sarcastic.
“Okay, Alex didn’t pan out. But there’s another possibility.”
“I’ll bet.”
“If Castiel is corrupt, there’s a statewide agency that can help us. Investigating him could be the key to opening an inquiry into Krista’s disappearance.”
“Sounds like a long shot.”
“But I’d like to try. It’s the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“I suppose you have contacts there, too.”
As a practitioner of sarcasm, I hate when it’s used on me. “No, Amy, I don’t have contacts there.”
“So basically, you’re just throwing darts, hoping something will stick.”
“There’s also a statewide prosecutor in Tallahassee. He investigates public corruption.”
“You know the guy?”
“I’ve met him. We’ve talked.” Technically, that was true. I’d listened to him give a talk at a Miami Beach Bar luncheon, and afterward I’d said, “Nice job,” and he said, “Thanks.”
“You’ve got nothing. It’s all bullshit.”
Her tone turning cold again, just as it had been the day we met.
“C’mon, Amy. Hang with me on this.”
“I’m wasting my time with you.”
“Amy, I’m concerned about you,” I said, gently. “Your mood seems to …”
“What!”
“Swing. Up, down, then falls off a cliff.”
“Screw that! Are you my shrink?”
“You’re under a lot of stress.”
“Maybe you should have been a shrink. You’re not much of a lawyer.” Her voice as hard as a cinder block.
I decided to shut up and let her slug me with her words.
“As a matter of fact, you’re a really lousy lawyer, and I’m firing you.”
“You can’t stop me from investigating your sister’s disappearance. So let’s chill tonight, and maybe tomorrow you’ll see things differently. Maybe-”
“I can take care of Ziegler myself.”
“What does that mean? ‘Take care of.’ ”
“Just stay out of my way, okay, Lassiter?”
She hopped off the porch and circled the house to her car, never saying good-bye, good night, or sleep tight.
26 A Hard Night’s Sleep
The metronomic
Not tonight.
I couldn’t get comfortable. Not while on my back with a pillow tucked under a bum knee. Not on my side. Not on my stomach.
I listened to the wind rustle the palm fronds outside my bedroom window. I listened to a police siren wail away on Douglas Road. I listened to the creaks and moans of the old house.
I was thinking about Amy.
We should have been on the same side. Amy felt guilty about telling her sister that dear old stepmom planned a religious intervention, prompting Krista to run away. I felt guilty for delivering Krista into the lion’s den. Being fired meant little. I needed to find Krista Larkin for myself, as much as for Amy.
I considered for the hundredth time the actions-or inactions-of Alex Castiel. Why was he protecting a scumbag like Charlie Ziegler? What did he get out of it? I’m not naive. I know how the game is played downtown where power and money form an unholy alliance. But I’ve been pals with Alex a long time and, until now, I’d never seen anything to make me think he was dishonest. Ambitious, yes. Corrupt, no.
I got out of bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen. I was wearing my nighttime fashion statement, ancient Miami Dolphins boxer shorts, with the logo of Flipper leaping through hoops. I pulled a liter bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard. Poured three fingers in a glass. Lassiter-size fingers, including two broken knuckles. Skipped the ice.
Went back to the bedroom, tucked myself in. I heard more nighttime sounds. Crickets or some other clickety-clack insects outside. A car engine on my street. Then I must have dozed off.
An hour later, or maybe it was five seconds, Csonka started barking. Sometimes he howls at the possum who climbs into my garbage can. Sometimes at the green parrots who escaped from the zoo during a hurricane. And sometimes he turns guard dog. Once, he captured some sky-high tweaker who pried open the jalousie windows of a rear bathroom and foolishly crawled inside. I had to pull the beast off the guy’s butt.
Now I heard Csonka’s claws scratching at the terrazzo as he scrambled down the corridor to my bedroom. He slid around the corner, propped his forelegs on my bed, wailed, and slobbered on me.
I got out of bed and followed Csonka down the corridor. I checked Kip’s bedroom first. Sound asleep. I could hear Granny’s snoring from outside her door. After her bedtime coffee cup filled with what she called “rye likker,” the woman could sleep through a squall on a dinghy.
Outside, a car engine was starting up. I headed for the foyer and found the front door open a foot or so. I grabbed a baseball bat from an umbrella stand and barreled outside. Moonless night. Lights off, the car was already moving toward the intersection of Douglas Road. I couldn’t see the driver. I couldn’t even tell the car’s make or model. It screeched around the corner, heading north toward Dixie Highway, and I stood there in my boxers, holding my baseball bat, watching Csonka take a leak against the chinaberry tree. After a moment, I lowered my shorts and did the same.
27 No One Breaks Into the Grand Jury
The next morning, I drove north on Dixie Highway, headed to the office. On the radio, Leonard Cohen was complaining that there “ain’t no cure for love.”
I’d walked around the street, asking a couple neighbors if they’d seen anyone lurking in the hibiscus hedges during the night. But no one had. So who the hell had it been? A random intruder or someone with a connection to Krista’s case?
As I pulled onto I-95, I noticed a gray Hummer H2 behind me. Big as a battleship, it would have been hard to miss. I’d already seen it on Sunset Drive earlier this morning when I stopped at a bakery for coffee and a
Was I getting paranoid? First the Escalade owned by a guy in prison. And now this behemoth? Made as much sense as tailing someone in a Rose Bowl float.
I stayed in the right-hand lane in order to take the exit for the flyover to the MacArthur Causeway. The Hummer was directly behind me.
I was looking in the rearview mirror, trying to make out the driver’s face, when my cell phone rang.
“Jake, get your ass over to the Grand Jury chambers now!” Castiel’s voice.
“You’ve changed your mind? You’re bringing Amy’s case up?”
“Your crazy client just chained herself to the door. If you don’t get her out of here, I’m gonna have her arrested.”
I swung left out of the exit lane, barely missing the sand-filled barricades. The Hummer braked but couldn’t make the turn
