Fallen Out: Jesse McDermitt Series, The Beginning (14 page)

With the coming of December, I became more and more cranky, spending lots of time up on my island away from people. It happened every year, when I thought back on Christmases in the past. When I was little, it was a big deal around our house and my parents always made sure I received a lot of gifts. Dad was killed in Vietnam just six weeks after Christmas during the Tet Offensive, in ‘68. I was almost 8 years old. My mom couldn’t cope with it and committed suicide a few months later. I went to live with my grandparents, my dad’s parents, but Christmas was never the same. Until I had kids of my own.

My two daughters live with their mom, up in
Virginia now. We divorced in 1990, when I volunteered for yet another dangerous mission. I hadn’t seen my daughters in eight years and around this time of year, I missed them terribly. My ex filled their heads with lies about me and none of them wanted anything to do with me. Maybe one day I could see them again and maybe prove to them I wasn’t some kind of mindless killer, like their mom told them.

Christmas came and went, as did winter. Winters in the Keys aren’t as bad as Dan made out. Some days the high would only be in the low sixties, even dipping into the fifties once or twice, with lows in the forties at night.

By spring, the tourists started to thin out and the real fishermen were coming down. We kept very busy, but I still limited it to only three charters a week. Jimmy didn’t have a problem with that. He and Angie bought a houseboat and lived three slips down from me. His commute to work was about thirty steps.

As the ocean warmed, we started doing more dive charters and less fishing. Our reputation as the dive boat
to charter for underwater photographers grew and by May, the end of my second year as a charter Captain, we were booked with photographers all the way through the start of lobster season. Jimmy and I agreed to skip charters for Sportsman Weekend, the two day lobster season for sport divers.

Earl Hailey seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. A lot of people thought he was nothing more than gator droppings in the mud of the Everglades. The authorities came up completely empty during their month long search
right after the wreck. Helicopters flew over the ‘Glades daily, check points were set up on US-1 and Card Sound Road, coming into the Keys, as well as every major road leading out of the ‘Glades. After a month, they gave up, coming to the same conclusion as everyone else. Earl died in the swamp.

The
last Saturday in May found me at the
Anchor
, where Rusty and Julie were discussing throwing a party to celebrate the anniversary of my second year in the Keys. He wanted to make it a theme party. The theme being the Shellback ritual that Sailors and Marines have had to endure for centuries, when crossing the equator aboard a warship.

“Rusty,” I said, “I did that almost twenty years ago. There’s no chance of me voluntarily going through that again.”

“Aw, come on, Uncle Jesse,” Julie said. “It sounds like it’d be a lot of fun.” I’d given up trying to get her to drop the uncle bit. “Besides, you’d look good in a dress.” She said the last while trying to suppress a laugh.

“Did your dad describe the
initiation?” I asked her, then turned to Rusty and said, “I know that even though he’s a slimy Wog, he’s heard about it.”

“That hurts, bro,” Rusty said with mocked indignation. “I was supposed to sail with you that month. It wasn’t my fault I broke my leg in a HALO jump.”

“A party? Sure,” I said. “Not that we ever need an excuse around here to party. But, nothing even resembling a line crossing.”

So the theme for the party was simply a party and it was scheduled for the following Saturday. Dan had arrived back in town two weeks earlier, tanned and happy, and agreed to play two sets for free beer.

The day of the party I woke early and as usual, took a thermos up to the bridge to watch the sunrise.
Aaron was watering plants outside the back of the bar and walked over when he saw me.

“Morning, Jesse,” he said as he approached.

“Hey Aaron, grab a mug from the galley and come on up.”

“Thanks, I will.” He disappeared into the salon and climbed up a moment later.

After pouring from the thermos, I said, “You’re up and about early. Sun’s not even up yet.”

“I was actually killing time until I saw you.”

“What’s up?”

“
Were you able to catch the news last night, or this morning?”

“I hardly ever watch TV,” I replied.

“Earl Hailey was spotted yesterday.”

That got my attention. “Oh yeah? Where?”

“Robbed a liquor store up in Fort Myers. That’s where you’re from isn’t it?”

Fort Myers? Could he be looking for me there?
“Yeah,” I replied. “Originally, anyway. Haven’t lived there for over twenty years.”

“That’s what I thought. But, I remember watching the news from the trial and when they put your picture on the screen, it said you were from Fort Myers.”

“My driver’s license! Damn, I’ve been meaning to get it renewed with my address here for two years now.”

“If you haven’t lived there for twenty years, why does your license have that address?”

“I kept my Florida license while I was in the Corps and used my grandparents address.”

“You think he’s in Fort Myers looking for you?” he asked. “You were the Prosecution’s star witness.”

I considered that. His last words to me, when Rusty and I stranded him and his buddies was ‘One of these days. When you least expect it.’

“I need to make a phone call,” I said, as I started down the ladder.

“Here,” Aaron said. “Use my cell phone.”

I stopped and sat back down. Taking his phone, I said, “Maybe I should get one of these.” I dialed Directory Assistance and got the non-emergency number for the Lee County Sheriff’s Office. When the duty officer answered, I gave him the address and asked if there’d been any report there of any kind of disturbance.

He put me on hold and after a minute another voice came on, “This is Detective Peter Dietrich, who is this?”

“Hi Detective,” I said. “My name’s
Jesse McDermitt. I gave an address to…”

“Yes, Mister McDermitt, he gave me the information. What do you know about the incident?”

“That’s why I’m calling, Detective. What happened at that address?”

“What’s your interest?”

“I used to live there,” I replied. “The house once belonged to my grandparents.”

“There hasn’t been any release to the media. How do you know something happened there?”

“I don’t,” I said, starting to get angry.

“Are you currently living in Lee County? Can you come in and talk to me?”

“No,” I replied. “I live in Marathon. What happened there?”

“I really need you to drive up here, Mister McDermitt.”

“I can be there in less than four hours,” I said finally, knowing I wasn’t going to get anywhere over the phone.

“
Less than four hours? It’s a good 250 miles.”

“
You know where Marina Towers is on Edisto Boulevard?”

“I know it, yeah,” he replied.

“Can you pick me up there? I don’t trust my truck to get to the corner store.”

“How will I know you?” he asked.

“I’ll tie up at the fuel dock in a 45 foot Rampage named
Gaspar’s Revenge
. A Marine flag will be flying from the bridge.”

“About 1100 then?” he asked.

I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only 0630. “Maybe a little before then. I’ll see you there.” I closed the phone without waiting for a response and handed it back to Aaron. “Do me a favor?” I asked him.

“Sure,” Aaron replied. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet. The Detective I was talking to thinks I might know something about something that happened at the house I used to live at, but wouldn’t say. I’m going up to meet him. Would you knock on Jimmy and Angie’s hatch and let him know I’m leaving in five minutes and could use some company?”

He thanked me for the coffee and as he climbed down, I started up the big diesels. It only took me a couple of minutes to get the lines untied and was just stepping aboard when Jimmy came trotting down the dock. By the time he got aboard
, I was on the bridge. I put the engines in gear and was pulling away from the dock by the time he climbed up to the bridge.

“What’s going on, Skipper?”

“We’re going up to Bonita Springs. Something happened up there that might have something to do with Earl Hailey and a Detective up there wants to talk to me.”

We idled slowly toward the old Highway 931
Bridge, passing between the two piers that were left of it and on out into open water. I brought the
Revenge
up on plane, heading west-southwest toward the markers for Moser Channel. A few minutes later, I turned north around Pigeon Key and went under the high arch of the Seven Mile Bridge. Once clear of the bridge, I made a heading of 320 degrees and pulled up Big Carlos Pass, the entrance to Estero Bay, where Marina Towers was located. Once I engaged the auto-pilot, I pushed the throttles on up to forty knots. That would put us there in three and a half hours.

“Mas café, por favor,” I said.

“Hey!” Jimmy exclaimed. “You’re picking up the lingo, man. That’s good.”

“Just the essentials so far. I can also order una cerveza, but it’s too early for that.”

“It’s a start,” he said. “Be back in a sec.”

He took my thermos and climbed down the ladder. I switched on the intercom and said, “Grab some fruit too, I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

He came back up a few minutes later, with a huge bowl full of sliced mango, apples, grapes, and oranges. I kept our speed at 40 knots all the way to Carlos Pass and arrived there at 1130. Dropping down off plane, but still maintaining good headway through the pass. I idled toward the high span of the bridge. The charts showed it to be twenty-three feet and the
Revenge
was only thirteen feet. Once clear of the bridge, I swung wide around the shallows and approached Marina Tower from the northeast.

The Dockmaster
helped us tie off and I told him we’d be filling up and would be there hopefully for less than an hour, while I met with someone.

“It’s a slow day,” he said. “Once we get her filled, you can tie up just ahead there. No problem.”

The unmarked cruiser pulled into the parking lot on the south side of the towers just about the time the Dockmaster finished pumping the fuel. The Detective got out of the dark blue Ford sedan and seeing my boat, started walking toward the dock, looking around. Head on a swivel.

“You must be Detective Dietrich,” I said, when he was close enough to hear.

“Gunny McDermitt?”

“Ah, you did a little background,” I replied.

“Served with 2/4 many years ago,” he said. “Can we talk inside your boat?”

“Sure, come aboard.” Turning to Jimmy I handed him several hundred dollar bills and said, “Pay the Dockmaster, Jimmy. Then see if you can scare us up a couple of burgers.”

He took the hint, knowing there was plenty of food on board and sauntered off toward the marina office.

Dietrich and I went into the salon, where he whistled. “Not quite what I expected on a fishing boat.”

“Want some coffee?” I asked.

“Sure,” he replied.

As I was pouring he said, “I found where you once lived in the house you were asking about. I also found that you were the primary witness in the case against one Earl Hailey, who among other things is now wanted in connection with a liquor store robbery two days ago, here in Fort Myers.”

“What happened at the house?” I asked, handing him the mug.

“It hasn’t been released to the press, so this is confidential. I did a little more digging and found that you’re very aware of what that means, Gunny.” He sat down at the settee and continued. “An elderly couple lived in the house you grew up in. William and Jane Snodgrass. Three days ago, there was a home invasion. They were both brutally murdered.”

I sat down on the other side of the settee, cupping my coffee mug in bo
th hands and staring into it. “Will and Jane were close friends of my grandparents,” I finally growled. “I sold them the house after Pap died. They’d always admired it.”

“Yes, I know that
now. My condolences. Based on the fact that you once lived there and your driver’s license and other documents still list that as your primary residence, it’s an easy conclusion that Hailey went there expecting to find you. To get even.”

“And people say you Detectives aren’t very perceptive.”

“Look, Gunny. Let the Police handle this. We’ll find Hailey. We don’t need you getting in the way. You understand?”

“Every cop in south Florida was looking for him a few months ago and couldn’t find him,” I said. “And that was after he killed one of your own.”

He winced slightly at that. “We have some leads. We’re going to catch him.”