Bloody Point (25 page)

She retraced her steps to the top of the hill, grabbing
branches and roots to pull herself up the steep incline. It was hard. Her
muscles ached with the effort. Several times she wanted to just let go, to fall
back into the ravine, to just give up. But she kept on.

Cassie made it to the top and stood next to her car and
brushed the dirt off her clothes. Then she heard someone call her name. She
looked up. Rick was there.

† † †

Jake called and left a message for Dr. Harrington, and when
the neurologist called him back, Jake told him about the burn. Dr. Harrington
said they’d have to postpone the surgery and Jake said, no, he wanted to cancel
it, and he told him why. There was a long silence, then the doctor responded,
“Call me in a week and tell me if you still feel the same way.”

“Four days,” Jake responded. “I hadn’t gone a single day
without a seizure since I got hurt. I’m up to four days now. When I hit ten,
I’ll call you so we can set up an MRI. I’ll need that so I can go back to work
and start driving again.”

The doctor laughed. In the end, he agreed to do it Jake’s
way.

† † †

Rock Hall, Maryland was located on the Eastern Shore well
north of the Bay Bridge on a peninsula formed by the Chester and Sassafras
Rivers. In colonial days, Rock Hall was the terminus of the Annapolis Ferry.
George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and others used the ferry to commute from
Virginia when the weather was right, riding horseback the rest of the way to
Philadelphia.

As Cassie drove into town she rehearsed those facts. In her
heart, she knew she was simply trying to drive away her memories.

She’d been surprised to see Rick at Glen Lane, but when he
told her he’d been driving back from an appointment with a new client, and had
seen her car and stopped, it made sense. He said he’d been there for about ten
minutes, watching her, and he thought maybe she needed someone to talk to.

That was kind of him, unexpectedly so. He’d taken her to
dinner, to a quiet Italian place. And that was good, because she didn’t want to
be alone, and she didn’t want to be with anyone else she knew: not Jake, not
Craig, not her dad, or even Aunt Trudy. She couldn’t face any of them.

So she and Rick had had a quiet evening, and he was charming
and attentive. He told her stories of some of the sailing trips he’d been on.
Before long, she found she was lost in his intensely blue eyes, able to shove
her sadness, anger, fear, guilt, and despair to the recesses of her mind.

By the time she got home and lay staring into the dark, her
extra pillow hugged to her chest, she was exhausted. Sleep eventually came.

Now, three days later, she was driving down the main street
of Rock Hall. And Rick had called her every day since then, just to be sure she
was okay. She was surprised at his sensitivity, his attention. Maybe he really
had grown up since his high school days.

Trudy, Craig, and her dad had called her, too, but she hadn’t
returned their calls. She couldn’t talk to them. Not now.

Rock Hall was a neat little town. Small shops lined the main street
and several beautiful marinas dotted the waterfront. A waterman’s town, it was
both functional and attractive, like a fine workboat.

The Rockfish Round-up was a weekend fishing event, enhanced
by a Saturday festival in town for landlubbers. The contest itself would be
held on the open waters of the Bay, but the town’s main street would be lined
with artists and craftspeople, food vendors, face-painters and musicians.

The serious fishermen would not finish until Sunday. Their
challenge was to top the Maryland record for rockfish of sixty-seven pounds,
eight ounces set in 1995. Rockfish, Cassie had learned, lived in the ocean, but
they laid their eggs in the fresh water of the rivers and streams that fed the
Bay. The baby rockfish spent three to five years in the Bay, before migrating
to the Atlantic where they might live as long as thirty years. But as long as
they lived in the Chesapeake, rockfish made a tasty and challenging sport fish
and the Round-up celebrated that fact.

Cassie was to meet Sam Brierly, her photographer, at the Cozy
Harbor Inn. Brett had said he was unavailable. She wondered why.

Brierly was a fifty-ish veteran, gray-haired, chronically
late, and crusty as stale bread. While she waited for him, she sat in the inn’s
dining room and had a cup of tea and a blueberry muffin. The water outside the
Inn was smooth and slick. There was very little wind to ruffle it. It would be
a hot, sticky day.

Sam finally did show up, and together they explored the
festival. Walking down the main street, pausing at vendors’ stalls, talking to
visitors, Cassie realized how ineffective the event was in relieving the pain
in her heart. The Round-up was no match for the deep sorrow she was feeling.
Painted crab shells and clown faces could not ease her suffering.

She did her job and tolerated Sam in the process, but sadness
stalked her every step, and she was glad when the day was finally over.
Crossing the Bay Bridge as the sun set over the mainland, Cassie could not seem
to stop the grief that poured out of her. Tears streamed down her face.

Seeking distraction, she reached for the CD player. As she
did, she realized she hadn’t touched it since she’d started driving Mike’s SUV.
Whatever was in there was the last music he’d listened to the last time he
drove the vehicle.

As the music started and the lyrics to “All to Jesus I
Surrender” began filling the car, deep sobs erupted from Cassie. Tears dripped
off her cheeks and onto her shirt and she could barely see to drive. Grabbing a
napkin from the glove box, she mopped her face, and blew her nose, but the
tears kept coming, relentless, like the tide.
Not this
, she thought.
I
don’t want to surrender this to Jesus. Not this … not Mike.

Half an hour later, Cassie arrived home. The sky was black.
She walked slowly up the steps. Outside her door was a vase filled with a dozen
exquisite pink champagne roses. She picked up the card. It simply said, “Rick.”
And the tears flowed again.

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 25

O
N Sunday, Cassie sat on
her balcony trying to write her article. Her hands and her brain seemed frozen
despite the ninety degree temperature and the humidity. She began to type,
deleted that paragraph, tried again … and forty-five minutes later she threw
her hands up in disgust, exited the program, and turned off the computer. It
was no use.

Cassie made herself an iced tea and stood looking out over
the Bay while she drank it. Her mind was elsewhere. It was on Mike, and his
blond hair and blue eyes. Every sunny day reminded her of him. And it was on
Jake. Dark, brooding Jake.

Why would he even think God would heal him? Mike was the one
who loved Jesus. Mike was the man with the passion for God. That was one of the
main things that attracted her to him. But Mike wasn’t healed, despite his
faith. So why would God heal Jake?

It made her mad just to think of it. Cassie tossed the rest
of her tea off the balcony and went inside.

† † †

First thing Monday morning, Craig called Jake. “We’ve had a
break,” he said, and he arranged to come to Trudy’s to talk.

There was a spring in Craig’s step as he bounded up the front
walk. Jazz gave him two quick barks and Trudy let him in. He had a map in his
hand, which he began spreading out on the kitchen table.

“What’s up?” Jake asked, emerging from the sunroom.

Craig turned. Speechless, he stared at his fellow agent.

“What?” Jake asked.

“You probably had to pay that barber an extra ten bucks to
cut all that hair off,” Craig said, grinning.

Jake rubbed his hand over his newly shaven chin. His hair had
been cut, too, down to its usual short length. The barber in town, who was at
least sixty-five, had been happy to “straighten Jake up” as he put it. “I
tipped him twenty,” Jake said, looking sheepish. “Trudy said I owed him at
least that.”

Campbell laughed.

“I had to do it. I didn’t want to scare all her friends at
her church.” Jake sat down. He looked down at the map on the table. “So, what’s
up?”

“The fragment of an address we found in the mud where you
were assaulted. DiCarlo’s been checking, supposedly, and not coming up with
much. We got a call three weeks ago but nobody put it together with your case.
Fortunately, the woman called back and the clerk told me about it.”

“What woman?”

“Tyson Farnsworth’s sister.”

“Farnsworth?”

“The guy that Mike killed. Seems Tyson had a bankroll, a wad
of about $50,000 in his bedroom when he died. The family figured, hey, we’re in
the money, and never said anything about it. Which is probably why they never
filed a wrongful death suit against the Bureau. Anyway, Tyson’s little brother,
Dante, decides to cash out, and about three weeks ago, he takes the money and
runs. The sister, Denise, gets mad and calls us. Only DiCarlo didn’t put two
and two together. He didn’t see the connection with Mike and you.” Craig
smoothed out the map. “Denise lives here, at 128 South Boulevard, in
Annapolis.”

“The address in my pocket,” Jake said softly.

Craig looked at him. “Do you remember anything about that?”

Jake frowned and rubbed his hand over his head. He wished he
did. He wished he remembered. But it was a blank.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Craig said. “If anything comes
to you, let me know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

“There’s something else.” Craig pressed his palms together
and put them to his lips. “You want to sit down?” he motioned toward the
chairs.

“Just shoot.”

“Okay.” Craig cleared his throat. “I pushed DiCarlo to begin
Rapid Start.” The computer database program allowed agents to track multiple
threads of evidence, reports of contact with witnesses and informants, and
other information on a case. “I had a feeling these cases were linked somehow
but I wasn’t seeing the connection. After we entered everything we knew about
Schneider’s murder, the boat arsons, Mike’s death, and your assault into the
database, we got a hit.”

Jake took a deep breath.

“Human hair taken from your clothes matches some found on
Schneider’s.”

His heart pounding, Jake sat down.

“It’s not Schneider’s hair. We also obtained a sample from
his mistress, and it wasn’t hers.”

“Wow,” Jake said.

“We’re going to ask Tam …”

“She had nothing to do with it,” Jake interrupted.

“I suspect you’re right, but we’re going to ask her, and her
boyfriend anyway. We’ve got to cover all the bases.”

Jake shook his head. “Oh, man. This is weird.” He didn’t know
what to think. The guy who killed Schneider assaulted him also? The reality of
how close he’d come to death hit him hard. He shivered involuntarily.
Collecting himself, Jake looked up at Craig. “Have you interviewed Farnsworth’s
sister?”

Craig looked at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment with her
in ninety minutes, at eleven o’clock.”

“Let me come with you.” Jake’s chair scraped the kitchen
floor.

Craig eyed him warily.

“Craig, it’s been eight days since I’ve had a seizure. Eight!
I haven’t gone one day without one since I got hurt. I’m telling you, I’m
healed. Let me go with you. I need to be in on this.”

“The MRI is scheduled for …?”

“I’m calling soon to set that up.”

Craig looked at him, hard. “I’m sorry, Jake. I just can’t do
it. If you should get hurt again, they’d have my head. Not only that, don’t
forget there’s still someone out there who tried to kill you.”

Jake sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Two weeks, Craig. I’ll
be back on board in two weeks. The day after the MRI. I’m not staying out any
longer than I have to.”

† † †

On Tuesday morning Cassie sat at her desk with the newspaper
spread out before her. The article on the Rock Hall Rockfish Round-up did not meet
her standards. The pictures were mundane, the writing dull. She breathed
deeply, sighing in disgust.

She had forced herself to write the article yesterday,
although each step of the way, her mind was distracted. Cassie felt like she
had to pull each sentence out with pliers. She just could not think.

She missed Mike. She felt guilty about Jake. She was
irritated with Brett. Feelings she didn’t even want kept running around in her
mind like spoiled food in someone’s gut. Sick at heart, she could hardly function.

And then there was Rick.

Cassie closed the paper and tossed it aside. This week would
have to be different. She couldn’t afford a second bad job.

Len appeared at her desk. “You doin’ okay?” he asked gruffly.

“Just fine.” Cassie smiled. “I’m just lovin’ these fairs.”

The editor grunted. “I’m sure. Well, you’re doin’ a good job.
No complaints.”

“That’s good,” Cassie said, and turned back to her work as
Len walked back to his office.

Her phone rang. It was her father. “Cassie, what in the world
happened to your car?”

She stiffened. She’d hoped he wouldn’t discover it.
Carefully, she told him about the deer. Just as carefully, she didn’t tell him
about the mis-aimed headlight.

“You love that car! Why aren’t you just getting it fixed?”

Because someone has identified it
, she thought,
and
is following me.
“I will, Dad! I’ve just been too busy.” As she hung up the
phone, guilt pressed heavily on her heart.

† † †

Two days later, Jake stood at the kitchen sink, washing pots and
pans one-handed while Trudy filled the dishwasher. She was chatting to him as
they worked. Every time she paused, the room was silent. He was brooding about
something.

“So what’s up?” she finally asked him. “What are you thinking
about?”

Jake stopped scrubbing. He looked at Trudy. “I want to get on
this case.”

Trudy nodded. “Craig had big news.”

“Yes. He called back after he’d talked to Farnsworth’s sister
and told me that nobody in the family knows where Tyson got so much money.”
Jake picked up a towel and awkwardly dried his hand. “You know, I want to jump
back into this thing. I want to solve the puzzle. I really want to see what’s
going on at the office.”

“It sounds like Craig is doing everything he can.”

Jake grimaced. “Yes, except that there’s only so much he can
do. The case agent calls a lot of the shots and he’s not being real effective.”

“Why? They’ve got to find out who’s behind this! You’re at
risk, Cassie’s at risk … ”

“And sometimes that still doesn’t make a difference.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I agree.”

“You ought to go shake things up!”

“I think I should!”

Trudy stopped, then burst out laughing. “I think you just
talked me into taking you to Baltimore.”

“I think I did!” Jake grinned at her. “Thank you!”

• • •

As they rode the elevator up in the Federal Building, Jake
could feel his adrenaline pumping. He was ready for work. Ready to get back to
it. Happy to be here. Even though his arm still hurt like crazy. How could he
care about that? That was nothing compared to no seizures. Nothing at all. The
doors opened into the lobby of the FBI office. Joyce, a woman he knew well, was
working reception. She gave Trudy a badge and buzzed them both in, then came
around and gave Jake a big hug after he came through the security door.

From there Jake led Trudy back through a maze of cubicles and
small offices. From everywhere, people came to greet him and welcome him back,
and he had to explain he wasn’t quite back but would be soon. By the time he
ran into Kevin DiCarlo coming out of the men’s room, his spirits were higher
than they had been in months.

“Kevin!” Jake slapped him on the shoulder. “Kevin, you’re
just the man I wanted to see. I want you to meet somebody. This is Aunt Trudy!”
Jake put his arm around her.

DiCarlo looked shocked. “What are you doing here? I thought
…”

“You thought I was dead, didn’t you?” Jake laughed. “You’d
written me off.”

“Campbell said … ”

“Never listen to Campbell! Hey, man, can we talk?” Jake
asked.

“Sure. Come on.”

“Trudy, would you mind waiting here?” Jake pointed to a chair
next to an empty desk.

“Not at all.”

For the next thirty minutes, Jake sat at DiCarlo’s desk
listening to the progress, or lack of progress, in the investigation of Jake’s
assault. Jake drummed his thumb against his knee restlessly. DiCarlo was okay,
but he was slow and methodical. That was fine for a white-collar crime
investigation but he didn’t seem to have the intuitive sense for violent crime.
After listening to him, Jake wondered why he’d been assigned the case.

“He had on boat shoes, did Campbell tell you that?” he said
finally.

“Yes, he told me. I’ve checked the background of all the slip
holders at the marina, and others that I could identify that were associated
with it.” He shrugged. “But lots of people wear boat shoes.”

“And how about the people who hang out at Sullivan’s Wharf?”

“Where Schneider was killed,” DiCarlo responded.

“Right.”

“All clear. We’ve come up empty handed.” He sat back in his
chair. “I’m not sure we should put a lot of stock in that information, anyway,
Jake. You were not exactly fully aware of your surroundings.”

“I know what I saw,” Jake bristled.

DiCarlo shook his head. “But it took you a long time to
remember. I’m not sure that’s a good lead.”

Jake took a deep breath. His heart was drumming. He’d had
enough of this guy. Still, he pressed him, about Farnsworth’s sister and the
marina fires and everything else he could think of. Finally, when he knew he
wasn’t going to get any further, he said, “Okay, well, thanks. Let me know if I
can help you.” They walked out to where Trudy was waiting.

“Good to see you, Jake,” DiCarlo said. “Enjoy your time off.”

Jake fixed his gaze on him, anger hot in his chest. “Sure,
Kevin.” He started to leave, then turned back. “You do the same.”

DiCarlo’s jaw dropped as he watched Jake and Trudy walk away.

“Well,” said Jake, “that was pretty disappointing.”

“He didn’t know much?” Trudy whispered.

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know anything!” He grinned.
“Now it’s time to enter the dragon’s lair.” He walked up to Betty, the squad
secretary, who gave Jake a big hug. “Is he in?” he asked, nodding toward a door
with a sign that read “SSA Frank Foster.”

“He’s all yours,” Betty said. “Let me warn him you’re
coming.”

Frank Foster came to the door of his office. His eyes
narrowed when he saw Jake, then he frowned as he looked over Jake’s shoulder at
Trudy. “Who’s she?” he asked.

“Aunt Trudy,” Jake replied.

It was clear Foster wasn’t happy with her being in the office
but Jake invited her to sit at the spare chair at Betty’s desk while he went
into Foster’s office. They fenced for ten minutes over his desk. “We’re doing
what we can,” Foster said when Jake pressed him about the status of the
investigation.

“I don’t think so,” Jake responded.

Foster shrugged. “Look, we have a lot going on.”

“Let Campbell have it. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I decide where assets will be utilized. Not you. I need
Campbell elsewhere. Now, if you’ll excuse me … ”

Jake left, furious. “So now we’re assets,” he fumed as he and
Trudy waited for the elevator. “Not people.”

By the time they got to the garage he had calmed down
somewhat. “Well, what do you think?” Jake asked her after they were in the car.

“A very interesting place. I can see why you and Cassie like
working there.”

Jake told her about her conversation with Foster.

“He sounds like a dragon, as you say.” Trudy turned on the
ignition and carefully backed out of the space in the parking garage. “He is
the one who Cassie didn’t like?”