Chasing Justice: A Matt Royal Mystery (3 page)

“FDLE?”

“Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

“I know what it is.” My head was clearing itself of sleep. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Two agents showed up, knocked on the door, and told me they had a warrant for her arrest and a search warrant for our house. They took her computer, gave her time to get dressed, and then put her in cuffs. They just left.”

“Where are they taking her?” I asked.

“Sarasota County Jail, they said.”

“What are the charges?”

“Murder.”

“Murder?” No way in hell, I thought. Abby didn’t have it in her. “Bullshit,” I said. “Who is it she was supposed to have killed?”

“Nate Bannister.”

“That prick?”

“Yeah, that prick.”

“What’s Abby’s connection to him?”

“None that I’m aware of. I don’t think she knew the man.”

“What else do you know, Chief?”

“Nothing about why Abby’s involved in this thing. I knew the man had been murdered.”

“How did you know that?”

“Harry Robson called J.D. yesterday asking about Bannister. Apparently, he was shot in his condo in downtown Sarasota. I went to see his wife and told her about his death.”

“How did she take it?”

“She wasn’t broken up, that’s for sure. He spent a lot of years beating the hell out of her before she screwed up the courage to throw his worthless ass out.”

“Harry’s Sarasota PD,” I said. “Why is the FDLE involved?”

“I don’t know.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it. I need you to go play lawyer and find out what you can. I told her not to say anything until you got there.”

“Okay, Bill. Let me get a shower, and I’ll head downtown. You sit tight until you hear from me. Don’t talk to anyone. Got it?”

“Got it. Matt, Abby’s not capable of murder. She didn’t know Bannister and she sure as hell didn’t go to his condo and kill him. Something’s terribly wrong about all this.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Bill. I’ll be in touch as soon as I meet with Abby. I may not get a whole lot of information until the clerk of courts’ office opens and I can see all the paperwork.”

“Let me know something as soon as you can.”

“I’ll talk to you as soon as I see Abby.”

J.D. had stirred when the phone rang, and by the time I hung up, she was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Bill Lester?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What was that all about?”

“His wife was arrested by FDLE a few minutes ago.”

“Abby? For what?”

“Murder.”

“You’re kidding. Who’s the victim?”

“Nate Bannister.”

“This is nuts. Abby didn’t do this. She’s not a killer.”

“I agree, but they must have some pretty good evidence to arrest the wife of a police chief.”

“Harry Robson’s working that case,” she said. “He called me about it yesterday afternoon.”

“I’m going downtown to see what’s going on. I’ll call you when I know something.”

“Want some company?”

“No. Go back to sleep. I think I need to do this by myself. Maybe we can meet for breakfast. I’ll call you.”

* * *

Gulf of Mexico Drive, known to the locals as GMD, is the only road that runs the ten-mile length of the island between the Longboat Pass Bridge on the northern end and the New Pass Bridge on the southern. The night was moonless, dark, and a bit foreboding. A gentle fog lay on the island, the humidity of the early spring air conflating with the cooler water that surrounded us. Lights on the outside of the few commercial buildings were shrouded in the humid air, giving off a mystical glow that somehow matched my morose mood. There was no other traffic. My headlights danced in the gloom as I drove through the darkness, feeling a bit out of place, like a space traveler flung unexpectedly into a strange galaxy.

I sipped from a cup of coffee I’d made before leaving my cottage. I was concerned about Abby Lester and confused about the FDLE’s involvement. Abby and Bill had been married for about fifteen years, but had never had children. She was a high school history teacher in the Sarasota County School system. I had come to know Abby well over the years and I liked her. I’d gone to dinner with her and Bill on a number of occasions, and we ran into each other at the social functions that were part of our island life. Although Bill had never mentioned it, I’d heard through the island grapevine that there had been some rocky patches in the marriage. I’d never heard any details and wasn’t inclined to listen to the gossip about two good people.

The Florida Department of Law Enforcement was a police agency that reported to the Florida cabinet. It had statewide jurisdiction and was usually called in when a case involved multiple counties. Sometimes, the agency investigated crimes that were tied to the police agency that would normally have jurisdiction.

Florida’s Suncoast was small enough that there was always good cooperation among the police and sheriff’s departments that made up the law enforcement community. This was particularly true with the Sarasota and Longboat Key Police Departments. I suspected that the Sarasota police chief had called in the FDLE as soon as he realized that the Longboat Key police chief’s wife was a suspect.

I had known the victim, Nate Bannister, and didn’t like him. He was one of those guys always looking for a fight. He’d been a successful builder, and as his wealth grew, so did his power in the community. But he wore on everybody he dealt with, from employees to subcontractors to buyers of his condos to the people on the key. I hadn’t seen him around for several months and hadn’t thought a lot about it. I guess his departure from the island had gone without much notice. He just faded from the islander’s consciousness, like a bad dream.

The Sarasota streets were empty, and I parked right in front of the six-story jail that sat on a corner on the edge of downtown. I showed my Florida Bar card and my driver’s license to the deputy at the control desk in the lobby and told him I was representing Abigail Lester and would like to see her. He picked up his phone, told somebody that Mrs. Lester’s lawyer was in the lobby, listened for a moment, and hung up. “Somebody will be right down,” he said. “You can make yourself comfortable over there.” He pointed to the plastic chairs grouped around a silent television set.

I had barely sat down when the door opened and Detective Harry Robson appeared. I stood and we shook hands. I’d known Harry for a while. He was a straight shooter who worked his cases with a methodical determination and no preconceived notions about the guilt or innocence of any suspect. He was a good cop.

“What’s going on, Harry?” I asked.

“Let’s sit for a minute. Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I had a cup on the way here. Why was Abby arrested?”

“This is a touchy one, Matt. I’ve known Bill Lester for years. But evidence at the scene pointed to Abby, and I didn’t have any choice. I took what I had to my chief, and he called in the FDLE. He did the right thing, but the investigation is now out of my hands.”

“But you’re here,” I said.

“I knew they were going to arrest Abby. I tried to get the FDLE agent to wait until a reasonable hour and let me bring her in. I’ve met her a number of times, and I wanted her to see a familiar face.”

“Why the rush? Why go roust her and Bill out of bed at three in the morning?”

“No reason other than that Wes Lucas is an asshole.”

“The FDLE agent?”

“Yeah. He’s out of their Tampa office. He’s got one of the highest conviction rates in the agency, but he’s also had an inordinate number of cases thrown out by judges because the evidence was too thin, or there was some impropriety in the investigation. I think he’s been on the hot seat with the director several times, but he seems to have some pull with somebody high up in state government.”

“Sounds like a fun guy to work with.”

“Are you going to represent Abby?”

“Probably not. Bill called me and asked me to come down and see what’s going on. I’ll talk to him this morning, and we’ll see about getting somebody to take the case. Can you tell me what you found that pointed to Abby?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, mulling it over. “I think I’d better let Lucas fill you in.”

“Okay. What are they charging her with?”

“Second-degree murder.”

“Will the state attorney be going for an indictment for first degree?”

“Probably, but it won’t be Jack Dobbyn. The chief called him before he called FDLE. Jack will recuse himself later this morning, and the governor will have to appoint one of the other state attorneys to prosecute.”

John Dobbyn, who went by the nickname of Jack, was the elected chief prosecutor for the three-county area that made up the Twelfth Judicial Circuit. There were twenty such circuits in Florida and each elected its own state attorney. If a state attorney in a judicial circuit decided for whatever reason that he could not prosecute a case that arose in his circuit, he would notify the governor’s office, and the governor would appoint a state attorney from another circuit to prosecute.

The same procedure would take place if the circuit judge assigned to the case recused himself and all the other judges in the circuit did the same. The governor would appoint a judge from another circuit to try the case.

In Abby’s case, the trial would take place in Sarasota County before a Sarasota County jury, but it would be prosecuted by a state attorney from another part of the state, and probably presided over by a judge from another circuit.

“Where is Abby now?” I asked.

“She’s in an interview room just down the hall. I’ll take you to her.”

I followed Harry down a corridor lined with empty holding cells. They would be busy in a couple of hours as the previous day’s arrestees were taken before a judge for their first appearance. Some would be released on bail, and others would return to lockup to await their trials.

We stopped before a door with a glass partition. I looked inside and saw Abby sitting at a table, her wrists cuffed in front of her. She was a small, pretty woman who seemed younger than her forty years. Her blond hair was in disarray and she wore no makeup. She looked wan and disoriented. She was shaking her head at the man standing over her, his fists balled, his face angry.

Harry opened the door, and I walked in.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man asked.

Abby looked up. “Oh, Matt. I’m so glad to see you.”

I offered my hand to Wes Lucas and said, “I’m Matt Royal, Mrs. Lester’s lawyer. You must be Agent Lucas.”

He just looked at my hand until I withdrew it. “You can leave now,” I said.

“Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“I just told you. Now leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Counselor.”

I grinned at him and pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number. “Harry,” I said, “would you have the jail supervisor come down here with a couple of his men and remove Lucas? My client wants to exercise her right to counsel, and I can’t very well talk to her with this asshole hanging around.”

As I returned the phone to my pocket, Lucas moved toward the door. “Don’t think this is over, Counselor. You don’t get away with calling me an asshole.”

I smiled at him. “We’ll see. Close the door on your way out.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

“He’s a bully,” Abby said. “I’m awfully glad you’re here.”

“Did you tell him anything?”

“No. Bill told me to keep my mouth shut until you got here.”

“Do you know why they arrested you?”

“For the murder of Nate Bannister.”

“Did you know him?”

“Are you going to be my lawyer, Matt?”

“I’ll talk to Bill later today and see about getting you somebody good to represent you.”

“I want you, Matt.”

“Abby, I’m retired from all this.”

“You tried a murder case a few years ago and got an acquittal.”

She was right. About three years before, I had come out of retirement to represent my friend Logan Hamilton when he was accused of murdering his girlfriend. “That was different,” I said.

“How?”

“That was for a friend who’d been wrongly accused.”

“I’m a friend too, Matt. And I’m innocent. Did you know I have a trust fund? It’s not huge, but I can pay you.”

“Abby, you know this isn’t about money.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“It’s bad practice to represent friends. Sometimes, the lawyer’s objectivity is colored by that friendship. It makes it easier to miss some piece of evidence that might be crucial. A lawyer can believe in his client’s innocence, but he can’t lose the objectivity that keeps everything in perspective.”

“You did it your last time out. I watched most of that trial in Bradenton. You can do it again. I trust you, Matt. I trust your instincts and your abilities, and I trust you to bow out if you ever start to doubt my innocence.”

“Let me talk to Bill,” I said. “He’d have to be on board with this.”

“If you’re my lawyer, anything I tell you remains confidential, right?”

“Right. Unless you tell me you’re planning to commit a crime. Anything you tell me about this case is absolutely confidential.”

“Does that mean that if I tell you something I don’t want Bill to know, that you won’t tell him?”

Ouch. I think that’s what they call a sticky wicket. “That’s what it means,” I said. “But to be fair, I’m going to have to make sure Bill understands that and agrees to it.”

“Okay. Come see me when you decide.”

“I’ll either be back later today, or I’ll send you a lawyer I trust.”

“Please do this, Matt. I need you.”

I kissed her on the cheek and left.

CHAPTER FIVE

Harry Robson was standing in the waiting room as I came out. “I don’t know what you did to Lucas, but you sure pissed him off.”

“I called you and asked you to bring the jail supervisor and a couple of deputies and kick his ass out of the interview room.”

“You called me?”

“Well, I might have dialed the wrong number. I actually got the answering machine at Tiny’s Bar out on Longboat.”

Harry laughed. “Are you sure you want to get on the wrong side of Lucas?”

“Ah,” I said, “the better question is, does he want to get on the wrong side of me.”