Silent Witness (10 page)

“When did you talk to J. B.?”

“Last night after you went to sleep. I had to report in and tell him about the accident.”

“Did you figure out who might have done it?”

“No, but I have a feeling it's someone who wants us out of the way. And since the only things we're really involved in right now are the Stanford case and the incident with Delilah, it must be someone connected with one or the other.”

“Or both,” Jennie added. She yawned and stretched. “I think I'll go up and get dressed.”

She'd just started for the stairs when the phone rang. Gram answered it. After listening for a moment, Gram said, “Are you sure?” She paused. “All right. We'll be there.”

“What's wrong?”

“That was Angel. The police are certain they've located the pickup truck that hit us. It's registered to the Dolphin Research Lab. They found it in the park, not far from the gate.” She took a deep breath.

“Do they know who was driving it?”

Gram nodded. “Scott Chambers.”

“He's unconscious. They've taken him to the hospital,” Gram continued, heading for the door. “I'm going to see if I can borrow a car from Debbie.”

The idea seemed so unthinkable, it took a moment for the words to sink in. Scott was hurt. Scott had been driving the truck that had almost killed them. “I don't understand.” Jennie's voice broke. “How could that be? He … he's our friend.”

Gram shook her head. “Maybe we'll learn more when we talk to Angel.”

“He seemed like such a nice boy,” Debbie said as she took the keys to her Jeep from one of the hooks behind the office door.

“Debbie, do you keep all of your keys here?” Gram asked.

She nodded. “It's easier. That way all of our employees have access to the vehicles.”

“Did Scott know about the keys?” Jennie asked, hoping that he hadn't.

“I'm afraid he did. Funny thing though, you'd have thought that if he was going to take the truck, he'd have done it the day he disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“The truck was here until sometime after dinner last night. I distinctly remember because I did a count. It's sort of an automatic thing. I take inventory of just about everything here—people, dolphins, vehicles … that sort of thing. I suppose he could have come back last night and taken it.”

Or someone else could have taken it. Jennie's defense was immediately shattered by her own opposing view.
Give it up, McGrady. The guy's guilty. He suckered both of you. Remember the phone call? What more proof do you need?

Jennie and Gram drove to Sanibel in silence. Gram seemed deep in thought, and Jennie didn't feel much like talking.
I don't understand all this, God. Why would Scott want to kill us?
When they reached the hospital, a nurse wearing surgical greens updated them on Scott's condition. “He's coming around. Dr. Stone is stitching up a gash on his head. You should be able to see him in about thirty to forty-five minutes.” The nurse disappeared behind the automatic emergency-room doors.

A few minutes later the doors swished open again, and Angel came out. “Good, you're here. I'm starved and my feet are killing me. Let's go down to the cafeteria.” She pushed the elevator button, then tipped her head back and massaged her neck and shoulders. “Guess I shouldn't complain. Most hit-and-runs aren't this easy.”

“So you really think Scott did it?” Gram said as the elevator bell dinged and the doors opened. They stepped inside, and Angel pushed “B” for what Jennie imagined was the basement.

“Think? Oh, believe me, there is no doubt. Not only did we find him in the vehicle that hit you, we also found some uppers in his shirt pocket. The same drug that killed that dolphin … ah …”

“You mean Delilah?” Jennie furnished.

“Yeah, that's it. We figure he arranged to meet you. Then, when you left the lighthouse, he followed you …” She shrugged. “You know the rest. His last hit sent you over the bridge. I suspect that's when he whacked his head on the steering wheel. He managed to drive into the park before passing out.”

Disbelief, confusion, and anger all battled against a shredding thread of belief in Scott's innocence.
It's a nightmare, McGrady. Pretty soon you'll wake up and things will all be back to normal. You'll be in your bed at the research center. You'll go to breakfast, swim with Delilah, and after dinner Scott will challenge you to another game of pool, and you'll go for a stroll on the beach.

“Jennie?” Gram's voice broke through her confusion.

“Dear, are you all right? You look pale.”

“What? No … I'm fine. Did you say something?”

“I asked if you wanted anything to eat.”

Jennie didn't feel hungry, but at Gram's insistence took some cereal and a glass of milk.

“I just can't believe this,” she heard herself saying. “It doesn't make sense. Why would Scott want to kill us?”

“I'm not sure he wanted to kill you, probably just scare you,” Angel said as they made their way to a table and sat down.

“But why?”

“It's very simple. He and that environmental group he's involved with would like to see the research center closed down. How do you do that? Bad press. First he drugs the dolphin. She goes wild and nearly kills one of their clients. This puts a big question mark on the dolphin therapy programs. Are they safe? What parent is going to put their kid, or themselves for that matter, in the water with a dangerous animal?”

“But what would running us down do to hurt the center?” Jennie asked.

“More bad publicity. A truck driven by an employee from the research center runs down a couple of guests. Not good for business.” Angel stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth and took a drink of coffee to wash it down.

“I know the evidence against him seems strong,” Gram mused, “but suppose someone framed Scott.”

“Look …” Angel said, setting down her cup. “I understand how the two of you must feel. It's always tough to swallow the fact that you've been taken in by a con artist—especially when he's a nice-looking kid like Chambers. But, hey. You were a cop, Ms. McGrady. You of all people should know things aren't always like they seem.”

“That's exactly right, and I'm afraid what seems to be evidence pointing to Scott's guilt could be meant to steer us away from the real issue,” Gram said. “I don't suppose I could talk you into holding off on the arrest. I'd like to check into another possibility.”

“If you're talking about the Stanford case, you can forget it. I talked to the police commissioner in Portland. No offense, Ms. M, but I think you're ruffling your feathers over nothing.”

The determined set to Gram's chin told Jennie that her grandmother was not convinced. Somehow the knowledge cheered her. When they'd finished breakfast, they went back up to the emergency room, and the doctor agreed to let them see Scott.

Jennie gasped as the nurse opened the curtain to usher them in. In that instant, all the anger and doubts vanished.

Scott peeked out at her through a bruised and swollen face. A dressing covered what Jennie imagined was the gash on his left temple that Angel and the nurse had mentioned. An IV pumped fluids into his left arm. He opened his mouth and lifted his head, then winced and collapsed back on the pillow. “Jennie.”

Jennie stepped up to the gurney and took hold of his hand. “Hey, Scott …” Jennie reached an arm up to brush the moisture from her eyes. “You look like you've been in a fight with a cement mixer.”
Dumb thing to say, McGrady. Real dumb.

“Yeah.” He grimaced and squeezed her hand. “But you should see the other guy.”

“Scott …” There were so many questions she wanted to ask. So much she needed to know.

“I think we'd better let him rest,” a deep voice behind her whispered. “You can see him tomorrow.” She let herself be guided back through the curtains.

“I'll be keeping him overnight for observation.” Doctor Stone raised an eyebrow and sent a disparaging glance in Angel's direction and shook his head. “No questions yet. He's just regained consciousness from a severe head injury.”

Angel sighed. “Okay, I'll post a guard outside his room. Call me when his condition improves. As soon as he's alert, I want to be here to read him his rights.”

He nodded and excused himself, then disappeared behind the curtains.

“He didn't do it,” Jennie said adamantly as they slid onto the Jeep's vinyl seats. “If he'd wanted to hurt us, he would have acted … I don't know … different, surprised or scared or something. He seemed glad to see us. Does that sound like somebody who tried to run us off the road?”

“I don't believe for a minute that Scott is guilty. It's too pat. The entire thing smacks of a frame. Question is, who would do such a thing and why?”

Jennie pulled her braid from between the seat and her back and twisted the silky brown strands at the tip around her finger. “What about Melissa? Maybe she's using Scott.”

Gram chewed on her bottom lip and maneuvered the car out of the hospital parking lot onto the main road. “If the motive really is to discredit the research lab, I'd say that's a possibility, but I'm not so sure. Melissa's group may be radical, but …” She paused to make a lane change, then continued. “Somehow, I don't think they'd stoop to drugging dolphins or forcing us off the road. Besides, whoever hit us did it hard enough to send us over that guardrail. I sincerely doubt that we were meant to come out of it alive. But why get rid of us? What do we know that could make us a threat to anyone?”

“We know Sarah can talk and that she doesn't believe Ramsey killed her dad,” Jennie offered. “If Sarah is right about Delilah's murder being connected to her dad's death, maybe the real killer is afraid we'll dig up something.”

“We have been asking a lot of questions, and it's no secret that I was once a police officer.” Gram slowed as they approached the bridge to Dolphin Island and glanced in her rearview mirror, then at Jennie. “Just making sure no one is following.”

Jennie felt uneasy as well. She hugged herself as they approached, then passed, the crash site. Scenes from the night before reeled through her mind. She was missing something important but couldn't think what. Gram patted her arm. “Are you all right?”

Jennie nodded. “I just wish we could figure out what this is all about.”

“When we get back to the cabin, I'll call J. B. Maybe he can shed some light on the case. In the meantime we'll need to be careful. It might be best if we act as though we agree with Angel's suspicions about Scott for now. In the meantime we'll need to be careful. If Scott didn't run us off the road, whoever did is still out there.”

“But …”Jennie frowned. “I need to talk to Sarah, find out if she's remembered anything else.”

“I agree. And I want to be there when you do. I'd like Debbie there as well.”

“Why? Sarah won't talk to anybody else. I think she'll be okay with you, but if you bring Debbie in she might never talk to anyone again.”

“I have a feeling she will.”

Jennie slumped in her seat.
While we're at it, why don't we invite the whole group?
She'd expected Gram of all people to understand. “Sarah trusted me.”

“And I hope you can trust me. Dealing with psychological trauma like this is not something we should be taking lightly. There's a possibility Sarah could regress … have a mental breakdown. Debbie would best be able to handle that. Don't you agree?”

“I guess,” Jennie acquiesced. “But at least let me talk to Sarah alone before you tell Debbie.”

They arrived at the research center just in time for lunch. Tim was back, looking more sullen than ever, and Jennie couldn't help wondering again if his reactions were simply an uncle's concern for his niece, or concern for himself. Gram brought them up-to-date on the investigation into Delilah's death and the hit-and-run. “At this point,” she said, “Angel is certain that Scott is guilty of both.”

When they returned to the cabin, Gram phoned J. B. After a number of “aha”s and “interesting”s, and a suspicious-sounding “That sounds wonderful. I'll be looking forward to it,” Gram hung up.

“Are you and J. B. dating?” Jennie asked. Strange. Only a couple of weeks ago, Jennie would have been horrified at the idea of Gram's dating. Now she found the prospect exciting.

Gram looked up from her notes in surprise. “J. B. and I are good friends. He's taking me to dinner when we get back. Says he wants to talk to me about a job. Now,” she said, clearing her throat, “are we going to talk about J. B. all afternoon, or would you like to know what he's learned about the Stanford case?”

Jennie grinned. “Okay. What have we got?

J. B. had discovered some interesting details. He'd confirmed that the receptionist, who'd been fired shortly after the murder, had never heard of Isaiah Ramsey. Which was strange because when the police investigated they found his name penciled into the appointment book. “She swears it wasn't her writing,” Gram said. “Unfortunately, no analysis was ever done on the handwriting, so J. B. is checking it out.”

“Do you think Dr. Stanford's killer put Ramsey's name in the book to throw everyone off?”

“It's a possibility. Remember, though, Dr. Stanford could have written in the name as well.”

“Yeah.” Jennie looked back at Gram's notes. “So what else did J. B. come up with?”

“Their receptionist confirmed what Carl said about Tim and John Stanford having had a heated argument. She didn't know what it was about, only that Tim stormed out of John's office. Says he left about five minutes before she went to lunch.”

“I guess that lets Tim off the hook,” Jennie said.

“Not necessarily. He could have come back. Since Tim was the firm's financial manager and handled the books, she suspected the argument had something to do with money. It's possible John found a discrepancy in the books and blamed Tim.”

“So you think he did it?”

“It's a possibility. Somehow, though, I don't see Tim as the kind of person who'd resolve a problem with a gun. He's quite verbal,” Gram smiled and adjusted her reading glasses. “A fact to which we can both attest.”

“You're confusing me. How come you keep going back and forth?”

“It's a way of exhausting the possibilities. A detective has to look at a crime from all angles—you suspect everyone remotely connected and a few who seem to have no connection at all. You dig up as much evidence as you can, probe until you come up with the most reasonable answer, and use your intuition.”

“Well, I think Tim did it.”

“You may be right, but before you make up your mind, let's look at another motive—money. According to J. B., Carl Layton had been having money problems around the time of the murder. The death of his partner and subsequent marriage to Maggie made him a millionaire. Not only that, he now has full control of their lucrative practice. Financially, Carl gained a great deal from his partner's death. That certainly doesn't make him a murderer, but it's worth considering.”

“But he was shot trying to catch the killer.”

“True, but the gun was fired at close range. It's far­fetched, but he could have shot himself.”

“Gram!” Jennie leaned back and looked at Gram in surprise. “That's awful. A person would have to be desperate to do something like that.”

“Murder is a desperate act, Jennie.”

“So you think Carl did it?”

Gram shook her head. “I'm just looking at possibilities. Carl had both the motive and the opportunity.”

“Right, but he couldn't have killed Delilah. He didn't come in until after she was drugged.”

“True …” Gram chewed on the tip of her pen and frowned. “And from what I've seen of Dr. Layton, he seems like a wonderful man. He's kind and generous and cares a great deal about Sarah and Maggie. And speaking of Maggie, we need to look at her part in all this as well.”

“You don't suspect her, do you?”

“Let's look at the facts. The receptionist told J. B. that when she went to lunch, she ran into Maggie in the lobby. Carl says Maggie came up after the murder. What if she had come up before? Maggie gained from John's death as well. She received $500,000 from a life-insurance payment and half the business.”

“So you're saying Maggie could have killed John because she needed money for something?”

“It's possible. There's also the fact that she later married Carl. The two of them could have been working together.”

“But Carl said she came in after the killer left.”

“Carl could be protecting Maggie.”

“But why? Gram, you're confusing. None of this makes any sense. We'll probably decide that Ramsey did it.”

“You're right. I feel like we're trying to swim upstream.” Gram set her note pad aside. “I'm going down to the beach to clear my head. Want to come?”

“Sure, but I need to get my suit on.” Jennie stood and stretched. “You go ahead, I'll catch up in a few minutes.”

Gram left and Jennie slipped into her suit, grabbed a book and towel, and headed out. On impulse, she stopped at the Laytons' cabin to see if she could take Sarah along. It might give her the chance she needed to talk Sarah into confiding in Gram and Debbie.

Carl answered the door and readily agreed to let Jennie take Sarah to the beach. He asked Maggie to help Sarah get ready, then joined Jennie on the porch. “You and your grandmother went through quite an ordeal last night. How are you doing?”

“We're okay. A little sore still—actually a lot sore in some places, especially my shoulder. I'm just glad you and Angel came by when you did.”

He nodded. “Glad I could be of help. If there's anything else I can do … if you need a car or anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks.”

Maggie brought Sarah out onto the porch. It unnerved Jennie to see how Sarah could so totally space out. As though she had a split personality or something. Gram was right. They did need to be careful.

Once they were away from the house, Sarah tipped her head back and took a deep breath. “I have to talk to you,” she whispered. “Not at the beach … alone.”

Sarah glanced behind them and grabbed Jennie's hand. “Quick.” She pulled Jennie off the walk, toward one of the cabins damaged by the hurricane. “We can talk in here.” She climbed the stairs, opened a door, and scrambled over the boards nailed across the entry to keep people out.

“Sarah, wait.” Jennie hesitated. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

“It's okay. I've been in this one before …” She glanced over Jennie's head. “Hurry, someone's coming.” Jennie took the stairs in one long stride and ducked inside and closed the door behind her. The footsteps paused outside the cabin. Jennie peeked through a shuttered window. “It's your uncle,” she whispered.

“Did he see you?” Sarah pressed herself against a wall.

“I don't think so.” Tim looked toward the cabin where they were hiding, frowned, and walked on toward the A-frame in which he was staying.

Jennie let out the breath she'd been holding and leaned back against the wall next to Sarah. The cabin, she noticed at closer inspection, had collapsed at one end, destroying what had once been a bedroom. The corner in which she and Sarah stood seemed sturdy, but Jennie had no intention of testing it. “Let's go,” she said. “This place looks like it could fall down at any minute.”

“No, please. I need to talk to you. I remembered something else.” Sarah dropped to the floor.

Against her better judgment, Jennie sat beside her. “Okay, but just for a minute.”

Sarah pulled her knees up and leaned her elbows on them. “Thanks for coming by to get me,” she said in muted tones. “It's getting harder and harder to keep this up, especially with Carl around so much. After Delilah dumped me, he put me back on those awful tranquilizers. I don't take them, but I have to pretend like I am. I'm so afraid they'll find out.”

“Sarah, I don't get it. Why don't you at least tell your mom and Carl what's going on?”

“I told you. Ramsey didn't kill my dad.”

“I know but …”

“It was one of them.” Sarah bit her lower lip.

“One of who?”

“My mom, Uncle Tim, or Carl. One of them killed my father.”

“Are you sure?” Jennie asked. “You suspect your own mother?” Even though she and Gram had discussed the possibility, it seemed impossible to Jennie. Maggie was a
mother
, for Pete's sake.

“I don't want to, but in my flashbacks I keep hearing her voice.”

“Sarah, she came to the office after the murder.”

“I know that … I mean … oh, Jennie, it's all a blur in my head. Maybe it would be better for everybody if I didn't try anymore. What if I remember what happened and it turns out to be my mom? I don't think I could stand that. Maybe I should just forget about it. It's not so bad not talking to anyone. At least I'd be safe.”

“You know you can't do that. Anyway, how can you be sure they don't already know? Seems to me it would be better to know the truth, no matter what it is, than to keep going like you have been. Sarah …” Jennie paused, deciding to take her own advice about the truth. “I told my gram. She wants you to talk to Debbie.” When Sarah didn't answer, Jennie continued. “I had to. We can trust Gram. She thinks Debbie could help you remember.”

“Debbie knows?” Sarah grabbed Jennie's arm. “She'll tell Carl …”

“No. Gram said she'd talk to you about it first.”

“Please, Jennie. I don't need Debbie. Just let me talk to you.” Sarah leaned forward and rested her head on her arms.

“I don't …” Jennie started, but Sarah had already begun.

“When I crawled under the desk to get my pencil I heard Uncle Tim's voice. I started to come out to say hello. But he was yelling something at Dad about stealing some money from the business. He sounded so angry, I was afraid to move. A door slammed. I thought he'd gone, and I started to get up. My father was standing at his desk, and the door opened again. Dad said, ‘I think you and I better have a talk.'

“I heard a loud bang and Daddy …” Sarah covered her ears and sobbed.

Jennie scooted closer and placed a comforting hand on Sarah's shoulder. “Sarah, don't … let me get Gram.” Sarah threw her arms around Jennie's neck. “No … don't leave me. I have to do this. I have to remember.”

Jennie leaned against the wall for support and patted Sarah's head.
Oh, God, help me … I don't know what to do.

Sarah's muffled sobs subsided, but she continued to hold Jennie tight. “Daddy fell into the chair. Blood was everywhere. It was on me. I tried to scream but nothing came out. I couldn't move. I had to stay … he'd find me. He came to the desk. I remember.” Sarah panted, her breaths coming in short puffs. She tightened her grip on Jennie's neck. “No … don't let him hurt me … don't talk … don't move … he'll kill you.”

Steady, McGrady. Don't panic.
Jennie took a deep breath and continued to stroke the back of Sarah's head and back. It was like holding Nick after he'd had a nightmare. Maybe that was the answer. “Shhh,” Jennie whispered, rocking Sarah and holding her close. “It's going to be okay. I'm here.”

As Jennie continued soothing her, Sarah quieted. Her breathing evened out, and she loosened her grip on Jennie's neck. Sarah pulled away and held her hands over her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Jennie reassured her. “I saw him this time …” “Who?”

“The man who killed my father … not his face. I saw his pants—gray pants like the kind you wear with a suit … and shiny black shoes.” Sarah swallowed and closed her eyes. “He took some papers from Dad's desk, then left.

“I heard another shot and … and then the elevator bell. My mother screamed …” Sarah turned to Jennie. A faint smile flashed across her wet face. “She didn't do it. Mom came in after.”

“Of course she didn't do it. I told you …” Jennie stopped as she heard a rustle in the bushes outside.

“What was that?” Sarah scrambled to her feet.

Jennie rose and peeked through the wooden window slats. “I don't see anything.” An odd smell penetrated the room and seemed to rise through the floorboards.
Kerosene. Someone is getting ready to torch the place.

Correction, McGrady, they already have.
Smoke seeped into the cabin from the collapsed bedroom and through the front door.

“Come on! We've got to find a way out of here!” Jennie turned to grab Sarah's hand. Sarah stood frozen, staring at the flames licking the wall.

“Oh no, you don't. You're not going to turn zombie on me now. Let's go.” Jennie glanced around. Other than the door, the only way out was through a window covered by wooden shutters. Jennie pulled at the knobs. They wouldn't budge. The shutters had been nailed shut, probably to keep trespassers out. Now they would be keeping them in.

Going out in a blaze of glory. For some reason, the words to the old hymn popped into her head. The fire stretched across one wall, obliterating the wood panels. They were going out all right, but there was nothing glorious about it.