Rogue Justice (39 page)

The sleek Embraer Phenom 100 dipped out of an azure sky and touched down softly on the tarmac at Jefferson County International Airport south of town. The Very Light Jet, or VLJ, carried six passengers, including a two-person crew, and was designed for takeoffs and landings at small, general aviation airports like this one. It consisted of little more than a single asphalt runway, a makeshift Customs building, the usual assortment of single-engine Cessnas, and a collection of sheet-metal hangars. The "international" scope of the operation was confined mostly to vacationers from north of the border who flew their own planes.

Chandler Global Enterprises owned a fleet of larger, faster jets but the company's CEO had no problem with this little beauty. And Mitchell Chandler was on board now. His driver, Rizzo, was a former Air Force ace. He sat in the co-pilot's chair. Chandler's security detail rounded out the passenger list, three buff, unsmiling men in their thirties with military buzz cuts. They were dressed completely in black, and had spoken only when spoken to during the short flight from the company's airfield in Olympia.

Two hours earlier, Chandler had been surveying the frenzied scene at KOS-Seattle when his office informed him that the Jefferson County DA had called. The reason, he'd been told, was that Rosekrans allegedly had new information pertaining to the Kincaid murder investigation. Chandler had promptly returned the call, only to learn that one of his employees may be withholding information on the case. He pressed for details, but got nowhere.

After considering his options, Chandler decided to call the DA's bluff, thinking a show of concern and cooperation—contrived or not—could be worth their weight. He'd then run through the possible suspects in his mind. Leanne Bucaro? She seemed like an unlikely candidate, considering her daughter's health issues. Colby Freeman? Also unlikely. Big Boy Medlin? Not a chance. Chandler had hired him when no one else would, then stuck by him through a blizzard of personal and professional storms. Loyalty mattered for something, right?

Predictably, Chandler's lawyers had rejected the plan as foolish and risky. But the boss was the boss and that was that. Besides, he'd reasoned, there wasn't a shred of evidence connecting him to any crime. Sure, the tragic accident that had taken Dr. Kincaid's life was regrettable. So too was Preston Tradd's horrific fate. And then there was the captain's mother—her death had to be the most puzzling of all. What in God's name had compelled an old woman to go wandering off alone on a bitter cold night anyway? He was not responsible for her bizarre behavior, or for the other unfortunate incidents either... and no court in the land would find otherwise.

Chandler pushed those thoughts into the recesses of his mind as the jet taxied to a stop next to the terminal building. It was a one-room frame structure badly in need of a paint job. In short order, everyone except the pilot had deplaned. Idling just steps away were two vehicles that had rolled in moments earlier from a rental agency across the bay. Rizzo took the wheel of a silver Mercedes. Chandler slipped in behind him. The muscle, hauling a cache of automatic weapons in three oversized duffel bags, piled into a black Chevy Tahoe. Their orders: form a perimeter some distance from the Courthouse to avoid an unwanted show of force.

If needed, of course, they could be on the scene in a matter of seconds.

And not one of them would hesitate to kill to protect the boss.

* * *

Four miles northwest of the airport, Zora maneuvered the
Northern Star
into the Port Townsend Boat Haven. The eight hour trip from Seattle had been slow and draining, the currents running against the big seiner most of the way. Minutes after the vessel docked, Lapenda, Cassidy, and McCabe piled into a cab and headed for the local hospital. McCabe's shattered wrist was badly in need of attention. Houdini remained behind, on the boat, making minor repairs to his kayak. Zora had asked him to focus on a very different mission, one that included a wild card over which neither of them had any control.

She thought about that now as she walked toward the moorage office to pay the slip rental fee. The shocking news of her mother's death had left her stone-cold numb, and every step seemed like a grind. Moving slowly along the dock, she flashed on the dark premonition that had crept into her head following her terrifying encounter with the man-eating sharks.

It doesn't get any darker than this—and bad things really do come in threes.

Despite feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, Zora knew she had to rally. She had to shake off these intense feelings of despair and make things happen. It's what she did, what she'd always done. It took every ounce of courage she could muster, but by the time she reached the office a hidden reserve of adrenaline had kicked in. She suddenly felt more wired than tired.

After paying the bill, Zora played back in her head a second phone conversation she'd had with Detective Steiger shortly before docking the boat. He had called to invite her to a meeting taking place at the Courthouse just moments from now, a meeting between the DA and Mitchell Chandler. Steiger said she could listen in on the entire exchange from a conference room down the hall. Zora had reluctantly agreed, knowing in her gut the scheme was doomed. Chandler might be a greedy bastard, but the man could never be played like that.

She'd then reached out to Mickey Kincaid, updating him on everything that had happened over the past twelve hours. It had taken him several minutes to digest it all, especially the tragic news involving her mother. But when Zora asked for his help, there'd been no hesitation whatsoever. She'd then provided sketchy details of the half-baked plan she and Houdini had hatched, a plan that was still very much a work in progress.

Mickey agreed to pick her up at the marina. He was waiting in the parking lot now.

Sliding into the cab of Mickey's truck, Zora felt like melting into his arms, falling asleep, and waking up on the other side of never. Maybe she would dream that perfect dream, the one where she was floating on a silvery cloud, surrounded by a million dazzling stars. Maybe then she would forget the insanity of the last seven days. Seven days that seemed like seven months." Thanks for coming, Mickey," Zora said, forcing a smile. "It means a lot."

Mickey smiled back, reached over and gently squeezed her hand. He then pulled out of the gravel parking lot, turned right on Sims Way, and drove toward town.

"Your mother," Mickey said, struggling to find the right words. "I can't believe it. I'm really sorry."

Zora looked off, sighing. In the paralyzing minutes after taking the call from the nursing home, she'd asked herself a thousand times what she could have done differently. She thought back to her meeting with Detective Steiger in Seattle. Following lunch, he had proposed two different scenarios for rescuing her mother, both involving force. Too risky, she'd decided, thinking that if she captured and delivered the orca as planned, maybe all this would go away. Now, it all seemed so stupid and naïve. Worse, she could not shake the image of her beloved mother sitting in that gazebo: alone... confused... and freezing to death.

"Hey. You okay?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Listen, if you'd rather not talk about it..."

"No, it's just that nobody seems to know what happened exactly." Zora explained about the strange man her mother said she'd seen in her room. "He must've snuck in, taken Mom's picture, and e-mailed it to that cockroach, Tradd. I hope the little twit burns in hell."

"No shit!" Mickey said. "Listen, for what it's worth, I'd put my money on a Mother's instinct. She must have figured out you were in danger somehow and went looking for the cops."

Zora nodded, a pained expression on her face. "Yeah, that would be just like her."

Mickey reached over and squeezed her hand again, holding it a few seconds longer this time.

After a long silence, Zora said, "So what about you, Mickey? How did it go?"

Mickey took several moments to collect his thoughts. He then spoke about an awkward moment he'd shared with his sister a few months earlier. He said Katrina had expressed a desire to be cremated if anything bad ever happened to her. "You know, I joked about it at the time," he added. "Never thought I'd actually have to deal with it, though. She was so young... so alive."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Mickey."

"Thanks. I can't imagine her not being around anymore. Kat was my best friend and one of the smartest people I've ever known. But hey, not all is lost. At least her spirit will be close by. I'm going to scatter her ashes over Discovery Bay. It was her favorite place in all the world."

"Any idea when?" Zora asked. "I want to be there, that is if things don't go all to hell over the next hour or so."

"They won't," Mickey said, with a confident tone Zora found comforting. "And I would like that, for you to come I mean. I'm thinking in maybe a week or so. Honestly, I had no idea Kat had so many friends. I'm getting calls from all over the place, people asking about a memorial service, or if a fund's been set up in her name. Honestly, it's—"

"Yeah, it's way too much right now." Zora closed her eyes, wanting to reach out to him, decided it wasn't the right time or place. "No reason to rush anything, Mickey."

Mickey nodded his agreement, and turned his attention back to the road. They were almost there. He made a soft left on Washington Street, then drove up the steep hill toward the Courthouse. "So what's with this meeting, Zora? These guys don't really think Chandler will sing, do they?"

"Nah, in fact Steiger called it 'a high-wire act without the net.' I'd say that about nails it too. But they saved me the trouble of tracking down Chandler's sorry ass, so I went along."

"And if the DA strikes out, we go with Plan B, right?"

"Uh-huh," Zora replied in a whispered tone.

"Okay then. I'll drop you off at the Courthouse and stay out of sight."

"Yeah, I'll holler if I need you."

Mickey put a hand on Zora's shoulder. "Listen, you sure you're okay with this?"

"Well, when everything is stolen from you, Mickey, there's nothing left to lose. So yeah, I'm more than okay with it. C'mon, let's nail this bastard."

Chapter 42

4 April, 1:15 PM PDT

Port Townsend, Washington

Zora was ushered into a conference room on the third floor of the Courthouse, a stark, sparsely furnished space two doors down from the DA's office. The walls were beige, the floors worn, and the only window looked out on a half-empty parking lot. The air was stale and smelled musty. Rosekrans and Steiger were seated at a marred-up oak table long past its prime. Frowning and grim-faced, they offered condolences for her loss, then got right down to business.

Rosekrans explained what Zora already knew, that the plan wasn't much of a plan at all. But it was worth a shot, he said, mostly because murder cases were often cleared by what amounted to pure chance. He would meet with Chandler, set the trap, and see if he took the bait.

Steiger then jumped in, making it clear there would be no Perry Mason moment. That kind of drama, he added, only happened on TV, or in the movies. Instead, their best hope was to mine some nugget of information from Chandler, or force a mistake, anything that might eventually connect the man to the crime.

Rosekrans studied both faces silently, and pushed a button on the phone sitting in front of him. "You'll be able to hear the entire conversation." He gathered together a few files, stood up, and walked confidently out of the room.

Zora watched after him, mentally preparing to set Plan B into motion. It too was a shot in the dark. She knew that. She also knew that every so often even the wildest ideas worked. She recalled a book she'd read as a child, when she was five or six. It was about a humble rabbit that used her razor-sharp teeth, lightning speed, and lucky charm to outwit a plundering fox.

Hell,
maybe we'll get lucky, too.

Steiger seemed to sense Zora's unease. "You think this is a monumental waste of time."

Zora glanced into her bag, made sure her cell phone was within easy reach. "What I
think,
detective, is that guys like Mitchell Chandler don't make stupid mistakes. And even if he does fall into your little trap, he'll never see the inside of a prison cell. The rich and obnoxious never do, right?"