Who'll Watch the Watchers-Part IV (Conclusion)

Fatal Mistakes

Rolling across the Everglades at a leisurely 75 mph, Sean and Jim rode in silence. Both were deep in thought, considering what they knew so far. An hour earlier, they'd learned that a possible hero who'd found a missing six year old girl, had suddenly, inexplicably disappeared. Where was Jeanie's bike? Where was her camera? Those items could possibly bring this case to a quick end. They'd wanted to talk to Swank about how he found the child and if he's seen anything that could help, but running in the middle of the night put him on the top of their suspect list. Orin Swank was an expert Everglades survivalist and both detectives knew they wouldn't be able to hunt him down alone.

As they neared the place Orin had 'found' Jeanie Strong alive and called 911, they passed a woman driving a black Nisan Titan heading out of the 'Glades. She'd have gone unnoticed but for the flaming shock of auburn hair billowing out of the Titan's open window. She must have recognized that the Crown Vic was a police car because she threw a snappy salute as they passed, which Sean, who was driving, automatically returned. After discussing how pretty she was, neither detective gave the Titan or its red haired driver another thought.

Liz Smyth, six feet, titian haired, and blue eyed, was on vacation. She had five cute freckles on her nose, and a heavy black belt with mace, a baton, and a Glock 9 under her seat. She was a third degree black belt in Karate, and carried a gold badge from the Maine State Police Investigation Unit.

Liz had earned this Florida vacation and decided to spend it in solitude in the Everglades, communing with alligators and snakes instead of the two legged animals she routinely had to deal with on the job. Her last big case involved a murdered antiques dealer from Upstate New York, and she ended up killing the suspect when he'd tried to kill her boyfriend to get to her. Following the resolution of that case Liz was promoted to Sergeant. Three days later she was on the road to Florida's Everglades for some R & R.

Liz had just set up her camp near Lake Okeechobee and was heading into Moore Haven for ice and supplies for the week. She was surprised to see two plain clothes cops heading in the direction of Okeechobee. Since they were in a county unit and it was early afternoon, she figured they weren't going fishing.

In Moore Haven, Liz quickly grabbed her supplies and high tailed back to her isolated camp on the edge of the lake. She couldn't put humanity and the horrors of her most recent case behind her quickly enough. She only wanted some serious relaxation, exploring and shooting Everglades wildlife with her digital 35mm Canon.

A quarter of a mile north of Liz's camp, on the shore of Lake Okeechobee, the white smoke of a campfire rose lazily through the gumbo limbos and mangroves. A well worn iron skillet held a sizzling catfish, freshly caught and covered in hot Cajun spice. Nearby, as the fish fried, a burly figure fashioned a dark green 10' X 10' nylon tarp into a makeshift lean-to. As he worked he was thinking seriously dark thoughts about his future. Orin Swank reached for his 30.06 rifle. He checked the chrome 38 revolver tucked in his belt, and nodded to himself. A small pink girl's bike was tied to the back of the big Kawasaki. He covered the machine with brush and went back to his frying pan. Patting the pocket of his cargo camos he felt the lump of a pink digital camera and grinned. He had gathered all the evidence, and the rest of the loose ends would be tied up real soon

“This'll be over soon,” Swank muttered aloud. He knew he had to get rid of Jeanie and get away for a fresh start. In Orin's sluggish brain, that was the only solution. Kill the witness and go somewhere nobody knew him. “Nobody 'round here 'll miss me nohow. Like folks say, Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Next morning, break of day, the search party met in a diner parking lot on FL 27 outside of Moore Haven. Detectives Bailey and Yamamoto led the party into the Everglades from Moore Haven. The FDLE Profiler said that the place where little Jeanie had been kept was probably a very familiar and favorite spot for her kidnapper. The dogs would look for the bike and camera. If they were right, Orin Swank may have returned there to grab the evidence and figure out his next move.

As the task force of fourteen FDLE agents, eight Glades County deputies, and two bloodhounds went into the dense forest, they considered the possibilities. Maybe Orin didn't know he was a suspect and just happened to go on an impromptu 'glades camping expedition. Then, he'd probably be easy to snag. But, if he suspected he'd been found out, he'd be hard to bring back alive. A death sentence awaited a convicted child kidnapper and rapist in Florida.

Orin saw the cloud of dust rising from the trail into the 'glades about the same time Liz Smyth pushed her kayak into the lake.

Liz stepped into the yellow plastic craft and backed it away from shore. She squinted in the bright morning sun rising above Okeechobee. She let her mind go free, enjoying the sounds of the Everglades and being surrounded by such intense natural beauty. Pulling her new Wayfarers down and grabbing the paddle, she headed North along the shore. The best pictures of birds of prey and other animals slaking their morning thirst would be along the shore, so that's where Liz decided she'd be shooting today.

All that dust meant only one thing to Orin. The cops were coming! He had to get away! No boat, no way to swim across the huge body of water, and the posse is getting closer by the second. Orin's mind spun as quickly as it could, as he ran toward the lake. Then he saw his salvation. God had answered his hastily uttered prayers. Coming silently toward him close to shore, was a woman in a small yellow kayak. Swank quickly jumped into the water and began floundering, waving his arms and yelling. “Help! Help! Help!”

Liz was startled by the sudden appearance of someone in the lake. Seconds earlier she'd scanned the shore and there was nobody there. Now, a big man in camouflage clothing was in the water and apparently drowning. Without hesitation, Liz began paddling toward the man as fast as she could. As she reached the quickly sinking man, she sprung from the kayak into the lake to haul him to shore. His weight was not an issue for the fit six foot Maine State Trooper, and she quickly pulled him to safety. She rolled the big fellow onto his belly and pressed on his back to push out any water he'd taken in. He began to mumble, “I'm ok, get off me! I'm ok!” Liz helped him roll over onto his back and was looking right into the barrel of a shiny Colt 38 revolver.

“Whoa, big boy!” Liz said calmly. “You're gonna hurt someone with that thing. I'd really hate to eat lead for breakfast.”

“Get back!” Orin shouted. His eyes were the size of saucers and the blood vessels were bulging in his temples. The confusion and anger of not scaring this young woman made him hesitate for just a split second.

In that second, Liz kicked the 38 away with a long leg simultaneously pulling her pistol from the back of her belt. Swank saw the big black automatic and God at the same time. His fingers were grasping for the missing 38 and praise for The Lord was spewing from his slack mouth all at once.

“Praise the Lord! Please God, save me from this crazy bitch!” he prayed at the top of his lungs.

“You didn't pull a gun on me because I saved you, mister,” Liz said backing away from the hulking swamp man. “What the hell is going on here? Let's see some ID”

“Ain't got none! Wouldn't give it to you if I did, bitch!” The fat man lay thrashing around on his back, feet kicking struggling to get up. “Who the hell you think you are, pulling that gun on me? I'm just campin' here and fell in is all.”

“Pulling that gun on me after I saved you looks pretty damn funny.” Liz was not about to let the big man get off the ground until she knew she had him under control. Then she heard people crashing through the heavy underbrush, and the baying bloodhounds. That gave this scene a whole new meaning. This hulking brute was a wanted man!

Liz had no cuffs or anything else to secure the man. She figured she could hold him at gunpoint until the searchers arrived. Suddenly in a surprising display of agility, the giant flung himself off the ground and and knocked her flat on her back in the mud. The Glock spun through the air and into Lake Okeechobee with a sickening splash.

Orin grabbed the chrome Colt off the ground and spun toward Liz's supine form. In his excitement he didn't hear Sean Yamamoto order him to drop the gun. As he swung the muzzle toward the female trooper, nine rapid shots resonated through the forest. Liz saw a red trickle start to run down the side of Orin's head. His eyes, wide with surprise, stared unseeingly at her as he fell hard on his face a foot from where she lay.

Epilogue

The evidence was overwhelming. There was no question that Orin Swank had kidnapped and molested Jeannie Strong on the shore of Lake Okeechobee. Luckily Swank had no idea how to operate the small pink Canon digital Jeanie had been carrying. Swank's face, his car, his shotgun, and even the alligator tattoo on his left forearm were clear in several digital shots. The distinctive stumps and tree carvings around the clearing where she'd been left to die were in many photos on the camera as well. After learning what her late husband had done, even Nellie Swank didn't sympathize with Orin. His guilt certain, nobody wished Orin Swank had lived to stand trial. No trial, no chance to get off. Orin got justice and the price was right.

Who'll Watch the Watchers - Part III

The Chase Is On

“You're friggin' crazy, man! What the hell is wrong with you?" The young cop was scanning for any other inhabitants. "Nobody sleeps hanging from their ceiling in a hammock. Whoa! That a gator skin you're wrapped in?”

Sean was used to hearing comments like that. People called him crazy and they were right. He just wrote them off as gormless, and maybe some of them were.

Detective Jim Bailey from the Glades County Sheriff’s office stood staring at the naked cop hanging in the condo's only bedroom. “You're out of your mind, Sean”, he said. “What the hell are you doin' hanging there like that?”

“If you gotta ask, you can't understand,” Irish-Japanese-American Detective Sean Yamamoto mumbled sleepily. He was resentful that his sleep had been interrupted one short hour after he hit the hammock.

“Well get your ass outta there and lets have at it. The 'Glades Pervert' is at it again, Sean.”

“Oh, Christ! What is it now?”

“That little girl from down near Citrus Center. She's turned up alive. Some 'bubba' that goes to the same church as her family found her.”

“What's the problem, Jim?” Sean queried absentmindedly. “They live close to where she turned up?”

“That's just it Sean. She was way out by Okeechobee. Thelma from the Comm Center said the guy who found her lives down by Citrus Center too. No way a six year old wandered over sixty miles”

“Hummm. Thelma's a pro. We better go with her gut and check this dude out,” Sean said, heading out the door. “You drive Jim, you can get from Lakeport to Citrus Center quicker than I can. Lights and siren bud. What's this guy's name?”

“Orin Swank. Rumor is he's a poacher. 'Gator skins, big cats, illegal stuff like that. Word is he's not too bright but there's nobody better out in the 'glades. Like he's part animal.”

“Record?”

“Drunk and disorderly, public intoxication, assault-no weapons. Got beat up under suspicious circumstances 20 years ago by a black truck driver from Citrus. Dude put him and his daddy in the hospital a few hours apart, and nobody'd say what started the fight. Somebody put Orin back in the hospital a few days later. Truck driver was gone on a run then, but again nobody'd talk.”

“Yeah, they're closed mouth out there in the 'glades.” Sean kicked back in the brown Crown Vic's passenger seat. Jim floored it and they were soon flying down FL 27 at triple digits. The police spec Ford's tall gearing kept the engine loafing at that speed, and Jim had Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett's 'Five O'Clock Somewhere' on the CD player, cranked to about 80 db. Forty minutes later, Citrus Center's faded and rotting corporate limits sign receded in their rear view mirror. Sean had the GPS set to the address Jim had for Hank and Jenny Strong's. The little four room house was on a grass centered lane, three dirt roads off the highway. The Vic kicked up a billowing cloud of dust as it rolled to a stop in the dirt yard out front. A little blonde girl playing in the front yard, got up and ran inside when she saw the cruiser pull up.

Before Sean and Jim could get out, the screen door swung open and a thin man with a deeply lined red face and sunken blue eyes came out. He ran a calloused workman's hand through his wispy gray hair and gave the Sheriff's Detectives a wary look.

“You boys from the Sheriff?” he asked, glancing toward the Ford's back seat.

Harkness Strong looked like he hadn't slept or eaten for a week, but his voice was clear and unwavering. His piercing blue eyes had 'born again' intensity.

“I'm Detective Yamamoto and this is Detective Bailey,” Sean said taking the outstretched hand that could probably crush a coconut.

“Well detective, you sure don't look Japanese. That your work name?” Hark asked smiling crookedly.

Yamamoto knew he didn't look Japanese. If fact he didn't resemble his father at all. His friends called it a virgin birth. A clone of his Irish mother, the former Mary Margaret O'Hearn, he didn't want a DNA test. Sean loved his dad but If his mom had a secret, it was hers to keep. He ignored Hark's comment and began asking him about the four days and three nights his daughter had been missing.

Hark Strong seemed genuinely convinced that Jeanie had ridden her bike for miles and miles and just got lost. He had no idea why she would do that. No, she'd never done anything like that before. She'd always been very reliable and had never even stayed overnight with a relative before then. That she couldn't account for her bike or her camera, her two most prized possessions, didn't seem to trigger any doubt in Mr. Strong's mind. He was a man who just believed whatever people told him, and let it go at that. Odd as it was, Sean and Jim believed the man.

“Mr. Strong,” Sean asked quietly. “Would you mind if we talked to Jeanie about this?”

“Of course not. She doesn't seem to remember much, but mama and I figured maybe she fell off her bike and hit her head, or something.”

While Hark went to fetch Jeanie, Sean told Jim to look her over carefully while he questioned her. He wanted Jim to see if he could detect any scrapes or bruises, especially a knot on her head or a cut that might show where one had been.

“Hi, Jeanie. My name is Sean. I'm a Glades County Detective,” Sean told the wide eyed little girl. Do you think you could talk to me about being lost?”

“Sure, Mr. Sean. There isn't much to tell, though,” Jeanie said. “I went out to take some pictures with my new camera and got lost.”

“Jeanie, do you know where your bike is?” Sean asked.

“Nope!” Jeanie blurted out and a tear suddenly rolled down her cheek. “I lost it and my camera too! I can't have new ones 'cause daddy says we can't afford 'em.”

“That's too bad, Jeanie. You never know, they may just turn up after all,” Sean smiled at the pretty little girl. “You remember where you last saw your camera?”

“I, I, I'm not sure. I thought I took some pictures out in the swamp. A 'gator came right up to me and smiled. Mr. Orin told me I was wrong. But the last time I thought I saw it, I thought I saw Mr. Orin kick it into the swamp and stomp on it. I prob'ly just 'magined it, though.” Tears were now streaming down both of Jeanie's cheeks.

Her mama came into the room and saw her crying. She scooped Jeanie up and told the two detectives that Jeanie couldn't answer any more questions. She'd gotten lost, and that was all there was to it. She just wanted to forget about it and let Jeanie get back to her normal life.

Sean and Jim said that would be fine, thanked the Strongs, and walked out to the Crown Vic. They looked at each other for a few seconds and nodded at the same time. Both cops had the same thought. Jeanie could remember what happened but probably all the adults involved were encouraging her not to. That very likely included the man who abducted her. EMS had taken Jeanie to the hospital in Citrus Center when they got her from the swamp. The Strongs knew Jeanie had been sexually assaulted, and were denying it. Sean and Jim weren't overlooking that horrible fact, however. They were now looking directly toward Orin Swank.

Heading back toward Lakeport, Sean got the Glades County Chief of Detectives on the radio. “Ronnie,” he said. “I want to talk to Orin Swank. Could you tell me where he is right now?”

Sean relayed Swank's address to Jim who spun the Ford back toward Citrus Center. Next stop, Orin Swank's shotgun shack.

“He's gone”, the heavyset woman at the door said. “When I woke up this morning his side of the bed was empty. Orin took some under-drawers, a couple pairs of jeans, some fresh tee shirts, and disappeared. No note or nothin'. He's never run off like that before. What do you boys want him for, anyway?”

“Mrs. Swank?” Jim asked, noting her red eyes and the damp hanky she held.

“Yes, I am. Been married to Orin for 19 years, and he never done nothin' like this before. I'm really scared!”

“Is that Plymouth yours or his?” Sean queried slowly edging toward the rusty Reliant K.

“No, and that's the thing. Orin never goes anywhere without that car.”

“How else could he have left? Any other vehicles around?” Jim asked.

“Well, the 4 wheeler out in the shed. That thing's his pride and joy, it is. Keeps it clean as a whistle all the time.” Nellie beamed with pride at the mention of Orin's big Kawasaki ATV.

The trio walked out behind the shotgun shack, down a short path to the woods.

“That's strange,” Nellie blurted. “The lock is missing. Orin gets real mad if anyone unlocks that shed.”

Detective Sean Yamamoto pulled the shed door up and out. There, inside the steaming little shed, sat a naked dirt floor. All three just gawked then looked back and forth at each other.

Jim Bailey broke the silence. “Now we know how he left. Where the hell do you suppose he's headed?”