Blood of Cain

46

Within twenty minutes, rain began falling across the marina, an Atlantic storm moving in from the west. Lightning illuminated the marina for a second, the crack of thunder almost immediate. Nick sauntered from the couch to a side window on St. Michael. He said, “Maybe the rains will wash away the reporters. Looks like most of them are splitting. Lightning has a way of doing that.”

Dave chuckled. “They’ll be back.”

I finished the plate of seafood and felt the knots between my shoulder blades begin to loosen a little. For a second, I thought of Kim Davis, her smile as I walked her in the rain to her car the other night. I sipped the Corona and said, “There are a couple of things I didn’t mention.”

Nick returned to the couch, Max following him. He attempted a smile and said, “Don’t hold back now.”

Dave nodded. “Tell us you found a DNA sample from Courtney.”

“I wish, primarily for her sake, and Andrea’s too.”

“Unless she’s your daughter, and this begins a whole new chapter that will make political history books.” Dave swirled the vodka around the ice in the glass.

“Two guys, maybe federal agents, I don’t know for sure, but they weren’t connected to Bandini. They’d been following me for miles until I had breakfast at Denny’s where a server accidently spilled ice cold soda in their laps.”

Dave said, “Serendipitous, no doubt. They probably weren’t federal agents, although Senator Logan has been assigned Secret Service protection. Logan and the Democrat’s candidate, Governor Les Connors, are raising tens of millions of dollars from the Super Pacs, donors who have anonymity and thus no responsibility. Analogous to the lack of culpability that one might find in the collective mentality of a lynch mob. Nevertheless, there is so much concealed money going into these campaigns, what’s a few hundred thou to hire mercenaries? It’s the cost of doing business in an election method where the vote, the majority will of the people, doesn’t always translate into a win.”

“That’s essentially what Andrea Logan told me earlier on the phone.”

Nick’s dark eyebrows arched. “Your old girlfriend has your number?”

“Yes.” I looked over to Dave. “And she believes Courtney might never surface if her husband’s closest advisors can prevent it. She overheard a conversation to that effect, and she’s terrified.”

Dave folded his brown arms over his thick chest. He leaned back on the stool and said, “So a presidential candidate could be complicit in a murder on his way to the White House. His wife is indeed terrified for a lot of reasons, perhaps first is the real possibility that the young woman whose life is in danger may be her daughter.”

I told them about my call to the person who answered the number I’d memorized from Isaac Solminski’s call history. “What intrigues me is not so much what he said, but what he didn’t say and how he phrased some things.”

“What do you mean?” Dave asked.

He said, ‘Although we have no one here by that name, if someone arrives with the name, Courtney, what message would you like for me to give to her?’ That sounds like he’s working in a hotel or a motel.”

Nick said, “That narrows it down.”

I said nothing, watching the rain against the salon window. My phone rang. Dan Grant said, “Sean, I have an approximate match for you on the number.”

“What is it?”

“It pinged off a cell tower near a small town south of Tampa called Gibsonton. It’s tied to an apparent fictitious name, Showtime Estates, associated with a post office box. You think the girl is somehow connected to wherever this number leads?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“From Isaac Solminski, the dwarf at Bandini’s carnival.”

“Why’d he give it to you?”

“He didn’t actually provide it. I happened to see it in his call history.”

I heard Dan release a long exhale. “Gibsonton or Gibtown, from what I remember, is or was the winter home for circus and carnival people. An odd place off the Tamiami Trail. Maybe Solminski’s just touching base with old friends or a family member.”

“Could be.”

“Sounds like a long-shot to me, especially when we don’t have a physical address, no location.”

“You’re probably right.”

He was hesitant for a few seconds. “Be careful, Sean, remember what I told you about those nine lives. I personally believe you’ve used up eight and are working overtime on number nine. Talk to you.” He disconnected.

“Nick, where’s your laptop?”

“Right here.” He reached beneath the coffee table, under a stack of boating and cooking magazines, pulled out a MacBook Pro, turned it on, then handed it to me,

Dave said, “You sounded a little more civil with your detective friend. Did he come through after the DNA debacle?”

“He said the number I lifted from Isaac Solminski’s phone is coming from somewhere in a town called Gibsonton.”

“Where’s that?”

“South of Tampa.”

“You trying to find it on the map?” Nick asked.

“That’s part of it. I’m also looking for a hotel near some railroad tracks. When I was talking with the guy on the phone, I heard a large dog barking and a train very close by to wherever he was at the time.” I quickly found train routes on an Internet map. The nearest location of tracks, relative to Gibsonton, was close to Highway 41, over a body of water called Bullfrog Creek. I checked for motels on both the north and south sides of the waterway. I stood and reach for my Glock.

“Where you going?” Dave asked.

“Gibsonton. Should be able to make it in about four hours.”

“You think Courtney’s there?”

“Maybe. Somebody’s there who knows Solminski. He’s made too many calls to that number since Courtney ran away. He could have sent her there … to someone and someplace he feels is safe.”

Dave stood and stared out the window towards the parking lot. “Looks like the storm chased the news media lads and lasses away. Storm’s moving west, so you’ll be traveling with it. Here’s something to keep in mind, Sean: Andrea Logan is frightened. Who knows how well she can disguise it. But if there’s any reason to suspect she may do or say something that will blemish her husband’s electability, you can bet they’ll try to catch it before it becomes a liability. That means her phone calls might be tapped. If Andrea’s are, then you can bet yours are or will be, too.”

Nick sat on the edge of the couch. “So that means they might know about Gibtown, and they fact that’s where Sean’s going to hunt for the girl.”

Dave nodded. “That’s exactly what it means.”

I said, “Please keep an eye on Max for me.”

Dave asked, “So you’re still going there tonight?”

“Yes. The place I found nearest the train track is called the Show-Town Fish Camp. They rent cottages and trailers. I’m going to see if they have a big dog.”