The Alligator Man (6 page)

K
evin arrived at the hospital at eleven thirty the next morning and was told at the reception desk that Tom Wylie was in his room, which surprised him. He figured his father would still be in ICU.

Hospitals were not his thing. The indefinable smell and sight of the sick permeated every floor. As he emerged from the elevator, Kevin saw two patients lying on gurneys against the wall, their IVs in place, waiting to be taken somewhere. Others were walking up and down the halls half-naked in their hospital gowns as the nurses flitted from room to room.

Kevin checked the room numbers as he walked down the hallway. He had learned long ago never to ask for directions in a hospital. There would always be some rule he was breaking. Either he was too early or too late or the patient was not allowed to have visitors—something. His father’s room was at the end of the hall. He took a deep breath and walked in.

It was a private room. Tom Wylie was lying in the bed with his eyes closed. His hair was grayer and he didn’t appear to be the giant Kevin remembered from his youth. His face had a lean, healthy glow even though Kevin had been told that he was dying.

There were two other people in the room. One, a plump, red-faced man with white hair, Kevin recognized right away, although he had no idea why Florida Supreme Court Justice Ray Blackwell was at his father’s bedside. The other man was a complete mystery. Both of them looked at him as he walked in. Kevin addressed the face he recognized.

“Justice Blackwell?” he asked to be sure, extending his hand.

“Only at the office,” the judge replied good-naturedly, shaking his hand. “And you are?”

“Kevin Wylie.”

“Tom’s son. Why, of course. I should have recognized you. You look just like your dad.” Kevin bristled at the statement. He didn’t see the resemblance at all.

The judge took the opportunity to introduce the other man in the room. “Kevin, this is Billy Fuller. He’s an old friend of your dad’s too.”

Billy stood up and shook Kevin’s hand. He was a tall, thin, balding man who had the look of an athlete and a strong handshake, although he had dark circles under his eyes and appeared to be very tired.

“I remember you, Kevin. We used to play catch at your dad’s house when you were a little boy.” Kevin had no memory of that and he wondered if Billy was mistaken. Billy saw the question on his face.

“I was a lot older than you,” he said. “Your dad was kinda looking out for me at the time, so I was hanging out at your house.”

It was coming back to Kevin slowly. There was an older boy lurking in his memory somewhere, and they did play catch and fish together out at the lake. He had never known before that moment whether those images in his mind were real or not. He smiled at Billy as he shook his hand.

“I remember,” he said. “We used to go fishing together too.”

“That’s right. You always had to have Matty come along in the boat.”

Kevin caught a brief glimpse of himself, Billy, and his dog, Matty, in an old rowboat out on the lake. “Wow, that was so long ago.”

Just then, a woman walked into the room with a brown paper bag in her hands. She set the bag down on a table and looked at Tom Wylie lying motionless in the bed.

“Any change?” she asked Ray Blackwell.

“None,” the judge replied. “The nurse said he should be waking up soon, though.”

“Do you think we should call Alex?” she asked. Alex was Tom’s doctor and, as Kevin would later find out, a close, personal friend for forty years.

“He just stuck his head in a few minutes ago. Said he had some rounds to make and he’d be back in a few minutes. Have you met our new visitor?”

Kevin had been standing to the side, watching the conversation between Judge Blackwell and this woman, wondering who she was. He couldn’t find her anywhere in his memory. She was a tall woman with long brown hair streaked with gray.
Probably mid- to late forties,
Kevin surmised. She wore blue jeans and cowboy boots and a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and her healthy, well-tanned face was not obscured by any makeup.

“I’m Kate Parker,” she said. “You must be Kevin.”

Kevin was shocked. This woman looked nothing like the Jezebel he had created in his mind. And she looked so much younger than his father. His mother had made references to her several times over the years, always in a derogatory manner. Kevin had simply assumed she had something to do with the divorce and had hated her all his life. He had no choice under these circumstances but to be polite.

“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad you decided to come,” she said, politely shaking his hand. She then turned to her brown bag. “I brought an extra coffee in case you might be here. I’ve got milk and sugar and Sweet’N Low so you can all fix your own the way you like it.”

Everybody took a few moments to prepare their drinks. Kevin was still reeling from the introduction and that she had thought to bring him coffee, especially after the way he had treated her on the phone the day before. He was holding on to his anger, though, not letting it go that easily.

“Kate, why don’t you fill Kevin in on what has transpired over the last several hours?” the judge suggested. He seemed to have a sense of the anxiety permeating the room.

“Sure,” Kate replied and focused her large brown eyes directly at Kevin. “Tom was scheduled to have surgery this morning, but after he was anesthetized, they took a look at his chest X-ray and discovered he had pneumonia and scrapped the surgery. Later, they realized they had reviewed the X-rays of another man.

“We’re just concerned Tom might have an emotional letdown when he wakes up and finds out what happened.”

Kate had barely finished the sentence when Tom’s doctor, Alex Rivard, entered the room. He appeared to be a contemporary of Tom’s in age, although he also had a healthy glow about him.

Must be the water up here,
Kevin thought.

“Kate, may I have a word with you?” Alex asked.

The judge took the hint right away. “The rest of us will go down to the cafeteria and drink our coffee,” he said, motioning to both Billy and Kevin.

“I’m gonna go home,” Billy told them when they were in the hallway, heading for the elevator. “I’ve got some things that have to get done today. I’ll be back tonight. Kevin, how long are you in town?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll see you both tonight anyway.”

When they were seated in the cafeteria with their coffees in hand, Kevin started with his questions.

“Can I ask how you know my father, Judge?”

“Sure. I met your dad right out of law school. We worked at the same law firm and I reported to him. You might say he was my mentor. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Was he a good lawyer?”

The judge did not answer right away. Kevin could see that he was thinking about his response.

“He was the best at certain things. Your father was never a detail person. He was a big picture guy and he was great in the courtroom.

“Later, when he went out on his own, he took the cases nobody else would touch, simply because he believed in the people he was representing. I thought he was crazy but it’s what I admired him for the most.”

“He hasn’t talked to me in twenty-eight years. Do you admire that?”

The judge seemed to be expecting Kevin’s anger.

“I knew your mom very well,” he said. “She was a wonderful person. I felt very sad when things went bad between the two of them. I still feel bad for you, Kevin, because you were the casualty of that war. I know there’s still rage inside of you.”

Kevin gave him a look that asked,
How the hell do you know what’s inside of me?

The judge read his eyes. “Kate told me about the phone call yesterday, how you treated her. She asked for my advice before she made that call and I encouraged her to do it. I still think it was the right thing to do.”

Kevin was embarrassed that the judge knew about his conversation with Kate. “I didn’t handle the call very well.”

“Listen, son,” the judge continued. “I presided over a number of divorces in my days on the bench, enough to understand that this is a totally emotional issue for you. You can’t rely on the rational lawyer to evaluate the situation and react appropriately. You’re here for some answers as you should be. My one suggestion to you is be patient. Bite your tongue if you have to. If you have some time, and if your father survives this surgery—a lot of ifs, but that’s life—you’ll eventually get your answers. You won’t like them—they’ll be painful—but I do believe that you need to hear them. Your father and I have been friends for a long time so I’m not totally impartial in this matter. However, I do know that as much as you need to learn the truth, he needs to tell it.”

“I hear you, Judge. I don’t know if I can hold it all together, but I hear you.”

“I think you’ll handle it and I think you’ll get your answers. Everyone may not live happily ever after, but who knows?”

F
reddie Jenkins was sitting in the back of Mr. Reese’s history class, listening to him drone on about the Spanish-American War, when Della, the principal’s secretary, came over the intercom and asked him to report to the office. Freddie didn’t realize he was half-asleep until Della said his name, which caused him to jump and almost fall out of his chair.

“I’m glad somebody can get your attention, Mr. Jenkins,” Mr. Reese said as Freddie tried to regain his composure. By that time, the whole class was laughing at Freddie.

He was relieved to get out of Mr. Reese’s class no matter what the reason, but as he walked down the hallway, he started to wonder why the principal wanted to see him. He knew it couldn’t be good.

Carlisle had left Rosie’s and driven immediately to the high school. There was about an hour of school left and he wanted to catch Freddie Jenkins before the school day ended. He probably should have taken the information to Vern but there was no time. He’d report it to the sheriff after the interview was over.

He had some initial problems with Harvey Shay, the principal.

Mr. Shay had been the principal when Carlisle went to Gladestown High. It was a small school, and Mr. Shay remembered everything about Carlisle, including that he was a bright young man who didn’t particularly like the classroom environment. Carlisle would rather be out on the water or in the woods with his father, one of the numerous ne’er-do-wells in Gladestown. He was reluctant to let Carlisle speak to one of his students, even if that student was Freddie Jenkins, who was of the same ilk and whom he disliked even more than Carlisle.

“You don’t have the authority to interview one of my students, Mr. Buchanan, and I’m not going to allow it.”

Carlisle was cool. He was getting a lot of practice maintaining his composure since he had to deal with Vern Fleming at some point every day. Mr. Shay didn’t even come close to Vern.

“You watch television, don’t you, Mr. Shay?”

“Very little.”

“I’m sure. I’m also sure you haven’t missed the worldwide publicity regarding the disappearance of Roy Johnson. We believe that Freddie Jenkins has some information regarding this matter. You can stop me from talking to him now, but at some point we are going to talk to him. Any delay in that conversation is going to cause problems, I can assure you. Do you want to accept responsibility for that delay and have your name plastered all over the news?”

Harvey Shay was a thin, little man with a loud voice. He stood there for the longest time with his hands on his hips, like he was modeling petulance. Carlisle didn’t even look at him. He knew he had him.

“Della,” Mr. Shay finally yelled to his secretary. “Get Freddie Jenkins down here.” He then turned his attention back to Carlisle. “You’ve got fifteen minutes, Mr. Buchanan.”

Carlisle knew he had as much time as he wanted, but he let Mr. Shay have his small victory.

When Freddie Jenkins arrived, Mr. Shay sat him down and did the introductions.

“Mr. Jenkins, Auxiliary Officer Buchanan here wants to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Roy Johnson.” Mr. Shay then turned to Carlisle. “You may proceed, Mr. Buchanan.”

Carlisle sat in the chair across from Freddie Jenkins. “Mr. Jenkins, it’s my understanding that you saw something out on Gladestown Road the night Roy Johnson went missing, is that correct?”

Freddie Jenkins had decided somewhere on the trip down the hallway to the principal’s office that no matter what was asked, he wasn’t admitting to anything. Now he was being asked direct questions about Roy Johnson, and Mr. Shay was standing over him, listening to every word.

“No, I don’t know anything about that,” he said, never taking his eyes off of Mr. Shay.

Carlisle saw that look of terror. He knew from experience what it was about. Mr. Shay, when he was angry, screamed in your face. He got so close, you could smell his breath as he ranted and raved. You were sure at any moment he was going to explode. If Carlisle was going to get anywhere with Freddie, Mr. Shay had to go.

“Mr. Shay, would you leave the room please?”

“I most certainly will not. This is my office.”

“And this is my investigation.”

Mr. Shay backed off. Carlisle had gotten under his skin with the threat of publicity.

“Della,” he yelled to his secretary. “I’m going to take a walk around the school while these two talk. Page me when Mr. Buchanan is done. I don’t want Mr. Jenkins going back to his class until I have had a word with him.”

When Mr. Shay had left the room, Carlisle turned to Freddie.

“I don’t want you to worry about Mr. Shay, Freddie. Let me handle him. This is a serious matter, though. Somebody died and he may have been killed. You need to tell me the truth right now. If you do, you’re not going to get into any trouble. But if you lie to me you may go to jail. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, I was at Rosie’s today a little bit after you left. Rosie said that she overheard you telling your friends that you saw someone get hit by a car out on Gladestown Road the night the Alligator Man went missing. Is that true?”

Freddie hesitated a minute. Carlisle figured he was weighing his options, thinking about whom he had told and whether they would lie for him.

“Yes, sir. It’s true,” Freddie finally said.

“And you were there with Becky Yates?”

“That part wasn’t true. We go out there all the time. She called me to meet her there but she never showed up. Of course, now she claims she never called me.”

“So, you were there by yourself?”

“Yeah. Just waiting.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw this car turn down Gladestown Road heading for town. I watched because I was looking for Becky’s car. The radio wasn’t working. Then I saw this guy in the car’s headlights. And then I saw the car hit him and he went right into the swamp. It all happened really fast.”

“How far away were you?”

“I’m not sure—twenty or thirty yards. I could take you out there.”

“What time did this happen?”

“I’m not sure. It was after eleven because I didn’t leave my house until at least ten minutes after eleven. My parents go to bed at eleven. I have this beat-up, little pickup truck, and I had to sneak it out of the driveway and wait until I was down the road to turn the lights on.”

“How long does it take you to get to the chamber parking lot?”

“Five minutes or so.”

“And how long were you there before you saw this guy get hit?”

“Maybe another five minutes.”

“Could you tell what the man was wearing—the man who was hit?”

“Like I said, Officer, it all happened so fast. I don’t remember much. He had a light-colored shirt on and he had dark hair. That’s all I remember.”

“What about the car? What did the car do after it hit the man?”

“It just kept going. I never saw it again.”

“Can you describe the car?”

“It was gray. I could see it when it stopped at the corner. There’s a streetlight there. It was a Honda or something like that. It didn’t look new.”

“Anything else you recall?”

“No.”

“Where was the guy walking before he was hit? I mean, was he in the middle of the road?”

“I don’t think so. I think he was walking on the side of the road. And he was walking back toward town, facing traffic, but there wasn’t any traffic coming toward him. Does that make any sense?”

“So, the car would have had to come all the way over to the opposite side of the road to hit him, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah. That’s what it looked like.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. I got that picture in my head, you know. It’s one of those things you don’t forget.”

“But you don’t remember what he was wearing?”

“No. I wasn’t concentrating on that.”

“Why did you tell your friends that Becky was with you when she wasn’t?”

Freddie didn’t answer right away and Carlisle could tell he was having a little trouble with the question.

“I was freaked when this happened, you know. I lit outta there right away. I had to drive down Gladestown Road, right past where that man went in the swamp because it’s the only way home. I knew what was happening to him but I didn’t stop. I was too afraid. I thought whoever it was who did this might come back for me.

“I didn’t wanna tell anybody about what I saw but it’s hard to keep those things in, you know. So I just said Becky was with me. If any of the guys asked why I didn’t stop to help the man, I was gonna say Becky was freaked out. I guess I didn’t think it through.”

“I guess not.”

It was a stupid kid’s move but Carlisle could understand it. The kid was being honest now, Carlisle was sure of that. He could tell by the way Freddie was fidgeting. He was a good kid.

“Listen, Freddie, you’re probably going to be asked about this again by another police officer or the state attorney, maybe more than once, and probably in a more formal way with a tape recorder, a court reporter, or a video recorder taking down what you say, so I want you to think about what you told me and when you go back to class write it down and make sure you say exactly the same thing every time, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have to make a report about what you told me to the sheriff. Reports have a way of leaking out to the press, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The more people you talk to, the more problems you have, do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So don’t talk to the press, no matter what.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now go on back to class. I’ll wait for Mr. Shay.”

Della was a little upset when Carlisle told her he had sent Freddie back to class and asked her to page Mr. Shay. She hoped Mr. Shay didn’t blame her for the violation of his orders. She was going to protest to Carlisle that he didn’t have the authority to send Freddie back to his classroom, but she could see that it was no use. The boy was already on his way.

As he waited for Mr. Shay to come back to the office, Carlisle thought about Freddie’s story. This was no longer just a hit-and-run.

Harvey Shay was livid when he found out Carlisle had countered his orders.

“I run this school, Mr. Buchanan. Della, get that boy back here.”

“Don’t do that just yet, Della,” Carlisle told the woman. “Mr. Shay and I are going to have a discussion first.”

Carlisle walked back into the principal’s office and beckoned the principal to follow. Mr. Shay sheepishly walked behind him. When they were in the office out of the sight of Della, Carlisle got into Harvey Shay’s space, where Shay could smell
his
breath.

“That boy is a witness in a criminal investigation. He is going to be under a great deal of pressure in the coming days and weeks. I want you to leave him alone. If you don’t, the sheriff is going to hear about it and so will your superiors. I’ll know because I will personally be talking to the boy.”

Having said his piece, Carlisle turned and left, leaving Harvey Shay to ponder his words.