gentlemen such as Martin Bronner are going to escort me to exotic places like Hong Kong.”
“Don’t pack your bags quite yet. Moran may have your career blocked for two or three years.”
“Thanks for bringing me back down to earth. I’ve been trying to think of ways to force his hand...haven’t found it yet. Is Nita still out front? I know where I can buy her an inexpensive swimsuit. Juanita Banks is going to swim in a Florida motel pool and go home with a tan.”
Chapter Thirty-one
The national media had not yet discovered that Sandy was involved deeply in both the Privado Beach affair and the felony murder case against Abby. That was fine with Sandy; she’d prefer to keep it that way. The TV and print media were pretending to create news out of all the circulating rumors and speculation. They had most of it wrong or at best backwards, and were overlooking certain important angles. Moran’s dramatics added to the confusion. He had overreached with the media. They were already expecting more than he could deliver.
She enjoyed watching Moran tangle himself in such a public relations problem. Her own problems remained: getting him off her back so she could proceed with the bar exam, become licensed as an attorney, and move on with her life. She was certain that he intended to keep her under the conspiracy charge and in limbo until the last possible minute. Reaching the last minute in a criminal trial could take years.
His problem: manipulating the media. Her problem: Moran on her back. Both had been crisscrossing each other in her mind for days when it occurred to her that the two problems were linked. Then, surprisingly, the two problems came together in her mind like two sides of Velcro.
Amazingly simple. At the peak of the media frenzy, she leaked word to Moran that she had prepared for a national interview with Renaldo Gitano, the ace reporter from CNN. The media had it all wrong, she exclaimed; she and Gitano would straighten them out in sensational fashion.
Her bluff worked. In a near panic, Moran called her to his office and pleaded for her silence. He realized her revelations would be a disaster. It would appear to the media that she was the center, the source of inside information. She was where it’s at—what was that State Attorney babbling about? Between what Sandy had developed on her own and what Goddard and Triney had fed to her, she knew more than he did about Abby, Toby, and Kidde. Moran couldn’t risk the embarrassment of having details exposed, losing control, and having the media asking him to confirm or deny her comments. Would she please reconsider?
She told him she’d have to decide. Then she let him sweat for twenty-four hours, which was twelve joyful hours longer than a nervous Kagan advised. Sandy then negotiated successfully the immediate withdrawal of all charges against her. Just when he began to recover from making that painful concession to her, she added to his distress by insisting he provide her with a glowing letter of recommendation to the Florida Bar Association, which also must explain his error in charging her with conspiracy. It killed Moran to not only release her from his grasp, but also substantially advance her career.
With the threat of jail removed, she could devote prime time to finding poor Jamie. Abby’s indifference to the plight of her daughter let Sandy to believe that she had taken Jamie to some friend or relative. Kevin had been working tirelessly checking out everyone that he could remember was acquainted with Abby. He seemed to be unraveling with frustration.
U.S. Representative Frederic Kidde, the politician who didn’t want to be connected to the beach scene, who was afraid the voters would blame him for leaving the deceased Betty Jo, and who also had exercised bad judgment in not coming forward immediately when he learned she was abandoned, would soon be political history. Unfortunately, the media kept their foot on his neck until the next circus came along. By then his political career, his reputation, and his way of life were devastated.
One of the biggest disappointments in the life of TV reporter Renaldo Gitano was he could never piece together the relationship between the congressman and the dead stripper. How they had met and how they came to Florida. There had to be a dynamite story there if he could just uncover it. The anticipation of such a story energized him for months. He was convinced gold was to be discovered in there somewhere.
Gitano tried vigorously, but after weeks of digging developed only one solid lead. He located a woman who had driven from Baltimore to Jacksonville at that time and reportedly had given Betty Jo Hodges a short ride. The woman obviously knew something, yet adamantly refused to discuss what had happened. He was at a loss to understand the woman’s attitude. Reportedly, as soon as he mentioned the name, Betty Jo, the woman slugged him with her bare fist and pushed him off her front porch. No one else seemed to know anything.
No one knew except the congressman himself and Sandy Reid. Only she understood that Freddy Kidde had sacrificed everything to the unrequited passion of a woman he’d casually encountered. Freddy had trusted her and she’d never reveal what had happened on that trip to Florida.
Three days after their first meeting with Nita Banks, Sandy met with her lawyer Martin Bronner in his office near the Park Beach courthouse. They worked late on the draft of the Juanita Banks wrongful death papers. Afterwards they walked around the corner to the Windward bar for drinks. She called them drinks, Martin referred to them as cocktails. The after-work crowd had left and they sat at a quiet table near the front. She asked him if it was too late in the evening to order a Bloody Mary, now her favorite.
“Ah, you’ve discovered the timeless joy of the Bloody Mary. Appropriate anytime, early morning or late at night. Ideal if you want a little blast first thing in the morning or before the official five o’clock cocktail time. Tangible proof there is indeed a God.” He motioned to catch the server’s attention. “I told my father all about you. He’d like to meet you, perhaps join us for a cocktail sometime.”
“Fine. How’s he doing?”
“He’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. He should be around for awhile.”
The waitress appeared. She ordered a Bloody Mary. He ordered a Tanqueray Martini, straight up, with an olive, and a drop of olive brine.
When it came, he sipped it and made a slight frown. “This is made with vodka,” he whispered.
“Then send it back.”
“No, this is a neighborhood bar, not the Four Seasons. As of now, I’m the only one annoyed. If I send it back, two people, the waitress and the bartender, will be embarrassed. Next time I’ll be more definitive when I order.”
She began to like him. He was a bit dramatic at times, like when he explained why the Bloody Mary was one of God’s finest creations. The most outlandish statements seemed charming coming from him, such as when he told her all women, without exception, are beautiful. It came naturally to him. He was somewhere in between a strict by-the-book ex-marine like Chip, and a loosely-tied nature lover such as Kevin. Martin was more likely to get excited about a string quartet performing somewhere. Sounded okay to her, she hadn’t been to a concert since Philadelphia. Chip would never think of it. For an uptight guy Martin Bronner wasn’t bad.
They met again in his office the next afternoon. His modern office was sized for the three lawyer firm his father once ran. The ambiance was upscale, with studied decor, and spoke of high fees. On this afternoon, a guitar concerto by Rodrigo was soft in the background. One wouldn’t know from appearances that Martin Bronner, Esquire, had no lucrative client list. The father’s personal office space was the largest and nicest in the suite of rooms and although fully equipped was now never used. Martin was supposed to use it, but he saved it in the hope that his father would enjoy occasionally coming downtown and sitting at his former desk. Perhaps recalling some old memories. His father had come by only once since retiring and seemed uninterested about any of it.
Martin had just come back from getting two takeout coffees from the cafe across the street. Sandy was reviewing his final draft of the complaint. They’d run it by Jerry Kagan and then meet with the judge. Her phone buzzed, she knew it was Kevin. Had she forgotten about the search for Jamie?
“Kevin, what I want desperately is to go back and search Ruth Towalski’s house and garage from top to bottom. Other than somehow putting the screws to Abby, I’ve run out of ideas.”
While dealing with Moran and Nita Banks, she’d been uncomfortable interacting with Kevin. He’d taken to calling her daily, once in the middle of night, regarding Jamie. He seemed to be coming apart and she had no answer for him. Although she sympathized with him, he was difficult to be with and she didn’t care to have any additional dates.
There was plenty of frustration to go around. They had pressed poor Triney for more cooperation, but he could do nothing further regarding the unreported kidnapping. Both Chip and Triney were willing to lend police
