Silent Witness (9 page)

Jennie heard herself scream. They were going to die. The car slammed into the icy water with a force that knocked the breath out of her body. Jennie's scream died away, and she slowly opened her eyes. The car had landed upright and was bobbing in the water like a bathtub toy. “Are you all right?” Gram asked as she rubbed her left shoulder.

Jennie nodded. “I think so.”

“Okay, listen carefully. We have only a few seconds before this thing goes down.” Gram unfastened her seat belt and asked Jennie to do the same. With the top down on the convertible, this will be much easier than trying to escape through the windows. Now all we need to do is ease out and swim away before it sinks and sucks us down with it.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the bridge. “We'll use the lights on the bridge to guide us. Looks like we're closer to Captiva, so head back that way.” She sucked in a deep breath and took hold of Jennie's hand. “It'll be a long swim and the currents between the islands are strong. Now, get out and swim like crazy. I'll be right behind you.”

“But …”

“We'll make it,” Gram said, grasping Jennie's hand. “We have to. Now go.”

Jennie climbed over the door and eased herself into the water. She pushed off and began to swim. When she felt she'd gone a safe distance, Jennie turned to check on Gram. There was no sight of her or the car. “Gram! Where are you?” Her cry echoed on the still night air. No one answered. Jennie looked back toward the lights. Even stopping so short a time, the current had pulled her away from them. Panic coursed through her, turning her arms and legs to lead.
Stop it, McGrady. Gram's going to be fine. She's in such good shape, she's probably on the beach waiting for you.
Jennie righted herself and forced herself to swim.
Arm up into the water, kick legs. Arm up … over. Fingers tight. You can do this, McGrady. You can do it. God, give me strength … and Gram. Please help Gram.

She didn't stop again until she felt the sand beneath her feet. She relaxed and let a wave carry her in and deposit her on the beach. Gritty sand and shell fragments pressed into her face, hands, and legs. It smelled moist and earthy. “Thank you, God,” she panted. Jennie dragged her hands up beside her chest and tried to push herself up. She rose about an inch, then collapsed. No use. Every muscle in her body felt like rubber.

She lay there until her breathing slowed, then tried again. This time, she rolled onto her side and sat up. She felt dizzy. Shock … she was going into shock.
Put your head down, McGrady. You know how it's done.
When the waves of nausea passed, Jennie took several deep breaths and slowly got to her feet.

She heard the sound of a car crossing the bridge. Jennie froze. The horror of the accident slammed back into her mind. Only it hadn't been an accident. The driver of that truck had meant to kill them. The car stopped. A door slammed. Footsteps. Had he come back to finish the job? Jennie scrambled up the embankment and huddled behind a concrete pillar under the bridge. A flashlight beam darted over the water and came to rest on the sand where she'd been lying only moments before. Fear wound itself around her so tight, Jennie could hardly breathe.

Above the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her head, Jennie heard another car approaching. Red, white, and blue lights flickered over the water like a strobe light. A police car. Another car door slammed. “What's going on out here?” a woman's voice penetrated the stillness.
Delaney.
“Mr. Layton, isn't it?”

Layton? Had he been the one who'd hit them? For one horrifying moment, Jennie imagined him whipping out a gun and shooting Angel.
Cool it, McGrady. It couldn't have been him. The guy that hit you and Gram was driving a truck. Layton has a fancy Lincoln.

“I was just trying to figure out what is going on,” Carl said. “I was coming back from a meeting in Fort Myers when I saw the broken railing and glass on the road, so I came back to check. I was afraid someone had driven off the bridge. Can't see anything, though.”

Another beam flashed through the darkness. It waved over the water and came to rest on a stumbling figure walking toward them on the beach.
Gram!

“Ms. McGrady? Is that you?” The light jiggled and footsteps clamored overhead. Jennie raced toward Gram, reaching her only seconds before the others.

“Oh, Gram. I'm so glad to see you. I thought …”

“I'm fine. A little winded, and a bit shaky, but alive. Thank God.” Gram pulled Jennie into a hug.

Jennie and Gram explained what had happened while Carl and Angel helped the bedraggled and exhausted swimmers up the embankment and into Dr. Layton's car. Angel wanted them to ride with her, but Dr. Layton insisted they'd be more comfortable in his car. “They've been traumatized enough,” he'd said. “No sense making things worse by subjecting them to a ride in the back of a squad car.”

Carl drove them to the local hospital, where the doctor on call examined them. Except for a few bruises, they had both escaped without serious injury. They'd been extremely fortunate, he told them. Had they not been wearing seat belts, they might have been killed. While Dr. Layton drank coffee and read old copies of
People
,
Golf Digest
, and
Newsweek
, Angel escorted Jennie and Gram into an unused office just off the emergency room.

Once seated, Angel whipped out a notebook and pen. “Okay. You say some guy in a truck ran you off the road. Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?”

“No,” they both answered in unison.

“Ms. McGrady. I did some checking on you. Seems as though you've been involved in some …” Angel glanced at Jennie, then back at Gram. “Ah, does she know?”

“That I do an occasional job for the FBI?” Gram nodded.

“Right. You've made a few enemies. Any chance one of them could be responsible?”

“I suppose anything is possible,” Grant said, “but I don't think a hit-and-run with a fully loaded pickup truck would be their style.”

“Maybe you're right. So talk to me. What's your theory about all this?”

Gram shrugged. “I can't think of anyone here who would want me or Jennie out of the way. As far as I know, we haven't made any enemies.”

“Looks like we've made at least one,” Jennie voiced her thought out loud. She told Angel as much as she could remember about the incident, hoping they wouldn't have to tell her that they'd gone to Sanibel to meet Scott. Unfortunately, she asked, and Jennie had to tell her about Scott's note. “But Scott couldn't have been driving that truck. He had to hitch a ride up with us.”

“He could have stolen it.”

“He wouldn't do that.” Why was she defending him? She'd only known him for a few days. “Scott's just not the type.”

“Don't be so sure.”

Jennie shrank back into her chair and listened as Gram related details of the crash to Angel. Jennie was surprised at how much Gram could recall. All Jennie could remember was the glare of lights and the sickening thud, the feeling of panic, and the car hurling itself over the railing and into the water. Gram, however, remembered specifics, such as how the vehicle was one of those sports pick­ups with running lights. Five across the top—the second light near the driver's side was burned out. Gram also said she didn't think the driver meant to run them off the road on the first hit. “It was too close to shore,” she figured. “My guess is that he wanted us far enough out so we wouldn't survive.”

When Angel had finished her interrogation, she left Jennie and Gram with Carl, who offered to take them back to Dolphin Island. Jennie wanted nothing more than to take a warm shower and crawl into bed. Every part of her body was beginning to ache. Gram climbed into the front seat and asked Dr. Layton what he thought about dolphin therapy.
Don't you ever quit?
Jennie wanted to ask. It was getting downright embarrassing. Gram had no business being so full of energy, when Jennie felt like she'd spent the last few hours competing in the Olympic decathlon.
A smile crept to her lips. Like the Energizer Bunny … Gram just keeps going and going and going …

Jennie took advantage of the roomy backseat and curled up on her side. Lulled by the purring motor and the strains of gentle music flowing through the rear speakers, she began to drift off.

“Maggie told me you were shot trying to stop the murderer.” Had Gram's voice gotten louder? Maybe it was just Jennie's radar letting her know the conversation had taken an interesting turn. She opened her eyes and tuned in.

“I thought we were talking about dolphins.” Carl glanced at Gram, then focused on the road.

“Sorry about the switch. I'm an ex-police officer and can't help being curious. I was hoping you'd indulge an old woman's curiosity and give me your version.”

“Old? You?” He chuckled, then his tone grew serious. “I don't mind telling you about it. Terrible tragedy. John was one of the brightest therapists in the country. He was more than a partner, Mrs. McGrady. He was a dear friend.”

Gram nodded. “It must have been doubly hard for you, losing both a business partner and a friend. Did you actually see the shooting?”

“No. I was in my office when I heard the gunshot. I ran out to investigate and a guy was standing in John's doorway, holding a gun. I looked past him and saw John slumped in his chair. Blood everywhere.” Carl paused. “Even after two years it's hard to talk about it.”

“I can imagine. You don't have to go on, you know.”

“It's all right.” Carl took a deep breath and continued. “After I saw John's body, I looked back at the guy. He had his gun aimed right at me. I tackled him and knocked him down, but he got off a shot. Hit me in the shoulder. He pushed me away, then took off.”

“And you phoned the police?”

“No, Maggie did that. She'd had a lunch date with John and came in, oh, couldn't have been more than a minute or two after Ramsey left. Fortunately, the guy took the stairs.” Carl frowned. “I hate to think what might have happened if he'd decided to wait for that elevator.”

“Or if he'd seen Sarah.”

Carl sighed. “Poor kid. I didn't even know Sarah was there. The police found her under the desk in a fetal position. Her body was locked up so tight it took us two days to relax her muscles enough to straighten her out. I worked with her every day for months. Used a combination of drugs and hypnotherapy to bring her out and help her remember. We managed to bring her partway out, but who and what she saw is still locked inside her somewhere.”

“Why did you stop working with her when you and Maggie married?” Gram asked.

“Ethics. I'm too close to be objective. I'm still involved, of course, but I called a colleague in, and a few months ago she suggested we try the dolphin program.”

“Do you think Sarah saw who murdered her father?”

“We don't know what Sarah saw … only that she was severely traumatized.”

“Her uncle, Tim, seems unimpressed with police findings. He thinks the murderer is still at large.”

“That's a puzzle. I've never been able to understand why he is so adamant about Ramsey's innocence. My guess is that he's never been able to resolve his own guilt. The last words they said to one another were said in anger. Not a very satisfactory way for a relationship to end.”

“Did the police question whether Tim could have killed John? They did have an argument.”

Carl shook his head. “Tim is the right size and build, but he's not a killer. Besides, all the evidence points to Ramsey.”

“So you think Ramsey is guilty?”

“It's the logical solution. I was able to identify the man's jacket, and he did have an appointment to see John that day. I've never had a reason to doubt his guilt. I'm satisfied that Isaiah Ramsey murdered John, then went home and killed himself. The police even found the murder weapon in his car.”

“Sounds like an open-and-shut case,” Gram agreed. “But suppose Ramsey was set up. What if the real killer wanted to make it look like a murder/suicide?”

“Look, Mrs. McGrady. I think I know where you're going with this, but it won't work. Tim may be outspoken at times, and even paranoid, but he's no killer. Besides, the police found smudges of blood on Ramsey's jacket that matched mine. There's only one way that blood could have gotten on his clothes and that was when he shot me.”

When they got to the compound, Carl parked behind the cabins and walked them to the door. The ride had stiffened Jennie's joints and she could hardly walk. She collapsed on the couch and fell asleep while waiting for Gram to finish showering. When Jennie awoke it was still dark. Gram had removed her shoes and covered her with a blanket. She shifted positions to turn on a light and wished she hadn't. Pain coursed through her neck and shoulders. Scenes of the accident replayed in her mind.

Jennie massaged the taut muscles, then made her way into the bathroom for a hot shower. When she emerged fifteen minutes later, she found Gram in the kitchen putting water on for tea. “What are you doing up so early?” Jennie asked.

“The same thing you are, I suspect. I ache in places where I didn't even know I had muscles.” Gram stretched her arms out in front of her and winced. “Since I couldn't sleep, and I heard the shower going, I thought maybe I'd look through the papers J. B. sent on the Stanford case.” For the next hour they drank tea and read reports. They didn't find much more than what Maggie and Carl had already told them. “The only thing that strikes me as unusual,” Gram said, “is that the secretary didn't remember Ramsey being a client. Don't you find that curious?”

Jennie shrugged. “Not especially.”

“Most secretaries know more than their bosses. I asked J. B. to interview her. He's also going to see if he can talk to Ramsey's family for me. Maybe we'll learn more then.”