Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (29 page)

He thought he remembered that Ocala was the county seat for whatever county he was in and he decided to head out to the county government complex in the morning, he assumed they had one, to poke around the real estate records if
Disko
didn’t come up with a better address by then.
 
Having done a little real estate investigation work on a few of his Forest Preserve District files, Ben knew he should be able to dig something up from either the property transfer records or the tax assessor’s office.

After he finished his meal - the steak was large, tender and cooked just right - he asked his waitress for the name of a local watering hole where he could grab a beer.
 
He needed to kill a couple of hours and maybe blow off some steam.
 
She directed him to Cal’s, about a half mile away on the other side of the Community College.
 

“You should be able to find whatever you want there,” she said with a knowing smile.
 
Ben didn’t think she understood quite what he was looking for, but decided not to set her straight.
 
He paid the check, left her a nice tip and headed back to the Sebring.
 

Cal’s proved that all college bars are pretty much the same - lots of loud music, cheap beer and guys looking to score.
 
Ben almost didn’t find the place at first, but once he did, he realized he felt really out of place, about like he expected.
 
Cal’s occupied two stories next to a Foot Locker store on a busy corner just north of the Central Florida Community College campus.
 
Clearly the local hang-out for the students, the place was hopping pretty
good
for a Monday night.
 
Ben grabbed a Rolling Rock long neck and took a slow tour around the first floor and then up to the second.
 
He felt a little like a parent doing a reconnaissance mission for an Oprah show on wild teens.
 

He found a spot up against the wall on the second floor and sipped his beer.
 
The room was hot and Ben began to sweat.
 
He couldn’t hear much of anything above the din and probably didn’t need to.
 
He had enough to look at.
 
Girls in mini-skirts and thin halter tops bumped and grinded with their boyfriends, or at least Ben assumed they were their boyfriends.
 
Guys danced with girls, girls danced with girls, groups of girls danced with groups of guys.
 
Guys didn’t dance with guys, at least not here.
 
This was sensory overload for a guy Ben’s age.
 
When he decided to come here, he hadn’t factored in the whole Florida weather thing, the fact that girls could dress this way all year round in Florida’s warm and sunny climate.
 
Back home, even the best looking college coeds would be all covered up this time of year.
 

Ben finished his beer and ambled over to a bar along the near wall for another.
 
An hour or so later, after fending off two perky college roommates who tried to convince him to go back to their apartment with them to party a little, a shocked, but relieved Benjamin
Lohmeier
headed back to his hotel.
 
Although he thought the girls were probably just toying with an older guy to try and make him feel good, he nevertheless did wonder about what might have been.
 

He called
Disko
back.
 
Nothing new on the address front.
 
Then he called home before turning in.
 
He left out the part about the roommates.
 
Nothing good could come from that.
 
Ben had a pretty good night’s sleep.
 
The great thing about hotels is that you can always get the room cold enough and dark enough, both of which Ben liked when he slept.
 
He slept
until almost eight local time
and then took a quick shower.
 
On his way out, he stopped at the front desk and got directions to the County Complex.
 
It was only about fifteen minutes away, roughly two miles east of the County Courthouse, located in downtown Ocala.
 
Ben took a left on College Road and headed back in the direction of the Community College, which seemed larger and newer in the light of day.
 
As community colleges went, it looked fairly impressive.
 
A couple of miles further down the road, he took a left on Pine Avenue, which took him right into downtown Ocala.
 
After about half a mile, he took a right on Silver Springs Boulevard heading east.
 
As he turned the corner, he saw what looked to be the Courthouse a couple of blocks up and over to his left.
 

The County Complex was on 25th Avenue, a couple of miles down Silver Springs Boulevard.
 
He turned into the Complex at the first light and came to a fork in the driveway.
 
Signs pointed in every direction.
  
Geographic Information Systems, Building, Zoning and Property Management, Museum, Green Clover Hall, Property Appraiser, Tax
 
Collector, County Attorney, County Administrator,
 
County Commissioners.
 
The sign looked like the totem pole on
M*A*S*H.
 
Ben took a minute to figure out where he was going and chose the Property Appraiser’s and Tax Collector’s offices, both of which seemed to be housed together in a large building just off to his right.
 

He parked the Sebring in the lot not far from a vendor selling pretzels.
 
As he strolled up the walk to the building’s entrance, Ben noticed that the cement walkway and rambling single story brown brick structure looked almost new.
 
He couldn’t decide if that was a function of the climate or whether the building was in fact new.
 
He figured that the harsh climate of the north, complete with wild temperature fluctuations, snow and salt, probably aged buildings before their time.
 
Inside, he discovered that the building was essentially split in two - the Property Appraiser’s office was located on the left side of the building, with the Tax Collector housed in a much smaller space to the right.
 
He chose the Property Appraiser first and pushed through a set of glass doors into a large open area with countless desks arranged in rows.
 
The room was fairly dark and they had the air conditioning turned up high to guard against the coming afternoon heat.
 
Ben walked up to the first desk, where a Hispanic woman in her early-fifties sat behind a sign that read, “Information.”

“I was wondering if you had any public access computer
terminals?
” Ben asked.

“Yes, we do,” she said, gesturing to a long counter on the near wall which housed eight to ten PC’s.
 
She led Ben over to the first computer and got him set up.
 
Within a couple of minutes, he was able to perform rudimentary searches on county real estate records.
 
He figured out how to do name searches and punched in Nora Fleming and Nora Fleming Scott.
 
He confirmed that Nora’s husband’s name seemed to be Andrew and that Andrew seemed to buy and sell quite a bit of real estate.
 
Ben assumed that Andrew Scott probably worked as a real estate developer or was otherwise involved in rental properties.
 
Ben located their likely residence, a warranty deed transferring the property from a land trust to Andrew Scott and Nora Fleming Scott, husband and wife, in tenancy by the entireties.
 
The deed gave an Ocala address on Northwest Palisades Parkway.
 
Ben had no idea where that was.
 
After a few more minutes of searching failed to uncover anything new, Ben decided to go across the way and double-check what he had discovered with the Tax Collector.
 

When he reached the counter at the Tax Collector’s office, a middle-aged woman who reminded him of everyone’s Mom greeted him with a smile and provided him with all the information he needed.
 
She even knew Andrew Scott from some estate work he had done for her a while back.
 
Apparently, Andrew had taken over the Scott Law Offices from his uncle, who was semi-retired now.
 
The firm had been a fixture in Ocala for years and the woman gave Ben directions to the office, located in a one-story, red brick building a block or two from the courthouse.

Ben walked out of the Tax Collector’s Office with a sense of accomplishment.
 
Maybe he should be the detective and not Stan
Disko
.
 
He turned left on Silver Springs Boulevard and headed back toward downtown Ocala.
 
As he passed through the intersection at Pine Avenue, he looked to his left and saw a large white gazebo on the lawn in front of the City Hall.
 
Following the instructions he received at the Tax Collector’s office, he took a right at the next intersection and a block down drove past the entrance to the Marion County Judicial Center, a nondescript gray stone structure that looked more like a prison than a County Courthouse.
 
Attached to it was an equally unattractive parking garage.
 
Ben was a little disappointed.
 
Ocala was kind of a charming little town with a nice City Hall.
 
He even liked the gazebo.
 
The Courthouse, on the other hand, looked like a Sixties-era mistake.
 

Like the woman at the Tax Collector’s office suggested, he kept going a block or two before making a right and heading back toward Pine Avenue.
 
There on the near left corner, he saw a one-story, red brick colonial structure with a white sign in front.
 
“The Scott Law Offices.
 
Established 1927.”
 

“There it is,” he said aloud.
 

Ben parked up the block, slung his briefcase over his shoulder and headed down the sidewalk.
 
The building appeared much larger on the inside than it had from the outside.
 
The small lobby was nicely appointed with traditional furniture and artwork depicting the American Revolution.
 
The walls were painted a periwinkle blue and the floors were dark wood with several Oriental area rugs scattered throughout.
 
On the wall behind the dark mahogany reception desk the name, “Scott Law Offices” was etched in gold lettering.
 
Beneath it in smaller script were the names of seven lawyers beginning with Henry L. Scott.
 
He must be the uncle, Ben thought.
 
Andrew W. Scott and Nora Fleming Scott came next.
 
A pretty receptionist with long blond hair smiled as he approached her station.

“Hi, can I help you,” she asked.
 

“I hope so,” Ben replied.
 
“I’m looking for Nora Fleming Scott.
 
I need to speak to her regarding a legal matter.”

“Do you have an appointment with Ms. Scott?” she asked.
 
She looked and sounded like a southern belle.
 
She even batted her eyes.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Ben said.
 
“I do need to speak to her though.”

“May I ask your name, sir?”

“Sure, my name is Benjamin
Lohmeier
.”

“Well, I’m sorry Mr.
Lohmeier
, but Ms. Scott isn’t in right now.”

“Do you expect her back anytime soon?”

“She’s in Court this morning.
 
We expect her back before too long.”

“Maybe I can help you.”
 
A tall, blond-haired man in his early-thirties entered the lobby from the corridor to Ben’s right.
 
“I’m Andrew Scott,” he said in a firm voice extending his hand, which Ben took.

“I’m Benjamin
Lohmeier
.”

Scott’s white dress shirt looked so heavily starched it made Ben
feel
uncomfortable in his yellow golf shirt and khaki pants.
 

“Now what can we help you with?” Scott asked.

“Well, I’m not sure you can help me.
 
I need to speak to Ms. Scott about a legal matter.”

“Can I ask what this refers to?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it.
 
I need to discuss it with Ms. Scott.”

“Well, Nora is my wife,” he said insisting.
 
“I’m sure you can discuss it with me.
 
I’m a lawyer and the managing partner here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re more than capable,” Ben said.
 
“It’s just that it’s not up to me whether to discuss it with you.”
 

Andrew Scott looked more than perplexed.
 
Finally he said, “Rather than stand out here, why don’t we go back to my office and see?”
 

Just as Ben started to respond, a tall slim woman with shoulder length brown hair came through the front door and joined them in the lobby.
 
She wore a tan suit with a satchel over her right shoulder and she carried two brown expandable file folders in her left arm.
 
All eyes turned to her as soon as she entered.