their job was to take a look and file a report.
According to Gilmer, who survived with minor injuries, they were ambushed as they drove slowly along a gravel road at 3:00 a.m. The woods were thick and they saw no one. The first shots hit the side of the unmarked car Gilmer was driving, then the rear windows were blown out. He stopped the car and lunged out and scrambled into a ditch. On the other side, Kenny Taft also bailed out but was immediately hit in the head and died at the scene. He did not have time to pull his service revolver. When the bullets stopped, Gilmer crawled to his car and called for help.
The gunmen vanished without a trace. DEA officials believed it was the work of traffickers. Months later, an informant allegedly said the killers did not realize they were dealing with cops. There was a lot of cocaine hidden at the site, just down the road, and they were forced to protect their inventory.
The informant allegedly said they were somewhere in South America. Good luck with the search.
22
I get an angry phone call from Otis Walker. Seems his wife, June, is upset because her second husband, James Rhoad, said something bad about her in court. I patiently explain that we have not been to court yet, but we did file an affidavit signed by Rhoad in which he claims that June laughed about lying in court to nail Quincy.
“He called her a liar?” Otis asks, as if surprised. “In front of a jury?”
“No, no, Mr. Walker, not in a courtroom, just in some papers.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“Because we asked him to. We’re trying to get Quincy out of prison because he didn’t kill that lawyer.”
“So, you’re saying my wife June is a liar, right?”
“We’re saying she lied in court way back then.”
“Same difference. Don’t know how y’all can drag up all this old shit after twenty years.”
“Yes sir. It’s been a long time. Just ask Quincy.”
“I think I should talk to a lawyer.”
“You do that. Give him my phone number and I’ll be happy to have a chat. But you’re wasting your money.”
* * *
—
FROM UNDER Patty’s Porch, Mazy gets the message:
the salty pelican is an old bar on the nassau waterfront,
bahamas; be there next Tuesday at noon; it is important;
(this message will burn itself five minutes after being opened;
don’t even think about trying to track it).
I grab a credit card, go to Patty’s, pay up, log in as joe.frazier.555 and send my message: Should I bring a gun or a bodyguard?
Ten minutes later, I get: No, I come in peace. The bar is always crowded, plenty of people around.
I reply: Who is supposed to recognize the other person?
It’ll work. Don’t get yourself followed.
See ya.
* * *
—
THE DEBATE ALMOST becomes an argument. Mazy is adamant in her belief that I would be foolish to walk into such a meeting with a stranger. Vicki doesn’t like it either. I maintain that it’s a risk we have to take for reasons that are obvious. The person knows a lot about the case and wants to help. He or she is also frightened enough to meet out of the country, which, at least to me, indicates some really rich dirt could be collected.
Outnumbered two to one, I leave anyway and drive to Atlanta. Vicki is masterful at finding the absolute rock-bottom prices for flights, hotels, and rent-a-wrecks, and she books me on a Bahamian turbo-prop that stops twice before I leave America. It has only one flight attendant, who cannot smile and has no interest in getting out of her jump seat.
With no luggage I’m waved through customs and pick a cab from a long line. It’s a vintage 1970s Cadillac with a loud radio blaring Bob Marley for us tourists. The driver smokes a joint to add to the local color. Traffic barely moves so there is little chance of a deadly crash. We stall in an impressive jam and I’ve had enough. I get out, pay him as he points this way and that.
The Salty Pelican is an old bar with sagging rafters and a thatched roof. Large creaky fans drop from the ceiling and offer the slightest of breezes. Genuine Bahamians play a rowdy game of dominoes at a crowded table. They appear to be gambling. Others are tossing darts in a corner. White people outnumber the natives and it’s obviously a popular place for tourists. I get a beer from the