Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series)

by Rod Hoisington

  During the trail process, Martin went beyond just being nice and offered Sandy office facilities and desk space until she was able to be on her own as a blossoming lawyer. He wasn’t being selfless—his foolish heart demanded it. Since she started sharing the law office with him, they’d become quite close. They would likely discuss anything happening in their lives. A genuine case of a nonromantic friendship—not that Martin preferred the nonromantic part. The pleasant office sharing arrangement had since become permanent and his heart couldn’t help skipping a beat each morning when she appeared.

  Their very different personalities had somehow meshed like loops and hooks of Velcro. When it came to crimes and criminals, she didn’t mind skulking down a dark alley and rummaging through the blood-soaked pockets of a dead body to look for clues. He was unlikely to go into a dark alley in the first place, or a bright one for that matter, and preferred his dead bodies in the morning newspaper where he could read about them over coffee. Sandy could be abrupt with her take-it-or-leave-it behavior. Martin was a gentleman in all respects. His tuxedo-clad personality would have fit nicely in a 1920’s drawing room entertaining guests, except he had no taste for the high-life. All poise and no pretense. He paid proper awareness to the niceties of propriety, yet was far from prissy and kept himself and his life orderly. They made a remarkable though an unlikely set of office mates.

  Martin jumped up from his desk, when he heard her come into the office. “I couldn’t reach you. Are you all right?” Then he saw her face, “You have been ill. Oh, Sandy, sit down.”

  She hadn’t tried to cover her mottled face with makeup. “Mosquito bites.” Might as well start with the truth.

  “Did you fall asleep in the grass, or something? What are you putting on them? Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I’m not allergic or anything. Just mosquito bites, at least I hope they’re just mosquito bites. Most are going away. I tried not to scratch them.”

  “Calamine lotion, that’s what you need. I’ll go get some Calamine.” He was frowning at her—she had lied to him. Flu bug indeed. “What’s going on Sandy? No word from you since you left the office at five yesterday. Chip and I waited in the office for an hour then we both became unhinged. He ran around checking the hospitals and I went over to your apartment. You didn’t answer. We didn’t stop searching until your text two hours later. You weren’t at home sick were you?”

  After her apology for canceling the celebratory evening, she told him not to be concerned with what had happened and how she got the bites. It was beside the point. She came right out and told him she needed all the proceeds from the settlement check he held in the office safe. In other words, she needed to borrow his two hundred thousand dollar share and didn’t know when she could pay it back. She also needed help at the bank with cashing the check and securing the cash. Just trust her. She’d explain later.

  Martin remained aghast. Was she in trouble? A silly question but he asked it anyway.

  Yes, in trouble. Something was very wrong. Something she couldn’t share with him as yet. Just trust her.

  He said he trusted her. Yet, could she at least assure him it was just about money and she’d be all right?

  She lied by nodding slightly.

  The look on her face didn’t ease his concern at all, as once again he knew she wasn’t telling the truth. After giving up on getting more information from her, and asking if there was anything else he could do, he had only two questions, “Is the additional two hundred thousand enough?” and, “When do you need the cash?”

  “Four hundred thousand total is enough, but I need it first thing in the morning.” It would be close; she couldn’t explain that Jane would phone with the money-drop instructions tomorrow. “Sorry. I can’t give the bank more time. We need to endorse that check and get it to them right away.”

  She had no idea what four hundred thousand dollars looked like, she explained, and needed his help with getting that much in cash from the bank and safekeeping it until in the morning. It sounded risky and tricky to her. To tell the truth, it all sounded impossible.

  Martin didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He took out his phone and called his bank. Had he been put on hold, he’d have waited patiently until served. However, they did not put him on hold. In fact, the last time any bank had put him on hold was at age seventeen. He hadn’t complained, nevertheless when the bank president learned what had happened, he phoned Martin’s father and apologized. This day, Martin asked for the bank president by name. The man was called out of a meeting across town to take the call. Martin asked him to deliver four hundred thousand dollars in cash to his law office at ten a.m. the next morning. Were there any questions? No, of course not. They assured him there would be no problems. Banks did not question Martin Bronner.

  “You’re the financial expert, but don’t they need the check before they release the cash?” Sandy asked when he had hung up. “Should I endorse it now, so you can take it to the bank?”

  “How long do you believe it will be before you can tell me what this is all about?”

  She took a guess, “I should be able to tell you by tomorrow night.” Jane was to call her in the morning with instructions about how to deliver the money. After the delivery she could explain.

  “Very well. I’m going to wait on depositing that check until I find out what’s going on.”

  “Martin, cashing that check has nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Glad to hear that but let me handle it.”

  She sighed with relief. Although she was amazed at all he’d done, she had expected no less. She knew he’d help her with no questions asked. Good to know there were certainties in life: the sun would come up every day and Martin Bronner would always help her.

  Chapter Five

  It was Friday evening, forty-eight hours after her abduction. After staring at her phone most of the day worrying that something had gone wrong, Sandy finally received the expected phone call from Jane that evening. Sandy was all set. The armored car from the bank had arrived at the office that morning as planned and Martin was ready with a green gym bag, which he stuffed with cash and placed in the trunk of her car. She made him promise not to intervene or try to follow her.

  She had her instructions. She checked her watch for the umpteenth time.

  She crossed the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway with the bright lights of the Park Beach mainland behind her and the Atlantic Ocean three miles straight ahead. Once on the barrier island she turned south leaving the traffic behind and drove along the winding Lagoon Drive, past the golf course and through the affluent residential area that bordered Lagoon Park. She circled beyond the boat ramps and tennis courts and pulled into a space in the lighted parking area. She checked her watch again. Ten minutes to go. So far, she had timed it right.

  At this point, strange as it seems, she was rooting for Dick and Jane and hoped their plan for the money-drop was foolproof. She hoped they knew what they were doing. It was to her advantage for them to pick up the money with no problems and take off. She didn’t want some harmless man standing around reading a paper—looking like an FBI agent trying to look like a tourist. Or have a cop on routine patrol decide to eat his sandwich in the park. She didn’t want them upset because something had gone wrong. She hoped Jane was calling all the shots. Judging from his actions in the Everglades, Dick seemed to be knitting with only one needle.

  Five other cars and a pickup truck were in the parking lot near the tennis courts and boat ramp. She parked and stepped out into the evening air. It was early May and the humidity was fine but the temperature wasn’t dropping much even though the sun had showed the last of itself. She heard indistinct voices from over at the tennis courts hidden by the trees, but no one was in sight.

  She opened the trunk and stared at the green gym bag. The cash in that bag represented more than just months of long hours sweating over case histories, and carefully preparing their briefs and court filings. Even before that, were the yea
rs of sacrifice and hustle to get her degree and pass the bar exam. It represented a lifetime. They had won the case and her spreading fame should produce a steady flow of clients. All that was at risk. As important as that success was, she also needed the money. She had earned it, wanted it and somehow was going to have it.

  Yet as beautiful as it appeared in the bag, she was going to give it away. Might never see it again. What she was about to do seemed unbelievable. Was this the right move? Yes, it was for Chip.

  She lifted the gym bag out and while closing the trunk, a movement to the right caught her eye. Someone was crouching in the dark between two cars over at the side. Was this part of Jane’s plan? She tightened her grip on the bag handle. The parking area could use some brighter lights, but she could make out a boy. The kid was trying car doors. When he raised his hand for an instant, she saw the glint of a shiny piece of metal he was trying to slide down between the door and the window glass. That’s when he noticed her and ducked down. He jumped back up immediately and started wheeling his bicycle away. Then stopped and stared back at her, apparently deciding she was no threat to him.

  She could jump in her car and drive away. She could dial 911. But she didn’t have time for any of that. She checked her watch and frowned. No time for this creepy kid. “Just keep going, dude,” she yelled using her most macho voice.

  Instead, he wheeled his bicycle a few steps closer to her and stopped. She could make out his dull brown eyes in his colorless face. He eyed her and the green gym bag, trying to decide what she was all about.

  He was a tall kid with a body as scrawny as his beat-up bicycle. He wore sneakers, old jeans and a T-shirt that read: Screw You! She could probably take him. She’d faced young hoods on the corner in Philly. A cop up there once told her, “Aim for the bridge of their nose, kiddo. You hit that and they may never get back up.” The kid’s physical strength was beside the point. He had that foot-long piece of sharp metal in his hand—and she had a ton of money in hers. Possibly, he didn’t know how to use the jimmy as a weapon, but she didn’t want him practicing on her. At least he appeared nervous, that was good.

  “Whatcha got in the bag?”

  A commanding fearless voice was her best defense just then, “Possession of that Slim Jim you have there is a felony. It’s considered a burglary tool. Now get the fuck out of here!” She turned her back on him to show she was unafraid and slowly opened her car door. She made a big play out of casually tossing the bag across to the floor in the front seat as though it contained dirty clothes. She got in and closed the door. Her cloth convertible top would be no match for that thin piece of metal, if he decided to come at her. He stood back there. She looked at her watch—five minutes left. She took out her phone, looked back at him and pretended to be calling.

  That did it. When she looked again, he was gone. She grabbed the bag, got out and locked the car door.

  She hurried along the dimly lit walking path, which wound alongside the dry streambed in the public park. She checked her watch—it would be close. She looked back over her shoulder—no one back there that she could see. She hoped she’d seen the last of the kid. Up ahead, was Lover’s Bridge. She’d seen the small bridge in the daytime but had never paid much attention to it. Nothing particularly romantic about it, she thought, other than the name, no charming babbling brook passing underneath. Just an ordinary footbridge of concrete and rock, and just wide enough for a couple of bicyclers to pass over.

  Jane had instructed her to leave the money on a tray that would be on the sidewall of the bridge. A tray? Sandy didn’t understand the part about a tray. Almost there. Up ahead, she could see the bridge weakly illuminated by lampposts at either end. Not a bad spot for a money-drop, she thought. If she had alerted the cops, they’d have to hide in the trees to be able to watch the bridge.

  She stepped onto the footbridge and walked to the middle. She could barely see her watch in the dim light. Eight o’clock. The exact time she was supposed to be at the center of the footbridge. She looked along the top of the waist-high sidewall. On the far side, she was surprised to see a brown plastic tray resting there, just as Jane had described on the phone. An ordinary cafeteria or food service tray completely out of place—it made no sense. Her hands shook and her heart sank as she followed Jane’s instructions and set the gym bag down on the tray. She slowly removed her hand. It all seemed so ludicrous. Her entire life was in that bag. She had damn well better see that money again someday.

  Jane had said to leave fast and not look back. Sandy didn’t want any slip-ups. She shook her head as she turned and walked away into the dark leaving a bag containing four hundred thousand dollars in cash resting on a brown cafeteria tray on the sidewall of Lover’s Bridge in Lagoon Park.

  As she stepped off the bridge onto the trail leading back to the parking lot, she froze as she saw a man and a woman approaching her. They didn’t seem to notice her and appeared to be merely a couple walking hand-in-hand busily talking. Dick and Jane perhaps? Could they be that brazen? Was such a plan clever or stupid? If they were caught before leaving the park, they could say they were just out for a stroll when they found the bag—merely taking the bag to the police. She doubted the authorities would buy any of that. And she really didn’t believe that was the plan.

  No one else was even remotely close by. The couple walked past her—a few steps from the bridge—chatting at each other as though they were the only two people in the world. She was dying to glance up at their faces but didn’t dare. If they were Dick and Jane, how would they react, if they thought she was on to them and could identify them? She stared as much as she dared. The man was just under six feet and in good shape wearing a madras short-sleeved shirt, jeans and sneakers. The woman was Sandy’s size and shape: five foot nine, one hundred and twenty pounds. She wore light colored Capris and sandals showing fluorescent pink toenails almost glowing in the dark. Age and color of hair—she had no idea. She didn’t really believe they were Dick and Jane but was afraid to raise her eyes and look at them above the waist. She kept repeating the descriptions to herself; when she got back to her car she’d write it all down.

  A chilling thought swept over her. Their plan wasn’t going to work. Their plan couldn’t possibly have anticipated a couple showing up and stepping onto the bridge just as the money was left.

  Was the entire affair about to go terribly wrong? An innocent couple happens along and screws up a complicated and precisely timed interplay of abduction, ransom and possible murder. In another five seconds, the couple would notice the bag. Impossible not to see it. Would they notice it and keep walking. Were Dick and Jane watching? Might they imagine the innocent looking couple was possibly FBI? They had threatened to kill Chip, if they didn’t get the money. Suddenly, it was very possible they would not get it.

  Would Dick and Jane be reasonable and consider that Sandy had held up her end of the bargain? How likely was that? Jane seemed reasonable and might just abandon the entire scheme. She might reason, they had taken a chance; it didn’t work; just bad luck the couple came along; too risky to pursue it further. Wouldn’t a sensible criminal reason that way? Sandy didn’t believe Dick was sensible. He most certainly wouldn’t walk away from a money-getting scheme, no matter how carefully crafted, simply because a critical element suddenly went all wrong. He’d come after Sandy with a gun and demand to be paid. And if happenstance did deny them the money, would they carry out their threat to kill Chip?

  By now, the couple was on the bridge. Sandy had stepped off the bridge, and they had stepped on in a matter of seconds. How could Dick and Jane possibly grab the money in those few seconds? How could the couple not see the large brown tray with a green gym bag on it, setting there entirely out of place? Sandy didn’t look back. She couldn’t have seen clearly onto the bridge anyway. She feared they might see her looking and change the plan.

  When she got back to her car, she quickly wrote down the descriptions of the couple. She snapped two photos of each of the other veh
icles in the parking area with her phone; one shot from the side, the other from the rear of each vehicle being certain to get the license plate.

  She hadn’t noticed any unusual activity since walking back from the bridge. She had no idea what was happening back there. In any case, there was nothing to be accomplished by sitting there. She needed to get away from there. She could wait for the couple to come back to their car and ask if they noticed anything unusual, but what if they were Dick and Jane? The thought seemed absurd. She was helpless.

  Had she lost her mind? She had just thrown away four hundred thousand dollars.

  Chapter Six

  Sandy drove out the main entrance of Lagoon Park and raced around the half mile to circle the park and arrive at the service entrance on the back side. She parked alongside a ficus hedge where her car couldn’t be seen, yet she could watch the service entrance. Too much time had passed since she walked off the footbridge; anyone using this rear entrance could easily have already escaped the park. But it was something.

  Now that she had carried out the money-drop part of it, for better or for worse, she was no longer reluctant to talk to Chip. Now she could let it all out and explain what had happened. She tapped speed dial on her phone. She was eager to hear his voice and explain the abduction and money-drop. His first question would be about her personal safety. He’d be horrified to learn of her ordeal, and then there would be some minor scolding. Soon, he’d come around to sympathizing with her dilemma. In the end, she knew he’d feel guilty because he was on earth to protect everyone, especially her, and had failed to somehow miraculously rescue her.

  After a few rings, she was surprised to hear an out-of-service announcement. Something was wrong. City detectives were never entirely out of service. His phone usually went to voicemail and the detective picked up whenever possible.