A waiter in a Hawaiian shirt stopped at their table, and Agent Parsons ordered a passion fruit iced tea. Passion Conner. Passion fruit. Sure, why not?
Steve waited until the waiter was out of earshot. “All I’m saying is that one day you’re looking into some potheads knocking over puppy farms, and the next day you’re taking on a four-billion-dollar company with political connections. And not doing it very well, I might add.”
“What is it you want, Mr. Solomon?”
“I’m just wondering who’s gonna take the fall for your screwup. You or your superior? And what’s Hector Diaz say about all this? The U.S. Attorney can’t be pleased when the FBI instigates a murder instead of investigating one.”
“If you’re talking about Sanders-”
“You encouraged Nash to go on that raid. He wanted to hit some pet stores in the malls. But you said, ‘Let’s go big-time. Let’s do an amphibious assault on Cetacean Park.’”
“It was Sanders’ idea, not mine.”
“What’s the difference? You went along with it.”
“I was working undercover. Under Justice Department guidelines, when the proposed crime is nonviolent-”
“The ‘proposed’ crime,” Steve interrupted, “turned into something else, didn’t it?”
“There was no way of knowing that. I followed procedures.”
“You
She was quiet a moment, pretending to watch a golden lionfish dart in and out of coral rock caves in a table- side aquarium.
“I’m going to ask you one last time, Mr. Solomon. Then I’m going to leave. What is it you want?”
The waiter delivered the iced tea with a straw and a flower sticking out of the glass.
“It’s simple,” Steve said. “Start a daisy chain over there in government land. Tell your boss to tell the U.S. Attorney to tell Pincher to tell Victoria to offer Nash a plea. Simple trespassing. Time served. Case over.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Fine. I’ll subpoena you. You can explain to the jury why my naif of a client should go to prison because the FBI encouraged him to take part in a crime that turned into murder.”
“That sort of publicity would endanger the ongoing investigation of Hardcastle.”
“To say nothing of your career, Agent Parsons.”
Outside the windows, a trimaran with six partyers aboard slid quietly by, waving to the patrons inside.
“There may be one way I can help you,” she said after a moment.
Steve waited, wishing he were on a sailboat instead of here, playing hardball with the Forces of Evil, aka the federal government.
“There were two men on a boat that night, waiting to pick up the dolphins. They work security for Hardcastle.”
“We’ve met. They drive a Lincoln and offer rides to strangers.”
“Is your client willing to testify against them?”
“Why do you need my client? You can ID them.”
“Not without blowing my cover. We want to flip the two guys, go after Hardcastle executives for contract fraud and racketeering. If Nash will cooperate…”
“Consider it done. Where are the guys?”
“We don’t know, but we’ll find them.”
“Ah, geez. I’m in the middle of trial. Once Nash gets convicted, it’s too late.”
“We’re on their trail.”
“Yeah. Them and Osama bin Laden.”
“Look, Solomon, I’ll do what I can to help Nash, but I can’t make the case go away.”
“What
“Share intel.”
“I’m listening.”
“We had Grisby under surveillance. Sanders stopped by Cetacean Park two days before the raid.”
“Did he talk to Grisby?”
“For about two or three minutes. Out on the dock. But we don’t know what was said.”
“It’s not much, but it’s something,” Steve said. “Grisby claimed he never saw Sanders before the night he killed him.”
“Another thing that never added up,” Agent Parsons said. “On three consecutive nights before the raid, Grisby took the two dolphins out into the Bay.”
“What do you mean, ‘took them’?”
“Around midnight, Grisby rode out to the channel on a Jet Ski and led the dolphins over to Hurricane Harbor. He left them there overnight, then went back in the morning and led them up the channel and into the park. Same thing each time.”
“Why? Why would he do that?”
“No idea.” Agent Parsons sipped the rest of her passion fruit iced tea through the straw until it made an unladylike slurping sound. “It didn’t seem relevant to our investigation of Hardcastle.”
“Maybe not,” Steve said. “But it might be damn relevant to why Grisby killed Sanders.”
Thirty-five
“Training them,” Bobby said.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked.
“Mr. Grisby must have wanted Spunky and Misty to know that if they ever left the channel, he’d come get them. He’d lead them back to the park.”
“Is that even possible-training the dolphins to wait for him?”
“When you tell me to wait somewhere, what do I do?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Spunky and Misty aren’t like that. They try to please. And they want to be fed.”
Steve was driving along Miracle Mile in Coral Gables and speaking into his cell phone. Bobby was at the house, watching an instructional baseball video with the sound turned down. He should have been taking a shower and getting ready for dinner. A Saturday night tradition. Steve always took Bobby and Victoria to whatever restaurant they chose to celebrate the weekend. Tonight, it was Restaurant St. Michel in the Gables.
“Grisby knew Sanders was coming for the dolphins,” Steve said. “That’s why he fired the security guard. That’s why he had the shotgun. He prepared everything, including a safe place for the dolphins to hide until the shooting stopped.”
“Makes sense, Uncle Steve. He’d lost his two best dolphins before and sure didn’t want it to happen again.”
Steve hit the brakes and pulled over to the curb. “Say that again.”
“Say what? Mr. Grisby lost two dolphins before, and-”
“That’s it, Bobby. It happened before! Grisby’s place in California was hit and his two star dolphins released. Grisby got the insurance money and used that to open Cetacean Park here. That’s the missing piece of the second puzzle, which helps solve the first puzzle.”
“What piece is that?”
“Most people can’t tell one dolphin from another, can they?”
“Most people don’t know what to look for.”
“But Sanders knew.”
