SANDSTORM (RICK SANDS SUSPENSE NOVELS Book 2) Page 6

  "Oh good. Sherlock on the hunt!"

  "Believe it, Watson."

  "Watson? No way. I'd rather you had the other idea than see me as a middle-aged doctor running around in a three-piece suit and brogans. I'm the damsel in distress who shows up at Baker Street begging for help."

  "Holmes never got emotionally involved with his clients."

  "We'll just have to rewrite the story our way."

  Sands always marveled at how Jane's home was hidden in plain sight. Secreted behind a seven-foot wall of tropical greenery, the house was accessible only by a narrow driveway barely visible even in daylight from North Halifax Drive. If you weren't looking for it, you'd never see it at any speed over five mph. He had to begin slowing down a quarter mile before the turn.

  The driveway snaked through more thick vegetation until it ended in a circle in front of the house. Although the estate encompassed acres of land fronting the Intracoastal Waterway, the house itself was a modest ranch built in the early 40's that Jane had purchased from its original owner, a woman in her nineties. She had sold it to Jane, who had bid for it against half a dozen other would-be buyers, because Jane had sworn to her that she would never tear it down and replace it with a McMansion, as so many others had done with similar homes along the river. It was just one of many aspects of Jane's life that Sands admired.

  Inside, as well, Sands had been pleased to find, Jane had kept much of the interior style intact, renovating in a way that maintained the home's integrity. Sands also liked that Jane, in keeping with the low-keyed style of the home - it had been built as a winter home and had been used only three months a year - had chosen comfort over design. As a result, the home was furnished in an unassuming style. The centerpiece of the living room was the fireplace, its mantel lined with more old photographs of the Bard family.

  They walked through the living room to French doors leading out to a covered patio. Beyond was a large rectangular pool surrounded by a deck. From the pool, the grounds gently sloped down to the river, where a dock jutted out over the water from her property. She used her dock for sketching, doing watercolors, listening to music and watching the sunsets. Now they sat at a glass-topped table on the patio and Sands placed Plessy's second letter in front of them.

  "The best clue we have is right here. Plessy's own words," Sands said.

  "Okay. Now what?"

  "You read through it. See if anything jumps out at you. Not the content - the words themselves."

  Sands watched her as she began to read through the letter, silently mouthing the words to herself.

  "Here's one," she said, pointing, Culprits."

  "Good one. It's the kind of expression that dates a person."

  "Sounds like the 50's."

  "So Plessy is no youngster. He might be our age, or close to it."

  "This is fun," Jane said, "No one uses that word anymore to describe bad guys."

  "Definitely says something about Plessy."

  "You do one."

  "Right there," Sands said, pointing. "Assignment."

  "Plessy is a teacher?"

  "Agreed. But not just any teacher, my love. If you put it all together - the name Plessy and the demand letters - it sounds like he's a law professor."

  "Yes! And it connects up with him being the Judge and making you the Prosecutor."

  "I'll go one further - Plessy knows I was a prosecutor. And going way out on that limb - Plessy either was or is a judge, himself, or wanted to be one."

  "Law professor, Judge - is it possible we're dealing with someone who's a big shot in the legal world?"

  "Certainly possible. Bad news is, if that's true, short of catching him in the act, it will be impossible to even make him a suspect. No one will believe it."

  "And he's got Rebel doing the nasty work so he stays hidden."

  A nice breeze came off the river and blew the letter off the table into the French doors.

  "God, is he the invisible man, too?" Jane asked, getting up and retrieving the letter.

  "I'm sure he likes that film," Sands said.

  Sands watched her come back to the table and sit down. He found that he couldn't take his eyes off her. She smiled, enjoying his infatuation. They sat for a time, reveling in the breeze and staring at each other.

  A motorboat sped by, and the harsh roar of the engine broke the spell.

  "We still have to find a way to identify him," Sands said.

  "How?"

  "Process of elimination. Let's assume he knows us. You, me, possibly Ty. He may have grown up with us. Attended elementary school on the peninsula or high school with us. Let's start there."

  "Which of our classmates became judges?"

  "I'll put together a list of every judge I can find who attended elementary school on the peninsula or Seabreeze High between 1956 and 1967. He's bound to turn up somewhere."

  "Once we narrow it down, then what?"

  "Not much we can do. Or anyone else. The AG needs probable cause to tap his phone and they won't set up surveillance without some hard evidence. Once we know who Plessy is, though, we can connect him to Rebel."

  "How?"

  "If Plessy is someone prominent, he's not going to have a lot of contacts who were in the military and were into setting off home-made bombs when they were young. Somehow, the two of them came together and we should be able to find a link - it maybe as simple as a school photo."

  Jane reached across the table and took his hand. "This is scary, Rick. If they find out we've identified them, even if we can't prove it's them, they'll have a good reason to kill us."

  "I don't think so. As long as we can't prove our theory, they can enjoy watching us fail. If Plessy is a prominent lawyer or judge, he's going to know the line between speculation and real proof. And he's not going to leave enough evidence to prove anything."

  "So what do we do in the meantime?"

  "Wait."

  "I can think of something we can do while we wait."

  Sands smiled. "Motel got to you, huh?"

  "Hold that thought and follow me. We can do all that motel stuff right here - and my bedroom is a lot cozier."

  * * *

  When the phone rang, waking him, Sands glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was 3:30 a.m. Since it was her home, he waited for her to answer the call. From her expression, he knew she expected it to be Plessy.

  "Hello," she said, looking at him. After a moment, she added, "He's right here." She held out the phone. "For you - someone named Richard Baggett."

  Sands groaned as he took the phone. "Detective?"

  "I'm out on Halifax. I need to see you. Now."

  "I'll be right out." Sands hung up the phone and looked at Jane. "Richard Baggett is the Chief of Detectives at the State Attorney's Office."

  "It's Plessy."

  "I'm guessing he didn't like our report."

  Sands dressed and picked up his wallet, cell phone and car keys.

  "Call me."

  "I will."

  "Do you want me to call Ty? Or some other lawyer?"

  "Not yet. Let's see what Baggett has to say first."

  As Sands leaned down to kiss Jane, she threw her arms around him and he took refuge in her warmth for a moment before pulling away.

  Outside, the moon was bright. Sands walked down the driveway to Halifax. Baggett was smoking a cigar, and though Sands could not see his face, the detective's anger seemed to emanate in waves from his muscular frame.

  "What the fuck have you gotten us into, Sands?"

  "You tell me, Detective."

  "Some whack-job who calls himself Plessy called Channel 8 at midnight and told them to get a camera crew over to the Seabreeze Bridge. Said he was going to blow it up and they should be there to film it."

  "What happened?"

  "They sent a crew and sure enough, the guy blows out the center of the bridge."

  "How?"

  Even in the dark, Sands could see the cynical sneer on Baggett's face. Like you don't know, B
aggett's eyes said. Just how dumb do you think I am?

  "How, counselor? How come you haven't asked me what this has to do with you? Who the fuck is Plessy?"

  "The Attorney General knows all about Plessy."

  "How so?"

  "I told him. Or rather, my partner did. There have been two extortion letters - he made threats but nothing specific."

  "But you didn't see fit to let us know?"

  "I figured the AG would contact you."

  This was as likely, Sands knew, as winning the lottery. Traditionally, state attorneys, who were limited to prosecuting crimes that took place in their respective small patches of the state, were bitter rivals of the Attorney General, whose powers covered the entire state, even when they were of the same political party. The Attorney General was always looking for ways to depict himself as a crime fighter even though responsibility for prosecuting almost all violent crimes in the state fell to the state attorneys. The Attorney General typically pursued civil matters involving the state and anti-trust cases.

  "You're some piece of work, Rick. You kept us in the dark and now we have the mess dumped in our lap in the middle of the night. I only learned about Plessy's connection to you from a friend in the AG's office."

  There was some truth to Baggett's statement, Sands had to admit. No matter what the motive, it was State Attorney Ronny Walker's responsibility to investigate and prosecute local crimes.

  "Plessy never said what he would do. There was no way anyone could have predicted this."

  "I ought to arrest you for obstruction."

  The answer that Baggett wanted, Sands knew, was "go ahead" but he stopped himself from taking the bait. Such an arrest wouldn't stand up in court, but in the hysteria he could stew in jail for days before getting a judge to release him. Especially with Ty not yet back from Arizona.

  "I'll give you all the information I've got on it," Sands said.

  "And your partner?"

  "He's out of town. Won't be back until later today."

  "How convenient. Let's go - unless you need to go back inside and kiss your lady friend goodbye."

  "I'll follow you in my car."

  "Suit yourself."

  Sands nodded and walked away. He considered asking Baggett how he knew to find him at Jane's home, but decided not to press it. As he got into his car, he called Jane to tell her he wouldn't be back that night.

  Chapter Eight

  It was late that afternoon when Sands returned to his apartment, exhausted after an endless day of interviews with members of the task force set up by Ronny Walker; Walker himself had stayed above the fray, stage managing the proceedings from the safety of his office while Richard Baggett took charge of the actual interviews.

  Despite hours of repetitive interviews, Sands had learned only that the bombing had been done with a model airplane operated with a transmitter. The plane had landed on the bridge and then detonated. At this point the exact nature of the explosive device used was unknown, although it was powerful enough to take out the center of the bridge, leaving only the two ends. Just before the plane had landed, a man on a motorcycle had dropped off an envelope at the television station. The man's face was hidden by a black windscreen attached to his helmet. Inside was a typed diatribe claiming that Plessy had blown up the bridge because it was a symbol of the racist apartheid practiced in Florida and specifically in Daytona Beach during the era of segregation. Because of the total failure of federal, state, and local law enforcement officials to investigate any of the sixty known race murders that had taken place in Florida, Plessy had assigned the task of bringing to justice the men responsible for the murder of James Harrison to two people he trusted. If they were prevented by authorities from conducting their investigation, or if they failed to pursue the investigation for reasons of their own, Plessy wrote, he would blow up the other three bridges connecting mainland Daytona to the ocean peninsula - and "if necessary" he would blow them up when there were cars on them.

  Walker had two goals in setting up the task force, Sands believed. The first was to generate media coverage rather than any tangible results. This did not concern Sands; like his counterparts, Walker had come to realize that nothing he did as State Attorney mattered unless it received media attention. The second goal was different - Walker wanted to be the one who solved the bridge bombing, and Sands knew that proving the case in court was not how Walker viewed his task. If he could point the finger of guilt at someone, Walker would do so, implicitly claiming victory even if he could not get a conviction in a court of law. Walker's career had been built on perception rather than actual accomplishment.

  Walker himself was often quoted as saying that he valued loyalty over competence. Remarkably, Walker had never once in his career been in a courtroom, except for ceremonial functions, and had risen through the ranks by attaching himself to those at the top, shuttling back and forth between various law enforcement agencies, quietly eliminating anyone he viewed as a threat as he moved up the ladder. He had done things for his bosses that the bosses wanted done, but in a way that gave them - and himself - deniability. At the same time, with skill that Iago might have admired, he depicted those whose careers he sought to cripple or destroy as traitors who posed a threat to his masters. Along the way Walker had learned that the only thing that mattered was public perception, and to that end, he had learned to create and then protect a media image that was palpably false. The result was that he was always on someone's short list for promotion to a higher-level job. And it had taken only a few months as State Attorney for Walker to realize that he needed to move up to Attorney General, or even Governor, before one of his underlings made a mistake and caused irreparable damage to his reputation. Sands had no doubt that Walker was perfectly capable of throwing both Sands and King to the wolves if it would give him that springboard to higher office. This was only round one as far as Walker was concerned. There would be much more to come.

  Sands was not surprised to find another envelope taped to his mailbox. He took it inside and tossed it onto the breakfast bar that separated his kitchen from the combined dining-living space. Whatever Plessy had to say, it could wait until after he had showered and made himself something to eat.

  His entire body ached. Needling his body with steaming water helped relax his muscles, but he emerged too tired to do anything but lie down. Within seconds he was pulled under into a deep sleep.

  At first he thought it was part of a dream, but the persistent ring of the phone awakened him. He was astonished to see that it was two in the morning. Not another one, he thought, as he answered the phone.

  He was stunned to hear his mother's voice. More bad news - his father had been rushed to the hospital. Esther sounded as though she were near the breaking point, coming close to begging him to come to Sarasota right away.

  What else could he say except he was on his way?

  He forced himself to get up and take another shower - this one under cold water. He came out shivering, put on fresh clothes, packed a duffel and started for the door.

  Plessy's letter. He was tempted to simply ignore it until he returned. But what if it contained yet another deadline? He had to read it.

  He opened it and glanced at the words:

  RICK, YOU MESSED UP. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO. JUST DO IT. SHOW PROGRESS IN THREE DAYS. IF YOU FAIL, I'LL BLOW UP THE MAIN STREET BRIDGE. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT TRY MY PATIENCE!

  PLESSY

  Great, he thought. He and King were already being viewed with suspicion. Most of the questions the task force members had fired at him concerned his partner. In their presence he had telephoned King on his cell - he had caught him in the airport waiting for a late flight from Phoenix to Orlando - and they had been asked to consent to taps on their phones and fax machine, ignoring Plessy's obvious avoidance of either one. They had anticipated the request and decided earlier that they would consent as they wanted the authorities to follow their investigation, wherever it led. But they would limit their pho
ne conversations to the minimum and avoid discussing anything strategic. Since there were no other suspects, he and King were the obvious targets. The task force was focused on identifying Plessy and had shown no interest in solving the Harrison murder. As far as Ronny Walker was concerned, the Harrison case was a homicide relegated to history, an incident that Plessy had seized upon to try and justify his murderous act. Given that during the interviews, Baggett did not even attempt to hide his belief that he and King were involved in the bridge bombing, the task force's lack of interest in the Harrison case was even more understandable. This latest letter, Sands expected, would only make things worse. Walker wanted the task force to find that Plessy was a phantom, created by King and Sands to mislead them. If no other leads developed as to Plessy's identity, the task force could easily theorize that they had drafted this letter to throw them off track. Caught in the middle, he and King had no other option than to try and solve the Harrison case; if they abandoned that quest, they risked being framed by Plessy for the bombing.

  It took him another hour to contact Baggett and arrange for someone to pick up the original. In the meantime he faxed it to the task force and to the Attorney General's office. He also left a voice message for King, who was in the air and would not arrive until later that morning.

  Finally he called Jane. As he expected, she again offered to come with him but he gently declined. She told him that she understood, that she knew that it wasn't about her or them, as a couple.

  King called him on the road when he landed but they only talked about Sands' father. They had already worked out their strategy before King left for Arizona: No matter what he learned from the retired FBI agent, King's next step would be to arrange to visit Bob Purdy, the retired sheriff of Marbury County.

  "Good luck with your father," King said.

  "Thanks."

  "If I believed in God, I'd pray for him - and for you and your Mom and sister."

  "Do it anyway. You never know . . ."

  "Will do."

  He arrived at the hospital just after six that morning. Now, as he found himself once again on the elevator to the cardiac floor, Sands wished that he believed in God and Heaven. With death hovering about his father, Sands understood how different he would feel if he truly believed with all his heart and soul that Sam would be leaving his body behind while his soul found peace in a far better place. If only, he thought, as he got off the elevator and went to the nurses' station.