The Alligator Man (4 page)

C
arlisle called headquarters immediately to report the discoveries he had made in the swamp. Early the next morning, Wednesday, he rang the front doorbell at the big mansion.

He knew that the sheriff’s department had to contact the Florida Department of Environmental Protection and the National Park Service to notify them of the possibility of an alligator attack either within or bordering Everglades National Park. Once that happened the whole world would know that Roy Johnson was missing, assuming he was still missing. Government agencies were like badly leaking ships when it came to keeping information secret, and reporters were like leeches sucking up everything that seeped out.

Carlisle wanted to tell Sylvia Johnson what he had found as early as possible to soften the blow to the extent that he could before all hell broke loose. He hoped that Roy Johnson himself would answer the door and end the drama.

Aida the maid answered it instead. Mrs. Johnson was home, she told him, and ushered him into the living room to wait. Carlisle had never been in such a big, beautiful place. The carpet was white plush and so clean he was afraid to walk on it, or sit on the flowered couch, or look in the gigantic mirror over the fireplace.

Sylvia Johnson arrived right away. As usual, she looked lovely wearing shorts, a tank top, and sandals.

“Have you heard anything about my husband, Deputy Buchanan?” she asked.

“I’m not a deputy, ma’am. I’m just an auxiliary officer. I haven’t heard anything specific. However, I did find some items in the swamp that I wanted to show you.” Carlisle watched her grab her arms and brace herself. He saw the fear in her eyes as he reached into the brown paper bag that contained the two pieces of cloth.

“I went out on my boat to look around the waters in the vicinity of Gladestown Road like you asked me to. I found these two pieces of cloth.”

Carlisle removed both the black cotton cloth and the white silk piece with the pocket still in place from the bag. He watched as Sylvia Johnson gasped in horror and began crying uncontrollably. That told him all he needed to know about the two pieces of evidence. Without thinking, he put his arm around her and tried to console her as best he could. Sylvia Johnson put her head on his shoulder and continued to sob.

When she had cried herself out, Carlisle tried to explain to her what was going to happen in the immediate future. “I anticipate this news is going to get out real soon,” he told her. “Reporters are going to be all over the place, so you may want to think about leaving town for a few days.”

“I can’t leave with my husband missing, Officer Buchanan.”

She looked so forlorn. Carlisle felt terrible for her.

“Ma’am, I don’t know exactly how to put this, but these pieces of clothing do not mean anything. I can tell from your reaction that they resemble the clothes your husband was wearing the night he went missing, but it doesn’t mean they’re his. We haven’t run any tests yet. And even if they are his, you don’t have to assume the worst.”

Sylvia Johnson sat there listening to his words, her hands covering her face. Carlisle watched her body shake. He couldn’t take it anymore and stood up to leave.

“The reporters will be here later today or tomorrow, ma’am. I’d expect a full onslaught, so don’t plan to go out much in these next few days. You have my number and you can call me for anything. In the meantime, I’ll have those tests run immediately.”

“Thank you, Officer Buchanan. You’ve been so kind.”

H
e drove to Verona that afternoon and went directly to the property room with the intent to sign in the two pieces of evidence. As soon as Carlisle identified himself, the property room clerk alerted Detective Vern Fleming, who arrived in a heartbeat.

“Are you Carlisle Buchanan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Vern Fleming, homicide.” Vern extended his hand. Carlisle shook it, looking the homicide detective up and down. Vern sure fit the part. He was a thin man, not too tall, maybe five nine or so. His brown hair was combed straight back and he sported some flyboy shades. Carlisle spied a pack of Marlboros in the chest pocket of his long-sleeve white button-down shirt. Like a true homicide cop, Vern had his sleeves rolled up to mid forearm. His collar was open but he had a thin tie slung around his neck.

“Nice to meet you, Vern.”

“The sheriff asked me to talk to you. He said you’ve got a missing person problem.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Why don’t you come to my office and tell me about it?”

“Sure.”

Carlisle followed Vern to his office, which was nothing more than a desk with a partition in a large room filled with desks and partitions. At Vern’s insistence, Carlisle sat down in a chair next to the desk.

“Can I get you some coffee?” Vern asked.

“Sure.”

Vern walked over to a table against the wall where there was a coffee machine and some Styrofoam cups. He poured two cups and came back to the desk.

“Why don’t you start from the very beginning?” Vern suggested.

Carlisle told Vern all about Sylvia Johnson’s visits to his office, especially the second one where she seemed kind of frantic. Finally, he told him about searching in the swamps for any sign of Roy Johnson.

“Let me get this straight,” Vern said when Carlisle had finished. “This woman reports her husband missing twice within twenty-four hours, and you go out looking for him in the swamp, is that right?”

“That’s about it.”

“What made you think to do that? I mean, I was a cop for twenty years in Chicago and we had missing persons’ reports all the time for husbands who didn’t come home. The guy was usually sleeping it off with his mistress or a hooker, or he was out all night gambling—something that was usually explainable. We didn’t do anything unless he was gone for forty-eight hours. Are you following me?”

“I am. And we have the same kind of stuff happen over in Gladestown as well. However, this wasn’t just anybody. It was Roy Johnson. And she told me he walked down Gladestown Road at night after he’d been drinking. That road is surrounded by swamp and we have reports all the time about gators walking across it. There’s been a drought this winter that’s extended through the start of the spring and the gators are aggressive because it’s mating season. He could have fallen into the swamp. The wife asked me to go out and look for him and I did.”

Vern just shook his head. He didn’t know shit about gators himself.

“Let’s go see the sheriff,” he said.

Sheriff Frank Cousins was waiting for them. Sheriff Cousins was a politician. He knew that the incident had to be reported to the state and the feds. He also knew this story was going to get out and probably be big news, even if Roy Johnson showed up tomorrow. He extended his hand to Carlisle.

“How are you, Carlisle?” he said, putting his left arm on Carlisle’s shoulder like they were old friends.

“I’m fine, Sheriff.”

Vern filled him in on the particulars.

“Did you bring those two pieces of evidence with you?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine. I want you to sign them into the property room as soon as you leave my office. We’ll send them to the FBI lab for testing immediately. I’d like a full written report on your investigation by the end of today. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir. If you give me a computer, I can type it up while I’m here.”

“Good, good. I’m assigning Vern to work with you on this case. I want you to report everything that happens in town to him. We are assuming the press might get a hold of this story in the near future, and I don’t want you to talk to them. Refer everything to Vern or me, you got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. You’re an auxiliary officer and a good one, but we need trained personnel handling this investigation. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve done a tremendous job, Carlisle. You may end up a deputy yet when all this is over.”

“Thank you, sir.”

S
usan was sitting in the living room waiting for Kevin to come home from work. It was not like him to be over an hour late and not call. She wasn’t particularly alarmed or even upset. She was hungry. There was nothing in the house to eat, and she had made the decision earlier that they were going to go out rather than shop and cook. Kevin had five more minutes or she was going alone.

It was as if he had eavesdropped on her thoughts because five minutes later Kevin walked through the door. He kind of lurched in actually, his shoulders slumped, his tie loose, and his head hanging forward like a limp ostrich. As she approached him, Susan smelled the alcohol and the cigarettes.

“Kevin, you smell like a saloon. Where have you been?”

Kevin lifted his head and gave her a deranged smile. “Hi, honey, I love you too.”

He lunged for her and she caught him, afraid that if she stepped out of the way he would hurl himself headfirst into the furniture. He was quite drunk, which was unusual since he was not much of a drinker. “You’ll be happy to know I’m going out on my own immediately.” He slurred the words as she struggled to hold him upright.

“When did you make that decision?”

“I didn’t. The Rug made it for me. He even had his trusty bodyguard escort me out of the building.”

The Rug was their nickname for Bernie who, unbeknownst to most, wore a very expensive toupee. He was going to replace the toupee with implants but he had not yet made the transition.

There was no sense talking about it now. Kevin was in no position to have a rational conversation. Susan led him toward their bedroom.

“You know what I think, sweetheart? I think you need a shower and a good massage. How does that sound?”

Kevin ignored her question for the moment. “Do you think I’m a good guy?”

“Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?”

“Well, I always thought I was a good guy too, even though I represent criminals. I was just providing them their constitutional right of representation.” He was slurring his words badly. “But I guess that’s not true. When you swim in shit, it’s gonna get on you and you’re gonna stink. I just found that out today. How stupid can a person be?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Bernie and me, we’re knee-deep in shit. I didn’t see that.” All day he’d been talking to himself. He needed to say it to someone else. Get it out. When he was done, he looked at Susan and smiled. “Would you take a shower with me?”

“You don’t think I’m letting you get in there alone, do you?” She set him down on the bed and started taking his shoes off.

“You’re so good to me,” Kevin replied as he laid back and closed his eyes.

“No, no, no. Don’t go to sleep on me. Not yet.” She had his pants and underwear off and was unbuttoning his shirt. “Come on. Sit up and put your arm over my shoulder. That’s it.” She slipped one side of the shirt off, switched arms and did the other side. “Okay. Both arms on my shoulders now, one, two, three, and up.”

They sidled into the shower as if they were dancing a waltz very badly. Susan leaned him against the wall, stepped out, and turned on the cold water.

“Oooh!” Kevin bristled.

“Just stand there for a minute or two,” she told him. “Don’t adjust the knobs. I’ll take care of it.”

Five minutes later after giving the cold water time to do its job, Susan adjusted the knobs until the temperature was comfortable. She then entered the shower from behind the magic curtain.

Kevin always believed that if he was dead and Susan passed before his corpse naked, he would instantly come to life. To him, she had the most beautiful, sensuous body. Everything was symmetrical. Her breasts were not large but they were firm and erect and fit perfectly with the rest. He especially loved the curve of her hips.

Susan knew her power over him. After he placed his hands on her hips, she kissed him slowly, softly, holding his head in her hands. She then silently covered him in soap and began massaging his body like it was a work of art, moving her fingers back and forth. When she reached the choice spots, she paid them special attention, Kevin all the while struggling to keep his balance.

H
e woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. Susan was no longer next to him in the bed.

“Thought you might need a little grease this morning,” she said as he walked into the kitchen. She had her white terry cloth bathrobe on and she flashed him just before she gave him a warm, wet kiss. He was momentarily tempted to forego the bacon and eggs but his body was screaming for grease. He wolfed them down in a matter of seconds while Susan waited patiently, rubbing his shoulders all the while, her white terry cloth robe temporarily taking up residence on the kitchen floor.

Two hours later, Kevin awoke from his midmorning nap to find Susan still lying next to him, smiling coyly.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked.

“Yes, honey,” she replied, playing with the few strands of hair on his chest.

“You’re not going to work?”

“Nope. I’m staying home with you.”

Since he had known her, Susan had never missed a day of work. He found out why she had chosen this day soon enough.

“Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?” she asked.

Kevin did not want to tell Susan about his conversation with Bob Dunning and the ramifications of that conversation on his employment situation, so he gave her the sanitized version of the events of the previous day.

“I’m not exactly sure what happened myself. Bernie found out I was looking at office space and I think that pissed him off. Being the weasel that he is, he didn’t call me in to talk until he had something on me.”

“What could he possibly have on you?’

“I did a favor for Sal Trivigno and Bernie found out about it.”

“What did you do for Sal?”

“I represented him and I didn’t charge him. Bernie blew it way out of proportion, made it seem like I was operating my own business while he was still paying my salary.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said. Then he fired me and threatened to have his clients beat me up if I go into business and compete with him.”

“That’s insane. It sounds like the movies or something.”

“Honey, I operate in a world where people do crazy shit every day that they’re not supposed to do. It’s a lot like the movies actually.”

“Do you think Bernie’s serious?”

“I’m afraid I do, crazy as it is.”

“Are his clients capable of doing something like that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I hate buckling under pressure but what’s the alternative? I can go to the state attorney’s office or the public defender, or I can get a job with an insurance defense firm and learn the civil side. I’ve got a lot of options.”

“That’s like starting over. I don’t want you to do that.”

“I’d move up the ladder pretty quick.”

“What was that you were saying last night about you and Bernie being dirty? I didn’t understand that at all.”

“I was just drunk, that’s all.”

She leaned over on her left side in the bed and looked at him. “This is one of the problems we have,” she said. “You don’t talk to me.”

Maybe she’s right,
Kevin thought.
Maybe that’s why we can only get so close.
He didn’t know if he could explain what he was feeling without telling her the whole story, including his conversation with Bob Dunning, but he owed it to her to at least make an attempt.

“Being a criminal lawyer has always been a bit of a mind game. You’re representing criminals, but you figure if you’re ethical and you do your job the way it’s supposed to be done and let the chips fall where they may, then the system is working. Yesterday, the veil was lifted for me. We’re representing drug dealers who are destroying people’s lives. I saw Bernie in a different light yesterday and I saw myself as well. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Wait a minute. That’s where all your training is. You don’t want to give up all that experience.”

“I’ll still represent people in criminal proceedings. I just won’t represent the people that I believe are guilty.”

“You can’t make a living doing that.”

Kevin thought he’d heard her wrong for a second.

“I can do civil work as well as criminal work. I can do appellate work and make a living. There’s plenty of opportunity.”

Kevin had just finished the sentence when the phone rang. He picked it up. “Hello.”

“Hello, is this Kevin Wylie?” It was a female voice.

“Yes, this is he.”

“Kevin, my name is Kate Parker. You don’t know me but—”

“I know who you are,” Kevin rudely interrupted the woman. “Why are you calling me?”

“Your father is in the hospital. He has cancer. He’s having surgery tomorrow morning and they don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

“Why are you telling me this? I haven’t heard from him in twenty-eight years.”

“I just thought you should know,” the woman said calmly. “He’s at St. Albans Hospital, room 388.”

Kevin slammed the receiver down, jumped out of bed, and started pacing the room.

“What was that all about?” Susan asked, stunned by Kevin’s behavior.

“That was my father’s girlfriend calling to tell me that he’s dying of cancer and I’m supposed to give a shit.”

Susan didn’t know what to say. She knew little pieces of the story. Kevin’s mother had left his father and moved to Miami when Kevin was eight. Kevin never spoke to his father after that. His mother later remarried a man named Stephen Linehart who had raised Kevin as his own son. That was all she knew. The rest was locked up in a little closet in Kevin’s psyche. It was a taboo subject between them.

“Why is she calling now?” Susan asked.

“He’s in the hospital. He’s having surgery tomorrow morning and they don’t know if he’s going to make it. Don’t ask me any more questions, okay?”

Kevin had already put on his running shorts and was tying his sneakers. He had decided he needed a long run to sort things out.