Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series)

by Rod Hoisington

  “Thanks for the help, Judy. You ready, Martin? Let’s get back to the office.”

  Once outside the building, she said. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “You mean with Judy?”

  “No, with the soybean commodity market. Yes, with you guys?”

  “There is no more ‘Us guys’. How did you know?”

  “Because you look like someone just ran over your dog.”

  “I’m going to be okay.”

  She stopped and turned to him. “Martin, what happened?”

  “Her ex is back in town. Although the change in lifestyle thing might well have been part of it, I believe she still has feelings for him. Apparently, her daughter made a big fuss over him. Judy might not be going back to him, but she’s afraid of upsetting everything just now with me thrown into the domestic mix.”

  “My guess is you’d have smoothed out everything with no upset at all. Geez, why did he have to show back up?”

  “As someone just reminded me, chance plays an important part in our lives.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Sandy wasn’t worried about his love life. He had a lot of appeal and so much going for him.

  To change the subject, Martin said, “What time do you want to leave for West Palm Beach tomorrow?”

  “It takes only a couple of hours to get down there. Why don’t we meet regular time at the office? We’ll leave from there.”

  “I’ll bring in the coffee in the morning. Where do we start once we’re down there?”

  “His former girlfriend said he wanted to learn to drive the big trucks. I have the address for two truck training schools down there. You take one. I’ll take the other. Hit or miss, it’ll be a start.”

  “So, we’ve nothing else to do up here?” he asked.

  “As a matter of fact, we do. Are you busy tonight...just after dark, not late? I’m thinking we could take your car and go over to the parking area at Lagoon Park.”

  “And look at the moon? Sandy, this is so sudden!” He chuckled, wondering just what she had in mind.

  “That sounds nice. No, we’ll look for the ratty kid who swapped bikes with dead Dick in the park that night. He hangs around there. I’m going to jump him and take that bike.”

  “Just as you did in grade school, I’ll bet.”

  “I want to interrogate him. And I want that new bike for prints—to find out where it was bought. If we can trace it, we might find out where Boyd last lived. Your car because the kid knows mine. He’s no doubt an expert at avoiding the police patrols. Probably knows the police routine and times better than they do.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to be captured? You want me along to rough him up, put a hammerlock around his neck and sit on him.”

  “A hammerlock holds the arm, not the neck, Martin. Anyway, you could take this kid with one arm tied behind your back.”

  “But does he know that?”

  “Let’s head over to the Windward Bar and eat something and have a drink. How does that sound? It’ll be dark by the time we finish.”

  One and a half hours later, all the tennis courts in Lagoon Park were lighted, and twelve cars were parked there when they arrived. “Must be tennis club night.” She motioned for Martin to pull on over to the far corner of the parking area. “I suppose he’ll try to burgle those cars over there in the dark first,” she said. “Or, he might not show up at all.”

  “So he makes a living at this?”

  “Amazing. Did you know the most popular place for people to hide their valuables is under the driver’s seat? Now what car burglar would ever think to look there? And standard advice is to put your valuables in the trunk, which is better, yet once he gets the car door open, he can pop open the trunk in many models. I’d like to put him out of business. That’s his night job. During the day, anything not nailed down around the beach is up for grabs.”

  “And anything he can pry loose is not nailed down,” he added.

  They watched quietly for five minutes.

  She had turned in her seat and had a good view of the parking area. “I’ll jump out if I see him. Call 911 immediately. Don’t wait for me to need help.”

  “Don’t worry about that part.” He took his phone out.

  Another five minutes passed.

  She straightened in her seat. “The little rat just came out of his hole. You see him?”

  “Yes. Looks like he’s hiding the bike in those bushes over there.”

  “I’m going for the bike. That’ll keep him busy.” She opened the car door and closed it quietly. She stood at the front of the car for a full minute to give the cops some time to get over there. Then she started strutting along the sidewalk, out in the open, as though headed for the tennis courts. She saw him duck down between the first two parked cars. When the sidewalk curved toward the courts, she ran straight for the bicycle in the bushes.

  She picked up the bicycle, got on it and started riding away.

  At first, he didn’t seem to realize what was happening, or didn’t believe it. Then he yelled and started toward her. She rode to the far end of the parking area and stopped. She didn’t want him going out of the park. As he ran closer, she rode in a circle back around him. After two circles, he wised up and walked slowly toward her. As she started to ride one way he jumped that way. She moved the other way and he jumped that way. He kept coming closer until he had backed her against the cars.

  She got off and held the bike out in front of her to fend him off. She could drop the bike and run away between the cars, but if she did that he might take off. He wanted the bike and she wanted to keep him occupied until the cops arrived.

  Up close, he was a bigger than she had thought. Maybe he wasn’t just a teenager. Maybe he was a skinny twenty-something. She remembered his pasty face and dull brown eyes. He must have remembered her from the other night and that confused him. He stood looking at her as though trying to decide why he shouldn’t smack this smartass girl in the face or just knock her down.

  “Where’d you get the bike?” she said.

  “Santa Claus brought it.”

  She noticed his hands were forming into fists.

  “Could you make it the Tooth Fairy? I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you believe.” He wound up and took a swing at her. She ducked and pushed the bike into him. He grabbed for the bike—she held on. “You really want the shit kicked out of you, don’t you? Let go or get your face smashed,” he yelled.

  He yanked the bike back and forth pulling her with it. She didn’t let go. Then he lifted the bike and swung around hard. She lost her grip and went sprawling to the gravel.

  He started toward her. She jumped up quickly. She took a stance crouched forward with one fist out in front of the other, her knees bent and a ferocious look on her face. She aimed her knuckles right at him like a prizefighter.

  He didn’t have time to laugh, because he started to kick and scream. Martin had grabbed him from behind pinning his arms down to his sides and lifting him off the ground in a fierce bear hug. When his scream turned into a choke, Martin relaxed slightly letting the kid breathe.

  Sandy was winding up about ready to slug him.

  Martin turned the kid away from her. “Don’t do it, Sandy! It’s not fair. And you’ll get blood on my suit. It’s already wrinkled.”

  They heard a siren coming closer and then saw the flashing rack lights as the patrol car screeched into the area. Sandy waved the officer over. She explained that Detective Jaworski wanted the kid for questioning in the Lagoon Park murder. The bicycle was evidence so be careful handling it. They would follow him to the station to make a report.

  After the kid was cuffed and put in the back seat, Sandy peered in at him. “Maybe Santa will get you out of jail.” He turned in the seat so she could see his hands cuffed behind him with both middle fingers extended.

  Martin came over next to her. “You okay? You are pretty scary. Could you actually have had a fist fight with h
im?”

  She was still brushing off the gravel. “Probably not. All I could do would be a hard knee and deny him fatherhood. I’d hate to do that to a young boy. Sooner or later, he’d have wrestled me to the ground and clobbered me.”

  “I called 911 as soon as you left the car. He certainly took his time getting here.”

  “I’ve had pizza delivered faster.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sandy swung her bare legs over the side of the king-sized bed and bent over to pick up her pink T-shirt where she’d tossed it. She reached behind and playfully slapped Chip’s hand away. “Come on, I positively have to get out of bed.”

  “That’s what you said thirty minutes ago.”

  “Well, this time I mean it.”

  She fumbled for her phone among the pile of clothing on the nearby chair, and dialed. “Good morning, Martin. I guess you’re getting ready...can we meet at Chip’s house instead of the office this morning. Something came up. I’m running late...okay...see ya.”

  “So, you’re going to go ahead and start chasing after Jane?” He sat up on the bed. “I don’t believe you when you say you’re just checking out a couple of things in West Palm. Obviously, you’re starting in on the investigation. I thought we’d agreed that you’d stay out of that part?”

  “Oh, I always reserve the right to butt into anything, whether it’s my business or not.” She turned to face him. “Seriously, I’d never agree to something such as that. You know me. I have to do something or I’ll go bonkers. Trust me, I’ll stay out of the way of the police and don’t intend to interfere at all with the FBI.”

  “You don’t intend. I’ve heard that one before.” He got up and put on his robe. “I’m not concerned with you and the police or FBI. I’m concerned about you and the bad guys. And the West Palm trail dead Dick is leading you down.”

  “The Florida database last put him in Sarasota and has nothing later. His mother over there has lost track of him. I found an old girlfriend in Port St. Lucie who said he talked a lot about wanting to be a truck driver in West Palm.”

  “That’s a pretty feeble lead.”

  “Ya think?”

  “But you’re going ahead with it because it’s the only lead you have, right?”

  She gave him a crooked smile.

  “And you aren't telling the FBI about it because you believe you can handle it better.”

  “I know I won’t screw it up.”

  “So what I want doesn’t count.”

  “Don’t put it that way. It’s just that you can’t deny me this. I know I’ve gone a bit kooky in the past, but this case is personal. And I need your support even if you disagree.”

  He shrugged. “You’ve neatly boxed me out of this, you know. If you’re withholding information from the FBI, I can’t help you and be a party to that.”

  “I don’t have the choice of working with the FBI. They’ve told me to stay home.”

  “At the least, I want to keep up to date on all this but really feel out of the loop. For example, I heard you were at the police station last night. What was that all about?”

  “So unimportant I forgot to mention it. You know about the punk in the park who found the body and switched bikes. Well, Martin and I captured the little delinquent last night. He doesn’t bother me that much but the bike he stole is evidence. We had to go to the station last night for the paperwork.”

  “I keep thinking there’s some other way I can help, but I’m on call for the FBI drug task force.”

  “No problem, really. The FBI is working the extortion part of it and I’ve no idea what they’re doing. Park Beach police are handling the murder of Boyd. Jaworski knows I’m trying to find out more about Boyd’s background and is letting me roam for the time being. He knows I’m following a lead to West Palm. He can access the FDLE database for me, and you shouldn’t do that, since you’re not assigned to the case. So everything’s cool.”

  “Why do you have to stay overnight down there? West Palm is only an hour and a half away...fifteen minutes the way you drive. I’ll miss being close to you.”

  “We know zip about Jane other than she teamed up with Dick. If Dick has been living in West Palm, the trail he left might lead to her. I’ll camp down there a couple of days and work out of a hotel. And you! Don’t stray too far from this bed.”

  “This bed will be cold. Ain’t no sunshine when you’re gone.”

  * * * *

  “With all the traffic we must be in Palm Beach County,” Martin said on his phone. “I know you’re up there ahead of me on I-95 somewhere, but you’ve left me behind. As a matter of fact, you’ve left everyone behind. I’ve a list of Marriott’s on my phone. We don’t need to be over near the ocean. There’s one not too far on Coral Boulevard. Shall I check us in now?”

  “Good Idea. You go on over and nail down a couple of rooms. Then head over to that Road King Driving School I told you about. I’ll check out Nationwide Driving School. You have the address?”

  “Already in my GPS. In any case, they’re not going to let me see their record of students, are they? How do I handle that?”

  “You’re a lawyer, lie.”

  “No lawyer jokes, please. What do I do?”

  “First, remember that people love getting attention. So make it about them. I’ve had plenty of doors slammed in my face, but in general people talk to me because they love the attention and want to be liked.”

  “Yes, but I don’t look like you.”

  “Martin, to a woman you look like a hot-fudge sundae. My looks are nothing special and they help with only a certain type of man. Well, okay—they’re not bad and they help with most men. The point is if I want info out of someone, I just try to like them. I don’t flirt with them. Well, okay, sometimes I do. Okay, often I do. But you don’t need to flirt, you’re a charming fellow.”

  “Fortunately, pretense is not one of my strong points. I’m not good at it. I tried to flirt with you when we first met. You didn’t even notice. I tried to give you a sexy smile and you asked if I had gas.”

  “Very funny. Truthfully, Martin, you charmed me at hello.”

  “So what do I say again?”

  “Tell them a Calvin Boyd has applied for a truck driving job with your company, and he claims he took their course. You can’t reveal your firm—company policy. You just want to verify that he’s telling the truth.”

  “That sounds logical. I can do that. But isn’t that something a prospective employer would just do on the phone?”

  “Face to face it’s harder to be turned down, and sometimes they volunteer additional information in person. Okay? Find out where Boyd is working now. That’s what we’re after. If they confirm he trained there, ask them if he used their placement service. Find out where they placed him.”

  “You just made up all that didn’t you? You are dangerous.”

  “Just try it. Remember, people like being liked. Sometimes it does help to flirt with them. If you’re dealing with a male, and you don’t want to flirt, then appeal to his ego—never fails with men.”

  Within twenty minutes, Sandy had parked at Nationwide Driving School in West Palm Beach. Inside, a nice looking longhaired brunette, wearing a classic white shirt with sleeves rolled up, was sitting at a desk on the other side of the counter.

  Sandy began with, “My cousin keeps talking about learning how to drive one of those big rigs all over the country...but that’s not why I’m here. We’re considering hiring a Calvin Boyd. I need a confirmation. I just need to tell my boss that he actually had some training here.”

  As the woman stood and stepped over to the counter, Sandy saw that she was quite tall and athletic-looking. She had a great figure, perfect proportions on her large frame, yet appeared as though she could tackle a runaway truck herself.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “We can’t discuss that until after he’s accepted our job offer. Are you the manager?”

  “Lady, don’t pull that going over my head
shit. I own the place.”

  Great, an office honcho with an attitude. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just thought maybe you weren’t the one to ask about students.”

  “I’m the one to ask about everything. Is Cal in trouble?”

  Must be the right place, she used his first name. “No trouble. I’m sure you try to find employment for your graduates. Where’d he go to work?”

  “You possibly have a good job for him?” She was still suspicious and looked closely at Sandy. “He’s working but doesn’t like where he’s at. Is your outfit local or long-haul?”

  Sandy took a guess, “Long-haul.”

  “Okay then, he’s at Bristol Trucking in Jupiter. You want their address?”

  “No, we’re quite familiar with Bristol Trucking,” she lied. She’d never heard of Bristol Trucking and didn’t know where in hell Jupiter was. “What’s Cal’s home address?”

  The woman screwed up her face. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why’d you ask if he’s in trouble? If he’s a troublemaker we don’t want him.”

  “Nothing like that. He’s a good kid.”

  “Do you have a brochure I can give my cousin?”

  “Your cousin, huh? Let’s save some time and bother. I can qualify him in two seconds. Tell me what he’s doing now and if he’s married. Driving isn’t a job it’s a lifestyle.”

  “Doing construction, not married.”

  “He might like it then.” The woman reached under the counter for a booklet.

  She thanked the woman and went to her car, eager to phone Martin, “Throw your fist in the air. We’re on the right track. Boyd got a job at Bristol Trucking in Jupiter. He must have been living somewhere around in the vicinity. You ever hear of Jupiter?”

  “We passed it, back north on I-95. Not too far. That’s a great start. Yet, we still don’t know if he’s Dick.”

  “At least we now know he lived down here and went up to Park Beach and got himself killed for some reason.”

  “Yes, it’s all good. Okay, I’ll forget about going over to the Road King Driving School. I’ll find Bristol Trucking and meet you there. We can have lunch nearby.”