Dead Storm Page 3

  Her eyes widened. “Me? Yeah. I’ll be fine.” The truth was she hadn’t even thought about it. If she didn’t hear back from Martin Marine before noon, she would need to take the boat downstream. Scot would kill her if anything happened to his baby.

  Ben winked. “Drive safe.”

  “You too.”

  Before he drove off, he said, “Oh, and if you ever need a quiet place to do paperwork, you can pull up inside my driveway. At the end I mean.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  “By the way do you have a disaster kit?”

  “A what?”

  He laughed. “City folk. Look, wait here a second.” Ben hopped out and went around to his trunk and returned with a crate in hand. He put it in the back of the truck then hopped back in his car. “A gallon of water, a blanket, a tarp, a manual can opener, a hand-cranked radio so you can get alerts from the NOAA weather radio station, a flashlight with batteries, a first-aid kid, meds, hand sanitizer and a local map. It’s not much but it will do the job.”

  She hadn’t thought about that. She came from New York where they rarely had to deal with such extreme weather except in the winter months. Sure, they got hit with the rain that came up from the south after a hurricane landfall but for the most part the concrete jungle protected them from the Sunshine State’s common challenge.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “I’ll be out of town soon enough. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  She got a sense that he genuinely meant that. Perhaps things were changing. It was said that it only took a few months for a person to forget the bad stuff and remember the good in a relationship. Maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

  “Thanks, Ben.”

  He peeled away, splashing dirty water up the side of her truck. Skylar brought the window up and blew out her cheeks. Why was it so hard to tell him what she felt? She closed her eyes for a second trying to center herself and switch gears into work mode.

  Captain Joe Davenport was on his third cup of coffee, and at his wits’ end. The Franklin County Sheriff’s Department was a hive of activity with phones ringing off the hook as the weather wreaked havoc on the town. He’d just got off the phone with the State Emergency Operations Center to discuss what was being done in light of the approaching storm. If the wind picked up above forty-five miles per hour their department was involved in closing off the bridges, and that came with its own set of challenges, as quite often angry locals and desperate tourists didn’t see the entire picture until later. But the department did, they had a hand in everything from helping to evacuate townsfolk through to ensuring looting didn’t occur. It was a dangerous and stressful time and dealing with a murder investigation only added fuel to the flames. He now had to make a phone call to the mayor to make sure that the response team was alerting people in certain areas of the town to a mandatory evacuation. In previous years, some residents thought it was voluntary and that had led to a loss of life. He refused to bear the burden of guilt.

  Reznik entered the office with a handful of paperwork.

  “What’s the update on Mr. Matthews?”

  “We managed to collect surveillance from a home across from the hotel. A white Ford van was seen exiting the lot around the time of the murder. We have a partial plate.”

  “Good work. And Reid. Where is she?”

  “Looking as if she was about to hit a nightclub.”

  “What?”

  He snickered. “Actually, I was going to ask. Is today casual Friday?”

  Davenport screwed up his face. “What on earth are you talking about, Reznik?”

  He waved him off. “Ah forget it,” he said breaking away and sitting at his desk.

  “Reznik, while you are looking into that be sure to answer the phones.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.”

  Inside the home of Ms. Matthews, Skylar sat on a couch looking at some framed photos of happier times. The two-story abode was set on fifteen-foot stilts to protect it against hurricane weather. Whether it would hold up was to be seen. It looked new. Brenda Matthews had held it together quite well when she delivered the news that her husband was dead. “More coffee?” she asked pouring herself another and then sitting across from her.

  “No, I’m good. Thank you. Did you recently move in here?”

  “Yes, Jason wanted a place by the water, though I’m thinking that might have been a bad idea now. I personally wanted to be near to my mother but he wouldn’t leave Port St. Joe. Oh no, this was where he was born and raised.”

  “Did he get along with your family?”

  She chuckled. “Not really. My father didn’t like the fact that he took me away from them when he was in the military. So after he left, he had a few run-ins with my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Ah, you know how family can be. Protective and whatnot. They felt he was a little heavy-handed at times. He had a few heated conversations with my father, and my brother stepped in. Things never got out of control but it didn’t help. He avoided going to family events. Never had a good word to say about my parents. I got used to it but I found living out here a little isolating. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful and the people I’ve met in town are lovely but I’m used to the city.”

  “City?”

  “Tallahassee.”

  Skylar gave a nod. “Ah.”

  “You ever lived in the city, detective?”

  “New York.”

  “Then you would understand.”

  “Yeah, small towns can be suffocating at times but on the other side of the coin, liberating.” It seemed like a contradiction but she had experienced both while living in Carrabelle. There were moments she longed for the buzz of a city that never slept, then there were moments when she looked out at the gulf waters and white sands and couldn’t imagine herself being anywhere else. She could see why Scot had decided to vacation here. The Forgotten Coast held a beauty that was unparalleled.

  Brenda took a deep breath. “So he was strangled, you said?”

  Skylar nodded, scanning her face, waiting for her to break and cry but she didn’t.

  She turned her wedding band around on her finger. Nerves. Regrets. Who knew what was going through her mind? “And you think this woman he met there had something to do with it?”

  “We don’t know right now. We are looking into it. I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on his background, reputation, maybe someone who had a grudge against him.”

  She rose without saying a word and went over to a shelving unit that was stacked with military books. She took a framed photo off a shelf and brought it over. “Jason was a platoon leader. Nineteen years in the service. He had an outstanding track record and had recently retired and had taken on some casual work at the military museum in Carrabelle.”

  “Camp Gordon Johnston Museum?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “That’s it.”

  “Any work issues?”

  “None. He loved it and they loved him.”

  It was a historical museum that contained artifacts from World War II. Skylar had driven past it many a time as it was located just off Highway 98.

  “Anyway, the reason we recently moved here from Tallahassee was because someone had graffitied our vehicle, and killed our dog at our last home. He thought moving here might help get away from it all. But beyond that. No. I don’t know of anyone in particular that might have had a problem with him.”

  “Did he ever contact the police over those incidents?”

  “He said he did but I never saw an officer show up.”

  “And what about the graffiti? What did it say?”

  “Humiliation.”

  “Humiliation?” Skylar asked.

  She nodded. Skylar thanked her and asked if she could look around. She just wanted to see if there was anything that stood out. Brenda let her browse through his laptop. There were no emails, nothing in his history or files that would ind
icate he had any problems. Then again, he might have deleted it. “We’ll need to take this to have one of our guys look it over.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I should pack soon. With the storm coming I’m heading up to my mother’s. Will that be a problem?”

  “No. Should be okay. If we have any questions, is there a number you can be reached at?”

  She gave Skylar her cell number and they parted ways. As soon as Skylar was inside her vehicle, she made a called to the Tallahassee Police Department. Since operating in Franklin County she’d established a good relationship with them and on a number of times had needed to head up to the city to follow up on a lead. Lieutenant Josh Daniels was always welcoming and more than willing to help out. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, he enjoyed flirting with her.

  “Skylar Reid. How are you, sweetheart?”

  She smiled, watching the trees bend to the will of Mother Nature.

  “Good. Listen, can you run a check through the system on a Jason Matthews? Just deceased. Wife’s name is Brenda Matthews. She said that they lived in Tallahassee a few years back and ran into a problem with vandalism at their home. She said her husband filed a report.”

  “Let me check.”

  She heard him tapping away. “How you holding up down there? I see the weather had taken a turn for the worse.”

  “Hanging in but we have a murder case on our hands so I might be here a while.”

  “You might have to put it on ice. Safety first.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is your boat out of the water?”

  “Not yet. Waiting to hear back from a company that stores boats.”

  More keys being tapped. “Okay, here we go. Jason Matthews. Yes. He filed for a restraining order against Keith Norris.”

  “The brother.”

  “That’s right. Police were called out to their home, threats were made, you know, usual run-of-the-mill domestic stuff.”

  “Domestic?”

  “Yeah, Keith was accusing Jason of physical abuse against his sister.”

  “Any evidence to support that?”

  “None. No bruising. The wife denied it and so Keith was removed from the area and told to stay away.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes. From their home. He ran into him at a bar here in the downtown and they got into a brawl. Both spent a night in a jail cell and were released the next day. Jason filed charges and requested a restraining order.”

  “Interesting,” Skylar said looking towards the house. Why hadn’t she mentioned that? Brenda had made it seem like nothing more than a heated exchange, unless of course… Her mind began thinking about whether or not Jason had been staying at a hotel that night. Was it possible he was up to his tricks as far back as a few years ago? Had he been seeing an escort and Keith had trailed him and called him out on it? If so, would Jason have mentioned it to his wife?

  “You got an address for Keith?”

  “A workplace.”

  4

  The storm was getting worse as Harvey arrived outside the home at the end of 6th Street. A large garbage can went flying across the road nearly striking his truck. He slammed on the brakes in the nick of time causing him to swerve. The rain was relentless, making the road hard to see. After getting the name of Payton’s boyfriend, or as she liked to say, her “friend,” he had concerns about what she’d told him. If it was true and he was living in an abusive environment, that needed to be dealt with. He glanced out his window towards the home of Jake Weslo. It was located near the end of the road on the northwest side of town. One-story aluminum sided homes were dotted throughout the heavily wooded area, and Jake’s was no different, except it was sporting a red metal roof that made it stand out. He cranked up his air conditioning because the air outside was thick and humid. That was something about hurricane season that didn’t seem to change — the heat. He glanced at the screen in his truck that showed the temperature outside, it was just over eighty but the humidity made it feel like he was in a sauna.

  Harvey pulled into the short driveway, and noticed a white Dodge Caravan tucked under the carport. The wind had already knocked down half of the fence that wrapped around the small front yard. He hopped out and pulled up his raincoat as he made a dash for the covered porch. Shaking off droplets of water he gave the door a hard knock and looked around. The place was a real dive. Garbage littered the property, old rusted bicycles leaned up against a crumbling wall and overgrown weeds enveloped what remained of the concrete pathway.

  The door opened and an overweight guy in his mid-forties answered. He was dressed in a white muscle shirt. He had a thick head of hair at the sides but none through the middle. He had a can of Budweiser in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He blew out gray smoke as he looked Harvey up and down.

  “Hi, would you be Jake’s father?”

  “Stepfather. Tony Parish. What’s it to you?”

  “Jake in?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Harvey pulled out his badge and flashed it.

  “Great. What’s he done now?”

  “Nothing. Actually, he recently helped us. I was hoping to speak with him.”

  “Jake!” the man yelled three times, keeping his eyes on Harvey. On the fourth time, he cursed telling Jake to get his ass out in a threatening manner. Jake emerged from a room at the rear of the home wearing a Metallica T-shirt, ripped jeans and white Nikes. One of his arms was covered in tattoos, and his black hair looked as if he’d smeared car grease through it. As soon as he laid eyes on Harvey, he froze, keeping his head down low and slightly to the side.

  “Get up here now,” his stepfather said.

  He approached. As he did, the light from outside revealed a gnarly bruise around his right eye, the same one he was trying to hide by keeping his head to one side. Harvey was quick to point it out. “That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there.”

  His stepfather piped up, “Yeah, the kid is a bit of a klutz, aren’t you?” he said before clipping him across the back of the head. Harvey noticed the way Jake flinched as if expecting something harder. He might have said something had it been harder but he was there to get information, and the last thing he needed was a door being slammed in his face and Jake ending up on the wrong end of the stick. “The officer wants to talk to you. Well, invite him in,” Tony said before turning and walking back into the living room. Jake made a gesture with his head and Harvey stepped inside. The faint smell of weed lingered in the air. The carpets were filthy and the walls outdated with wallpaper from the ’80s. Jake led him back to his room. As Harvey passed the living room, he glanced at his stepfather who was in a recliner chair. He had a bowl of chips to one side, a beer in hand and was watching baseball.

  Jake’s room was like any typical teenager’s. Slightly messy. There was a Fender electric guitar with an amp and multiple effects pedals in one corner of the room, an unmade bed, a computer desk with a laptop, and posters of bands filling every space on the walls. Jake took a seat on the edge of his bed, and pushed a bong under it with his foot, hoping Harvey wouldn’t see. He had no issues with someone smoking a little pot. It was becoming the norm, and there were few teenagers that weren’t partaking.

  Harvey closed the door behind him to get some privacy.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “Working at a bar in town.”

  “Your stepfather not work?”

  “No, it interferes with watching afternoon soap shows.”

  Harvey nodded. Before he could say anything, Jake piped up. “I guess you’re here about Payton?” He took a deep breath. “Look, I should have asked.”

  “Yes, you should have. You find yourself on the streets much?”

  “Several nights a week.”

  “Why haven’t you reported him?”

  “I did. My mother never kicked him out. He was all apologetic, and was told to take anger management classes. It lasted for a while and then he was back to his old ways again within the year.”

/>   “Then why not tell again?”

  “Because it would only end badly.”

  “For you?”

  “For me. My mother.”

  Harvey stared at him. There was real fear there.

  “He ever hit your mother?”

  Jake snorted and glanced at the door. “Don’t say that too loud.”

  Harvey nodded and walked over to his computer desk. There was a large black notebook. He opened it and flipped through the pages. “You draw these? These are some pretty good sketches.” He’d drawn portraits of people in black and white. Jake got up and went to get it. Before he did, Harvey turned a page and his eyes widened. There was a portrait of his daughter. Just a head shot but it had been sketched perfectly.

  “I don’t usually like to show anyone my work,” he said taking the notebook away.

  “You should. You have some real talent there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look, I’ll get right to it, Jake. If you or your mother don’t feel safe, there is help. I can put you in touch with resources that will get you out of this situation. You are not the first and unfortunately you won’t be the last.”

  “I appreciate that but…”

  “Payton is a good kid, Jake. She has a big heart like her mother and she’s not the kind of person that will turn away a person but that doesn’t mean I want her letting guys into her room in the middle of the night. You understand?”

  He nodded. “No, I get it. I’m sorry.”

  “I also would hate to think you are out on the streets. Now I need you to tell me. Did he do that?” he said pointing to the shiner. Jake’s chin dropped. “Jake, I can’t help you unless you tell me the truth.”

  He gritted his teeth and balled his fists.

  “It’s okay to be angry.”

  Jake shook his head.

  “He didn’t?”

  “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Maybe you don’t but think about your mother then.”