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I ONLY KNEW WHAT ANGELA Thompson looked like from a picture my former boss Bob Campbell had left with me. His good friend John Thompson—Angela’s ex-husband—was dead.
Angela wanted to talk to me about it, so we agreed to meet at Barrington’s, a restaurant in downtown Jacksonville for people a lot fancier than I was. If you liked fifteen dollar drinks and large plates with barely enough food to fill a space between your teeth, then Barrington’s was for you.
We caught each other’s eye as soon as I walked past the tall plants and a fish tank separating the bar from the restaurant’s foyer. Angela gave me a nod as she raised her martini glass to me, then sipped from it with her eyes coming at me from over the rim.
From where I stood, Angela might’ve been a little older than she’d been in the photo, but she looked just as good. At least in the dim lighting around the bar.
She stared at me as I approached, then smiled and extended her hand. “You must be Henry.”
“Sorry I’m late,” I said with a nod. I shook her hand and she squeezed mine with a firm grasp.
I gazed around at the well-dressed crowd filling most of the seats around the long, u-shaped bar. It was twice the size of any bar I’d normally spend my time at. Bigger than my friend Billy’s place. The men wore ties, although loose around their necks. I guess I’d describe the women—including Angela—to be dressed professional. I couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.
Angela looked at her watch and straightened it on her wrist. “You’re right on time.”
I looked down at my Sperry Topsiders, then wondered if my short-sleeved shirt was too casual for such a place. But at least it had buttons.
A glass, half full with a gold-colored liquor, sat on the bar in front of the empty stool in front of me. “Is someone sitting here?”
Before Angela could answer, a man’s hand reached from behind and grabbed the glass. “Excuse me,” the man said. He was an older gentleman, maybe the only other person at the bar not dressed like he’d come from a corporate meeting.
I stepped out of his way. “I’m sorry...is this your seat?”
He shook his head and put his warm, heavy hand on my back. “No, please. Go ahead.” He raised his glass. “I’m leaving as soon as I finish this.”
Angela put her hand on my arm. “Sit down, Henry. Roy’s been ‘just leaving’ for an hour now. You don’t take his seat, he’ll never go home.” She smiled at Roy, raised her glass to him, and took a sip of her martini.
The man reached out and shook my hand. “Roy Mason.” But he didn’t let go and held onto it a little too long...a manhood contest he wasn’t going to lose.
“Roy’s a friend,” Angela said as she introduced us. “Roy, this is Henry Walsh.”
I pulled my hand from his grasp as Roy narrowed his eyes. “The PI, huh?”
I looked at Angela and right away, she said, “He’s okay, Henry. Roy is a friend of John’s.”
Roy backed away from the bar as I slid into the seat. I turned my body to face him with my elbow resting on the back of the stool.
Roy sipped his drink. “John and I were more than just friends.” He twisted his two fingers together. “We were like this.”
“I’m sorry about your loss,” I said, then glanced back at Angela. “To both of you.”
Roy shook his head. “Sometimes a freak accident is all it takes.”
Angela leaned toward me and again put her hand on my arm. “Roy believes I’m wasting your time. He’s got a lot of friends at the Sheriff’s Office, and refuses to believe they could ever make a mistake.” She spoke into her martini glass as she turned to face the bar. “Doesn’t hurt to make sure of the truth, does it?”
I stayed turned in my seat, my eyes between Angela and Roy.
Roy looked at me and shook his head, then threw the rest of his drink down his throat. He slid the glass across the bar. “Okay, I’m leaving. For real this time.” He gave me a quick nod. “Good meeting you.” He leaned in toward Angela and kissed her on the back of the head. “We’ll catch up later.”
She gave him a half-hearted wave over her shoulder but didn’t turn from the bar. “Bye Roy.”
I watched him walk past the tall plants and the fish tank as he headed toward the door. There was a limp in his step.
Angela turned to me. “Like I told you on the phone, I’m on an island with this. Nobody wants to believe something else could’ve happened to John. It’s like they all just want to put it away and ignore the facts just because the Sheriff’s Office said it was an accident.” Angela waved over the bartender. “Kyle, come over and get my friend a drink, will you?” She tapped the top of her glass. “I could use a refresh myself.”
The bartender, Kyle, gave me a nod and wiped his hands with the towel draped over his shoulder. “What would you like?”
“Jack Daniels.” I put two fingers in the air. “Just two ice cubes. please.”
He turned and walked away as I turned back to Angela. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me more about what happened. At least what you know so far.”
Angela looked down into her glass, then raised her eyes toward me. “Aren’t you wondering why John’s ex-wife is the one hiring a private investigator?”
I nodded. “Bob told me you were in business together.”
“We were business partners, but we were more than that. I don’t mean we were lovers. Not at all. I don’t know if we ever were. Just two kids out of college who started a business together. And we got lucky.”
“And that’s how you met? In college?”
Angela nodded.
“And John was married again?”
“His widow was wife number three.”
Kyle walked over and put a martini down in front of Angela. He put a glass down in front of me filled with enough ice, you’d think I’d ordered a snow cone.
Angela looked down at my glass. “Didn’t you say you wanted two ice cubes?”
I shrugged and took a sip. “That’s why I stick with bartenders I know. Or I drink on my boat.”
Angela waved for Kyle and leaned into me. “It shouldn’t be that difficult, should it?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Really.”
Kyle stepped in front of us. “Yes?”
“Kyle,” Angela said. She pointed to my drink. “Would you mind giving Henry what he’d asked for?”
He looked down at the glass, looked at me, then shifted his eyes to Angela. “That’s a Jack Daniels.” He turned to me again. “Isn’t that what you asked for?”
Angela shook her head. “He specifically said he wanted two cubes of ice. Does that look like two cubes of ice?” She reached in front of me for the glass and slid it toward Kyle. “Four minutes from now, it’ll be a Jack and water.”
I gave Kyle a look like it wasn’t me complaining about the drink. But Angela was right. It wasn’t that hard. Yet it was always a challenge for bartenders when I’d ask for two cubes.
Angela sipped her martini, holding the glass by the stem. “You want something a certain way, you ask for it. You don’t get it, you demand it.”
Kyle put another glass of Jack down on the bar and walked away. “Sorry about that.”
Angela turned her body toward me. Her skirt hiked up past her knees and rubbed against the side of my thigh. “I don’t know how much you know,” she said, “other than what I told you on the phone. But I might as well start from the beginning.” Angela sipped her martini. “John was what you might consider an avid biker.” She picked an olive from her drink and popped it in her mouth, leaning with her elbow on the bar and her chin in her hand. “He rode two, three times a week. And he never missed a Sunday ride. It was his favorite day. No matter what—rain or shine—John would be out there at seven a.m.”
I said, “Did he always ride at Losco Park?”
“John liked the dirt trails, even at his age.” Angela finished what was left of her martini and raised her hand to Kyle. She tapped the top of her glass as soon as she caught his eye. She looked at me. “You want another?”
Before I answered, she held two fingers up to Kyle.
I finished what was left in my glass. “So what exactly happened that morning?”
“Well, as far as I understand, John got up like he did every Sunday morning for his ride. But that was his last one. Two boys found him on the edge of a pond. For some reason he went off the trail and down the side of a hill, toward the pond. When they found him, he was face down in no more than four inches of water.”
“But it wasn’t a drowning?” I said.
She shook her head. “His death was caused by head injuries. There were trees and rocks around the pond. They say he hit his head more than once.” She turned and gave me a look. “Odd, if you ask me.”
“I understand you went out to the park to see where it happened?”
She nodded. “Roy took me out there. I wanted to...”
Kyle put two more drinks down in front of us and pointed to my glass. “Two cubes.”
I opened my mouth to say thanks, but he’d already turned and walked away.
Angela felt the stem of her glass. “John wore that helmet every time he rode his bike. I mean, we’re in the insurance business. We’re all about minimizing risk.” She straightened out in her seat and faced the bar. She picked up her martini and took a sip, her eyes straight ahead.
“Angela?”
She turned to me. “John would’ve worn that helmet to bed if it didn’t mess with his sex life. To me, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“But they found his helmet,” I said. “Near the trail.”
I waited for a response, but there wasn’t one. I took a sip of Jack then turned to her. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Something more that gives us reason to believe John’s death wasn’t an accident?”
She turned and kept her eyes on mine for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “Isn’t that why I’m hiring you?”