Chapter 3

            “John!” Jessica playfully called my name from across the restaurant’s parking lot.  “I can’t believe it’s really you.  It must be sixteen years since I last talk to you.  How have you been?”

            Actually it’s been fifteen years since the last time we talked and she told me she was getting married, and that I should be happy for her.  But who’s counting?

            “Oh I’ve been great,” I tried to sound as if I was chiming in.  I never have figure out how to sound happy to see someone who broke my heart, even if it was fifteen years ago.  “How about you?”

            “Well things for me haven’t been all that great.  I’m looking to get divorced.  But it’s sort of complicated.”

            “Well that’s why you called me,” I said.  “Hopefully, I’ll be able to help.”

            “You know my case was being handled by Taylor Diamond. He was such a nice gentleman.  I feel so bad for his family.  There’s so much senseless violence in this world.  I just don’t understand it all.  But I need to press on before I go to court.”

            Taylor Diamond, another private detective had died two weeks earlier from a drive by shooting.  He had a wife and three children.  I got to know Taylor when we were on the force together.  When he was forced into retirement, he opened Diamond Detective Agency, and was taking only small cases as it suited him.  He had his pension to live off and his wife was drawing a pension from thirty years with Georgia Power.  They had three children who were grown and had families of their own.  When the city of Atlanta forced him to retire at 65, he told me, “John I’m too young to retire.  I’m going to open a little agency like what you have. Only I won’t have to work as hard as you do at it.  I’m just going to take the cases that interest me.”

Less than 6 months passed, and he was killed. 

           A week after his murder, the office he had set up in his garage was broken into.  Most everything he had in the office was taken, file cabinet drawers being opened, their contents strewn on the floor, chairs and tables turned over.  His video camera, videotapes and other equipment were all taken.  The rest of the house went untouched.  The police did a minor investigation, but chalked most of it up to random burglary.  His wife was so distraught, and asked me the one question victims’ families always ask. Why?     

            “Why Johnny, why?” she sobbed on my shoulder the day it happened.  “It isn’t it enough that they killed him.  They wanted to take what little I had left of him.”

            I didn’t tell her that the two incidents were probably unrelated.  She had been a cop’s wife for 30 years.  She knew the score, but it didn’t make it any easier to live with.

                                                           * * *

            Jessica Spangler and I had first met 20 years earlier in high school.  We became the best of friends.  At first we were inseparable friends, passing notes back and forth in school the way teenagers will do, talking at night on the phone, having lunch together occasionally in the school’s cafeteria.  But that was all.  She was dating the star quarterback at another school, and decided it was best if we were just friends.  “Oh but if we ever breakup, I’d be happy to go out with you, John.”

            Yeah right.

            I don’t think she ever really intended to go out with me at all, but I would be good for a backup if she ever needed someone.  You can guess she never did.

            “I knew I told you we would go out if Ralph and I broke up, “ she said.  “I know you’re mad.  But I’m met someone that I really like.  I hope you understand, John.”

            I lied and told her I did, but when your young like that, do you really understand anything?  The phone calls got less and less with the distance between us growing over the next few years until we hardly spoke to each other at all.  But the feelings I had for her never really went away, and then one day after we graduated I called her when she told me the heartbreaking news. 

            “John, I have something to tell you, and I hope your going to be happy for me.”

            “I’m sure I will.”

            “John, I’m getting married.”

            You can imagine the way I felt, but still life goes on.

I went to the police academy, and became a cop on the beat.  For 12 years this was my life, then one day a 12-year-old girl got killed in a hostage situation, and I felt responsible.  I knew it wasn’t my fault, but deep down I felt as if it was.  A month later I quit the force.  Got my P.I. license two months later, and I’ve been doing this ever since.

* * *

            “John,” Jessica smiled.  “I like you to meet one of my very good friends.  This is Stacy Staley.”

            “Great to meet you,” I said extending my hand.

            “Stacy has been with me through all the craziness that’s been going in my life for the past 6 months.  I wanted her here for extra support.”

            Stacy was a blond herself like Jessica, but had shorter hair.  Her eyes were also blue but darker than that of my high school friend.  

            “Phillip has tormented Jessi enough with all his philandering ways for the past year.  I told her, but she has just finally started to listen to me. “

            Jessica smiled.  “Stacy has been so good for me, if it wasn’t for her, I would have probably gone out of my mind.”

            “Well lets go in, “ I suggested holding the door open for the two to enter.  “And we can discuss what you want done.”

            The two women ordered cocktails and I a rum and coke after we were seated.  Jessica and Stacy weren’t hungry, but I had missed breakfast that morning, so I ordered a basket of chicken wings and fries.

            After a few minutes of reminiscing about the good ole days, our drinks arrived and I begin to listen to Jessica’s tale of lies and deceit of the man she had been married to for the past 15 years.

            “We were very young when we were married.  My friends and family told me to wait. That I was young and I had plenty of time, but when your young and in love, there’s not much that matters.”

            I knew what she meant, but kept it to myself.

            “Phil’s family is very wealthy,” she continued.  “They own half of Atlanta, or is it all of it?  I can’t remember, but I know it’s a fortunate, and with everything they own outside of Georgia, the dollars can run into the billions.  Since we were so young, they insisted that I sign a prenuptial agreement and that if we ever got divorced, I would get nothing.  I had a clause added to the agreement that stated if a jury found Phillip guilty of committing adultery during the marriage, I would get fifty percent of everything he owned.  But it’s only valid if I can prove it. 

            “We had a good marriage, up until about 6 months ago, when he started coming home late at night if at all.  He started drinking.  Heavy sometimes.  And then he would start disappearing for days at a time.

            “So I had hired Taylor.  He hadn’t been in business long for himself.  And after I told him what I needed done, he said the only man to do that kind of job was you John.  He said that the two of you work together, and that you had your own agency, and that he would talk to you about handling all the surveillance stuff I wanted done.  When he said your name, I didn’t know if he meant the same John Stockyard that I knew or not.  But I told him not to bother, that I wanted to keep as many people out of this as I could. 

            I know I hurt you John.  I’m am sorry about all of this, I really am.”

            “That’s okay,” I told her.  “It was a long time ago.  I got over it, and moved on.  I’m just glad I’m in a position to help you now.”

            “I told you he was great,” Jessica winked at Stacy.  “John was really my only true friend during school.  He’s so sweet to me.”

            Actually, when I was that young, I had more sap in me than a maple tree.  I was always the “sweet guy” that could be fallen back on when nothing else worked, or if you wanted a quick joke to help pass the day, my classmates always came to me.  Over the years due to all the experiences of working on the street and all that I’ve seen, that sweetness has hardened.  I’m not exactly what you would called bitter, but I’m not sap from a maple tree either.

            “We want a full scale surveillance setup”, Stacy added.  “Video cameras, voice recorders, photographs and anything else you can think of.  When Jessi goes to court, she needs to have everything she can so she can get the money she deserves.”

            “Stacy has been so great and encouraging. She’s so good for me.”

            “Why don’t you tell me a little about his weekly routine,” I suggested.  “What kind of car he drives, where he goes, who he meets.  Things kind of like that.”

            “Phillip drives his precious Jag everywhere,” Jessica answered.  “He usually spends his days at Hill Heights Country Club, or meeting with his family’s lawyers negotiating new real estate contracts for what they already own, and are trying to buy.”

            “What about the nights?” I asked.

            “Well usually he goes for a few drinks and gets in around 10:00, except on Saturday nights, when he’s meeting that little twat at Atlanta Peachtree Suites.  He has the penthouse suite if you can believe that.  I’ve been following them.  But I still haven’t been able to get a really good look at her.  But she’s got long dark red hair, and she wears a lot of makeup.  Tramp!  And every Saturday night for the past 4 months, they always meet there.  I’m sick of it, and I just want it to be over.  But I would be a fool to walk away when there’s so much money involved.  So now I’ve got to have proof.”

            Atlanta Peachtree Suites is for the elite only and very expensive with security that’s tighter to get past than Fort Knox.  It would definitely be a challenge, and I like a good challenge to tax my brain every once in a while, and if I don’t get shot or thrown in jail because of it, all the more better.

            Stacy shuffled in her chair, and raised her hand and made a motion for another drink.  I ordered another round for the table, while I finished my lunch and made notes on a legal pad about Phillip Turner.

            “Do you have a picture of him?” I asked.

            Jessica opened her purse, and handed me a photo of them together.  “This was taken in June, we were in Costa Rica.  Don’t we look happy?  We decided to take a few days and do something fun.  I knew he was seeing someone on the side, but I just thought it was a phase he was going through.  But every since we came back, he’s been a different person.  Flaunting his infidelity at me like he didn’t think I noticed.  I’m going to show him though.”

            The picture did show a happy couple, smiles and all, even if they were unreal.  The picture was taken on the beach, sun setting in the back, Jessica wearing sunglasses, a one-piece blue-and-white bathing suit holding a large glass that I imagined contained some kind of alcoholic beverage.  Phillip wore white shorts, brown sandals, a tropical island shirt, and sported an identical glass to Jessica’s in his left hand. 

            “Do you think you can get what Jessi needs done?” Stacy asked sipping her drink.  “I mean all the pictures and everything.”

            “Getting the pictures, videos, and getting the place wired for sound shouldn’t be a problem,” I said.  “The problem will be getting in the apartment building, but there are ways around that.”

            “Do you think you can have it done before this Saturday night?” Jessica asked, removing her checkbook from her purse.

            “I’m sure I’ll be able to get it done before then,” I said.  “Today is Wednesday, so I’ll have a couple of days to get everything I need together.”

            “I hope this will be enough, John”, she said handing me the check.

            I stared at it. I couldn’t believe it.  It was made out to me for ten thousand dollars.

            “That may be a little too much,” I said not wanting to take advantage of an old friend. 

            “Nonsense,” Jessica said.  “You’ll need to buy the equipment, and then there’s your time.  And after all John, it’s His money.”

            There was some logic in that somehow, but I just didn’t have time to work it out.

* * *

            For the remainder of that day, I sat outside the Atlanta apartment building, noting the security checkpoints that the people had to go through to get inside the gate.  The security personnel were armed, which is always a bad sign in my book.  It always been my experience if you need armed security, you’re in the wrong part of town.  But this part of town was definitely on the upscale side.  Peachtree Park sat across from the building, which you had to a key for to get in.  And to get the key, you had to own or rent an apartment from Atlanta Peachtree Suites.  Up the road about six miles was Buckhead, the premiere spot for nightclubs if you were between the ages of early twenties to thirty something, and had a wallet fat enough to accommodate the chosen lifestyle of partying with the rich.

            The first problem would be getting past the gate, which more or less is just a minor annoyance to the task at hand. The second problem would be getting in the apartment once inside the building; armed security that walk and up-and-down halls are more likely to shoot an intruder, than security at the door who is just checking identification.   As the sun set that late that afternoon, I believe I had planned a way to get in.  It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be as long as it worked.

            I called Jessica on Thursday to go over Phillip’s routine with me one more time, and told her that Saturday afternoon would be the best time for me to have everything set up for that night.  But later that afternoon, an opportunity presented itself to go on Friday, which is what I did.

            And take cover in her closet.  And see four dead bodies, one of which was my employer.