by Mark Stone
“I prefer to save my celebrating for when I know an innocent woman isn’t about to spend the rest of her life behind bars,” I said, sliding the drink back to her. “Thanks anyway, though.”
Stick, meet mud.
Charlotte looked at me, taking a swig of the beer she had just offered me (even though she was at work) and placing it back down on the bar. She strode toward me, wiping down the bar as she went. “You know what my son tells me, Rick?”
“That the extra long showers he’s started taking lately are just because he likes to smell fresh?” I asked, smiling at her. “At least, that’s what I used to tell my mom about it.”
She chuckled at me. “He tells me that we’re all made of stardust. Did you know that? Apparently, everything you see, every person you’ve ever run across in your entire life, is made up of the energy released by a million exploding stars a long time ago.”
“That-that sounds like something out of a storybook,” I muttered.
“That’s what I said,” she answered, her eyes wide. “I told him it sounded like magic, and he said it was. He said that just knowing that, that everything in the whole universe is made up of the same stuff that makes him, makes him feel less alone. It gives him faith.”
“That’s lovely, Charlotte,” I said. “You’re lovely. “I just don’t really see where any of it has anything to do with me.”
“That’s because you’re not thinking about the stardust,” she answered. “I know it’s hard. I know there’s some woman running around town, trying to remind you of the worst time in your life, of a moment that you’d rather not repeat. I know that your best friend thinks you made another horrible mistake, and maybe you think that about yourself too. I know that, with all of that happening, it might be hard to have faith in your abilities, even if I told you that you should.” She pointed a finger at me, letting it land gently onto my chest. “But you live in a universe where someone or something took a million exploding stars and made you out of them. Someone or something thought that you were more important than all those stars put together, and you are. So, let me ask you, Rick Archer, in a world like that, how could you doubt that the right thing is going to happen?” She tugged at my shirt, straightening it. “If you can’t have faith in yourself, at least have faith in the stars.”
Chapter 15
“I’m not quite sure what you want me to do, Rick,” Hope said from over her tea, glaring at me with those bright eyes. “Your name is pretty much still a curse word at the office, and even if you are representing his sister, I’m not sure Justin is in any mood to talk to you.”
I slumped back in my seat. That was both exactly what I was afraid of and what I was honestly expecting. Justin was my best friend in the world, and because of this, I knew him like a brother. I knew that he wasn’t going to forgive me, not for something like this, at least not yet.
“Now, he hasn’t said anything about firing you,” Hope answered. “At least not seriously.” She took another sip of her tea. “At least, I don’t think he was being serious.”
“I could honestly care less about the job at this point,” I said, shaking my head and running a hand through my hair. “I mean, I do care about my job. I love the law, and I truly believe that seeing justice served in a fair manner is what I was born to do, but I’m worried about my friend right now, and not just because he won’t talk to me. Justin is stubborn, Hope. And, as mad as he is at me, he’s even more angry with his sister. He’s going to go through this alone, and that’s not going to be easy for him.”
“You think any of this is going to be easy for anyone?” Hope asked, her accent causing her words to lilt upward at the end. “This is a horrible situation, and it’s going to affect the rest of the lives of everyone involved, regardless of the outcome.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I answered. “I didn’t expect him to go sailing through this with a song on his lips. I just don’t want all of this to prove to be too much for my friend to deal with on his own.”
“There you go again,” Hope said, setting her tea down and leaning forward. “You keep insisting Justin is alone, as if he didn’t have a whole and complete life before you got here. You might be his best friend, Justin, but he has others. He has Dillon Storm and Charlotte Cooper. He has me, too. And I’m not nothing.”
“Again, that’s not-”
“I know it’s not what you meant,” Hope said. “But it’s what is, and more than that, you have bigger problems to worry about. Daphne is your client, not Justin. I think that’s where your attention should be right now.”
I tensed up a little, sitting further up in my seat. “I know how to do my job, Hope,” I said tersely, glaring at the woman. “Let’s hope you can say the same. Did you find anything for me?” I arched my eyebrows at our firm’s investigator expectantly, hoping she had found something-anything- that might point me in the direction of what actually happened to Dr. Trapp. Though the case the state was presenting was highly circumstantial, I’d learned enough in my time as a defense attorney to know that-more often than not- jurors looked for an answer. They liked to have someone to blame, and when they couldn’t do that, they at least liked the story of what happened to the victim to make sense.
If I stood a chance at getting Daphne off for this, I needed to present them with an alternative to what happened. I needed to present them with the truth.
“Of course, I know how to do my job,” Hope answered, a smile cracking at the ends of her mouth. She dug into her bulbous, oversized purse, and just like that, much of the tension that had been building up between us melted away. She had something. The woman had found something that would hopefully help matters. I leaned forward in my chair, ready to accept whatever tidbit of gold she was about to give me.
“He collects old cars,” she said, tossing a photo of Dr. Stephen Trapp down on the table and looking up at me. It was what looked to be a pretty recent picture. The doctor stood in front of a red corvette with a grin on his face and his arms folded over his chest.
Okay. So, it wasn’t exactly gold after all.
“That’s it?” I asked, my eyes widening. “All you’ve got is that he likes old cars? If anything, that sort of personal information would only serve to make the jury more sympathetic to him. It’d make them more inclined to blame Daphne out of a knee jerk need to make all of this make sense.”
“I know that, Rick,” Hope answered. “This isn’t my first trial either. What I was going to say, before you jumped to conclusions, was that this is a picture of Dr. Trapp from last year. He was in Miami, at a classic car convention, where more than a couple eyewitnesses I’ve managed to contact through a forum board Trapp used to frequent, tells me he paid for that car in cash.”
“Alright,” I said, sitting back in my chair, and steadying myself. “I’m listening.”
“Good,” Hope answered. “Because it’s about to get twisty. I got suspicious when I heard from a few sources that he paid in cash. I mean, who pays in cash anymore? Turns out, there might have been a reason for that.”
“What kind of reason?” I asked.
“Aside from the eye witness accounts, there’s no record of Dr. Trapp ever buying this car, and he certainly didn’t seem to actually have possession of it.” Hope nodded. “All of the doctor’s vehicles are still in a garage he rented on the northside of town. I made a visit there yesterday and found a lot of cool stuff. My uncle is a car nerd, and he’d freak out about some of the gems that are sitting there. The convertible isn’t one of them, though.”
“That is interesting,” I said. “I’m not sure what it would have to do with his murder, though. Leaning into the sorts of things I’ve seen in the courtroom over the years, I’m going to guess that he bought the convertible for someone else, someone he had no business buying gifts for.”
“An affair, right,” Hope answered. “That’s what I was thinking, too. But then I did a little bit more digging, and I found something odd.” She pointed at the car in the photo,
specifically at the tires. “Do those look weird to you?”
I stared at the picture. “They look a little big for the frame,” I admitted, studying the car.
“That’s because they don’t belong on it,” she answered. “That sort of convertible traditionally runs much smaller tires. Those are off-road, all terrain.”
“What?” I asked, my forehead wrinkling. “Who the hell would take a classic convertible off road? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know that,” Hope said. “And that’s another thing. The eyewitnesses tell me Dr. Trapp insisted on those tires before he would buy the car. They had to be switched out right there in Miami.”
“Do you have the names of these eyewitnesses?” I asked, grabbing my coffee and taking a drink. “I know how forum boards can be. People are always hiding behind anonymity and fake names. If I’m going to follow this and see where it leads me, I’d like to know that I can be able to trust the source of this information.”
“Please,” Hope muttered, rolling her eyes. “I had their IP addresses, their physical locations, and the names of their cats before I ever reached out to them.”
“Good girl,” I answered.
“There’s more,” she said, sighing. “I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, that this is related, but there have been a rash of hit and runs over the last year in the surrounding Miami area.”
“Well, it is Miami,” I said.
“Right,” she answered. “Except witness accounts speak of a classic convertible with weird tires and the same red paint job as the one in the photo being at the scenes of these hit and runs. The tire tracks also match these off-road tires.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding firmly, and letting all of this sink in. “There very well might be something here. I know the classic car convention probably brought in people from all over the state, and Lord knows a forum board can have members throughout the entire world but is there any chance any of the eyewitnesses you spoke to actually live in the Miami area.”
“Two of them,” she said.
“Good,” I said quickly. “Then we kill two birds with one stone. You’re going down there, and, with any luck, you’re going to figure out exactly what Stephen Trapp did with that car.” I grinned a little at Hope. “Get ready for a road trip.”
Chapter 16
Walking out of the coffeeshop, I was surprised by how long I had spent there. It was early evening when I got there, ready to talk to Hope about what she had found and unprepared for the fact that it would soon take us all the way down to The Magic City. Still, I felt a sense of accomplishment as I strode back on to the Naples’ street, headed to my car in the parking lot.
Night had fallen during my conversation with Hope, but it didn’t bring much in the way of coolness. Back in Chicago, it would have been twenty degrees cooler than this at a minimum. I’d have been bundled up in a jacket and maybe even a scarf depending on how much bite the wind in the Windy City had tonight. Here, though, I was clad in a short sleeve shirt. I could have even pulled off a pair of shorts, if I’d have wanted to. Lord knows enough people down here were doing just that.
That was the thing about Florida, and not just in the summertime. People dressed casually down here. It was a different lifestyle, a slower pace, and a sunnier attitude. I didn’t think I would fit in with that pacing or that attitude when I moved here, but I was starting to think that I was wrong.
In fact, I felt so wrong that I decided I didn’t want the night to end. So, I picked up the phone, and dialed the number of a man I had come to call my friend.
Unfortunately, Ethan Sands’ phone went to voicemail, and since Justin wasn’t exactly speaking to me right now, I was reduced to calling the number of a man who wasn’t quite a friend yet.
“Dillon,” I said, forcing a smile across my face as the detective picked up on the third ring. “How’s it hanging?”
“How’s it hanging?” Dillon Storm asked from the other end of the line. “I was just forced to arrest three nineteen-year-olds for possession and intent to distribute. That’s how it’s hanging.”
“So, not the best day, then,” I said, grimacing a little as I took in his words. “It sounds to me like you need to unwind, maybe get a drink. Luckily for you, I know just the fish-out-of-water defense attorney who can help you do that.”
A beat of silence passed through the phone after that, and during it, I wondered just what I was doing. Dillon Storm and I were not close. Sure, he and Justin got along like mushrooms and onions, but he and I had never seen eye to eye. In fact, our last interaction, when he told me what to do with my life on a fishing boat, was more awkward than anything else. Still, the man had more than a little wisdom about him. Justin had told me on more than one occasion just how much Dillon’s words and directions had helped him out. Maybe that was what I was looking for. I might have had a lead down in Miami, but things around here were still a mess.
Justin was mad at me, Daphne was the odds-on favorite to go down for the murder of a doctor the majority of the city saw as a friend, and there was a woman bouncing around town ready to document all of it in hopes of a second legendary failure for me. With all of that mess swirling around my head, a little guidance wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
“Justin’s still not talking to you?” Dillon asked from the other end of the phone.
“He’s taking some time to grow into his feelings on the matter,” I answered, shuffling toward my car. “I’m respecting his need for space.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” Dillon answered. “You weren’t exactly the model of a friend.”
I stopped in my tracks, sighing. “Look, I know you might not be versed in attorney/client privilege, but-”
“I know about attorney/client privilege, man,’ Dillon said. “Relax. I didn’t say I blamed you either. This was a tough situation. To be honest with you, I’m not sure what I’d have done in your shoes either, but I do know my friend. I know that, even if it takes him awhile, he sees things clearly. He’ll see that you were just trying to help, even if it was in the most ass backward way possible.”
“Thanks, I guess,” I said. “I appreciate that, man. And seriously, if you want to go out and get a drink, maybe blow off some steam, I could really use somebody to tal-”
Before I could finish my sentence, I heard some rustling to my left. Looking over and into an alleyway that cut between the coffeeshop I’d just left and the next business, I saw an altercation taking place. Two guys were beating the crap out of some kid. One of them had a hammer in his hand.
“My God,” I muttered, a bit of terror running through me.
“What?” Dillon asked, obviously recognizing the concern that registered in my voice. “What’s happening?”
“A couple men are whaling on this kid. It looks like they’re about to take a hammer to him,” I said, staring at the scene as it unfolded.
“Where are you?” Dillon asked. “Give me the address, and I’ll either go there myself or get an officer out to them, whichever is quicker.”
“I just left a coffeeshop on Main,” I said, instinctively moving closer. As I did, I also moved closer to the beach. The sounds of the waves beating against the shore intensified.
“That’s not too far,” Dillon said. “I’ll get someone over there right now. Just-Is that the Gulf I hear? Rick, are you approaching them?”
“They’re going to hurt him,” I said.
“They’re going to hurt you if you go over there,” Dillon said. “I know we’ve been through this before, but you’re not trained for this sort of action. You can’t just-”
His words faded into nothing as I caught sight of the boy in the center of all of this. The breath caught in my throat, because I knew him. Well, knew was a strong word, but I did recognize him. I had seen his picture in discovery, and I had seen his features on the faces of both my best friend and his sister.
It was Mike Trapp. The boy who was about to have his skull cracked open by two
thugs in an alleyway was none other than Daphne’s biological son.
Chapter 17
With my mind racing and my adrenaline pumping, I pressed the end button on my call with Dillon. I knew what he was going to say. He would have told me to stay away from this. He would have said that, even if the boy in question was Daphne’s son and Justin’s nephew, I wouldn’t help by getting myself involved.
I knew better than that. Dillon might have been right to say that I hadn’t been trained in the same way he and the rest of the Collier County Police Department were, but I was no shrinking violet. I had been involved in my fair share of tussles in my life, and the beating I took when I first got here aside, I liked to think I could be a pretty rough customer when it came down to it. Besides, these guys didn’t look so big.
It didn’t matter. Even if I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was going to get my Chicago born and bred ass handed to me, I didn’t have a choice. This kid was in trouble. He was Justin and Daphne’s family, and there was a very real possibility that these men were going to kill him with a hammer if I didn’t step in. I couldn’t allow that to happen. What kind of friend would I be, what kind of man would I be, if I just stood back and watched?
“Hey!” I screamed, letting the fear and hesitation that wafted through me melt away as much as I could. I wasn’t armed. I didn’t have a gun or a knife, and with that hammer, I was almost certainly outmatched. Still, if I could distract the bastards long enough for Mike to make a run for it, I’d have done my job. Sure, the pair of hooligans might come after me instead, but Dillon knew where I was, and I couldn’t imagine it would be too long before an officer showed up to break everything up.
