by DS Whitaker
Donald, the island’s treasurer, walked up. “Robin, are you alright?” He extended his hand to help her up.
She righted herself, her back in pain from the impact. She exhaled. “I’m nowhere near all right.” Taking his hand, she descended the stairs. “Are you going to the ten o’clock video conference?”
Donald said, “Yes. But if you aren’t up for it, I’d be happy to take notes for you.” He bent down to gather her folders.
She joined him on the floor, scooping up the paper, contemplating the offer. A janitor walked up and handed her a wad of paper towels to dry herself. He began gathering shards of ceramic off the ground.
Robin blotted the wet areas of her blouse. Holding her sleeve to her nose, the smell of rum was unmistakable, like a goddamned distillery. Great.
When everything was back in order, she said, “No, I want to get this mo-fo over with.”
Donald smiled. “Couldn’t agree with you more.”
***
Gertie’s phone rang. Cud wasn’t sure if he should answer it. But he checked the incoming number in case it was his grandson. It came up as ‘Robin’. Was that Johnnie’s sister? He accepted the call. In a formal British accent, he said, “Madam Brown’s residence.”
“Hello? This is Dot McPherson, Senator Crosswell’s assistant. Is Gertie there?”
“Um. She’s indisposed right now. Can she call you back?”
“Who am I speaking with?”
“My name is Cud. I’m…a friend.”
“Oh, right. Can you give her a message? It’s very urgent.”
Cud sensed some panic in her voice. He wanted to ask what she meant by, ‘oh right’. Had Gertie told others of their new relationship? “Yes, what is it?”
“A search warrant will be issued any minute for John’s apartment. Robin needs Gertie to retrieve John’s diary and keep it safe. Right away.”
“Wait. What?”
Gertie came out of the bathroom, wearing her bathrobe. Her hair was damp—now a dark cobalt blue shade—and a yellow towel wrapped around her shoulders. “Cudlow, who’s on the phone?”
“Johnnie’s sister’s assistant.”
“I’ll take it.” Gertie took the phone. “Dot? What’s going on?”
After a few okays, yeses and long pauses, Gertie said, “Thanks, Dottie. I’ll get it right away. Tell Robin not to worry.”
Cud sat on the edge of the bed, mouth open. “What’s going on?”
Gertie took a seat beside him. “Johnnie was arrested. The police plan to search his place and I need to get his diary out of there.”
“Arrested? For what?”
“Murder. Another person washed up on the beach this morning and he called it in.”
“No.”
“Yes. That’s what she said.”
Someone pounded on Gertie’s front door. They stared at each other as the battering continued without pause.
Cud whispered, “Good graces, what if it’s the police? You keep them occupied here and I’ll slip out the back and get the diary.”
Gertie kissed him. “Go, my sweet.” She hurried out of the bedroom. From the living room, he heard her call out toward the front door, “Hold on! I need to get dressed.”
He ran through the kitchen to the back door. Cud peeked around the corner of the house, no police car. Only a black SUV with dark tinted windows and no markings. He snuck behind the vegetable garden, crawling on his belly to avoid being seen. He dashed the two yards out in the open to the rear of Johnnie’s garage apartment. There was no way to go through Johnnie’s front door covertly.
The easiest way inside would be through the large window next to Johnnie’s bed, that faced the trees on the left side of the property and was hidden from the driveway. He tried to budge it. Locked. The bathroom window! It faced the rear of the property and was never closed, at least during his stays. It was a high awning window. Not the best for breaking in, but he had no choice. His thin physique would come in handy, if he could scale the height. Scanning the yard behind him, a blue rain barrel caught his attention. It could work.
He rolled it under the window, climbed on top and pulled the window open as wide as the hinges would allow. Cud pressed his upper body through, bouncing his toes against the barrel top for momentum. The plastic barrel buckled under his weight and he dangled, half inside the room. He grasped the towel rack, tugging on it to help propel him forward. The towel bar snapped and he tumbled, landing head-first in the ceramic sink. He muttered, “Fudge ripple!” It hurt and he’d likely have a lump on his head soon, but he was in.
After righting himself, he dashed toward Johnnie’s nightstand; the notebook was there as he expected it to be. Cud shoved it under his waistband. He heard voices at the front door. The knob jiggled.
Trapped.
He ran back into the bathroom, closing the door. Climbing on the sink, he threw the diary out first; it landed in some tall grass. He shoved his body out the window again, this time without concern for pain or caution, his arms aimed at the barrel. He ricocheted off the plastic and somersaulted onto the ground in a heap and saw stars.
Cud heard the front door open and close and voices inside the apartment. Reaching up, he closed the window as best he could and then rolled the barrel a few feet away.
But where to hide the diary?
He spotted the answer at the vegetable garden. The large garden gnome in the center was hollow and he stuffed the book up inside, then pretended to pull weeds in case anyone was watching.
Just in time. A police car swerved into the compacted dirt and stone driveway, spewing dust. It parked beside the black SUV, but the officer waited in his vehicle.
Gertie exited Johnnie’s apartment, closing the door behind her. She wore a loose-fitting, geometric print, orange maxi-dress, her damp, now blue-tinged hair tucked under a white bandana. As she walked up to the police car, a gust of wind billowed her dress like a cloud.
Cudlow thought she looked like Venus, the goddess of love. Or at least how he envisioned she would look. Like the purest sunshine, more radiant than rays reflecting across a calm sea. His breath caught in his throat as he gazed at her, almost forgetting their current predicament. Shaking himself from his delight, he left the garden so they could talk with the officer together.
“Good morning, Officer. What can I do for you?” Gertie said.
“Ma’am, do you have a key to John Crosswell’s apartment?”
“Yes, I’m his landlady. But it’s open now. His lawyer is in there.”
Cudlow scratched his head. Lawyer? Who makes house calls while their client is in jail?
The officer, opened his car door. “What? He can’t be in there.” He stalked to Johnnie’s door and turned the knob. It was unlocked.
The officer’s voice rang out gruffly, “Hello? Sir? I need to ask you to not touch anything and leave.” He went inside, his hand resting on his gun holster, leaving the door wide open. He scanned around, then went out of view.
Gertie and Cud hovered just outside John’s door. She whispered to Cud, “Did you…?”
He nodded.
Gertie forehead visibly relaxed and put her arm around Cud’s waist. “I swear, trouble follows that boy.”
The officer returned. “Miss Brown, there’s no one in there. Where did his lawyer go?”
Gertie pointed, “I don’t know, but that’s his vehicle.”
The three turned to face the driveway.
Almost silently, the black SUV rolled backwards onto the road; the driver unrecognizable behind the dark windows. The officer took out a notepad. “What did he say his name was?”
Gertie shook her head. “Actually…I don’t think he said.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“Said he was going to get John a change of clothes for his court hearing.”
“Did he take anything?”
“Um. I don’t think so. But I can check.”
The officer shook his pen. “Have you ever seen him before?”
Gertie furrowed her brow. “No, Officer. Not that I can think of.”
The officer closed his notepad. “I guess I’ll run the plate. You two, wait in your house.”
They nodded. Another police vehicle, a tan sedan with a forensics emblem arrived and two plain clothes officers got out.
Gertie and Cud went back inside the house.
She sighed. “I think John’s in a heap this time.”
Cud hugged Gertie, his mind racing. That man was no lawyer. And while he didn’t see the guy, he had a hunch it was that fellow with the black aura.
This Mark person was obviously on a mission.
And the next time, they could all be in danger.
***
~Fifteen Minutes Earlier~
Thomas drove up the narrow winding road. He scanned the mailboxes and turned at the one with the painted flowers, number 123 and the name ‘G. Brown’. Pulling up the bumpy driveway, he cut the engine, put on the parking brake and turned off his police scanner. The Crosswell guy was in prison and he could search the moron’s apartment. There were lights on in the main house, meaning someone was home. He walked up to the house and knocked on the front door.
A woman’s voice called out, “Hold on, I’m getting dressed.”
He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. This person must be a late sleeper.
When the woman opened the door, she gave a look of surprise. “I thought you were the police.”
She knew he was arrested…perfect.
He smoothed his blue striped tie and gave his most winning smile. “Yes, sorry to trouble you. I’m Mr. Crosswell’s lawyer. He has an arraignment this afternoon, and I need to pick up a change of clothes. He can’t show up in his park uniform. Service regulations and all. Are you Miss Brown, his landlord? I was hoping you could you let me into his place?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. Let me get my keys.” She retreated into the house and he watched her through the screen door. She seemed to take her time, when he could clearly see her key chain on the blue counter. It was like she was walking in molasses. Finally, she escorted him toward the converted garage.
“I don’t think he owns a suit,” she said. “But he might have some clean slacks and a button-down shirt.”
He smiled again, watching her slip the key into the lock on the raised-panel white door. “That should be more than sufficient. Sorry for coming unannounced. His phone was confiscated and he didn’t remember your number.”
“Oh, yes, that sounds like him.” She smiled and pushed the door open. “We got word of a search warrant. Honestly, this is so ridiculous. Tell him we got the thing and please send him my love.”
He stopped. “Thing?”
The woman looked at him quizzically.
Oops. “Yes, right, the thing.” He added with a smile and a wink. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll let him know.”
Her smile returned. “Well, he keeps all his clothes here at the rack. I’d be happy to pick something out.”
“Oh. Um. No. He asked me to check on something else…before the police arrive. I’m not allowed to say.” Why wouldn’t she go away?
“Not allowed? That’s odd.” She put her hands on her hips.
“Well, John is a bit odd, you know how he is.” He was shooting in the dark. Nosey landladies were the worse. He could write a whole chapter in his upcoming book on them.
She shook her head. “That boy…just let me know when you’re done.” She exited and closed the door behind her.
Alone, finally.
Thomas surveyed the dark space and flipped the switch just inside the door. In a room so sparsely furnished, it should be easy to locate the drive. The kitchen drawers were first. Inside the cutlery drawer, only three forks, three spoons and three butter knives. The refrigerator had mostly beverages, a dozen eggs, yogurt, and a bag of Mallomars. He snagged a cookie and popped it in his mouth. The freezer was stocked with frozen dinners. He shook the boxes. People always hid stuff in freezers on television. Lobotomy Boy might try it. Nothing.
In the living room, he checked under the couch cushions. On the end table, a pink-glazed, lumpy ceramic thing resembling a deep ashtray or a shallow mug caught his attention. He picked it up. Carved into the bottom, the name John in nursery school penmanship. The year, also scrawled, was merely five years prior. Maybe this Crosswell guy was literally a mental patient after all.
Inside the trunk: a laptop and more books. The nightstand had a picture of Johnnie with a woman, both in sunglasses, drinking tall tropical beverages at a bar. The inside drawer had Chapstick, a cellphone charger and a prescription pill bottle.
He heard a vehicle’s tires crunch against the stone driveway. Through the narrow openings in the kitchen blinds, he saw a police vehicle. Thomas twisted the rod to close the blinds completely. He had to escape. If it were Tobias, he’d be recognized immediately. The only other window was next to the headboard. It faced away from the driveway. He unlocked the latch of the double-hung window and drew up the bottom half.
Thomas climbed outside, then peered around the cinderblock corner. In muffled voices, the woman was telling the officer something, pointing to the apartment. Could he escape into the low trees, climb up the hill in his suit and dress shoes, and come back for his vehicle later? Too messy. Or if he timed it just right…
When the trio moved out of view, he sprang, racing to his vehicle, opening and shutting the driver’s door gingerly. Taking advantage of the incline, he rolled his vehicle slowly back to the road without turning on the engine, and slid away.
The police officer, landlady and old man came around the corner from the apartment and stared directly at his SUV. But he knew, while he could see them, they couldn’t see him.
His trip wasn’t a total loss, because now he knew three things:
One, where Crosswell lived and how to break in.
Two, the landlady could be a good pressure point.
And three, that John Crosswell was clearly no match for him.
Chapter 14
Richard Greaves was a short stocky man, with a bulbous nose, bald-headed with abundantly hairy arms. Robin had heard wonderful things about Greaves’ courtroom abilities, and his track record was the best in the territory. His reputation came at a high price; five-hundred an hour with a retainer of fifteen thousand for criminal cases. Yet, sizing him up in person, he didn’t exude the level of professionalism she’d imagined.
Still, here he was, sitting in her office just before eleven in the morning, cleaning the inside of his ear with the cap of a fountain pen.
“Mr. Greaves, thank you for getting here so quickly.” She took a seat at her desk and clasped her hands together.
“That’s fifteen grand.” He wiped a nodule of orange wax off the pen cap onto his shirt cuff.
Robin frowned. “Yes, we’ll get to that. But I’d like to discuss your strategy for handling these kinds of cases first.”
Greaves shook his head. “Oh. What? You think you can do better? Just try. I got the Red Hook Strangler off two years back, remember that? On a technicality, but that’s my specialty. All about procedure. Now, I hear this brother of yours is, how you say, cray-cray?” Greaves spun his finger in a circle near his temple.
Robin chose her words carefully. “He’s not crazy. Johnnie has challenges, that’s true.”
“Well, that could work in his favor, you know?” Greaves leaned back in the chair, tapping his fingers together like a movie villain. “I heard he has a record. That’s not so bueno. He might have to spend a few years in an institution, but there’s a sweet one in Montana. Has an Olympic swimming pool and first-run movies. Plus, a sweet nine-hole golf course. If we play our cards right…”
She couldn’t take it. Robin smashed her palm on the desk. “He didn’t do it.”
“Ha!” He began picking at his opposite ear. “Look, I don’t have time to pull punches here. I brought the representation agreement. Just sign and cut me a check and we’re off to the races.”
&
nbsp; “Don’t you want to know anything about the case first?”
“You think I don’t know? Since you called three hours ago, I got the whole 4-1-1. Rookie reporter, name of Marie Swift Bascome, originally from Frederick, Maryland, was over here investigating some crooked real estate deal and the murder of Robert Taylor. Then goes missing two days ago. Washes up here.”
With a two-finger air quote, he said, “Your boy finds her with his machete.” He stopped digging in his ear, but began squeezing at a zit under his chin. “Open and shut if you ask me.”
“Hold on. Crooked deal?”
“Yeah, my paralegals spent the last two hours calling around. The girl was working on some story about pay-offs to grease some international development deal. Not important. The key is, if she was investigating Taylor’s murder, that gives Johnnie-Boy motive.”
Dottie appeared in the doorway. “Robin, line one. Johnnie’s boss. Urgent.”
Greaves whispered to Dottie, “Sweetie, could you get me a soda pop? I’m parched from the ferry.” He pulled out a handkerchief, yellow with sweat stains, and mopped his glistening brow.
Robin took the call. Johnnie’s boss seemed excited. And Robin began to feel all was not lost. “No. Really? Wow. That’s amazing…yes, could you bring it over to my office?”
Greaves waved his hands at her. “Hello? I’m waiting here.”
Robin, trying to hear Kemper, shook her head and turned to face the wall. “Yes, thank you so much. See you soon.” The call was over.
He retrieved a blue leather folder with gold lettering from his briefcase and tossed it with spinning precision on her desk in front of her. “Like I said, just sign.”
She crossed her arms and grinned for the first time all day. “I just received a bit of exciting news.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
Robin pushed her shoulders back with confidence. Maybe she could cut this grimy self-important jackass loose after all…getting him out of her office before she needed to call in a de-con crew to bathe every surface in bleach. “We’re just going to wait and see.”
