As he expected, the Supreme Court immediately issued a schedule for the parties to follow. The attorney general had seven days to respond on behalf of the State of Florida, and oral arguments would be five days later. Rudy’s execution was scheduled for nine days after the oral argument date. Whether it was in the Florida Supreme Court or the United States Supreme Court, it was going to be a last-minute decision that would decide Rudy’s fate.
Like Nancy, Jack couldn’t just sit around and wait after he submitted the brief. He decided to learn everything he could about the chief investigating officer, Wesley Brume, and the former state attorney, Clay Evans IV, and to visit both men. He knew there was no real benefit in continuing the investigation. Neither man was going to admit to anything. But something compelled him to go forward. He wasn’t quite sure what that something was.
Wesley Brume did not want to talk to Jack Tobin. He avoided the first three calls, but when Jack persisted, he knew he couldn’t duck the conversation forever. This prick was going to be the new state attorney and Wes couldn’t afford to make him an enemy before he even started. He didn’t have that kind of power. Why would the governor appoint a lily-livered, scum-sucking, criminal-loving son-of-a-bitch like this Tobin guy to be the state attorney? It just didn’t make sense. It was like being in bed with one of the bad guys.
He took the fourth call.
“Brume here.”
“Mr. Brume, I’m Jack Tobin.”
“I know who you are. I know you’re going to be the new state attorney. I also know you’re now representing Rudy Kelly. So what do you want with me?”
“I’d like to have a conversation with you.”
“About what?”
“About all of the above.” Jack didn’t want to tip his hand just yet, although he was sure Brume knew exactly what he was after.
“Well, I’d prefer that we delay a face-to-face meeting until you come on board as state attorney.” The Grunt was still holding out hope that the governor would come to his senses and jettison this commie pinko.
“We can’t always get what we want in this world, Mr. Brume. You and I are going to be working together. I think we should start to get to know each other. When the governor offered me this job, he and I talked about the necessity of forming partnerships.”
There it was-the veiled threat. “If you don’t talk to me, I’ll call my friend the governor, whose ass I’ve had my nose up for the last twenty years.” Wes wanted to vomit. These politicos were all alike. The only guy who had any real balls was Clay Evans, and he rode the Kelly case to an appointment on the federal bench. But Wes had to meet with this guy. He’d only been appointed police chief last year and he needed two more years on a chief’s salary before he could retire with a chief’s pension. Besides, he ain’t gonna get squat from me. I’ll dance him around the room for a few hours, then show him the door.
They met at Wesley Brume’s office. Jack would have preferred more neutral ground, but the Grunt insisted on his office. He wanted the upper hand.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Tobin?” Chief Brume asked as he leaned back in his fake leather chair and propped his feet up on his cheap, particleboard desk. Jack wanted to laugh. If this was Wesley Brume’s feeble attempt at intimidation, it was having the opposite effect. Wesley Brume would learn about real intimidation very soon.
“No thanks.”
“Well then, what can I do for you?” the Grunt asked as he sat up in his chair and began to shuffle some papers, pretending to be a very busy man.
“Well, I know we might be working together in the future and I wanted to clear the air about some things.”
The word “might” had its intended effect. What the hell does he mean “might”? Is he trying to intimidate me? He decided to ignore the remark.
“What air, exactly, needs to be cleared, Mr. Tobin?”
“Well, I’m representing Rudy Kelly and you were the chief investigating officer in his case, so in a way I’m investigating you and your actions.”
“Have you found anything I did wrong?”
“Oh yeah, and I’m not finished yet.” The blood rushed to the Grunt’s face. He knew his feeble attempt at remaining calm wasn’t working. His face was burning and his temples were throbbing. He decided to abandon the act, pointing his finger at Jack.
“I don’t give a shit who you think you are coming in here and accusing me like this, but I’m not gonna stand for it. Get the fuck outta here.”
Jack didn’t move. In fact, he leaned back in his chair as the Grunt had done moments before. “Calm down, Mr. Brume. Nobody is accusing you of any criminal activity-at least, not yet. I’m just saying that a few mistakes were made.”
The Grunt didn’t hear the last part. He was too busy choking on the words “at least, not yet.” Jack didn’t keep him in suspense too long.
“We know about the separate rape file. It’s part of my brief before the Supreme Court on prosecutorial misconduct. I just don’t know whose idea it was-you or Mr. Evans. My guess is it was Mr. Evans’s idea and he got the coroner to go along. Mr. Evans, or I should say Judge Evans, won’t talk to me and I figure when the time comes to discuss these matters he might throw you under the bus-so I thought I’d come to you beforehand and give you the opportunity to tell me the real story.”
There was a moment of silence. Brume was sweating now-boiling and sweating. Jack decided to turn up the heat full blast. He could now see that Wesley Brume was the pawn in this operation. If Tracey James had in fact been murdered, Brume hadn’t made the decision.
“Oh by the way,” Jack continued, “I know Tracey James called you before she was killed-and told you she had new information and a witness.”
“Who’s the witness?” Brume blurted out. His reaction settled a fundamental issue in Jack’s mind that had existed since Dick Radek made the accusation. Tracey James definitely was murdered! He remembered Joaquin Sanchez’s words about Radek: I trust his instincts. He looked at Wesley Brume and just shrugged.
The Grunt’s mind was racing. This prick was a cool customer, but he had to be bluffing. He wouldn’t be here if he knew who the witness was. On the other hand, he had a point-Clay Evans would give him up in a heartbeat. He was tempted but only for a moment. This die had been cast a long time ago. He had to stick with Evans. It was time to end this charade. He stood up.
“Like I said a few minutes ago, Mr. Tobin. Get the fuck outta here. You ain’t the state attorney yet. You go around accusing police chiefs and federal judges of crimes without any evidence and you never will be.”
Jack stood up as well. “Thanks for the advice,” he said and walked out of Brume’s office.
Brume slammed the door behind him and sank back into his fake leather chair.
Thirty-three
The following Saturday Jack took Pat for a boat ride on the Okalatchee River. He didn’t take the big boat, his twenty-eight-foot Hatteras-he took the dinghy. It looked very much like the dinghy Rudy had bargained for so many years before.
Pat was a somewhat reluctant passenger.
“Why do we have to go out at six o’clock in the morning?” she complained. She wasn’t an early morning person. Besides, it was cold. She had to wear a parka and sweatpants over her bikini.
“You want to be on the water when the sun comes up so you can feel nature’s changing of the guard.”
“I’d rather be under my down comforter.”