Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8

by William Manchee

CHAPTER 48

  MEMORY GUN

  From the moment Jodie showed me the memory device I couldn't wait to take it somewhere private to inspect it. Although I should have been listening attentively to Wilkerson's questioning of the jury, I barely heard a word he said. My mind was whirling over the ramifications of what had just happened. Had we just orchestrated the arrest of one of the aliens? Could it be true, or was this Everett guy just a hired gun for Martin Windsor? Either way somebody was going to be mightily pissed off when they found out we had their fancy weapon.

  On the flip side, we had just stolen evidence in a federal kidnapping case. Granted, we had good reason to do it; nevertheless, we could all go to jail for a very long time for that impropriety. My stomach should have been in knots from this realization, but nothing could dampen my exhilaration over our find. This was one of those transcendent events in a person's life that dictated extraordinary action and the assumption of abnormal risks.

  After I left the courthouse, I drove aimlessly for a few minutes. Where could I stash the memory gun where nobody could find it? I couldn't take it home. That would endanger my family. The office was too obvious and the security there wasn't that good. Then I remembered I had a safety deposit box at North American National Bank that only Rebekah and I knew about. That seemed like my best option at the moment, so I changed my course and headed in that direction watching my rear view mirror to make sure I wasn't being followed. On the way I stopped at Eckerd Drugs and bought a disposable camera. I figured I might need some pictures of the device to show Everett if I got him on the stand.

  I got to the bank ten minutes before it closed, so I didn't have much time. I wanted to inspect the device before I put it in the safety deposit box, so I told the customer service representative I needed to inspect the contents of my box. She looked at her watch. I assured her it would just take a minute, so she took me into the vault where I got my box and then followed her back to a cubicle.

  The device was about ten inches long, four inches wide, and an inch and a half thick. It was silver and looked like a stretched-out ping pong paddle. The top surface was rippled and the bottom was smooth. The light that the device apparently projected came out from the sides through a transparent blue plastic-like substance. Beneath the handle was a trigger mechanism that I was tempted to pull, but restrained myself out of fear of the consequences of such action. There was some kind of writing on the bottom of the device but it was in a language I had never seen.

  There was a knock on the door. "Sir, the bank is closing," a female voice said.

  I quickly put the device in the box, opened the door, and followed the lady back into the vault to put the box away. The front door to the bank was locked when I tried to leave, so I had to track down an employee to let me out. As I walked to my car, I felt uneasy. I scanned the parking lot to see if someone was watching me, but I didn't see anyone. As I pulled out of the parking lot to go home, I checked my rear view mirror to make sure I wasn't being followed. No cars pulled out of the parking lot after me, so I breathed a sigh of relief.

  When I got home, Rebekah was standing over the stove stirring something. She looked up. "Hi, Honey. Paula called. She said it's important." I nodded and went over to the phone and dialed her number.

  "Oh, it's you. Thank God," Paula said. "I was worried someone would come looking for the memory gun."

  "I'm fine. Nobody followed me. It's safe and sound in my safety deposit box. They'd have to rob the bank to get it now," I chuckled.

  "Good. We need that gun. It's the only proof we have that the aliens exist."

  I told Paula to relax and then hung up. Rebekah was staring at me when looked up. "What was that all about?" she asked.

  I took a deep breath and then began telling her about the day's events leaving out any word about aliens or the memory device. It was much too dangerous for her or anyone else to know the truth at this point. Before I went to bed, I called Paul Thayer and told him Paula and I would need security at our homes for the duration of the trial. He said he'd take care of it.

  That night I couldn't sleep. My mind felt like an over saturated sponge. I had taken three aspirins, but they hadn't helped. All I could think about was Weldon Everett and how I was going to get him to talk. By morning he was sure to have a lawyer and he'd instruct him not to say a word. I worried about that for a moment, but then decided it didn't matter. If he took the Fifth Amendment the jury would assume Martin Windsor was alive and that was the most I could hope for.

  The last time I looked at the clock radio it was 12:30 a.m. What seemed like just moments later, the telephone rang. I glanced at the clock. It read 3:31 a.m. I fumbled for the phone.

  "Mr. Turner?"

  "Uh huh."

  "This is Agent Lot, FBI. There's a situation I need to talk to you about."

  I sat up and rolled my feet onto the floor. "A situation? What's wrong?"

  "Sorry to bother you, but there's been a bank robbery."

  "A bank robbery? Really?" I said, shaking my head, trying to get the cobwebs out. "Okay, so why are you calling me about it?"

  "Well, it's a pretty bizarre case."

  I took a deep breath and rubbed my temples. My mind was still foggy. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, the robbers broke into the bank and managed to get the vault open. I don't know how exactly, since there was no evidence of a forced entry. There were more than three million dollars inside."

  "Hmm. That's quite a heist. . . . So, what's my connection?"

  "The funny thing is they didn't take the money."

  "Huh? I don't understand. Wha—"

  "The only thing they took was the contents of your safety deposit box."

  "What? My safety—" I stood up abruptly knocking the phone onto the floor. "Oh, my God!"

  "We'd like to know what you had in there."

  I knelt down, picked up the phone, and set it back on the night stand. My mind began to clear. I scrambled for a response to Agent Lot's dangerous question. I couldn't tell him the truth, but if my answer wasn't convincing he'd suspect something. I took a deep breath and replied, "Damn it! The prototype. Shit!"

  "What prototype?"

  "Oh, of an invention that one of my clients gave me for safekeeping. Oh, God. He's going to be so pissed when he finds out. A lot of people have been trying to steal it from him. That's why he gave it to me."

  "What kind of invention?"

  My mind whirled again trying to think of something plausible. Any hesitation would give me away. "Ah. I don't know exactly. I'm not the scientific type, I'm afraid. I really didn't understand much of it. It has something to do with . . . with . . . air cleaning. It's kind of a device that shoots out a light that cleans and purifies the air instantaneously. It's pretty amazing."

  "It must be very valuable to risk breaking into a bank to steal it. Do you think someone can reverse engineer it?"

  "I don't know. There were important papers and a gun in there too—a .38. I carry it occasionally for protection."

  "They took everything. I'm sorry."

  There was silence. Relief swept over me as I believed Agent Barnes had accepted my story, at least for now. He told me he was sorry about the loss and that the FBI would do everything in their power to find the perps and get the invention and the rest of my property back. I bit my lip, knowing that would never happen. Before he hung up, I asked him about Everett.

  "How's Everett?"

  "He's resting comfortably in the county jail."

  "Did he make a telephone call?"

  "Yes, he demanded we let him call his lawyer."

  "Damn, that was fast. Did he tell you anything before he made the call?"

  "No, he wouldn't even acknowledge his name."

  "Hmm. Let me know who his attorney is when you find out, would you?"

  "Sure. . . . Listen, I know you're in trial, but I'll need to spend some more time with you on this robbery."

  "No problem. Maybe on Saturday."

 
I hung up and fell back into bed.

  Rebekah sat up."What happened?"

  "Our safety deposit box—everything's been stolen."

  "At the bank?" she asked frowning. "How could that happen?"

  "I don't know."

  "There wasn't anything of value in there was there?"

  "Just our wills, birth certificates, life insurance policies, and that old .38 revolver."

  She looked at me. "What are we going to do?"

  "It's all replaceable. Don't worry. Call our agent tomorrow and request a duplicate insurance policy. I'll drop by the county records building and get us new birth certificates. We'll have to reexecute our wills, but that's no big deal."

  I knew Rebekah wasn't totally satisfied with my explanation. But she knew from experience she'd gotten all the information she was going to get. Finally she went back to sleep and my mind went back into high gear. Either I had been followed after all or, perhaps Paula was right, the memory gun could be tracked. I couldn't believe I'd lost the gun, but at least I had the photographs. God, I was glad I had bought that camera. After awhile I finally fell asleep, but it was a troubled slumber and I awoke at the crack of dawn.

  At 6:30 I met Paula to work on our jury strikes. We met at Denny's on Coit Road near our office. I told her about the bank robbery.

  "At least you didn't get hurt," she reasoned.

  I showed her the pictures.

  'These are good, but they're nothing like the real thing."

  "I know. Damn it! I can't believe we lost it. I thought surely it would be safe at the bank."

  "Well, there's nothing we can do now. We've just got to make sure we pick a good jury."

  I nodded and we buckled down to the task.