He continued in between spoonfuls of soup. “Amos was the kind of lieutenant that backed up his guys and gals and fought the battles that needed to be fought. He wasn’t afraid to stand up to his older brother.”
“Are we sure it was a suicide?”
He said, “Yes, he was on the phone with Sheriff Frost when he pulled the trigger.”
“Damn, any details on the conversation?”
Harden said, “Frost hasn’t shared it with any of my sources, but he might this afternoon. He has called a press conference.”
Pausing to drink his green tea, he added, “I recommend you stay away and out of sight.”
“Why? What do I have to do with his brother’s suicide?”
He said, “Sheriff Ron Frost is a coldhearted, political animal. You wounded him with your cover story, and he wants revenge, even if he does it with his brother’s death.”
“He’s covering something up,” I said. “Something about Amos’s suicide that he doesn’t want the public to know.”
He said, “Maybe, or you’re the one trying to alter the narrative. This community has had two suicides tied to your reporting. You’ve got a problem.”
“Thanks for cheering me up.” I must have winced as I leaned over my bowl.
“I heard you got your tail kicked at Hopjacks,” said Harden, who didn’t look up from his soup. “Kicking your butt is becoming a sport around here.”
“I’m still standing,” I said.
“Just barely, Holmes. You can’t keep taking these beatings.”
There was genuine concern in his voice.
I said, “I’m okay. Just need to be smarter and more aware of my surroundings.”
“Have you ever thought about carrying a gun?”
I shook my head. “No, I can’t.”
Too many thoughts of Mari popped into my head. Having a gun in the loft wasn’t a good idea on long nights. Hell, I couldn’t be sure that Big Boy wouldn’t use it against me one night. I smiled at the thought of the dog with a gun. Not sure why I had a grin on my face, Harden moved the conversation into a different direction.
As the old man took our plates and his wife dropped off our main courses, Harden said, “You can’t mess with these people and think everyone is going to be happy. The casualties keep mounting. Nobody can survive the kind of war you’re waging. Nobody, not even Walker Holmes.”
I didn’t take the bait and spent a few minutes enjoying my pad thai. The bus drivers got up and went to pay their checks, never looking our way.
As I poured my second Diet Coke, I said, “Tell me what you know about Monte Tatum.”
Harden hardly broke stride from enjoying his meal.
“Political wannabe. Wants badly to be elected to something, anything, but afraid of the possible fallout concerning his past personal life if he files to run again.”
I asked, “What’s he afraid of?”
“His club trolling before his dad died and left him the dry cleaning business,” Harden explained. “One incident in particular. The bastard picked up some college kid one night. The coed was the mayor’s daughter and ended up having to be taken to the ER for alcohol poisoning. Tatum’s old man smoothed it over with the mayor and cops, but Tatum got banned from several night spots.”
“Really? That made our boy Monte persona non grata on the club scene?”
Harden nodded. “The mayor had a lot of friends, and the bar owners didn’t want the cops setting up DUI checkpoints near their operations.”
“There had to be more to it than that,” I said. The PI was making me work for answers.
“There was. Tatum pushed coke, not a lot, but he loved to prey on other guys’ girlfriends. He messed up several of their lives. The bartenders got tired of his melodrama and used the mayor’s daughter as an excuse to keep him out of their bars. Tatum eventually worked his way back in, but he had to tip them well for the privilege.”
“How come I didn’t hear about this during the election?” I asked.
“You’re not from Pensacola, and this place tends to take care of its own,” said Harden as he finished his red curry. “Most people see Tatum as a goofball with more money than common sense, but he still has a dark side. I once had some parents hire me to deal with him.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Tatum denied everything,” said Harden, “but he left the girl alone after we had our little talk. Much of this was years ago. I haven’t heard of any recent incidents. He has tried to become respectable.”
I asked, “And owning a bar makes him respectable?”
“Well I did say he has no common sense.”
“Ask around,” I said. “See if there are any problems arising from the bar he owns.”
“What does this have to do with the Hines case?” Harden asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Holmes, you’re starting to run up a mighty big tab.”
“I know, but I’m good for it.”
Harden said, “Only if you’re alive.”
No shit.
20
Sheriff Ron Frost’s press conferences were private, invitation-only affairs. He invited only select newspaper, television, and radio reporters. Held in a Castle Grayskull room that was only slightly bigger than a walk-in closet, Frost dominated the setting. A few reporters had complained that the chairs were lower than standard chairs so that the sheriff could seem even taller and more imposing than he was. Their complaints fell on deaf ears.
I had never received an invitation and never wanted to visit the Castle. Too many chances I might not find the way back out.
The press conference led the six o’clock news. The camera showed Frost flanked by his leadership team.
“My brother, Lieutenant Amos Frost, was a troubled man,” he said. “The pressures of the job can wear on a man, and my brother took the responsibilities of his job very seriously.”
A Herald reporter asked the sheriff about his last phone conversation with his brother.
“He had recently separated from his wife and was tired after
