The following morning, she called everyone together in the workroom adjacent to the director’s rather depressing office and confirmed that she would be the acting, and quite interim, director for the near future. The news thrilled her colleagues and the staff, and there were plenty of smiles for the first time in months. She rattled off a few changes in office rules: （1） work from home as much as you want as long as the work gets done; （2） Friday afternoons off in the summer, as long as someone answered the phone; （3） no staff meetings unless absolutely necessary; （4） a mutual coffee fund to buy better stuff; （5） forget the open-door policy; （6） an extra week of vacation, unofficially. She promised to seek more funding while lowering the stress levels. She would keep her old office because she had never liked the big one and did not want to be associated with it.
She was congratulated by everyone and finally made her way back to her desk where a florist had just delivered a beautiful arrangement. The note was from Allie, with love and admiration. Felicity handed her a phone message. Jeri Crosby was calling with best wishes on the big promotion.
* * *
—
Tabor picked up the scent by casually stopping at a police substation in east Pensacola and asking an older cop behind the desk if he knew where Officer Ozment was these days.
“Norris?” the sergeant asked.
Since Tabor had only the initial “N” for the first name, he glanced at a blank notepad, frowned, and replied, “That’s him. Norris Ozment.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Nothing bad. His uncle died in Duval County and left him a check. I’m working for the estate lawyers.”
“I see. Norris quit five, maybe six years ago, went into private security. Last I heard, he was down the coast working at a resort.”
Tabor scribbled nothing legible on his notepad. “Remember which one?”
Another cop rumbled in and the sergeant asked him, “Say, Ted, you remember which hotel hired Norris?”
Ted took a bite of a donut and pondered the heavy question. “Down on Seagrove Beach, wasn’t it? The Pelican Point?”
“That’s it,” the sergeant chimed in. “Got a nice gig at the Pelican Point. Not sure if he’s still there.”
“Thanks a lot, guys,” Tabor said with a smile.
“Just leave the check here,” the sergeant said and everyone howled. Such a comedian.
Tabor left town on Highway 98 and went east as it snaked along the coast. He called the Pelican Point and confirmed that Norris Ozment was still working there, though he was too busy to answer his landline. His cell number could not be passed out. Tabor arrived at the hotel, found him in the lobby, and turned on the charm. He stuck to his ruse of being a security officer from the Atlanta area, hired by the family of a deceased gentleman to track down some potential offspring. “Five minutes is all I need,” he said with a friendly grin.
The lobby was empty, the resort half-full. Ozment could manage to spare a few minutes. They sat at a table in the grill and ordered coffee.
Tabor said, “It’s about a case you had in Pensacola back in 2001.”
“You gotta be kidding, right? I can’t even tell you what I did last week.”
“Neither can I. It was city court.”
“Even worse.”
Tabor pulled out a folded copy of the arrest report and slid it across. “This might help.”
Ozment read what he had written in another lifetime, shrugged, said, “Vaguely rings a bell. Why is the name blacked out?”
“Don’t know. Good question. Verno was murdered five months ago over in Biloxi. His family has hired me. Nothing from this old case rings a bell?”
“Not right off the bat. Look, I was in city court every day, a real grind. That’s one reason I quit. Got tired of the lawyers and judges.”
“Do you remember a lawyer named Ross Bannick?”
“Sure. I knew most of the locals. He later got elected judge. I think he’s still there.”
“Any chance he could be the other guy here, the alleged victim?”
Ozment stared again at the arrest report and finally smiled. “That’s it. You’re right. I remember now. This guy Verno painted Bannick’s house in town, and he claimed Bannick wouldn’t pay him all the money. Bannick claimed the work wasn’t finished. They squared off one day and Bannick claimed Verno pulled a gun. Verno denied it. If I recall, the judge dismissed the case because there was no other proof. One’s word against the other.”