That Way Lies Madness: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 8)

by Scott Cook

  I made my way around the far end of the jetty in about two feet of water. As I roared along the inside at mind boggling speeds, I scanned the top of the breakwater for any signs of life. I saw nothing, but being six or seven feet below, my perspective didn’t afford me a good view.

  I knew this was a long shot and even that was generous. If Shade were on the jetty, he’d have had plenty of time to watch my boat come in through the pass, watch me get the dink free and putter in. He could’ve taken a nap and laughed his ass off as he strolled casually away while I approached. That and if he’d still been monitoring the radio, he would’ve heard all that Lieutenant Simms and I said to each other.

  Still, I had to try. It was some kind of action and maybe I’d get very, very lucky.

  I was close to the beach now. I quickly throttled back, pulled the kill switch and tilted the outboard up and locked it in place. The dink slid up onto the sand and came to rest. I went forward, jumped out with the painter in my hand and hauled the little boat up so that the water was barely lapping at the pointed ends of the sponsons.

  Then I ran toward the jetty. I went up onto the dune… or what passes for dunes in Florida… and around a stand of scrub and onto the paved top of the breakwater. I saw nothing… no, there was something…

  I jogged out about a hundred feet or so to a bench with something lying beneath. As I got close, I saw it was a man. In my monocular, I could see that he was smallish, dressed in ragged clothing and dirty. A bottle of something lay on the ground next to him.

  “Hey!” I called out as I drew close. I bent down and shook him. “Hey, you all right?”

  The man groaned something unintelligible and rolled from beneath his bench. He had gray hair, a gray beard and bushy gray eyebrows that looked out at me from under a beat up old straw hat, “Wha… you a cop?”

  “No,” I said dejectedly.

  “Then whatcha buggin’ me fer?”

  “Did you see anybody out here in the past hour?” I asked. “Anybody suspicious?”

  “Now how the hell would I know if they was suspicious?” He cranked in a gravelly and put upon tone. “I been mindin’ my own business… mindin’ my own business…”

  I sighed, “Sorry to interrupt your contemplations, pop. But a fuckin’ murdering, bomb happy lunatic was out here and I thought you might have actually noticed something other than whatever used to be in this bottle.”

  “I ain’t seen nothin’, wise ass.”

  “Yeah…” I groused, growing angry now. I don’t know why, I didn’t actually expect to catch Shade. “Not even that explosion about an hour ago? Right out there about five miles?”

  I pointed out to sea where Simms helo still hovered. The old man waved me off, “Been sleepin’ since the sun went down. Now why don’t you screw and let an old man alone.”

  I kicked a loose rock into the water and stalked off, still feeling unreasonably mad. Even if the old drunk had seen anything, what use would it be?

  “Hey, you want to really help a fella out, run down to the packie and get me a new bottle!” The bum cackled after me. “Tell ya’ bout all the crazy shit I seen!”

  I grumbled something dark and walked down off the rocks and onto the dune and back down toward my boat. It wasn’t until I was just about to drag the dinghy back into the water when something the old man said rung a bell.

  “He’d said… screw… and the packie…” I muttered, standing and pondering for a moment.

  In Rhode Island, the liquor store was commonly called the package store or just packie for short. And screw was often used to mean to proceed rapidly in a given direction. Usually to go away from something or somebody. Two Rhode island expressions… Rhode Island again…

  “This Morriarty is more clever than I first assumed, Watson!” I Holmesed.

  Watson didn’t answer… stupid Watson.

  Holmes…

  Sherlock Holmes was a master of disguises…

  My stomach lurched and my blood became ice water as the idea bloomed white-hot in my mind. The old man… could it be?

  I ran at full tilt back up the beach, up the dune and around the stand of bushes and trees and onto the jetty again. I ran toward the bench… and he was gone! The old drunk had vanished.

  I’d clipped the hand-held VHF radio to my waistband. Occasionally, it had crackled to life with communication between Simms and the approaching Coast Guard boat. However, it’d been silent for ten or fifteen minutes now. So when it crackled to life, I was a little startled.

  “A very good deduction, Sherlock,” Shade’s modified voice drifted up to me. “Sorry I couldn’t stay to chat, though. A valiant effort. What gave me away?”

  I plucked the small radio off my waistband and depressed the talk button as I jogged back toward the shore end of the breakwater, “You were the drunk? That was pretty risky, Shade.”

  He laughed. Again, it sounded eerily familiar… or I wanted it to, “Not in my estimation, Scott. Even if you’d suspected it was me, you couldn’t be sure. The risk of you ruffing me up was low. So tell me, hero… how are Greg Foster and Mrs. Bartlett? Or shall I say the former Mrs. Bartlett?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  I’d made my way past the dune path and out to the corner of the street that bent around the tip of the island. I saw nobody. Not a car driving off or a person walking anywhere close enough to have been the old man. He only had a minute or two to run after I’d turned away. How far could he have gotten?

  “Don’t bother, you won’t find me,” Shade said. “You got closer than you’ve been. Be pleased with that… but also be warned, Scott. I’m a viper. If you get too close, I will be forced to strike. And when I strike… I strike to kill.”

  “Why?” I almost pleaded. “Why are you doing these things and why are you taking such an interest in me?”

  That laugh again. Big, loud and booming. Filled with mirth but also filled with something else. Something dark that made my belly twitch.

  “That’s for you to discover, if you can. Good night, my friend.”

  He didn’t answer again. I did jog over to the intracoastal side and then back to the beach on the next cross road. Nothing and nobody.

  I strolled back to the beach and got in my dinghy. As I made my way around the breakwater and into the pass, I wondered what Shade would do next and who would pay the price for it. Who would be hurt or killed because I couldn’t seem to figure this puzzle out.

  Chapter 16

  Lisa and the boys were sitting in the cockpit when I puttered up behind Slip’N’Out. I began to re-attach the cradles to the dink as she came aft and looked over the railing.

  “What happened?” She asked with evident concern.

  “Did you have the radio on?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I didn’t hear much up here,” Lisa replied.

  “How are our guests?”

  “An ambulance took them over to Palms at Pasadena.”

  I sighed, “I ran into Shade.”

  Lisa’s eyes went wide, “What! Holy shit… how…”

  I tightened up the slings and clipped the snap swivels to the cradles, “I didn’t know it was him. There was an old wino sleeping under a bench on the jetty. He said he didn’t see anything. Then when I was back at the dink, Shade called. Turns out… he was disguised as the drunk.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Lisa breathed.

  Rocky and Morgan’s heads appeared and they watched me too. I grinned at them.

  “Did he say he was the guy?” Lisa asked.

  I climbed up the ladder and over the railing and sat behind the wheel. I was still wearing the clothes I’d gone for a swim in when rescuing Foster and Cynthia. I began to strip them off. Once naked, I used the fresh water rinse to get the salt off.

  “The old guy used a couple of Rhode Island expressions,” I stated. I told her how they hadn’t registered until after and when I ran back, the drunk was gone.

  Lisa went below and brought up shampoo, soap and a towel, “Rhode Island aga
in… you think that’s significant?”

  I chuffed, “Yes I do. It seems to keep coming up. First that Lissard guy who turns out to be a recently fired prison guard… then Shade, in his disguise, uses a couple of regional phrases… oh, and something else, too… I don’t know if you heard, but that first conversation on the radio, Shade left me a riddle.”

  I wrapped the towel around myself after washing. She ran her fingertips across my chest and arms, sending little tingles along my limbs.

  “That’s not gonna help me solve it,” I chided with a grin.

  She giggled, “What was the riddle?”

  I thought for a moment, “I think he said something like what’s read all day but often can only be heard at dawn.”

  Lisa followed me below, “What does that mean…?”

  I finished drying and dropped the towel across the dinette table as I rummaged for dry clothes. Just before I slipped into a new pair of boxer briefs, I got a pinch on my bare bum.

  “That’s sexual harassment,” I said, wagging a finger at her.

  She beamed, “Oh come on, honey… you give mama a lil’ somethin’ and maybe there’ll be a nice bonus on Friday, y’get me?”

  I guffawed, “That’s it! You’re cut off.”

  She looked shocked, “From sex?”

  I laughed, “What am I insane? Of course not… I meant from Sharon.”

  She stretched out on the port setae and Rocky and Morgan piled on with her. There were grunts, snorts and huffs as the three of them somehow melded into a comfortable pile. I laughed.

  “How about a drink, sailor?” She asked, most of her middle and lower body obscured by white brown and black dog.

  “Okay,” I said, pulling a bottle of Captain Morgan from under the sink in the head. I also grabbed a lime and a bottle of Agave. “Just help me solve this riddle.”

  “What’s read all day…?” She pondered. “A newspaper? But you can’t hear a newspaper…”

  I mixed one part rum and two parts water into two glasses, squeezed in a quarter of a lime into each and added a little squirt of agave. Then I stirred, added a few ice cubes and handed it over.

  “What’s this?” She asked, sipping. “It’s good.”

  “Boatswain’s grog,” I explained. “Hmm… no, not a newspaper. What can be heard and usually at dawn?”

  “Garbage truck… some song birds…” Lisa put forward.

  “Yeah… birds… no… not song birds… a rooster!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “A rooster is most often heard at dawn.”

  “Yeah… but you can’t read a rooster.”

  I laughed and shook my head, “Not R-E-A-D… but red, the color red! I guess I just assumed he meant read like a book… but The Rhode Island Red is the state bird, and it’s a red colored chicken.”

  “Okay… I’m convinced,” Lisa stated, taking a healthy sip from her grog. “Shade is either from Rhode Island or knows enough about it and you to drop the hints.”

  I sat down across the table from her on the starboard side, “Yeah… but he said screw and packie… screw in the sense of, ‘we heard the cops coming and screwed.’ I think he’s from up north.”

  “So how does that help us, Holmes?”

  “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue, Twatson.”

  She did a spit take, grog coming out of her nose as she roared with laughter, “Did you just call me Twatson!?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Lisa pulled a napkin from one of the baskets on the shelf behind her and wiped her face and blew her nose, “Jesus… I think you’re cut off from Sharon.”

  I chuckled and took a deep pull from my own grog, “There is one thing I’m worried about, though. Shade warned me that if I got too close, he’d strike out like a snake.”

  “Well, of course he said that,” She stated.

  “I think we’re gonna have to cut this weekend short,” I opined. “We’ll stay here tonight and then go back to town. There’s going to be a lot of fallout from this. And I think we’re gonna need to get some other folks involved.”

  “Like who?”

  I sighed, “Maybe this Grayson guy… maybe even the FBI, if they haven’t already been notified. I certainly need to report all that happened this evening to Sharon and Harry O’Malley, too.”

  She sighed, “Yeah… I guess you’re right…”

  We sat in silence for a moment and then Lisa started giggling.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Twatson…” She tittered. “On account of I’m a girl, right?”

  I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes, “You’re such a child.”

  She grinned, extended her hand and curled all but one finger down. This particular finger she used to pretend to rub her eye, “How dare you.”

  We arrived in Orlando around eleven the next morning and went straight to my office. I’d called Sharon on the way back and told her that I had some things to report. She said she’d meet us there.

  When Lisa, Morgan, Rocky and I walked into my outer office, I was surprised to see that we had three guests. Sharon of course, along with Harry O’Malley… and Wayne.

  “Uhm…” I said, a little taken aback.

  “Figured we’d kill two stones with one bird,” Sharon said with a crooked smile. “A penny saved gathers no moss and so on. Might as well have Harry here to listen in, too.”

  I looked at Wayne. He looked drawn and a little thin, but otherwise all right. He stood and came over to me.

  “I’m sorry, man,” He said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I bit your head off the other day…”

  I pulled him into a hug, “It’s okay, brother. How ya’ doin’?”

  He sighed, “Feel a little run down, but okay. I’m here to work with you, Scott. I want to help you find this motherfucker and put him away. He’s gonna pay for… for what he did.”

  “He didn’t do it,” I said. “At least I don’t think so. Ironically, it was Shade who took out the guy we think did.”

  Wayne frowned and snorted with derision, “Scott… none of it would’ve happened if it weren’t for this crazy fuck. I don’t care if Shade set the bomb or not… he’s responsible and he’s gonna pay.”

  I couldn’t blame Wayne a bit. And as much as I felt that he probably wasn’t up to his full capacity, I couldn’t deny him, either. I know how I’d feel in his shoes.

  “Okay,” I said. “Everybody take a seat and I’ll go over what I know. In fact… why don’t we go into the inner office so I can use the white board?”

  Lisa brought in the desk chair from the outer office and I pulled Swivvely out from behind my desk. Wayne and O’Malley took the two client chairs and the two women took the more comfortable models. On the right-hand wall of my inner office, if you were looking toward the windows, I’d attached a large custom-made five foot by three foot white board. I walked over to it and picked up a marker, being sure to pat Ferny, who sat in the corner near the board, on her… head?

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here tonight,” I said seriously.

  “It was Wayne!” Sharon blurted, pointing a finger at Wayne. “I seen em’! I seen em’ do it, mister! I done told him not to, but he done went ahead and done it anyways!”

  Lisa covered her mouth as she laughed and even Wayne smiled ruefully and shook his head. O’Malley just rolled his eyes.

  “Is it always like this here?” He asked me.

  “No… sometimes we goof off,” I replied stonily. “Now then… before I begin, Harry… what did the crime scene guys find out about Wayne’s car?”

  He sighed, “Not much. There was some kind of explosive attached under the right rear wheel.”

  “How did they know that?” Lisa asked.

  “Explosion pattern on the axle and gas tank,” O’Malley said. “Damnedest thing, too. I think it was supposed to puncture the tank, but it didn’t. There was also some partially melted webbing still in place. Must’ve been holding the IED on.”

  “Okay…” I said, writi
ng the name Shade and then under it, Lissard. I drew a line straight across the board in between. Then I wrote characteristics at the top and then next to this I wrote activities.

  I quickly filled the three cops in on what I knew. About Foster’s boat exploding and about my meeting on the Pass-a-Grille jetty.

  “You mean you actually met the son of a bitch?” Wayne asked in astonishment.

  I scoffed, “Yeah… but didn’t know it. It galls me… I mean, I saw his face! Not his real face, but still… and I’m sure the voice was a put on.”

  “Coasties diving on the boat?” O’Malley asked.

  “I think so,” I said. “Or Pinellis County Sheriff. Or both. I’m hoping they find something as well.”

  “What’s going on in those boxes?” Sharon asked.

  “Here’s what I know. If anybody has anything else, please speak up,” I said, uncapping my pen again.

  In the what was known section beside Lissard I wrote that he was dead, his real name and that he had worked for Ridoc up until a few weeks back. For Shade I wrote that he might be from Rhode Island. He seems intelligent, understands how to use explosives and up until the trawler bombing, his efforts have been non-lethal.

  “What about a physical description?” O’Malley asked.

  I sighed, “I can’t say much. Like I said what I did see of him was a disguise, and he was laying down. However… I’d say he seemed short, or at least medium height or less. Broad in the shoulders, too. I’d gotten a so-so look at him… if it was him… at Pauli Franco’s place last week. I can’t say much on that account. He did manage to climb over an eight-foot stone wall, though. So I’d say he is athletic.”

  I wrote all that down.

  “He seems to know where you are a lot,” Sharon pointed out.

  I tapped the end of the pen to my chin, “Yeah… here in O-town that’s not hard to do. I wonder if he was on the jetty last night more for Foster than for me. I just happened to be there.”