"Conflict of interest," CJ said. "Too personal. You couldn't be objective."
"My thoughts exactly, though I think if you convinced them that you're flying home tomorrow, that might do it. There'd be no point in sending me if you aren't there."
"Really!" CJ said. "Are you part of the conspiracy to get me to leave?"
There were several seconds of silence on Josh's end before he said, "What do you mean?"
"Taffer doesn't want me here, but being as it's a free country he can't really force me to go, at least not without a court order of some kind, I imagine. Stella is now worried for my safety and wants me home. I figure the two of them have asked you to intercede and you figured a little reverse psychology might work."
Detective DuPont walked back in the door.
"That's not how I work, Dad," Josh said.
"Sure. Listen, I've got to go. I'm in the interview room at St. Petersburg Police Headquarters and the detective just came in. Talk to you later."
CJ put the phone away as DuPont sat down.
"That your girlfriend?" DuPont said.
"My son."
"The FBI agent?"
"The one and only."
It looked like DuPont was going to continue his interrogation along that line and then seemed to change his mind. "The car is registered to one Samuel Blight." He showed CJ a picture. "And the car is gone."
"That's him. I gather then that Nicole Blight is his wife or sister."
"Nicole Blight?" DuPont tilted his head at CJ. "Where did you come up with that name?"
"Sheriff's deputy. I was within earshot when they determined who the registered boat owner was."
"Ah," DuPont said and nodded. "Yes, she's the wife. Boat's in her name. Car's in his."
"Wonder if she knew her boat was to be turned into a killing platform?"
"We haven't located her yet."
"I'd say Samuel Blight made it to shore, collected his car, contacted his wife and then together they have gone into hiding."
"That's a good theory, however, we have reason to believe she is currently not in the country."
"Let me guess. Northern Ireland."
"Correct."
"Are they and Pickens all members of United Irish Republican Army?"
"We believe so, yes."
"And you are buds with Agent Taffer."
DuPont tilted his head again. "We are not buds, that is we don't have each other's number on speed dial. We are, occasionally, on a first name basis."
"Are you a rider on his bus then, the one that included Douglas O'Reilly as an undercover informant?"
"That bus, as you refer to it, Mister Washburn, is a bit exclusive, filled with FBI and HLS. Not much room for a lowlife St. Petersburg detective."
"So, until I showed up you didn't even know there was a bus. Something is about to go down in your jurisdiction. Shouldn't the FBI be bringing you in the loop?"
"That would certainly seem logical, now wouldn't it? And you're right. I knew nothing about his little operation until you landed in my lap."
"You're welcome, then."
"Actually, I don't know whether to thank you or throw you into a cell until we can put you on a westbound plane."
CJ considered his options for a time and then said, "How about I work with you, give you all the scoop that I've dug up so far, including what I've learned from Taffer and his people."
"He's apparently told you more than he's told me. Why is that?"
"It's not that he's told me all that much, but that I've put together puzzle pieces from him, Rebecca O'Reilly, Eveleen Danohough and Paddy McGee. Also from Douglas just before he was killed."
DuPont leaned back and crossed his arms. "You'd have made a good detective. Why did you leave the force?"
CJ shrugged. "Tried to save a dying marriage. By the time it was obvious that it, the marriage that is, still wasn't going to work I was full speed ahead into the PI business, lease on an office, a box of letterhead with Desert Investigative Services at the top, enough business cards to last a lifetime, and I was kind of liking not having to answer to everyone with more rank than me."
"Let me tell you, it gets better when you shed the uniform and put on a shirt and tie," DuPont said.
"My best friend made detective about the time I left the force," CJ said. "I've watched him and am not sure it's all that much better."
"I didn't say it was a lot better. I just said it was better. I've played with the thought of going independent like you, though, I have to say I kind of like the steady paycheck."
"I know what you mean." CJ sat back in the chair trying to find a position where his ribs didn't hurt. "When can I get out of here? I haven't filled my prescription for painkiller yet."
"I'll give you a ride. Wife has probably given up on me and put dinner in the refrigerator."
In DuPont's car, CJ said, "Back to my offer. I don't know for sure that I'll be hanging around. If I do, I'd be glad to consult with you, feed you whatever I learn from my contacts, and that includes Taffer and his crew, though I have to say he may find a way of deporting me back to Arizona."
"Tell you what... Can I call you Clinton?"
"You do and I'll take your service weapon away from you and shoot off your kneecap. Call me CJ, please."
DuPont laughed. "CJ then. I go by Parker. As I was going to say, you keep me informed and I'll make sure the welcome wagon has your name." He pulled up in front of the drug store that CJ had originally been headed for. "This is your stop. I assume you can make it from here."
"I can use the walk." He shook DuPont's hand. "Thanks, Parker. I'll let you know if I stay or fly."
The wait for the prescription wasn't nearly as long as CJ expected. "Take with food," the pharmacist said. CJ purchased a bottle of water and a pre-packaged apple turnover and had it all consumed before he'd walked a block. He checked his watch as he dropped the discards into a trashcan. It was 11:15. He wondered what time zone Fishers, Indiana fell into and then remembered from his trip there to see Douglas' wife, Kassandra, that it was on Eastern Time.
Why hadn't he received a call from Gianna by now? She'd had plenty of time to get there, meet with her sister and then call him. He found her speed dial icon and punched it. When the connection was made he immediately wished he'd not made the call.
"...don't give damn what you think I want!" a woman yelled. "You killed my daughter and now my husband. And then you come here thinking you know what's best for me? What I want is for you to stay out of my affairs! Out of my life!"
"You're not being rational, Kassi."
"Get out!"
CJ wanted only to hang up the phone, wished he had waited for Gianna to call him. He felt bad for her, even more so for her sister, could only imagine the anguish they were both going through.
"I'll call you back, CJ," Gianna suddenly said into the phone, her voice sounding exasperated, tired.
"Was that him?!" Kassandra screamed just before the connection was broken.
He returned the phone to his pocket and continued walking until he came upon a bench. Just the sight of it suddenly made him feel exhausted and sore. He sat down and put his head in his hands.
Kassandra was pointing the blame at the wrong person. Tommy Clark threatened to go after people close to CJ and when he couldn't get to his family, he went after his friends, and then the family of his friends. Gianna was his attorney, his client and his friend. Gianna's niece, Kassandra's daughter, was the target Clark could get to and so he killed her. And now, in an effort to notify Kassandra's husband, at Gianna's request, CJ may have gotten him killed as well.
Gianna played no part in the blame on this. Kassandra was definitely pointing her anger at too many people. He was the only common factor.
The Gummy Bear Song started playing from CJ's pocket. He pulled the phone out and said, "Hi."
"You sound tired," Stella said. "I've been waiting for you to call back. Where are you? Are you in bed?"
"No. Sitting on a bench in
downtown St. Petersburg, thinking."
"It's late there. What are you thinking about?"
"Tried calling Gianna to see what she wanted me to do. I interrupted a fight between her and her sister." CJ went on to tell her what he'd heard.
"Wow," Stella said.
"I think you're right. I should drop it all and just go home. When Gianna calls back I'll tell her I can't do any more."
Stella was silent for a time before she said, "What was the thing with the detective?"
"The sheriff turned things over to him when it came to light that it was related to his case, that is, Douglas' murder, and he wanted to question me directly, get my statement face-to-face. That was pretty much it."
"How are the ribs?"
"Sore. I just filled the prescription for pain meds. Hasn't had time to work yet."
She was silent for a time again, and then said, "I don't think you should come home."
CJ was surprised by that. "Why?"
"For one, when I booked my flight to Tampa, I cancelled yours. Now that flight is full. I can't get you out before Sunday."
"And two?"
"And two," she said. "I think it's important to find Douglas' killer. I don't think you can say, 'Oh well,' and walk away."
CJ nodded but wasn't sure he actually agreed.
"And I don't think you should be doing it alone. I expect to see your face when I get off that plane tomorrow."
"I'll be the guy with a bandage on his head and a big grin."
"Bandage on your head? I thought your injuries were just your ribs."
"Ah... didn't I mention that I bumped my head?"
"No. You did not. How bad?"
"It's nothing. Really. So minor I didn't even think to mention it."
"Not a concussion, is it?"
"No more than a mild one if anything at all, the doctor said." CJ felt the bandage and wondered if he could replace it with a small Band-Aid. If he combed his hair just right he could probably leave it off altogether and it wouldn't be noticeable. "Really. It's nothing. The doctor wouldn't have made so light of it if it had been a concussion."
"Humph!" was all Stella said.
By the time they'd finished up the call, CJ was walking again and feeling better. As he was entering the hotel elevator, Gianna called him back.
"Sorry you had to hear all that, CJ. Kassi is rather distraught."
CJ looked at the ceiling as the elevator climbed to the 9th floor. It stopped. "I completely understand."
"I haven't decided yet what more I want you to do. Has there been any developments there?"
CJ fetched his key card from his pocket as he walked to his room. "As a matter of fact, I've got a lot to tell you." Without turning on the lights, he sat at his window where he could look out at the lights defining the edge of Tampa Bay. He then proceeded to tell Gianna about his 600 horsepower adventure.
Chapter 17
CJ had all he could do to struggle out of bed Saturday morning. It was the urge to pee that motivated him to find his feet and shuffle to the bathroom. There didn't seem to be a muscle, joint or square inch of skin that didn't hurt. He took his pain meds with water and then carefully removed the bandage wrap around his ribcage. The bruise looked like he'd been hit with a baseball bat. Brushing his teeth, showering and shaving, those things he'd taken for granted, took three times longer, requiring much deliberate care. By the time he stepped out of the shower, however, he had gained better control of his movements and his head felt a bit clearer. He was even able to cover the bump and scab on his forehead with his hair. Still, he put on a new bandage.
He took as deep a breath as he could and considered not putting the wrap back on, though he had to admit it did feel a bit better to have the security of it there. He just couldn't breathe the way he wanted to. He decided to go down to breakfast and then come back up and put it on afterwards.
He got dressed.
CJ sat at the same table as the morning before, empty plate before him, sipping coffee and running the events of the last two days through his mind. What he couldn't figure out was why he'd become a target. What were the motivations of Pickens and Blight, or the people they worked for, to take him out and kill him? In what way was he a threat?
Maybe they thought he knew something. Maybe they weren't intending to kill him, but were taking him somewhere to be questioned as to what he knew. Did they believe Douglas told him something or gave him something? Eveleen Danohough was a big wig in UIRA. If UIRA was involved in all this, wouldn't she know about it, have to put her blessing on it? In CJ's opinion, she didn't look like the type who would have her son killed and then hire a private investigator to find the killer afterwards.
But... could it be that someone else in the organization is going behind her back? Paddy McGee had said that she was one of four who founded the group. Maybe one of the other three had discovered that there was a mole right under Eveleen's nose and took matters into his own hands. Kill the mole and then kill the last person he talked to.
Still, that didn't make sense. They can't just kill everyone that Douglas talked to. What was there about CJ that led them to thinking he needed to be eliminated?
Then, again, was the intent no more than transporting him to another location where the boss could question him. Elimination may not have been the reason at all. If that were the case, what did they think he knew? And why handcuff him? They could have just told him that someone wanted to talk to him, asked him nicely to come along for a boat ride. He may have cooperated.
But then, maybe he wouldn't have.
If they were killing people, who was next? Rebecca? Eveleen? The McGee family? How big was this thing?
He needed to talk to Eveleen.
CJ went next door to Starbucks to get a proper coffee. When he got up to the counter the same girl as the morning before asked for his order and then recognized him.
"Ah," was all she said, though her head kept swiveling to and fro as though looking for a cop or someone in authority.
"It was all a big misunderstanding," CJ said to her, giving her his sexiest smile. "I'm really quite harmless."
"Okay," she said, though obviously not convinced.
"I'll have a Salted Caramel Mocha, hold the cream."
She repeated it back to him then turned away, going straight to filling his order ahead of the woman who had placed her order first. When she pushed his drink toward him less than a minute later, he handed her a ten dollar bill and said, "Keep the change," and winked.
Back in his room he fetched the business card that Eveleen had given him the day before. He sipped his mocha and considered the card. Eveleen Danohough was the owner of the Coffee Bean Boutique.
What is a Coffee Bean Boutique? he wondered. There were two phone numbers, business and cell. He dialed the cell number and was immediately directed to her voice mail.
"Ms. Danohough. CJ Washburn here. I'd like to meet with you. Please give me a call." He recited his number and then called the business.
"Coffee Bean Boutique," a sultry voice said. "This is Sandra. How may I help you?"
"Eveleen Danohough wouldn't happen to be in, would she?" CJ said.
"I'm afraid she is not," Sandra said, her voice losing most of its sultry edge. "We don't open for another hour. She'd normally be here on Saturday mornings, but, sadly, she's had a death in the family. I doubt we'll see her or Eddie before Monday."
"Eddie?"
"Eddie Hall, Eveleen's partner. Is there anything I may be able to do for you?"
"Afraid not. I've left a message on her cell. If she does come in ask her to call CJ Washburn. She has my number."
"I will."
"Thank you very much."
CJ put the phone down and considered what to do next. After his conversation with Gianna and Stella the night before, it was decided, seeing as Stella was going to join him anyway, that together they should go ahead and continue the investigation into who killed Douglas and why. Gianna couldn't just walk away from it an
d her sister. "In for a pence, in for a pound," she'd said. "But be careful," she'd added. "I don't want to lose anyone else."
That got CJ to thinking about how dangerous this whole thing was and the fact that Stella was joining him. If something were to happen to her he might as well handcuff himself back to the boat and kick the throttle wide open. There would be no way he could live with the guilt.
He carefully wrapped his ribcage with the elastic bandage and then dug out Paddy McGee's Irish Pub's business card that Rebecca had handed him as he was leaving the pub. On the back she'd written her phone number. He keyed in the number and then pressed the call button.
A half hour later CJ was parked on the street directly in front of Banyan Coffee and Tea in Downtown St. Petersburg, about a mile and a half drive from the hotel. He waited until it was a few minutes shy of 9:30 before going in and ordering two regular coffees. Although he'd already eaten breakfast, he added a couple of Danishes. Just as he walked out an outside table with a big red umbrella became available, so he took it.
The sky was a rich blue and cloudless. The forecast called for rain later in the day, but for the moment it was a very enjoyable morning. A sudden breeze rattled the umbrella and sent an empty sugar packet sailing off the table only to be replaced by several leaves from above. He looked up at a beautiful oak tree under which he was sitting–at least he thought it was oak–considered the pleasantness of the location, birds chirping, the enjoyable Florida aroma. Most of the pains throughout his body had disappeared and his ribs weren't feeling too bad. He sipped at his coffee and watched as Rebecca pulled up and parked on the other side of Martin Luther King Jr. Street. As she crossed the roadway in what appeared to CJ to be the same mourning outfit as the day before, except for a different purse, he rose and pulled out a chair.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you," he said. "Regular coffee. I hope that's okay."
"Fine," she said as she sat. "Thank you." She tore open two sugars and dumped them in the coffee. "What's with the bandage on your head?"
Sailing into Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 2) Page 10