Randy White - Deceived

Which is why I didn’t need to pretend to be surprised when the detective introduced my client, saying, “Mr. Ransler is the county special prosecutor, so you can tell him anything you’d tell me.” He turned to Ransler. “We haven’t filed any charges yet, Joel. You sure you’ve got the time for this?”

Ransler had a face and smile that reminded me of an actor I had yet to recall; an actor who was old now, maybe dead-I don’t see many movies-but had been equally good-looking, with a white smile and charm that filled a room even from a TV screen. He was showing that smile now, his eyes seeing only me, when he gave the deputy’s shoulder a pat and said, “Ms. Smith and I are old friends, Billy. I would’ve been here sooner, but I was in Arcadia when I heard the dispatcher mention her name.”

Arcadia is inland Florida, a beautiful little town, but a two-hour drive, and it wasn’t in Sematee County. Instantly, I felt safer, even special. Just as fast, the detective’s attitude toward me changed. “Sorry, Mrs.- Miz Smith-if some of my questions seemed rough, but-”

Ransler let the man off the hook by interrupting, “Billy’s one of the best we’ve got and that’s what he’s paid to do. She understands that-don’t you, Hannah?”

Time to make peace, and I did. “He couldn’t have been more polite-same with the other deputies. What happened here was so crazy, it’s a wonder they could make sense out of a word I said.”

Fifteen minutes later, Joel Ransler had his hand on my back and was steering me away from the house, where I’d just taken the special prosecutor step-by-step, describing what had happened. I had been right about someone returning to remove evidence. The recliner sat squarely in front of the television, which was still on. The kitchen sink was empty; maybe they’d wiped the place clean of fingerprints, too. The back door wasn’t broken as I expected, but there was no denying someone had used an axe on the front door and smashed the china cabinet, too, although the floor had been swept clean-even the Fisherfolk Inc. pamphlets I’d seen were gone. When I told Ransler my suspicions, he didn’t pamper me by remaining neutral.

“It’s what stupid criminals do if they don’t panic,” he said. “Or a sociopath whose mood swings back to normal. They realize what they’ve done, so try to erase it by neatening up afterward.”

I said, “Even charity pamphlets?”

“Chaos becomes the enemy,” he replied, then got down to business. “Your attacker wore a raincoat, you said. What color?”

Ransler had been so nice I didn’t want to be rude, but it was now twenty after seven and I’d mentioned a couple of times I was in a hurry. Sensing my impatience, he added, “I believe your story, every word. Question is, who did this? And where’s Rosanna Helms?” Then gave me a squeeze before removing his arm from my shoulder. “The reason the raincoat is important is-well, there are a couple of reasons. A killer with an axe knows there will be a lot of blood, so it shows premeditation. You described him as big and sort of shapeless.”

“It was one of those cheap, poncho-type rain slickers,” I said, “but looked bigger, I guess. Sorry, you’re right. I left that part out.”

Ransler thought about it. “Sort of like a tent, and he was wearing a hood.”

“No,” I said. “A few years back, fishermen started using sun masks. Skin cancer is a real problem. They’re tubular, sort of a stretchy material you pull down over your head.”

“You sound sure.”

“Patagonia sells some with shark jaws below the eyeholes. You know, a great white shark’s teeth where a fisherman’s mouth would be? It’s popular. Right away, even with the lights off, I recognized what he was wearing.”

“Shark jaws,” Ransler said with a wince that told me he was thinking about the hammerhead we’d seen. “A big man wearing gloves and a sun mask.”

“As tall as me,” I said. “Taller, maybe.”

“But shapeless because of a rain poncho, or whatever it was draped over him.”

“You saw for yourself how dark it is in that kitchen.”

Ransler paused to consider the careful wording of what came next. “Then how do you know it was a man, Hannah?”

The question surprised me. “Well… his voice, I guess. The way he handled the axe. You know, strong .” But then had to admit, “I guess it is possible. He didn’t actually say anything, just sort of bellowed when he came at me. I suppose it could have been a woman, but I’d bet against it, I really would.”

“Did you know Crystal Helms was released from Raiford three weeks ago?”

Another surprise, but I shook my head to refuse the idea he was suggesting. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Was she a big girl?”

“Well, yes, but Crystal could never-”

“Hurt you or her own mother?” Ransler cut in. “I’m not saying she did, but I want you to be aware of the situation. And the son-I forget what Billy said his name is-he was paroled in early March.”

“Mica’s out, too?” I said softly. “We had no reason to stay in touch, even with Crystal-not since grade school. Our mothers stayed friends, that’s all, but my mother never said a word.”

“In the morning, I’ll check the records, but I know the Helms family has a long history of felonies related to drug dealing. The daughter especially-again, I have to pull the file-but one of my guys said Crystal spent some of her time in the psych ward.” The man squared himself and placed his hands on my shoulders in a comforting way. “That’s just between you and me. I wouldn’t share this with most people-I’m not allowed to, in fact.”

He waited until I looked at him before adding, “I like you, Hannah. An attractive woman who can handle a boat-can handle just about any situation, from what I gather. I trust you, and I’m worried because you’re an unusual woman-and the person who did this is insane. My opinion, of course.”

I moved slightly, thinking Ransler would remove his hands. He didn’t, but that was okay. “I appreciate it, Joel,” I said.

“I take care of my friends, Hannah Smith-even the few who’ve proven they can take care of themselves.”

My eyes had tried to drift away, but now I had no choice but to reply, “You did a background check after our charter, didn’t you? Or was it before?” There was a long list of information he could have discovered-I’m single and live alone, for one thing. From the way he said proven I could take care of myself, though, I could tell he was referencing an incident that had put my name in the news some months back: I’d shot and wounded a man who’d threatened to rape me.

Ransler’s hands tightened on my shoulders while his expression asked Does it matter? “I’m going to have the sheriff’s department keep an eye on your mother’s place, okay? Just until we know more about Mrs. Helms. And tonight I’m following you home to make sure you get there in one piece.” Now his smile told me Don’t argue!

The feeling of his hands on my shoulders wasn’t uncomfortable, and he kept them there even when I replied, “Thanks, but I’m meeting a friend. In fact, I’m so late now I wouldn’t blame him if he’s mad.”

“Him,” Ransler replied. “You know the guy well?” Normally, the question would have struck me as intrusive, but his tone conveyed worry. Women are usually assaulted by men they know.

“We’re dating,” I said. “And he’s not the violent type-just the opposite. So don’t worry.”

“The guy’s a lucky man,” Ransler replied in a sweet way that made his own disappointment a gift to me.

“You’d like him,” I said, smiling back. “Next fishing trip is my treat. The three of us, or bring Mr. Chatham, too, if you want. He’s a marine biologist on Sanibel and pretty good with a fly rod.”