Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) (8 page)

I rose when I heard my name and
made my way to the steps at the far end of the stage. The sheriff read the
lengthy citation, but I didn’t hear it. It was all too surreal. When he
finished he shook my hand, handed me the framed citation and we did a grip and
grin for the photographer.

“Thank you for your work, Mr.
Everett. You righted a potential wrong.”

“Thank you, sir.” I said as I
turned to go.

He held on to my hand a moment,
dipped his head toward my ear, and said, “I’d like to talk to you about
something. Don’t run off.”

I couldn’t imagine what the high
sheriff of Orange County could want with me. I made my way back to my seat,
shaking a couple hands along the way. Randi shook my hand, smiled, and squeezed
it a bit longer than I expected before letting go. This was getting
interesting. As I took my seat, I heard Randi’s name called. This time I paid
attention.

“Randi Massey is Executive Director
of the Children of the Night,” The Sheriff said. “The exploitation of children
is among the most heinous crimes in our society. Ms. Massey’s efforts to
educate, raise awareness, and engage local resources to promote the safety,
permanency, and well-being of our children have made a difference throughout
Central Florida. She has worked tirelessly for victims of prostitution and even
helped identify human trafficking in our area. She has worked with law
enforcement, social service agencies, and victim advocates to organize ongoing
discussions on this difficult and important topic. We recognize and thank her
for her efforts on behalf of those who are unable to speak for themselves.”

The sheriff shook her hand, gave
her a framed certificate and did a grip and grin for the photographer yet
again. It was all a pat routine, but the guy seemed genuine.

So the cutie was a social service
advocate. I don’t have much patience with liberal do-gooders. A couple dozen
more people trooped up the steps, the sheriff read, the cameras flashed and
then, mercifully it was over. I made my way to the back of the room and my
peanut gallery descended on me.

“Hey Mac, you didn’t wave or
nothin,” Roscoe said as he shook my hand. Roscoe was always cracking wise and
seldom very funny.

“I didn’t believe it when Roscoe
said you were coming,” Stan said. “I had to come see for myself and you’re
wearing a tie. How come the sheriff didn’t mention how you screwed up and
almost got yourself killed-twice.”

Broad shouldered, fit, and trim
Stan Lee was starting to show a little salt and pepper in his crew cut. Stan
was a good cop and a better friend. On the strength of his work on the Hunt
case Stan recently made lieutenant.

“Cut it out guys.” Lia said. “You
were great boss.” She threw her arms around me and gave me a wet kiss on the cheek.

“Who’s your friend?”

The drawl from behind me had a
touch of disapproval. I turned around and Randi was standing behind me.

“Whoa, I don’t want you behind me
again.” She pouted a moment but then smiled. “Randi Massey, these are my
friends, Roscoe Black, Lt. Stan Lee, and Lia Green. Guys, this is Randi
Massey.”

Randi shook hands all around then
said, “Mr. Everett please again accept my apology for my clumsiness.”

“Randi gave me a light shower with
the punch earlier, and then was kind enough to rinse out my shirt before we had
to be on stage.”

“We wondered where you disappeared
too,” Stan said.

“Yeah, but when we saw you hustle
back holding hands with a pretty girl…” Roscoe let the thought hang while Randi
blushed.

“Yeah, whatever. You three have
dirty little minds,” I said. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Mr. Everett, congratulations on
some fine work and you as well Ms. Massey,” Sheriff Winton said as he
approached the group. “Who are your friends?”

I introduced Roscoe and Lia. Stan
introduced himself; Winton was his boss, after all.

“Will you excuse me while I borrow
Mr. Everett?” the sheriff asked. “You too Lieutenant Lee, if you don’t mind.”

Randi was the first to speak,
saying, “Don’t be gone too long.”

There was a hint of mischief in her
tone. I didn’t have time to consider what she meant because Stan and the
sheriff ushered me into a back hall.

“Sorry to take you away from your
friends Everett. Ah, how do you know Ms. Massey?”

“We met tonight, sir. I don’t know
her, yet.”

“Good, that could have some bearing
on what I’m going to ask of you.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve got a problem Mr. Everett.
I’m chief executive of one of the largest law enforcements agencies in the
state. I’ve got twenty-four hundred employees and an annual budget of $180
million. I’m responsible for over a million residents and forty-five million
tourists annually and I’m stumped.”

“What’s that got to do with me,” I
asked.

“I know this is unusual, but I’m in
a tough spot.”

“Sheriff, I follow the evidence. If
there’s a skeleton in your closet I’m not going to sweep it under the rug.”

The big man chuckled. “I heard that
about you.”

“And I don’t stand for…”

“And you don’t stand for BS. No,
it’s nothing about me personally. I’ve got a missing persons issue.”

The Sheriff’s Office had a long established
Persons Crime Unit in addition to sections dedicated to domestic violence and
child abuse investigations so the sheriff’s statement caught me off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“Florida is in the top five states
for missing persons and has been for…well a long time,” the sheriff began.
“There are nearly 65,000 missing person reports in the state every year. About
15% come from Orange County, 70% of those are children. The vast majority of
missing-person cases are resolved,-kids get lost or runaway, they turn up, and
there are the custodial disputes too. We have a large, populous state with a
year-round climate, there are a slew of known sex offenders, and kids tend to
be relatively accessible."

“What’s this got to do…?”

The sheriff held up his hand to
stop me. “Hear me out.”

That’s the statistical view,” he
said, “The problem is, locally, we’ve had a spike in missing young
adults-specifically young adult females. The ethnic and socioeconomic
backgrounds vary, but there are some commonalities. The age range is between
eighteen to about twenty-five. They are single, usually living alone or on
college campuses. There are a significant number of medical personnel
represented, nurses, or nursing students in particular. These are unusual
demographic for missing persons.”

The Orlando area is home to the
University of Central Florida, Rollins College in Winter Park, Valencia
College, Le Cordon Blue College of Culinary Arts, and a dozen other smaller
schools. There are five major hospitals in the area too. Both types of
locations would have a large number of female employees or students and many of
them would be young.

“I’ve talked to my counterparts
from Tampa, Miami-Dade, even Gainesville and Tallahassee,” Sheriff Winton
added, “and they aren’t seeing what we are. It’s a local problem and I want it
solved.”

“The college towns have a high
concentration of young women” I replied. “If it was a developing criminal trend
it would show up in areas with concentrations of young women. How many people
are we talking about, sir?”

“Orange County’s five year average
for missing females in their twenties is twenty-two with a 95% clearance rate.
Fewer than half had psychiatric or drug problems. Last year we had one hundred
twenty-seven in that age range and a 40% clearance rate. Only eight had
psychiatric or drug problems and oddly enough, we located all of them.

“That’s …” I did some quick mental
math, “a 55% drop in the people you located and a…” I pulled out my phone and
did some quick calculations, “and a 475% increase, sir. There were no other
changes?”

“No change in personnel or
reporting and our adjacent counties aren’t seeing a similar increase. Every
year up until now, we’ve been able to track phone use, look at social media,
credit card records-all the usual stuff to locate these people. These women
have dropped off the grid.”

“It could be a serial killer.”

“It could be, but that’s a lot of
missing women in a year. The scary part is we are on track to surpass last
year’s numbers with an even lower closure rate. We’ve been talking about
numbers, but each case is a person with a family. I think something strange is
up.”

“If your numbers are correct I’d
bet you’re right. Have you checked the math?”

“That’s the first thing we did.
Look, I’m a politician, but I’m a cop first. This is my first year in office
and my predecessor was less than stellar.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said.

“I’ve got a bureaucracy that’s not
exactly light on its feet. Your work on the Hunt murder case pulled our
chestnuts out of the fire. We had it all wrong and you…well, would you review
some of these missing person cases? See if we’ve missed something?”

“I’m working a missing person thing
right now. I don’t know if I can spare the time.”

“I’d consider it a personal favor,
Mr. Everett and your friend recommended you.”

Stan gave me his shit-eating grin.
I’d been set up.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I
replied.

“Review the reports and get back to
me. Consult with Ms. Massy too. If I need to set up a task force, I’ll do it,
but I can’t afford to appear to run off half-cocked. You’ll get back to me
soon?”

The guy was asking for a favor and
it never hurts to have friends in high places.

“Yes sir, I will. I’ll need some
things.”

“Yes?” the sheriff said.

“I’ll need someone to get these reports
without arousing suspicion and a good analyst, preferably one who hasn’t worked
on this stuff before.”

“Lee will be your contact,” Sheriff
Winton smiled. Stan looked sheepish as he stared at the floor again.

“You can have you pick of the
agency’s analysts. Lee can arrange it. He starts in the Persons Crimes Section
on Monday. I understand the two of you worked together before the Hunt
situation.” The man was decidedly a politician, and a good one. Most
frighteningly, he believed there was something sinister out there and it scared
him. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his carefully measured words.

“Yes sir, we were together in Iraq,
but I think you knew that.”

The sheriff just smiled.

Sheriff Winton shook my hand again,
said thank you and good-bye. When he’d slipped back into the auditorium, I
turned to Stan with a scowl.

“Aren’t you usually the one who
says, what have you gotten me into?” I said.

“He called me in this afternoon. I
didn’t have time to tell you.”

“Save it,” I said. “Aside from your
face, what other jokes do you have?”

“Mac, it was his idea,” he said. “I
only said I thought you’d go along.”

I thought about it for a couple
beats and decided this might not be so bad.

“All right, Stan,” I said. “I might
like having the sheriff owe me.”

“Thanks, Mac,” Stan said.

“What do you think is going on?” I
asked.

“I don’t know. He gave me the same
sales pitch. I’ve only met Winton once before and he’s worried.”

“Politics?”

“It could be he’s afraid of looking
bad, but my gut says that’s not it. I think he’s concerned there is a bigger
threat out there.”

“Where do we start?”

“Where we always start, at the
beginning,” Stan replied. “I’ve asked the administrative assistant in Missing
Persons to pull files all the unsolved missing females in the age range we want
going back three years. She said to check with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“When do we get together?”

“Meet me at this address at one
o’clock tomorrow,” Stan said handing me a slip of paper.

“What’s this?”

“The Sheriff’s idea, be there on
time ol’ buddy. I’ve got to get home. I have to answer to my wife. Make my
excuses to Roscoe and Lia. Say, that Lia is quite a girl.”

“That she is. I’m a lucky guy,” I
agreed. “See you in the morning.”

Stan slapped me on the back and
disappeared down the hall. I leaned against the wall as I mulled over what the
Sheriff and Stan had said. Their information was troubling, but the fact I had
my own missing persons case bugged me. Neither man could have known I was
looking for Jennifer Summers. Was it just a coincidence the Sheriff insisted I
attend the award program? I could see the truth in the man’s eyes and hear it
in his words, but did he know more?

My reflections shattered when the
door opened.

“Hey, are you going to stand there
by yourself all night?” Randi called. “Your friends invited me to get something
to eat with you, if that’s all right.”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“If you’re going to be like that
about it I can go home.”

I chuckled and said, “No really,
it’s fine. I was just thinking.”

“Well don’t make that a habit. Come
on, they’re ready to go unless you want to chat with what’s left of the blue
hairs.”

As I headed to my car, I noticed
Randi talking to a tall young blond in the parking lot. They looked like they
were arguing. As I got out of my car to see if there was a problem the other
woman left and Randi drove off.
I’ll have to ask her about that,
I
thought.

Three hours later, we were saying
good-bye outside La Cosina, a little Mexican place on East Colonial not far
from the Sheriff’s Office. The food was good, the conversation amiable and
Randi had fit right in. I’d learned she was an LA County Sheriff’s deputy. Now
she was working for a nonprofit. She said enjoyed the change of pace, but her
eyes and her face told a different story. I wanted to ask what had happened to
her, but her past was her business.

As the shindig was breaking up, I
figured I’d have to do some fast-talking. Randi had been coming on to me all
evening. Hell, even the punch she spilled was a ploy. She didn’t strike me as
the heartbreaker type, but I stood apart from the group as we said good night.

“Thanks for including me,” Randi
said. She walked straight over to me and gave me an unexpected buss on the
cheek. “I had a nice time and your friends are cool.”

“We are cool, ain’t we,” Roscoe
said. “Do I gets one of them too?”

“Sure Roscoe, you’re a dear.” She
stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead.

“That’s enough of that. You’ll give
him a heart attack,” Lia said as she pushed Roscoe away to give Randi a hug.
“It was great to meet you. I hope we see you again.”

“You might,” she said coyly looking
at me over Lia’s shoulder.

“OK, I gotta get my beauty sleep,”
Roscoe said. “Mac congrats. Talk to you next week.”

“Good night buddy,” I replied.
“Thanks for coming tonight.”

Lia gave me a peck on the cheek and
said, “Good night boss. See you Monday.”

“Good night kid. Have a good time
at the concert. Call me when you get home?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes tonight you ditz, and tomorrow
night after the concert.”

“What are you, my father? I’m a
big…”

“I know, you’re a big girl and no
I’m not your father, but…”

“Forget it,” she said. “You’re very
sweet. I
am
big girl who can take care of herself…”

“Come on, I said. I’m only…”

“But I’ll text you when I get home
tonight
and
tomorrow night, promise. Good night.”

She kissed my check, jumped in her
blue Chrysler Neon and took off.

When they were all gone, Randi and
I stood in awkward silence. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and promise.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to come
home with you?” she said after a while.

“Being sort of forward aren’t we
Ms. Massey?”

“I’ve learned that past a certain
age, men avoid making sudden moves where women are concerned,” she said. “The
woman has to be assertive before it’s too late.”

“So I’m past a certain age, am I?”

“Well, maybe not, but you sure are
slow. I’ve been flirting with you all evening. I’ve
almost
embarrassed
myself.”

“Yeah I notice. I was wearing part
of your flirting, remember.”

“That really was an accident!” she
insisted.

“Sure it was,” I chuckled. “Randi I
like you. We’ve had a nice evening, but we’ve just met and I have a history.”

“Oh hell Mac, we all have a
history.”

“Damn it Randi, I'm one more bad
break up from my own country western song. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Come off it Mac. I’m not asking
you to marry me. I’ve lived here three years and haven’t found anyone even
remotely interesting until I met you.”

“There is no trap as deadly as the
trap you set for yourself.”

“What?”

“That’s from Chandler’s
The Long
Good-bye
.”

“You gettin’ weird on me?” she
said. “Whad’ya say, Mac, at least kiss me, you might like it.”

I don’t know what came over me. I
gently brushed the hair from her face as her lips rose to meet mine. Then, when
they were about to touch, I stopped and let her close the distance. She melted
into me as my right arm went tight around her tiny waist. I caressed her hair
with my left hand while my right moved to the small of her back and pressed her
close. Our heads moved side to side not so gently grinding our lips together. I
took a handful of her hair and held it tight as she pressed against me and
moaned. When we came up for air, her eyes fluttered and she sucked in a deep
breath.

“When you dive in you go for the
bottom,” she whispered. “I’m glad I pushed the envelope.”

“I like you Randi, but I’m a man
past a certain age, so no sudden moves, remember.”

“You proved me wrong on that one,”
She said as she leaned toward me. I kissed her again holding her head as I
pressed my lips to hers. My right hand took her left and I pulled back still
holding her hand.

“Let’s see if we can keep from
screwing this up,” I suggested. “Deal?"

“Oh you got a deal there mister.
You better call me soon though.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll just have to call you.”
she laughed.

“Good night Randi,” I said as I let
her go of her hand. I immediately regretted it.

“Good night shamus,” Randi said as
she let my hand drop. She turned and reluctantly walked to her car.

I climbed into the Camaro and watched
in the mirror as Randi drove away. Not even the surge of 450 horsepower was
going to make me feel better tonight.

I slept fitfully, thinking way too
much. Booze doesn’t always leave you with a hangover, but disappointment with
too many women does. I decided it was time to make another change in my life.
I’d beat the drink for now. It was time for another challenge. Chandler wrote
in
The Lady in the Lake
, ‘I'm all done with hating you. It's all washed
out of me. I hate people hard, but I don't hate them very long.’ Regret not
hate, haunted me and I needed to find a way to wash out what ailed me. Maybe
Randi was the one who could help me do it.

The alarm went off at 7:15. The
Saturday morning sun was bright in the window as I stumbled to the kitchen to
start some coffee. I showered, shaved, and dressed in a daze hoping the coffee
would be ready soon.

The black Joe was hot, but it
wasn't comforting. In my boozing days, I’d wake with sweats, my mouth tasting
like a chain smokers ashtray and a head as big as Montana. Today I felt like
crap because there was too much on my mind not because of the drink. I fixed a
fried egg sandwich and went through to the office, breakfast in one hand, my
second cup of coffee in the other.

About the time I sat down at the
desk, a sound came from Lia’s office. I spotted a couple of pieces of paper on
the floor so I went to see what was up. I picked up a Fax cover sheet from
Shannon Winter. Handwritten on the sheet was the simple message. ‘Your video
will be ready late Monday. Attached are the Causality and Investigative
Activity Reports from the
Danny-L
accident investigation. The survivor’s
phone numbers are on the last page. Hope we can get together soon.’ She had
written her phone number at the bottom of the page and signed it with the
initial S and a little heart.

I looked at the last page and sure
enough, there was a Melbourne address and phone number for John Lewis and his
son Danny.

“Thank you Shannon,” I said aloud
softly.

How was it there two women were
suddenly interested in me?
I dialed the Melbourne number and a gruff
sounding man answered.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Lewis, my name’s Mac Everett.
I…”

“We don’t want any. Take me off
your list,” he snapped.

“Mr. Lewis, I’m a private
investigator.”

“I told those pukes from the
insurance company I’d do one more physical then I’m through. I’ve already
contacted another lawyer. This one’s not afraid to go to court.”

“Mr. Lewis I don’t work for an
insurance company. I’m investigating the sinking of the
Wind Dancer
, the
sailboat that went down near your boat. I was hoping I could speak to you and
your son.”

“We don’t know anything about that.
Leave us alone.”

“There are other families grieving
for their missing children. You got your child back. What could it hurt to talk
a little?”

“I was knocked out. I don’t
remember anything, not going in the water, not the boat going down or that
Coast Guard chopper saving our asses. My boy doesn’t want to talk about it. I
wish you’d leave us alone.”

“I wish I could Mr. Lewis. It might
come to nothing, but I promised these parents I would try everything. I can be
at your place late this afternoon. If you don’t want me to talk to your boy
I’ll leave without bitching, but please think about it.”

Lewis didn’t say anything, but I
could hear his breath. Then he said, “If Danny doesn’t want to talk to you
don’t get in the door.”

“Fair enough Mr. Lewis. I’ll see
you around three.”

I didn’t know what I’d find when I
got there. Lewis was a man fighting his own memories or lack of them. He’d
intended to take care of his boy, but destiny got in the way.

I stapled the
Danny-L
report
together and put it in my folder. I’d read it later. I had to meet Stan across
town for some clandestine meeting, but first I had an errand.

I fired up the Camaro and headed
out. Jennifer Summers and Hannah London had been sisters at Alpha Mu sorority
at the University of Central Florida. I figured that was a good place to start.
I took North Orange Blossom Trail to the 408 and headed east. At the 417
interchange, I went north to University Boulevard. Heavy traffic going into UCF
kicked in about two miles from the campus so it was another thirty minutes
before the navigation system told me I’d arrived at 1006 Greek Park Drive, the
Alpha Mu sorority house.

I’d dated a sorority girl for a
while when I was at the University of Miami. She dumped me when the family’s
net worth didn’t meet her standards. Based on my experience, sorority girls
were high maintenance spoiled bleached blondes. I read that sororities had
recently embraced diversity. Now they let in brunettes. Their one solid
attribute though, was that they’re fiercely loyal and protective of each other.
I didn’t expect to get much help.

I pushed the doorbell and heard a
five-chime gong play
Ode to Joy
. I waited and no one came. I pushed it
again, still nothing. I was about to try a third time when the door opened.

An Asian hottie opened the door and
said, “Yes.”
Diversity had come to sorority row after all.
The little
thing was a real babe. Short with her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail
she was wearing a UCF football tee shirt and sweat pants. Despite her casual
dress, she was a knock out.

“I’d like to talk to someone about
Jennifer Summers and Hannah London. Is there any one here who knew them?”

“We all knew Jenn, but Hannah is
here. Do you want to talk to her?”

“Where I can find her?”

“Who are you? You don’t look like
her dad.”

I pulled out my credential case
with a laminated copy of my PI ticket and my driver’s license and showed it to
the little dish.