Frankly Speaking - A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel (#1) Page 8

Frank woke up on his own at 7:30. It was two full hours later than he usually woke up. With Lucy, his faithful furry alarm clock, out of commission he slept restlessly. He grabbed his phone and called Nancy. She said Lucy was doing well and that there were no signs of kidney failure, infection, or anaphylaxis. Lucy had a good night and had eaten a half can of dog food this morning. Nancy wanted to keep her for another night just to be sure. Frank agreed and asked if he could bring her some food from the Sun Dog. Dog food was not her thing. Nancy agreed that he could later in the day.

  Frank went for his run and felt obligated to explain to everyone along the way what happened to Lucy. She was missed. He came back to the trailer, took a shower, scrambled a couple of eggs for breakfast, and got busy making phone calls. The first call was to Travis Bullock. He wanted to see his client in person and deliver the news about the contents of the fifth notebook. He was set to visit him in about an hour. Mr. Bullock said he would ask his wife to be there as well. Frank was not looking forward to delivering the news about Maggie's pregnancy. While he was looking through the notebook one last time, he glanced at his answering machine and noticed the red blinking light. He went to the machine and pressed the play button expecting the usual hang-up call from the Scranton number. What he heard instead was the perky voice of Anita Velasquez. Her message said, "Hey piano boy, get your happy butt out of bed and call me. I've got some information about what we talked about last night and need some guidance moving forward."

  Frank was glad it wasn't the hang-up call. He would have to investigate that someday, but he was afraid of where it would lead. He was also puzzled by Anita's message for three reasons. First, it was quick. She must have found something or hit a roadblock fairly quickly. Second, she rarely needed guidance. Still in her early 30s, she had more ability and instinct than many veterans of the police force. Third, how was she so damn perky this early in the morning? They had both stayed at the Sun Dog and listened to Buckwheat Zydeco until 1AM.

  It was time to head to Bullock's office. He would call Anita on the way and would check in with Jonesy afterward. He called Anita's cell as he drove down A1A. She answered on the second ring.

  "Hello Piano Boy. You really stepped into it on this case."

  "I'm fine thanks and you."

  "I don't have time for chit chat. Bubba ran out of donuts, but he'll be back from the Krispy Kreme soon."

  "So what did I step in?"

  "A whole bunch of good ole boy intrigue is my guess so far. I looked up your boy, Rick Worthington, and found a trail with a lot of covered tracks in Tulsa. He apparently was a bit of a wild child in his teen years that was caught with alcohol and drugs numerous times and did a lot of community service and some probation. Then, at seventeen, something more serious happened that resulted in him disappearing for three years. There are a whole bunch of sealed records surrounding what happened. They are sealed so tightly that my substantial charms could not even get me a description of what was included in them. He resurfaced at 20 and became daddy's little Christian minion with a clean slate."

  "Sounds interesting and definitely worth pursuing. Do you think you can get the records unsealed?"

  "Since he is an adult, I may be able to look at them if they are material to a more recent crime. Right now, I don't have a leg to stand on."

  "Does statutory rape count as a potential crime that could get them unlocked?"

  "You bet. Now you just have to prove that it happened."

  "Yup, that's all. Thanks for the effort. I'll see what other evidence I can scare up and I'll be in touch."

  "Sounds great. I think I hear Bubba slinking his way in. I'll talk to you later."

  Frank spent five minutes sitting in the parking lot of the Bullock's law firm. He exited the Lexus and entered the reception area. The reception area of the firm looked like a shrine to Florida State University. One thing to understand about Jacksonville, you are either a Gator (University of Florida), a Seminole (Florida State University), a Bulldog (University of Georgia), or from somewhere else wondering why these various camps are so passionate for college sports yet the atmosphere for pro-football is so apathetic. Frank was definitely from somewhere else.

  The receptionist that greeted him was a cross between Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith Show and Paula Deen, the troubled southern celebrity chef and purveyor of all things made with butter.

  Frank told her that he was here to see Mr. and Mrs. Bullock about their missing daughter.

  "Well bless your heart. Please have a seat and I'll let them know you're here."

  Frank had learned that "bless your heart" was the southern equivalent of "aloha" as it had multiple meanings. It could mean, "Well that is wonderful." It could also mean, "You are beneath me and I know it, but I'm going to fake southern charm by using an empty compliment."

  Frank took a seat on one of the Gone with the Wind style wing-back chairs in the reception area. He picked up an old copy of Southern Living and started to leaf through it.

  After a few minutes, the receptionist announced, "The Bullocks will see you now."

  She then raised her ample self from her chair and escorted him to a corner office. If the receptionist area was a shrine to FSU, Travis Bullock's office was a Cathedral dedicated to the institution. Most prominent in his office was a 3'X5' landscape portrait of a capacity football crowd at Doak S. Campbell Stadium on the FSU campus. Only in the south are names like Doak and Dorcas viewed as normal. Next to the monstrous photo was a picture of Travis with Bobby Bowden, the iconic former FSU football coach. Only in the south can an 80-something year old man still be called Bobby. The Bullocks were sitting on a small gold sofa under the huge football stadium picture. They both looked haggard as if sleep had not been something in which they had participated lately.

  "I came into the office as soon as Travis let me know you were coming," Mrs. Bullock said as she shook Frank's hand. "What did you find out?"

  Frank returned the four original notebooks from his messenger bag. He then told them about what Jonesy had found between the mattresses and that it shed new light on the case.

  "Why didn't you tell us when you found it?" Mr. Bullock asked with a touch of anger in his voice as Frank handed him the fifth notebook.

  "I wanted to assess what was in it first. If the content was irrelevant, then no harm done. If it was hurtful to you and your wife, but not relevant to the case, then why increase your stress."

  "But you are here with us, so which scenario is it?" Travis Bullock impatiently asked.

  "Neither. The content is out of character for Maggie and may disturb you. I am here because of the detail at the end of the text. It could be very relevant to the case."

  Frank watched Travis Bullock's face transform as he read the fifth notebook. His body language showed a man discovering something that he truly did not expect or want. He sagged visibly into the couch and seemed to age as he read the last page. As he handed the notebook to his perplexed wife, he kept muttering, "Who did this to her? Who did this to my baby?"

  When Mrs. Bullock finished her reading of the notebook, her eyes welled up with tears and she sagged next to her husband.

  "I want you to find out who the bastard is that did this to our baby girl. Just give me his name and I'll deal with him," Mr. Bullock said, his face red with rage.

  "I was hoping that one of you could give me some leads on who she has written about in her journal. If he is an adult, there are certainly serious charges that can be brought against him."

  "I don't care about charges. I just want a name," Bullock said in a menacing tone.

  Frank opted not to tell them about Pastor Rick's murky past until he was more certain about the potential connection to the case.

  "Sir, I will do my best to find the man responsible. I won't, however, let any client seek vengeance outside of the law. I just can't do that. I know what it is like to have loved ones harmed and in danger. You may share this new information with the police if you like, but I do
n't think it will do anything to discourage their runaway theory."

  "The police have displayed their lack of skill by failing to find the notebook. I don't see any reason to expect them to improve," Bullock conceded. "Whatever resources you need, Mr. Rozzani, I will see to it that you have them."

  "I appreciate that sir."

  Frank got up to leave the uncomfortable scene, said his goodbyes, and walked toward the reception area. As he walked, he passed the office of the Bullocks' law partner, Stanton Cobb. Cobb was the founding partner of the firm. If there was ever a human incarnation of C. Montgomery Burns from The Simpsons, Cobb was it. He stood in the doorway of his office wearing a charcoal pinstripe three piece suit that was stylish in the 1940s, but somehow looked contemporary on him. He had leopard like parchment-thin skin on his bald head that denoted a man who had spent many years in the Florida sun.

  Frank stopped, extended his hand, and introduced himself. As Cobb closed his bony/leathery grip around Frank's hand, Frank half-expected him to say "Excellent." He did not. Instead, in his southern bred surprisingly strong voice he said, "Yes. Mr. Rozzani, the ex-policeman turned detective. Travis told me they had engaged your services. I told them it was frivolous to pay you to achieve what the police cannot accomplish with their vast resources and technology. They are stubborn, however, and refuse to take my advice and let the girl return."

  "So you believe she is a runaway as well, sir?"

  "It seems obvious to me. Teenagers these days are rebellious and have too much access to bad influences," Cobb said, sounding more like Grandpa Abe Simpson now.

  "I respect your perspective, sir. I am only trying to help."

  "If you want to help, Mr. Rozzani, why not step aside and let the police do their work? You can also stop robbing my partners of their money."

  "If that is their decision, I will accept it and do just what you suggest Mr. Cobb"

  Frank took his leave from Stanton Cobb and headed for the exit feeling like he'd just been threatened somehow. Pushing that thought from his mind, he decided it was time to check in with Jonesy and begin the leg work that lay ahead.

  CHAPTER EIGHT