by Paul Carr
“Yeah, the ladies seem to like that part.”
Lora slapped lightly at his arm and made a mock frown. “Oh, I should have known!”
“Hello over there!”
Sam turned to see Jack Craft standing on the dock, a cup of coffee and a newspaper in his hands.
“Jack, I was just coming to see you.”
“I hope you were bringing that lovely lady with you.”
Glancing at Lora, Sam said, “Yeah, we'll be right down.”
“Wonderful. Bring your coffee. I have some fresh pastries.”
They followed him along the dock to where The Clipper rested in its oversized slip.
After holding the main hatch open for them, Jack went into the galley. He took a plate from the refrigerator, removed a piece of foil covering it, and put it into the microwave.
“Have a seat at the table,” he said as he punched buttons.
By the time they sat, and Sam introduced the two, the oven beeped, and Jack took the plate out and set it on the table.
“These have caramelized apples inside.”
“Didn't know you could bake,” Sam said.
Jack smiled. “A lady friend made them for me.” He laid out napkins before them.
“They smell delicious,” Lora said as she took one.
“Believe me, they are.”
Sam picked out one and took a bite. “That is good.”
Jack smiled, helped himself to a pastry, and leaned back in his chair.
Lora's phone chirped, and she pulled it out of her purse and looked at it. “I need to take this.” She got up and went out on the deck.
“Okay, what was it you needed to see me about?” Jack asked.
“I wanted to know how you did with that favor I mentioned,” Sam said.
“Oh, the doctor. It went okay. I think the fix is in.”
“Who did you talk to about it?”
Something in Sam's face must have put Jack on the alert, because his smile slid away. “Why, what happened?”
“Somebody in a big Mercedes came around. Whoever it was seemed to outrank the FBI agent investigating the cases down in Iguana Key.”
“That cause you some trouble?”
“Not right away. As a matter of fact, it was the opposite. The local cops were trying to roust me, and the agent told them to lay off. This was right after he spoke with the person in the Mercedes.”
Jack shrugged. “So what's the problem?”
“The problem is, I think the same person had two thugs follow Lora and me and hold us up outside Iguana Key.”
Something changed in Jack's eyes, the gears turning over.
“Who did you talk to about the problem?” Sam repeated.
“A lobbyist in Washington who knows a lot of important people. He said he thought he could reverse the ruling on the Dr.'s case.”
The lobbyist might have called the person in the Mercedes, but that seemed like a long shot. “What did you tell him?”
“The bare minimum, just that the Dr. got the shaft and didn't deserve it.”
“Huh.” Maybe it was time to revisit the Dr. and see who might have contacted him. “You ever heard of a place called Windhaven?”
Jack chuckled. “Sure, I know a couple of people who vacationed there last year.”
“Vacationed?”
“Well, you know…”
Lora came back in and sat down. “That was just my boss looking for me.”
Chapter Twenty
Sam’s phone sounded off and he looked at the display. He didn’t recognize the number. “Hello.”
“Mackenzie, this is Lieutenant Cates. A detective in Miami called and told me about Charles Ford being stabbed. Is Lora there with you?”
“Yes, hold on.”
He handed the phone to her. “Lonnie Cates.”
She put it to her ear. “Hello, Lonnie. I was probably on the phone when you called. He’s in a coma. We thought his assailant might be the same person who killed the people in Iguana Key…Because Ford was up here investigating somebody. Maybe it was the killer, and he found out about it. Okay, I’ll let you know if he wakes up. By the way, is there any progress on finding the chief?” Nodding for a moment, she said, “Okay, I’ll let you go, then.” She said goodbye and handed the phone back to Sam.
“What did he say about Boozler?”
“They got an anonymous call from a man saying he saw him, and he was on his way to check it out.”
They finished the pastries, and Sam said he needed to get something from his boat. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” Jack said with a smile.
Lora gave Sam a look that said she wondered what he was up to.
When he neared Slipstream, Sam dialed up Simone and told her about Cates’ call. “He got a tip on Boozler. You think you could catch up and follow him?”
“I can give it a try.”
“How's J.T. coming along with the encryption?”
“Pretty close to breaking it. He has a call in to one of his contacts to verify something to do with the code. Hold on.”
Sam heard her relay their conversation to J.T. and tell him she would be back later. “Okay, I'm headed for the car. What did you find out about the lawyer?”
Sam brought her up to speed on the coma situation. “I'll drop by the hospital again later and see if there's been any change.”
“Where are you now?” she asked, the sound of the car starting in the background.
“I left Lora at Jack's place and came over to my boat to call you.”
A couple of beats passed, and he wondered if she believed him.
“Okay, I'll try to pick up Cates’ trail.”
****
Sam went back to The Clipper and told Lora that something had come up that he needed to attend to. “I’ll meet you back at the hospital later. Jack will give me a lift. Right, Jack?”
The confidence man didn’t miss a beat. “You bet.”
She frowned. “I’ll be glad to drive you—”
“No, that’s okay, it might take a while.”
Lora grudgingly agreed, thanked Jack for the pastries, and left.
****
Jack turned his BMW into the driveway of Windhaven. The place looked like a business office, though there were no signs of any kind. It had minimal landscaping, and the drive led to a small parking lot to the side of a covered front entrance. Picking a space in the shade of a cluster of palms, Jack parked and they got out.
A small entrance hall lay directly inside the door, and a woman sat there behind a desk, reading a book. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see the director,” Jack said, handing her one of his many business cards. He cast his eyes around the room, as if inspecting for vermin.
The woman studied the card for a moment and looked him up and down. He had donned a suit that probably cost three thousand dollars and carried a polished leather portfolio. Sam had showered and put on a dress shirt and a pair of khakis.
“Do you have an appointment with Dr. Schuller…” She looked at the card again. “Mr. Bane?”
“No, but it’s imperative that I speak with him immediately. My client is a very wealthy man, and he has it on good authority that this facility recently violated his son’s patient confidentiality.”
She stood up and glanced at the card again, her eyes wide, as if there might be something there that she didn’t see the first two times. “Please have a seat and I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Returning a few minutes later, she escorted them through a doorway with an electronic lock to a hallway and finally an office on the left. Unlike the exterior façade and the foyer, it reeked of opulence. A massive desk, constructed of a rich wood, dominated the space. It squatted atop an oriental rug that extended the length of the room. What appeared to be original paintings hung from the walls, interspersed with framed certifications from prestigious colleges and universities.
A very large man stood behind the de
sk with Jack’s card in his hand. Well over six feet tall, he probably weighed in excess of three hundred pounds. His hair resembled a snowcap atop a mountain, and the skin on his face had a rosy glow, no doubt from high blood pressure and alcohol.
“Mr. Bane, come in, please,” he said, rounding the desk. After shaking with Jack, he reached for Sam’s hand. “And you are?”
Sam smiled. “Mr. Bane’s investigator.”
“Ah, well then, let’s go over here where we can chat.”
He led them to the side where a loveseat sofa sat facing two leather chairs. Jack and Sam took the chairs, so the big man went to the sofa and lowered his bulk, taking up two thirds of its width.
“Now, Mr. Bane, what is it you wanted to see me about?”
Jack opened his portfolio. “I understand you were visited yesterday by an attorney named Charles Ford, and you divulged private information about a former Windhaven patient.”
Schuller frowned and leaned back on the sofa. “You’re talking about the man who was stabbed in the parking lot last night.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t give him any private information. Windhaven handles some of the most sensitive cases in the Southeast. Discretion is our code of honor. Who made this accusation?”
Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry, unlike this establishment, I don’t divulge information about my clients.”
“But I didn’t do what you are saying. I gave out no information to Mr. Ford.”
Jack slapped the portfolio closed and dropped it on the rug with a thump. He took a deep breath and sighed as he let it out. “Then, tell me, what exactly did you say to the man? My client has threatened to go to the psychiatric board, and he wants me to file a civil suit.”
The big man ran his fingers through his white hair, and his face turned a deeper red. He stood up and said, “Can I get either of you a drink? Scotch or bourbon?”
Jack seemed to consider that for a moment. “Scotch sounds lovely. Straight up is fine.”
Sam said he would have the same.
After a couple of healthy slugs of Scotch, Schuller sat back down and described the conversation he’d had with Charles Ford.
“The attorney said he just needed to confirm something. He said it was critically important, a matter of life and death. He had a recent photograph of a man and wondered if he had been a patient here several years ago. The picture seemed familiar, but I certainly couldn’t put a name to it. Then Mr. Ford described an incident that happened here a long time ago, and I remembered the man. It had been several years, and he had changed a lot, but I was pretty sure it was the same person. I could tell by the eyes.”
“So you confirmed it for Ford?” Jack asked.
“No, I did not. I told him I wouldn’t be able to help him because of privacy concerns. I suppose he took that as an affirmation, because he smiled and left.”
Schuller got up and poured himself another drink.
“Did he leave the photo with you?” Sam asked.
“No, he put it in his pocket.”
After a couple of moments, Jack said, “That doesn’t sound like you violated anybody’s privacy to me.” He turned to Sam. “Do you have any other questions?”
“Just a couple. Did Mr. Ford say how he came to know about this person?”
Schuller eyed Sam with the slightest expression of condescension, his eyes glistening from the scotch. “Yes, he said he worked on Windhaven’s legal team several years ago when the incident occurred that I mentioned earlier.”
“What was the incident?” Sam asked.
The big man glanced at Jack. “I don’t know if I should—”
“This is important,” Jack said, a stern tone to his voice. “I’m willing to make a favorable report to my client and encourage him to drop this action, but please answer the question.”
“Well, I suppose it will be all right, since the man gave me this information, and not the other way around. He said he remembered that the patient had stabbed a nurse in the neck with a ballpoint pen. The nurse survived, but she left her position and sued Windhaven.”
“Do you have a photo of the patient?”
“Oh, no. We never photograph our clientele.”
Sam hadn’t expected that they would, since many of the patients probably were celebrities who avoided cameras on their personal time, especially when checking in for detox.
“Okay, can you describe the man in the photo that Mr. Ford had?”
“Well, he seemed kind of nondescript. As I said, the eyes were what I recognized, and I don’t know how to describe them, other than that they were blue. The man seemed heavier, more mature than I remember, but that’s about all I remember about him. Ah, and he had short hair. The patient had long hair when he was here.” He took another belt of the Scotch, and his eyes narrowed. “Something just occurred to me. If you are who you say, then you would know what this person looks like.”
Jack chimed in. “Oh, believe me, we know our client’s son, but we wonder if he really is the man in the photo, and we wonder why Mr. Ford wanted to know all this, since he is a criminal defense attorney. It’s just a good thing you didn’t say any more than you did.”
They deposited their drinks on the desk, untouched, and walked out the door, leaving a greatly relieved and slightly drunk Dr. Schuller behind. Back in the car, Sam gave Jack directions to Dr. Whitehall’s apartment and took out his phone.
Lora answered with, “Where are you?” Her tone bordered on irritation.
“I’ll be on my way in a few minutes. Any change in the patient’s condition?”
“No, still in a coma.”
“I just thought of something. Ford seemed to think he knew the identity of the killer, but wouldn’t say until he confirmed his suspicions. It occurred to me that he might have had a photograph of the suspect with him when he got stabbed, and maybe that was his method of confirmation.”
“Huh. If he did, the police would have it now, unless the killer took it.”
“Yeah, my thinking exactly. You seemed to be pretty chummy with the detective at the hospital. Why don’t you call and ask him?”
“Chummy?”
“Seemed that way to me. He wasn’t too interested in what I had to say.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Get over here pretty soon, though. I need to get back home and get some rest. I’m about to fall asleep here.”
Now that she’d reminded him of how long they had been up, fatigue began to grip the backs of his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”
Jack turned into the parking lot at Whitehall’s apartment and Sam got out.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Upstairs, he knocked and waited. A minute or two passed before the door opened a crack.
“You again.”
“I got someone to check into your case, and you should be getting your license back pretty soon.”
“Okay.” He stared at Sam through rheumy eyes, said, “Thanks,” and started to close the door.
Sam stuck his foot in and stopped it. “I need to talk.”
The man stared again, and then shrugged, as if he didn't have any choice, or didn’t really care one way or the other. After leaning out and scanning the hallway, he swung the door open. Sam went inside and sat on the sofa, Whitehall dropped into his chair. Two empties sat on the table beside his chair. He'd started early.
“So, what is it now?” the Dr. asked.
“Did you get any other visitors talking about the Black Palmetto?
“Yes, I did. And I didn't like it one bit.”
“Who was it?”
“The man who hired and fired me.”
“Senator Blaine?”
Whitehall gave him a nod.
“What did he want?”
The Dr. picked up one of the cans and shook it. “Hold on.” He stepped into the kitchen, returned with a fresh beer, and sat down with a sigh. After a long swallow, he said, “Where was I? Ah, yes, I suppose it
doesn't matter now. Blaine had spoken with the people who hired you and wanted to know what had been stolen from my closet at the center in Homestead.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Sure, why not?”
“The flash card?”
The man's eyes widened a fraction. “Yes, how did you know?”
“We found it. It's encrypted, but I'm pretty sure we can break it.”
As if on cue, Sam's phone chirped. He took it out and looked at the display: J.T.
“I need to take this,” he said.
“I figured out what's on the card,” J.T. said when he got on the line. “It's some sort of tracking system, and its range seems to span the globe. I see pulse points with numbers on them in Europe, the Caribbean, and across the U.S.”
“Huh, a tracking system,” Sam repeated, primarily for Whitehall's benefit. “How many points in all?”
“About fifteen.”
“You know what they are?”
“No, but I'm still working on it.”
Sam glanced at Whitehall as he said, “Okay, excellent,” and hung up. He had an idea what the program might be about.
Smiling, Sam gestured with the phone. “The technical person working on the flash card.”
The Dr. rolled his rheumy eyes. “I surmised as much.”
“I just wonder how you accomplished it.”
“Accomplished what?”
“Implanting GPS transmitters in the operatives at the Black Palmetto.”
The Dr. took a deep breath, guzzled the rest of the can of beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I put them under hypnosis and placed the transmitters under the skin just below the shoulder blade. The incision was so tiny it probably seemed like an insect bite when they awoke.”
“Did you develop the system yourself?” Sam asked, wondering how he might have acquired the skills to do something like that.
“Heavens, no. A defense technologist did all that for me and somehow hooked the system into their network. I just did the medical part.”
The idea made sense. Given the Dr.'s apprehension with the program, this had been his fail-safe device, in case any of the operatives went off the reservation. He would be able to pinpoint their locations, and the Palmetto could send someone to terminate them. The only problem was, he got canned before any of that happened, and nobody else knew about the system. Until now.
