Blood of Cain

67

The next morning I met Dave for breakfast at Crabby Joe’s, a small restaurant plopped on the side of a fishing pier off Daytona Beach. After I told him what happened on the river, I held out a flash-drive and said, “It’s all on here. I made a copy to give to you as an insurance policy of sorts.”

He looked over his hot cup of black coffee. “Insurance?”

“If something happens to me, upload this video to YouTube and call a damn news conference. It’s the only way Courtney, and for that matter, Kim, will be safe.”

He took the drive, looked at it for a moment, and dropped it into the pocket of his Hawaiian print shirt. “So the mercenary hit man was hired by Logan’s top dog, Timothy Goldberg, and ostensibly by Logan himself. The guy’s got ice water in his bloodstream. Regardless, dismiss with this talk of something happening to you. All right, what we have is the seamy side of presidential politics captured on a steamy, alligator-infested river. And now, Sean, the old proverbial truism is most applicable to you: when you’re up to your ass in political alligators, what happens if you drain the swamp and find the bodies?”

“Logan’s people know where they’re hidden. I’m hoping I bought some time for Courtney. That phone number I gave you, did you manage to find a physical address?”

“Of course. I found an address and an ID.”

“What’s her name?”

“Katherine O’Sullivan.”

“I wonder who she is … and what’s her relationship to Courtney Burke?”

“Could be a relative or a friend. If she’s Courtney’s mother, that means you certainly aren’t her father. And that, my friend, is one hell of a relief. Ponce Marina might return to its former sleepy self.”

I stirred my coffee and looked at the breakers rolling below us on the beach, the briny scent of the surf drifting up through quarter-inch spaces between the planks in the weathered pier. Through the enclosed screen, I watched a seagull perched on the dock railing turn to face the breeze across the Atlantic.

Dave sipped his coffee, his eyes filled with deliberations. “I know, after all is said and done, it would be nice getting to know a daughter you never knew existed. Sometimes truth is a double-edge sword, it often heals the heart by cutting the heart. It leaves scars. A magician’s secret, once revealed, shows the truth behind the illusion, and in doing so, the show is never quite the same.”

“I have no illusions.”

“Maybe not, but you’re human. You have hope or you wouldn’t do what you do and you wouldn’t be the man you are. Look, Courtney still faces murder charges. If she’s acquitted, if the charges are dropped, life goes on. Even a president-elect Logan, should he win, can survive the backstory of his wife’s decision to give up a child years ago. However, his political career won’t endure a long trial in which his wife’s biological daughter is found guilty of multiple murders.”

“Maybe this woman, Katherine O’Sullivan, is the key. What’s her address?”

Dave removed a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Here you go. Maybe she’s the key to Courtney’s past and future. And if there’s no connection to your past, that means you step out of this mental cellblock and walk away, Sean. Courtney Burke becomes someone else’s concern.”

“You make it sound easy. Whether she’s my daughter or not, she’s somebody’s daughter. I don’t believe she’s guilty of murder — only self-defense, and that’s not a crime.”

“But you don’t know that yet. Leave it to Detective Grant or the feds.”

“To do what? Put a bullet in the back of Courtney’s head? Dan Grant is just trying to do his job, but the feds — at least whoever’s working for Logan, are the type of soldiers who’d roast Kim’s hand over a blue flame and then go home to a family meal.”

“Maybe this Katherine O’Sullivan is the link to Courtney’s family.”

“The only way to find out is to go there. Max is napping in the Jeep. You mind taking her back to the marina, keeping an eye on her until I get back?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks, Dave.”

“You leaving now?”

“Right after I visit the hospital.”

After I showed my ID at the reception desk at Halifax Hospital, left a thumb print, and had my picture taken, I was given clearance to visit Kim Davis, room 222, second floor. I bought a dozen red roses in the gift shop and stepped into the elevator. The odor of bleach and hand sanitizer mixed with the scent of the roses as I walked down the long hallway. Nurses darted in and out of rooms, doctors spoke quickly into portable Dictaphones, recording detailed patient medical data but often never really knowing who it was that they were treating.

A sheriff’s deputy sat outside room 222 reading a Sports Illustrated magazine. He had a clipboard propped up on the wall behind his plastic chair. I introduced myself and had him check to see if I was on the visitors list. I was. Chalk one up for Detective Dan Grant.

I entered the room and stopped after the door closed behind me. Kim lay in the bed, IVs attached to both arms, her face bruised, a monitor recording her heart rate. Even through the wires, tubes, and bandages, she was beautiful — the light from the window falling on her sleeping face. I stepped next to her bed and stood there for a moment, watching her breathe. I wanted to say something, but didn’t want to wake her from a tranquil sleep. I set the roses on a table next to her bed and heard, “Hello, stranger.” Her voice sounded drowsy.

I turned around. Kim was awake, eyes heavy, a smile spreading. I grinned. “Stranger? Come on, you’ve been out like a light. You don’t know how long I’ve been here, or how many times I’ve been here.”

“A girl knows. It’s an intuitive thing. Even in our sleep, we know if someone special is here. Also, how could I be out like a light? If a light’s out, it’s no longer a light. Oh, my head feels like it’s in a vice. Those roses are soooo beautiful! Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What are the doctors telling you?”

“They’re fairly sure I suffered a concussion. I had twenty-two stitches in the back of my head and some internal bleeding. The good news is that I can go home tomorrow. Detective Grant told me you shot one of the men. Did you … did you kill him?”

“I don’t know. A body hasn’t been found. I did find the other guy.”

“You did?”

“Yes. He decided to pay me a visit at my cabin on the river.”

“Why?”

“He wanted information.”

“Did he get it?”

“He gave more than he received. He took a message back to his leader. I believe it’ll be safe for you to go home tomorrow. Rest and get well, okay? I have to go now.”

She lifted her hand, an IV taped to the back of it. “You just got here, Sean. Don’t go.”

“I wish I didn’t have to. I’ve got to bring this thing to a stop. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“If you don’t know, you can’t say.”

“I thought you said I was safe.”

“Safer. You’re much safer now. I don’t think they’ll be back.”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m afraid for you. Are you still trying to find Courtney?”

“Yes.”

“I have no doubt that you’ll find her. But I don’t know what you’ll find. I only met her briefly, but she seemed like a good kid. If she’s your daughter, she’d have to be.”

I bent down and kissed Kim on her forehead. “Get well.”

“Be careful, Sean. I don’t know if it’s the meds they have me on, but I’ve been having bad dreams, really dark stuff … and you’re there … caught in the middle.”