“The tunnel looks jerry-rigged, but it’s not. There’s actually a sophisticated construction, the way the floors are slanted, places to catch runoff—architecturally, it’s quite brilliant. When you consider that this is an island in Florida, built-up or not. We don’t use these tunnels now, except as an alternate escape route for the president or vice president when they’re staying here.”
Landry eyeballed the boathouse, in case he needed to come here again. He did not have a photographic memory, but he’d trained himself to observe quickly and thoroughly. He looked for places where he could ambush someone or places where someone could ambush him, places where he could see and yet not be seen. He looked for cover. He looked for concealment. He looked for places to escape if he had to. And here it was: an official escape route for the president.
The boathouse had an old fish camp feel. Distinctly Southern. “Let’s go back,” he said.
When they got back to the pool shed, Franklin said, “Wait until you see this.” He motioned Landry over to a shelf which held more pool accessories and pushed aside a case of shock treatment bags. Set into the wood at the back of the shelf was a window. Landry looked in at the cabana they’d just left. From this vantage point he could see the bed, the small dinette, the couches covered with throw pillows.
“One-way glass,” Frank said. “Like the cops use. Used to be just a little hole, discreetly placed. But somewhere along the line came the upgrade. No one’s supposed to know about this,” he added.
“No one?”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure everyone knows. At least the immediate family.” Franklin looked at his watch. “Time to rock and roll.”
44
As Jolie entered the house after her run, she spotted the light blinking on her phone. It was Kevin Moran, the FBI special agent she’d worked with on a kidnapping a few years ago. Another friend of Danny’s. Kevin was an ideal special agent; he was eminently self-contained. She wondered, though, how much he liked working this area, where very little happened.
Of course, plenty was happening now. Jolie had a feeling it would only get worse, not better. Whatever she was stuck into, it was like swimming in the pond. You had no idea what else was in there with you.
When she reached him she said, “So, you think you can help me?”
“Probably not.”
“I heard the FBI was investigating Luke Perdue even before the Starliner Motel.”
“Chilly this morning, don’t you think?”
It was nothing of the kind. “Okay, so maybe that’s not true about the FBI watching Luke. But it
“Then again, we do live in a tropical climate.”
“In fact, if you guys were any good, you’d dispatch someone immediately to his home address.”
“Warmer. Let me go turn the fan on.”
“Did the FBI go to Luke’s house?”
“It’s possible. Probable, even.”
“To interview Mrs. Frawley?”
“You’d think.”
“Did they collect evidence?”
“That would be a negative.”
“So you’re saying it was just Gardenia PD? They were the only ones who collected evidence?”
“You have any idea how hot it is here? I’m loosening my tie as we speak.”
“So the FBI has no evidence from Luke Perdue? Not even, say, a cell phone?”
“Gotta open a window. It’s like an oven in here.”
“No cell phone? You sure? You talked to the agents involved?”
“Look, I’ve got an appointment in a couple of minutes.”
Jolie pushed through. “I understand that Special Agent Belvedere was the secondary during the hostage negotiation.”
“Not my jurisdiction. Sorry.”
“Special Agent Frederick Belvedere—that’s what I hear. He worked with Chief Akers.”
He said nothing.
“I wish I could talk to him. Clear up a couple of things.”
“Well, what do you know? They finally put the air-conditioning on in here.”
“Just a couple of things. Yes or no. We could even play twenty questions.”
“It’s getting
“Couldn’t you ask him, just in case he’s feeling talkative?”
A pause. And then, “No promises.”
“Sounds like a warm front’s coming in.”
“Time will tell,” he said, and hung up.
The phone rang again immediately. Jolie thought it was Agent Moran calling back. But it was Skeet.
“What are you doing today?”
“Not much.”
“Then why don’t you come down to the office? Say, half an hour.”
Skeet Mullins asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He sat at his desk, feet up, and swiveled on his office chair, back and forth, squeak-squeak-squeak. Annoying as hell, but Jolie was used to it. “What do I think I’m doing?”
“You’re telling me you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
On the drive over, Jolie had tried to figure out how much Skeet knew about her activities, and she came to the conclusion that Detective Jeter of Panama City Beach PD might have called and left a message with Louis. That was the logical assumption, so she went with it. She gave him her most mystified look. “Do you mean going to Panama City? I didn’t know going to Panama City was a problem.”
“Panama City?”
“I was there yesterday. Is that a problem?”
Now Skeet was the one to look mystified. His mystification was a lot more convincing than hers. Either he was acting, or he didn’t know about Detective Jeter or the missing Nathan Dial.
“Are you moonlighting for the state police?”
“No.”
“Well, you act like it. Last I heard, the hostage situation at the Starliner Motel was the FDLE’s case. So what were you doing questioning anyone, period? What part of ‘paid leave’ don’t you understand?”
So that was it? When she’d gone into the neighborhood behind the Starliner Motel, she must have offended someone with her questions. Maybe Mark’s parents didn’t like her talking to him.
Skeet dropped his feet and leaned forward. “You’re on leave pending the conclusion of an investigation into an officer-involved shooting concerning a reckless discharge of a firearm. You cannot represent this department, you cannot go out there playing detective like you’re Nancy Drew.”
That hurt. When Jolie was a stars-in-her-eyes rookie in the sheriff’s office, she had expressed her desire to become a detective. Skeet started referring to her as Nancy Drew. Behind her back, but she’d heard about it.
“You are to cease and desist until the officer-involved shooting investigation is over. Am I clear?”
“Yessir.”
“Because if you keep it up, if you continue to flaunt this department’s regulations, the
Just then—of course—her phone chirped.
“What’s that?” demanded Skeet.
Jolie checked the readout. “It’s my neighbor. I bet you my cat got out again.”
“Well, now you’ll have plenty of time to take care of things like that,” Skeet said.
