Mind Switch (16 page)

Maureen listened but her mind was focused on the bank murders. “Something is bothering me,” she said. “I forgot to ask you about it when you were describing Slivers’ reactions. At the time you interrogated Slivers, and he denied that he was the murderer, can you recall—did he nod his head up and down or sideways?”

“As I recall it moved sideways; but what does that have to do with anything?”

“One more question, Fred. When he told you his interpretation of what happened in the bank, did he look directly at you or did he look down and to his left or right?”

“I believe he looked to his right. Now please tell me what all that means!”

“Generally, you should trust body messages more than verbal. If he said he was not guilty, but at the same time moved his head up and down, he most likely would have been lying because people generally can easily lie verbally, but they can’t fake body communication. In this case his verbal communication was compatible with his body message. If he had looked down to his left it would have been likely that he was going over a rehearsed story, looking down to the right reveals emotion and truth. Based on what you said, and this is a very superficial analysis, it appears to me that he truly believes he is not guilty.”

Beyond that, Maureen could only offer sympathy since she was unarmed with any more clues than he. But for now, Fred at least had a good listener who was not critical of his every action. Just voicing his frustrations was highly cathartic and her insight into body language was informative.

* * *

At midnight, after his third beer and her second glass of wine, they went to bed and made love, passionately and deeply, as if each was seeking solace in the other. It was past two in the morning when Fred finally went to sleep; and for the first time in a week his sleep was not burdened with fears and doubts.

Chapter 31

Fred was awakened by the shrill sound of the phone on his nightstand. It was Jim. In a rare emotional tone Jim said, “What the hell happened, you’re already an hour late for work, are you all right?”

Fred struggled to bring into focus the digital numbers on the bedside clock. When the numbers finally became clear, he realized that he had in fact overslept for the first time in his police career.

“Sorry Jim, it was a long night,” he responded without attempting to provide additional details.

“Well, Fred, a lot has happened this morning so you better get down here, the chief is champing at the bit.”

Fred took a fast shower and dressed rapidly. Maureen was still asleep. He thought perhaps he should also try earplugs like hers. He left her a note on the nightstand—“Have to go—great, great night—see you later. Love, Fred!” In less than thirty minutes after receiving Jim’s phone call, he was in his Miata on his way to the station.

When Fred walked into his chief’s office he was greeted with the sardonic response he had expected, “Well, Fred, are you still employed here? When I looked in your office two hours ago, I thought you might have resigned!”

Fred started to respond that this was the first time he had been late in all his years on the force, but thought better of it. Instead he said, “Sorry Chief, it won’t happen again.”

The chief, having gained his pound of flesh, decided to move on to the events of the day. “While you were off, it turns out that an assault rifle was found by two fishermen in Sarasota Bay. They called in from Tim’s Restaurant to report their finding. I told them to stay where they were. That was over an hour ago. Now you get out there right now!”

Fred left the station immediately, not wanting to listen to any more expletives and wrath from his chief. In ten minutes he reached the parking lot of Tim’s.

As he exited his car he saw two middle age men, looking very frustrated, sitting on the front restaurant steps. A large bait can, and two fiberglass fishing poles rested on the nearby lawn. Fred walked up to the men, verified that they were the fishermen that placed the call, displayed his badge and asked where the weapon was.

The smaller of the two men replied, “We left it in our boat, we’ll take you to it.” The other fisherman asked, “This won’t take much longer, will it?”

Fred said, “Only as long as it must. I need to view the exact spot where you two found the weapon.” He walked with the men about a hundred yards until they reached a small marina where at least twenty boats of various makes, sizes and shapes were docked.

The men showed him their rig, a boat about twenty feet long badly in need of paint with two outboard motors. The craft was large enough to enter the Gulf of Mexico; but Fred hoped that would not be the case since the wave action in the ocean was still quite violent from the remnants of the last storm. Fred had lived within a couple miles of the ocean for over a decade; but in all that time he had tried not to get closer to the water than the beautiful, alabaster Siesta Key Beach. He was both prone to sea sickness and had an unsettling fear of deep water. That fear stemmed from a near drowning incident when he was ten years old.

The ship’s cabin contained a blanket concealing a large narrow cardboard box, which in turn contained an assault weapon that was just starting to show early signs of rust. Fred asked the men to take him to the exact location where the weapon was found. The boat’s engines started immediately. In a few minutes they were following the inter-coastal waterway, staying well within parameters of the green and red lights which signaled the edges of its navigational area. Within the channel the depth was as deep as eighteen feet which provided adequate draft to allow large sea-going crafts to negotiate the waterway without problems. Outside the channel, the depth rapidly dwindled to as little as a foot, causing even the smallest boats in the bay to be grounded in the soft bottom sand. The boat churned through the bay’s waters, sending a light vaporous mist into Fred’s face which he found strangely refreshing. He was happy that they didn’t have to stray from the bay area; their destination was a few hundred feet off Midnight Pass, a former access area to the Gulf of Mexico which had been closed by a past hurricane.

Fred observed the area where the weapon was found. There seemed to be nothing significant about the spot. However, the fact that the weapon had been dropped overboard in the bay area indicated to him that the boat that had been used to dispose of the weapon was most likely too small to safely venture into the Gulf of Mexico. The gulf was less than a few hundred yards from the bay; and it would certainly have been preferable to drop it into deep waters to insure it was lost for eternity.

When the boat returned to its docking site, Fred took down the names of the boaters, advised them he might need to contact them in the future for more information, and for the first time took a good look at the weapon’s container. Based on its weathered condition, he noted that it had been immersed in the water for an extended period and had been subjected to the erosive effects of moving water. The former letters on the outside of the box had been almost totally erased. Two large letters were still partly legible, a “Y” and what seemed to be part of an “O”.

Fred returned to the station and asked Sgt. Brown to check for any prints on the weapon and determine if he could find any additional writing on the cardboard container which was not visible to the human eye but might be legible under intense magnification. He also directed that the weapon be fired to extract its signature on the bullet and compare it to those of the bullets recovered from the movie theater. As he walked past the chief’s office, he noticed his boss was totally engrossed in a discussion with subordinates. Fred knew he should brief the chief as to the results of his recovery of a weapon, but he understood such a meeting would only bring more consternation. Instead he left for home with directions left for Brown to phone him when the results of the examinations were complete.

* * *

The next morning Sgt. Brown determined that the weapon recovered by the fishermen was in fact the murder weapon used in the theater. The signatures etched on the casings found at the murder scene matched those of the firing chamber perfectly. As Fred expected, the weapon had been wiped clean of fingerprints. Brown had not been successful in finding any additional markings on the container. He did affirm that the first two letters of the LOGO were “YO” but nothing beyond that was legible. Fred directed Sgt. Brown to look through the Sarasota Yellow Pages and commercial directories to identify any company whose name started with the letters “YO”.

Fred reasoned that the killer either had a boat of his own which he had used to dispose of the weapon in the bay, or he had rented a boat for that specific purpose. During this heavy boating season the murderer most likely could not rent a larger vessel which would have permitted him to go into the deep waters of the bay. Acting on a long shot, he directed his subordinates to get the names of all boat renters from the day of the theater murders until yesterday. Earlier he had acquired from Schultz’s secretary, photographs of all the workers in AU, on the remote chance that someone in that organization had something to do with the murders. Initially she had refused but quickly relented once Fred indicated that he would have a court order within 24 hours directing her to do what he asked.
 

Sgt. Brown and Sgt. Penrod identified all boat rental businesses from Bradenton to Venice. There were a total of 13. For their protection, all the boat owners required a full identification of all boat renters in case of the remote possibility the renters decided to retain the boats as their own.

While his staff was performing their gumshoe work, Fred checked out the condition of Schultz. When he called the hospital he learned that Schultz had been released. He called Schultz’s office and was told that Schultz was recovering at home. When he called Schultz’s home, Schultz himself answered on the fourth ring.

Fred conveyed to Schultz his sympathy for his injury, immediately adding that he wanted to visit him to continue with his questions. Schultz paused and then, displaying none of the bravado that he had two days before in his office, meekly agreed. Fred said, “Then let’s make it now.” Schultz hesitantly agreed.

* * *

The Schultz home was situated on the grounds of a multi-million dollar enclave, which was bordered on one side by Route 41 and by the inter-coastal waterway on the other. The grounds were protected by a twelve foot stucco wall and a formidable white metal gate. On close examination Fred noticed that the iron work resembled two dolphins jumping out of water. On the residential side of the gate stood a rent-a-cop who seemed to take his limited authority very seriously. The guard examined Fred’s badge closely, and seemingly satisfied, opened the gate and pointed to Schultz’s massive residence.

Two minutes later Fred pulled into a large circular driveway crafted of poured, gray cement which had been artistically structured to look like individual stones. In the center of a colonial bent grass area stood a large water fountain. Water was gracefully exiting from the mouths of five, greater than life size, dolphins and cascading down into a large copper basin. Schultz really likes dolphins, Fred thought. He exited his Miata and rang the front doorbell.

Immediately a Hispanic woman wearing a black dress and a white apron opened the door. When he gave his name, she nodded and showed him to a large great room covered in gray stone façade walls. The great room opened up to a large pool area beyond which was a green expanse providing a welcome visual entry to the inter-coastal waterway. As Fred peered out the window towards the bay, he realized the Schultz home was not far from where the fisherman had found the murder weapon.

Schultz was sitting on a lounge chair facing the gulf. When he turned to greet him, Fred was shocked. Schultz’s entire face was covered with bandages with the exception of a single eye and mouth opening.

What had been false sympathy on Fred’s part, one hour earlier on the phone, had turned to real concern when he looked at the tragic sight before him. Fred asked with true warmth, “How are you doing?”

Schultz said, “Not too good, the pain is under control but they don’t know whether or not they can save my eye.” Then Schultz asked in a quivering voice, “What do you think caused the light to fall and shatter?”

Fred said, “I really don’t know, but the most reasonable explanation is that the vibrations from years of traffic caused it to loosen over time, what else could it have been?”

Schultz didn’t answer, but what little emotion exited from his bandaged face indicated that he didn’t buy the conventional rationale.

Fred said, “I know you are in some discomfort so I will make this brief. First, my information source indicated you were a salesman before you landed your current job. Let’s go straight to the truth; you weren’t really a salesman, were you?”

“No,” Schultz said with barely a pause, “I worked for the CIA, the salesman handle was simply a cover—but how did you know?”

“Actually I didn’t,” Fred acknowledged, “But I felt it was too much of a radical transition from being a salesman to the rapid ascent to the C.E.O. of a large corporation involved in some type of national intelligence work. Besides, your bio was so shallow, it had to point to some type of cover up. Second question, what does your firm actually do, and please add a few more details than you were willing to provide me with during our last meeting?”

“Without revealing anything confidential, we work for the black world of the government. You know, the black world is that which is identified as the secret component of national security.”