Bloody Point (18 page)

“She had something she had to do,” Trudy said. “Once she saw
you were okay, she decided to go.” She rose to her feet. “Speaking of which,
I’ll leave you two alone. Call me if you need anything.”

Trudy left, and Jake was alone with Craig. Seeing how healthy
Campbell looked, it struck Jake that he was a long way from running down a
street or kicking in doors like the old days. That was discouraging, to think
about how much of his physical strength he’d lost.

He must have been scowling, because when he looked up, Craig
was looking at him with concern. He felt his face flush. More than anything, he
hated pity. Hated it.

Craig cleared his throat. “You feel like answering some
questions?”

“Sure. Right. Go ahead.”

“Tell me what you remember about the night you were
attacked.”

What did he remember? He’d been asking himself that question
for the last month. “I … I remember Cass and I went out to dinner. When we got
back, then, I started talking to her again about coming back to the Bureau. I
guess she thought I was being pushy. I remember I was angry, because she was
being so … stubborn. I followed her to the boat. We were arguing. She yelled at
me to go away and leave her alone.

“I was furious. I remember the feelings more than anything we
said. Finally, I did leave. I remember lightning and thunder. The air was
thick. All I could think about was Cass. I was so frustrated! And I didn’t want
to leave her, not like that, not fighting. I stood next to my car, trying to
think what else I could do, what else I could say. I watched the first drops of
rain splatter on the roof. I remember that so clearly, those raindrops
exploding on the roof of the car. I was trying to figure how I could reach
Cass, how I could make it up to her. I didn’t want to lose her. I was angry and
sad, all at the same time. That’s all I remember.” Jake looked at Craig.
“That’s all. The next thing I knew was I was in that hospital in Montana.”

“Why’d you leave the rehab place?”

“I was sick of it. Tired of all the drugs and the tests and
never getting any better.”

“How’d you manage to get away from there? “

“One day, I just unplugged the IV, bribed an orderly to bring
me my stuff, and I walked away. I hitchhiked to town and caught a bus.”

“And you didn’t black out the whole time you were traveling?”

“No, I did. But I could tell when it was coming and I just
leaned my head back and pretended I was asleep.”

“What were you planning to do when you got back here?”

Jake’s eyes flickered. He hesitated before he responded. “I
don’t know, really.”

Campbell took a deep breath. He rested his elbows on his
knees and drew closer to Jake. “Jake, I’ve got to ask you this. Have you been
having any thoughts about hurting yourself?”

Jake’s jaw shifted. “I’m okay now,” he said. “I’m better.”

Craig scanned his face. “Do you need to talk to somebody?”

“No.”

Campbell nodded. “I’d like you to. It would be a good thing.
You’re dealing with a lot right now.”

“I won’t. I don’t need that.”

Craig backed off. “Well, you call me if it gets bad, okay,
buddy?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Any time, day or night.” Campbell shifted focus. “Jake,
whoever attacked you—it wasn’t just random.”

Jake rubbed his neck. “What do you mean?”

“The attacker waited for you. He came up behind you, hit you
over the head, and muscled you into your car, right? Then he took you to the
park, pulled you out of the car, and stabbed you … over and over. If he just
wanted you dead, why didn’t he shoot you right out?”

“I don’t know.”

“We found bullet casings, but he apparently didn’t shoot
until the kids saw him, and he was so rattled he completely missed you. He
chose a very personal way of hurting you. Is there anybody who hates you that
much? Anybody at all?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just … don’t know.” He squeezed
his eyes shut and opened them again. The pain was increasing. It was right
behind his eyes.

“No affairs going on or anything like that?”

“No.”

“Anybody hit on you lately, in a bar or anything? Anybody you
might have rebuffed?”

Jake stared at him. What was that supposed to mean?

Craig hesitated, then continued. “What about Tam? Or that guy
who’s living with her? Any chance he might hold a grudge against you?”

“No.” Jake squeezed his eyes shut. “And Tam may not like me,
but she has nothing to gain from me being dead.” He wanted to will away the
pain, but he couldn’t, and it was frustrating. It was growing like an ugly,
malignant tumor.

Craig shifted in his seat. Over his shoulder, Jake could see
one of Aunt Trudy’s plaques. “I know the plans I have for you,” it said, “plans
to prosper you and not harm you, to give you a hope and a future.” What did
that mean, exactly?

“Jake,” Craig said, gesturing to capture his attention. “We
found a note under you in the park that made us believe maybe you were looking
into Mike’s death. Were you pursuing that?”

Mike’s death. Yeah, Mike was dead.

“Jake,” Craig tried again, “did you have contact with
anybody? Question any sources?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”
What did he remember? Nothing. Just Mike died. That’s it. No, wait. “I had a
contact I was going to pursue, but I didn’t get there. Over in Annapolis.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

Jake dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his
left hand. His headache was getting worse.

Campbell looked at him, and apparently decided Jake had had
enough. He closed his notepad and put it in his pocket. “Jake, whoever attacked
you is still out there. I don’t think you are safe here, buddy. I think you
should come with me and let me find you some place more secure.”

Jake raised his head. “What? Why?”

“It’s not safe here. There’s no way to protect you.”

The hammering began then, at the back of his head, a
relentless pounding. He could feel his neck tightening up. He stood up. “No,
man. No.”

“Look, I know you’re comfortable here, but …”

Jake faced him. “I said, no! No. I’m staying here.”

“Have you considered that you might be putting Trudy at
risk?”

He stared at Craig, unwilling to accept his words. “Trudy?
Trudy!”

She appeared at the doorway. “Yes, Jake?” she asked, stepping
into the room.

Jake looked her in the eyes. “Does it … worry you … to have
me here? Does it?”

“Why, no.”

Jake turned back to Craig.

“Even though the person who assaulted him may try to find
him?”

Trudy straightened her back. “Craig, I put on my armor on
every morning. You know what that means. If I’m doing God’s will, whatever
happens, happens. I’m right where He wants me. And I believe I am doing His
will.”

Jake had no idea what she was talking about but he saw in
Craig’s eyes that she’d gotten through somehow. “I’m staying, Craig,” Jake
said.

“I don’t know … ”

“Well, I do, and I’m staying! That’s it!” Jake felt his face
grow hot.

Craig shook his head and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll have
to figure out some way to tell the boss.”

“You do that.”

† † †

Cassie got out of her car. She’d driven to Sullivan’s Wharf,
the place Frederick Schneider was killed. She should have gone back to the
office to research this weekend’s story, but she’d been wanting to go to
Sullivan’s Wharf, and right now, as angry as she was with Craig, she just
couldn’t think about crab feasts.

The sun was still high in the sky. Tall cumulus clouds were
building in the west and Cass wondered if they’d get storms that day.

The marina was a nice one, with a landscaped entryway and a
pool surrounded by a trim white fence. It was popular with sailors as well as
power boaters, and Cassie could see a forest of masts rising above the shrubs
around the parking lot.

Cassie adjusted her shirt, a navy-blue polo, and smoothed out
her khakis. Pulling a hair elastic from her purse, she gathered her hair in a
ponytail and secured it, and then walked toward the docks. Someone called her
name, and she turned around and saw Scrub coming out of the shop area.

“Hey there! Miss Cassie! Hey!” The little dockhand broke into
a half-jog, waving as he ran, a broad grin on his face.

“Scrub! What are you doing here?”

“I came to get some things for Mr. Maxwell,” he said breathlessly.
“Mr. Maxwell, he’s buying a new boat!”

“Is that right?” Cassie was glad to see Scrub. It had been
weeks.

“Yes, miss! And Mr. Hardesty, he’s rebuilding the marina.”

“Wow. That’s good news!”

“You bet! It means I’m keeping my job!” Scrub grinned. “I
miss seeing you and your boat. Mr. Maxwell, he said the same thing. It just
ain’t the same without all those boats and people around, you know? But boy,
that fire, that was something, wasn’t it? Seeing them boats explode, it was
just like in the movies, wasn’t it? Boom! Boom! One after the other, ‘til
nothin’ was left but hulls, like bodies floatin’ dead in the water.”

Cassie agreed. “It was amazing.”

“And they found one up here, did you know?”

“Found what?”

“A body! Man got killed and they found his body right over
there,” Scrub said, motioning toward some marsh grass. He dropped his voice.
“Ain’t nobody gonna ask me, but let me tell you, ever a man deserved to die it
was that man.”

Cass wrinkled her brow. “Why?”

He shook his head. “I ain’t saying. I cain’t say. But it’s
so, believe you me.” He grinned. “Got to go! Bye!’

“Wait! Scrub!”

“Sorry, Miss Cassie, it’s real good to see you but I’ve got
to go now,” Scrub said, turning around so that he was walking backwards as he
moved away from her. “Mr. Maxwell, he needs these things right away.”

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 18

C
ASSIE couldn’t shake
off Scrub’s words. Why did he think Frederick Schneider deserved to die? Cassie
looked over the marina, which consisted of four floating docks made of aluminum
and arranged in a back-to-back E pattern. One of them was covered, and huge,
expensive powerboats filled the slips there, shaded from the sun and sheltered
from the rain. Of the other slips, around half held sailboats and half held
powerboats. At an end slip was a large catamaran, a 40-footer in Cassie’s
estimation.

Cassie stepped onto the A-Dock and walked up and down,
looking at all the boats. When she returned to shore, she wandered into the
convenience store.

“Can I help you?” The young clerk was probably a college
student on summer break. She was a blond, in her twenties. Her hair was pulled
back in a French braid, and she was chewing gum while she leafed through a copy
of
Sail
magazine.

“No thanks, just looking around.” Cassie fingered a
collection of floating key chains at the counter. “Say, I understand this place
is famous.”

“How’s that?”

“I heard a guy was murdered here.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Some old guy. A professor at
the college.”

“A professor?” That didn’t match with what Cassie knew.

“Visiting lecturer anyway, at Washington College. At least,
that’s what I heard.”

The liberal arts college was less than an hour and a half
away, in Chestertown, Maryland. Was Schneider teaching there? That would be
news to Cassie. Why would an engineer be speaking there? Maybe that’s where he
spoke at the conference Desiree had mentioned. “What happened?”

“He had his boat here … right down there, on D-Dock. It’s
still there, the one with the ‘For Sale’ sign on it. Anyway, they found him in
the grass over there. His girlfriend called the cops.”

“So where was he found?”

The clerk stood up and moved toward the front window. “Right
over there, where that orange buoy is lying.”

“Oh, okay, I can see it. Was he shot?”

“Uh-uh. His throat was slashed. Oh my gosh, you should have
seen it. I mean, his head was nearly cut off … blood was everywhere.”

“You saw it?”

“Yep. You bet. It was sick.”

“But they still have no idea who did it?”

The girl shook her head. “Creeps me out, every time it
rains.”

“What do you mean?”

“The night it happened, it was raining. One of those spring
thunderstorms we get. It was just pouring. That’s why we think no one heard
anything.”

Cassie pondered that a moment, then smiled. “Well, thanks.
Here, let me buy one of these.” She handed a red foam crab key chain to the
girl. On it was printed “Sullivan’s Wharf Marina” and the address and phone
number. “Thanks,” Cassie said as she took the change. “See you around.”

Cassie walked down the D-Dock. The boat in slip D12 was a
Catalina 320. It looked fairly new. The bright blue canvas was unfaded, the
deck clean. Cassie copied down the broker’s name and number off the ‘For Sale’
sign. The she walked back up the D-dock and over to the grassy area where
Schneider’s body was found. It was eerily reminiscent of the place where they’d
found Jake—knee-high grass, lots of bugs.

After she finished looking around she visited the marina
office, the gas station, and the grocery store in town, striking up
conversations in each place. Frederick Schneider, she learned, was a newcomer.
The boat had been at the marina for only a month. He had purchased it just up
the bay at Havre de Grace. Now that he was dead, he was something of a
celebrity: Sullivan’s Wharf had never had a murder before, and everybody seemed
to want to talk about him.

He was a nice guy. Or kind of standoffish, depending on who
Cassie talked to. He was pudgy and bald. Had a real looker for a girlfriend.
Was cheap. Pinched every penny. He was picky. Had to have things just right but
hated to pay for them.

It was 7:00 p.m. before Cassie was ready to go home. She was
unlocking her car when a pick-up truck pulled up next to her. Skip Shelton, the
surveyor, rolled down his window and said, “Well, hi!”

“Skip! What are you doing here?” Cassie exclaimed.

He was in the area to check out a boat he was surveying
tomorrow, he said, and after he and Cassie exchanged small talk, they mutually
decided dinner would be a good idea. And he knew just the place. “You feel like
Italian?” he asked.

“Fine,” she responded and she followed him in her car to
Luigi’s.

Luigi’s was quiet and dark, and smelled of garlic and fresh
bread. Family owned, Pappa was the head chef and Momma and all the kids helped
out. The decor was simple: Plastic grape vines hung over decorative wooden
latticework and multicolor candles stuck in Chianti bottles sat on the tables.

Skip ordered chicken cacciatore and Cassie selected
manicotti. They munched on bread while they waited for the food. He asked her
about her boat and she cataloged her progress and then sought his advice on
hatches and water pumps and standing rigging.

By the time their food came, they were both relaxed. They
talked about movies and the Orioles and shared crazy boat-owner stories. He
told her about the club boat that he’d surveyed for a prospective buyer that
had been dismasted three times by novice sailors. She told him about the boat
she and her dad had chartered in the Caribbean. The bilge had filled up with
water and the pump failed. With the water shimmering just below the salon
floor, they’d tried to run the pump manually but it wouldn’t work. The
emergency manual bilge pump was also broken, as was the two-way radio they
tried to call the charter company with. “I’m amazed we survived!” Cassie
laughed. “It was a great trip but my gosh, what an adventure!

“It’s a good thing you all are sailors,” Skip said. “Imagine
being a novice and having to deal with all that.”

She nodded. “Speaking of novice sailors,” she leaned forward
and lowered her voice. “How’s the arson investigation going? Anything new? Just
for my personal information.”

Skip cocked his head and smiled. “Just a source, huh? That’s
all I am?”

“You know that’s not true!” Cassie smiled. “You’re also a
good surveyor and pretty decent company over dinner.”

“Well, that’ll do. For now.” Skip leaned forward, glancing
around before he spoke. “I told you before, we discovered the two arsons
started the same way, and Loughlin started looking into where the Sinclairs’ boat
had been just prior to the time it blew up. Turns out, it had spent the day
prior at the shop at Goose Creek Marina.”

Cassie raised her eyebrows. “The shop?”

“Yes. The Sinclairs had taken it there because they were
having trouble with the engine’s water pump. Turns out, the impeller was just
bad, so it was replaced and then the Sinclairs sailed down the creek to the
anchorage, where it burned just a few hours later.”

“So who had access to it at the shop?” Cassie asked.

“A bunch of people.” He looked away, as if he was deciding
how much more to say. “Including Myron Tunney.”

“Scrub? The dockhand?”

“That’s the man.”

“He’s a suspect?”

Skip stayed silent, but it was clear he was confirming that.

“I know him, pretty well. He’s the one who helped my dad
bring my boat up, remember?” Cassie said.

“I’d forgotten that.”

“And he helped me save
Time Out
when the marina
burned.” Cassie frowned. “I can’t believe he’s involved in this.”

“Why not? A lot of guys get their jollies from setting
fires.”

“But he seems so good-hearted, so … so innocent,” she
protested.

“Scrub’s not as innocent as you might imagine.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He has a criminal record.”

“For what?”

“He’s been a bad boy: Drug possession, theft … ”

“How long ago?” Cassie demanded.

“Ten or twelve years.”

“He was a kid then!”

“Eighteen. Old enough to know better. And there’s something
else, too, in his juvenile files. Loughlin’s trying to get those opened.”

Scrub? A suspect? Suddenly Cassie’s food didn’t taste so
good. “But this is all just conjecture. I mean, you have no physical evidence
against him, right? And no evidence he was carrying a grudge against the boat
owners?”

“No, we don’t have anything like that, but the circumstantial
evidence is pretty strong.” He leaned forward. “The word we have, from
interviewing people in his home town, was the juvenile crime was arson.”

Cassie’s heart dropped. She’d been around Scrub a lot. Her
dad had certainly worked with him closely and had known him for several years.
He’d even picked Scrub up on Sunday mornings and taken him to church. The
dockhand was a little slow, maybe had some learning disabilities, but he seemed
so goodhearted. And he loved boats. Not only that … “Skip, Scrub was dependent
on the marina for his job. Why would he burn it down?”

Skip shrugged. “Who knows why people do things? For the
excitement? Passive-aggressive behavior? Who can say?”

Cassie couldn’t argue with that. “He’s from the Eastern
Shore, isn’t he?”

“Yep. Oxford.” Then Skip changed the subject. It didn’t
matter. He had already given Cassie plenty to think about.

† † †

It was nearly 9:00 p.m. before Craig was ready to leave
Trudy’s. Storms were beginning to roll in from the west, the sound of thunder
announcing their imminent arrival. As he and Jake stepped outside the humidity
hit them like a wet towel. Cicadas were chattering in the bushes and the calico
cat scampered away as she heard their footsteps.

“You be careful, man, okay?” Craig said, walking down the
front steps. “I’m doing this your way, but I don’t like it.” He turned to say
goodbye to Aunt Trudy.

Lightning flashed and there was a roll of thunder. The
heaviness of the air created an uneasy feeling in Jake. He glanced around,
wondering who or what he was looking for. Was it stress? Craig’s warning?

Jake propped his arms on the roof of the Bureau car, waiting
for Craig. Drops of rain began to fall, huge splattering drops. They plopped
onto the roof and exploded, making little circles in the dirt. They caught his
attention. He stared at them transfixed. His neck tightened.

He felt like he was being transported over time, back to
another rainy night. A black cloud began to cover his heart. He stared at the
rain, allowing the feelings to envelope him. What was there? He wanted to
remember, he needed to remember.

“Jake?” Craig stepped forward and touched Jake’s shoulder.

He jumped.

“Jake? Are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, sorry,” Jake responded. He said good-bye and
moved aside so Craig could get in.

Craig started the car, waved good-bye, and Jake stood in the
oyster-shell driveway watching as he drove away.

The rains came then, full sheets of rain pouring out of the
sky. Jake remained frozen in the driveway, feeling the water beating on his
shoulders, watching the lightning flash, listening to the thunder roaring in
his ears. Something was back there, in his memory, something about the night he
was attacked. He just couldn’t quite see it. He didn’t want to move and break
the spell. He wanted to coax it out front where he could deal with it.

His throat was tight and his chest heavy. His hair clung to
his head and rain dripped off his beard. He caught his breath. In his mind he
could hear the sounds of a struggle. As he focused, the sounds became clearer, the
grunts and groans of exertion, the sounds of a storm, rain on a car. Jake tried
to remember a face, but he couldn’t. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled
again. For a moment, he thought he saw blood pooling on the ground. Then, the
memory faded. Jake shivered and walked quickly into the house.

“Trudy,” Jake said, standing in his bedroom a few moments
later, drying his hair with a towel, “do you believe in evil?”

“What do you mean? Do I believe in evil that is the opposite
of good? Of course. I think everybody knows there is good and evil.” She lifted
up the mattress on his bed and fitted a clean bottom sheet on it.

“Okay. I agree. But do you believe in evil personified?”

“As in Satan? Yes, I do. Do you?”

He paused and looked at her. “No, not really. But if I did, I
know what it would be like to be near him. I know what Hell is.”

“What’s Hell, Jake?” she asked, stopping what she was doing.

“Hell is a black pit that you fall into. And you have no
control over yourself any more. There’s no security, nothing underneath you, no
way to save yourself. The Pit wants to swallow you, and you can’t stop it. The
pain is immense. You are totally alone in the blackness. No one can hear your
screams. And it is absolutely the most terrifying thing anyone can ever
experience.” He looked at her. “If there is a Hell, that’s what it is. I’ve
seen it.”

“There is a Hell, Jake. And also a Heaven.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know about that. I just don’t
know,” and he left the room before she could say more.

† † †

Cassie walked into the newsroom the next day, her mind
flitting from subject to subject, thinking about what Skip told her, wondering
about Schneider, worrying about Scrub. She knew she had to give the Palm Pilot
to Craig and let the agents start unscrambling it. In the meantime, she had a
job to do.

KidFest, in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, the largest of the
summer festivals she would cover, would take place this Saturday. Len had okay’d
it as a break from the small-town gigs. She put her stuff down on her desk and
flipped on the computer. Behind her a group of photographers carrying their
gear were laughing and joking on their way back to their workstations. Shonika
was standing at her desk, talking on the phone, gesturing with her hand. Across
the room Len walked up to the city desk, looked at Cassie and nodded as if he
were checking her in, affirming her presence.