by Scott Cook
Chapter 22
From the case file of Gonzalez and her faithful stooge
Lisa’s journal entry 5
Typical man! Seven or eight quick ones and he’s flying off to exotic destinations and leaving me home with all the responsibility. Two dogs… and Sharon. LOL.
It was nice having everybody at the house. I couldn’t help but feel so bad for Wayne, though. Both Sharon and Scott have a significant other and Wayne was the fifth wheel. It felt a little awkward at first. Sheila had been a big part of all of our lives and her absence was dearly felt.
Once we’d gotten home from West’s trailer, Scott and Wayne had decided that they’d fly up to Rhode Island the next day. The tickets were pricey being on such short notice, but all things considered, Scott felt that he needed to go and Wayne wasn’t about to sit home and wait.
That was okay, though. I had a few ideas of my own. For one thing, I wanted to talk to Greg Foster and possibly Cynthia Bartlett as well.
It’s funny, I kind of feel that I know her. Although we’d never met, I of course have read The Ledger. Aside from being the story of how Scott and I had gotten together, it’s also about billionaire John Bartlett and his private journal. Cynthia figured prominently in that story.
To find out a year and a half later that Bartlett had divorced her wasn’t that surprising. She’d been a part of the plot, after all. I didn’t know much about Foster other than that he was a big wheel in town and his detective agency was large. I also knew what Scott had written about him in Sins of the Fatherland. I suppose that if I wanted, I could poor over Scott’s case files as well. He’s very thorough, which is why he can go back and write a book on some of the cases. Yet I suppose that doesn’t matter much.
After having coffee and playing with the lads, Sharon, Juan and I worked up a schedule. OPD would post officers at the house when nobody was there. When only one of us was, the officer would stick around. So since they had to go to work and I did too, a patrol car parked along the street and we gave the officer a key. He could go inside and he could also access a series of security cameras that Scott had installed around the exterior of the house.
Nowadays, these things are so tiny you can practically stick them anywhere with no trouble. They’re all Bluetooth enabled so you can check out the feeds from a computer or phone. This is handy, considering Shade’s propensity – like that nickel word – propensity for sneaking around and planting bombs and shit.
So around tenish, I drove downtown and parked at the office. I set my alarm, which I never really did until all of this. If Shade wanted to plant something on my vehicle, he’d have to do it without touching the thing. Unlike many alarms, mine would alert me on my phone and I could even watch a video feed from the onboard cameras.
You can grumble about all the silly technology we’re bombarded with now, yet when it comes to security, its damned tough to get away with anything. Between wireless cameras, smart phones and cars that all but drive themselves… it’s pretty tough to get away with much. At least I hope so.
I wore a light skirt with horizontal navy and white stripes, a white blouse and a light navy jacket and wedges. Professional but comfortable for the summer heat. I hoped I wouldn’t have to chase anybody, though.
Foster’s office is located on the south side of Lake Eola Park in the Eola Business Center. A big glass walled building with an airy and bright lobby complete with cafeteria. I thought that it must be nice to be in the big time.
Foster and Cynthia had been released from the hospital the day after they’d been brought in. Their head wounds were superficial and although a concussion was possible, the doctors felt that they were fine to go home and rest there. So I wasn’t surprised to find that Foster was in. I was surprised when he agreed to see me right away.
I walked into a big office with lush carpeting, lots of photos on the walls and a great view of the lake. Foster, dressed in a smart blue suit, stood to greet me.
“Lisa, welcome,” he said with a smile. “Please have a seat.”
“Thanks, Greg,” I said, settling into one of his comfortable client chairs. “How are you feeling?”
He shrugged as he sat down, “I’m fine. Little bonk on the noodle is all.”
“And how is Mrs. Bartlett… or whatever she goes by, now?” I asked.
“Same,” He said. “She’s resting at home.”
We stared at each other for a long second. Finally he leaned back and sighed.
“I suppose this isn’t just a social visit?” he asked. “I’m surprised Scott isn’t with you.”
“He flew up to Rhode Island early this morning,” I said. “Should be arriving anytime now. A friend of his, a Providence cop, was killed yesterday.”
“Jesus…” Foster breathed. “Shade again?”
I nodded.
He blew out his breath, “This guy is becoming a major problem. By the way, what ever happened with Scott the other night when he went ashore in the dinghy?”
I related the story. I told him how Scott had questioned a bum lying under a bench and how that bum had turned out to be Shade in disguise.
“I guess he saw me as a threat, too,” Foster stated.
“That’s one thing I’m curious about,” I said. “Why do you think he put a bomb on your boat? Just because of that interview on the news the other day?”
Foster frowned, “I suppose so… I’ve been asking around and doing some investigating myself.”
“Why?” I asked. “Who hired you?”
He smirked, “You know that sort of thing is confidential.”
“Well… I figured that with all things considered, it’s smarter if we combine resources right now,” I countered.
He grinned, “True enough. At first no one did. I started making discrete inquiries the day that letter was published in the Sentinel. Then Cynthia contacted me not long after. I’m sure you’re curious about how she and I… well, how we ended up naked in bed on my boat when Scott found us.”
I cleared my throat, feeling a little heat rising to my cheeks, which irritated me. I’m not usually one who gets embarrassed about stuff like that, “Well… I think that’s obvious.”
He chuckled, “Yes, but how we got there… I’ve actually known Cynthia for a few years. Being in my position and working, as I often do, with the more well to do folks… what Scott would call the carriage trade… living in the area, I meet a lot of rich people. I’ve been to more than a few gatherings and spoken with most of the movers and shakers in town. That includes their friends and significant others. Anyway, Cynthia received a note that unsettled her. She came to me because she felt she needed an investigator and protection. Us both being single now… well, one thing led to another…”
“I’m not judging” I said, holding up a hand. “From what I know of her from Scott’s account, she’s hard to resist. Having seen her, I can see why.”
Foster pulled open a drawer in his desk and withdrew an envelope and handed it across to me, “Yes, she’s… well, at any rate… here’s what started it.”
“I assume you’ve had this tested?” I asked, gingerly opening the envelope and pulling out a folded note.
He sighed, “Yes… absolutely nothing. No prints, no anything. This Shade character is extremely careful.”
“But not flawless,” I stated, glad to be able to deliver some news. Glad that I could contribute something rather than just feeling like a rank amateur in the presence of this experienced man. “Shade has left some clues. Scott has a theory about that… Jarvis’ Law he might call it.”
Foster raised his eyebrows, “Oh?”
“I don’t think it’s a secret or anything… he believes that when you’re facing an opponent like a thief or murderer or madman… that the longer the scenario goes on, the more the opposition will reveal themselves. The more they act, the stronger the connection between the two sides. Also the more the scales balance in your favor.”
He nodded, “That makes sense. I can’t argue it
. I’ve seen that myself.”
“Anyway,” I went on, “It’s now pretty clear that Shade is from Rhode Island and he’s been using other Rhode Island people to do some of his dirty work.”
“Maybe that’s why Shade has taken such an interest in Scott?” Foster mused.
“Maybe… we’re not sure.”
“Take a look at that note,” He suggested.
Cynthia – you can’t hide from your misdeeds. The price for betrayal is high… Shade.
“Nice,” I stated, handing it back. “So she came to you then?”
He nodded, “Well, she certainly couldn’t go to Scott. Not after the whole Bartlett thing.”
“So she’s home? She lives in College Park, right? On Yale Avenue?”
“Not anymore. She sold that place after the divorce. With fifty-million in the bank, Cynthia wanted to live in the manner to which she’s gotten accustomed. She’s got a pretty substantial place over in Celebration.”
“She’s there all alone?”
Foster smiled, “No, I’ve got a couple men I hired from a local security firm watching the place and making sure she’s okay. What about you?”
I grinned, “I’m virtually indestructible, so I’m fine. Actually, some friends are staying with us at Scott’s and we’ve got round the clock OPD surveillance, too.”
Foster nodded and smiled, “Good. Shade’s biggest disadvantage is that he works alone… or mostly. He can only be in one place at a time. I just hope that we can get him before he does something else, or steps up his game even further. My concern is that the more we learn, the more reckless, desperate or vicious he might get.”
I sighed, “Yeah… he’s already proven that. He warned Scott about getting too close. Then he called and said that there were two targets. One here and one up north. Scott had to choose.”
“Christ…” Foster muttered darkly. “Sick bastard…”
I took a deep breath, “Yeah… and because Scott didn’t’ choose fast enough… I mean how could anybody… Shade chose the Rhode Island target and killed him.”
Scott’s friend?”
I nodded.
“This has to stop,” Foster said. “I heard about Wayne Jackson and his poor girlfriend. At first, scaring a cop, toying with Paul Franco and screwing with a couple of shady P.I.’s was almost amusing… but there have been what… five murders now?”
I shivered.
The desk intercom snicked on, “Mr. Foster, you have a call on line three.”
“Take a message, please, Veronica.”
There was a long pause, “Uhm… he says his name is Shade.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and my stomach tighten. Every time this lunatic made contact, it was bad news.
Foster looked at me and I think we were thinking the same thing. His face went hard and he punched the line up on speaker, “Foster.”
“You are resilient, Greg,” The familiar distorted voice said. “Congratulations on you and the lovely Cynthia getting off the boat the other night. It’s fortunate that Jarvis was nearby.”
“What do you want, Shade?” Foster asked stonily. “I mean what do you really want? What’s the point too all of this madness?”
A laugh, “Madness? Well, from your point of view I suppose I can understand how you’d think so. Yet I’m not an indiscriminant madman… no serial killer… no, Greg, no. I’m the line in the sand. The point of no return. I’m the judge! Every one of my targets has been a legitimate target. Someone who flaunts society’s rules and has gotten away with it. Franco’s goon, Pickett, Trent, Soares and West. All deserved what they got.”
“What about Cynthia and me?” Foster asked. “Are we evil too?”
“You’re alive, Foster, that should tell you something.”
Foster scoffed, “We’re only alive because a friend happened to be near enough to help. If Scott hadn’t been out in his boat that night—“
“And you think that was a coincidence?” Shade asked, almost sounding piqued that Foster hadn’t realized it for himself. “I don’t do anything by accident, Greg. You and Cynthia are alive because I set it up that way.”
“You’re a liar,” Foster stated. “Doug Felps wasn’t a crook. He’s dead because of you. How do you justify that, Shade?”
There was a long pause, “He wasn’t as innocent as you think, Greg. Perhaps in the future you’ll be a little more careful about the friends you pick.”
Foster laughed now. It was a boisterous sound but it didn’t seem to hold any real humor, “Oh, really? It may have escaped your diseased mind, Shade, you coward… but I’ve done extensive background checks on all my people. I know more about Doug’s history than you ever could. Why don’t you drop the act? And by the way, I called you a coward and I meant it. Only a coward hides behind a nickname and electronically disguises his voice. Why don’t you act like a real man and reveal yourself.”
There was another pregnant pause. I thought maybe Shade had hung up. Then there was another laugh, although this time it wasn’t distorted. The man’s voice came through unfiltered.
“Okay, Greg… here’s what I really sound like,” Shade laughed. “And your name calling doesn’t matter to me. However, let’s not get side tracked. I’m calling you to let you know that you might want to be a little less smug. Not everything is as you think it is. You think I can’t get past a couple of rent-a-cops?”
There was a click and the line went dead. Again Foster and I stared at each other. Some of the color had drained from his face. He picked up his cell and snapped off a quick text. After a moment or two when there was no response, he made a call.
“Dammit…” he growled and let the phone drop to the desk. “No answer…”
“What is it?” I asked.
Foster opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pistol, “Cynthia… she’s not answering and the guys are not responding. I’ve got to get over there.”
“I’ll come too,” I said.
He smiled, “You sure?”
I nodded and got to my feet, “Should’ve dressed for it… should’ve known…”
We went down and got into Foster’s BMW and drove out of downtown and down I-4 toward Kissimmee.
Celebration is a large planned community owned by Disney. It sat near where I-4 crosses 192 and is only minutes from the theme parks. The community features several subdivisions with a variety of housing options, from single family to town homes. At its center, near a large lake is the Celebration town center. A centralized hub of shops, bars, restaurants and other services so that the folks who live in the community have everything they could want without having to leave the boundaries of the Celebration property. That includes some high end eateries and a Publix as well as an eighteen hole golf course and more.
Cynthia’s modest twenty-five hundred square foot townhome was located only a block from the town center and from what I understood, similar units were going for well over a million dollars.
Foster found a parking spot close to the front of the home and we hurried up the sidewalk and up to the front door.
“Okay…” he said quietly, casting glances up and down the street, “we can do this one of two ways… we can both go in and clear the place, working room to room, or split up. There’s a back door.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out Scott’s Beretta Tomcat .32. The weapon was a great hideout gun, not much bigger than my small hand. Although it was weak, with only a .32 cartridge, at close range it was certainly deadly and it did hold ten rounds. Foster brought out his gun, I wasn’t sure what kind, but it was pretty hefty and he held it against his chest to keep it out of sight.
“Let’s stick together,” I said softly.
He nodded, “I think you’re right. You ever clear a house?”
“Scott and I have, and we practice a lot,” I said.
“Okay, then we go in and slice the pie,” Foster told me. “We’re going into the great room. There’s a dining room to the right that also opens into the ki
tchen in back. Bathroom down a hall on the left that leads to the kitchen and the stairs are dead ahead. We’ll clear the living room first and see how it goes.”
He inserted a key into the front door and turned the deadbolt. I crouched low and to the right and he turned the knob and flung the door open, mirroring me on the left side.
Nothing happened, so he peeked around the frame, “Okay, go!”
We went in together, shoulder to shoulder. Well, my shoulder to his arm. He was about six feet tall and I only came up to his chin. We split up a few feet, casting around with our weapons held out. Immediately I could see there was trouble. One of the security guys, wearing a white shirt and black slacks, was sprawled out on the hardwood floor just in front of the stairs. I went over and put my fingers to his throat and was surprised he actually had a pulse.
“Knocked out,” Foster commented, moving into the hall on the left. “I’ll work my way around back to you, stay put.”
The man on the floor was breathing, but his face was pale. I couldn’t find any signs of an injury, though.
Foster appeared in the dining room, “First floor clear. Is he shot?”
“No… can’t see any wounds or anything,” I said in confusion.
Foster looked at his face and frowned, “might be some kind of gas… but I don’t smell anything and don’t’ feel anything strange. Stay on your toes, though. When we go upstairs, if you start to feel even a little odd, we come back down. Ready?”
I nodded and again, we began to climb the stairs, pressed close together and leading with our weapons. The house was as quiet as the grave… which is exactly how I felt. There was this… heavy feeling in the air. Like with every step we were pulling a rubber band back further and further, knowing it’d snap but not knowing when.
At the landing, we crouched low and peeked around. The second floor had four bedrooms on it, a central bathroom and of course the master had its own bath as well. The rooms orbited a centralized landing where the stairs came up. Straight ahead was the open door to the bathroom, which seemed empty. The door to the master was open and the other bedrooms were closed off.
