Blood of Cain

44

On the way back to the Ponce Marina, I called Dave and asked him to take the Zodiac and meet me at a remote dock away from the Tiki Bar parking lot and the main entrance to the private docks. I parked my Jeep behind a boatyard storage building, away from the central public areas. I walked about one hundred feet to the dock used for hauling boats out of the water. Deep in thought, I waited for Dave to motor up to the dock. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number. I answered.

The woman said, “Sean?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Andrea.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask you how you’re doing. I can only imagine.”

“It’s been very difficult. I shouldn’t be calling you, but I had to.”

I said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

She exhaled a pent-up breath into the phone. “I overheard Lloyd and two of his top advisors talking. I was in the next room on the campaign bus and heard them say things that frightened me.”

“What kind of things?”

“It’s about this girl … Courtney. Do you really think she’s our daughter?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Regardless, whoever she is, she’s someone’s daughter. I heard Robert Cairo, the man who will be chief of staff if Lloyd wins the election, say, and I’m quoting here, ‘there’s no way in hell that the girl can ever be tied to us. She must be found and removed.’ Sean, he said it like he was talking about pulling weeds in a garden. And the worst part is that Lloyd said if that’s the way it has to be, then for the good of the nation as a whole, we have to take certain uncomfortable risks. I had to call you. Do you know where to find her?”

“Maybe.”

“Please try. I truly believe she’ll be safe only if she’s in kept the public eye, visible but protected by law enforcement or the courts.”

“I’ll do my best to find her.”

“Thank you. God, I’m so very sorry this has happened. I have to go, Sean, someone’s coming down the hall.”

I looked across the marina, through the sea of bobbing boats. To the far right in the distance were satellite news trucks, microwave antennas rising up from other trucks, TV lights blazing. I could see reporters conducting interviews with boat owners, barflies, anyone who might shed a better theory on what he or she did or didn’t know about me or even Courtney Burke. I hoped the media were leaving Kim Davis alone. I called her.

“Sean, where are you?”

“Close, but not that close.”

“Stay wherever you are. I’ve never seen anything like this. The marina hired off-duty deputies to enforce the private property rules. Still, Dave Collins told me he ran off two of them who were taking video of your boat. Dave’s been keeping an eye on Nick and Max. Wherever you are, Sean, let me help you if I can. I can take Max to my house. I can bring you guys groceries, whatever you need, okay?”

“Thank you. I might go back to my place on the river for a while.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I can deliver there, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I appreciate it.”

“Before you go, all these reporters and airheads on the cable news stations are talking about is Courtney Burke and whether she’s a natural born killer, and what will happen to the presidential election if she is. They’re speculating how, if she’s Andrea Logan’s daughter, how Andrea — a mother — must feel. Nobody’s saying anything about how you might be feeling as the father. I just want you to know I care, your friends care, and we’re all thinking about you.”

“Thank you, Kim. I have to go.”

“Be careful.” She disconnected. I stood there, on the dock, in deep thought. I watched three white pelicans sail over the sailboat masts, over the mangroves between the marina and the Halifax River, and turn east to Ponce Inlet and the Atlantic Ocean. I thought about what Andrea had told me. And I thought about Courtney. I closed my eyes for a moment, recalling the number I’d memorized from Isaac Solminski’s phone. Then I made the call.

One ring. Come on, Courtney, pick up. Answer the damn phone. After the fourth ring, a man said, “Hello.” His voice was high. It had some of the tonal qualities I heard in Isaac’s voice.

“May I speak with Courtney?”

There was a short pause. Even through a mobile phone I could detect it — the hesitancy that comes with knowledge of a hallowed subject, but not prepared to respond to questions about it. He said, “There isn’t anyone here by that name. Goodbye—”

“Wait! Before you hang up, listen, please. My name’s Sean O’Brien. I’m a friend of Courtney’s and—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I must go—”

“Please … just hear me out for thirty seconds. I got your number from Isaac Solminski. Maybe you’re related to him. It doesn’t matter. What matters is saving Courtney’s life. If she’s there, please let me speak with her. If she’s not, can you get a message to her?”

“We have no one here by that name.”

“If you see her, please tell her to call Detective Dan Grant with the Volusia County Sheriff’s department. We’re getting more evidence that will clear her in the killing of Lonnie Ebert. She has to stop running because she can’t be protected if she’s in hiding.”

“Protected from what?”

“From people who will kill her.”

There was another long pause. In the background, I could hear a dog barking and a train whistle. He said, “Okay. What’s her last name?”

“Burke, Courtney Burke.”

“No problem. If a Courtney Burke arrives, I’ll give her the message to get in touch with Detective Grant at the Volusia County Sheriff’s Office. Good bye—”

“Where are you located? I can help her.” He disconnected. I went online and looked up his phone number, looking for an ID. There was no public record of the number. I squeezed the mobile phone so hard I thought it would break.

I glanced up to see Dave Collins approaching in the Zodiac, the small rubber boat creating a V trail across water painted in shades of purple, cherry, and merlot reflecting off clouds drenched in the colors of a sunset.

But his face mirrored the opposite of twilight serenity. With his seasoned years in covert intelligence, even from a few yards away, I could tell the uneasy look on his face forecast a bad storm on the horizon.