Shake the Trees (28 page)

CHAPTER 43

Tillis watched Sandi run to Dustin and take him into her arms.  Rodger laid the Colt Peacemaker on the granite and quickly made his way to Sam in a few large strides.  As Rodger gently lifted Sam’s shoulder and plumbed the wound with his fingers, Tillis recovered the discarded firearm.  After apparently having found what he was probing for, Rodger leaned forward and applied pressure. Sam moaned in pain.

“Medic,” Rodger yelled in an old man’s voice.  Then looked over his shoulder at Tillis.  Tillis nodded at the EMT truck that had just pulled over the curb and onto the plaza.  After he tucked the Peacemaker into his belt, Tillis held his FDLE badge and identification over his head and waved the emergency personnel over.  Indicating that it was safe to approach.

Rodger looked up at the two young men as he continued to lean over Sam’s left shoulder.  “Thru and thru, but he has a bleeder.”  One man nodded as the other gently nudged Rodger aside and took control of the situation.  Very quickly the wound was packed, an IV started, and Sam was transported.  Fortunately, Tampa General Hospital, a major trauma center, was only a few blocks away.

Rodger stood aside awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.  Tillis placed a hand on Rodger’s shoulder and looked into his eyes.  Wondering if he was in shock.  Or about to experience some type of cardiac event.

“Are you okay, sir?”  Tillis asked with concern in his voice.

Rodger’s chest heaved twice, and then he seemed to regain control of his emotions.  He studied Tillis for a moment.  “Damn it, Tillis.  I’m nearly eighty years old.  I thought the killing was over.”

“I know, sir.  But you did what you had to do.”

Rodger’s chest heaved again, and the two sat down next to each other on a granite step.  Rodger reined in his emotions once more. They sat in silence and watched Sandi clean blood and tissue from Dustin with a handkerchief someone had given her.  Finally, Tillis nodded down at the Peacemaker.

“You know I’m going to have to keep this for a while.  Just until the investigation is over.  But don’t worry about that.  It’s routine.  Florida has a ‘stand your ground’ law.  We’re not like some of those Yankee states.”

Rodger shrugged.  Indicating that the state of the law was irrelevant to his decision to act.  “I don’t want it back.  You can have it.  I appreciate what you did in there today.  For Sam.  And for me earlier.”

“I can’t accept this, sir.  I know what it means to you.”

Rodger was now back to his old self and he stood.  “Yes, you can. I insist.  Now I need to go talk to my grandson.”

Dustin was relieved to see his grandfather.  He’d calmed down, but still didn’t understand that Rodger had shot the dead man.  Rodger soberly explained exactly what had happened.  He explained that Sam had a flesh wound - that he would be okay.  Sandi realized that she was superfluous to the discussion, and walked over to Tillis.

“Is Sam really going to be alright?”

Tillis nodded and assured Sandi with his calm tone and demeanor.  “Sam suffered a flesh wound, and we’re only three minutes from Tampa General.  I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Tell me about my father,” Sandi demanded.

“What do you know?”  Tillis replied hesitantly.

Sandi nodded at Rodger.  “That he’s a good father.  A good friend.  A good rancher.  And that he served in Korea.  That’s about it.”

“I don’t know if it’s my place.”

“Look, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have him.  I’d like to know who he is.  While he’s still here.”

Tillis studied his hands.  Then shrugged as Sally quietly joined them.  “I’ll be right back.”

Tillis approached several converging law enforcement officers from multiple agencies and took control of the crime scene.  Everyone was told to back off from Rodger and Dustin.  Then Tillis returned to Sandi and Sally, and they took a seat on the granite steps. 

“Your father did much more than serve, Sandi.  He was the de facto leader of a small group of Marines that repeatedly pulled a lot of regular guys’ fat out of the fire.  A precursor to some of the special ops groups that exist today.  It sounds corny today, but remember, it was 1950.  Or 1951.  They called themselves Rimes’ Raiders.  It was said that they came into a fight breathing hell’s own fire.  They saved a lot of lives.”

“And took a lot?”  Sandi asked reluctantly.

Tillis nodded.  “And took a lot.”

“How do you know about him?’

Tillis smiled.  “That’s a whole other story.”  He looked over at Rodger and Dustin in deep conversation and continued.

“On a beautiful April day in 1951 my Dad visited D.C. with the Florida Cattlemen’s Association.  The plan was to shake Harry Truman’s hand in the Oval Office, and return home with the photographic evidence.  But the President’s schedule was backed up, and the consolation prize was an invitation to attend a ceremony in the Rose Garden.  It was a military ceremony in which commendations and medals were to be awarded to several servicemen.  As the highlight of the ceremony, the President was to bestow The Medal of Honor upon a young Marine from San Luis, New Mexico.  That Marine was your father.

“Everything went as planned until that final moment as the ribbon was about to be placed around his neck.  Then your father gently took the President’s hands and pushed the Medal of Honor away.  He looked the President in the eye and told him that his actions were not rooted in honor, but sprang from hate and a thirst for revenge.  And that he could not accept his nation’s highest military award.  The President shook your father’s hand, and thanked him for his service.”

Sandi looked at Tillis big-eyed.  “What happened?’

“To your father, nothing.  The military brass was obviously pissed off, but Truman made it clear that there would be no repercussions whatsoever.  But that’s hardly the end of the story.”

“What do you mean?”  Sandi asked hesitantly.

“Well, it may be more than you want to know.  And it involves a little history lesson.”

“Please,” Sandi immediately replied.

“At the time, Truman was promoting the concept of containment as an alternative to full-scale military confrontation with the communist bloc.  It wasn’t a very popular idea in 1951.  The military establishment and the hawkish politicians of the day accused him of being soft on communism.  The Republicans always had better PR people, and the whole approach was eventually called the Cold War.  That went over a lot better.  But at the time, containment was a tough sell.

“General Macarthur had won WWII in the Pacific.  And he’d just finished up as emperor in fact, if not in name, of occupied Japan.  Now he was running the war in Korea, and he was pushing back hard.  Writing letters to politicians.  Trash talking his Commander-in-Chief in the press.  But he was a very popular figure in post-war America.  Truman was tolerating insubordination because of the political cost of confronting one of his own generals. 

“Macarthur had even developed a plan to drop ten nukes to create a corridor between Korea and China.  A permanently radioactive no man’s land.  Divide and conquer.  He felt that war with China was inevitable, and that we needed to fight WWIII while we still had a clear nuclear advantage.  He thought containment was lunacy.  Of course, we later found out that the Soviet Union was much farther along with the development of its own nuclear arsenal than we’d ever suspected.  And that WWIII would have inevitably drawn that nation into a full-blown nuclear exchange.  But war is hell, right?    

“Anyway, the story goes that Truman went back to the Oval Office after your father refused the Medal of Honor, and worked himself into lather.  He told his Chief of Staff that if a young kid from New Mexico had the balls to stand on principle and tell the President of the United States to go to hell, then he’d do the same thing to Macarthur.  He knew Macarthur had his loyalists up and down the chain of command, and he didn’t want to give him the opportunity to resign with a rhetorical flourish.  So he fired Macarthur that night on a nationally broadcast radio address.  With no prior notice to anyone.  And that was that.  The old soldier simply faded away.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tillis added.  “And eventually we won the Cold War.”

Sandi just looked at Tillis.  Stunned and expressionless.

“So, Sandi, your father is a genuine war hero, quite possibly helped change the course of modern civilization, and saved his grandson’s life.  Not bad for one lifetime’s work.”

At that Sandi burst into sobbing tears.  Tillis looked a little panicky as Sally pulled Sandi into her shoulder.  Sally shook her head.  “I know it’s probably beyond the capabilities of your Cro-Magnon brain, Tillis, but these are the good kind of girl tears.”

Tillis looked relieved, but still uncomfortable as he jumped to his feet.  “I better go check on Rodger and your son.”

Franklin Pierson had found his way to the plaza after hearing about the shootings.  The huge amount of press was an irresistible draw, and he hoped to salvage something out of a bad day.  He would have settled for a mere five seconds of decent face time on the nightly news.  And the pitiful site of a blood-smeared boy and a white-haired old man sitting on the courthouse steps was a made-for-TV moment.

After making sure he was in the camera’s eye, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the adolescent and looked down with concern.  “Are you all right, son?  Can I get you something?  Maybe a soda?”

Dustin looked up with annoyance at the man interrupting the conversation he was having with his grandfather.  At the same instant, Pierson recognized the old man as Rodger Rimes.  The man with the $17.5 million check. 

Dustin stood and looked up at Pierson with grim determination.  Pierson began to take a step backwards, but before he could move Dustin pulled back his arm and formed a bony fist.  Then with all the pent up fear and frustration of the morning, he slammed it into the stomach of the U.S Attorney.

Pierson ejected a guttural sound and doubled over moaning.  A reporter rushed forward for a comment.  Franklin Pierson was unable to speak, but his pained and reddened face told the whole story.

CHAPTER 44

The small duplex was cloaked in complete darkness.  Neither apartment showed any sign of life.  James stood under heavy foliage contemplating the scene. 

Weaving through a throng of federal employees returning from lunch, he’d left the courthouse by a side door that afternoon - certain that he’d evaded the surveillance spotted the prior morning.  A credit card in the name of E. Hayes and a driver’s license identifying the man in the out-of-focus photograph as Edward Hayes, were used to rent another car at a downtown location.  James had intercepted a credit card offer mailed to Elizabeth under the name E. Hayes months earlier, and Dr. Bob prepared the fake license around the same time.

Then he found a Wal-Mart and bought flashlights, a stocking cap, latex gloves, and some over-sized cheap tennis shoes.  All of which he planned to later discard.  James knew he looked odd in the attire he’d purchased, but that was the least of his concerns.  He needed to cover his tracks.  He didn’t want to leave any hair or fingerprints, or even a footprint that matched his size.

After adjusting the beam of the penlight he’d purchased, James began to move toward the tiny rental unit.  Following the shadows.  All bent over and moving his head from side to side.  Trying to make himself smaller, and scanning his surroundings.

It was dark outside now, but no one seemed to notice.  Concentration was focused inward.  Sandi sat silently in the Tampa General Hospital waiting room.  Remembering a grim-faced man.

She knew the news was bad before he spoke.  And then her world collapsed.  Her young husband would never move again.  Or even breathe again unaided by machine.  The words tumbled and mixed together - blurred by time and regret.  But the face was clearly etched into her memory.  Visiting her repeatedly over the years.  Showing no mercy and offering no respite.

Now she feared a different grim-faced man.  On the steps of the courthouse, the wound hadn’t seemed so serious.  A flesh wound they’d called it.  And the doctor told her that the wound itself was not life threatening.  But a major blood vessel had been severed.  By the time Rodger had identified the bleeder and staunched the flow, Sam’s heart had pumped over three quarters of his blood volume onto the granite steps of Federal Plaza.  Minutes more passed before the EMT’s were able to hang plasma and fluids.

Sam’s body had responded by shutting down multiple organ systems.  All in a valiant attempt to conserve the precious blood that still coursed thru his body.  To preserve the most important organ of all - the brain.  Now he lay unconscious.  His vital organs teetering between life and death.

The fear she felt was cold and stinging.  But it cleared her mind of old heartache.  She prayed that a grim-faced man would not steal from her yet again.

The small penlight illuminated the peeling paint of the numeral two; the number of the unit he’d had reserved for Elizabeth online.  James grasped the doorknob with his latex encased hand and turned the clump of paint and metal.  The door was unlocked.  He pushed the door open a fraction of an inch.  Stopped and stood back.  The idea of a dead body inside - a body he had known so intimately in life - had him spooked.  He didn’t want to be there.  

His instincts told him to leave.  But the potential existence of a note promised millions.  And threatened disclosure and deniability.  As his fingertips rested on the door, James knew that he’d been backed into a corner.  Left without a choice.  So he pushed the door wide open.

Nothing happened.  He turned the penlight off and slid it into his back pocket.  A larger flashlight hung in its own belt holster.  James stepped inside and closed the door behind him. 

The beam of the big flashlight was startling after relying on the tiny penlight.  James swung the light toward the single window next to the door, confirming that the yellowed Venetian blinds were tightly shuttered.  Then he began to scan the room.

“It’s over there.  On the coffee table.” 

James lurched and drew a sharp breath.  The voice didn’t belong to Elizabeth.  The beam of the flashlight bounced wildly before settling on the figure sitting calmly on a futon.  His skin began to crawl, and the distorted geometric designs of the cushions added to the dizzying effect of the bobbing flashlight.  The woman was Elizabeth.  And she wasn’t.  Blonde not brunette.  Green eyes not blue.  A deeper smoker’s voice.  Not the sweet and clear tone he was used to.

“Over there.”  The figure nodded to the right.

He held the beam of light like a sword, and was reluctant to swing the flashlight away from her.  But she made no threatening movements, so he briefly illuminated the coffee table.  A single folded white sheet of paper adorned its otherwise uncluttered surface.

“Don’t you want to read it?  It’s what you came for.”

James held the beam of light steady as he stepped backwards.  He picked up the note with his left hand and shook it open.  Then held it away from his body and into the light that remained focused on Elizabeth.  The words were written in her large and flowing style.  ‘I love you.  You were all that I wanted and all that mattered.  Always true, Elizabeth.’

“Sad isn’t it,” the raspy-voiced figure commented.

“What’s going on here, Elizabeth?”  James asked sternly.  Attempting to reassert his authority over her.

“It’s not Elizabeth.”

“What?”

“It’s Ellen.”

James summoned his best judicial demeanor.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  You need help, Elizabeth.  You need to listen to me.  Listen to me, and I’ll help you.  Okay?” 

A deep-throated laugh filled the small room.  “Oh, now that’s sweet.  You’re an ass.  A pompous, lying, scheming ass. You don’t deserve her.”  She paused before adding a final comment drenched in sarcasm.  “Okay?” 

James finally understood that he wasn’t speaking to Elizabeth.  It was a chilling realization, but fascinating as well.  A truly split personality was a rare psychological phenomenon.  Something he’d only read about.  Now he understood that new tactics were required.

“That’s your opinion.  I want to talk to Elizabeth.”  James demanded.

“I don’t think so.”  Her tone was flat.  She hesitated and then spoke again.  “Maybe later.”

“When?”  James insisted weakly, knowing he’d lost control of the bizarre situation. 

“After you’ve paid the bill.  It’s time to pay the bill.” 

The beam of the flashlight sparkled along the fine etching on the barrel.  He strangely thought that the pearl handle seemed absurdly large in her small and delicate hand.  Then for the second time in less than 48 hours, the big revolver bucked and roared, and an inch of orange flame followed the copper-jacketed ball that ripped thru his lung.

James was already on the floor, but still felt himself falling.  Into a hole.  Down a well.  Watching the circle of light at the surface grow ever smaller. 

Then Ellen appeared above him and laid the big revolver at his side.  She spoke in the sweet, clear voice of Elizabeth.  “I love you, James.”  He felt her hands in his pockets as she found the keys to the rental car.  And then listened to her footsteps as she left him to die.  

As the circle of light grew even smaller, and James waited for the last drop of blood to dribble from his body, his grasping hand somehow found the disposable cell phone that had slipped from his pants pocket as Elizabeth searched for the car keys.  With achingly slow progress, his index finger found nine and one and one again.  And finally the bigger send button.

“Nine one one.  What is your emergency?”

Motionless and without the strength to answer, James silently considered the question.  One recurring answer came and went with his ebbing consciousness.  ‘My money.  Someone took my money.’

A confident and tired looking man walked into the waiting room, and Sandi immediately burst into tears.  Rodger took her and Dustin into his arms as the doctor approached.

“His organs seem to be working normally.  He’s conscious but disoriented.  We’re cautiously optimistic that he’ll make a full recovery.”

Sandi took the young physician, not much older than herself, into her arms and hugged him.  “Thank you.”

After Sandi released him, the young man studied her with professional concern.  “He’s been asking to see you.”  Then he looked briefly at Rodger and Dustin before returning his gaze to her.  “Just you for now.  I think we better keep it to just you for now.”

“Sure,” Sandi replied.

“He’s been through a lot.  I need to warn you that patients often experience hallucinatory episodes during these events.  And as I said before, he’s still somewhat disoriented.  He’s been mumbling.  Sometimes unintelligibly.  But he keeps asking for you.”

“I understand,” Sandi answered as she looked at Rodger and squeezed Dustin’s bony hand.