Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series)

by Rod Hoisington

  Could there have been ropes attached to the tray? Pulling on the ropes would have raised the tray holding the gym bag up out of sight in the dark. Dick and Jane could then have waited to see if the police were going to descend on the area. When it seemed safe, they could have lowered the tray and taken off with the gym bag. Wouldn’t she have noticed such ropes tied to the tray and running up? She would certainly think so but it had been dark.

  Crazy. She laughed at herself thinking all that.

  She leaned over the sidewall and looked down at the dry bed of the stream. She walked off the bridge, down the steep grassy bank and stood on the dried-mud bottom. She walked backward and forward under the bridge. She could see random trash and debris strewn back in the dark cranny where the end of the bridge met the ground. Nothing unusual. The police with their dogs would have thoroughly checked out the area.

  Then she stood looking up at the bridge. With the ropes still on her mind, another thought struck her. A thought that didn’t seem quite so wild. What if Dick and Jane were waiting under the bridge? They could simply yank on a thin cord attached to the tray and the gym bag would come tumbling down to their feet. Then, crouched down, they could move away unnoticed in the dark, between the steep sides of the dry stream. And if they walked along in the streambed away from the bridge where would it take them?

  She started walking on the bottom of the dry streambed. It curved frequently with the walking path curving alongside up on the bank. Occasionally, there was a discarded soda can or other trash. After a short while she could see ahead. Back in the woods off to the side was the equipment shed.

  The thrill of understanding raced through her body. Bon Voyage, Montana couple, we don’t need you anymore! It all came together in her mind and it fit. Dick had been waiting under the bridge. He had yanked on the cord, got the gym bag and slunk away along the creek bed back to the equipment shed ready to escape on his bicycle back to wherever he’d parked his vehicle.

  Except he never made it back to his vehicle. Someone who knew of his plan was waiting for him at the shed with a gun. Someone such as Jane, who might have figured he had just outlived his usefulness and dead partners don’t tell tales nor take any of the money.

  Sandy couldn’t hold back the smile. She had just linked the dead guy, Cal Boyd, to the abduction. It meant he was Dick. It meant Jane had the money. And it meant Jane was willing to kill to keep it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sandy phoned Martin as soon as she left Lagoon Park and asked him to meet her at the police station. “The police have identified the dead guy as a Calvin Boyd. I’ll explain why I’m certain he’s Dick. If we can find out what he’s been doing and where he’s from, then maybe he’ll lead us to Jane.”

  Ten minutes later, as she left the elevator at the police station, she saw Martin already there standing talking with Judy. She thought they made a great looking couple.

  “You must have discovered something over at Lagoon Park,” he said. “There’s fire in your eyes.”

  She nodded to Judy, “I’ve an excellent theory on the money-drop and how Cal Boyd came to be killed.”

  He said, “I know you’re hoping he is Dick. You believe Jane killed him?”

  “He definitely is Dick. Jane needed someone with a strong back and a weak mind to manhandle me during the abduction. Maybe she wanted to be rid of him fast after she got the money and before he screwed up. Yes, I believe Dick is dead. And I’m going after Jane.”

  Judy said, “Now there’s a shocker.”

  Detective Jaworski walked over waving a piece of paper. “M.E. report. And we’ll have a full history on Boyd at any moment. All we know right now is he was twenty-five, had some Sarasota connection and was shot with a .38 at close range. You think he’s connected, but it looks like a robbery. Stripped of his wallet and watch. The guy could be just an unlucky tourist.”

  “No tourist is strolling around the park in work boots. I need to bring you up to date, Eddy.” She explained her theory of how the successful money-drop was carried out and how the trail led over to the equipment shed and Cal Boyd’s body. “I’m convinced it’s Dick,” she said. “I told you about the ratty-looking kid I saw. He’s the one who took the wallet and watch off the dead body, and swapped the bikes—not the killer. We need to find that kid. He may have seen something, and at the very least, that new bike is evidence. I believe you’ll find Boyd’s prints on it, and we might trace the purchase back to where he lived.”

  Jaworski agreed, “If the kid is burgling cars, he probably finds a gun every other night. But he wouldn’t have shot the guy to get a new bike.”

  Sandy shook her head. “No, the guy was shot because he had just picked up the big money. Too much of a coincidence for a body to be found that near to where I left it. I dropped off the money, drove around to the other entrance and there’s a warm body.”

  Judy left when she heard the communication printer running. She came back and handed the printout to the detective. He read aloud, “Calvin Boyd. Florida Dept of Motor Vehicles suspended his driver’s license last year. Shows an old address in Sarasota, Florida. Mother still lives there. Only connection to Park Beach is a two-year-old arrest for aggravated assault in a local bar. No other priors.”

  “Does he have a registered vehicle?” Sandy asked.

  He ran his finger down the page. “Ford 350. Blue. Registered in Sarasota County.”

  “A Ford 350 is a pickup. It might have been a large pickup pinning me in behind. The headlights were somewhat higher. He didn’t want to drive his truck into the park service entrance. But a bike rider in the park wouldn’t attract any attention. So, he carried his bike around in the back of his truck and rode the bike into the park.” She went on to explain how Boyd would have walked along the streambed back to the equipment shed for his bike. “Did you ask the zone cop, if he knows the kid?”

  “He’s been off duty. I’ll talk to him. I didn’t realize until just now how important the bike might be.”

  Sandy continued, “I’m not telling you your business, however you might want to get out a local bulletin looking for that Ford pickup. If my hunch is right, you’ll find it parked somewhere in the beach area just a few blocks from Lagoon Park. I’ll wager he took the bike out of the truck, rode it to the park, left it at the equipment shed and then walked to the bridge.”

  Her phone rang. Mel Shapiro said. “You get the printout on Boyd? We’ve been going though the court records. That two-year-old prior offense in Park Beach was a bar brawl. I just got off the phone with Vicki Susane.”

  “What’s she have to do with it?” Sandy asked

  “Before she started her private practice, she worked as a public defender. She defended Boyd in the bar-fight assault case two years ago and got him off claiming self-defense. She just heard about his being shot and phoned offering to help me with whatever she knows. Always had a heavy caseload and dozens of defendants, but she remembers him. Said back then he was living in Sarasota. I’ll let you know if she can add anything to the investigation.”

  “That’s what we need. Once his name gets out there, others might come forward with information on him.” Sandy lowered her phone. “Vicki Susane was Boyd’s public defender two years ago and might know something about him.” She and Martin had recently faced Vicki in the courtroom. Then back to the phone, “Mel, that’s great she wants to help. Would you mind if we interviewed her? Your people already have plenty to do.” Mel thanked her and they hung up.

  Martin said, “She might know something about his background. You want me to talk with her?”

  Sandy nodded. “You dealt with her in court. Contact her. Turn on that Bronner charm. See if you can get any private info out of her. We need to know everything about Cal Boyd. Then we’re off on a great start.”

  “Meanwhile,” Sandy said. “I’m driving over to Sarasota and talk to the mother. Maybe she knows where her son last lived.”

  They had started for the elevator, when Judy stepped up and aske
d if she could talk to Martin for a moment. Sandy said, “Okay, I’ll see you when I get back from Sarasota.” And got on the elevator.

  Judy sat and Martin took the chair beside her desk. He didn’t like the looks of this. She was very serious. He saw the troubled expression on her face. “Oh, gosh, your daughter’s sick,” was the first thing that came to his mind.

  “No, she’s not the problem.” She lowered her head and spoke to her clasped hands. “There’s no good way to tell you this. I want you to know that I truly value knowing you—”

  He knew what those words were leading up to. “Judy, no!” He had sensed she was putting some distance between them lately but thought it was his own insecurities. They had gone out on several dinner dates, and she’d abruptly cancelled the last one. Instantly, he felt a heaviness crushing his head. How did he get it so wrong?

  “I wanted it to work, until—”

  He sat with a lump of lead in his stomach, his head throbbing and his eyes moist. What could have happened?

  She mouthed the rehearsed words knowing they were poison darts into his heart. Her ex had come back to town. In her mind, the divorce had been processed long ago, and she retained no romantic feelings for him, or so she thought. Nevertheless, when she observed her daughter’s explosive delight in seeing her father and experienced the three of them once again in the setting of their home, she was overcome with doubt.

  How could Martin argue against that? He had no place in that cozy tableau. He understood but of course was disappointed. He wasn’t red-hot over her, but she was a charming woman, and he loved her. He wasn’t devastated but was immensely disappointed. As his wife, she’d have the best that life could offer. Now in his late thirties he felt ready for such a major change in his life. He had that incredible family home surrounded by two acres of unending green on the barrier island just waiting to be filled with a loving wife and children. They would all grow old together. He was certain he could have made her very happy. Perhaps, it hadn’t sounded all that exciting when Judy thought of it.

  Chapter Twelve

  The police had identified the body that Sandy discovered in the park as Calvin Boyd. They now knew that he had been driving around on a suspended license, was twenty-five and wouldn’t get any older. Nothing more was known about him in the two years since his bar-fight charge was dismissed. Sandy was convinced he was Dick. She was eager to learn what his former attorney, Vicki Susane, had to say about him.

  Martin phoned her hoping she’d agree to meet with him. He didn’t need to worry—she was delighted to receive his call.

  “We could have a drink,” Vicki suggested. “I’ve always wanted to see your club.”

  “My club?’ The Club was an exclusive social club for the ‘well-connected’ crowd, magnificently situated between the ocean and the Waterway with panoramic views of both. Membership wasn’t actually exclusive, merely excessively expensive. He thought suggesting drinks at his private club was unquestionably forward. “I was thinking more like lunch.”

  “I want to relax. Lunch is for business,” she said.

  “Aren’t we meeting for business?”

  “Come on, I’m dying for an inner glimpse of The Club—the palais grand.”

  Indeed aggressive, he thought, yet he was the one requesting the meeting. He did want her assistance and was free for the evening. He agreed to drinks at six. “I’ll meet you in the rotunda.”

  When he walked in that evening, Vicki was standing in the cool marble-tiled entrance hall with her back toward him looking at the apiary. With lush foliage and palms, the interior was unmistakably Florida.

  He knew she was attractive from observing her in the courtroom. This was his first close-up view of her outside of her hard-nosed trial lawyer persona. Her long ash-blonde hair fell onto a red lambskin-leather jacket worn loosely around her shoulders covering a sleeveless taupe sheath. She looked exquisite. Like a million dollars, his father would say.

  After greetings she said, “Well, I’m finally inside The Club.” They walked across the marble floors to the lounge, which was half-full. The maître d' seated them in a quiet corner. “I hope I didn’t come off as pushy, Martin,” She glanced around at the gleaming teak walls and polished statuary. “I don’t have any friends who are members, but I heard that all this existed in little old Park Beach. This is truly a treat.”

  “From the looks of you, I’m sure you’re already successful. Yet if you’d like to be seen here and somehow it helps your law practice, then that’s fine with me.”

  She was quiet for a moment listening with her eyes looking upward. “I hear a piano somewhere. Live, of course.”

  “In the Blue Room. One of the three dining rooms.” Eager to get their meeting started and over with, he motioned for the server. “You began with the public defender’s office, back when you first got your license, didn’t you?”

  “For too long of a time, until I got to know my way around and felt brave enough to go out on my own. Next came a starving run at handling litigation. Then, it was real estate transactions, which are a bore. Finally, I hit upon the escrow service idea.”

  The server glided over. Martin looked expectantly at Vicki.

  “Tangueray martini, up, olive. And may I bother you for your wine list. I’m just curious.”

  “No bother at all, madam.” Then the server faintly bowed to Martin.

  “I’ll have the same, Raimond. Thank you.” Martin turned his attention back to her. “I remember you started that escrow service for real estate transactions.”

  She nodded. “As you know, my company holds deposits and contract money for buyers, sellers, or whoever until the contracts are settled.”

  “Very clever. And you remain free to pursue your law practice.”

  She smiled. “So we can be friends now that our Banks-Olin courtroom battle is over, right? Sorry I had to drag it out for months and months. After all, a lot of money was involved. I wasn’t surprised when you guys got the large settlement.”

  The very thought of the forthcoming martini was enough to make him relax. Vicki was quite pleasant and nice to look at. She seemed easy to get along with. He’d just go with it. “I didn’t consider you an enemy in the courtroom, when you were just doing your job. But yes, now there’s not the slightest conflict between us. We can be friends.”

  The server presented the requested wine list. She opened the padded leather folder and moved her finger down the pages. “A lot of this is boring, If you’ll excuse my saying so,” she said, not quite under her breath. “There are a few gems mixed in, not that I’m any expert. Now here’s a Chateau Roux. Isn’t that the one with the Matisse artwork on the label? Beautiful. Too bad the wine isn’t as good as the label...sorry, for a minute there I sounded as though I actually knew what I was talking about. Oh, look! I didn’t turn enough pages...I’d die for anything on this page. Absolutely anything.” She closed the wine list. “Just curious to see what’s on the wine list at one of the most exclusive private clubs in the southeast.”

  “You fit in perfectly,” he had to tell the truth. “What’s your favorite wine?”

  “You mean in my dreams or that I can afford? I’ll take any Asda Beaujolais, when I can find one under thirty bucks.”

  “Have you been to the provinces?” he asked.

  “Sadly no, I skipped the wine country to hit Cannes. That was a mistake—too many obnoxious tourists like me. I’d love to hear what you think about them.”

  The martinis arrived; they feigned a polite toast and took sips.

  “It’s okay if you invited me for drinks to pump me for information, but I fear I’m going to disappoint you. It’s been two years.” She didn’t know much about Cal Boyd to start with, she said, and had lost track of him since the trial. She believed he’d moved back to Sarasota. “Did he say anything useful before he died?”

  “Quite dead when Sandy found him.”

  “That’s what I read but I wasn’t certain. Let’s see, what else...as I recall,
Boyd told me he was arrested for car theft as a minor. There wouldn’t be a record of that. I believe he mentioned that at one time he worked at some marina over in Sarasota. Other than that—”

  “We do appreciate your giving us some background on him.”

  They sipped in silence for a minute. Mild chatter and piano sounds continued in the background. Then she said, “You’re fortunate to have a professional connection with Sandy Reid. She’s a marvelous woman.”

  He nodded.

  “I bet you wish some of those evocative rumors about the two of you were true.” She saw his frown and quickly added, “I’m sorry. That was crude.”

  “I expected your remarks to be classier. You just flattered me and slandered her.” He had a polite look on his face, but wasn’t smiling.

  “An affair with Martin Bronner might be scandalous but never slanderous. Women would die to be in a scandalous affair with you.”

  “But wouldn’t dying defeat the woman’s purpose?” He liked to exchange quips with her. She seemed challenging not at all annoying. “You seem to be searching for my buttons to push.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. We don’t know each other well enough for any of my hapless remarks.” She placed a finger over her mouth for a second as if to silence herself. “I was attempting to change the subject to us.”

  “I caught that.”

  “You’re annoyed.” She leaned back and shrugged. “I was a little high on being here with you in this atmosphere even before the drink. Sorry.” She took a sip and peeked over her glass at him. “I’m aware you’re seeing Judy Nagler, the crime analyst. At least that is not a rumor. Even so, I don’t believe you two are all that close as yet—”

  “If there was a question in there, I’m not going to talk about Judy.”