The Chilling Deception (11 page)

Cassidy?

Mutely, Guinevere looked up at him. She nodded.

Chapter Eight

“Except for the limp.”

Guinevere trotted after Zac as he made his way to a quiet corner of the lobby. He came to a halt, staring at the floor, lost in thought. “Mrs. Vandyke’s description does sort of fit Cassidy except for that limp of his,” Guinevere repeated.

“A lot of time has gone by since she last saw him. Hell, he might have injured that leg when his plane went down.”

“True.” Guinevere thought for a moment. “Too bad we don’t have a sample of Cassidy’s handwriting. We could compare it to that page out of the logbook, the way we did Washburn’s.”

“We might be able to find something at the boathouse.” But Zac sounded vague, his mind obviously on something else.

“Zac, what do we do next? This is your area of expertise. I want to hear something brilliant from you. It’s beginning to look as if our client may have been kidnapped.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s possible Cassidy really is with the DEA. He might have decided that a career catching dope smugglers was as exciting as running dope himself. It’s still possible this whole thing is a legitimate agency action.”

“Hah!”

Something suspiciously close to amusement flashed in his eyes. “Oh ye of little faith.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a businessperson, remember? I operate on facts, not faith. And one clear fact in this whole mess is that Mrs. Vandyke is scared of the man she knew as Gannon. She implied he was just this side of crazy. Zac, what are you chewing to pieces there in your mind? I know I don’t have your full attention.”

“The car.”

Guinevere wrinkled her nose. “Vandyke’s car?”

“This is a small island, Gwen. They can’t just leave the Mercedes sitting around on a back road. Someone would be sure to notice it. And once the cops find Vandyke’s car abandoned they’ll start asking questions—assuming that the cops don’t already have Vandyke.”

“I think we should assume they don’t,” Guinevere said staunchly. “I think we should assume foul play. Very foul play.”

Zac let a minute of intense concentration pass before saying, “I think you’re right.” He sighed.

“So what do we do?”

“Go back to the marina. We might be able to find someone who saw the plane leave. If we get lucky, that someone can tell us if our client was a passenger. We can also check to see if Cassidy conveniently left anything floating around with his signature on it. It would be nice to verify that he really is Gannon.”

“Right.” Guinevere spun around, but Zac clamped a hand on her shoulder, halting her abruptly.

“There’s one more thing I want to check here before we go racing off.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to see if one of the grounds keepers or a maid or even a guest noticed who drove off in Vandyke’s Mercedes. It’s not in the parking lot.” Zac released her and started purposefully back to the front desk. The desk clerk saw him coming and tried to retreat.

It didn’t work. Zac cornered him and told him what he wanted. Making no attempt whatsoever to hide his disgust at having to oblige, the desk clerk checked with the manager, who agreed to summon some of the gardeners and maintenance people.

They got lucky with the man who trimmed the hedges. He’d noticed the Mercedes being driven off about forty-five minutes earlier.

“A yuppie dude,” he told Zac with the disdainful air of a man who has a degree in philosophy but who has deliberately chosen to work with his hands. “A dressed-for-success type. Know what I mean? Italian sunglasses. I remember thinking the glasses were a bit much, considering that there’s no sun today.”

Guinevere caught her breath. “Toby Springer.”

Zac nodded his thanks to the gardener. He reached out and tugged Guinevere’s arm, but she didn’t budge.

“Come on, Gwen. We’ve got to get moving.”

She leaned close and hissed in his ear. “You’re supposed to tip your informants.”

Zac stared at her. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“I’ve read detective fiction. I go to films. I know about this sort of thing.”

“Yeah? Then you tip him.”

“You should consider tips part of your business expenses.”

The gardener appeared oblivious of the low conversation, but he kept within sight.

“Damn it to hell,” Zac muttered, dragging out his wallet. “Do I tell you how to run Camelot Services?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but walked briskly over to the gardener and thrust a couple of bills into the man’s hand. The ex-philosophy student apparently had read a lot of detective fiction and seen some films himself. He thanked Zac but he didn’t seem terribly surprised.

“Satisfied?” Zac grabbed Guinevere’s arm and led her toward the Buick. “If I can’t get reimbursed for that by our client I may take it out of your hide.”

Guinevere didn’t deign to respond. “So what about the Mercedes,” she demanded as she slipped into the front seat of Zac’s car.

“They’ve got to get it off the island, and if Springer just drove it away from the resort forty-five minutes ago he can’t have gone very far with it. My guess is he’ll be waiting patiently in line for the next ferry.”

“Which leaves when?”

“Not for another hour. We’ve got time.”

“To check out the boathouse?”

“Right.” Zac swung the Buick out of the parking lot and headed back toward the marina.

The first thing Guinevere noticed when she and Zac parked the car and approached the deserted dock where the Cessna had been tethered was that someone had dug up a lock for the boathouse door. “There was no lock when I came down here yesterday,” she said, disappointed.

“Maybe Cassidy figured there was no reason to lock it while he was in the vicinity.” Zac glanced around, but spotting no one nearby he went to work on the padlock with a small wire. Guinevere watched in admiration as the lock gave in his hands.

“Incredible,” she murmured, pushing on the door.

“It’s nice to be loved for my mind.” He followed her inside, flipping on the light.

Guinevere let the remark pass. The cruiser was still tied up at the dock. “I found the wallet on board.”

Zac stepped onto the boat and systematically went through all the drawers and cupboards. He found nothing. The wallet with Cassidy’s DEA identification was gone.

“It was right there in that little drawer by the pilot’s chair,” Guinevere insisted, peering into the cabin.

“Well, it’s gone now. And there’s nothing else here that has a sample of his handwriting. Come on.”

“Where to now?”

He led the way outside and started toward the old public rest rooms.

“Zac, do you really have to use the facilities now? We’re in a hurry, in case you haven’t noticed. You should have gone before we left the resort.” Guinevere watched him stride up the small incline.

“The real nuts and bolts of investigative work,” Zac began in a lecturing tone, “consists of going through garbage. A lot of garbage. Why do you think I label myself a consultant? I’m trying to stay out of the lower end of this kind of work. I’d like to perfect a more sophisticated image.” He lifted the lid off the trash can that stood in front of the rest rooms. “But thanks to you I’m stuck with going through garbage on this job. Come here and give me a hand.”

Guinevere inhaled sharply as she viewed the contents of the trash can. “Yuk.”

“Mustn’t be squeamish.”

“What are we looking for?” She leaned over fastidiously to remove a fairly clean-looking scrap of paper.

“This is the nearest trash can to Cassidy’s dock. He may have tossed all kinds of junk in here. And it sure doesn’t look as if it’s been emptied for a while. Our best bet would be a receipt for fuel. Nobody pays cash when they fill up an airplane. Costs too much.”

They found the receipt stuck to a gum wrapper. There was grease on it and something sticky, and a smear of gum in the middle. There was also a scrawled signature:
Cassidy
. Zac pulled out the logbook page, and there was no doubt about the similarity between the two samples of handwriting.

“Okay, so now we know we’re right. Where does that get us? We’re wasting time, Zac.”

“Gwen, you’ve worked with me before. You know I’m not the fastest thing on two feet.”

She grinned briefly. “But you’re thorough.” And when the chips were down, she had learned, Zachariah Justis could be very fast and very thorough indeed. She shuddered at the memory of the conclusion of the StarrTech case. She would never forget the sight of blood seeping from a dying man onto a cold concrete floor.

“I try to compensate.” Zac dropped the lid back on the trash can. “Let’s go talk to some locals who might have seen Cassidy’s plane leave.”

Zac moved slowly along the docks, asking casual questions of the boat-owners and maintenance people. Yes, they’d heard the plane leave a while ago, but no one had paid much attention. Cassidy always came and went at odd hours; charter pilots operated that way. No, no one had noticed whether or not he had a passenger. Time passed and Guinevere began to glance more and more frequently at her watch. Finally she tugged at Zac’s sleeve.

“What about the ferry? It’ll be leaving soon.”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“But Zac, what are we going to do if we find Toby Springer sitting in the Mercedes, waiting to drive on board?”

Zac shrugged. “We’ll be assertive.”

But when it came to it Guinevere decided “assertive” didn’t quite cover it. Walking casually along the line of cars, they saw Vandyke’s Mercedes sitting between a Toyota and an Audi. She watched completely astonished as Zac walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and without any warning shoved a startled Toby Springer across the seat.

“Hey! What the hell—?” Springer’s mouth fell open as his head bounced against the upholstered door. “Justis! What are you doing here?” He struggled upright, rubbing his head, and his gaze flew to Guinevere, who was standing in the aisle between parked cars. No one seemed to notice Zac’s actions.

“Gwen? What’s this all about?” Springer started to appeal to her, but realizing Zac already had the car in gear and was forcing his way out of the line, he changed his mind.

Horns sounded behind the Mercedes as Zac made it plain he wanted room. Irate drivers grudgingly tried to back up or pull aside. Guinevere trotted over to the side of the road, ignoring several upraised middle fingers. Zac ignored them too. Within a minute he had the Mercedes out of the herd waiting to board the ferry.

“Let’s go, Gwen!” He halted the car momentarily and she scrambled into the back seat. Then he headed toward the marina parking lot.

“Jesus, are you two crazy?” Springer stared from one to the other. “I’ve about had it with crazy people.”

“Dealing with a lot of them lately?” Guinevere asked, leaning over the back of the front seat.

“It seems like it. Come on, Gwen, what’s going on here? Who does Justis think he is? Is he dangerous?”

“No,” Guinevere assured him, seeing the genuine anxiety on Toby’s face. “He’s just a big teddy bear. Don’t worry about him, Toby. We only want to ask a few questions. We’re very concerned about—”

She got no further. The big teddy bear had parked the car in the shadow of the rest rooms and was already out the door. By the time Toby Springer realized Zac was coming around to his side of the car it was too late. Zac yanked open the Mercedes door, reached inside, and ripped Springer out of the front seat.

“Zac!” Guinevere reacted with horror as Toby Springer found himself slammed against the wall of the building. “What are you doing? Don’t hurt him!” She scrambled out of the car.

But Zac wasn’t paying any attention to her. With one hand on the other man’s throat Zac held Springer pinned to the wall. He leaned close. “Where is Vandyke?”

Springer shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean—”

“You’ve got his car.”

“Yes, but that’s because Washburn ordered me to drive it back to the mainland. I’m supposed to meet him in Seattle.” Springer swallowed and made a visible effort to get control of himself. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but unless you’ve got a good explanation for all this, I’m going to call the cops. You can’t just jerk people around like this. I was only following my boss’s orders!”

“I’m here on business, too, as it happens. Just like you.” Zac’s hand tightened slightly on his victim’s throat. “Vandyke is my client. I want to know what you’ve done to him.”

“I haven’t done anything to him. For Pete’s sake, I’m trying to do him a favor by taking the Mercedes back to Seattle. Washburn said Cassidy was going to fly Vandyke back to the mainland because he didn’t want to waste time on the ferry.”

“Did you see Vandyke leave with Cassidy?”

“No. But that was the plan, and the Cessna’s gone, so I assume—”

“What about Washburn? Where is he?”

“Washburn took an earlier ferry. He left me behind to cover the hotel tab and take care of Vandyke’s car.”

“So how did Vandyke get to Cassidy’s plane? Did you drive him to the marina?” Zac asked.

Toby shook his head. “No. I guess Cassidy came and picked him up. I haven’t seen Vandyke all morning.” Springer cast another appealing glance at Guinevere. “Can’t you call this guy off? I don’t know what the hell’s happening. I swear it. I’m just doing what I’m told by my boss. Jesus, try to do a guy a favor so he can fly back to the mainland and save some time and what do you get? Another crazy man.”

Guinevere frowned and stepped forward, putting her hand on Zac’s arm. “Let him go, Zac. You’re hurting him.”

Zac raised his eyes in silent supplication, but his hand dropped from Springer’s throat. “What do you mean,
another
crazy man?” he asked as Springer warily straightened and tried to smooth his Pierre Cardin sports jacket. It was Guinevere who answered.

“Are you talking about Cassidy?” she asked with sudden insight as she turned to face Springer. “I almost had the feeling Mrs. Vandyke was on the verge of calling him crazy. She referred to him as a little wild. Bigger than life, perhaps dangerous.”

“He’s a two-bit pilot who thinks he’s auditioning for Hollywood.” Springer sounded thoroughly disgusted. “I don’t know why Washburn was always so—” He broke off, glaring at Zac.

“So what?” Guinevere went forward to gently help straighten Springer’s tie. Her concern seemed to have a soothing effect.