“I’ve gotta tell you something, Franklin. I’m impressed with what you’ve discovered in so little time.”
“You’re a good cop, Jake, and I know you think I’m an asshole. I don’t have your touch with people, it’s true. But I had a masters in criminology before I even entered Quantico. And you can’t imagine the training we go through there. Hell, we spend days learning to fold paper just right so we don’t lose a microfiber while transferring evidence. I’ve worked hard.” He was quiet a minute, then said ruefully, “I don’t mean to be a dickhead.”
“You’re not a dickhead,” Jake told him, and wondered if he’d ever thought of Franklin with exactly that word.
“Yeah, well, when it comes to details, I’ve got it covered. The instinct thing…well, that’s your ballpark. So if you get any of those instincts going, let me know. I can work the evidence end of them.”
“Sure. Though right now, I don’t have squat,” Jake told him. He was lying though. He knew he was missing something. Something in front of him. Smoke and mirrors.
“Anything else?” Jake asked, breaking his own train of thought.
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure you knew—Peter Bordon comes up for parole and may be out by the first of next week.”
“I knew it was coming up. Thanks.”
They hung up. Jake continued with his interviews. While the young assistant gathered details on the property lists, Jake called forensics and asked an old friend, Skip Conrad, for a favor.
“Hell, Jake, I can’t get out there until tonight. And your place will be a mess when I’m through. You know that. You certain you want me to do it?”
“Yes. I don’t care if the place comes out pitch-black. I’ll owe you. And do me another favor—don’t say anything to anyone else. Oh, and if I’m not there, Nick Montague, at the bar, has a key.”
Skip was quiet for a minute. “You sure Nick hasn’t been in your place?”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“What about Brian Lassiter?”
“No, I can’t guarantee he hasn’t been in there, either.”
A moment later, he thanked Skip and hung up. Hell, Skip was bound to find Brian’s prints. The guy had been on his boat, drunk as a skunk, touching everything in sight. Finding Brian’s prints wouldn’t mean a damned thing. He rubbed his temples wearily.
His phone rang again. It was Marty. “I’m at the last known residence of Cassie Sewell. The place is rented to a family, but they don’t mind us looking around.”
“I’m on my way.”
Jake gathered the lists and left. In his car, he glanced at the addresses.
They all bordered the Glades.
And they were all too damn close to the place where, nearly five years ago, Nancy Lassiter had gone into a canal and died with whatever secrets she might have discovered.
There were long moments in which Ashley questioned her own sanity as she drove. She didn’t know the man sitting next to her, and she didn’t even really know where she was going—or why. David was definitely a normal enough looking man, a handsome one even, with shrewd eyes and a quick smile. He was in jeans and a knit shirt that day, again, very normal. His hair was worn a little long, but people wore their hair all different lengths these days. As she drove, she noted that for a journalist, he was in great physical shape. He must spend time in the gym to maintain the breadth of his shoulders and chest, tapering to trim hips and long legs.
“I think the turnpike is best,” he said as they started out.
“Probably,” she agreed. “Where exactly did you find this address? And how come it took you so long to find?”
“Stu left some magazines at my place. They all had articles about the Everglades. When I was flipping through, trying to see what he was actually after, I found a piece of paper. He’d written a few names on it, names I’d already given the police,” he said ruefully. “But when I flipped it over, I saw he had written down an address, as well. Took me some time to see it. He’d written in pencil, and it had smudged.”
“So are you sure we’re even going to the right place?”
“Of course,” he said. “I think.” He turned in the seat. “Hey, do you think you ought to try talking to Nathan Fresia again? When those cops show up to play bodyguard, he’s going to wonder why.”
“All right. I’ll try to get him. Hand me my phone, would you?”
Nathan sounded somewhat better, but wary, when he came on the line. She talked quickly, explaining that since they were all worried about Stuart, and since she was certain she hadn’t pulled any plugs, she’d thought that having a few off-duty officers guarding Stuart wouldn’t be a bad thing. Nathan told her that the first cop had already arrived, and that he’d assumed Carnegie had set it up. After a moment he thanked Ashley and told her that she was welcome at the hospital, but to please come alone, because he wasn’t sure if they would be letting anyone else in with Stuart for a few days.
She rang off and looked at David. “The first cop is already there.”