Whitewash (53 page)

Sabrina stared at the small, purple notebook. It fell out of the file folder she had taken from Dr. Lansik’s desk last Friday. She’d stuffed the folder into her briefcase and forgotten about it. Now there was the notebook on Eric’s floor, its worn corners and scratched vinyl cover reminding her of her deceased boss. She recognized it. Lansik usually carried it around with him everywhere. O’Hearn had once jokingly called it Lansik’s purple bible.

She started flipping through pages. Not even halfway through, she realized the notes in the margins appeared to have nothing to do with the notes on the pages. Lansik seemed to be writing in code in his own notebook. On the pages everything was in black ink. In the margins the notes were written in blue ink, a few in red. Sabrina couldn’t be sure, but she thought some of gobbledygook might be computer code.

There were formulas of some kind, too, but none she recognized. And toward the back of the notebook in a lower corner, printed in red, was what looked like a phone number with the name Colin Jernigan, DOJ above it. The number was important enough that Lansik had scratched a red box around it, outlining it with such pressure the pen had broken through the paper on a second or third pass around one of the corners.

That’s when Eric came in the apartment front door. Sabrina slammed the notebook shut as if she’d been caught reading some illicit papers. Okay, so maybe she still didn’t trust him.

Eric noticed. Of course he noticed, but all he said was, “Bring that along. Let’s get some lunch.”

“Out in the open? Just like that? I thought I was supposed to be hiding.”

“There’s no better place to hide than in plain sight.”

They walked to a restaurant called Crabs and got a table on the deck overlooking the crowded beach. It was noisier here than at the marina, with shouts and laughter interspersed with lifeguard whistles. Several of the beachside bars added to the fray with their loudspeakers blaring Bob Marley and Britney Spears. Eric ordered a combination seafood platter. Sabrina ordered the grilled grouper sandwich when she really wanted an egg salad and her old routine back.

She kept the notebook on the bench beside her, not sure she knew what she had found and not sure she wanted to share any of it with Eric. She sat back and watched him. His eyes were everywhere except on her. She glanced over to see what had his attention and saw two uniformed cops at another table. She wondered if Eric was concerned they’d recognize her, or was he worried about himself? Was that the reason he had become Eric Gallo? Eric’s roaming eyes reminded her of her dad’s, darting off around her. Thinking about her father made her stomach ache. How had this gotten so out of hand?

“We need to see if Dad’s okay.” She said it out loud before she changed her mind. It brought Eric’s eyes to hers. “He might be in danger,” she added when she didn’t see sufficient concern. Then, as if she had reverted to twelve years old, she heard herself say, “Or don’t you care about him anymore?”

She thought she saw a flicker of anger before he looked away. This time he was distracted by his young friend, the one with the shaved head and patient, kind eyes. Eric slid over on the bench and made room for him. He handed Eric an envelope as he plopped down his laptop.

“Bree, you remember Russ.” Eric said it so casually that Sabrina stared at him, wondering how he could treat this ordeal like she was on vacation. And yet at the same time she noticed Eric’s eyes again, taking in the entire deck, scanning the beach below, watching and looking. Maybe he wasn’t so casual.

Russ simply smiled and nodded at Sabrina as he opened his laptop. He reminded her of one of her students, though he was a little older. There was something shy and humble in his demeanor, but she got the impression it might be uncharacteristic and for her benefit. She wasn’t totally oblivious to boys or men who had crushes on her.

“I discovered a few things that might be of interest.”

He tapped the computer keys with what Sabrina thought was a light touch for such large hands. He moved the laptop to the edge of the table, the screen facing toward them. He tapped a couple more keys then sat back, leaving a bird’s-eye view of treetops and buildings.

Sabrina sat forward, elbows on the table, trying to get a closer look. Eric didn’t move from his corner of the table, eyes still on duty. But it was Eric who asked, “A satellite picture?”

“Not just any satellite picture,” Russ confirmed, smiling now as he reached to move a fingertip over the touchpad and click once. “It’s a satellite picture in real time. I saved it from this morning. Made a file on the hard drive and I have a printout.” He pointed at the date and time stamp in the corner. It was stamped for Wednesday, June 14th at 6:05 that morning.

The photo zoomed in and Sabrina recognized it immediately. It was EchoEnergy’s industrial park.

“How are you able to get real time?” Eric asked and now he huddled up to the table, the computer screen getting his full attention.

“I know a few tricks. Never mind how I did it. Take a look.” He clicked again, zooming in even more.

Sabrina could see the maze of pipes and catwalks and rooftops. But most of all she could see down into the trucks with open-top beds. Enclosed tanker trucks brought slaughterhouse waste from poultry processors. These trucks usually came before or after hours. Sabrina had noticed them when she stayed working late. She thought they were part of the ongoing construction. There were constant additions or upgrades to the campus. New construction, however, would mean lumber, bricks, pipes separated out and in new condition. It didn’t mean thrown together in what looked like piles of debris in the backs of these trucks.

Her eyes found what she knew was Reactor #5. She followed the maze of pipes that connected the reactor to its outside holding tank. That tank was three stories tall with walled chutes that moved the waste on a conveyor belt from the trucks up into the tank. She believed it was being used as a backup storage facility for oil until Reactor #5 came online. But from this bird’s-eye view she could see that wasn’t true.

“They’re processing hurricane debris,” Sabrina said in almost a whisper. How could they have kept this a secret?

Sabrina stared at the small, purple notebook. It fell out of the file folder she had taken from Dr. Lansik’s desk last Friday. She’d stuffed the folder into her briefcase and forgotten about it. Now there was the notebook on Eric’s floor, its worn corners and scratched vinyl cover reminding her of her deceased boss. She recognized it. Lansik usually carried it around with him everywhere. O’Hearn had once jokingly called it Lansik’s purple bible.

She started flipping through pages. Not even halfway through, she realized the notes in the margins appeared to have nothing to do with the notes on the pages. Lansik seemed to be writing in code in his own notebook. On the pages everything was in black ink. In the margins the notes were written in blue ink, a few in red. Sabrina couldn’t be sure, but she thought some of gobbledygook might be computer code.

There were formulas of some kind, too, but none she recognized. And toward the back of the notebook in a lower corner, printed in red, was what looked like a phone number with the name Colin Jernigan, DOJ above it. The number was important enough that Lansik had scratched a red box around it, outlining it with such pressure the pen had broken through the paper on a second or third pass around one of the corners.

That’s when Eric came in the apartment front door. Sabrina slammed the notebook shut as if she’d been caught reading some illicit papers. Okay, so maybe she still didn’t trust him.

Eric noticed. Of course he noticed, but all he said was, “Bring that along. Let’s get some lunch.”

“Out in the open? Just like that? I thought I was supposed to be hiding.”

“There’s no better place to hide than in plain sight.”

They walked to a restaurant called Crabs and got a table on the deck overlooking the crowded beach. It was noisier here than at the marina, with shouts and laughter interspersed with lifeguard whistles. Several of the beachside bars added to the fray with their loudspeakers blaring Bob Marley and Britney Spears. Eric ordered a combination seafood platter. Sabrina ordered the grilled grouper sandwich when she really wanted an egg salad and her old routine back.

She kept the notebook on the bench beside her, not sure she knew what she had found and not sure she wanted to share any of it with Eric. She sat back and watched him. His eyes were everywhere except on her. She glanced over to see what had his attention and saw two uniformed cops at another table. She wondered if Eric was concerned they’d recognize her, or was he worried about himself? Was that the reason he had become Eric Gallo? Eric’s roaming eyes reminded her of her dad’s, darting off around her. Thinking about her father made her stomach ache. How had this gotten so out of hand?

“We need to see if Dad’s okay.” She said it out loud before she changed her mind. It brought Eric’s eyes to hers. “He might be in danger,” she added when she didn’t see sufficient concern. Then, as if she had reverted to twelve years old, she heard herself say, “Or don’t you care about him anymore?”

She thought she saw a flicker of anger before he looked away. This time he was distracted by his young friend, the one with the shaved head and patient, kind eyes. Eric slid over on the bench and made room for him. He handed Eric an envelope as he plopped down his laptop.

“Bree, you remember Russ.” Eric said it so casually that Sabrina stared at him, wondering how he could treat this ordeal like she was on vacation. And yet at the same time she noticed Eric’s eyes again, taking in the entire deck, scanning the beach below, watching and looking. Maybe he wasn’t so casual.

Russ simply smiled and nodded at Sabrina as he opened his laptop. He reminded her of one of her students, though he was a little older. There was something shy and humble in his demeanor, but she got the impression it might be uncharacteristic and for her benefit. She wasn’t totally oblivious to boys or men who had crushes on her.

“I discovered a few things that might be of interest.”

He tapped the computer keys with what Sabrina thought was a light touch for such large hands. He moved the laptop to the edge of the table, the screen facing toward them. He tapped a couple more keys then sat back, leaving a bird’s-eye view of treetops and buildings.

Sabrina sat forward, elbows on the table, trying to get a closer look. Eric didn’t move from his corner of the table, eyes still on duty. But it was Eric who asked, “A satellite picture?”

“Not just any satellite picture,” Russ confirmed, smiling now as he reached to move a fingertip over the touchpad and click once. “It’s a satellite picture in real time. I saved it from this morning. Made a file on the hard drive and I have a printout.” He pointed at the date and time stamp in the corner. It was stamped for Wednesday, June 14th at 6:05 that morning.

The photo zoomed in and Sabrina recognized it immediately. It was EchoEnergy’s industrial park.

“How are you able to get real time?” Eric asked and now he huddled up to the table, the computer screen getting his full attention.

“I know a few tricks. Never mind how I did it. Take a look.” He clicked again, zooming in even more.

Sabrina could see the maze of pipes and catwalks and rooftops. But most of all she could see down into the trucks with open-top beds. Enclosed tanker trucks brought slaughterhouse waste from poultry processors. These trucks usually came before or after hours. Sabrina had noticed them when she stayed working late. She thought they were part of the ongoing construction. There were constant additions or upgrades to the campus. New construction, however, would mean lumber, bricks, pipes separated out and in new condition. It didn’t mean thrown together in what looked like piles of debris in the backs of these trucks.

Her eyes found what she knew was Reactor #5. She followed the maze of pipes that connected the reactor to its outside holding tank. That tank was three stories tall with walled chutes that moved the waste on a conveyor belt from the trucks up into the tank. She believed it was being used as a backup storage facility for oil until Reactor #5 came online. But from this bird’s-eye view she could see that wasn’t true.

“They’re processing hurricane debris,” Sabrina said in almost a whisper. How could they have kept this a secret?

Eric slid the manila envelope Russ had brought him off the table and onto the bench between them. He had positioned himself so he could keep an eye on what was happening inside and outside the busy restaurant. However, the two Santa Rosa deputies reminded him that no place was safe. Maybe he was simply being cocky and stupid, which wouldn’t be the first time. It was fine when he was the only one who could get hurt from his own stupidity. This was different.

He waved at Maxine, who came up the steps to join them. He tried not to look relieved. He was counting on Max to help him convince Sabrina that the contents of Russ’s envelope were a necessity. How was he supposed to tell his little sister, whom he hadn’t seen for two years, that she needed to disappear? He used to be her best friend—when they were kids, her hero—but he knew he’d abdicated both positions when he left Chicago without even a goodbye.

That was a crazy time for him. How could he explain it to Sabrina when he couldn’t explain it to himself? All he remembered was the anger. He was angry at his father for not taking better care of their mother.
How could he let her drive alone in weather like that?
And he was angry with Sabrina for not blaming their dad. Mix all that up with the sense of loss and it felt like he’d been sideswiped by an eighteen-wheeler. Damn, it hurt like hell, but it pissed him off, too.

It sounded childish and immature. Hell, it
was
childish and immature. But all he wanted to do at the time was wrap himself in his anger. It didn’t make the hole in his gut go away, but helped keep his mind off it until he could find something else or someone else to channel his anger.

Max looked exhausted, her eyes bloodshot. Eric knew she hadn’t had that much to drink last night. He worried it might be the new meds, but she’d made him promise he wouldn’t ask. She said she was tired of being asked how she was feeling.

Her eyes met his across the table and he could see the warning, but then there was the slightest of smiles, an acknowledgment, perhaps a subtle thank-you for his concern. Max was the only one who knew Eric’s secrets—who he was, what he was really doing on Pensacola Beach. They could trust each other because they knew too much about each other.

Eric’s cell phone started ringing and he grabbed it before the deputies three tables away noticed.

“Hello?”

“Is this Eric?”

It took him a second, but he recognized the old woman’s voice. “You made it home safely, I hope?”

Sabrina sat up and leaned forward, her entire face instantly registering concern, her eyes holding his eyes, ready to read them.

“Please tell your sister that she doesn’t need to worry about her gentleman caller.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Just tell her I took care of things.”

“How is that possible?” But the click told him she was already gone. He had told her to keep any calls short and not use specifics.

“Is she okay?” Sabrina wanted to know.

“I guess so. She said you don’t have to worry about your gentleman caller.”

“She said that?”

“She said she took care of things.” He tried to repeat her exact words.

“I don’t understand. How could she have taken care of him?”

Eric shrugged. He didn’t want Sabrina to worry, but he had no idea how an eighty-one-year-old woman could take care of a hit man.

Besides, right now it looked like they had bigger problems. Eric watched the pair of deputies stand, the older one hiking his pants then heading for the cash register. But the younger one, the one Eric guessed was a thick-necked rookie with an attitude, had glanced in their direction. Something caught his eye after a double take. It seemed impossible that he’d recognize Sabrina. Impossible, but the asshole was coming over to their table.