been a caregiver for quite some time now, and I’ve found that older people’s emotions can run the gamut during the day. They tend to be in higher spirits in the morning. As night approaches they start to falter a bit. At least that’s been my experience.”

  “Did she drive? Or did you drive for her?”

  “I would run errands. To the store, the pharmacy, stuff like that.”

  “In her car?”

  “No. I’d use my own. The company I work for doesn’t allow us to drive our clients’ cars. Insurance thing.”

  “So did she drive, then?”

  “Not while I was here.”

  “Which was how often?”

  “Two-three times a week.”

  “Every week?”

  “Usually, yes.”

  “And did you stay over every time?”

  “No, hardly ever. She didn’t really require it.” “When would you leave?”

  “Around nine.”

  “So if she went out at night for a drive after you left you wouldn’t know about it?”

  “No. But why would she go out for a drive? I mean, where would she go?”

  “Asking the wrong person. I just got down here. Don’t really know the lay of the land yet. But if she did drive around and went, say, five miles out and five miles back, where might that take her?”

  Ryon mulled this over for a few moments. “Well, if she went south that would take her right into the Gulf. If she went north, it would take her into Choctawhatchee Bay. This part of the Emerald Coast is fairly long but pretty narrow, with water on both sides.”

  “East and west?”

  “West, that would come out around the jetty, although it’s all back roads there. If she stayed on Highway 98 it would angle northwest and take her to Destin.”

  “And east?”

  “Then you’d be heading toward Santa Rosa Beach, Seaside, and then, way past five miles, Panama City.”

  “Anything interesting along that way?”

  “Lots of beaches. The Emerald Coast stretches for about a hundred miles. You’ve got Eglin Air Force base to the west, and east of Panama City there’s Tyndal Air Force base.”

  “Lot of military bases around here,” commented Puller.

  “Right. I guess you’d know that being in the military.”

  “And there’s Pensacola, where all the naval aviators go to learn to fly. And Hurlburt Field, although that’s really part of Eglin. Air Force has its special operations command there among other things.”

  “You obviously know a lot more about that than I do.”

  “Probably not a lot. I’m Army. The Air Force operates at a higher altitude.”

  “Well, again, I’m sorry about your aunt.”

  “And I’m sorry for scaring you. I really appreciate everything you did for Betsy.”

  He walked her to the door, turned on the outside door light so she could see better, and watched Ryon walk down the driveway to her car, a blue Ford Fiesta with a large dent in the passenger door.

  As she drove off, Puller saw a police cruiser coming down the road. He didn’t manage to close the door in time. And he was aware that the exterior door light made him about as visible as a digital billboard.

  The cruiser did a hard left into the driveway and the driver hit the rack lights.

  Puller stood there watching as Chief Bullock stepped out of the car and headed toward him, one hand on his sidearm, his gaze dead center on Puller.

  CHAPTER 27

  Bullock stopped when he was within five feet of Puller, who had stepped out onto the front stoop. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here? And then try to give me a reason why I shouldn’t arrest your ass right now.”

  Puller held up the keys to the house. “Got these from my aunt’s lawyer.” He slipped the copy of the will out and held it up for Bullock. “She left me the house. It’s all in here. You can call the lawyer if you don’t believe me or what the document says.”

  Bullock lurched forward, snatched the will out of Puller’s hand, and read it under the porch’s exterior light. He folded up the will and handed it back to him.

  “I’m no lawyer, but it looks like you got yourself a house. Of course if your aunt was killed I guess that gives you a first-class motive to kill her.”

  “Except that I wasn’t in Florida when she died.”

  “And you can prove that?”

  “If I have to. And if I knew I was going to inherit the place, why would I come down here, kill her, and then show up here and get arrested so you’d know I was down here at all?”

  “Maybe you’re stupid.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with the Army.” “I’ll take it up with you anytime I want so long as you’re in Paradise.”

  “Can we call a truce here? If I rubbed you the wrong way, I apologize. It was not my intent.” Bullock rocked back and forth on his heels, let out a loud exhale of air, and said, “Forget it. Much my fault as anybody’s. I tend to get the hair on the back of my neck up too quickly.”

  “No problem. I can understand that.”

  “You still t
hink your aunt’s death wasn’t an accident?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve talked to the ME and I saw her body. Nothing has jumped out at me.”

  “But you’re still not sure?”

  “I guess you can never be sure. Maybe I’m looking for something that just isn’t there.”

  “Folks do that sometimes.”

  Puller put out his hand. “Look, I know you’re busy. Whatever happened on the beach today looked pretty important. I’m going to head back to where I’m staying. Thanks for not arresting me.”

  Bullock shook the hand and then said, “Yeah, it was pretty bad.” He stared at Puller. “What we found on the beach.”

  Puller took this as an offer from Bullock to talk about the case.

  “Drowning?”

  “No. Both shot in the head.”

  “Both?”

  “A couple actually. The Storrows. Nancy and Fred. Like you remembered hearing at the station. Well-known folks around here. Been here longer than me. They took walks on the beach every night. They did the other night and never came back.”

  “Any witnesses? Clues?”

  “Bodies were pretty badly decomposed. Nobody has come forward saying they saw anything.”

  “Motive? Robbery?”

  “Mr. Storrow had twenty dollars in his pants and a gold wedding band on his finger. Mrs. Stor- row’s diamond ring was still on her finger.”

  “They have any enemies?”

  “Not a one that I know of. They were retired. They grew up together in Fort Walton Beach. High school sweethearts. Moved to Paradise a long time ago. He owned a string of businesses, small stuff, gas station, Subway shop, mobile phone store. He sold all of them quite some time ago and he and the wife were spending their golden years in pretty comfortable style.”

  “And the couple who reported them missing and who were at the beach today?” said Puller.

  “The Storrows’ son, Chuck, and his wife, Lynn.”

  “Not making any accusations, but any motive there?”

  Bullock shook his head. “Son is a banker here in town and makes a great living. Doesn’t need a dime from his parents. They were very close. Played golf every weekend. Had parties at each other’s homes. Genuine affection there.”

  “So maybe it was a random thing. Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Can you tell from where the bodies washed ashore where they entered the water?”

  “Having some guys who are good with the tides and currents around here doing that for me. Might narrow down a place to search. We already have a time frame for when they left the house for a walk.”

  “I know I’ve got no jurisdiction in this, but if you want another pair of eyes to look over stuff while I’m down here, I’d be glad to.”

  “Okay, Puller, depending on how things go I might take you up on that. You have a good evening. Glad we worked things out here.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Bullock trudged back to his car and Puller closed and locked the front door, then walked to his car and headed off. He drove to the spot where the Storrows’ bodies had washed ashore.

  Wrong place, wrong time, maybe. Which meant they might have seen something or run into someone and that had cost them their lives.

  Mysterious happenings in the night.

  He gauged the distance he had driven from his aunt’s house.

  My house now. And what do I do with it?

  The distance was 2.2 miles. This was not where his aunt had driven to. Whether or not that meant the Storrows’ murders were unconnected to what had happened to his aunt was not a question he could answer right now.

  I don’t know enough. I may never know enough.

  He was out of his element. He had no powers of investigation down here. His official duffel with all the equipment he typically needed to solve crimes was all the way back in Virginia. Then he had an idea. He picked up his phone and called USACIL, or the United States Army’s Criminal Investigation Lab, at Fort Gillem, Georgia. He had a contact there, Kristen Craig, whom he had worked with on many cases. He knew the hour was late, and Georgia was actually an hour ahead of Paradise, but he also knew that Craig often burned the midnight oil.

  Tonight proved to be one of those times. She answered on the second ring. He explained to her what he was doing and what he needed.

  She said, “I have a shipment going out to Eglin tomorrow morning. I can put the duffel on the plane. You can drive up and get it around noon your time.”

  “You’re a saint, Kristen.”

  “Just remember to call and tell my boss that around review time.”

  She gave him the necessary information to retrieve the duffel. Before ending the call she said, “Are you really in a place called Paradise?”

  “I really am.”

  “I take it that the fact that you need your investigative duffel means the town is not living up to its name?”

  “Your deductive skills are exceeded only by your ability to work miracles.”

  “You keep talking sweet to me we might have to get serious.” She laughed and clicked off.

  Puller slid the phone back into his pocket and put the Corvette in gear.

  His work was not over yet tonight.

  Not by a long shot.

  CHAPTER 28

  Puller had already spotted the place before, a Hertz rental outlet that stayed open until eleven. He pulled to the curb and got out. It only took a few minutes before he had turned in the Corvette and driven off in a GMC Tahoe. The man at the counter seemed surprised that Puller would want to trade in the Vette for a glorified truck/van, especially in a beach town, but he smiled and handed him the keys.

  “Have a terrific time in Paradise, sir.”

  “Yeah,” said Puller.

  He next went to a beach clothing store and purchased a baseball cap that read “Paradise Is Forever,” sunglasses, and sneakers. Flip-flops or sandals were more typical of beach attire, but one could not run in flip-flops or sandals, at least not very far or very fast. He also purchased some T-shirts and cargo shorts with big pockets that could hold big things, like weapons. He changed into the shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers in the dressing room, put the ball cap on, slipped the shades into a pocket along with his Mu, and walked out.

  He was physically imposing enough that it would be hard to miss him in a crowd, but most people’s observation skills were poor. Dressed the way he was now, he could probably walk right past White, Black, and Latino and they wouldn’t even look at him twice. At least he had to hope for that.

  He parked two blocks from the Sierra, but on the same street. It was well past dark by now but not quiet. There was a lot of activity around here at night, and not just on the beach. Cars gunning up and down streets, people yelling. He heard footsteps running. Whether they were heading to trouble or away from it he didn’t know and didn’t really care.

  Diego had said his casa where he lived with his abuela was down the street and to the left.

  Puller checked his watch and then scanned the street. He figured that White, Black, and Latino had all awoken by now, made sure their brains were still in their heads, to the extent that they had any, and were now on the revenge path. He further speculated that they would have done some recon of their own and found out that he was staying at the Sierra and drove a flashy Corvette. Thus the transfer to the Tahoe. Plus the Tahoe had a lot more space and Puller figured he was going to need it. His investigation duffel would be pretty big and the Vette’s trunk wasn’t that large. They might have recruited more muscle to help them enact that revenge, seeing as how three of them were not enough. And they were also now spooked and suffering from concussions.

  It might come to bullets this time instead of fists.

  But before he confronted that, Puller wanted to check something else out.

  He walked down the street, slipping past the Sierra, and nearly ran into a boy coming the other way. Puller caught him by the arm to keep him f
rom falling.

  “You okay?”

  The boy’s small face was all bunched up in anger. He cursed at Puller.

  “Can you tell me where Diego lives?”

  He cursed at Puller again, the expletives coming out in a mishmash of English and Spanish.

  Puller slipped a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. “You can either take this or a bar of soap in your mouth.”

  The boy pointed down the street. “The blue one. On the second floor.”

  Puller gave the boy the fiver and he ran off. The blue one meant the little building with the blue awning. It seemed to be a rooming house composed of two stories and what looked to be about eight rooms, four up, four down. There was a wraparound deck on the exterior of the building and Puller made his way up the stairs. He knocked on one door but there was no answer. He was about to knock on another one when the door opened and Diego stood there.

  He looked up at Puller and right away Puller could tell something was wrong.

  “What is it, Diego?”

  There was movement over Diego’s shoulder and Puller was able to answer his own question.

  Isabel was standing there with Mateo next to her. Her face was bruised and so was Mateo’s. Someone had used them for punching practice. Mateo was sniffling and coughing. Isabel said nothing. She just stared at Puller with unfriendly eyes.

  But Diego said, “Isabel told me what happened. I want to thank you for helping her and Mateo.”

  “Are they your brother and sister?”

  “My cousins.”

  Isabel stepped forward. “We all live with our grandmother.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Working,” said Diego. “At a restaurant on the water. The Clipper. She works in the kitchen.”

  “As a cook?”

  “No, as a cleaner,” said Isabel.

  Puller motioned to their injured faces. “Who did that?”

  “Who do you think?” said Isabel.

  “I’m sorry but I had to step in, Isabel. I couldn’t just let them do that to you.”

  “Why not? It’s happened before.”

  “You’re not a puta,” retorted Diego. Mateo began to cry.

  “Maybe lama puta” said Isabel.