Authors: Bill Myers
“But I was lucky. I got out with my pension, my health, and my sanity. And Jean stayed with me. I'm very thankful for that.”
Jean gave Jack a hug, “Let's head back. It's getting dark. I'm getting hungry.”
We followed the boardwalk back through the cypress trees. Then followed the gravel trail past Manatee Springs. From there we walked back toward our camp sites.
“I'm in loop A. Where are you guys parked?”
“We're in loop A, too. Close to the restrooms. You want to come over and plan out tomorrow's route?”
“Jack, I don't want to impose. But I'd like to talk to you about a Boston police investigation. It might involve my motorhome. Might even be related to the attempted break-in of yours.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“No, I'm serious. It might not be anything, but a Detective Kerber from Boston is investigating a murder that happened this past Friday. And there might be a connection to your motorhome as well as mine.”
Jack looked at me. “Let's talk about this before we eat dinner. I want to know the details.”
“OK. But let's go to the campsite first. It'll be easier to explain there.”
Jean looked at me shaking her head. “You've done it now. He's going to go into detective mode. It'll be hard to get him out of it.
“But if this does involve the police, Jack's the man you want on your side.”
Jack was leading the way, “Come on you two, can't you walk any faster?”
Jean looked at me, “I warned you.”
39
When we got to my campsite, Bob was crying at the window.
Jean heard him. “Is that the cat I've been hearing so much about?”
“That's him. And it sounds like he's out of food. Or annoyed I've left him in there alone.”
“I guess I need to go check on him before he wakes up the other campers.”
Jean walked to the window, “If you don't mind, I'd love to meet him. We had a cat for years, and I still miss her to this day. Maybe he just needs to be held.”
“Good luck with that. He doesn't seem to be the holding kind of cat. But you're welcome to go in and meet him. Just be careful when you open the door. I don't want him to get out.”
“You'll find his food and water in the bathroom. Make yourself at home.”
“His name is Bob. Mango Bob.”
I tapped on the driver door, and signaled Jean to enter via the side door. Mango Bob was still at the window on the other side of the coach and didn't try to escape when Jean opened the door.
Once Jean was inside, Bob quieted down. We could hear Jean talking to him in a soothing voice.
Jack smiled, “Jean loves cats. After her's passed away a few years back, I promised to get her another one. But never did. I always came up with an excuse about why it just wasn't the right time.
“Spending a little time with Mango Bob will be good for her.
“Now, tell me how you're involved in a Boston murder investigation. Start at the beginning. Don't leave anything out.”
I sat on a concrete bench near the picnic table. “Here's the story. The company I worked for was liquidating all their inventory. One of the things they needed to sell was this motorhome.
“Molly, the Human Resources manager, asked if I'd be interested in buying it. I wasn't sure, but eventually we worked out a deal.
“I paid cash, and own it free and clear. I have the bill of sale, and the title is in my name.
“The day I purchased the motorhome, Molly got a call from Harvey Tucker. He worked at corporate headquarters in Boston and wanted to know if the motorhome had been sold.
“When Molly told him it had been sold, he asked if she knew where it was parked. He mentioned he may have left something in it, and wanted to retrieve it.
“Anyway, Molly told Tucker I was the one who bought it and that I was camping at Toad Suck Park. She asked if he wanted my phone number. He said no.
That night, your motorhome, which looks exactly like mine, was broken into.
“The next day, which was Friday, Tucker called Molly again. Wanted to know exactly where the motorhome was.
She'd already told me about Tucker's first call, and I had asked her to tell him I was on the road somewhere, not to give my location.
“The next morning, which was Saturday, Molly got a call from a detective Kerber of the Boston Police Department.
“He wanted to know why Tucker had called Molly.
“Kerber told her that Tucker had been murdered the night before and they were checking his recent phone calls.
“Molly told Kerber the calls were about the motorhome.”
“That's all I know.”
Jack was silent for a minute, then asked, “Did you speak to the Boston detective?”
“No, I only spoke to Molly. She's the one who arranged to sell me the motorhome.
“She's also the sister of the woman I'll be delivering Bob to, down in Englewood.”
Jack, in detective mode, “I have to ask this. Are you telling me everything? Is there anything you've left out?”
“There is one more thing.
“Saturday, when driving through Mississippi, two guys tried to carjack me. They waved me over, pulled a gun and tried to take the motorhome.
“Wait. Are you telling me that you were held at gun-point on Saturday? While driving down here? And you didn't mention it before?”
“I promised Maybelle, the grandmother who was riding with me, that I'd keep it a secret.”
“And why is that? Why did she want to keep it a secret?”
“Well, she used a police issue taser to subdue the gunman. And she didn't want her son, who is a deputy sheriff, to find out about it.”
Jack thought for a minute, “So someone tries to break into my motorhome Thursday night. Then someone tries to steal yours on Saturday, and in between, the last person to drive your motorhome is murdered?”
“Walker, Is there anything in your motorhome you don't want me to see or know about?”
“No, why?”
“Because I think it might be a good idea to search it to make sure there isn't something inside related to my break-in, the carjacking attempt, and Tucker's murder.
“But first, I want to call a friend in Boston and see what I can find out.
“And before I do that, I want to be straight with you. If I find out you're involved in criminal activity, or are on the run from the law, or have warrants, I'm going to turn you in. Got it?”
“Jack, I'm squeaky clean. Never even had a parking ticket.”
“So, you wouldn't mind me seeing your driver's license? Just to do a background check?”
“Jack, I have nothing to hide. My driver's license is inside. I'll go get it.”
I walked to the front of the motorhome and looked through the windshield to see if I could see Bob.
Jean was sitting on the floor and Bob was in her lap. Jean was petting him slowly, and even from outside I could hear his purring.
I moved to the driver's door, slowly opened it, reached in and got my wallet.
Jean looked up, “He's in detective mode?”
“Yeah, full bore. But I don't mind. I appreciate his help.”
I gently closed the door, not wanting to disturb Bob.
I walked back to Jack and handed him my driver's license. “Here you go. And if it would help, I've got an insurance card with the motorhome VIN on it.”
Jack looked at me, “Most people wouldn't give up their driver's license so easily. I appreciate it. And having the VIN will help.”
I gave him the insurance card.
Jack pointed over his shoulder. “My phone is back in my motorhome. You stay here with Jean. I'm going to make a few calls. Be back in ten minutes.”
Jack took off toward his RV. A man on a mission. I stayed outside, listening to Jean talk softly to Bob.
40
From inside the coach, “Walker? What's the story with Bob's tail?”
“Jean, I was told he was born that way. No tail. Just the little stub where his tail's supposed to be. Makes him look like a bobcat.”
“He sure is a good looking cat. Big too. He must weigh around twenty five pounds.”
“Yeah, he's big alright. Like a small dog. But with sharp claws.”
“Has he been any trouble?”
“Not really. He likes to sound off in the middle of the night before he uses the litter box. But other than that, he's been real good. “
“Well, he sure likes being petted. He's in here purring up a storm.”
Jean was right. Mango Bob was a pretty good cat. Except for that one escape attempt.
Jack returned ten minutes later, speaking to someone on his phone. “Yeah, I know. Office politics. Okay, if I find out anything here I'll let you know.”
Jack looked up, “Boston says the murder looks like a professional hit. No prints, no shell casings, no sign of forced entry.
“Right now, they don't know if there is a connection between the murder and your motorhome. All they know is Tucker seemed to be very interested in it the day before he was murdered.
“Their budget doesn't allow them to send someone down here. And even if it did, there's no probable cause to get a search warrant.
“So as far as they're concerned, the motorhome is not related to the murder.”
“But I'm not buying it. The fact that someone tried to break into my motorhome which looks exactly like yours, and then someone tries to steal yours, smells bad.
“Somebody was looking for something. They thought they were looking in your rig, not mine. They didn't find it, because they looked in the wrong one.
“Then they sent muscle with guns to get the right coach. And because of a little old lady, they failed.
“So whatever they wanted is probably still there. And they probably still want it.”
I nodded, “So what do we do?”
Jack came closer, “Here's your license and insurance card. You checked out clean. No record, no warrants, nothing. Interesting military service. Awarded a few medals, honorable discharge.”
I didn't respond.
“The motorhome also checked out. Registered in your name. No liens against it.”
Jack pointed at the Love Bus, “If this were my investigation, I'd get a search warrant and search your motorhome. Starting with that locked door we found in the utility compartment.
“But since I'm no longer a detective, and since the Boston PD hasn't linked your coach to the murder, there won't be a search warrant.”
I shook my head, “Jack, you don't need a warrant. I give you my permission to search. Just promise you won't let Bob escape.
“If he gets out and gets lost, I'll be in big trouble.”
Jack laughed, “Don't worry about that cat. We'll get Jean to babysit him while we do our search.
“And if my hunch is correct, we won't need to go inside where Bob is. We'll probably find what we're looking for in that outside compartment.”
Jack rubbed his hands, “Before we get started, we're going to need a flashlight, some zip lock bags, some plastic gloves.”
He looked at me, “I'm guessing you don't have any of those things?”
I laughed, “I've got a flashlight. That's about it.”
“That's OK. I've got baggies and gloves in my coach. I'll let Jean know what's going on, then I'll go get my kit.”
Jack spoke to Jean through the open window, “Going to get a few things, be right back.”
Jean raised her voice, “Just hold on there a minute.
“What about dinner? I'm getting hungry. Walker is probably hungry too. Don't leave me here starving while you play detective!”
Jack sighed, “What if I bring back some microwave dinners? We can cook them here. If that's okay with Walker.”
I nodded, “Yeah, that sounds good. But all I've got is bottled water. If you want something stronger to drink, bring it.”
“Water is fine. I'll be right back.”
As Jack walked away, Jean said. “See what I mean by detective mode? He gets his mind focused on solving a crime, and everything else takes second place.
“I hope we're not imposing on you by eating in your coach.”
“Not at all. I enjoy the company. And it looks like Bob is enjoying your company as well.”
Jean was still stroking Bob, “He's a real sweetie. He likes it when I rub his ears. He even let me rub his belly.
“I think he'd let me do this all night long."
I said, “Yeah, if I could find someone to rub my belly, I might let them do it all night too.”
Jean laughed, “That's the kind of thinking that can get you into woman trouble. Just ask Bob.”
41
Jack returned with his crime fighting kit in one hand, a shopping bag full of food in the other.
Jean looked up, “Food! Finally! Hand it to me, I'll get it ready.”
As Jean prepared our dinner, Jack and I went to the utility compartment on the back side of the coach and unlocked it.