Break No Bones (37 page)

Gulet ran a hand over his jaw.

"Daniels lives on Seabrook and owns a very pricey boat."

"You say he's a Reynolds."

"Which may or may not be relevant. I know, taken alone, none of these facts looks suspicious. Familiarity with Dewees Island. Owning a boat. Access to the GMC clinic and its patients. Surgical training. Presence in El Paso. Expensive lifestyle. Unexplained phone cal from Marshal's phone. But added up…" I left the inference unstated.

Gulet's eyes locked onto mine. No one spoke.

The phone broke the silence. One ring. Four. Gulet ignored it.

Some moments indelibly imprint the memory, encrypting sensory input unnoticed in real time. That was such a moment.

I remember a tiny red square blinking on the phone. A voice in the corridor caling someone named Al. Dust particles dancing, sunlight slashing the blinds. A tic jumping the corner of Gulet's right eye.

Seconds passed. A minute. A woman poked her head through the door, the same woman who'd sent Gulet to calm his in-laws, the battling Haeberles.

"Thought you might want to know. Marshal's out. And he just held a press conference. Lawyer did the talking. Marshal worked on a nomination for best performance by a persecuted innocent in a non-speaking role."

Gulet gave a tight nod.

"Tybee thinks he might have something on a pilot."

"Tel him I'l be right there."

I checked the time. Daniels could be leaving town, could be hundreds of miles from Charleston already. The thought of him slipping free sent a chil through my marrow.

"Would you consider picking Daniels up?" I asked.

"For what?"

"Beating his dog. Spitting on the sidewalk. Peeing off the bow of his boat. I don't care. Get him downtown, get warrants, and do the same kind of premises search, auto search, and review of phone records you did on Marshal. You may hit on something."

"Media's on me like a wolf pack on spareribs. Herron's livid over the publicity." Gulet flapped a hand at the phone. "Spent my morning getting reamed by the mayor and the governor. Last thing I need is another shaky arrest."

"At least get warrants to search his house and his boat."

"Authorized on what basis? Suspicion there might be something we missed? I do that, the press wil crucify me."

"As a possible aider and abetter. A co-conspirator. Use al the same stuff you used to get the Marshal warrants. Look, I know it's hard to think of Marshal as anything other than a greedy bastard who murdered sick, helpless people."

"You surely did press that point. Now you're defending the man?"

"I'm saying I'm not sure." My throat felt dry. I swalowed. "In the interest of duty you should at least explore the possibility that the kiler is Daniels. You should pick him up if you have even the slightest doubt."

"I'm unfamiliar with the legal niceties where you ply your trade, Doc, but that's not how it works here. I can't arrest people over doubts. Besides, I don't have doubts. You do. I think Marshal's guilty as shit." It was the first time I'd heard Gulet use profanity.

"If Daniels is out there he can kil again." It came out more forcefuly than I intended.

Gulet's jaw muscles bulged, relaxed. "Kil who? There won't be any more surgeries at that clinic."

"I was thinking of Marshal. He's free. If Daniels offs Marshal the investigation could end. People could assume a friend or relative of a victim took Marshal out, and Daniels walks."

Never taking his eyes from me, Gulet finger-jabbed a phone button. A staticky voice came across the speakerphone.

"Zamzow."

"Marshal left the courthouse?"

"About forty minutes ago."

"What's he doing?"

"He was with a suit. Stopped by an office on Broad, suit stayed behind, now Marshal's heading south on seventeen."

"Probably going home. Stay on him."

"Discretion needed?"

"No. Let him know you're there."

Gulet punched the button and the line went dead.

"You realy should get Daniels," I pressed.

"You're right about one thing. What's pointing to Marshal is largely circumstantial. But what you're giving me on Daniels isn't any better." Gulet stood. "Let's see what Tybee's got."

Deputy Tybee was at one of two computers in a second-floor squad room, stacks of printouts spread around the keyboard.

"Whaddaya got?" Gulet asked as we entered the room.

Tybee turned to us, his face more hawklike under fluorescents than it had been outside.

"When the phone dumps on Marshal's home and the clinic were going nowhere, I thought to myself, Where was this guy making contact? A pay phone? What pay phone?"

Tybee tapped a finger to his temple. "I dumped the booth on Nassau, checked outgoing cals placed around DLC for the most recent ME" Tybee was an acronym man. Date of last contact. Missing person.

"Jimmie Ray Teal?" I asked.

"Yeah. Teal's DLC was May eighth. Started working the list, checking numbers against names. Fortunately, Nassau isn't the most popular booth in the city. Halfway through, I hit on something.

"May sixth, nine thirty-seven A.M. Someone dialed a cel phone belonging to Jasper Donald Shorter. Cal lasted four minutes. The same number was dialed on May ninth at four oh six P.M. Lasted thirty-seven seconds."

"Two days before and one day after Teal's DLC," Gulet said. "You run a check on Shorter?"

"You're going to love this." Tybee shuffled through the printouts. "Shorter has a sheet. Did six years in the air force, was dismissed from service after drugs were found in a package he was shipping to the States from Da Nang. Dismissal of an officer is equivalent to a dishonorable discharge for an enlisted man. Makes future employment a real bear."

Tybee held out a paper.

Gulet and I scanned the contents. The document was a photocopy of Shorter's military record.

Jasper Donald Shorter had been a pilot in Vietnam.

38

"SHORTER WAS A FLYBOY," GULLET SAID.

"Stil is." Tybee dug out another paper. "Owns a Cessna 207, tail number N3378Z."

"Drug-runner favorite," Gulet said.

"Yes, sir," Tybee agreed. "Single-engine. Can fly low and land in a field. But the 207's a poor choice for long-haul stealth flights. Can't go from here to Puerto Valarta without refueling. And there's another problem. Every plane that flies in the United States has to be registered, and Shorter's tail number would be traceable straight to him. But without refueling. And there's another problem. Every plane that flies in the United States has to be registered, and Shorter's tail number would be traceable straight to him. But drug runners often steal planes or purchase them from prior owners, paint over the tail numbers, then stencil on bogus ones."

"Find the plane. If you spot Shorter, stay with him and cal me."

"Yes, sir."

Gulet turned to go. I had one last question for Tybee.

"Where does Shorter live?"

"Seabrook."

I felt a buzz of excitement. "Where on Seabrook?"

Tybee typed a few keystrokes and a list came up on the screen.

"Pelican Grove Vilas."

The buzz became a rush. I whipped around to Gulet.

"Daniels lives at Pelican Grove Vilas."

Gulet stopped, hand on the doorknob.

"Same complex?"

"Yes! Yes! That can't be coincidence. Marshal must be on the level. It's got to be Daniels!"

Something shifted in Gulet's expression. He gave a tight nod. "I'l bring him in."

"I want to go with you," I said.

Gulet regarded me, stone-jawed. "I'l let you know when we've got him."

With that he was gone.

===OO=OOO=OO===

There was nothing to do but go home. And wait.

After walking Boyd, I zapped a frozen dinner and turned on the news. An appropriately concerned anchorwoman was reporting on a fire in a public housing block. Her air became subtly but fittingly shocked when she launched into coverage of the Marshal story. Footage showed the clinic, a younger Marshal, a clip of Herron leading a stadium in prayer, Marshal and Tuckerman leaving the courthouse.

I hardly heard. I kept going over every fact I knew. Kept checking my watch. Each time only minutes had passed.

Was it Daniels? It had to be Daniels. Had Gulet found him? What was taking so long?

I watered Anne's cactus colection. Colected a load of wash. Emptied the dishwasher.

My thoughts were in colision, but there was no one with whom to discuss my doubts, weigh the probability of Daniels versus Marshal. I needed to talk to Ryan, to get his perspective. I thought of caling, decided he should be free to focus on Lily. Birdie was occupied with a catnip frog. Though keenly interested, Boyd was a lousy conversationalist.

Pete caled around six thirty, bored and cranky. I told him I'd come by and fil him in on the events of the past four days.

Pete was reading Friday's
Post and Courier
when I arrived. Crumpling the paper, he complained about the food, itchy dressings, his first physical therapy session.

"Aren't we a black hole of need," I said, kissing the top of Pete's head.

"It's caled venting. But you're not realy listening."

"No," I admitted.

"Tel me what's happened."

I laid it al out. The makeshift OR. The organ theft. The wire noose. The shels. Unique Montague. Wilie Helms. The other MP's. Rodriguez. The Abrigo Aislado de los Santos in Puerto Valarta.

I told Pete that Rodriguez and Marshal were med school classmates, and that both had been sanctioned, Marshal for drug abuse, Rodriguez for sexual misconduct, and that Marshal had actualy done a short stretch. I added that Marshal had sold his boat immediately after Ryan and I questioned him at the clinic, and ended by describing Marshal's arrest and subsequent release on bond.

"You should be proud of yourself," Pete said.

For a minute I was persuaded again. But, no, it had to be Daniels.

"I think I may have talked Gulet into arresting the wrong man."

"Don't believe everything you think."

I slapped Pete's wrist. He cringed in exaggerated pain. I checked my watch.

"No one talks Gulet into anything," Pete said.

"Maybe not, but I pushed him hard. And now Gulet's taking heat."

"From whom?"

"The press. Herron. The rev's powerful friends." I worried my right cuticle with my left thumbnail. "What if we're wrong? Gulet wil have a lot to explain in the next election."

"The evidence sounds pretty convincing to me."

"It's al circumstantial."

"Sufficient circumstantial evidence can carry the burden of proof if the jury believes it." Pete reached over and separated my hands. I checked my watch. Where the hel was Gulet?

"If Marshal's not guilty, is there another candidate?" Pete asked.

I laid out what I'd learned about Corey Daniels.

Boat. Familiarity with Dewees Island. Surgical scrub nurse. Presence in El Paso during a period of grisly murders, some of which may have been linked to organ trafficking.

Cals made from Marshal's phone when Marshal wasn't at the clinic. Residence in the same complex as a pilot of tarnished reputation. A pilot who was contacted immediately before and after the disappearance of Jimmie Ray Teal. Contacted from a pay phone just yards from the clinic.

"Maybe Marshal and Daniels are in it together," Pete said when I'd finished.

"Possible. But I keep thinking about my conversation with Marshal. I dislike the man, but some of his points make sense. Leaving shels lying around his office doesn't fit his personality. He's alibied out for the night Cruikshank's home was phoned from his line. The history of the boat sale can easily be checked. If they're in it together, why finger Daniels unless Marshal is trying to do a plea deal and get to the DA first?"

"Is either Marshal or Daniels stockpiling money?"

"Gulet says no evidence of that, though one can easily hide cash. Daniels lives way beyond what I'd expect a nurse could afford." I described the
Hunney Child
and the Seabrook condo, and explained Daniels's family connections.

"The Reynolds aluminum clan."

"Exactly. But that could mean nothing."

My eyes flicked to my watch. Five minutes had passed since my previous time check.

"It took some convincing, but Gulet's gone to pick Daniels up." I went back to picking. The cuticle was now a bright angry red. "But the case against Daniels is also circumstantial. I'm hoping some searches and some phone records wil turn up gold."

"What about the eyelash?"

"DNA takes time."

"Capitaine Comical gone back to the tundra?"

"Yes."

"Miss him?"

"Yes." I'd caught a trace of Ryan's scent on my pilow that morning and felt a loneliness more intense than I'd anticipated. An emptiness. A sense of impending closure?

"How's Emma?" Pete puled my hands apart and held on to one.

I shook my head.

Ten minutes later my mobile sounded. Gulet's number glowed on the screen. Heart thumping, I clicked on.

"Daniels wasn't at Bohicket or at his condo. Boat's in the slip. Sent out an APB on his vehicle."

"Any progress on Shorter?"

"No sign of him, but the plane's kept at a private airstrip out Clement's Ferry Road. Smal operation. No tower, but they sel fuel. Watchman says Shorter flies a group of businessmen up to Charlotte every Saturday morning, comes Friday evenings to do routine maintenance. Tybee wil be waiting when Shorter shows up."

"What's Marshal doing?"

There was a pause. In the background I could hear Gulet's radio sputter.

"Zamzow lost him."

"Lost him?" I couldn't believe it. "How could he lose him?"

"Eighteen-wheeler jackknifed not far in front of his position. Involved two cars. I diverted him to that."

"Jesus Christ!"

"It's temporary. Tuckerman's caled a press conference for ten tomorrow morning. Marshal wil be putting on a puppy face for his public, and we'l resume our tail then."

When we'd disconnected, I looked at the patient. Mercifuly, Pete was dozing.

Glancing back at my phone, I noticed the little icon indicating voice mail waiting. I listened to the message.