Every morning they came to work in jeans or shorts. The first order of business was breakfast at the local diner, the Pelican. They’d started eating there the week before, which made them almost regulars. It wasn’t a very large place-an old railroad-car diner complete with a once-shiny aluminum facade that had lost its luster considerably over the years. Dolores was their waitress-the only waitress in the place.
“Just call me Dolly,” she’d told them the first morning they came in. “We ain’t got no specials. We don’t do waffles. It’s pancakes; eggs any way, with ham, bacon or sausage; or cereal, cold or hot. We got oatmeal, Cream of Wheat, corn flakes and Special K. What’ll it be?” Dolly just stood there staring at her pad, pen in hand, her black reading glasses resting below the bridge of her nose-ready for action. Pat and Nancy looked at each other and almost burst out laughing. They’d been coming back every day since, always sitting in the same booth.
Dolly was more familiar now. “Hiya, girls. Ya gonna have the usual?” she’d ask as soon as they were seated. Dolly didn’t seem to remember that, although Pat ordered the same meal every day, Nancy didn’t.
“How long did you work for Jack in Miami?” Pat asked Nancy one morning as she waited for Dolly to deliver her daily bowl of oatmeal and bananas.
“About a year.”
“How’d you like the big firm atmosphere?”
“I hated it.”
“How about Jack?”
“Him too.”
“Really?” Pat laughed. She enjoyed finding out about the “other” Jack. “Tell me about it.”
“He was nothing like he is now. It’s almost like he was a completely different person. He never smiled. He never talked to me until the day he saw in the paper that your friend Mike had died. Since then he’s been great-like a second father.” Just then Dolly arrived with Pat’s oatmeal and Nancy’s bacon and eggs. Youth, Pat said to herself. They can eat anything.
“I hated my father,” Dolly interjected. They both looked at her and smiled and politely waited until she was a safe distance away before they resumed their conversation.
“Jack’s behavior sounds a little strange-almost like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing,” Pat remarked.
“Not that bad. Jack was never mean. It was just like he wasn’t there-emotionally. You know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“Now he’s as warm as a person can be. It’s almost like your friend Mike’s death opened the floodgates to his emotions. Just look at the way he’s working this case. His heart and soul are in it.”
“Yeah, I see that. But I worry what will happen to him if he’s not successful.”
“You mean if Rudy dies?”
“If Rudy is executed.”
“Oh, I don’t even want to think about that.”
“None of us does” Pat replied. “But it’s a distinct possibility.”
“I just don’t think Jack’s going to let that happen,” Nancy said. “After all, he’s personal friends with the governor. If worse comes to worst.”
“I didn’t think about that. Maybe you’re right.”
Back at the office, they jumped right into their work. Pat noticed that while she was setting the computer equipment up, Nancy was reading one of the files.
“That’s a lot of information to digest,” Pat said in a nice way.
“I know. But it’s so interesting-the investigation, the hearings, the trial.”
“You really like this legal stuff, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to make it my life’s work.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Jack said something to me about becoming a lawyer when he asked me to come with him. I never thought of myself in that category before, but just him saying it made me start thinking about it and once I get going, I don’t stop.”
“Do you have your degree?” Pat asked.
“I’ve got a two-year degree and about fifteen credit hours past that. There’s a four-year school in Vero Beach, Madison College, where I can get my bachelor’s degree in a year. There’s a law school in Fort Lauderdale, two hours away. If I can schedule my classes two or three days a week, I can still work for Jack part-time. Dad’s got a V.A. disability pension plus Social Security, so we can make ends meet.”
“Wow! I guess you don’t stop once you get going. But I don’t hear anything about a social life in those plans.”
“What social life? I don’t have a social life now.”
“I can’t believe that,” Pat told her. “A beautiful girl like you?”
“Thanks for that, Pat, but I never quite fit in in Miami. I wasn’t fast or flashy enough, or something. And guys my age just seem like jerks to me. They’ve got one-track minds. There’s no substance or soul.”
“It doesn’t change as they get older, honey. The guys with real substance are few and far between, no matter how old you are. But you’ll meet someone.”
“It can wait until I get out of law school.”
“Love waits for no man or woman. When it happens, it happens,” Pat said, staring out the window.
Nancy looked at Pat and was about to ask her about her own personal life. But she stopped herself. She could see Pat wasn’t ready to go that far.
Twenty-nine
Jack spent Monday night at Dick Radek’s house and woke up the next morning with a hangover. He and Dick had sat on the back porch until the wee hours of the morning drinking beer and solving the problems of the world. Now with his head pounding, he couldn’t even remember what one of those problems was.
He showered quickly, put on the extra pair of slacks and shirt he’d brought with him and waited for Dick to wake up so they could go to the copy place.
It took a little over an hour to have the file copied. He and Dick went out for breakfast. Then he dropped the old detective off and headed for Indiantown, where Joaquin Sanchez now lived permanently. Dick had called the night before ostensibly to let Joaquin know Jack was coming. But Jack knew the real reason-the address. Dick had to get Joaquin’s permission to give out his address. They’ve still got each other’s back.
Joaquin also lived on the water, a small canal that meandered out to Lake Okeechobee. He was cleaning his boat when Jack arrived. Jack rang the bell and stood at the front door for ten minutes before he thought to look in the backyard. So much for being an investigator, he told himself as he walked around the house and discovered Joaquin hard at work.
Joaquin was very friendly. “I can’t help you with much,” he said. “I wasn’t on the case too long.” But he had reread his report the night before and went over it in detail with Jack.
“There’s no doubt in my mind this Geronimo guy killed Lucy Ochoa. Rudy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The problem is you’ve got no firsthand information. The guy I talked to-Pablo-he’ll probably help you but everything he knows is hearsay.”
“Did Dick tell you that Tracey talked to somebody about this case before she died? Somebody who gave her new information?”
“Oh yeah. He’s been talking about nothing else for the last year. I try to get him to forget about it-to come fishing-but he just sits there on his back porch drinking beer all day and festering. You know, it’s a hard thing for a cop to take when somebody is killed on his watch. He’s convinced that’s what happened to Tracey.”
“How about you? Are you convinced?”
“No. But I wasn’t close to the situation, Dick was. You learn in this business to trust your intuition. I trust Dick’s intuition.”
“Do you have any idea who would have called her?”
It was clear that Joaquin had already thought this through because he answered immediately. “Either Raymond Castro or Jose Guerrero-those were the two guys with Geronimo the night of the murder. It’s been ten years; they might have come back to town, heard about Rudy’s situation and decided to do something. That’s the only possibility I can come up with.”