“That could take a long time,” Jack replied.
Nick just smiled. “Yeah, it could. However, Taylor just booked a flight to the Caymans. I strongly suspect he wants to see his money and count it. I’ll be there when he does.” Jack looked at Frankie, who was smiling as well.
“That’s beautiful,” he said.
“Once we catch him, he’ll start squealing like a pig,” Nick continued. “We won’t ever get to the people on top, but maybe we can cut a few legs off and make them think twice the next time.”
“It’s a constant battle,” Frankie added.
Back in Bass Creek later that same week, Jack lifted his head from the pillow and glanced at the clock on the night-stand next to his bed. It was 5:35 a.m. He rested his head back down for a moment and took a deep breath before swinging his legs over the side and sitting up. Ten minutes later, he was out the front door, dressed only in running shorts and a T-shirt.
This was his time now, the early morning when nothing stirred except the night owl and the crickets, and the moon and the stars were on center stage. He followed his and Pat’s familiar path into the woods, armed with his flashlight. Five minutes into his run in the deepest foliage, as a possum ran across his path and almost sent him reeling, he heard her voice in his head: Keep that flashlight up so you can see where you’re going. He smiled to himself. Maybe it was an illusion. Maybe he was just plain crazy. It didn’t matter, though, because it was his own personal craziness, a warm feeling in his heart that he didn’t share with anybody. Nor was he troubled that she had seen him with Molly. In all probability there would be others. Pat was above that now—a spirit devoid of human frailties, unburdened by time and space—free at last.
NOTE TO THE READER
In case you think Henry Wilson’s story in Part One of the book is a little too far-fetched to be real, it is loosely based on a true story—the case of Florida inmate Juan Roberto Melendez. You can find numerous articles about Juan Melendez on the Internet, including the actual opinion of Judge Barbara Fleischer granting Mr. Melendez a new trial.
The breakthrough biotechnology mentioned in the book is also true. Lonnie Ingram, a professor of microbiology at the University of Florida, perfected this technique and patented it. Chuck Woods, a reporter for The Palm Beach Post, wrote an article on May 5, 2005, in which he quoted Mr. Ingram as saying this new biomass technology could make ethanol at $1.30 a gallon. (That estimate has probably changed in the last two years.) The article also stated that half the automotive fuel in the United States could be replaced with this new technology. You can read more about this on the Internet as well.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My greatest joy has always been my family, and I have been blessed in that regard. My three children, John, Justin, and Sarah, are my anchors. We have always been there for one another. John’s wife, Bethany, Justin’s wife, Becky, and my five grandchildren, Gabrielle, Hannah, Jack, Grace, and Owen, make up the rest of my inner circle. The next band of that circle is my brothers and sisters: John, Mary, Mike, Kate, and Patricia, and their significant others: Marge, Tony, Linda, Bill, and John. You form a unique bond when you grow up in a four-room flat in New York City with your mother and father and five brothers and sisters. My siblings have always kept my feet firmly planted on the ground. I also have an extended family of aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, in-laws, close friends, and three godchildren, Ariel, Madison, and Nathaniel, whom I love dearly. And I send a note of special gratitude and love to my mother’s twin sister, Aunt Anna.
At the top of my “other” family, my publishing family, sits my agent and my friend, Larry Kirshbaum. Larry was a great publisher and editor for many years before starting his new career as a literary agent. I am proud to say that I am and will always be his first client. His advice and expertise, and that of his staff, especially Susanna Einstein, have been invaluable to me. Soon after teaming up with Larry, St. Martin’s Press became my publisher. Since the beginning, Sally Richardson and Matthew Shear at St. Martin’s have been very enthusiastic and supportive of me and my work. I will always be indebted to Kate Hartson and Yorkville Press for giving me the opportunity to be a successful writer. Kate has not only been my publisher and my mentor for many years, she is also my sister.
Marc Resnick is my editor at St. Martin’s. This second book is our first full-time collaboration, and we worked very well together. Thank you, Marc, for your patience and your suggestions on how to make this book better.
I would also like to thank a special friend, Greg Tobin, who helped me to understand the finer points of the writing process. Thank you to the staff at St. Martin’s for the outstanding layout and cover design of this book, and to Bob Somerville and Tina Taylor, my original editor and designer on The Mayor of Lexington Avenue, who I still look to for support and insight.
I owe a large debt of gratitude to my friends who have read my work and provided me with their honest analyses and opinions. I am tempted not to name names because I might forget someone. But, having filed that disclaimer, here goes: Dottie Willits, Kay Tyler, Robert “Pops” Bella, Peter and Linda Keciorius, Diane Whitehead, Dave Walsh, Lindy Walsh, Lynn and Anthony Dennehy, Caitlin Herrity, Gary and Dawn Conboy, Gray and Bobbie Gibbs, Teresa Carlton, Linda Beth Carlton, Kerrie Beach, Cathy Curry, Dee Lawrence, Ron DeFilippo, Urban Patterson, Richard Wolfe, Stephen Fogarty, and Paul Hitchens.
Last, but certainly not least as far as this book goes, are my nephews Michael Sheehan and John Tartamella, who are New York City cops and who read the police stuff and gave me some pointers; Pat Fahey, a cousin and also a retired New York City cop, who helped with some of the ballistic stuff; and Carla Jimenez, an ovarian cancer survivor herself, who gave me some insights and some Web sites to help me understand the “silent killer,” ovarian cancer.
I also want to bid a fond farewell to my breakfast buddies, Eddie and Bill, neither of whom made it to the next winter.
The Law of Second Chances Page 39
