by Scott Cook
“No,” I admitted. “One does not, especially if one isn’t… inured to it. So you think what happened was an attempt on your life?”
“It was certainly no accident,” she stated.
I nodded, “It could have been… except for the fact that you were the only one aboard and unconscious moments after the fire began. Also, the wheel was locked down…and now that I come to think about it… there were a set of waypoints programmed into the chart plotter that controlled the autopilot. Steered you right into the basin… I would have to assume that there was at least one person on board before that.”
“Your assumption would be correct,” she stated. “A man named Theodore Whittaker. Teddy… my teddy bear.”
She said this last contemptuously, as if the words didn’t quite fit in her mouth and were coated in something bitter that must be spat out. I waited, giving her the time and space to tell me what she came to tell me at her own speed.
She drew in a breath, “Ted and I had only been seeing one another for a few weeks. He was the first man I… the first man I spent any time with since my husband passed just over a year ago.”
I thought I got the picture and didn’t pry.
She noticed and smiled thinly, “You’re a good listener. You don’t drive in with a lot of hard questions.”
“I do at times,” I admitted. “It is, after all, part and parcel of being a private investigator… yet I also know the value of patience and of respecting another’s feelings. I believe I understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m sure that you do,” she said appreciatively. Her eyes held a glimmer of… something… I couldn’t quite identify, or perhaps chose not to at that time. “I was told that about you as well. That you were a fascinating blend of many varying aspects.”
“Oh?” I asked.
She nodded, “You’re big, obviously strong. Certainly a help in the type of work you do. You’re intelligent, well-read and witty. You have a nearly unstoppable sense of irony, and yet you’re also kind, sensitive and caring. You can be as hard as nails one moment and tender the next.”
“My word,” I said. “I sound like quite a catch.”
She laughed, “You do at that. It’s just interesting. Most men like you don’t have your… diversity of facets.”
“Men like me?”
“Big and strong and handsome,” she stated. “Most men like that are either muscle heads or ego cases and rather… two-dimensional. They have an unfortunate awareness of their positive attributes, and this makes them less savory for anything but the most superficial contact. You, on the other hand, are the complete package.”
“Well, if I’m ever forced into the online dating scene,” I said casually. “I’ll certainly hire you to write my profile.”
She laughed, “Are you uncomfortable with all this praise?”
“Well, I do so love flattery, however undeserved… please continue.”
She laughed lightly, “I doubt that very much. And I trust my source.”
“Well, my undeniable wonderfulness aside… what is it I can help you with, Mrs. Bradford?”
“Please call me Ronnie,” she said amiably. “Most do.”
“No… I think Veronica suits you far better,” I observed. “I don’t know anybody who is less a Ronnie than you, Veronica.”
She grinned, “Very well, I like that. At any rate, I’m sure you can guess at least one thing I’m looking for.”
“The person responsible for your near-death experience,” I stated. “And since Ted was not also on board with you… I assume he’s your prime suspect?”
She nodded gravely, “Naturally. Although, as I say, Ted and I have only known one another for a little over two weeks. It generally takes at least a month before people want to kill me.”
I smiled, “That puts you way ahead of me then. So what you’re saying is that while Ted is certainly suspect… he’s certainly conspicuous by his absence… you don’t know why he’d make this attempt?”
She chuckled sardonically, “Oh, I’m fairly sure of why someone would want to… how do they have it in your line…? Bump me off. What I don’t know is why Ted.”
I leaned forward and drummed my fingers on my blotter, and then sipped some more coffee. I did all this thoughtfully, conveying the air of great consideration, “All right… so you have an idea of why your life was, or is, in danger. Yet you’re not convinced that your new… companion… is the prime mover.”
She nodded.
“Let’s start at the beginning, then,” I said, feeling an urge to pull out my pipe and fill it. Being a former smoker, however, she might not approve. “First, can you tell me about that day? Whose boat was it? How many people were on board when you shoved off? How did you come to be unconscious in the saloon?”
She sipped from her coffee and sighed, “The boat was mine… well, Julius’ and mine. Julius Bradford was my husband. We keep… kept… the boat at our home on Tierra Verde. Are you familiar with that area?”
I nodded, “Quite familiar with the Tampa Bay area. I used to keep my boat at the Tierra Verde Marina until a few months back.”
“Oh?” She asked with casual but genuine interest. I admired her ability to focus on someone else rather than simply herself, especially when she had every right to. “I like that marina. The restaurant there is nice. What made you decide to move?”
I chuffed, “My previous sailboat was… lost in the line of duty a few months back.”
She batted her eyes and cocked her head sideways, “Will that story be in your next book?”
I chuckled, “Yes, already working on it. Anyway, the Tierra Verde Marina can’t handle my new boat. But please continue with your tale, Veronica.”
She smiled. She smiled a lot for a woman who was nearly murdered. Admirable fortitude, I thought, “Well, we were out for the day, just Ted and myself. I was letting him run the boat. You know, letting him get used to it and all. A forty-eight-foot Rampage is easier to handle than most people might think, but it can be daunting to a newbie.”
I grinned.
“We decided to go out of Pass-a-Grille and come into the bay under the Skyway. Thought we’d head downtown, have dinner, perhaps stay overnight on the boat… who knows.”
I nodded encouragingly.
She sighed, “Ted was on the bridge. He’d brought some champagne with him and suggested I open a bottle and we’d share it as we headed in. So I went below, opened it and brought up the bottle and several flutes and we drank the entire bottle sitting up there.”
“And when you went below for something…” I offered.
“I suddenly felt woozy, then fainted dead away, I suppose,” she said with a nod. “The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with an oxygen mask over my face. I did have a vague recollection of being dragged through water, though… I thought it was a dream until that policeman, Lieutenant Muñoz, explained what had happened.”
I pondered and sipped and pondered some more, “So Ted drugged your champagne… but not the bottle itself, since he drank some, too.”
She nodded, “Oh, yes… at least as much as I did. So it’s possible we might have both been drugged.”
I frowned at that, “Or he slipped you a Mickey when you weren’t looking. I can’t say for sure, but that’s more likely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well… it’s simpler. He drugs you, sets the boat on fire and then jumps overboard after aiming the boat for downtown. Somebody certainly did. Somebody had to program the course. So he swims away or had help. Your tender was still on the foredeck.”
She thought about that for a moment, “Yet couldn’t that same scenario apply if Ted was drugged, too? Somebody put something in the bottle, then they set everything up?”
I shook my head dubiously, “First, they’d have to get aboard. Assuming you were underway when you passed out, Ted would’ve passed out while the boat was still running. Not impossible to board a moving boat that size, but hard. T
hen they, whoever they were, set up the fire and leave you but take Ted off? Why not just leave him, too? And why aim the boat for the pier? Unless you were already on course for it.”
She frowned, “We were still off Coquina Key when I went below, running on plane… no, I see what you mean. Ted had to be the one to set it all up.”
“Or at the very least, he meets some help, and they do what needs doing,” I said. “But I can’t imagine Ted is innocent. And since somebody aimed the boat for the pier, I have to assume that the fire and explosion… there were several, and I doubt they were simply from fuel igniting… was meant to send a message to… someone.”
“Why?”
I shrugged, “Too elaborate. If they just wanted to whack you, they’d simply have poisoned the wine. No, this was a display. Something for a lot of people, and probably some specific people, to take note of. Maybe even recover your burned body so there would be evidence that you were indeed dead. Also, it would look like an accident. That might be important somehow.”
She shivered and hugged herself tightly for a moment, “My God…”
“I’m sorry,” I said gently.
She shook her head and reached for her cup again, “No, don’t be. This is good. This is why I came here.”
“Okay… so we know the how, or at least have a working hypothesis,” I offered. “The next part is why? Why would anybody want to do this to you?”
She harrumphed bitterly, “That is the easy part, I think. Have you ever heard of Bradford Avionics?”
I shook my head no.
“Well, it’s a rather successful firm that develops and manufactures electronic systems for aircraft. Nav and communication for private planes and more advanced nav and comm as well as electronic warfare suites for military aircraft. That’s the largest part of our market,” she explained.
“You and your husband’s company.”
“Yes… although Julius started the firm thirty years ago,” she continued. “He supplied avionics for the F-14 Tomcat, the F-15 Eagle, F-18 Hornet and Super Hornet and now the JSF. A variety of other military aircraft as well. Stuff for surveillance and spy planes and so on. The JSF contract is only a few years old and has already doubled our business.”
I nodded, “And now that your husband…”
“Yes…” she said a little sadly. “Julius died in a training accident. The damn fool was taking a check ride in a new F-22 with some experimental gear we were developing and… and now he’s gone at fifty-six, and here I am left holding the reins.”
I nodded knowingly, “Do you know much about business?”
She narrowed her eyes and they flashed with anger. Rather shocking considering her manner thus far, “Because I’m just a little ol’ woman who can’t possibly know about such things, you mean?”
I was taken aback by the vehemence of her words, “Veronica… I didn’t mean… I was only asking to try and establish how involved you were. Not everyone is interested in, or knows the ins and outs of, big business. I apologize if my question came across as diminishing.”
She closed her eyes and sighed, reaching into her small handbag for a handkerchief. She dabbed at her now moistening eyes for a moment before looking at me again. With the dampness of her tears, her huge glacier-blue eyes were stunning, “Mr. Jarvis, I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that assumption or lashed out at you like that.”
“It’s all right,” I said gently. “And please call me Scott.”
She smiled slightly, “Thank you, Scott… I suppose I’m just a little sensitive, what with… everything that’s going on. Your question just struck a nerve that’s been rubbed raw ever since Julius’ accident. To answer your question, though… yes, I do know business. I hold a Master’s in Business Administration. Quite handy, especially now.”
“So now that he’s gone… are you in control of the company?” I asked.
Veronica nodded, “I’m CEO and chairman of the board. Julius and I have been together for nearly ten years. He appreciated my abilities, and we’ve scaled BA up from an eight to a nine-figure company in that time. Julius himself made it known to anyone who’d listen that it was my personal savvy and political connections that got us the JSF contract.”
I smiled appreciatively, “Most impressive… yet may I assume that it’s your position that’s probably got you worried?”
She drew in a steadying breath, “Yes. There are other factions in the company who believe I have no right to it. Specifically, Julius’ son and daughter, both of whom are officers and feel that they should have control over their father’s firm. Andrew and Sara Beth. Then there’s Marcus, Julius’ brother, who holds a vice-president’s position now. A few others in the company might be involved, I don’t know.”
“Greed’s worst point is its ingratitude,” I quoted.
“Who’s that?”
“Seneca,” I stated. “How about ‘Be fearful when others are greedy and greedy when others are fearful’?”
She nodded, “Warren Buffett. You couldn’t ask for a greedier pack of graspers and cutthroats than the Bradfords, believe me.”
I considered that for a moment, “Anyone else? That is, anybody that you know personally or with whom you’ve had an adversarial business relationship that isn’t related to your husband?”
“You don’t think my suspicions are grounded?” she asked but without any rancor.
“No, I wouldn’t say that at all,” I replied. “That somebody has ill will toward you is indisputable. I just want to be thorough.”
She pondered and then shook her head, “No one comes to mind. But believe me, Scott, the Bradfords have made it very clear how they feel. We’ve had open and rather heated discussions about it. I’ve even received an offer from Marcus. A contract in which I’d be a silent, profit-sharing partner but would have no controlling interest in the company.”
I was suddenly reminded of EcoLife and the power struggle between Miles and Andrea Palmer. A woman who helped a man scale his company and then being pressured to step back. It wasn’t an identical circumstance, but the parallels were interesting. Perhaps being a successful woman in corporate America was more hazardous than one might think.
“I assume you turned that down.”
She huffed and drained her cup, “It’s insulting! The bastard was a stumbling drunk when I first met him. It was Julius and I that got him sober, helped him finish his degree and put him in the position in the first place! To have the audacity to presume to buy me out! I’ve worked my ass off, Scott. I don’t want to give up on that company. I don’t mind sharing it with them, but I shouldn’t have to walk away now that Julius… now that I’m alone. Will you help me?”
“Of course.”
She looked a bit surprised, “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You don’t think I’m being melodramatic?”
I chuckled, “Veronica, you, me and a friend of mine leapt into Tampa Bay off of your burning boat moments before it exploded. If anything, I think you’re not being dramatic enough. Someone set that fire… and somebody put a bomb on that vessel. It wouldn’t have exploded like that otherwise. No, you’re right to be concerned, and I’d be honored to work with you.”
She beamed, “Thank you. Lionel and Trish said you wouldn’t turn me down.”
I chuckled and shook my head, “I should’ve known. Those two Argus’ know everybody it seems.”
“Well, what do you charge?”
“Seven hundred a day and expenses,” I explained. “I’ll get my partner on this too. I’ve also got… other assets available to me as well. I’ll need a retainer. I hope that’s all right.”
She reached into her bag and laid an envelope on my desk. I opened it and found a check made out to me in the amount of five thousand dollars, “I hope that’s all right for a start. Money isn’t really an object, especially considering what’s at stake. I want the people responsible for this attempt uncovered, Scott. I want them stopped. If it costs me f
ive million dollars to get that done, then so be it.”
I nodded and wrote her a receipt, “It won’t cost that, and I’ll stop them.”
She smiled, “You sound sure of yourself. Some of these people are quite tough.”
I returned the smile genially, “My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure. As for being tough… well… immodestly perhaps, I’m not exactly a pushover.”
She laughed, “No… I doubt you are. Thank you, Scott. So… what’s next?”
3
As I slid four forty-five and two twenty-five-pound plates onto the squat bar, which I used as a bench press, I pondered Veronica Bradford’s situation. It helped to focus my mind on something else when doing heavy exercise, and I found that I could push myself a little harder and every now and then a good idea would pop out, too.
I was working out at Vic Matzano’s gym on Jefferson Avenue in downtown Orlando. Vic’s was frequented by firefighters and cops and, as such, still had a little of the air of an old school gym rather than your ultra-modern fitness center. There were lots of Cybex machines, treadmills, spinners and stationary bikes, along with a well-appointed health bar. There were yoga mats and upwardly mobile downtowners in their FUBU sweats and fashionable athletic wear. However, the gym also featured a mixed martial arts room and boxing center with heavy and speed bags along with a sparring ring. The owner was as eclectic as his business. Vic Matzano was a medium-height New York Italian transplant who looked every bit the part of the successful gym owner. Vic was in his early fifties and, with his dyed hair and trim muscular body, looked much younger. His friendly demeanor and ready smile made everyone welcome.
“That’s it? Two-eighty? What’re ya’ getting soft on me, King Kong?”
Vic was also a bit of a wiseass. Or ball-breaker in the parlance of my homeland.
“Maybe you oughta bring me a low-carb, gluten-free soy milk organic smoothie and I might have the strength to push it just a little further,” I grunted in reply.
“Wayne was in here this morning,” Vic prodded. “Saw him do three-hundred… just sayin’.”
