SAVANNAH GONE (17 page)

“Have to take a rain check,” she replied. “I’ve got guests checking in this morning.” I tried to prognosticate...get a read on her mood.

She stood, came over and gave me a light kiss. “I had fun last night,” she said. “I enjoyed meeting your friend Cyril too.” She put her arms around me and we kissed again, this time with a little more zest, some of the old spark from last night. She brushed her fingers against my face. “Now I better get moving.” She shook her hair out, then disappeared upstairs to change.

Five minutes later, she came back into the kitchen. I walked her to her car, which was parked at the curb out front. “Am I going to see you again?” I asked.

Her eyes kind of twinkled. I guess we were still friends. “You damn well better.” Natalie stood on her toes, kissed me one last time, then said, “You’ve got my number.” She slid into the Audi’s bucket seat, shut the door and fired the motor. She put it in gear, smiled, and drove off.

I lingered until her car rounded the corner and was heading back inside when I heard a car honk. Thinking it was Natalie, I turned and saw Caroline’s Ford pull up to the curb.

Fuck. But for once the timing Gods were on my side. Granted, Caroline and I weren’t romantically involved, but still—.

She killed the engine and climbed out. As always, she looked crisp and professional: tan slacks, and a black tailored jacket with a light blue blouse underneath. She also wore a pair of pointy shoes that looked like they hurt her feet. Caroline, the consummate pro. A good looking, well-dressed cop, she could easily pass for a business executive.

“Ever answer that phone of yours Fontaine?” She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she walked up to me. “I left you a message, two of ‘em in fact. One last night and one this morning. Sometimes I wonder about you.” Sometimes I wonder about myself.

I shrugged. I’d turned the phone off last night at Cyril’s after Natalie arrived and hadn’t turned it back on yet. Must’ve had something else on my mind.

“Sorry about that. Forgot to turn it back on this morning.”

“What a surprise,” she said, then smiled. “I’m on my way to Sapelo. Care to join me?”

I looked her up and down. “Dressed like that?”

“Why not. I’m not swimming out to the damn island am I? But if you’re coming get your ass in gear. We gotta move.”

On our way inside, she asked, “What are you doing out front of the house?”

“Looking for the dog.” I put my thumb and index finger in my mouth and gave a sharp whistle.

Caroline glanced at me, then rose to the bait. “You don’t own a dog.”

I smiled at her and said, “That’s what makes finding him such a challenge.”

“Goddammit Fontaine,” she said, exasperated. “Am I gonna regret taking you with me?”

I waved her off with a dismissive gesture. “Of course not. In fact, I’m guessing you just might get a promotion out of this after we crack the case.”

“Is that right?” She looked at me for a long moment. “Well you better behave, or I might crack you...right over the head.”

While Caroline waited in the kitchen, I bounded up the stairs and threw on a pair of faded chinos, a comfortable sports shirt, and running shoes. Then I grabbed my piece. Anytime Megan’s in town I keep the gun locked in a small safe in the back of my closet. It’s a seven-shot Smith & Wesson .357 with a two and a half inch barrel. I like it because it’s fairly easy to conceal, but carries a wicked payload. I checked the cylinder, then slid it into a holster on my hip. I saw no reason to advertise the heater, so I kept my shirt loose and untucked. Then I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and turned it back on.

When I joined her in the kitchen, Caroline was eyeballing the two coffee cups on the counter. She cocked an inquisitive eyebrow in my direction but stayed silent.

Minutes later we were out the door. Caroline climbed behind the wheel and cranked the engine. I slid into the passenger seat beside her. We were on our way to Sapelo. It felt good to be back.

A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials

Chinese Proverb

As we got on the I-95 entrance ramp, Caroline flicked on the Interceptor’s grille lights and mashed the accelerator. Putting rubber to pavement, she had it up to eighty before we hit the expressway. I turned to her and said, “What’s the hurry Kemosabe? The next ferry doesn’t depart until noon.”

She cut her eyes in my direction. “We’re not taking the ferry. I’ve got a DNR patrol boat taking us over to the island.” The DNR is the Department of Natural Resources, the government bureau that manages Sapelo for the state of Georgia. Their function is basically resource management, wildlife control, and making sure nothing illegal transpires on the island. “We’ll pick it up at the ferry dock, and return the same way. Also, I’ve lined up a vehicle for us to use while
we’re out on the island.” Caroline looked at me. “Who the hell is Kemosabe… one of those stupid Star Wars characters?”

“You’re thinking of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sir Alec Guinness. Kemosabe is Tonto’s name for the Lone Ranger.”

She pressed her lips into a tight seam. “I should’ve left you at home.”

I smiled at her. “Wrong. You’d be bored to tears without me.”

“That’s true,” she replied. “You keep it interesting Fontaine. Aggravating, frustrating, challenging, but interesting.”

I asked, “How’d it go with that squirrel Bill Taylor?”

I hate to pop your bubble, but despite the nonsense you see on television, a murder case is rarely solved by a bunch of gel-haired techs in lab coats pointing fancy lasers at trace evidence. It’s not an exact science. You string the facts together to the best of your ability, try and get the pieces to fit, and go for a conviction. Sometimes you win, sometimes the murderer walks. That’s it. End of story.

Caroline said, “We hauled him in for a talk. Like you predicted, he refused to answer any questions without his attorney present. He reiterated what you told me about having dinner at Leoci's and leaving the restaurant at approximately 10:00 pm. His dinner companions confirmed the time.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “The ME estimates time of death at anywhere between 9:00 pm and 3:00 am. That’s a wide window, but we’re fairly certain Claire went in the water close to 11:14 pm because of the watch. We’ve sent a subpoena to AT&T to track his whereabouts via his cell. Until we get the records, we can’t touch him.” She paused and looked at me. “He denied ever hitting Claire by the way.”

“So what?” I replied. “You didn’t think he’d cop to that did you? I know I wouldn’t if I was in his shoes. We know he’s got motive and opportunity Caroline. She dumped him weeks before they walked down the aisle, and he was five minutes from where she lives...lived. How long till you get the cell phone records?”

“Couple days. The judge just signed the warrant. Until then, we’ll sit on him.” She paused for a moment, then added, “We should have Claire’s phone records sometime Monday.”

I nodded but didn’t respond.

“One other thing,” she said, “Congressman Thigpen has a solid alibi. After his fundraiser Friday night, he went out for a nightcap with his wife and his campaign manager. The three of them were together until approximately 12:30 AM, at which point Thigpen and his wife drove home and went to bed.” She glanced in my direction. “What about you, anything new?”

I measured my response. “I paid a visit to Liberty Island and had a friendly, but brief chat with real estate developer Frank Chambers. He claims he was on his yacht Friday night. We need to confirm it with his boat captain. I’ve got his contact info but haven’t spoken with him yet.” A moment later I added, “A welcome wagon, driven by a couple of clowns I’ve never laid eyes on before, said hello and put a round of buckshot into the back of my car. They were motoring in a newer model Chevy Camaro. I’m assuming it was stolen.”

She swiveled her head in my direction. “Are you serious? Where and when, and did you report the shooting?”

“Yesterday around three thirty. I was cruising west on Victory when they started riding my bumper. And no, I didn’t call it in. I prefer to settle my own scores.”

Caroline looked pissed. “Listen to me cowboy,” she said, reading me the riot act. “You will not, repeat, not operate outside of the law. I can’t have you compromising this case under any circumstances. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” She shot me a steely look. “The only reason you’re here is because of Cavanaugh and his connections. He rattled the governor's cage, and the governor leaned on the mayor.” Good old Cavanaugh brought me off the bench and had me back in the game. Caroline continued, “But I don’t give a damn how well connected he is. If you fuck around, I’m having you tossed.” Her features softened. “Jesus Christ Fontaine, you should’ve at least called me. You could’ve been killed.”

“It was a warning shot. Nothing more Caroline. If they wanted to kill me, all they had to do was turn the Camaro around and put another round in me.”

“A warning shot by who?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think it might have been Frank Chambers. I’d been at the Bull River Marina looking for his yacht captain. On my way back to town, the Camaro fell in behind me and blew out my back window.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You fooling around with someone’s wife Fontaine?”

I thought Caroline might say something about the two coffee cups on the kitchen counter, but she didn’t say anything else. We rode in silence for a couple of miles, the Interceptor barreling down the highway past a blur of pine trees. I slid my window down. Caroline’s hair flickered in the wind.

Without mentioning Natalie, I said, “I think I found out who Claire was seeing after she dumped Bill Taylor. His name is Jack Hutchins. He’s an archeologist excavating out on Sapelo. I’m hoping we can track him down while we’re out there.” I held off on mentioning R.J. Reynolds and the buried bags of gold. In the cold light of day, I was back to thinking it far-fetched. I also kept the fact that Hutchins was married to myself for the time being.

“Nice work Fontaine.”

“Thanks, Kemosabe.”

We exited the interstate and were heading east when my cell phone rang. I checked the number: Randy Pope. I hit the speaker button so Caroline could listen in. “What have you got for me Rainman?”

“I just finished digging,” he said, “and I’m about to email you my report.”

“That’s great,” I replied, “but I’ll be jumping on a boat soon. What did you turn up?” I looked at Caroline, but she had her eyes glued to the road.

“Hang on a second.” In the background, I could hear him typing. I glanced out my window and waited for him to continue. “OK. Here we go...Hutchins has never been arrested and doesn’t have a record. He appears to be clean.” He paused, and I heard him typing again, fingers flying across the keyboard. “But you might find this interesting: He owns a home just outside Jacksonville in Orange Park that’s mortgaged up to his nuts. He’s two months behind on making payments, and the bank’s been sending him letters threatening to foreclose.”

That brought me up short. I recalled the fleeting look of desperation in his eyes. Little synapses lit up inside my brain like a power grid with the juice turned on. It had been sixteen years since I was an Army criminal investigator, but instinct dies hard, and mine was whispering that this was significant.

I asked, “What else have you got?”

“Mostly standard stuff. His parents are deceased. He’s got one sister that lives in Galveston Texas. She’s married to an oil worker. Hutchins is a tenured professor at North Florida University. He’s been there for just over eleven years. This is interesting though. I hacked into the University’s server and found Hutchins’ resignation letter. He submitted it a week ago Monday and gave them a one hundred and twenty-day notice.”

Four days before Claire was murdered, Hutchins turns in his resignation. Since I don’t believe in coincidence, this had to mean something. But what?

“Thanks Rainman. I’ll read through it tonight, and touch base tomorrow if I have any questions.”

“Wait a minute Ray. Remember we talked about Bill Taylor and Frank Chambers?”

I took him off speaker and pressed the phone to my ear. “I remember.”

“I did what you asked. I superimposed both their heads onto the bodies of a couple buff naked men. Then I uploaded the images to one of those hardcore, neo-Nazi websites. You’ll love this: the skinheads hold their underground rallies at different locations to keep the cops from zeroing in on ‘em. Their website has a restricted link that tells the punks where to meet. I fiddled around with their site. Guess where next week’s rally is being held?
Liberty Island!
The jack-booted thugs won’t have any trouble getting inside either. I included the Liberty Island security code, so they’ll be able to open the gates. I also put Taylor’s altered image on his bank’s server like you wanted. Monday morning when his employees log on to their computers, his new look will be the first thing they see.”

I laughed. “You’re the best.”

“Hasta la vista,” he said, before disconnecting.

Caroline drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Do I even want to know who Rainman is?”

“He’s in the information biz. I had him lift a corner of Hutchins’ curtains and peer beneath it.”

“You run with an interesting crowd.” She glanced at me. “I assume you weren't looking to see if he had any overdue books at the library.”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m suspicious because Hutchins lied to me and said he barely knew Claire.” Time to come clean. “He’s also married.” I turned in my seat and looked at Caroline. “One other thing: Before his death, R.J. Reynolds may have buried gold on Sapelo. I know this sounds crazy Caroline, but what if Jack Hutchins isn’t just searching for plantation artifacts.”

She seemed to be processing that information, then said, “That’s an interesting theory, but why don’t we stick to the facts at hand and not turn this investigation into some kind of hair-brained treasure hunt. I agree with you, we need to speak with Hutchins. And being behind on his house payments may or may not have anything to do with this case. But we’re not gonna waste a bunch of valuable time on crackpot ideas of hidden gold and buried treasure.” She paused, then asked, “And what was that about Bill Taylor and Frank Chambers?”