Crown's Law (33 page)

***

At 2:30, they took turns using the small
shower to wash off the salty sweat of sexual exertion. Bo donned
her blue bikini and wandered aft and sat in a blue canvas deck
chair, taking in the sounds and smells of the harbor. She had no
idea where she would be tomorrow, but it would be somewhere
else—not here. That thought saddened her. A few moments later, Sam
joined her wearing a Hawaiian surfer bathing suit.

“Would you like something to drink? I make a
mean Bloody Mary,” asked Sam.

She looked up wistfully, smiled, and
answered, “Sure, why not? No! I’d rather have a tropical drink. Do
you have any rum? Something Mai-tai-ish? I want to pretend I’m a
jillion miles away—on a tropical island somewhere where there are
no Mondays.”

Sam looked at her, sensed her mood. His was
similar.

“Sure, pretty lady. Let’s see what I can come
up with.”

He wandered back into the galley and started
inventing. He wished she hadn’t mentioned Monday. He certainly
didn’t want this to end. He could take off all the time he needed
to, but he had all but forgotten that she was an FBI agent with a
job waiting for her tomorrow. Then a plane back to Washington
D.C.

Damn!
he
thought.
Maybe I can get her to stay and
investigate
Dynology
. A few
more days, at least.

He brought out two large Old Fashioned
glasses filled with a concoction he had made with rum, canned
pineapple juice, grenadine, and lots of ice. He handed one to
her.

“Best I could do on short notice. If you
don’t like it, we’ll dump it overboard and go ashore. Get you a
decent one.”

She sipped it and said, “Perfect! Going
ashore right now is not an option! It would ruin my fantasy! Here,
sit next to me. Hold my hand.”

Sam did as he was bade. They sat in silence
and sipped their rum concoctions. Bo lit a cigarette, stared into
space, a thin smile on her lips.

“I’m going to really hate you, you know,” she
finally said, nearly a whisper.

“I’m sorry. I thought I treated you well at
all times. You had the option to say ‘no’ at any time,” he said
quietly, a little stunned. He started to release her hand, but she
held on tightly.

She peered into his eyes and said, “You know
I was no match for you. You took advantage of me—a
thirty-something, sexually naive spinster. You radiated your charm.
You showed me what I’ve been missing all those years! A small taste
of heaven, all the time knowing I’d have to leave! You’ve shattered
my belief that I have lived an adequately satisfying life!
Ignorance is bliss, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t measure the total value of
your life by the number of orgasms you’ve had, for Chrissakes! You
should focus on the positive. Now you know what you deserve and how
to improve the sexual side of your life. Never settle for less.
Just think of us as two strangers meeting for a superb weekend, and
both of them better for it.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re used to this
sort of thing. I’m not. But that’s not the worst of it,” she said,
tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Sam stayed silent.

Let her get it
out
, he thought,
then I’ll
try and fix it
.

She continued, rubbing the tears away with
the back of her hand, “You let me take a sip—a very small sip—from
the cup of motherhood. Helping Becky get ready for her prom, seeing
her off. Seeing her come home. That could have been my daughter,
had she lived! She would have been Becky’s age. I can’t explain to
you how much being with Becky this weekend has meant to me!”

“I’m sorry, Bo. I never knew that you lost a
daughter. Tell me about it,” said Sam, squeezing her hand
gently.

She told him the whole sordid story after he
got her a box of tissues. When she finished her story, Bo lit
another cigarette while Sam freshened their drinks.

“I’m extremely sorry for your misfortunes,
Bo, but why blame me for the best weekend of your entire, miserable
life?” said Sam, a smile forming on his lips. He wanted her to see
how unreasonable she was being.

“Don’t you dare laugh! Yes, I do blame you!
If you hadn’t set out to get into my pants, hadn’t invited me to
your damned beach house . . .”

“OK, I get it. I’ll take the blame if it
makes you feel better. But remember this: You’re the only woman
I’ve ever dated—not that we’ve really actually had a date yet—that
Becky has even said a civil word to. She really likes you! When you
have to leave, give her your phone number and email address. Ask
her to stay in touch. She probably will.”

“I thought of that. I wouldn’t do that
without your permission, of course. Plus, it might be better just
to get on a plane and forget this weekend altogether! Things like
this only happen in movies!”

“That would be such a shame—and a waste. Good
memories should be cherished, mulled over, chewed on and digested.
It helps to offset the bad ones. I’ll certainly never forget you,
whatever you think of me. You’re always welcome here, you know,
even if it’s only to see Becky. I’m sure she would second
that.”

“Oh, Sam! Dammit! Kiss me and shut me
up!”

He did, a nice long one, his hand caressing
her breasts. When the kiss was ended, he said, “It’s been a long
time since breakfast, and I didn’t feed you dinner last night. How
about some lunch—a light one, since we have a dinner date with
Becky.”

“I suppose it’s time to go back to your
house, though I’ve enjoyed it here. Thanks for suggesting
this.”

“The more to hate me for.”

“Yes! Maybe we can go have some nachos
somewhere—on the way back. Something to sop up the rum,” she said.
“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you button up the boat.”

She wondered what Becky was going to tell her
that would help her investigation. She couldn’t even imagine what a
16-year-old could know that would help her.

Sunday, June 3, 2001

Capistrano Beach, CA

Becky came downstairs at 4:30 P.M. wearing a
navy blue bikini under a short, white coverup, flip-flops on her
feet. She found Bo and Sam on the deck playing backgammon, sipping
iced tea. The dulcet tones of Sinatra floated softly across the
deck and out to sea. She stopped at the sliding screen door and
watched them for a silent moment. She liked what she saw.

Hmm. I’ll have to work on this. Give Sam a
little nudge in the right direction!

She stepped out on the deck and joined
them.

They listened to Becky bubble on non-stop
about the prom for twenty minutes, enjoying every bit of her
enthusiasm. An impartial observer would have easily come to the
conclusion that Bo was a close friend or relative of Becky’s by the
interest she paid to her story. Becky said that she got to dance
with several of the boys, and the girls were, in general, nice to
her.

“. . . and at breakfast at Denny’s, some of
the kids even asked me what it was like to be in college. They’ll
be going next year. I don’t think they realized how far along I am,
and I didn’t tell them. Of course, I couldn’t answer their
questions about sororities—since I’ve never been in one.”

Finally, the time had come to give Bo
something that might relate to her investigation. Sam had talked
briefly to Becky Saturday morning—without Bo knowing—and told her
about this meeting. He had warned her to not speak of the bugs she
had planted. She was to confine her story to the mysterious
equations. She understood: No talking about illegal activities with
an FBI agent, even if she was a friend.

Sam freshened their iced teas, fixing one for
Becky while he was at the wet bar, then said, “Bo, now is the time
to give you what info we have concerning the Jackson/Winston thing.
It may, or may not, be useful to your investigation, but I think
it’s related somehow to Winston’s murder. I’m just not sure how.
Maybe you’ll figure it out.”

Bo straightened in her chair, all ears. “You
mean you really do have something? I assumed this meeting would
never take place. Just sorta never be mentioned.”

“I’m a man of my word. Let me set the stage.
I don’t know what you’re really investigating, and I will make no
assumptions. I’ll simply tell you what Becky and I think, then the
ball’s in your court.”

He paused and took a slurp of tea. Bo lit a
cigarette.

“As you know,” he continued,
“Jackson—or Winston—had a Mickey Malone business card on his
person. He had written a telephone number on the back of it. We
know he wrote it, because Sparky saw him do it. Even loaned him a
pen. You can verify that with Sparky if it’s not in your notes. I
traced that number to a private line in a company called
Dynology
,
Inc
. in Irvine.”

Bo’s eyes widened, but she kept silent,
exhaled smoke.

You’re good, Sam!
she thought.

He went on, “I couldn’t find out much about
that company—except the fact that they have an unusually high level
of security for a small, unheard of company. Before I could plan my
next move, an extraordinary opportunity fell into our lap.”

He didn’t dare mention his meeting with
Danny. He had to stay focused on the equations for now.

Bo leaned back in her chair, shifted a bit to
get more comfortable. Sam watched her T-shirt stretch across her
chest—was momentarily distracted.

Bo smiled as she caught him looking, then
said, “Should I be taking notes?”

“That’s up to you.” Sam pointed to a manila
folder that Becky had brought with her and laid on the table
earlier. “Becky typed everything up for you, but you might want to
be more formal—for the record. Do you have a pad of paper in there,
Beck?”

“Yes, sir. Here, Bo. And a pen,” replied
Becky.

“You and Becky are quite a dynamic duo,
aren’t you?” chuckled Bo.

“Yes, in more ways than you know. In fact, I
should lay a little background info on you—to prepare you for
what’s to come. Becky spends a lot of time with me while I’m
working. As you’ve noticed, my parents vacation a lot—well
deserved, I might add. When Becky was younger, they took her with
them most of the time, which was nice for Becky—she got to see a
lot of the world first hand. An education in itself. But in the
last year, her school studies have intensified, making it harder
for her to leave the area for long periods of time. Hence, I was
the designated babysitter.”

Becky frowned. She hated that word. She spoke
up.

“I prefer the phrase ‘adult companion.’ I
certainly have never needed a babysitter!”

“Shush, child,” laughed Sam. “This is not the
time for you to challenge everything I say. Bo, the Becky you’ve
seen for the last couple of days was the Teenaged-Prom-Queen-Becky.
That’s a Becky we like to encourage and nourish, because times like
this weekend are far too few for her. The other Becky will speak to
you in a moment, and to make sure that you take what she has to say
very seriously, let me briefly go over her credentials.”

Bo interrupted, “You told me she was very
brilliant, and is going to UCI.”

“Yes, but I didn’t give you any specifics.
She has bachelor’s and master’s degrees in both physics and math,
and a week from this coming Saturday, she will receive her
doctorates in both. She holds down a job as a Teaching Assistant at
UCI in both disciplines. They’ve offered her a job as some sort of
professor next semester.”

“My God, Becky! I didn’t realize how far
along you really were! I’m so proud of you!” exclaimed Bo. “You’re
so accomplished!”

Becky blushed and said, “Thanks, Bo.
That means a lot to me. You can skip back to
Dynology
, Sam. I think Bo’s heard enough about
me.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Beck, but Bo
will understand that I had to establish a foundation for what
you’re going to tell her. ‘Lawyer speak,’ so to speak. As if you
were an expert witness at a trial. Why don’t you finish the story,
Beck.”

“OK. Well, Sam had discussed this
murder with me, and the cops were messing around at
Sparky’s
, screwing around with the
Mickey legend, and stuff. He also mentioned the
Dynology
phone number on the Mickey Malone card.
I happened to see a posting on the UCI bulletin board announcing
that
Dynology
was looking for
entry-level mathematicians. You had to fill out an application,
then go there and take a test. So I thought that would be a good
way to get inside the place—so I could tell Sam what it was all
about in there. You know, what with the security and
all.”

Bo lit another cigarette. She was
chain-smoking—unusual for her. She said, “That was your idea?”

“Well, yeah. I get good ideas for Sam’s cases
all the time. Besides, I was qualified to take the test and I had
the required bachelor’s degree in math,” answered Becky.

“I don’t think I’d let my daughter do that,
Sam,” Bo said, glaring at Sam.

Becky came to his rescue. “Oh, he told me no!
But I can be very persuasive!”

“I’ll bet you can!” smiled Bo. “Go on. What
happened?”

“Well, to skip to the chase, I took the test.
I flunked it on purpose—it was quite an easy test for me—so I
wouldn’t get a call back. But now here’s the interesting part.”

She paused and opened the folder and took out
a page. She handed it to Bo. Becky had carefully written all the
equations from Problem 10 in black ink in her clear, feminine
script.

Bo took the page, looked at it, frowned.
“What’s this?”

“One of the problems on the test I took. My
guess is that it got on the test by error. Whoever put the test
together downloaded this from the wrong file without realizing it.
What those equations represent is the partial—I say partial because
some of the information is missing—design of a water-propelled
submarine engine. A very quiet one,” explained Becky.