Offside Trap
Page 30
“He can’t just wander around in here,” said Sean.
“Actually, he can,” said Steele.
“I want my lawyer,” said Sean, standing upright like he’d taken a shot of resolve.
“You got a lawyer?” I said.
“My uncle . . .”
“He’s washing his hands of you as we speak.”
“I’ve got an alibi, dammit.”
“About that,” said Steele, looking to his notepad. “Miss Elissa Cartwright, freshman at the university. She decided she didn’t want to go to jail for you or your five hundred dollars. She confirmed her residence on campus in freshman halls, and her employ by your father’s real estate holding company, owner of this dwelling, as a cleaner. She also confirmed that she was on campus the night Jake overdosed, not with you.”
Harris wobbled back into the room, holding another evidence bag, this one containing a pair of Nikes.
Steele continued. “She further confirmed that the next day you gave her a pair of mud-covered running shoes to clean, which she left in the laundry, a room you clearly do not frequent.”
“She didn’t clean my stuff? That cow.”
“She said, and I quote”—Steele referred to his notes—“I’m paid by his daddy to keep the place from looking like a dump, but that don’t make me his personal slave.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Damn hard luck that. No alibi, prints on the bottle that contained the drug that knocked Jake out, and shoes covered in the same mud that is under the bleachers.”
“Our lab will check that out,” said Steele.
“Look for a footprint under that bleacher, too. That ground felt like potter’s clay.”
“Will do.”
“And no doubt the Maxx that killed Jake came from his own stash. Check for Sean’s prints at Jake’s place, especially on the trunk that’s probably still under his bed.”
“I have a team there now.”
“What say you, Sean?” I smiled.
His lip curled and he spat. “You can’t do this without a warrant or something!”
Steele stepped forward and pulled a document from his pocket. “You’re right, Mr. Lawry,” he said, tapping his chest with the paper as Harris pulled Sean’s arms back and cuffed him.
“A warrant, for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law.”
Chapter Sixty
THAT NIGHT I slept fitfully but I didn’t dream. The following day I took a long shower and then stopped at a grocery store to pick up some flowers. I went and saw Danielle, who was on the mend, and then I drove to her house, went in under the yellow police tape and collected a bunch of her things. Then I drove home and cleaned the kitchen, made my bed, sorted my wardrobe and scrubbed down the bathroom. You might say I did anything to keep busy. Later I picked Ron and Cassandra up from Palm Beach International and dropped Cassandra back at her penthouse. They both looked refreshed and relieved.
“Just reading the paper on the plane,” said Ron. “Lots going on.”
“Indeed,” I said.
“USA Today has a puff piece about women working in the front office at NFL clubs.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah. Seems the Minnesota Vikings have just hired a new assistant GM, and it’s a woman no less.”
“They are very progressive, those Nords. And they have a good, strong work ethic too. I think Kim will do just fine there.”
We left Lady Cassandra to unpack her case, and Ron came with me to the car dealership to return the Jeep. When something just doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t, so you should take your licks and move on. I wore a hefty off-the-lot surcharge and then walked to the dealership next door, owned by the same guy, and rolled out of the showroom with a beige Ford Escape, for full sticker price. Ron suggested it was an all-round more suitable car for stakeouts and trips to big-box stores. When we got back to the office Lizzy was at the door.
“What did you get?” she said.
“A Ford Escape.”
She looked at Ron, her face scrunched beneath her black bangs. “An SUV?”
Ron nodded. “A small SUV.” He smiled.
“Wow,” said Lizzy, turning back to me. “Not another dumb macho car.”
“No. You underestimate me.”
“Usually. But perhaps there’s some growth. Now, you might like to know you have a visitor.”
I frowned.
“State Attorney Edwards.”
I smiled and walked into my office. Eric was sitting in a visitor’s chair with his legs crossed, pressing a sea-green tie with his hands. He jumped to attention when the door flew open.
“At ease, Edwards,” I said, walking to my desk.
“You’re just a card, Jones. Really. Now I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Gee, and I thought you were here to invite me to lunch.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Seems you’ve been having a lot of lunches lately.”
Edwards grinned, his I know something grin. “Says whom?”
“Never mind. What you want, Eric?”
He smoothed his tie and lifted his chin. “You owe me an explanation. Stephen Millet has resigned to take a post as director of an online university in New Mexico.”
“Nevada,” I said.
“Whatever. And Senator Lawry held a press conference this morning to confirm that the planning committee has not approved, nor will they approve, any state funds for a private college, as was suggested in this morning’s Palm Beach Post.”
“Good news.”
“Not good. You’ve been talking to Maggie Nettles. Her article claims there is an ongoing investigation into the senator’s dealings with Gino Rinti. An investigation spearheaded by the state attorney’s office.”
“You have an investigation going?”
“No, Jones, you imbecile. I just did what you told me.”
“So say there’s no investigation.”
“You really don’t understand politics do you?”
“Nup. Now, is there anything else, I have to get to the hospital to collect Danielle.”
“How is she?”
“She got shot, so not great.”
“Yes, well,” he said, smoothing his tie one last time. “You haven’t heard the end of this, Jones.”
“Great seeing you, Eric. Thanks for stopping by.”
Edwards opened the door.
“And Eric, if you feel the need to eat with Danielle, go ahead. She’s a big girl. But don’t make a bigger fool of yourself by thinking you’re going to get her back.”
“Eric smiled. “Who says I want her back?”
“Not Danielle. She said watching you eat reminded her why she was so happy to get a divorce.”
Edwards growled and slammed the door so hard the pebbled glass shook. Ron sat down on his sofa and kicked his feet up.
“Danielle said that?”
“Come on, Ron, she’d never say something like that.”
Ron smiled. “And he thinks you’re no good at politics.”
I shrugged. “You think it’s safe to go to the hospital now?”
The intercom buzzed. “There’s a call for you,” said Lizzy. “Gino Rinti on line one.”
I shook my head. “Did I win the lottery and someone forgot to tell me?” I picked the phone up. “Rinti, good of you to call.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, sounding like he had just smoked a pack of Galoise.
“Yeah it is—you just bought me a new car.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But sorry about the whole college development thing collapsing. Those politicians can be fickle.”
“You’re just hilarious, Jones. And you think you won. But you won nothing. There’s plenty more deals left in this state. Plenty more beaches. You won nothing.”
And he was right. Nothing had changed. Florida was still Florida, and the fact Senator Lawry was killing a deal today didn�
�t mean he wouldn’t make another happen tomorrow, for the right price. And the fact was, Millet’s plan wasn’t the worst. I had no bone to pick with someone who wanted to build a world-class university in Florida. None at all. But when people start dying, you have to ask yourself whether you’re going about it in the right way.
“Hey, Gino, how’s your dad?”
“What do you care? He’s got cancer.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” I said, and I dropped the phone back into the cradle.
Chapter Sixty-One
I PARKED THE Escape in the parking lot that had become way too familiar, ignored the same nurse and got the elevator to Danielle’s hospital room. She was dressed and sitting on her bed, watching the local news.
“You see this?” she said. “Coast Guard found a boat floating north of Miami Beach. Two dead guys inside, looks like a drug transaction gone wrong.”
“That’s Miami for you.”
“Reports are suggesting Miami PD think my shooter may have been involved.”
“That is good news.” I smiled.
Danielle frowned. “Where were you the night before last?”
“Here.”
“Then?”
“I guess I went for a beer with Ron.”
“I thought Ron was in Colorado?”
“He’s back.”
“When?”
“I don’t recall. I’ll have to call him and confirm that.”
“What does that mean?”
Now it was my turn to frown. “Do you remember anything from that night?”
“I was shot, then drugged.”
“Don’t remember saying anything?”
“No. Why, what did I say?”
I looked at her, still pale and in pain.
“What did I say?” she said again.
I shook my head. “Nothing. You wanted to go home. So let’s do that.”
She winced as she stood.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay another night? The doc seemed to think you should.”
“It’s pain. It’ll hurt here, it’ll hurt at home. I’d rather be at home.”
“Got some pain meds?”
She held up a prescription.
“Let’s get out of here then.”
Danielle didn’t comment on the new car, and nodded off as I took the freeway. I woke her up when I stopped in front of my garage. She blinked hard to acclimatize, and then I helped her to step down from the Escape.
“Whose car is this?”
“It’s mine.”
She frowned like she’d been dropped into the twilight zone. As I helped her through the front door, she looked at me.
“I’m sorry, but I think I’d rather be at home. My home. It’s just all my stuff. You know?”
“Your place is a crime scene right now. Besides, all your stuff is here.” Danielle shuffled into the bedroom, and I went to the kitchen to make her tea. After a few minutes she reappeared.
“You made the bed.”
I nodded.
“And there’s a whole wardrobe of my clothes in there.”
“Yeah, I was thinking we needed to consolidate.”
“Consolidate?”
“Yeah. You need your stuff here, while you get better, and I want you close so I can look after you. But then I was thinking, you have a place and I have a place, so we have a big carbon footprint.”
“Carbon footprint.”
“That’s right. So I thought we should reduce our footprint. Consolidate.”
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“Well, yes. I guess I am. I mean, if this whole thing has shown me anything, it’s that we’re not going to be here forever. And I’d like to spend more of what time I have with you in it. Not just nearby. Really in it.” I stirred the tea and pushed it across the counter.
“What do you think?” I said.
Danielle gave me that half smile, gulped two pain tabs and sipped some tea. Then she shuffled around the counter and kissed me.
“I’m going to lie down for a bit,” she said, as she took her tea and padded toward the bedroom. When she got to the door she stopped and looked back to me.
“And MJ, call Ron.” She smiled. “Get your stories straight.”
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About the Author
A.J. STEWART WROTE marketing copy for Fortune 500 companies and tech start-ups for 20 years, until his head nearly exploded from all the stories bursting to get out. Stiff Arm Steal was his fifth novel, but the first to make it into print.
He has lived and worked in Australia, Japan, UK, Norway, and South Africa, as well as San Francisco, Connecticut and of course Florida. He currently resides in Los Angeles with his two favorite people, his wife and son.
AJ is working on a screenplay that he never plans to produce, but it gives him something to talk about at parties in LA.
You can find AJ online at www.ajstewartbooks.com, connect on Twitter @The_AJStewart, Facebook facebook.com/TheAJStewart or Google Plus.
Books by AJ Stewart:
Stiff Arm Steal
Offside Trap
High Lie
Dead Fast
Crash Tack
Three Strikes
Acknowledgements
THANKS, AS ALWAYS, to all my readers who send me feedback. A huge thanks to Marianne Fox for the editorial smarts; all the beta readers, especially Heather and Andrew; and the folks at The Breakers in Palm Beach, which is, as the story says, a true Palm Beach institution. Any and all errors are mine, especially but not limited to the third bottle of wine. That’s just poor judgement, right there.
Jacaranda Drive Publishing
Los Angeles, California
www.jacarandadrive.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover artwork by Streetlight Graphics
ISBN-10: 0-9859455-2-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-9859455-2-7
Copyright © 2013, 2015 by A.J. Stewart
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.