Killing The Blood Cleaner (9 page)

THIRTEEN

Jorge Cantos sat in the backseat of Major Knowles’ unmarked police van and from time to time slipped his hand into his pocket to make sure the $5,000 package of bills was still there. His other hand clutched a cup of coffee which had been provided by the Major.

“You doing okay back there Jorge?” the Major asked as he turned the ignition to the van. “Don’t spill the coffee I gave you. It is expensive. The Sheriff and I insist on fresh ground coffee with spring water. None of this instant crap,” he continued. Jorge understood most of what the Major said and continued to sip on the coffee, thinking to himself that it was surprisingly good, but contained some slight aftertaste that he could not quite identify. “I’m going to drop you off at the Bus Station. You’ve got plenty of money and you can go wherever you want since you are a U.S. citizen. You still have your passport, right?” the Major continued in a friendly manner.

“I don’t think $5,000 is enough for being the bait in this game. The Captain knows I have problems with my heart. He took away my medicine and made me get drunk so he could pretend he was helping a sick person. I was really sick though. This business could have killed me. I’m not going back on that boat,” Jorge replied. “I bet you got a lot of money for the drugs and I only got $5,000,” he continued foolishly.

“That would be something you need to take up with the Captain. We are just doing what was agreed on. You’ve got your money and we are turning you loose. I’m assuming you don’t want to spend any more time in our jail,” the Major said as he pulled in front of the Lanier Bus Station. He parked the van and stepped around the back to open the door for his prisoner. “Let’s go, Jorge. I’m going to personally escort you into this Bus Station. After that, you’re on your own.” Jorge scrambled out of the van, tossing his empty coffee cup onto the floor. The Major marched him through the front door of the Bus Station. The cashier and several of the passengers seated on the ancient wooden benches stared at this police escorted arrival. A security camera behind the cashier recorded the scene for posterity.

“Here you are, Jorge. You can go anywhere you want. I would suggest that there are better places for you than Ossabaw County,” the Major announced loudly to the onlookers and security camera. Jorge looked up at the bus schedules which were written in chalk on a large blackboard next to the cashier’s window. Major Knowles returned to his police van where he completed a report indicating that Inmate Cantos had been released and personally delivered to the Lanier Bus Station. Major Knowles then sat back for a few minutes and waited. The Major smiled as he watched Jorge leave the bus station, survey the street briefly and then head directly toward the “Ossabaw Crab House,” which was the only bar in the vicinity. As Jorge entered the bar, the Major dialed a number on his cell phone.

“Jimmy, here’s your man. When he starts drinking some alcohol he is going to start feeling mighty sleepy. Some friends of his will be coming to pick him up. Make sure you remember how glad he was to see them. You’re also welcome to the $5,000 in his right front pocket,” the Major stated.

Inside the bar, the burly, white bartender watched Jorge enter and take his place at a table near the window, waving rudely for immediate service. “I will take care of it,” the bartender said softly into his cell phone as he picked up a menu and approached Jorge’s table. The bartender nodded as Jorge ordered a double tequila and shrimp fritters. These were soon produced, with Jorge rapidly downing the tequila and demanding another, which was again quickly delivered by the bartender.

The bar was empty at this time of day, except for Jorge and the bartender. Jorge enjoyed his tequila along with the occasional shrimp fritter. Slowly, he felt a warm sleepiness come over him. He took another slug of the tequila and bit off half of a fritter as he settled back into the comfortable chair. The country music of the juke box soothed him. Soon his eyes were closed and he was snoring loudly. He did not notice either the gentle shake by the bartender or the hand slipping into his right pocket and removing the package of bills. The bartender stood briefly at the window and gave a slight wave.

In about two minutes a white sedan pulled in front of the bar and disgorged three large Latino men wearing sunglasses. One of them looked back with a slight nod to the police van parked down the street in front of the bus station. It took only a minute or two for them to enter the bar and to retrieve Jorge, who was picked up by two of the men. They deposited him into the back of the car which then slowly left the town square.

Major Knowles waited until the car had left the square and then turned the ignition to his police van. He listened with interest to the radio which announced a code 10–54, indicating a deer carcass on a nearby road. Without responding by radio, he headed toward the site of the carcass which he found at the side of a quiet residential street. The Major quickly picked up the small, freshly killed fawn which was still slightly twitching and placed it in the back of the van, making sure there were no observers.

The Major drove for about three miles to the highway and turned left on a sandy, dirt road marked by a rusting metal street sign identifying it as, “Marsh View Court.” He drove a few hundred yards down the road, past a well-maintained yard with a white picket fence, adorned with flowers and clipped bushes. Under an old oak tree, laden with Spanish moss was a shining and new mobile home which sported a green striped canvas canopy over an enclosed porch overlooking the marsh. He noted that Cindy’s truck was parked in the driveway as he took his police van through the roundabout at the end of the street and returned out onto the highway. He then drove toward Sea Island, carefully noting the cross streets and major intersections all the way to within sight of the Sea Island gate. He then turned around and repeated his previous journey in reverse. Once he got to the Ossabaw County line he proceeded more slowly and made some notes as to the cross streets and intersections. Some of these areas he recalled as particularly dangerous. Two of them had curves which were marked with small crosses and artificial flowers in remembrance of persons who had been killed in wrecks at those locations. He stopped his van and pulled over to the side of one of these locations. It was within a mile of Cindy’s residence. He recalled one of the fatal wrecks which had occurred when a driver had been going too fast for the curve on a rainy night, lost control and slid into the massive stone outcropping on the side of the road. The Major exited his van and examined the faint skid marks from six months ago. He measured, in paces, the number of his strides from the first skid mark on the road to where the auto had left the road and careened toward the rock. He pulled a small pad from his pocket and made a note of the number of his strides and made a small diagram of the length and number of the skid marks. He then took a broad, careful look around the area and after putting his pad back in his pocket, returned to the van and drove away, satisfied with his calculations.

Major Knowles pulled the van into the parking lot at the Main Jail of Ossabaw County. He took the side entrance to the Administrative Offices in order to avoid the throng of persons who are always waiting at the front entry either to obtain news concerning the incarceration of a family member or friend or to await the imminent release of an inmate. It was a Saturday and the Administrative Offices were officially closed. He opened the door with a key and stepped inside. These offices were fresh and comfortable as compared to the dingy and dilapidated main entrance to the jail. The floor was tan ceramic tile which was waxed to a shiny brightness. In the waiting room was a new and comfortable red leather couch along with two similar arm chairs for visitors. In front of the couch was an intricately carved, mahogany coffee table with numerous local magazines, along with the Sheriff’s own glossy publication, “Sheriff’s Catch-Ossabaw,” which had a picture on its cover of a smiling white Deputy watching over a group of happy black children on a playground. There was a modern, teak desk behind which sat, during office hours, a very pleasant, older black receptionist who had worked for the Sheriff for over ten years. On the wall behind the desk was a large oil portrait of the Sheriff beaming warmly, his ample gray hair preened like a mane. On another wall was a slightly smaller, portrait grade, color photograph of Major Knowles with a somewhat more stern visage.

On one side of the waiting room were the doors to three offices. The middle office had an elaborate double oak door and large gold letters, stating “Sheriff Roger Odum.” To the right was an equally impressive oak doorway with its own gold lettering, stating “Major Ross Knowles.” The doorway on the left was a more modest, white, wooden door which stated in black letters, “Cindy Jessup, Assistant Director.” Major Knowles unlocked his door with a careful glance to make sure he was alone. His desk was strewn with papers and on the far wall was a reinforced black metal door which was marked in large red letters, “Evidence Room, Authorized Persons Only.” He unlocked the door to the evidence room with a key and a few taps on a code pad and walked inside. There was a small desk and computer with numerous locked cabinets taking up most of one wall.

The computer and monitor were on, but locked electronically. Major Knowles entered his user ID and password and the computer unlocked and presented him with an array of programs, one of which was blinking. He clicked on the blinking program to hear a replay of Cindy’s recent telephone conversation with Fitz Davis. He clenched his fist slightly as he listened, and then turned to open one of the locked cabinets. In the cabinet was a piece of tire tread about a foot long. On the back of the tread was an adhesive marker identifying the tread by manufacturer, with the date, name and case number of the accident in question. He also removed from the cabinet a stencil of an irregular rectangle which was slightly longer than a foot, and a can of black spray paint. Unlocking another cabinet he pulled out a large yellow rock, about twice as large as a brick. He removed the white adhesive marker which identified the rock as evidence in, “Jodi Simpson fatality, Case 02467, Highway 189” and tossed the marker back into the cabinet. He put all of these items into a large canvas bag and zipped it closed.

The Major then reached for his cell phone and pressed an icon on the small screen. The screen noted, “Confidential Encoded Communication,” as he dialed the Sheriff’s secure cell phone number and the screen noted, “Confidential Communication Engaged.” It only took a few rings for the Sheriff to pick up. “I’ve got things set up. She is coming back here with that doctor friend of hers tonight. They will be over at Marsh Tide Lounge. She has told Davis she is going to be handing that thumb drive over to one of his folks wearing a red sweater. That will not be happening and I’ll pick up the thumb drive from their accident on the way to her trailer. I’ve got his car tagged for the satellite and you know how many folks slide off the road at the curve on Highway 189 and go into the rocks. It may be a little slick there tonight and I’m sure I’ll be able to get pictures of some tire tracks that will show him going mighty fast. The pictures may be a little blurry, but they will be clear enough to show a tire just like the ones on his Mercedes to any expert that looks at it. Since that little stretch of road is scheduled for some emergency pothole work tomorrow my pictures will be the only evidence of those skids, and anything slippery that may have been on the road will be paved over. I also expect the doctor’s and Cindy’s blood work will show some cocaine and Ecstasy along with plenty of alcohol. In the accident, Cindy’s head will also probably come in contact with one of the rocks in that formation, just like that other girl did six months ago,” the Major carefully stated.

“Damn Cindy’s ass. I wish this weren’t necessary. And I can’t believe Fitz Davis’ superspy drop off with a red sweater in the heat of summer, no less. Why didn’t he just send a Trooper over there to pick it up? Or go over there himself? Did he think we would try to stop them?” the Sheriff replied.

“He offered to do just that. And the red sweater nonsense is Cindy’s also. Maybe she is snorting our product. But it sounds like Cindy is playing some kind of game with him. I think she’s planning on keeping her money and getting some kind of immunity. I imagine she has no intention of turning over that thumb drive tonight. She thinks she is smart enough to play him for a concrete deal. She also doesn’t think we’re on to her and she may be planning on using some of those passwords to the accounts herself and then disappear. I know she has to have a big pile of cash somewhere because she sure hasn’t been spending it,” Major Knowles said.

“If Fitz Davis knows about the thumb drive, isn’t it going to look pretty suspicious if she has a car accident?” the Sheriff asked.

“Of course, but we really don’t have a choice. We know what is on that thing and he doesn’t. For all he knows, Cindy could be bullshitting him. Also, when this night is over, even Fitz Davis is going to think that fool doctor croaked her,” the Major continued.

“I guess you’re right. Just make sure it looks good,” the Sheriff said with resignation. “At least it will come down in Ossabaw County.”

FOURTEEN

Jack checked himself briefly in the rearview mirror as he turned the ignition and let down the top of his Mercedes. He nodded slightly with approval at the view of himself and his white dinner jacket and red silk bow tie. A patterned, red silk handkerchief which had been appropriately crumpled peeked out of his jacket pocket. He adjusted his sunglasses and was on his way.

He waved to the guard as he left Sea Island and accelerated out on the causeway toward St. Simons. In a few minutes he was on the new “hurricane proof” bridge which connected St. Simons to the mainland. He looked down at the water a great distance below and thought to himself that it would take quite a hurricane hitting at high tide to get water over this bridge.

Soon he was outside of Brunswick and on his way to the town of Lanier which was the County Seat of Ossabaw County. The road wound around the fabled marshes of Glynn, its curves caused by the road following the natural path of higher ground above the marsh. Jack inhaled the warm salty smell of the marsh and watched groups of pelicans swooping down into the rivers and inlets picking up a fine dinner of shrimp and small mullet. In about thirty minutes he was at the town square of Lanier. He drove slowly past the gray granite Confederate Memorial which was in the center of the square, surrounded by benches and topped by a Confederate flag. There was little traffic around the square with all the businesses except for the Ossabaw Crab House being closed, with most of them boarded up with “For Sale” signs nailed to the plywood. There were five cars in the spaces in front of the Ossabaw Crab House and its several neon signs flashed invitingly. Jack paused for a moment to check the directions Cindy had given him.

Once outside the town Jack speeded up and soon was on Georgia Highway 189 and in the countryside which consisted of marshes interspersed with mounds of higher ground, each of which supported at least one large and ancient oak tree, heavily laden with Spanish moss. At one particularly sharp curve, constructed to take advantage of a ridge of higher ground above the marsh, Jack briefly noticed a small white cross with several weathered plastic flowers attached, planted at the base of a large outcropping of yellow rock. He sped past as Cindy had instructed him that the dirt road which led to her trailer was one mile up the road on the right.

Jack slowed his car as he saw the weathered metal sign for Marsh View Court. He slowly made the turn and began to look for Cindy’s trailer. To his surprise, on the left was an attractively manicured lawn with well cultivated flowers and neatly trimmed bushes all surrounded by a freshly painted, white picket fence. The trailer itself was new and shiny and sported a green and white striped canvas awning as part of a screened porch which overlooked the marsh. On each side of the trailer were two huge Magnolia trees. Cindy’s red truck was parked near the trailer in the driveway which was made of crushed oyster shells.

As he pulled into the driveway to park behind her truck, the front door opened and Cindy waved to him. “I see you found it,” she said. “I was afraid that you would get lost all this way out in the country.”

“Cindy, if this is trailer living I’m impressed. What a pretty spot,” Jack said as he walked toward the door. Rocco the greyhound shot past her and headed straight to Jack. In just a second the dog had covered the distance between them and was eagerly licking Jack’s hand. “So this is Rocco the race dog?” Jack said, patting the dog on the head as they both walked toward the door. “You make me miss my old greyhound, Polly.”

Jack looked at Cindy as she stood in the doorway and was again surprised at how gorgeous she looked in her crisp, white, linen dress. “Cindy, you look so great in that dress. And those platform heel knockoffs you must’ve gotten at the dollar store could fool anybody in Atlanta,” he said admiringly.

Cindy tossed her red hair and motioned him into the trailer. “Everything about me is totally genuine, including these shoes,” she replied, her authentic and tanned breasts amply filling the top of the linen dress.

“How about that designer solid gold necklace?” Jack said, looking more at the tanned bosoms than the necklace.

“All right. That is genuine costume. I bought it from a street vendor in Savannah. It does look real though,” she replied, knowing that she could not admit to owning an eight thousand dollar necklace. “How do you know about all this women’s stuff?”

“I have two sisters and have had several very expensive girlfriends,” Jack said, thinking to himself about Annabelle’s array of treasures, as he and the dog entered the trailer.

“Okay, I’m ready for my drink and the trailer tour,” Jack said as he looked around the interior of the trailer. “You know, this is really very nice. It reminds me of a really large boat,” he continued as he ran his hand across the green granite countertops in the kitchen.

“This is my kitchen and little dining area. It is like a boat galley, and very efficient,” she said as she pointed to the gleaming stainless steel appliances. “I’ve got two ovens, a cook top, a big refrigerator and freezer, and microwave,” she said as she continued to lead the way. “This is my living room. I bought that oriental rug at a garage sale,” she continued, fibbing about the origin of the rug.

Jack moved into the living area followed by the dog. A couch tastefully upholstered in light green linen was at the edge of the oriental rug, flanked by a classic armchair. The couch and chair faced a huge plasma television screen mounted on the opposite wall.

“Most people who live in trailers don’t have signed Heriz antique oriental rugs,” Jack said looking at the rug closely and running his fingers over the weaver’s Arabic signature woven into the carpet. “And these Angela Loach oil paintings of the marsh sell for about twelve thousand each, over at the Cloister Gallery,” he continued, pointing to the large, detailed oil painting on the wall above the couch.

“I see you’re not only an expert on women’s accessories, but you also know oriental rugs and art. Angela’s brother got into a little trouble several years ago. I mentioned it to the Sheriff, and somehow it all got worked out. She gave me that painting for Christmas three years ago,” Cindy said as she opened the door to the porch, continuing the tour.

“Wow, the view of the marsh goes on forever. This kind of view on Sea Island would cost millions,” Jack said as he entered the porch and looked out at the expanse of marsh. “Look at those two porpoises out there, running the mullet in the river. No wonder Sidney Lanier used to write poems about this,” he continued with a sweeping gesture.

“You make yourself at home and I will get you a nice Planters Punch,” Cindy said as Jack sat in one of the white lacquered, antique rattan chairs and continued his enjoyment of the marsh view. Rocco the greyhound nuzzled his head on Jack’s lap.

“Cindy, if that necklace were real I would be pretty sure you are in the drug business after having seen the layout of this place,” Jack called to her as she headed for the kitchen.

“Well I’m not. Besides, nobody around here knows anything about this stuff. You’re the first person I’ve ever had over here who had a clue,” she said as she returned with two potent rum punches in tall, icy, cut crystal glasses.

“You mean the good old boys that you and Danielle ordinarily pick up at the Ossabaw County Sunday combination drag race and tractor pull, don’t know a Heriz from their ass?” he asked.

“No, but they can be kind of fun, as long as they don’t stick around here too long and don’t track in too much mud,” she said with a suggestive smile as she handed him his drink.

“To upscale country living!” Jack toasted, clicking his crystal glass to Cindy’s.

“Oh look! Here come the porpoises again,” Cindy exclaimed as she pointed out to the river which wound its way through the marsh, like a flat, black snake.

Jack looked and saw the two porpoises attacking a school of mullet, causing the fish to jump in all directions. They watched for several minutes as the porpoises devoured their dinner and then headed up the river to the ocean.

“There’s one area of the tour I haven’t seen and that is your bedroom. With all these quality furnishings, I hope that you will have at least some South Georgia décor in there,” Jack said as he sipped on his planters punch.

“I have redecorated it slightly to make sure you would not be disappointed,” Cindy said as she took his hand. They walked together back to the master bedroom. On the way, she pointed to a small bedroom which contained a single bed. “That’s the guest bedroom you will be occupying if you misbehave,” she said, pointing to the tiny single bed. Cindy then flipped the light switch as they entered the master bedroom. “How do you like it?” Cindy asked with a smile.

“Cindy, that is the finest Elvis as an Angel painting I have ever seen. I’m assuming it is painted on genuine black velvet,” Jack said, marveling at the large spotlighted painting and its massive gilded frame. “The classic pose without a shirt, and the wings discreetly poking out in the back, definitely put it in the category of rare art. I also like the brass, cat head, belt buckle.”

“I got it just for you. I wonder if the apple on the table, and the Bible in his hand have some mystic significance?” she said with a seductive smile as she ran her hand across his back.

“Everything about Elvis is mystic. I also think it goes well with the mirror,” Jack said as he noticed the tall gilded mirror mounted on the wall to the left of the bed. Feeling her fingers on his back he began to wonder whether dinner was really necessary. “I think that mirror is perfect and well-positioned,” he continued, running his hand across her tanned back. “I also see another shabby Oushak oriental rug on the floor here, and an antique English chest as your dresser. I am going to start attending these garage sales down here,” he continued as he turned to kiss her. She returned the kiss passionately and for a moment dinner was forgotten until Cindy lightly pushed him away.

“This is waiting for you Jack. But we don’t want to miss our dinner at the Cloister. I have been looking forward to it,” she said, running her hands strategically down his chest and back. Rocco the greyhound concurred with a low woof.

“All right. This little bit of foreplay will set the tone for the evening,” he said as she gently led him toward the door of the trailer. He glanced back with a smile and a sigh at Elvis and the gilded mirror.