“How did you get here? I had to swim.” Annie stalked towards her desk, aware that Brian Cavenaugh had neither blinked an eye at her nudity nor ignored it.
“Well, I have a four wheel drive vehicle and once I saw the water outside I swung around the back way, parked as near as I could and hiked in from the back of the building.”
Annie shrugged into the robe Rose brought her. “Well, and just what is it I can do for you Mr. Cavenaugh?”
Brian walked over to where Annie sat at her desk and his glance flickered momentarily as it fell on the small metal shaped object with the initials DB, lying on her desktop.
Annie had already placed the man’s accent as South African and instantly it clicked. De Brandt Minerals. That logo belonged to De Brandt Minerals. What in the world was a South African mining company’s equipment doing in a remote part of the south Florida wetlands? They could hardly be interested in diamond mining there?
Rose brought the coffee and Annie took the opportunity to look him over. He was dressed in a business suit, horn rim glasses, hair neatly trimmed, his attitude meek and courteous but Annie wasn’t fooled. He wore that suit too well. She remembered the appointment was a preliminary consultation to discuss her doing some background checks on prospective employees of his company.
Annie sipped her coffee while she listened to his pitch with half an ear. The story about him setting up a new company in the area was plausible but the coincidence was not. She thought he seemed a little less at ease since spying the De Brandt logo on her desk. Brian came to the end of his recital and Annie went into hers, quoting prices, results etc. Finished, she sat back, twirling a pencil in her fingers. “You have an unusual accent, Mr. Cavenaugh, South African?”
“Yes.’ Brian replied easily. “From nowhere you’d recognize I’m afraid, way in the boondocks.”
“So what brings you here to set up shop?”
“Oh, the usual things, competition, taxes, lack of opportunity. Also I have some family here. Thought I’d try things on this side of the pond for a while.”
“Well, good luck to you. I’ll have a proposal ready by the end of the week. Where can I get in touch with you?”
“I’m staying at the Fairlane Hotel on Route 1 temporarily.”
“Very good. I’ll be in touch.”
Annie shook Brian’s outstretched hand, noting the strength of it and watched thoughtfully as Rose escorted him to the door. What in the world was going on here?
“Rose.” Annie bellowed. Get me as much information as you can find on De Brandt Minerals and get that coffee cup dusted. I want to know who Mr. Brian Cavenaugh really is.”
Thirty
Too tired to cook, Shanna decided to pick up a salad from a local restaurant. The parking lot was empty at this time of night and her footsteps echoed in the underground cavern. It was badly lit and she made a mental note to talk to Dominick. Shanna had requested maintenance to fix the problem many times as she worked late quite often, but her pleas had been ignored. It always made her just a little bit nervous. This was not exactly a crime-free town after all, and Shanna was a paralegal, she saw, perhaps much more than the average person, just how many terrible things went on in this town.
While Dominick mostly handled divorce, he dabbled in criminal law too. Shanna had been particularly horrified by the case of one indigent family, assigned to Dominick by the judge on a rotation basis, where a baby girl had been horribly mutilated by both her parents, burned with an iron, burned on the stove and further burned by being dumped in boiling water. Shanna had wondered how even Dominick could stomach trying to defend the parents. She was glad she was not an attorney. Try as she might, Shanna felt that some cases deserved no defense. Just lock them up and throw away the key.
Still musing, she suddenly realized that she had been dawdling in an empty, badly lit parking lot with no security on duty. Not a smart move girl and she didn’t even have her keys ready. She put her briefcase on the car roof and dug around in her purse for her keys. Now that she had taken notice of her surroundings she had this creepy feeling that she was being watched.
While still appearing to be looking for her keys, she carefully scanned the lot. She took the extra step of putting her briefcase in the trunk just so she could check out the area behind her. The only thing there was a dark Ford Explorer, parked in the middle of the lot. It was black, with dark, tinted windows. Shanna didn’t like the look of that somehow. It looked brooding and out of place. She found herself imaging it suddenly coming to life and roaring down on her at full speed to smash her into the cement. She chided herself for being such a chicken, got safely in the car and headed back out into the world.
The restaurant was busy, but the staff all knew her there and she had the guilty feeling that her order had been placed on top of the list judging by the speed with which her salad appeared and the baleful looks she received from other customers who had been waiting. Shanna had had enough of people for one day, she wanted to get home, so she was grateful.
She was just turning into her street when she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw a black Ford Explorer behind her, also making the turn. She told herself she had one hell of an imagination, but nevertheless she kept driving and making turns until the Explorer was no longer behind her. Satisfied, she then pulled into her own drive.
Finally home, she puttered around a little and then watched a little television while she had her dinner. Then she put on a soothing CD, poured some of her expensive bath oils in the tub and sighing with pleasure, relaxed in the steam, soaking the tiredness out, almost nodding off.
There it was again. All at once she sat up straight, listening intently. Someone was at the back of the house near the sliding glass doors. She could hear noise through the bathroom window as if someone was trying the doors.
She scrambled from the tub and threw on a robe without bothering to towel off. She turned off the bathroom light and let her eyes become adjusted to the dark. All other lights in the house were off except for her bedside lamp. She stood in the bathroom, listening intently, heart pounding, hoping her imagination was working overtime, but she could still hear it. There was a noise at the patio door that wasn’t consistent with shrubbery brushing against it. After a previous break-in some years ago Shanna had had deadbolts installed and motion sensor lights in front and back.
Wondering what she could use as a weapon or whether she should just run, Shanna crept out of the bathroom. She felt her way around the living room, keeping low behind furniture and looked at the patio. She rarely closed the drapes because there was enough privacy that no one could see in. The sensor light had not come on, but there was a moon and, still as a mouse, Shanna could just discern that there was somebody indeed trying to break the lock on the back doors.
Terrified, her first thought was to scream and she had to chide herself that that wouldn’t help matters at all. This was the nineties. Superwoman did exist. She wasn’t superwoman though and she had absolutely no idea how she would react to a physical confrontation with some stranger who had evil intent. While physically fit, she was small and had no training in martial arts or self-defense of any kind. She doubted whether she would have the brains to use it even if she had. Nor did she have a gun. She had always thought the likelihood was that she would either shoot herself or have it easily taken away from her. She was not sure if she could actually shoot anyone, even if her life depended on it, never having been in that position. Well, it looked like she was about to find out how she reacted to attack.
Trying hard to keep her brain working, Shanna went for the phone. It was dead. So, not a harmless intruder. She needed to defend herself. Think. Stop shaking, think. She tried to remember all those movies she had watched where everyone was disgusted because the poor woman being terrorized always went the wrong way or did the wrong thing. She couldn’t take all night. Eventually this guy, whoever he was, was going to get in. She knew that from the
cops she dealt with in the course of her work. They always said, if they want in, they are going to get in. Your best deterrent is a dog. Shanna wished Jake were here. She took a mental inventory of the room with new eyes. At least the lights were off. She knew the territory. She supposed the intruder did not. Could she make it to the front door? If she did would the sensor light come on? What then? Could she get anywhere before he came running around and caught her? She wished she had been in the kitchen. A rolling pin would have made a good weapon. Knives were messy. She preferred nonmessy. There didn’t seem to be anything useful here.
Backing up, the door to the den was ajar and Shanna crawled in. The computer. She turned off the microphone before booting up. Quickly she closed the door. It had no lock, so if he got in she would be caught. Shanna used her computer for work and had the address of the sheriff’s office preassigned on her address list. The computer was on a separate line. Quickly she faxed a 911, hoping someone would take her seriously then shut down the machine.
She didn’t hear any noise anymore. Readjusting to the dark. Shanna closed her eyes and stayed still for a few seconds. Then, she heard it again. He was around at the guest bedroom window. Now was her chance. She grabbed a heavy statuette from the bookshelf and slowly opened the den door. Breathing hard and biting her lip she scuttled to the front door. Even in her terror, she thought humorously that this must look totally ridiculous on replay. She eased the bolt off the door slowly, willing it not to make any noise. It didn’t. Cocking her head, Shanna thought she could hear movement in the spare bedroom. He must be in.
Now or never. Taking a deep breath she eased open the front door, rising to a crouch so that she could get into a sprint. As the door opened she scuttled through. The sensor light stayed dark. Now, run for it, or ease down the driveway quietly?
Shanna firmly squelched her urge to run and settled on stealth. She was barefoot and it was a cement drive. She should be able to make it unheard. At the bottom of the drive, she glanced around and could see nothing. Straightening up, she ran like the hounds of hell were after her. Instead of going straight, she ran round the corner to the neighbors behind her, an elderly couple whom she knew were always home. Their front door was sheltered from the street and it was unlikely she would be seen. Nevertheless, she was at the limits of her control and pounding on the door, almost fell in when Bob opened it.
Bob’s mouth fell as open as the door. Hair disheveled, barefoot, her robe gaping loose, Shanna thought ruefully that she must have been a sight to behold. She stopped trembling long enough to grab her robe close around her and fell back against the door, ensuring that it closed. “Call police” she stuttered through gasping breaths, “house invader.”
By the time the deputies arrived, Shanna’s intruder was long gone. He had indeed got inside the house and finding no one there had ransacked the place.
Still shaken and running on adrenaline, Shanna took a cursory look around but could find nothing missing. Her jewelry was still there as was her store of loose change. There was little else of value. The intruder obviously had not been after the VCR or television. The deputies told Shanna it was probably some kids looking for drug money. She had been lucky, they said. Home invasions were frequent of late and had often been violent, just for the fun of it. All in a day’s work for them, they wrote their report and were gone, not even bothering with crime scene technicians for fingerprints on the battered patio doors.
Finally, alone again in the ruins of her house, Shanna now knew how violated some of Dominick’s clients felt. Some stranger pawing through her personal possessions, trashing the things she loved. Too tired and shaken to do anything about it, she simply plopped down in the middle of the mess and poured herself a large brandy.
The Davisons had offered her their guest bedroom but Shanna had declined, feeling that she must spend the night in her own home or the invader would have won. Rather like getting back on a horse after a fall. She knew, however, that she would not sleep. Bob Davison had boarded up the spare room window for her and they had both toured the rest of the house ensuring everything was secure.
Evidently she must have finally dozed off because she bolted upright as the phone rang into her consciousness. She was still clutching the statuette. Disoriented for a second, she let it ring, then picked it up gingerly, attempting to master a normal sounding hello. It didn’t fool Chase for a second.
“Shanna, what’s wrong, are you all right?’ Chase’s deep warm voice, full of concern came through the phone line like warm chocolate on a cold night. Shanna melted. The last thing she needed when she was trying to keep tight control was sympathy and concern. She tried hard to keep it from showing, not wanting Chase to think her a stupid cowardly female but she would have given a year’s salary to have him there by her side.
Haltingly she started her story answering all of Chase’s clipped demands with unusual meekness. Finally, convinced she was okay Chase finished the third degree. He insisted that she retrieve Jake from the sitter and spend the night at his place. Shanna would not be moved. She was as stubborn as her fiery mane of hair indicated. She did relent enough to agree to picking up Jake. She would be able to sleep if she had Jake with her.
Although it was late, the dogsitters were apparently used to being called at all hours and didn’t seem to mind. Chase had given her orders to be at the bike club the following evening after work. ‘Pack a bag. Don’t go home. I will meet you there around eight o’clock.” Chase was concerned that this was not a random incident but somehow connected with whatever was going on.
It was not until after she had collected Jake and was dozing off with Jake sitting guard on her bed, that Shanna remembered she had not told Chase what she had found. Oh well, they could catch up tomorrow. She called Dominick. As usual he was out, probably in someone else’s bed, so she left a message that her house had been invaded and she would not be in tomorrow. She would be staying elsewhere and would call him.
Let Pauline handle things for a change. Dominick could call in his second string paralegal who he used for vacations and emergencies such as this. She was good but only for short stretches.
Shanna and Jake slept late. They shared breakfast and then Shanna spent most of the day putting the house back in order while Jake snoozed in the recliner. Bob and Nancy stopped by to make sure she was all right. Jake pranced around making the appropriate macho dog noises but gave up the act as soon as he spotted a dog biscuit Bob just happened to have in his pocket. Assured the newcomers were friendly he went back to the recliner to complete his snooze. This watchdog stuff was hard work.
Bob said he had been up around five and walked round the place several times checking it out. They really were dears. Shanna thanked them over a cup of coffee. Satisfied she was in one piece, they went back to their own home after promising to watch the place while Shanna was away.
Thirty-one
Chase was worried. He had only just met Shanna. He didn’t want her involved in this mess. He should never have asked her to snoop for him. Joe was pragmatic saying that Chase didn’t know that she had snooped yet. It could have been a random, coincidental event. Nevertheless, he shared Chase’s concern. They agreed that Shanna appeared to be handling things okay and that they should stop at the lightning station as Kenny had suggested.
The field lab was located near Starke, a small town in north Florida which was not really on the way home, but almost directly west of St. Augustine. Kenny had told them the lab was run by researchers from the local university to test how various materials and structures were damaged by lightning. Most of the funding came from utility companies which lost millions each year in damaged equipment and lost revenues due to storms and there was serious concern about malfunctions at the local power plant should it receive a hit.
Chase called the lab from a nearby restaurant and was lucky to find one of the researchers that Kenny knew, Ed Grant, on duty. Ed said he would be happy to help and gave Chase dir
ections. Twenty minutes later Chase and Joe pulled up outside the gates and were met by Ed who waved them through.
At first glance there didn’t seem to be much there, just a mobile home that seemed to have been hoisted onto stilts, an empty field with some scorched patches and various concrete tubes sticking up all over the field. Ed led them into the mobile home and there the picture changed. It was crammed with all kinds of electronic instrumentation that ran the length of the trailer and practically from floor to ceiling. Ed explained that he and his coworkers were affectionately known by the locals as the Lightning Hunters because they purposely tried to attract storms for study and it didn’t make them very popular.
Joe had been prowling around checking everything out with a scientist’s eye and looking out the window had spied what appeared to be some rockets peeking out from the top of the concrete tubes. “Are those what they seem to be?”
Ed smiled and nodded. “Yes, you’re exactly right. Lightning seeks the path of least resistance to the ground so we use rockets connected to the ground with wire for bait. You see these?” Ed pointed to a row of rubber tubes below the window. “When we’re ready to fire we blow in one of those. That trips propellant to the rocket from a safe place.”
Chase thought these guys must be crazy. “It must be like the Fourth of July around here all the time.”
Ed smiled again and went into his guide tour spiel. “A lightning display is one of the most awesome phenomena in nature, but we still don’t understand exactly how it comes about. It is responsible for about half the power failures and each year it kills several hundred people. You’re local guys. You remember last year those terrible wildfires that closed I95 around Orlando and forced a lot of people from their homes?”
Both Chase and Joe nodded.
“Well, that wasn’t a kid with cigarette. Those fires were caused by lightning strikes. It hits about twenty million times a year and every commercial airliner gets hit once or twice a year. The National Lightning Detection Network records every bolt.”
Yokche:The Nature of Murder Page 12