Bloody Point (26 page)

“That’s him.”

Trudy pursed her lips. “Some people act big and confident but
have a very shriveled character. And he seems to be mean-spirited.”

Jake laughed. “You’re absolutely right.”

“He really didn’t like me even being in the building.”

“Nope.”

“But you won that one.”

“Yes, I did!” Jake laughed.

Trudy glanced at Jake. “Where to now?”

“It’s two o’clock,” Jake said, glancing at his watch.
“Detective Cunningham couldn’t see me until tomorrow, so we don’t need to go
down there. I’d like to try to see Cassie … but maybe that would make more
sense to do tomorrow?”

“Since we’re in Baltimore, why don’t you call your ex-wife?
Let’s go see your kids!”

A shadow passed over Jake’s heart. “No, she’d never allow
that. No drop-ins. That’s the rule.”

“Even if you call?”

“Even if I call.”

Without speaking, Trudy just turned the car toward home.

† † †

Detective Mark Cunningham sat across a walnut table from
Jake. A file was spread in front of him, and Jake was asking questions.

“Tell me again,” he said, tapping his finger on the table,
“exactly what your daughter saw.” He was here to stir things up, and he was
doing a good job.

Patiently, Cunningham went over the information again.

“So she thinks the attacker was a white guy, dressed in dark
clothes. He was wearing a hat, and he was stabbing the person on the ground …
me.”

“That’s right,” Cunningham said. “None of the kids got a
decent look at his face.”

Jake stroked his chin. “How much had the kids been drinking?”

Cunningham grimaced. He didn’t like the question, that was
obvious. “Not much. My daughter says she didn’t have any.” He looked Jake in
the eye. “I’m not sure I buy that.”

“Okay, switching topics,” Jake continued, “to the Goose Creek
Marina fire. I understand a man named Myron Tunney, nickname ‘Scrub,’ was
accused of setting it.”

“That’s right.”

“Who accused him?”

Cunningham squirmed in his seat. “I’m not sure we have that
information.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have it?”

Cunningham clutched. Jake knew it was right there in front of
him. “That information is significant,” he said.

“And we are pursuing it.” Cunningham flipped the file shut.

“Well, thank you for your time.” Jake rose to his feet.

Back outside, Jake briefed Trudy on their meeting.

“You would think he would know right away who accused Scrub,”
Trudy said.

“He did know. He just didn’t want to be responsible for
telling me.”

Settling into the Saturn, Jake said, “Loughlin is at the
other end of the county. He can’t see us until one. Let’s go try to catch
Cassie.”

The newspaper office was only a few minutes away. It was a
small two-story brick building with its own parking lot. Trudy went inside, and
the receptionist called Cassie to tell her she had a visitor. When she told her
it was her aunt, Cassie rose from her desk to meet her. The two women embraced
and Trudy asked her if she had a few minutes to talk. Cassie agreed,
reluctantly, and Trudy suggested they take a walk outside.

Jake was leaning against the car. Cassie hesitated when she
saw him. “Bait and switch,” she said to her aunt.

“What?” Trudy asked.

“Never mind.”

He was the old Jake, short hair, clean shaven. Wearing cargo
pants, probably Mike’s, and a white golf shirt, he looked like her partner
again. She stiffened her back, resisting the urge to run.

The air was stifling hot. The humidity made her feel like she
was breathing in a steam room. “Hello, Jake,” she said.

He hugged her, and kissed the top of her head. “How are you?”

“Okay. I’m, uh, sorry, Jake, for what I said.” Cassie looked
away. “I feel like I’m always having to apologize to you lately. I’m sorry. I
just … ”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I was concerned about you.”

Cassie smiled wanly. “I’m fine. I’m … just fine.” She brushed
her hair back from her face and looked him over. “You look good. Normal.”

Jake grinned.

“No seizures?”

“Nope.”

How long had it been? Almost two weeks? Cassie played with
her necklace. “Well, what brings you two here?”

“Jake’s got me on an adventure!” Trudy said.

Jake laughed. “I wanted to talk to Cunningham and Loughlin.
I’m telling everyone she’s my aunt.”

“They’re trained investigators. They’ll never figure out she’s
not,” Cassie said sarcastically. “I’m surprised Cunningham hasn’t been in
contact with you.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have much to say, I guess.”

Cassie looked at him, leaning against Trudy’s Saturn, and
suddenly she felt tears welling up again. She blinked them away quickly. “Look,
I need to get back to work. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Wait, Cass … ”

Against her better judgment she stopped.

Jake’s voice was low. “Listen, I … just want to say that, if
it were up to me, Mike would’ve been the one healed. Not me.”

Cassie struggled for control. She put her hand to her lips
and nodded. “I need to go.”

His face dropped. “Okay,” he said, “we just wanted to check
on you.”

“Everything’s A-OK here, partner. Just fine.”

† † †

 “Why do you want to know?” Fire Marshal Paul Loughlin asked.
He was sitting in his office facing Jake across his desk.

“Because it’s relevant.” Jake adjusted his position in his
chair. “If all these incidents are connected, then whoever set these fires
could be the same person who killed Schneider and tried to kill me, and whoever
fingered Scrub as the potential arsonist could have either been on to something
or involved himself.”

“Or he could be a totally innocent bystander just trying to
help.”

“Right. And that’s actually the most likely scenario.”

Loughlin sighed. He stroked his big mustache. Behind him on
the wall were photos of men in uniform in front of engines and ladder trucks.
There was also a plaque memorializing Sept. 11, 2001, a picture of a remnant of
the World Trade Center with a trio of firefighters.

Jake read his mind. “Paul, I’m an FBI agent. I can handle
confidentiality.”

Loughlin nodded. He took a deep breath. “It was a slipholder
named Maxwell. Richard Maxwell.”

Jake’s eyes stayed steady.

Loughlin picked up a paper clip off his desk and began to
straighten it. “He’s been around the marina for several years, had a boat
there. He’s a professional captain and everybody knows him.”

“What evidence did he provide?”

“He said he saw Scrub in the area of the first explosion the
day of the fire. He claimed he’d heard Scrub complaining about something the
marina owner had done.”

“That’s pretty thin, don’t you think?”

“It’s all we had at the time.”

“Why do you suppose Maxwell would give you a tip?”

Loughlin shrugged. “He just seems like one of those people
who likes to interject himself in every situation. You know what I mean? We
were checking everybody out anyway and the information he gave us just turned
us to this guy Tunney one day sooner.”

Jake nodded. “Okay. Thanks for your help.”

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 26

T
HE air remained
stagnant all week. But the forecasters were promising a cold front would come
through on Friday night, bringing more tolerable weather for Saturday. And that
was great as far Cassie was concerned. She was not looking forward to spending
another day outside in ninety-five-plus degree weather.

This week she’d be covering the North Beach Bay Fest, a fun
local festival in Calvert County. There’d be sailing dinghy races, sand-castle
contests, live music, and great food. Best of all, Brett would be doing the
photography.

It was 6:00 p.m. when she pulled into her driveway at the
boathouse. The sun was still high on this hot August day, and the air was
still. She set her attaché case and blazer down on the lowest step leading to
her apartment, and walked out on the pier to where
Time Out
was tied up.
Cassie bent down and adjusted the boat’s fenders, then stepped on board.

The Alberg was small but neat. Every time Cassie boarded the
boat she was glad she’d bought her. It was the one part of her life that didn’t
feel half-empty, the only place she could be without thinking of Mike. He’d
never been into sailing. Now, that was a blessing.

Cassie walked forward, to the bow, then back to the cockpit
on the starboard side. She wondered if she could single-hand the boat. She
thought she could. Maybe she should just take her out, even if she had to go by
herself.

Opening up the companionway, Cassie went below decks. There,
still in its box, was the new stove she’d bought. Scrub could probably install
it for her, and he could certainly use the money. As a part-time laborer at
Wells Inlet, he could hardly be making enough to live on.

Cassie made a mental note to talk to him about it. She went
back on deck, closed and locked the companionway, and went up to her apartment.
Ignoring the light flashing on the answering machine, she poured herself some
iced tea and stared into the refrigerator for a while, before she finally
decided she didn’t really care about eating after all.

The phone rang. She didn’t mean to answer it. But she was
preoccupied and before she knew it, the receiver was in her hand, and then what
could she do? Her dad tried to talk to her, but she gave one-word answers to
his questions and alternated between reassuring him that she was all right and
speaking in clipped tones in hopes of discouraging further discussion.

And then her dad mentioned a conversation he’d had with Rick,
in which the young man had told him he believed that Scrub had set the marina
fire. He had, in fact, heard the dockhand complaining about the harbormaster
just prior to the fire’s outbreak.

“No, Dad,” Cassie interrupted. “Rick told me he was sure it
wasn’t arson.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying, he told me, he absolutely positively knew it had
to have been an accident.”

“Well that sure isn’t what he said to me.”

“Maybe he thinks Scrub started it accidentally.”

“He specifically mentioned arson,” her father responded.

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me himself! He said he’d seen Scrub with gas
cans, he’d overheard him bad-mouthing Mr. Hardesty and threatening to get even.
He had access to the boat … all of which pretty much convinced Rick that Scrub
did it.”

“Gas cans! Gas cans had nothing to do with the fire!”

“And I don’t think Scrub did either,” Jim said. “And I wish
people would stop going around accusing him.”

Cassie hung up the phone, feeling confused and agitated. Why
would Rick say one thing to her and another to her dad?

† † †

Jake was sitting at the kitchen table in Trudy’s kitchen. She
was making dinner and telling him about a conversation she’d had with her
brother about the marina fire.

“What’s Rick Maxwell like, do you know?” Jake asked. “He
seems kind of strange.”

“I don’t know him,” Trudy said. “My brother or Cassie would
be the ones to tell you about him.” She placed a plate heaped with steaming
spaghetti in front of Jake.

“Thank you,” he said, the pungent smell of the spaghetti
sauce filling his nose. “You are a great cook.” Trudy made her spaghetti sauce
with lots of garlic and Italian sausage, peppers and onions, and Jake could
hardly wait to dig in.

“I love having somebody to cook for,” she responded. Trudy
placed a basket of hot bread and a bowl of salad on the table, then sat down in
front of her own plate and said grace.

Jake began to eat. He was famished. “I don’t think I’ll be
getting any information about Richard Maxwell from Cassie.”

“Why not?” Trudy asked.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me. I can’t tell what’s
going on with her.”

Trudy took a piece of bread from the basket. “Cassie’s going
through a hard time. Losing Mike was one thing, losing her faith is another.”

“Is that permanent?”

“I don’t think so.” Trudy looked at him. “Cassie’s had a lot
of losses: her mother, now Mike. You, almost. She just needs to decide whether
she wants to add God to that list.”

Jake winced and shook his head. “I sure hope not.”

“I don’t think God will let her. Once He’s got you, nothing
can take you out of His hand,” Trudy said.

“How about if you jump?”

“No. He’s faster that that.”

Jake nodded. His eyes grew thoughtful. “You know, it’s one
thing to have something terrible happen to you when you don’t believe in God,
that’s hard enough. But when you do believe in Him, and you think He’s good,
and you trust Him, and then your husband dies, man, that has got to be rough.”

Trudy stopped what she was doing and turned toward Jake.
“Good insight.”

Jake mopped up the last of the spaghetti sauce with his
bread. “Hey, how’d you like to go pay Schneider’s mistress a visit?”

Trudy’s gray eyes brightened. “Jake, I never know what you’re
going to say next.”

“The way I look at it, if there’s a connection between
Schneider’s murder and the attack on me, I need to know everything I can about
Schneider.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“To talk to Desiree? Yeah, she had nothing to do with it.”

Trudy smiled. “Then, count me in.”

“Lucky me,” Jake said. “It would be a long walk to
Harrisburg, otherwise.”

• • •

Desiree DuBois was more than happy to talk to Jake, whom she
hadn’t seen since his wedding to Tam. He barely remembered her.

They sat in her apartment in soft, overstuffed chairs, and a
chintz sofa. A jar candle flickered on the coffee table and the fragrant scent
of gardenia filled the room. Jake politely engaged in small talk with Desiree
as he gradually worked his way around to the subject at hand. “What was he
like?” Jake asked. “What kind of person was Frederick?”

Desiree blushed. “Oh, a lot of women would call him nerdy. He
was very smart, a real intellectual. And he was kind and gentle, almost too
passive. We had the most interesting discussions, on the opera and musicals and
theater. His career was a bit of a mystery to me. I never understood what he
did and in fact, he never wanted to talk about it. But he was wonderful to me.”

“Anything strange happen when you were with him? Did you ever
see him act out of character?”

“Well, yes, that one time I heard him arguing with a man at
the marina. And you know, I’ve been thinking, there was one other time.”

“When was that?” Jake leaned forward.

“One night, about seven months ago, he told me he had to go
meet someone. And I wanted to go with him, but he said I couldn’t. He came back
six hours later and he was very angry. The person never showed up.”

“Do you have any idea who he was meeting?”

“No.”

“Or where, exactly?”

“Oh, he told me that. It was the Maryland House rest area
down Interstate 95.” Desiree brushed her hair back from her face. “It was so
odd. He was being so secretive, and the thought crossed my mind, is he seeing
another woman?” She blushed. “I guess that sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

Jake sat back and glanced at Trudy. “Can you possibly tell me
the date, and the time of day?”

“It was late, about ten or so, that he was to meet the
person, and … let me see, where’s my calendar?” She went into the kitchen,
pulled an old calendar out of a drawer, and walked back into the living room,
flipping the pages to November. “I think it may have been November 4th. Yes,
that’s right … I remember. It was a Thursday and I had a dental appointment the
next day, so I was already nervous.”

Jake felt his face grow hot. “November fourth.”

“That’s right. When he got back,” Desiree continued, “he was
so upset. He paced the floor for hours. The next day he left again and didn’t
get back until that night. He said he had business in Delaware.” Desiree shook
her head. “That was the only time I ever saw Frederick that upset.”

Once they were back in the car, Trudy voiced what they’d both
been thinking. “Mike killed that man on November fourth.”

“Seems like an odd coincidence,” Jake said, wiping his brow.
His stomach was tight. Could there be a connection between the man Mike killed
and Frederick Schneider? Right now, he couldn’t see it. They weren’t in the
same social group, Schneider didn’t do drugs … what was the connection?

“Jake, what does this mean?”

“I don’t know, Trudy. I really don’t know.”

They drove the rest of way back saying little, both lost in
their thoughts. Jake called Craig as soon as they arrived. He expected to just
leave voice mail but Craig was working.

“What are you doing, man?”

“Foster gave me two other hot cases so I wouldn’t work
yours.” Craig sounded fatigued. “So I’m just doing it at night. I’m talking to
every one of Tyson Farnsworth’s associates that I can identify. He was well-known
on the streets of Annapolis. Somebody’s got to know who he was connected with.
Where’d that money come from? That’s what I’d like to know. And I’m also
checking all the contacts in Schneider’s PDA. Some of them, it appears, are
encrypted.”

“Thanks, Craig. I really appreciate …”

“It’s nothing that you wouldn’t do for me,” he interrupted.
“You feeling okay?”

“Yes, and listen, let me tell you what I found out today.”
Jake relayed the information he’d gotten from Desiree. Craig couldn’t see the
connection between Tyson’s death and Schneider either, and maybe there wasn’t
any, but the common date was interesting.

“I’ve been trying to talk to the guy who owns the
Lady J
,”
Craig said.

“The boat that started the marina fire?”

“Right. He won’t talk to me and I don’t know why. He seems
like a straight-up guy … no criminal record, stable job, wife, two kids. Normal
in other words. But he’s real hinky. I left yet another message today. At some
point he’s going to realize I’m not going to go away.”

They talked about some other possible leads and later, after
he’d hung up the phone, Jake told Trudy, “Craig’s getting worn out. He said he
hasn’t seen his kids awake in three weeks. I sure hope we break this case
soon.”

“For everyone’s sake,” Trudy responded.

Late that night, Jake stood in the sunroom, staring into the
darkness outside the window, unable to sleep. Could there have been a
connection between Schneider and Farnsworth? Desiree said her lover wasn’t into
drugs, didn’t do anything illegal as far as she knew. Farnsworth was not a
friend.

Jake drummed his fingers against his leg, as he did when he
was hyper. He held up his right hand and looked at it. The feeling was starting
to come back. A millimeter a week, that’s what the neurologists had said.
That’s how fast nerves can heal.

Something else was bothering him. It was another memory, just
a fragment of one, actually. Strangely, it was an odor, a sort of sweet and
spicy smell that he couldn’t identify. But it kept intruding on his thoughts
and he wondered why. Was it connected to his assault? He just didn’t know.

Jake lay down on the couch and he finally fell into a
disturbed sleep about 4:00 a.m. He woke up around six, restless and anxious.
He’d had a dream about Cassie. He had to see her.

† † †

On Friday, Cassie worked at the office, ignoring her phone
messages and refusing to take calls. Jake called repeatedly, and so did her
dad, but she was not in the mood to talk to them. And although she felt guilty
about it, she even ignored a message from her aunt.

At the afternoon staff meeting, Shonika came and sat next to
her. Fortunately there was only time for brief chatter before the meeting
started. Cassie assumed what she hoped was an interested expression and focused
on Len, who was speaking to his staff about a big fall push, but all the while
other thoughts kept running through her head.
How could Rick even think
Scrub had anything to do with the marina fire? Come on! Scrub had nothing to
gain from it.

The summer heat buffeted her when she left the
air-conditioned building around 4:00 p.m. In his last message, it sounded like
Jake might try to come to the office and she wanted to do an end run around
that possibility. Why? She didn’t know. She just didn’t want to see him.

Cassie looked toward the west to see if clouds were building.
The weather forecasters were calling for a front to come through, and in Bay
country that usually meant squalls, sudden sharp storms with high winds and
heavy rains.

She kind of hoped they would come. Two days ago, Rick had
called. The wind instrument at the top of his mast was broken. He needed to
replace it, and he wondered if Cassie could come with the bo’sun’s chair and
help out Friday evening. Scrub would be there, and Maxwell said he was going to
ask her dad, too.

Cassie had agreed. That was, after all, the deal she’d made
when he’d given her the bo’sun’s chair. But the last conversation she’d had
with her dad had started a different tape playing in her head, a discordant one
that left her feeling uneasy about Rick Maxwell. If he really thought Scrub set
that fire, why did he want him near his boat, even if just to fix a wind
instrument?