SOME PEOPLE DIE QUICK
(Book 2 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series)
by JC Simmons
Copyright 2012 by JC Simmons
PUBLISHED BY NIGHTTIME PRESS LLC
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Copyright © 2012 by JC Simmons
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Check out all ten books in
The Jay Leicester Mysteries Series:
Blood on the Vine
Some People Die Quick
Blind Overlook
Icy Blue Descent
The Electra File
Popping the Shine
Four Nines Fine
The Underground Lady
Akel Dama
The Candela of Cancri
Now available at the usual outlets
Some People Die Quick
(Book 2 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series)
by JC Simmons
PROLOGUE
TWO YEARS EARLIER
The big tiger shark swam through the clear warm water of the Gulf of Mexico with a deadly slowness. It was an old male, the vertical stripes along its sides almost invisible. Two large claspers lay streamlined against the tough underbelly.
The shark was not feeding, its stomach full from a school of mackerel ingested along a current rip less than two hours before. Now, its motions were slow and deliberate, the powerful tail propelling it effortlessly through the water.
In the dim edge of the shark's poor vision a huge shape suddenly appeared. The shark knew no fear, and it was curious about the dark mass lying motionless on the sea floor. No scent came from the object, only a stillness. The shark continued the slow, sweeping movements of its tail, drawing it closer.
Abruptly the big tiger shark arched its back, the pectoral fins pointing downward. Something exploded in the primitive, three hundred million-year-old brain, instantly transforming it into the ultimate feeding machine. Nothing short of total destruction could stop it from devouring anything that moved.
A young female marine biologist moved along the portside of a German submarine that had been sunk during World War Two. Her diving partner, a male colleague, trailed ten yards behind. This was their first dive to the sub. To his astonishment a large object appeared out of nowhere. He instantly recognized it as a huge shark, but its movements were too quick to identify the species.
The shark attacked the young biologist. She seemed to disappear into the horrible, gaping mouth. It was all so fast, like a nightmare unfolding before the man's eyes, transfixing him, rendering him unable to react. There was no sound, only the shaking of the young woman by the shark, like a dog with a bone.
The shark spit the woman from its mouth. Blood clouded the water. Her diving partner, overcoming his fear, swam toward the young scientist. Then the shark struck her again, the head and left shoulder disappearing into the mouth filled with hundreds of sharp, serrated teeth. Blood flowed dark and red from between the shark's gills.
During this attack, instead of violently shaking its head from side to side, the shark bit several times in rapid succession, then spit the woman out and swam with jerky movements in tight circles. The man grabbed the woman and headed upward, out racing their air bubbles. He could see the shark swimming below in the distance.
They broke the surface, blood quickly forming an ever-widening circle. The man screamed for help from the people in the boat. Two men jumped in and swam toward them. Instantly the shark was back, hunting the woman, ignoring the men in the water, pushing them aside in an attempt to get at her.
They managed to fend off the shark and get her in the boat. She was alive, but barely. Her wet suit was in shreds; arterial blood flowed from too many wounds. There was much muscle and skin loss.
The huge tiger shark continued to swim around the submarine long after the woman was transported to the hospital.
CHAPTER ONE
She was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the ugliest human being I had ever seen. If her looks were not her fault, if the scarred, grotesque appearance was someone else's fault, then they needed killing, and I'd be glad to do it myself.
It was a Tuesday morning; I was trying to catch up on some paperwork. The weekend's hangover had faded into Monday evening's sunset. She knocked, and I'd said, "Come in" without looking up. The shock must have registered on my face. It was hard not to stare. She sensed how uncomfortable I was.
"It's okay, Mr. Leicester. Please don't be embarrassed. I've grown used to the disfigurement. Enough time has passed since it happened, even the most inconsiderate of people don't bother me anymore."
Leaning back in my chair, I said, "I wasn't expecting…"
"Please, it's okay. I promise. My name is Annatoo Yillah." She extended a scarred hand. "I want to engage your services. Are you available?"
Shaking her hand, it was claw-like and rough, like old leather. "I'm working on some things, but I'll make some time to help you, Mrs. Yillah."
"Mr. Leicester," she said firmly. "Don't ever feel sorry for me, patronize me, or underestimate me. If you do, you've made a serious mistake. Is that clear?"
"Very much so. Now what can I do for you?"
She had surprised me at how forceful she came across. There was no doubt she could be tough. Looking at her and imagining what she'd been through gave me a clue. What she had endured could not, in any sense of the word, have been anything but horrible.
"I want you to find the person responsible for my last two years of pain." She laced her fingers together and gently placed them in her lap. "If there is a true definition of the word revenge, then that is what I want. Only I want it in the moral and legal sense of today's society. I want whomever did this punished. I'm not interested in monetary compensation. I want them locked away. This cannot happen to someone else. Can you understand what I'm saying?"
"You want what not to happen, Mrs. Yillah?"
"This," she answered, extending both arms, her eyes making a circle around her body. "This…pain, this mess. Can't you see?"
"Yes, I can understand physical and mental pain. I'm not patronizing. Unalleviated pain can do strange things to the mind, and that's from experience, not hearsay. You want justice."
"Yes, Mr. Leicester, I want justice."
"Why not the police, Mrs. Yillah? Why a private investigator? Why me?"
"I've never been married, Mr. Leicester, and please call me Anna. The police have done all they could, which was nothing. I need help, Mr. Leicester. We have a mutual friend, Guy Robbins. He said that you were a true man of the sea, and an amateur marine biologist."
"Guy exaggerates a great deal, Anna. I love the sea, sailing, and shark fishing. To be good at any hunting, you must understand your prey."
"You enjoy killing sharks, Mr. Leicester?"
It was a loaded question.
"No, I've never enjoyed killing anything."
It was better to leave it at that. Why I fished for sharks, or shot quail, or killed deer, or hunted grizzly bear and moose was none of her business.
"What does my interest in the sea have to do with helping you, Anna?"
She sat up straight on the edge of the chair and looked me directly in the eyes. "Two years ago, Mr. Leicester, I was attacked by a large tiger shark. It almost killed me. I've only recently started back to work full-time. The attack was no accident." She paused, watching my face. "Someone caused the attack. I want you to find out who."
It was hard not to react. I had heard of some pretty weird things in my life, but training big, pelagic tiger sharks to attack people in the open ocean was a new one. It did make the news when it happened; a young woman severely bitten while diving off Chandeleur Island in the Gulf of Mexico, not expected to l
ive. But I had heard nothing further about it, until now.
"Miss Yillah…Anna, I'm sure there are many people better qualified to help you with this problem. I'm not sure I'm the one you need…"
"Stop right there." She stood, walked around behind the chair and grasped it with both hands. "Guy said you would be hard to convince. He said you were intelligent, and would listen, but I'd have to make my case. Please, I'm not a disturbed person. Hear me out, then you can make a decision."
* * *
For the next hour Anna Yillah told me her story. I was mesmerized as this scarred, disfigured, remnant of a young woman described her life, her work, and why she knew the shark attack was no accident.
When she finished, I was sitting on the edge of my chair. Yes, I was interested in helping Anna Yillah. Wild horses could not have stopped me.
"There are some things I must finish up today, Anna. We can start tomorrow and devote full-time to you."
"That's wonderful, Mr. Leicester." A smile tried to form on what I imagined was once a beautiful face. "About your fee? Can we get that handled up front, now?"
Giving her the standard contract, she looked it over, signed it without hesitation, and wrote me a check for the two thousand-dollar advance.
"I hope you work fast, Mr. Leicester," she said firmly, looking at the check, then handing it to me. "I have some money, but I'm not rich."
Putting the check in the desk drawer, I said, "Don't worry about the money, Anna. Please, call me, Jay. Are you staying overnight?"
"Yes, I have an appointment at the medical center this afternoon for a checkup, and to see some old friends who spent a lot of time working on what's left of this body. I'm staying at the Ramada Renaissance."
"When you get through at the hospital, call me and we'll have dinner. I'll be here until five, then at this number after that." I wrote my home number on my card and handed it to her.
She shook my hand. "I'll call as soon as I get through. Dinner sounds fine. Thanks, Jay, for being so kind."
Seeing her to the door, I came back and sat down at my desk. Propping my feet up, I put my hands behind my head, closed my eyes, and tried to form a mental picture of Anna Yillah. The medical profession did a heck of a job putting her back together but, even doing their best, the result was not a pretty sight. One's soul has nothing to do with their outward appearance, and this was one case that proved it.
Anna was small in statue. I guessed five foot two inches, a hundred pounds. Her hair was like an old person's, scraggly and brittle with thin, bald spots that allowed gray scalp to show through. The mouth and nose were horribly disfigured with thick, ragged scars. But the eyes…ah the eyes; a deep blue with the sparkle of a summer sun on the swift running Gulf Stream. They danced and darted with intelligence and vitality. Her hands were scarred, but the fingers were long, delicate, like those of a concert pianist, or surgeon. Her voice was like that of a mockingbird, melodious, beautiful, and articulate.
Through all this ugliness poured forth a youthful exuberance. She drew you to her, but there was the underlying seriousness of a true professional. The whole package was wrapped in the wrong spotted blanket. You merely had to remove the blanket.
Picking up the phone, I called Guy Robbins in Gulfport. His secretary said he was out at the boat supervising some work. Dialing the marina, the operator put me through to the boat.
A deep voice answered, "Sailing vessel Picaroon, Guy Robbins speaking."
"Sailing vessel? You haven't had the sails up on that boat in two years."
"Jay, my boy," Guy said in his usual outgoing way. "I guess Anna made it up to see you. It's a sad situation. I hope you'll be able to help her. If you could only have known her before this happened. She was one brilliant and beautiful lady. This has taken a tremendous toll. Are you going to take the case?"
"Yes, but only after checking with you first. We'll probably come down to the coast tomorrow. Do you think we could meet for a couple of hours, talk about Anna?"
"No problem. I'm due in court in the morning, but give me a call after lunch. Maybe we can take the boat out for a sail?"
"Sounds fine. I may need a place to stay, how about Picaroon?"
"She's yours. I'm having new batteries installed, some wiring replaced. She should be in good shape by the time you get here. You're always welcome to stay aboard. You know that. I'll see you tomorrow."
The rest of the afternoon was spent clearing my desk of the most important things. The others could wait, like they had been doing for a long time.
It would be good to get back to the Mississippi coast. It had been six months since I'd been on the water, and that's too long.
This had the makings of an interesting case, if my compassion for Anna wasn't influencing my decision to take it. At any rate, I would have to be aware of personal feelings; they had cost me before. Could cloud one's judgment, cause you to do things you wouldn't otherwise consider.
* * *
Anna called from the medical center at five o'clock. I agreed to pick her up at the hotel in an hour.
Suggesting we grill steaks at my house, she agreed and we arrived there at six thirty.
Opening a bottle of Freixenet champagne, I took a couple of steaks out to thaw, and we went out back and sat on the patio. Birds and squirrels played in the feeder on the Ironwood tree ten yards away. The sky was clear, the temperature warm. It was springtime in the south, a pleasant time of the year.
"What kind of birds are those two feeding on the ground? The ones to the right of the feeder." She pointed them out.
"The white, brown, and black one with the short beak and the neck like a fighting bull, is a Towhee. The other is a Flicker Woodpecker. How's the champagne?"
"You mean the sparkling wine from Spain? She held the glass up to the fading sunlight. "It's excellent. I like the bone dryness, and the tiny bubbles are exquisite, but I prefer the toastiness of a true champagne."
"You do know your wines. What's your preference for dinner? French, Italian, or California? I have all three."
"Bordeaux. If you have a good one?"
"Would a sixty-six Margaux be to your taste?"
"Yes, sixty-six was an excellent year. Stylish, elegant, well balanced. A lean year, rather than plump, though with a good, firm flesh, a true long distance runner. Which Margaux do you have?"
"Excuse me, it's Chateau Margaux."
Anna knew her wine, and thoroughly enjoyed the Margaux. Her comments were right on the money. It would be interesting to see which she preferred, cognac or port, for after dinner.
The ribeyes were two inches thick, grilled until they were charred on the outside and raw in the middle. To my amazement, Anna ate every bite of hers. I was only able to finish half of mine.
Deciding after dinner would be a better time to talk about her problem, I waited, looking forward to a relaxed conversation, hoping to learn a great deal more about what she had told me this afternoon.
Anna insisted she help with the dishes. When we were finished, I asked her preference for an after dinner drink. She said that if I didn't mind, she was very tired, and wanted to go to bed, her strength was still not up to what it should be, and she'd had a long day. I drove her back to the hotel.
It was disappointing that we couldn't have our conversation, because I had a few bottles of sixty-seven Chateau d'Yquem and so few occasions to open one. It would have been fun to share a bottle with someone as appreciative and knowledgeable as Anna.
Back at the house, I filled a snifter with Martel cognac, clipped the end off one of my favorite fifty-four ring, seven inch, long filler cigars, made in Miami by Ernesto P. Carrillos, and went back out on the patio to think about Anna Yillah, to try and work this case through to the end.
Propping my feet up on the wrought iron table, I lit the cigar, watching the stars dance through the limbs of the cottonwood trees along the back of the fence line. Jay Leicester, private investigator, I thought, watching the smoke curl snake-like into the calm night
air, dividing my vision into separate hemispheres, you do seem to attract nothing, if not the bizarre.
I prided myself in taking cases related only to aviation and, with only one exception, had done so. At age forty-four, I'd been in the business for ten years, had learned much while making every mistake one could make. I kept in shape; walked, instead of running, two miles daily, due to two bad knees, thanks to the NFL. Trained three times a week with a retired boxer who had once fought for the heavy weight crown, and lost, to keep my reflexes sharp. Spent twenty years flying airplanes both for the airlines and corporations, retiring for personal reasons, not the least of which were the neauvou-rich who treated pilots like bag boys instead of professional airmen.
My cases consisted mainly of finding missing aircraft, title searches, the occasional serious talk with a drug-using pilot, requested by aviation management or the chief pilot of his/her company. Over the years there had been some strange ones and, come to think of it, they all seemed to be referred by my old attorney friend, Guy Robbins. At least he keeps my life from getting too boring.
Finishing the last of the cognac, I left the cigar to die a natural death, got up and went to bed. Tomorrow could prove to be a long day.
CHAPTER TWO
I awoke to someone knocking on the front door. It was Anna Yillah. We had agreed to meet at her hotel at eight a.m. My watch read seven o'clock.
"I'm sorry, Jay. Did I wake you? Sleep comes hard for me, and I thought you might be up."
"It's okay, come in. The coffee will be ready in a minute. I'll get a quick shower while its brewing. Make yourself at home."
When I came back into the kitchen after dressing Anna was standing on the patio, sipping hot coffee. Wispy, gray tendrils rose from the steaming liquid, vanishing instantly into the early morning air. I poured a cup, adding a dollop of fireweed honey, and eased quietly out to join her.
She looked small and frail, like a tiny doll some spoiled child had wantonly mistreated. Her thin, scraggly hair stuck out in awkward, geometric shapes. Her clothes hung loosely, hiding the shape of her body.