KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set

by Gordon Kessler

  "We'd better meet right away, Jason" I told him. "At the mansion?"

  "No, I need to stay as far away from Stella as I can, right now. She's gone a little nuts with this whole thing. It's hard to tell what she might do. But how about where we saw each other last, in...two hours?"

  "You got it, buddy," I told him. "Don't let this get you all balled up inside. You need to keep a good head on your shoulders to see this out."

  "Okay, E Z. God, thanks for your help. We gotta get Sophie back — we gotta get her back safe. I don't know what I'd do without her."

  "I know, Jason," I said, but I also knew there was no reason bullshitting him. "We'll do our best. I'm still connected. These bastards will pay for messing with my goddaughter, one way or another."

  As I pushed the end button on my phone, Lt. Harper Lee Legend stepped in front of me with a smile. Good friend, she was, but I still needed to be guarded in what I told her. There was obviously much more to this thing than initially meets even a trained eye.

  "E Z, what have you been up to?"

  I didn't like the underlying connotations to this greeting any more than the "not doing anything" I got from Smokey.

  "Harp," I said, "have a seat." I motioned to the starboard-side cockpit cushion.

  She shook her head.

  "What are you doing here on a boat explosion?" I asked her. "Accidents like this happen all the time."

  Boats don't blow up all the time, I knew that. But when one does, the cause is usually a leaky gasoline tank or propane canister, with an unfortunate but careless boater being the contributing factor. Ol' Corky wasn't careless — I knew better and figured it had been a bomb. Why, I didn't know. But, with me being involved in a kidnapping case, it was too convenient to be coincidental.

  "All the time, huh?" she said. "This isn't a social visit, E Z. How'd you and Ms. McCorkle get along?"

  "Lieutenant Legend, I don't believe I like where this conversation is headed. I think you'd better just take me into custody or change your tone of voice." I held out my arms as if to offer them to her handcuffs.

  Harper and I had been good friends for about a year now. At first, she didn't trust or like me. But when we'd found ourselves in the middle of a little skirmish, and I pulled her out of harm's way, she began to warm up a little. The better she got to know me after that, the better friends we'd become.

  She was about the prettiest gay woman I'd ever met. I know, that's not exactly a politically correct statement, but it's true — I sometimes offend people when I compartmentalize them, profile them. The thing is, you'd think I'd learn, because many times when I stereotype folks, I'm in for some huge surprises. Besides, I think she might be bi.

  She ignored my outstretched arms. "So, you didn't blow up the boat?"

  "You actually think I'd do that to an old woman?"

  "Only if you had a good enough reason."

  "You know me," I said, trying to imitate Jean Reno's character in The Professional, "'No women, no kids." I smiled back. "You don't think I'd lie to you, do you?"

  "Again, only if you had a good enough reason. But I sense you're telling me at least some of the truth. The rest, I'd better not find out about."

  "Any preliminary ideas on what happened?" I asked, trying to divert the conversation away from me.

  She turned and scanned the crowd, now thinning out. I gazed at her profile. Harper Lee was a very beautiful woman, and she knew it. She glanced out of the corner of one eye, saw I was staring at her and looked back at the crowd.

  I also turned my attention to the people on the pier. Several crime scene investigators were searching around the slip and gathering boat fragments. They'd pulled the Nauti-Gal's transom up to water level and tied it off on a pier post. Two police divers were stepping off into the water.

  "They found a couple of propane tanks floating nearby and fragments of at least three more. Looks like one of them was leaking. The gas probably settled down into her cabin, and the old woman ignited it when she flipped a light switch."

  Odd, I thought. I'd been aboard and inside Ol' Corky's boat several times and never noticed more than two propane tanks. She wasn't foolish enough to store propane in an enclosed cabin anyway.

  I said, "She did smoke like a steamboat — but never below decks, as far as I know."

  Harp turned back to me. "Could have been it — an accident. Leaking propane cylinder, she lights up when she's on her way topside and boom."

  "You said pieces of propane tanks, what about her?"

  "Nope, not even an arm or leg. Her body was probably propelled out a ways into the deeper water by the explosion. Our divers should find it, soon. Hopefully, before high tide tonight. Otherwise, the current could tow it out into the harbor, and it might drift into the shipping lane."

  "Her," I said, feeling a little defensive for the cantankerous old woman. No matter how mean ol' Corky was to me, she was Smokey's good friend and Jazzy Brass's as well.

  "What?"

  "You said it. Ol' Corky was a 'her'."

  "The key word here is 'was'. Now she's gone and all that's left is her body — an it."

  "You can be rather cold, can't you, Lieutenant?" I said, knowing that I had been much colder on numerous occasions, but never about anybody I cared for.

  "So, did you see anything strange, someone messing around her boat this morning or last night?"

  "Hmmm," I said. "Accident?"

  "Gotta cover all the bases. This is still a preliminary investigation."

  "Uh-huh. No, I didn't see anything...but I left my boat early Wednesday afternoon — what, three days ago. Jazzy and I'd just gotten back to it a few minutes before the explosion."

  Harp smiled and nodded to Jazzy and Rabbit, and said to them, "Hi Rabbit! How's my girl, Jazzy?"

  Rabbit smiled and waved. Jazzy slapped her tail three times on the boat deck, still enjoying the brushing that her friend was giving her.

  To me, Harp asked. "Her hips giving her any trouble, yet?"

  Jazzy had been diagnosed with hip dysplasia at six months. Prognosis wasn't great with or without the expensive surgery to correct it.

  "No evidence of discomfort yet. She sure swings 'em like a Marseilles whore on Saturday night, though." Then, back on track, I continued, "Rabbit told me Ol' Corky had spent the night at their place to watch little Dolly, so the old lady hadn't been on her boat overnight. Looked as if she'd just gotten aboard when I arrived."

  "Did she say anything to you?"

  "She gave me the finger. That's all," I said with a thin ironic smile.

  "She knew you pretty good, then."

  "You're not only a lovely detective, you're a funny one, too."

  This meeting was unlike the last few we'd had. But the last few meetings had been under a little more pleasant circumstances. Unless Captain Chan was around, her greetings usually started and ended with hugs and a peck on the cheek. I was pretty sure we would've been lovers months ago if Harp hadn't already been involved with Police Captain Sally Chan. But a romantic entanglement with Harp most likely would have ruined a great working relationship, as well as a pretty good friendship. From the tone of this conversation, I wondered if our friendship wasn't coming to an end soon anyway.

  She spoke what was on my mind. "When we're even, I may not be such a good friend, you know."

  I looked into those large green eyes. "That will be a sad day indeed, Lieutenant."

  CHAPTER 3

  An Old Wrinkle

  My boating neighbors had gone, either to return to their own boats, to their cars or to the shops along the harbor. It didn't look like there'd be much sailing and merriment, today. A couple of uniformed cops were still in the parking lot and the police divers and their helpers were still searching the inlet for Ol' Corky's body.

  I checked my watch. The drive to my meeting with Jason at Devil's Horn Cliff was about forty-five minutes, so I didn't have much time to spare.

  As Rabbit strode away to catch up on his Saturday morning chores at the
Galley and Grog, I stood next to Reckless Abandon and stared to where Nauti-Gal had been docked.

  Jazzy Brass sauntered up to me, and I gave her the customary scratch behind her ear.

  "You miss that old woman, too — don't ya girl?" I said. "She was a pain in the ass, but who'd want to kill her?" I glanced down at Jazzy and she looked up, panting. "Yep, we'll miss her."

  "No, you won't," came a voice from the water behind me. "Let's see that photo."

  I couldn't believe my eyes. Pulling herself up from my stern boat ladder was Old Lady McCourkle in swim fins, mask and snorkel. I wondered how long the seventy-some-year-old woman had been in the chilly water — it couldn't have been above 60 degrees.

  "Don't just stand there, Batman, get me a towel. That water's cold and my nips are sticking out like brass candlestick holders. And where's that damn picture? I don't wanna have to ask you again."

  I avoided looking at the drenched white blouse she was wearing while slipping by her to get a towel from my cabin. Finding out she had somehow survived the explosion, and then seeing the well-wrinkled old woman's candlestick holders, might have been too much of a shock to my system.

  Jazzy went to Ol' Corky, tail wagging, and began licking the saltwater from her arms and clothes.

  "Batman?" I asked.

  "Yeah, you seem to think you're some kind of super hero, don't you?" she asked, petting Jazzy. "Half a dozen really bad bastards after your ass, and you don't do a damn thing to duck out of their sights? You might as well stand at the end of the pier with your pants down to your ankles and your hands on your cheeks, yelling, 'come on and stick it in me — ram it in hard, boys!'"

  I stood at the companionway to my cabin and gaped at her. "Who the hell are you, anyway? Really?" And I had no clue about the half a dozen really bad bastards.

  "I'm here to keep an eye on you. I'm your freakin' guardian angel — that's who."

  "Right, and that's why you flip me off every morning."

  "I'm no amateur to the business, Green Lantern. I'm a journeyman and compared to me, you're a lowly apprentice. I specialize in wet work, not babysitting. So let's just say that getting this assignment from the get-go after coming out of a twenty-year retirement kinda chapped my royal ass. Besides, the first thing you learn is to not get attached to anyone who's gonna die soon, no matter how big, tall and handsome he is."

  I didn't know what to say — thank her or laugh at her. This seemed to be a new and even more caustic side to the old gal than I'd known before. "You're my guardian angel, but I'm going to die soon? That doesn't say much for your protective abilities, now does it?"

  "It is what it is, Captain America. Besides, I can't perform miracles. With you standing out in the middle of a target range, jumping up and down yelling, 'shoot me! I'm right here, put a bullet in my brain,' what can you expect? You're not exactly the Invisible Man, you know."

  I was going to ask her if she read a lot of comic books when she was a little girl, or if it was a new hobby she'd just picked up. But I wasn't sure if they even had comic books when she was little. When was the first one — 1934?

  "What happened?" I asked. "How'd you even live through that?"

  "Experience. Constant vigilance. I smelled the propane when I was in the cockpit. It made me leery. I grabbed my mask, snorkel and fins, and when I opened the cabin hatch, I saw a spark — somebody'd rigged it to ignite the gas. It was too late for me to do anything but fly through the air, hold onto my gear and hope I landed in the water."

  "That was forty-five minutes ago. Where've you been?"

  "Avoiding the damn SCUBA divers. If I'da had a wet suit and tanks, I wouldn't have come up until I got to the Queen Mary. The old skin's getting pretty thin. It doesn't heal from gunshots and knife wounds like it used to. And the cold seeps through to the bones a lot quicker. Still, it's mind over matter, right? You were a Marine, so you know that, don't you? Or did you get all sissified and forget what it's like being a leatherneck?"

  "How'd you know?"

  "I know that and a whole lot more about you, Boy Wonder. Where's that photo?"

  "I lost it in the explosion. I looked everywhere. It must have sunk in the harbor."

  "Oh great, Mister Terrific. I don't suppose you have a photographic memory and can describe it to me, can you?"

  "Listen to me, Aqua Girl. I'm not telling you anything until I know what's going on. What happened to your boat — who blew it up?"

  "If I knew that, do you think I'd be standing here jaw-jacking with you? I'd be out doing some killin'."

  "All right, then, who 'assigned' you to me and why?"

  "Who do you think? It was Judge Hammer. Would anybody else in their right mind really give a shit about whether you were alive or dead?"

  That was all it took for me to be convinced. If she knew Judge Hammer, she was either a member of the Revenging Fist or an enemy. I just couldn't see anyone sending her out to kill me. It was hard enough believing someone would send her to protect me.

  "Okay," I told her. "It was a picture of a girl."

  "A girl. And what else — good God, it's like pulling teeth from an A-rab terrorist. What do I have to do, water-board you? How old is the girl? Do you know her? What was she wearing? Where was it taken? Was it a recent photo? Cheese-hus K-riyest!"

  "It was a very recent picture of the six-year-old daughter of a good friend of mine. Her name is Sophie Ryder. She was wearing a nice, baby blue dress — her birthday dress. She was standing in what looked to be a child's bedroom, next to a cake with six candles. As I remember, she would have been six yesterday — born the same day as my son, three years apart."

  "Oh, good then. You have nothing to worry about. It was just a pleasant little picture of your friends' daughter at her birthday party. So everyone's happy as maggots in an eye socket." She stared at me.

  I couldn't help but imagine fly larvae crawling around in her skull. I had to turn away, but I caught a glimpse of her "candlestick holders" before I did — it made me shiver.

  I told her, "She was crying. She was holding a sign that said, No police. No questions — Give me E Z Knight or birthday girl dies! Will contact soon. And she was wearing a vest wired with enough explosives to bring down the Golden Gate Bridge."

  What I'd just said didn't seem to faze the old woman. "You're leaving something out." She scanned around while toweling off. Seeming to notice that I had the boat buttoned up and the rigging and sails stowed, she asked, "Where're you going?"

  "To meet the little girl's father," I said. "Why would anyone rig your boat to explode?"

  "One of two reasons — and both involve you," she said, then ducked down when she noticed one of the cops on the pier looking in our direction. "They either wanted me out of the way, or they got the wrong boat. For now you're on your own, Silver Surfer. I'll be warming up in your cabin and trying to figure this all out."

  "Need anything?"

  "Where's your gun?"

  I lied to her. "I don't have one." As a convicted felon, I wasn't allowed to have a firearm.

  "Right," she said with a skeptical glance.

  "Want me to leave Jazzy with you?"

  "No, let her go to the tavern like she usually does." She patted Jazzy on the side and got a lick in return. "I'll be fine. I've lived through a lot worse than getting half blown up and having to tread water for an hour."

  I clucked at Jazzy as I stepped onto the pier, and she came to my side.

  "There are some chemical hot packs inside the port storage compartment," I told her.

  She nodded. "Don't tell anybody you've seen me — except maybe Smokey. Don't want that poor girl worrying about me. She's got enough to fret over."

  I told her, "The bedding is clean. There are more blankets in the headache bin over the bed. Oh, and watch out for Nosy, he likes to sleep at the foot of my berth."

  "You watch your ass and don't concern yourself about me and Nostradamus. I've slept with weasels before."

  I turned away. "That, I didn't nee
d to know."

  CHAPTER 4

  Loose Lips

  I walked Jazzy Brass up to the marina on my way to the parking lot. I hoped Nostradamus was okay. I hadn't seen the crazed ferret since I left three days ago. Still, I was fairly certain he'd turn up and probably be cuddling with Ol' Corky when I got back. The explosion most likely scared the squirrel shit out of him, and he'd gone into hiding.

  I was going to leave Jazzy at The Wizard's Grog, but when I tried the tavern's front door, it was locked. Rabbit was already busying himself with his usual weekend chores, washing the large windows in front of the Galley and Grog. He was a great helper for his mother, even more so when school was out in the summer.

  Rabbit saw me at the tavern door and checked his watch.

  He called over to me, "Nine-thirty. Oz is usually in there getting things ready for the day by now." He came over and took out his own key. "Jazzy can hang out with See-Saw until Oz gets in." Cecil "See-Saw" Esau, was an old, homeless blind man who Oz allowed to sleep in the backroom of the tavern, gratis.

  As Rabbit unlocked the front door of The Wizard's Grog, I heard a low growl and looked down at Jazzy. Her hackles were up. I was sure she had a sixth sense — added to her keen senses of smell and of hearing, she was very intuitive.

  When I looked to the far end of the dim bar, I saw sunlight reflecting off of broken glass. The window glass on the side door had been busted out.

  "Stay back and have your cell phone ready," I instructed Rabbit. "Hold Jazzy by the collar."

  I entered the tavern but didn't turn on the lights or open the shades. I found the four-foot-long tiller handle that I remembered Oz kept near the front door and crept toward the storeroom at the other end of the bar. About halfway, I heard groaning, which quickened my pace.

  In the grey light, I noticed See-Saw's white cane on the floor in front of the storeroom. The door was ajar, so I pushed it open and quickly reached inside for the wall switch.