Bloody Point (20 page)

Cassie parked in the newspaper parking lot, and, glancing
over her shoulder, walked quickly through the dark to the door, where she used
her key card and entered. Only a night editor was present. Cassie said hello,
and walked back to her desk. Sure enough, there was a photo CD waiting.
Glancing around, assuring herself she was essentially alone, she booted up her
computer and slid in the disk.

Brett had taken almost three hundred pictures. Cassie quickly
scanned through them, and began placing in a separate folder the ones in which
she could see a yellow shirt, or a white floppy hat. At first she had
seventeen, then twenty-two, then, as she went through the whole collection one
more time, she found fifteen more. Thirty-seven. In thirty-seven photographs
she could see a guy in a yellow shirt or a glimpse of a white hat. That was
more than coincidental. That was scary.

Then Cassie noticed something else. In five of the
photographs the man’s face was obscured by some type of object. When she blew
them up, she knew what it was: a camera. A small digital camera. Yellow Shirt
was taking pictures of her. Now that was really scary.

Scary enough to put her nerves right on edge. So when the
night editor walked up to her, just to share pleasantries on the way to the
coffee pot, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She quickly clicked on “desktop” to get the photos off the
screen. The editor seemed to want to talk, but Cassie gave him short answers
and no eye contact. Finally he got the hint. Once he left, she returned to the
photos, tried enlarging parts of them to enhance the images, but she couldn’t
get anything that allowed her to recognize the man. When she’d exhausted her
ideas, she pulled out the CD and shut down the computer.

The FBI had access to superior photo-enhancement technology,
Cassie thought as she hurried through the parking lot to her car. She’d used
the lab resources before. It would be so helpful to have that backup now!

All the way home, she kept watching in her rearview mirror
for lights, blue halogen headlights, one of them mis-aimed. She felt so
vulnerable without her gun! Sure she’d had street survival classes, sure she
could fight, but her biggest defensive asset was her extraordinary ability with
a gun. Skeet. That’s why Jake and Mike called her Skeet. Maybe she should
chance carrying one, despite Maryland laws.

Relief filled her when she was finally at the apartment. She
got out of her car, locked the doors, sprinted up the steps, entered her
apartment, and secured the door behind her. Heart drumming, she jumped when the
phone rang.

It was Craig Campbell. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.” She laid the CD on the table, but she couldn’t take
her eyes off of it.

He made small talk, which she recognized was a conciliatory
gesture, and her animosity toward him began dissipate. He said he’d called Jake
and apologized for scaring Tam, for causing Jake more problems than he had
already. And that he’d decided to back off probing Jake about the assault, or
anything else. It was just too stressful for him.

Finally, he got to his point. “Cassie, I need your help.”

“What are you talking about?” Her stomach ached with tension.
She crossed her arm in front of her.

“I need you to open up to me. Tell me who you’ve been talking
to about this case and what you know. Let’s work together on this, Cassie.”

She hesitated.

“Mike first. Then Jake. You could be next, and I don’t want
to see that.”

“I’m not worried,” she said softly. “I’m … uh, I’m all right.

“You’re not all right, you’re in danger. And you’re
stressed.”

He was right.

“So will you meet with me? Share information?”

“When?”

“How about Monday? Somewhere near your newspaper.”

“Well, okay.” She could hardly believe she was agreeing. But
those photos … that was eerie. Too weird. “There’s a coffee shop nearby, on
Taylor Street, called ‘On the Bean.’ Let’s meet there, at nine. Will that work
for you?”

“That’ll be great, Cassie. Thank you. See you then.”

† † †

Despite her best efforts, Trudy’s plan to lure Jake down to
eat failed. He declined dinner, and had even come close to being rude when he
told Trudy he really wanted to be left alone. Jake had sat in the chair in his
room all evening, staring into space.

That wasn’t like him. Sitting alone in the dark, stroking his
beard, he thought,
I don’t even know who I am anymore.
When he looked in
the mirror the face that stared back at him was a bearded, shaggy-haired
stranger. Why shave? He wasn’t going anywhere. Why get a haircut? Who cared
what he looked like? But where was the in-charge guy, the
take-command-of-the-situation Jake? Where was the runner and the fighter, the
no-nonsense door-kicker?

While he wrestled with his thoughts, Jazz stayed with him.
And he had several more seizures, there alone in his room, bringing his 24-hour
total to seven, his all-time record. And he was angry about that.

Night fell and he heard Trudy cleaning up the kitchen. He
felt bad about not eating the food she’d fixed for him. Still, he felt rooted
in his room. He listened as she got ready for bed, and finally the house grew
quiet. When he was fairly sure she was asleep, he got up, and went downstairs.
Turning on the back spotlight, he walked into the yard. He fitted the work
glove on his hand, and strapped his hand to the axe. Then he lifted it and
began splitting wood, bringing the axe down hard, over and over, scooping up
the split wood with his left hand, stacking it and starting again.

He let his anger drive the axe. He hated these seizures. He
hated what they’d made of him. And Tam infuriated him. She said she was trying
to protect the kids, but her demands were ridiculous. Just ridiculous. The wood
felt the force of his fury.

Two hours later he was exhausted. The pile of split wood had
grown, but the tree wasn’t finished yet. Neither was he. He wiped the sweat off
his brow and looked up into the night sky. The stars were pinpricks of light in
a velvet night. Orion, the Big Dipper … he couldn’t go much further than that
in naming the constellations. Still, the beauty of the sky captured him. He
wished he could see beyond them, to another time, another place, another way of
life. This one sure wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

He sat on the back steps for a while, reluctant to go to bed,
to lie in the dark by himself, staring at the ceiling. He had no answers for
his problems. None whatsoever. And, therefore, no hope.

The next day was Sunday. Jake lay in bed, awake, listening
for Trudy to go off to church. But she fooled him. She didn’t go. He knew she
was staying home for him, and he felt guilty about that. He just couldn’t stay
upstairs any longer.

“Jake, what can I do for you?” Trudy asked as she put a plate
of eggs in front of him.

He was sitting at the table, twirling a fork, lost in his
thoughts. “I honestly don’t know.”

“You’re frustrated.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“About the seizures?”

“And Tam.”

“Should we call the doctor?”

“No! No … I’m sorry. But what’s he going to say? He doesn’t
know anything yet.”

Jazz rose from her position under the table, approached Jake,
and dropped a tennis ball next to his chair. Jake rubbed her ears. “You think
that ball solves everything, don’t you, Jazz?”

“I think … I think she’s sensing your seizures.”

Jake looked up. “What?”

“Jazz. I think she’s sensing when you’re going to have a
seizure. She gets close to you just moments before you black out. Sometimes she
whines.”

Jake patted Jazz’s head. “Can dogs do that?”

“I guess so. I read about it, in a newspaper article a friend
clipped for me.” Trudy sat down across from him, a cup of coffee before her.
“Jake, do you realize what that might mean for you?”

He looked at her dumbly.

“If she is sensing them, and you can pick up on her warnings,
it will give you more control. You’ll be able to avoid falling, and what a
blessing that would be!”

That was true. Not falling would be a big deal.

“You can keep yourself out of potentially harmful situations,
just by paying attention to her. You could do more things if you didn’t have to
worry about a seizure sneaking up on you.” Trudy sipped her coffee. “Would you
like to try tracking her behavior? To see if I’m right?”

“Sure, why not.” He smiled wryly. “And if you are, do you
think Jazz can take care of Tam? Work it out so I can see my kids?”

Trudy laughed, her gray eyes crinkling. “She’s a D-O-G, Jake,
not G-O-D.”

He grinned.

“Let’s just pay attention, and see if we can figure out her
signals.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jake looked across the table at Aunt Trudy’s
hands. She was folding a napkin accordion-style, back and forth, back and
forth. “I’m sorry, Trudy, about the way I behaved yesterday. I was rude. I am
so appreciative of what you’ve done … but I wasn’t acting that way. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I understand you being frustrated, but is
there anything you can do that would cheer you up? I know it’s got to be hard
just hanging around the house. Is there any place I could take you that would
be safe? Just to get out of the house?”

“I don’t know.” Jake grimaced. “I’ll be honest. I’m not real
worried about being followed or attacked. Nobody would even recognize me now.”

“We could go out to a mall or a park. Where there are a lot
of people around. Wouldn’t that be safe?”

“Yeah. But what if I have … ” his voice trailed off.

“A seizure? In public? I’ll deal with it. I’m not afraid,
Jake.”

Trudy’s toughness pleased him. “You know what … what I’d like
to do?”

“What?” Trudy said.

“Do you know where that park is where they found me?”

“Yes. It’s Cedar Brook State Park. Cassie told me about it.”

“I’d like to go there. It irritates me that I can’t help
Campbell with this investigation more. Maybe if I went there, I could remember
something, or figure something out. Find some bit of evidence they haven’t
seen.”

Trudy nodded. “We could do that.” She looked at her watch.
“It’s just nine o’clock. We could easily go there and get back by twelve or one.
Let’s go, and let’s take the dog.”

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 20

C
ASSIE decided to hang
out at her apartment on Sunday, and work on her boat. She needed a break.
Later, she would call the contacts she’d gathered at KidFest. For right now,
she needed to relax.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, with a light breeze.
By midday it would be hot. Cassie got a bucket and some boat wash, a brush and
some rags, and began scrubbing the boat down. The decks were dirty and the
woodwork, which she had so carefully varnished, had collected a layer of grime.
She scoured and polished, happy to be outside, happy to have the cool water
splashing around. But despite her efforts to relax, thoughts of those photos
and all the other struggles in her life just wouldn’t go away. She knew she
couldn’t escape them forever. “Today, I just need a break,” she said out loud.

“Hey, Cassie!”

Startled, Cassie looked up. There, forty feet offshore, was
Rick Maxwell in his new catamaran.

“How in the world did you find me?” she asked when he pulled
up to the dock.

“Dumb luck,” he responded, grinning. Cassie helped him tie
off. The new catamaran was a beauty. Its twin white hulls gleamed in the bright
sunshine. The aqua sail cover was new and fresh.

“Come on aboard,” boomed Maxwell.

Cassie stepped over the lifeline and onto the glistening
deck. “This is really nice, Rick.”

“It’s brand new and made to my specs,” he answered. “Let me
show you around.”

The cockpit included a raised helm with an instrument panel
and a shiny chrome wheel. Davits held a dinghy in the back. Stepping into the
salon, Cassie was impressed by the arching window. What a view! And the table
would easily seat six. Back to the right was a small galley, which looked clean
and efficient.

“Step down!” Rick said. He led her to the right pod, where
the master stateroom took up the aft quarter. It had a beautiful teak standing
locker for clothes and sliding-door bookshelf-type cabinets above the
queen-sized bed. The bed was made up with brightly colored sheets and a
nautical comforter, which Cassie guessed came with the boat. Rick wasn’t that
décor-conscious, she didn’t think.

“Come look at this,” said Rick. The main head, shiny and
clean, was in the forward part of the pod. It included a toilet and a separate,
enclosed shower, an expensive luxury for a sailboat, and Cassie was very
impressed. “This is really built for comfort,” she remarked.

“That was the point. I’m going to live aboard. But,” he said,
smiling, “I’m not as intrepid as you are. I need my little luxuries.” He led
her to the other pod, which had two more cabins and a small head, plus plenty
of storage closets.

“It’s really nice, Rick,” Cassie said as she returned to the
cockpit. “Really very nice.”

“I just took delivery on her.” He bowed gallantly. “How about
a little spin?”

She hesitated. Could she afford the time? “How long are you
going to be out?”

“An hour or two.”

 “Okay, I’m ready. Just let me take care of the hose.” Cassie
retreated to shore and turned off the spigot. Then she put the hose back where
it belonged, and climbed aboard Rick’s cat. “What do we need to do before we
cast off?”

“Just that,” he said. “Just release the lines. Why don’t you
get the bow, and I’ll take care of the stern, here.” He re-started the engines.
Cassie walked forward and slipped the bowline off the cleat at the pier. She
gave the piling a push and Rick turned the boat toward the channel leading to
the Bay.

As soon as they cleared the channel and were in open water,
Cassie felt the familiar calm she always experienced on the water. She was at
home there, at peace, and she could almost forget the world. Overhead, some
gulls screeched. They passed a fish trap, a V-shaped line of poles sticking up
out of the Bay, with netting strung in between. Sitting on the poles were
multitudes of fish-eating birds: herons, gulls, and especially pelicans,
waiting to snare their dinner from someone else’s efforts.

“Just watch for crab pots,” Rick yelled, and Cassie
acknowledged his request with a nod.

As they gained speed, Cassie noted the different feel of the
boat. It was much more choppy than a traditional monohull sailboat. The waves
caught each pontoon separately and a rock and roll movement was the effect. She
wasn’t sure she liked it.

Rick cut the engine to idle. “Let’s raise the main,” he said.
Together they removed the sail cover, and then he put several turns of the main
halyard around the winch and hauled the sail up to the top of the tall mast. He
was sweating profusely by the time he was done. He smiled at Cassie when he was
finished. “Maybe I should have ordered electric winches,” he said.

Cassie settled back in the seat and watched him. He had been
a football player and track star in high school. All the girls at one point or
another had a crush on him, but he never settled on any of them for long. “Use
‘em and lose ‘em” was his motto, according to another classmate. It was weird
spending time with someone she had known since they were that young. She
wondered what he was really like. Despite all their conversations, she felt
like she barely knew him now.

She tried to look at him objectively. Cassie guessed that some
women would find him attractive. His money would make him even more so. He’d
been in three separate, serious relationships since college, he’d told her …
but no marriage.

The wind was barely filling the sail, but Maxwell cut the
engine to see if they could move without it. Since it was Sunday, the Bay was
dotted with pleasure boaters: fisherman and sailors, yachtsmen and trawler
owners. Cassie sat on the back of the cockpit seat. She’d kicked her boat shoes
off and was now barefoot.

“Nice boat,” Cassie remarked.

“Yes, I like her.”

“It feels funny, though, not to heel over.”

“After a while you get used to that. And the cat design gives
you so much more room! You know, I’m almost thankful for that fire. I like this
boat so much better.” Rick stepped into the salon. “Can I get you a drink? A
soda? Tea? Water? Beer?”

“Water would be great.”

Maxwell emerged seconds later and handed her a chilled bottle
of water. Ahead, the crew of a huge, dark-hulled boat with a gigantic shamrock
on its sail was pulling in the main. “Say, Rick,” Cassie said, “what have you
heard about the marina fire?”

His eyes narrowed, only slightly, but Cassie caught the
change. He took a deep breath. “I am convinced that it was carelessness or an
accident of some kind. With that half-wit dockhand and a bunch of idiot
powerboaters running around, anything could have happened. Anything.”

Cassie nodded. “So you’re not buying the arson scenario.”

“Never. Show me the accelerant. Show me the motive. Show me
the opportunity. The fire began in broad daylight. No one saw anyone unusual
around. It was not arson. I’m convinced of that. It started on the
Lady J.
and Scrub had just moved it over by the lift so they could work on it. Do you
know why they were going to work on it?”

Cassie shook her head.

“The idiot that owns it was trying to install a 120-volt
power inverter by himself. He didn’t have all the wires terminated. My guess
is, they sparked and started the fire.”

“So you think the
Lady J’s
owner was responsible, not
Scrub?”

Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything’s possible. Scrub’s so
stupid, he could have started it as well.”

Cassie let the topic drop. Obviously, he didn’t know what she
knew, that the fires were started when propane in the bilge ignited. That Scrub
was a suspect. “Hey, Rick,” she said, “tell me about your stint in the Army. My
dad said you were stationed in the Middle East. Is that right?”

He smiled strangely. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to
kill you.”

It was an old joke. Cassie just didn’t find it very funny.

Rick perched on the helmsman’s chair. He had the boat on
autopilot and since they were moving at only 3 knots, he could chat and not
have to focus on steering. “I spent several years there in Saudi Arabia.”

Saudi Arabia? Her dad had said it was Qatar. Either she misunderstood
him or he’d gotten it wrong.

“It was an interesting culture, one you’d hate,” said
Maxwell. “Women are treated like property, Christians are persecuted … not a
friendly place for a person like you.”

“And for you?”

Richard shrugged. “I’m a man. It was no big deal. There was
plenty of liquor; you just had to hide it in the orange juice. The bazaars were
interesting, the food plentiful. And I don’t think I’ll ever get that call of
the muezzin for prayer out of my mind. It was eerie and beautiful all at the
same time.”

They were barely moving now, the wind having died to
practically nothing. So they dropped the mainsail and just motored, enjoying
the sun and the conversation. Two hours later, it was time to head back. Cassie
felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.

† † †

Jake and Trudy stepped out of the car and walked toward the
pavilion at Cedar Brook State Park. “I don’t know exactly where they found
you,” Trudy said, “but it was somewhere near that drainage ditch.”

Jazz bounded out of the car. The park was surprisingly empty,
except for a few people playing Frisbee, so Trudy just let her run off leash.

The day was hot and still. The sun was nearly overhead and
Jake shaded his eyes as he stared toward the ditch. Trudy followed right behind
him while Jazz ran around, her head to the ground, sniffing.

“I remember Cassie talking about crossing the ditch and
running through tall grass. I think she said you were just beyond it.”

Jake squinted in the bright sunlight, straining to remember
anything, anything at all. Nothing about the place looked familiar. On either
side of the drainage ditch there was a ten-foot wide stand of tall grass. Jake
walked to the edge of that stand on the near side. Across the ditch he could
see a tall hedge. Cassie had mentioned something about that.

“You know, it’s a miracle you survived,” Trudy said, standing
at his elbow.

“How so?”

“You should have bled to death. That one wound was so deep.”

Jake stared down at his right hand. The scars from the
defensive wounds on his hands were ugly, but those from the stab wounds on his
shoulder were worse.

“Somehow you managed to roll onto your shoulder and compress
the wound yourself. It’s just a miracle, Jake. A miracle.”

He grimaced. “I was lucky.”

Jazz was running through the tall grass sniffing and
exploring. Jake fell silent, searching his memory. He walked up and down,
looking for tire treads, for anything.

Nothing jogged his memory. Jazz emerged from the weeds with a
tennis ball in her mouth, and she dropped it at his feet. “Where did you find
that, girl?” he asked her. Then he picked it up and threw it.

Jazz chased the ball as Jake threw it over and over. Soon she
was panting in the heat, her tongue dripping. “One more time,” Jake said as he
picked up the ball again. As he did, he touched the ground, and as his hand
came near his face, he smelled earth and weeds. “Wait a minute.”

Jake dropped and laid his cheek on the ground. Inhaling
deeply, he closed his eyes. The smell of the earth and the marshy ditch nearby
filled his nose. Jazz came up and nudged him. “Just a minute,” he said, as if
she could understand. He closed his eyes and let the smell carry him back.
There was something … if only he could remember.

But he couldn’t.

“Ready to go?” Trudy asked softly as Jake stood up and dusted
off his hands.

“Yeah.” Jake took one more look around and together they
walked back to the car.

A traffic jam on Route 50 east made the trip back home long
and tedious. Jake leaned his head back as he sat in the passenger seat of the
car. Jazz lay panting on the back seat. “Thanks for taking me there,” he said,
glancing over at Trudy.

“You’re welcome,” she responded. “What exactly are you trying
to remember?”

“Anything. Anything at all.” Jake shifted in his seat. He was
disappointed he hadn’t had a breakthrough. The headache, which had been
threatening him all day, had arrived, pummeling him. He felt tired and
agitated, all at the same time, and he found himself staring at the occupants
of every car and truck on the road. What was he looking for? “Trudy, I’ve got a
question for you,” he said.

“What’s that?” She glanced in her outside rear view mirror,
put on her blinker, and moved left.

“You believe in God and yet, your husband spent twenty years
lying in a bed, paralyzed. Mike believed in God, but he dies at age thirty-two.
I don’t get that. How can you believe in God when stuff like that happens?”

She glanced at him. “What do you expect? That simply
believing in God is some kind of magic shield? That nothing bad will ever
happen to Christians?”

Jake sighed. That would be too simplistic. Even he could see
that. “I don’t know. I think sometimes about babies who die and the ones who
are abused. I don’t understand why God would let that stuff happen. Natural
disasters, crippling diseases, even 9/11 … why all the suffering?”

“You’re asking some difficult questions, Jake.”

“You know Mike was a smart guy. He always used to say to me,
‘Jake, everything happens for a reason. There are no coincidences.’ Mike
understood this somehow.” Jake drummed his thumb on his leg. “But I never asked
him to explain it. There’s got to be an answer, I just don’t know what it is.”
Jake turned toward her. “You know, I was looking around your house for
something to read. I couldn’t even find a
Newsweek
, much less
Sports
Illustrated
.”

Trudy laughed. “Sorry!”

“So I start reading what’s there … ”