That triggered a reaction from Kit. “Contact the Maryland Department of Natural Resources and find out if that boat’s registered with them, and where it is. He may have just moved it out of state.” Maryland didn’t assess a personal property tax. Was the boat involved in the ocean shooting, Kit wondered? The beach child’s death? Her mind raced through the possibilities.
Roger had also gotten the details on all the cars, driving records on the two Cienfuegoses, and one more juicy tidbit: Carlotta had a lawsuit pending against her. “She apparently has a commercial cleaning business. Someone thinks she didn’t provide the services promised.”
“So she provides cleaning services and her husband ag workers. Sounds like they would need a lot of laborers,” Kit said. “I think it’s time to set up some surveillance on these folks.” Kit looked at Roger. “Any chance we could get some additional manpower from your agency?”
Roger shook his head. “I’ll ask, but everyone’s tied up with the trooper shooting.”
“Steve’s sending agents from Norfolk. I’ll see if we can round up some more from Salisbury.”
“Carlotta has contracts with some medical and law offices and a county office building,” Chris reported.
“Wait: Patricia said that Robert Barnes is a big-deal lawyer. Is that a connection?” Kit asked.
Chris shrugged. “Not sure yet. The lawsuit is over a thirty thousand dollar contract to clean a dental office. Apparently, she didn’t provide the level of service the contract required and the dentist is suing her.”
“Let’s go talk to her lawyer.”
“I’ve set up the appointment for tomorrow.”
By the time Kit had contacted and made appointments with the three companies she was going to cover, Roger called back with news that Carlos Cienfuegos did indeed have a boat registered with the Maryland DNR, and he kept it in Ocean City. “Let’s bring in Maryland State Police. Ask them to go take a picture of it,” Kit said.
Roger agreed, and then said he had contacted the sheriff’s offices to alert the deputies coming on to work the three-to-eleven shift about the special instructions they’d be getting. “Basically, I asked them to stay away from Rt. 13 tonight. Just leave traffic enforcement there alone.”
“Great. As soon as my agents get here, we’ll start surveillance,” Kit said.
The offsite would serve as their command center for the duration of David’s trip. Kit had bought sub sandwiches and bottled water, a tray of vegetables and some cookies, and as she stowed them in the refrigerator in the kitchen, her mind went over the instructions they’d given David. He would call her when he picked up the truck.
But at 8:05 p.m, he text-messaged Kit with the license plate number of the truck he was driving. Why hadn’t he called? She had to presume it was a white box truck loaded with tomatoes. But why had he texted her?
She gave the number to Roger, who immediately contacted dispatch supervisors to make sure state police knew not to pull David over.
“I figure it’s going to take him about two hours to get to Norfolk and an hour to offload, then an hour to get back on this side of the bridge. So just after midnight, the fun begins,” Chris said. “You want to go get some sleep?”
As if she could. “No. I’ll make coffee.”
Jason sat hunched over an array of computer equipment. “I gave him two transponders,” he said. “One is in his iPod, the other he was supposed to put on the truck. So far, both seem to be working.”
“Good.” Kit turned toward the kitchen, fear gripping her. Resolutely spooning coffee into the filter, she lectured herself. Be professional. Trust God. Trust David. It’s going to be all right.
The plan they’d devised worked perfectly. Both GPS transponders tracked David down the Delmarva Peninsula, to the bridge tunnel, through Norfolk, to the produce distribution center where the tomatoes were offloaded, then back. Roger called the dispatchers back to reiterate the message when David crossed back over the bridge. One state trooper reported seeing him, but left him alone. David made the return trip, dropped the truck back at C&R, and called Kit.
“Did you get any indication what was in the truck?”
“No. On the way down, the load looked like tomatoes, right? In standard shipping crates. I was empty coming back. I think they’ve installed a compartment under the floor in the back. That’s where they’re hiding the stuff. My guess is, it’s cocaine. Maybe meth.”
Meth? Like Miguel Martinez was holding?
“What about the truck?”
“Same as before.” David paused. “They want me to make the same run tonight,” he said. “Can we do it again?”
“I guess so,” Kit responded. “No sign of Maria?”
“None.”
“Everything OK?” Chris asked as she hung up the phone.
“They want him to do it again tonight.”
The others began packing up their gear.
Chris nodded. “I had a couple of agents watching the shed. A pickup pulled in there at 4:00 a.m. and a man with a flashlight moved into the shed.”
Kit looked at him. “So, do we get a search warrant?” She felt anxious. This had to end soon.
“Not yet. Let’s wait.”
“OK.” A bit of a sigh edged into her voice. “Don’t forget, we’re working the funeral tomorrow.”
Murderers sometimes attend their victims’ funerals to relive their crimes, so a law enforcement presence at Bob Stewart’s funeral would be essential. The Chincoteague police would attend, in uniform. Many of them had been friends with Bob for years, or they’d grown up with Connie, or they just knew the couple—the island was a small community.
The FBI task force planned to be there, too, but would be keeping a lower profile. One of them would watch the parking lot at the small clapboard church and collect the license plate numbers of the people attending. Dressed in civilian clothes, Roger would sit near the back of the church, cataloging the congregation. Kit and Chris would be in the pews as well. Meanwhile, Jason would stage himself in a nearby building, photographing the grieving attendees with a long lens.
The air felt hot inside the sanctuary, heavy with the perfume of the flowers that filled the chancel area. Kit watched as Connie and her children took their places in the front row. Connie looked drawn, somber in her black dress. She wore a pillbox hat with a black net veil, as if to tone down the brightness of her red hair. The kids, in their early 20s, were still gawky as colts, too young, Kit thought, to be losing their father.
She smoothed her black and white dress. Several rows behind her and to the left sat Chris. The high, arching ceiling of the sanctuary was constructed of light wood that matched the packed pews. Organ music filled the room. Kit recognized the hymn, “Blessed Assurance,” tucked into the middle of the medley. Somewhere, someone was crying softly. Ahead, Connie sat shoulder-to-shoulder with her daughter and stared at the coffin.
Death, Kit thought, was such a thief. It had stolen good years from Connie and Bob, the satisfaction of seeing their children grown and settled, the joy of grandchildren, the pleasures of old age. Now, Connie would have only memories to comfort her. Connie would be alone. How fair was that? How just?
Kit looked at the bulletin. Her eyes caught the date. Why did it seem familiar?
As the congregation rose to sing the opening hymn, she stood up and that’s when it hit her. Today, Eric was getting married again.
25
SHE BIT HER LIP TO KEEP THE TEARS AWAY, ANGRY AT HER OWN SELF-PITY. “Amazing Grace …” the old hymn proclaimed. But even in light of salvation and a joyous Eternity, the present seemed sad and empty to Kit. Connie and Bob had had a good marriage. What had they done to deserve this? And what had she done to deserve divorce?
These were foolish questions, as Kit well knew. She was well-acquainted with sin. It was the engine driving her profession. She saw it every day, saw its effects, and she was intimately aware of the tears of its victims. So why should she be surprised at its intrusion into her
life?
The congregation sat down again. And as Kit took her place again in the pew, her heart felt heavy. Something was bothering her, something just out of reach of her conscious mind. She tried concentrating on the funeral service, tried praying silently, but the shadow wouldn’t go away.
The minister began speaking. Kit’s eyes were supposed to be watching the congregation, but they kept gravitating toward the cross on the wall behind the altar. The minister’s words seemed to swirl in the close, hot air. He turned to the Gospel of John and began to read. “For God so loved the world …”
A latecomer appeared next to her, in the outside aisle. People to her left shifted toward the center to make room. Kit glanced up as she moved. Chief Petty Officer Rick Sellers smiled down at her.
“Hi,” he whispered, as he slid into the seat.
“Hello.” What was he doing here? She wished he’d picked somewhere else to sit. Why next to her?
They settled back in the pew. Was it her imagination, or was he leaning so that his upper arm touched hers? Kit shifted, intentionally increasing the space between them. The air seemed close. The minister continued reading from John: “In my father’s house, there are many mansions …”
The woman in front of Kit bent down to retrieve a tissue from her purse. In that moment, Kit saw a familiar head four or five rows in front of her and on the other side of the church. David! She had no idea he’d be there. He turned, and their eyes locked and Kit felt a deep rush of emotion.
The woman straightened and blocked Kit’s view again. Connie’s son stood up and spoke about how much his father had meant to him. Another hymn followed, and then a prayer. A eulogy from Bob’s brother. Another one from Connie’s. A short sermon.
Kit tried not to focus on the minister’s words, tried to stay in her professional law enforcement mode, but she could not escape them. Forgiveness. Grace. The great message of the Gospel weaving through the church on Holy Spirit wings, landing on hearts, bringing healing and hope. Yes, hope.
By the time he finished, Kit was fighting tears. The minister ended with prayer, they sang another hymn, and finally it was over. The minister asked the congregation to stand while the funeral directors moved to the front and began wheeling the coffin down the center aisle and out of the church. Connie and her children followed, holding onto each other, their faces streaked with tears.
“Any idea who did it?” Rick asked Kit quietly as people began to file out behind the coffin.
“I don’t know,” Kit said, wishing he would get lost.
“Are you going to the burial?”
“No.”
Sellers stayed with her. When they stepped out of the narthex, into the bright sunshine, he touched her elbow. “Come here,” he said, “I want you to meet somebody.”
She didn’t want to. She was busy, scanning the crowd. Then she saw David nearby. He had taken a risk, coming to the funeral. Why had he come? It would be better if Rick didn’t see him. “All right,” she said, taking Rick’s arm and turning him away from David. She glanced back and met David’s eyes again, and in that brief moment, the thing she’d been avoiding fell into place, the puzzle came together, and she knew the decision she had to make.
Her face grew hot and tears came to her eyes, and she ducked her head and quickly walked with Rick away from the church.
“So what’s the connection between this murder and the kid on the beach?” Rick asked.
Kit blinked. “What makes you think there is one?”
“You’re here.”
“I’m friends with Connie.”
“You’re close to her?”
Kit raised her eyebrows.
“Your tears,” he explained.
“Well, yes. Yes, I am.” She wiped a tear away. “Did you think I came here on business?”
He shrugged. “I assumed so.”
Curious. Why would he assume that? Safely away from David, she looked for a chance to escape. “Look, Rick,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling very social right now.”
“It’ll just take …”
“Sorry,” she said, “I need to go.” Before he could protest, she walked away.
“I’ll call you!” Rick shouted as she hurried off.
As soon as she was out of sight, she called David on his cell phone. “I need to talk to you.”
“Where?”
Kit got to her car and started her engine. “You know that place at the north end of the island where you told me you met Alice the first time?”
“Tucker Road. On the Assateague side.”
“Right.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He stepped out of his Jeep when Kit pulled up behind him, his white shirt gleaming in the sun.
“Would you walk with me?” she asked.
The humidity was thick, the sun hot as they began down the path which skirted the marsh and led to the grassy area overlooking the channel. “What was Sellers doing there?” David asked.
“I don’t know. I was shocked when he sat down next to me.” She turned to look at him. “But then, I was equally shocked to see you.”
He didn’t respond.
“Does anyone from Chincoteague know you were the one who found Bob?”
“No. Not even Connie.”
“Weren’t you concerned …”
“I had to be there,” he said, cutting her off. “I just … had to be there. And someday I need to tell her what happened that night. But I’ll wait. For the sake of the case, I’ll wait.”
The channel was flowing peacefully this day, with very little breeze to stir up waves. A picnic table stood in the grassy area. “Want to sit down?” David said, gesturing toward it.
“I can’t,” Kit responded, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m too hyper.”
“OK.” David climbed up and sat on the table with his feet on the bench, and he rolled up his sleeves. He looked like a businessman on his lunch hour. A rugged, very good-looking businessman.
Kit began to pace. “I was sitting at the funeral, and I realized something.”
He cocked his head.
Kit glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. In the shallows, a heron stalked fish, his long legs bending improbably. Kit’s throat felt tight. She was trying so hard not to cry.
“Tell me,” David said, softly.
The white truck moved slowly down Tucker Road until it came to a vacation rental that looked unoccupied. Sellers pulled into the driveway, parked, and walked past the house and down the yard to the water. Easing through some brush, he found a good view of the shoreline. Then he lifted his binoculars. What were they doing?
It irritated him that she’d walked away like that. Women didn’t do that to him! He had no chance to find out what she knew.
If he’d known telling Lopez where Maria was would have entangled him in all this, he never would have done it. Not even for the measly meth bonus he got. What a mistake!
Still, he figured he’d be able to get out of it. After all, nothing connected him to Lopez, no paperwork anyway, and he hadn’t even given Lopez his real name. Sellers figured he was safe. Still, he needed to keep an eye on this woman.
Kit looked at David. Her vision grew blurry. “Connie and Bob were married for almost thirty years. Now, she’s going to have to live alone, without him. She’ll have to completely rethink her life. I was sitting there, in the funeral, feeling so sad for her, and I was staring at the bulletin, when the date jumped out at me. Eric’s getting married today!”
David waited for her to go on.
“And it occurred to me: Connie lost her husband to death. I lost mine to divorce. Both of us have a choice: move on or get stuck. Believe God is in control, or not.” The heron took off, flew about twenty yards away, and set down again near the edge of the marsh.
David nodded. “Right.”
“Connie talked to me the night Bob died about joy. Joy! I couldn’t believe she would even say that. But she told me not to give
up the fight for joy. I’ve been thinking about that ever since.
“There, in the church, a verse of Scripture jumped into my head: ‘Be kind, tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ has forgiven you.’ ” Her words emerged like a sob. “I think I’ve been wrong to hang on to anger toward Eric. I think that’s been killing my joy.” She felt a rush of emotion, like some large rock outcropping in her soul was breaking apart and tumbling downhill.
David pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
She blew her nose. “He hurt me, but my anger is wrong, too. Toward him and … and toward my mother.” She hadn’t told David about her mother. She braced herself for a question and was thankful that he was wise enough to let her talk and not ask for details.
Instead, he gently said, “We’re all wrong. Isn’t that what grace is for?”
She shivered. “It’s hard! By day, I function as this in-control FBI agent, but at night … at night I am so alone. And so sad.”
“You’ve been abandoned.”
“Yes!”
“And that’s not fair.”
The truth of his words stabbed her heart. Kit closed her eyes and shook her head. She hugged her arms close to her chest. “I wanted so much to have children!”
“It’s not too late for that,” he said softly.
“It feels like it.” She sobbed.
David shook his head. “It’s not.”
Kit stared at him.
David’s jaw shifted. The sun glinted off of his hair. “I don’t understand why you got hurt. Or why Bob died. Or why God allows bad things. But Kit, I figure I’ve got a choice …”
Her face grew hot.
“Trust God or walk away from him.” He looked up at her. “And I’m not walking away again.”
She swallowed. She had a huge lump in her throat. “I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Afraid that … that Eric will be off the hook. That all the pain I went through will mean nothing.”
Seeds of Evidence (9781426770838) Page 21
