Fatal Decree (39 page)

“Why didn’t you just arrest him?” asked J.D., her voice a little high, incredulous.

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Jock.

“Why not?” asked J.D. “This is still America.”

“There have to be sacrifices for the greater good,” said Jock.

“Don’t give me that crap,” said J.D. “That’s the same excuse every tyrant since the beginning of time has used.”

“We’re not tyrants, J.D.” said Jock, a note of sadness creeping into his voice. “We’re trying to hold the tyrants at bay.”

“By using their tactics,” said J.D. “Where’s the morality in that?”

“There’s no morality in these situations,” said Jock. “There’s just necessity.”

“How about expedience?” she asked.

“That, too,” said Jock. “I can’t excuse what we do. I can only hope that it’s right under the circumstances.”

J.D. frowned. “If you base morality on circumstances, you really don’t have a moral code. If it’s subject to change from time to time, it’s nothing.”

“Sometimes,” said Jock, “the immoral thing is the right thing to do.”

“That’s pure sophistry,” said J.D. “Situational ethics.”

“How about the three agents whose deaths Gene was responsible for?” asked Jock, a little more heatedly. “What about their families?”

“They’re not the issue here,” J.D. said. “The murder of Gene Alexander is.”

“I’m sick about this, J.D.,” said Jock, “and so is the director. Gene was a friend, a man I trusted with my life. I’m sick that he turned out to be a snake. I’m sick that three of our agents died horrible deaths because of
him, and I’m sick that I have to live with the memory of the men I’ve killed. But I have always operated with a higher goal in mind, the security of our country.”

“I’m sorry, Jock,” J.D. said. “I know you are a moral man. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t. I’m glad we have people like you, and I guess in some ways, I’m one of you. I killed a man yesterday. It had to be done to protect people I care about, you and Matt. But that rationale doesn’t take away the fact that I killed a man, not for the first time, and that I’ll have to live with that. But what I did wasn’t murder.”

“What would you call it?” asked Jock.

“Self-defense.”

“But you killed Bert because he was about to shoot me, not you.”

“He would’ve gotten around to me.”

“But you shot him to keep me alive,” said Jock. “How is that different from Dave having Gene killed to protect the lives of our agents?”

She was quiet for a moment or two, mulling over Jock’s points. “I didn’t just decree Bert’s death,” she said. “I acted in the emergency situation that he created. How does your director have the right to make the decision as to who dies?”

“An executive order from the president.”

“That might make it legal,” said J.D., “and that’s questionable, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“We’re back at the beginning of the argument, J.D. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Dave had to order Gene’s death. It was the only way to ensure that our agents wouldn’t be killed.”

“So Dave just utters a fatal decree,” she said, “and Gene dies.”

“Let me tell you everything Dave Kendall told me this morning,” said Jock.

When Jock finished, there was quiet in the room. It had been a sordid story, a story of life and duty and tragedy and despair and, finally, treachery, torture, and murder.

“God, Jock,” said J.D. “how do you do it?”

Jock shook his head and said nothing. Our sandwiches had grown
cold during Jock’s recitation, but I didn’t think any of us had an appetite after what we’d heard.

“What now?” I asked. “We know everything except where Mariah is. We have to find her before this thing is over.”

“We keep looking,” said J.D. as she got up from the table. “I’ve got to write a report.” She turned and walked out the front door.

Jock got a call from Dave Kendall late that afternoon and left immediately for Tampa. He would spend the night in an airport hotel and leave early the next morning for Houston. He had a new assignment. “Back to the jungle, podna,” he said as he hugged me goodbye. “See you soon.”

“Be careful, Jock,” I said. “Come back whole.”

My day had started with a feeling of lassitude and was ending in agitation. I took a beer to the patio and sat quietly, watching the darkness unfold and slowly work its way over the key. I was worried about Jock. Gene’s death, or at least the necessity of it as decreed by an agency to which he had given his life, had rattled him in a way I had not seen before. I worried he might lose focus, and I knew that even a small amount of distraction could prove fatal in the violent environment in which he worked.

J.D.’s reaction to Jock’s disclosure that the order for Gene’s murder had come from an arm of her own government was one of disgust. I knew her well, and I knew that she would understand the necessity of the director’s actions, but she would never be able to reconcile them with her innate sense of justice. She had left the turmoil of Miami for the relative peace of Longboat Key and found herself enmeshed in the actions of a governmental agency that seemed unbounded by the normal rules of civilized behavior. At least in Miami, there had been an order of sorts in the discord created by the criminal elements. Their actions didn’t always make sense, but at least she knew that at the root of whatever evil they perpetrated on the city, there was always money. There was a certain symmetry to criminality that was absent in the world of the terrorist who killed merely for the shock murder always generated.

I was not unaware that when J.D. left, she hadn’t muttered the usual
pleasantries. No promise to “see you later” or “I’ll call” or even a “goodbye.” She was angry at the uselessness of the murders on Longboat, at the sheer lunacy of the attempts on her life, at Jock and everything he represented, and maybe even at me for being Jock’s friend.

I’d have to give her time to wind down, see if she’d call me or stop by. If I didn’t hear from her soon, I’d call her. Probably the next day. If that was too soon, the hell with it. I went for another beer and thought some more.

There was nothing I could do if she chose to leave the island. That would be her decision, and I’d have to live with the emptiness, kiss a phase of my life goodbye, and move on. Not a pleasant thought, but I knew I’d survive and I knew I’d always wonder about the what-ifs. Over the years of the future, thoughts of J.D. would bring smiles and some pain, but the pain would diminish over time, leaving only the good memories. It was the way of human nature. Perhaps it was time for me to tell her that I loved her. If she left, at least she’d take that knowledge with her.

The evening wore on, and I thought myself through an entire six-pack and went to bed without reaching any conclusions, other than I’d probably have a headache in the morning.

I awoke a little before eight the next morning, Friday. I showered, shaved, dressed, and drove to the Blue Dolphin. I sat at the end of the counter and read the morning newspaper. I finished off three eggs, bacon, grits, toast, two cups of coffee, and two Tylenol. I was starting to feel a little better. Damn beer.

I walked to my car and called J.D. I didn’t like the way she’d left my house the day before. I’d square it with her somehow. The phone rang twice and a computer-generated voice said, “I’m sorry, but that number has been disconnected at the customer’s request.”

I looked at my phone. I’d used the speed dial feature. J.D.’s number was two, right after the number one with the preprogrammed voice mail. I tried again. Got the same message.

I drove the block to the police station, parked, and went into the reception area. Iva was behind the desk. “Morning, Matt,” she said.

“Good morning, beautiful,” I said, sounding a lot more cheerful than I felt. “Is J.D. in?”

“No, but the chief wants to see you. Said if you dropped by to send you back.”

She buzzed me through the door leading to the back of the station. I walked down the corridor and stopped at Chief Bill Lester’s office. He looked up and said, “Come on in, Matt.”

“What’s up, Bill?”

“J.D.’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Afraid so.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“She left the police department and the island.” He handed me an envelope. “She said to give you this. Said you’d be here as soon as you realized her phone was no longer working.”

I was stunned. J.D. gone? “Gone where? When?”

“She left last night after she turned in all the paperwork from the murders. Came by my house to turn in her resignation. I talked her out of that. Told her she could have a leave of absence, but only until the end of the year.”

“Where did she go, Bill?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. Said she had a lot of thinking to do about her future. Maybe she said something in the letter.”

“She brought this to your house?”

“No. As she was leaving my house, she said she was going to write you a note and leave it on my desk last night. I found it when I came in this morning.”

I looked at the envelope. My name was written across the front of it in her neat and very recognizable handwriting, each cursive letter perfectly formed. Above my name were block letters spelling out “PERSONAL.”

“Did she give you any reason for leaving, Bill?”

“Nothing, other than that she had to do some thinking.”

“She’s had a bad time of it the last couple of weeks,” I said. “And Mariah Fuentes is still out there, probably still trying to kill J.D.”

“Mariah didn’t run her off. She’s got more guts than that.”

“I know. Maybe too much in the way of guts. But these last two weeks have taken their toll.”

“Did she say anything to you?” Bill asked. “Anything that would lead you to believe she would just up and leave?”

“Nothing. I know she’s been a little bored lately and had even been thinking about going back to Miami. But I thought she just had a little case of island fever and she’d get over it.”

“Apparently, she didn’t.”

“You’ve got a small force, Bill. How are you going to handle her absence?”

“I’m going to use Steve Carey as our ‘sort of’ detective and Bob Snead said he’d come in if I needed help on the patrol side.” Snead had recently retired from the force and lived in the village.

“Matt, I know she’s a lot more than just a friend to you. But give her some space. Don’t go looking for her.”

“I won’t try to find her, but if you hear from her, tell her I’d appreciate a phone call.”

“I’ll do it, Matt. Call me if you need somebody to drink beer with.”

I nodded, and left the station.

I drove to Coquina Beach at the southern tip of Anna Maria Island. I sat on the sand and watched the sea wash shyly onto the beach, little ripples of turquoise water that was the Gulf of Mexico’s idea of surf. I felt very alone. My lawyer brain told me that I had to talk to J.D., argue with her, point out the weaknesses in her resolve to leave, if that’s what it was. I would tell her more about my feelings for her, bare my shriveled soul, even beg her to stay.

But the more rational side of my brain told me that was a fool’s errand. J.D. had to work it out for herself. If she were to stay on the island, it had to be her decision. If she wanted me in her life as more than a friend, she had to make that choice. My life was on Longboat Key. She would only become part of that life if she were ready to commit to living on the island.

I wasn’t making a choice between J.D. and Longboat Key. And I didn’t think J.D. should try to make a decision between me and Miami. Love of a good woman was part of life, but so were so many other parts to it. If I chose to leave my life on Longboat and try to build another one solely on love, I would fail and the love would die.

I pulled the letter out of my pocket, read the envelope again, put it on my lap, and watched the sea. The beach was filling with families spending the day together, children romping in the surf, dads cooking on grills, moms calling to the children to stay in the shallows.

I thought about the elderly waitress in the dim little restaurant near the safe house in Miami and wondered what she was doing. Life could turn into a lonely existence without warning. One day you are surrounded by the people you love and the next day they’re gone.

I mentally kicked myself. I’m not above self-pity, but that is one of
several of my traits that I despise. I opened the letter. It was in her handwriting and as I read, I could hear her voice.