A False Dawn

THIRTY-EIGHT

When I got back to Jupiter, I could hear my cell phone ringing as I stepped in the cockpit. I entered the salon, walked down to the galley, and saw it was Leslie’s number.

“Hold a second,” I said into the phone. I carried if fifty feet down the dock before I spoke. “I’m here, Leslie.”

“There is a definite match with the victim’s shoe. We photographed everything. It’s the same size, color, style, fabric, and brand.”

“What’s the word on the toothpick?”

“That will take a few more hours. I’ve got a rush on it.”

“Run a DNA test on Richard Brennen. Maybe his DNA will match the hair found on the duct tape.”

She was silent for a moment. “That’s going to make the six ‘o clock news if the media get wind. I may have to go around Slater for that one. I’ll see if I can get Dan Grant working the legal end and logistics with some excuse so he doesn’t tip off Slater. We’ll catch Brennen with a court order for the DNA, otherwise, only time we’ll see him open his mouth is at one of his fund-raisers. I’m lovin’ it. Have you found Nick?”

“Not yet. He hasn’t returned to his boat.”

“I’ll do a search. Maybe we picked him up for something.”

“Can’t imagine that.”

There was a long silence. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

“You never know. My plans have been rather interrupted lately. I want to do two things: find Nick and keep out of the county jail.”

“I’ll do what I can to help on both counts. Somewhere in there you have to eat. I make a pretty good steak. I probably can’t compete with Nick’s cooking talents when it comes to fish, but Dad did teach met me how to grill a good steak.”

“What time?”

“Around sevenish?”

“Okay,” I heard myself say.

“I’ll call you later today with directions, bye.”

After she hung up, I looked at my cell phone for a few seconds. I don’t know why, but for some reason the phone seemed like an alien device in my hand. Beam me up, Scottie, I have no idea where the hell I am on this planet at the moment. I did know what I was going to say to whatever alien life forms were listening in through the bug. I went back aboard Jupiter, lifted the bug off the table, picked up one of my deep-sea rods, walked to the bow, and stepped out on the long bowsprit.

A breeze came across the lagoon and tidal flats, bringing with it the smell of oyster bars and fish. I looked at the brackish water below me. The tide was incoming, traveling with the wind. A pelican sailed effortlessly by, cocking its head toward me. The bird seemed to know that I wasn’t using shrimp or minnows for bait. It flapped its wings and flew over the mangroves.

I held the bug close to my mouth and whispered. “Listen closely, assholes. You’re out of control and I’m going to stop you. If you have Nick, let him go. You touch him and I’ll come for you. I’ll track you down. Then I’ll hook you and reel you in. Remember this sound. It’s what you’ll hear in your head when I find you.”

I took the large steel hook and pushed it in the center of the bug, cracking and breaking through the shiny metal like opening a tin can. I cast the line as hard as I could. The bug, with the hook and line attached to it, formed a high arch before plunging into the bay. It made a splash like a baseball hitting the water. I watched the ripples until they panned out, lost definition, and joined the rising tide coming toward me.