For the second time in maybe fifteen minutes, Monica was breathless.
“See you soon,” Edward said. “And Monica? Remember what I told you. Don’t be a hero. If A.J. is our man, he’s a dangerous guy.”
“I’ll be careful. Promise.”
After Monica disconnected, she considered her options. From what Edward said, she assumed he wanted her to wait until he arrived so the two of them could confront A.J. together. That plan made sense because Edward was a criminal psychologist and could read the cues in A.J.’s answers—cues that Monica may have missed during her first interview with him. But waiting would waste too much time. Officer Criswell had talked to A.J.’s mother. Monica knew how mothers were, the instinctive protectiveness they felt toward their children. A.J.’s mother could be contacting her son right now and warning him about what she had told Criswell.
She couldn’t wait; she had to follow this lead immediately, stop A.J. from leaving the Keys and heading somewhere they would never find him. She remembered Edward’s words. Don’t be a hero. He was right. A.J., if he knew he was a suspect, could be dangerous. She called a fellow officer she trusted in the department.
“Lincoln, this is Monica. Are you busy right now?”
“Not too much, Monica, and never too busy for you. What’s up?”
“I’d like you to go with me to follow up on an important lead. Short trip, just a few miles away. Do you have time?”
“Sure. I’ll come to your office right away.”
Grateful for the backup, Monica strapped on her holster and waited for Lincoln.
Monica felt a sense of satisfaction at wrapping up loose ends. This was what she was paid for. But even more than that, she felt a sense of completion that Edward would now surely have. He’d never put the tragedy of losing his father behind him, but knowing he was right about how the judge met his end, and that the guilty party would go to jail would do a lot to help Edward move on. And perhaps his moving on would include her.
* * *
AN HOUR AFTER talking to Monica, Edward was ready to leave his office. He had contacted his patients and rescheduled appointments for later the following week. He wouldn’t even stop at his condo to pick up anything. He simply got into his car and drove south through heavy midafternoon Miami traffic. As he headed toward the Keys, the traffic thinned, and he made better time. When he was an hour away from Sweet Pine Key, he called Monica to tell her he would arrive soon.
“Detective Cortez,” he said to the dispatcher who answered the call.
“One moment.” The dispatcher came back on the line. “I’m sorry, but Detective Cortez isn’t in her office. Can I give you her voice mail?”
Where was she? Edward had told her he would leave as soon as possible. “No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll try her cell phone.”
The call to Monica’s cell went right to voice mail. The first hint of anxiety raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Why was her phone off? Had she gone in search of A.J. without waiting for him? Surely she wasn’t facing A.J. alone. No, she was an experienced investigator. She wouldn’t do that. Nevertheless, he ignored speed-limit signs and headed with urgency into the Keys.
* * *
MONICA HAD TURNED off her cell phone when she approached the marina. If A.J. was attempting to run, she didn’t want to alert him to her presence. Experience had taught her that surprise often provided the best results.
She asked Lincoln to check the dock area. Most of the boats were moored. Obviously, it wasn’t a busy day at Smitty’s. “Just do a quick search,” she said. She showed Lincoln a picture of A.J., one she had taken when she first interviewed him. “We’re looking for this guy or anything that seems suspicious around the boats. Anything that might indicate that someone is planning to take one of the boats for an extended trip.”
Lincoln understood the seriousness of this investigation. Monica had filled him in on the details on the way to the marina. And he knew Monica had a personal interest in the outcome of the case.
“Where will you be, Monica?” Lincoln asked her.
“I’m going to the bait house. Sometimes A.J. hangs out there. I’ll radio you if I find him.” Both officers had quieted their phones, but they still had means to communicate with their shoulder radios. Lincoln was a big man and a competent officer. Monica knew he could handle himself. While Lincoln headed off toward the boats, Monica walked to the bait house.
She waited, but heard nothing. She knocked on the door. When no one answered, she looked through the windows, to where customers stood to wait for their bait orders to be filled. No one appeared to be inside. She went back to the door and slowly turned the knob.
All was quiet inside the shack except for the hum of the air and filtration systems that kept the bait alive. The usual paraphernalia was stacked against the walls and on a table. Different-sized nets, cans of feed, boxes and canisters for the captured bait. The smell was usual for the Florida Keys—fishy, salty, the rotting smell of decaying seaweed. Monica felt slightly nauseous. She wiped sweat from her brow.
She began a preliminary search of the small hut since A.J. was obviously not here. She didn’t know what she was looking for, perhaps a slip of paper that would prove as beneficial as the birth certificate she’d found in the judge’s fake book. She halted when a low, hoarse voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Can I help you with something, Detective Cortez?”
She turned to face A.J. and swallowed. “I was just looking for Edward,” she said, delivering her rehearsed line with confidence.
“He’s not coming this weekend,” A.J. said. “I would have thought you’d know that. You two are kind of cozy, aren’t you?”
The thought flashed through her mind that A.J. had been watching them, perhaps seen them kissing or exchanging a private moment. She squelched a shiver of disgust.
“He changed his plans,” she said. “He’s supposed to arrive today.” Her hand itched to reach for her radio. A.J. hadn’t done anything to prompt suspicion yet, but his presence was somehow different today, threatening. She kept her hand at her side and decided not to call Lincoln. She didn’t want to alert A.J. to her anxiety.
“Change of plans or not,” A.J. said, “the boss doesn’t come to the bait house often. He just orders what I tell him to and lets me run things here.” A.J. delivered a sly smile. “He doesn’t like to be around much.”
The comment made Monica pause. “Oh, because he doesn’t care for fishing?”
“Yeah, right.” A.J.’s grin broadened. “I don’t think he fishes much from his fancy condo in Miami.”
Monica tried to smile. Keeping A.J. at ease was important. Her impulse was to lure A.J. from the bait house and into the open. Then Lincoln would have a chance to see them. She tried to step around the man to be nearer the door. He blocked her path.
“Let’s go outside to wait,” she suggested. “It’s hot and stuffy in here.”
“Guess that’s why the other officer you brought along was poking around the boats instead of sweating in here.”
A.J. knew about Lincoln. Two thoughts collided in Monica’s brain. One, had A.J. hurt Lincoln? Two, was she alone with this man with no backup? She tried again to sidestep her way to the door. “I’d almost forgotten about him,” she said. “He rode along with me this morning on an investigation. It’s time we left here, anyway.”
A.J. situated himself in the doorway. “You’ve got time,” he said. “Your officer is taking a nap out by the last boat. I can’t see him waking up anytime soon.”
What had A.J. done? Was Lincoln injured or possibly dead? Monica tried to calm her escalating fear. Lincoln was a family man with two kids. Monica was friends with his wife. His son sometimes played with Emilio. She straightened her spine. “Please step aside, A.J., I need to check on Officer Quinton. Perhaps he suddenly fell ill.”
“It’s true,” A.J. said. “H
e’s not feeling too well right now.”
Monica resisted the urge to draw her weapon. A.J. had not threatened her. At this point he seemed to be playing a cat-and-mouse game. Officers had been trained not to use a weapon unless a life was being threatened. She didn’t know if A.J. was even telling her the truth. She couldn’t assume he’d done anything to Lincoln.
She took a forceful step forward, tried to dip under A.J.’s arm. He stopped her by grabbing her upper arm, the one nearest her pistol. He twisted her arm until she felt her shoulder pop. Pain shot up to her neck. Already her right hand could be useless.
“Let me go, A.J.,” she said through gritted teeth. “You are attacking a police officer. I’m arresting you.”
A.J. shoved her to the rear of the bait house. She collided with a wall. Her right shoulder burned with pain. With one swift movement, A.J. unsnapped her holster and removed her weapon.
Despite the pain, a thought from her training days coursed through Monica’s brain. Never let a suspect get to your weapon. So many bad stories had been drummed into rookies’ heads about criminals who had gotten hold of a pistol.
A.J. pushed Monica toward a bench and grabbed a length of mooring rope. She knew that now was her last chance to get away. She stood up and kicked furiously with one foot while maintaining her balance with the other. A.J. hollered and clutched his abdomen, but didn’t go down. Instead, she felt the sharp, brutal force of one swift punch to her cheek. A dark fog clouded her brain and she felt herself being shoved onto the bench, sensed the rope going around her arms and legs. She might have passed out except a bucket of murky, foul-smelling water was doused on her face.
Her eyes snapped open and she gasped. She drew in an agonizing breath and stared into A.J.’s eyes, brilliant with the lust of victory.
“Okay now, Monica...” He said her name with the lilting mockery of one who has conquered. “Why don’t you tell me exactly why you came out here today?”
“I think you know that already, A.J.,” she replied.
* * *
EDWARD TRIED MONICA’S cell phone several times before he reached Sweet Pine Key. He only got her voice mail; his heart raced. There had to be a reason for her phone silence, and Edward feared the worst. When he got to Sweet Pine, he called the sheriff’s department and requested that officers be sent to the marina. Without specific details and no word from Monica, the dispatcher was reluctant to send out a patrol, but she promised she would pass along the request.
Monica’s gray sedan was the first thing Edward saw when he got to the marina parking lot. He sped across the gravel and slammed his car into Park. Why hadn’t she waited for him to arrive? And knowing he was coming, why had she turned off her phone?
There would be time to sort out the details later. Right now, Edward’s first thought was to get to Monica. He ran toward the dock, and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned back toward the house. He stopped midway across the lawn when he heard a low moan that seemed to float on the breeze. He stopped and listened, then determined the sound had come from the pier and ran back again.
He darted across the wooden planks to the end of the dock. Praying he wouldn’t find Monica injured, he was shocked to find a male officer bound to a dock piling, with rope wrapped around an oily rag stuck in his mouth. The officer was groggy but trying to return to alertness. Edward crouched beside him, loosened the rope around his mouth and removed the filthy rag.
The officer shook his head and spit saliva from his lips. “What happened?” he asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Edward. I own the marina.” He began trying to free the ropes from the man’s hands and legs.
“Never mind that,” the officer said. “Find Monica. She asked me to come with her. Said she had to interview A.J. And then, I don’t know, I was hit on the head.”
After a quick glance around the dock, Edward noticed a wooden oar floating in the water. The tip was stained with blood. “I’ll call for an ambulance,” Edward said. “Where is Monica?”
“Never mind the ambulance. I’m okay. Just find her.”
Edward’s sharp gaze searched the property. “Is she in the house?”
The officer’s eyes started to close. Edward shook him back to consciousness. “Where is Monica?” he shouted.
“Bait house. She said she was going there.”
“Have you got a weapon?” Edward asked. He’d never fired a gun at anything other than a target, but now might be the time he fired for real.
“Locked in my desk back at the station,” the officer muttered. “Didn’t think... Go. I’ll be fine.”
Edward knew the poor guy wasn’t fine, but he also knew backup help might arrive at any time. “Hang in there, buddy,” he said, then stood and ran toward shore. The bait house was in view about a hundred yards away.
Edward slowed when he got close. He didn’t know what he would find if he opened the door. Would the building be empty? Would Monica be inside, injured or worse? Would A.J. have escaped?
His heart pounded in his ears. His lungs burned from running in the extreme heat. He felt as if his world was about to collapse.
“Please be safe in there, Monica,” he whispered to himself. Nothing mattered now except for Monica. He didn’t care if he solved the mystery of his father’s death. He didn’t care if he ever saw this land, this marina, this house ever again. All he cared about was Monica. He prayed that she was alive with an urgency he’d never experienced before.
He wasn’t a trained investigator, not a cop who faced danger every day. Not a man who risked his life charging into situations that held uncertain outcomes. But today he wanted to do the right thing in the right way. Today his purpose was clear. For their sake—his and Monica’s—and their future. Their lives depended on his clear thinking and ability to make the right choices.
He stopped at the door, took a deep breath and leaned in. He heard her voice, garbled, as if she was having trouble talking. But it was Monica’s voice. She was alive.
“You’re in a lot of trouble,” she said. “What did you do to Officer Quinton?”
“You haven’t answered my question.” A.J.’s voice rose in anger. “Why did you come here today?”
“Okay, A.J.,” she said. “But if you need it spelled out, I came here to talk to you about the death of Judge Smith.”
He made a sound like a growl deep in his throat. Footsteps, ones too loud to be Monica’s, sounded on the wood-plank floor of the bait house. He was pacing, as if he was nervous. “You think I did it. You think I killed the judge.”
“I think you know more than you told me. If you didn’t kill the judge, then you know who did.” Her words were slurred and weak. “If you tell me now, there is still a chance to save your life. If you hurt me or Officer Quinton, there is nothing I can do to help you.”
“You can’t help me now, you stupid—”
“I can.” Monica coughed, seemingly struggling with every breath. “But if you kill me...”
Edward couldn’t wait any longer. A.J. obviously had the upper hand, and Monica was running out of time and energy. With no weapon, no means of protection, he slowly opened the door. A.J. spun around. He had a gun. Edward’s body tensed as he prepared to take a bullet.
He focused on the pistol aimed at his chest, saw A.J.’s hand shake. A.J. didn’t speak. The room was eerily, threateningly quiet.
“Put the gun down, A.J.,” Edward said in a voice much calmer than he’d expected. His years of education and experience with criminals flashed through his head. One mistake and they could all be dead. “Please put the gun down, A.J. We’ll talk. You’re not going to get away. Cops are probably right now pulling into the marina. I called them.”
A.J.’s hand shook more violently. There was a good chance if he fired he would only hit the wall behind Edward. But Edward couldn’t charge him and take that chance. His eyes darted behind A.J.
and he saw Monica strapped to a bench with mooring line. Her head lolled to one side, but her eyes were open. The side of her face was bruised. Edward had never known hatred like he felt in that instant, but hatred for A.J. wouldn’t keep Monica alive. Only clear thinking and calm action would.
“We know who you are, A.J.,” he said. “We know the judge was your grandfather.”
“Then you know what a rotten man he was. He had everything, and we had nothing. My father, who died in the streets, my mother who lives in a one-room apartment in San Diego—the judge didn’t do anything for any of us. He didn’t care if we starved.”
A.J. raised his free hand and placed it under the elbow of the hand that held the gun. The pistol steadied, making a shot more accurate now. “And the judge took you in, a stranger without a drop of his blood. The judge gave you everything.”
Edward raised his arms as if surrendering, a gesture to hopefully calm him. “I want to hear about that, A.J. I want to know everything about you and your family. This is all a mystery to me, and only you can clear it up. But you can’t tell me with that gun pointed at my face. Put the gun down, A.J., and talk to me.”
A.J. cleared his throat. His voice rose to a high pitch. “I’d been waiting for the right time to talk to Smitty,” he said. “I worked here for over a year, did everything the old guy told me to. He couldn’t have run this place without me.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Edward said. “I know how much my father depended on you.”
“Don’t call him your father! You’ve got no right.”
Edward didn’t argue. “Go on with your story, A.J. What happened the night my fa—the judge died?”
“I waited up until the judge came out of the house. I just wanted to ask him for what was rightfully mine, what I deserved, what my dad had deserved before me. I figured he’d be in a mood to hear it.”
“Sure, I understand,” Edward said.
“I showed him proof of who I am. I told him I wanted part of his marina, not all of it, just some, enough to help me through a tough time.”
A Family Man At Last Page 19