Blood of Cain (Sean O'Brien (Mystery/Thrillers)) (6 page)

“What kind of trouble?”

“I've had to become pretty independent. My childhood turned to shit, so as I grew older I made up my mind that no one would hurt me again.”

“Why would the killer attack your friend, Lonnie, in the middle of the night? Was it a mugging gone very badly, or was it some kind of revenge killing?”

“I don't know.”

“Did he have enemies? Someone he owed money to, maybe? Deal in drugs?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“And you never got a good look at the killer's face, right?”

“He wore a hoodie. It was too dark.”

“Why were you working at the carnival?”

“I grew up in an Irish-American gypsy family. I'm used to being on the road. But we … or they, don’t call themselves gypsies. The name used is travelers.”

“So did you begin working in a carnival because you like to travel?”

“That's part of it. The other part is because I'm looking for somebody.”

“Who's that?”

“The man who … who hurt me
,
murdered my mother and father, and stole something from my grandmother, something my grandfather had given her a long time ago.” Her nostrils flared slightly, eyes forceful.

“Who is this man you're trying to find?”

“My uncle.”

I thought about Nick's
'Uncle Nick'
comment earlier to her. “I'm sorry to hear that. Does this man work at that carnival?”

“I was hoping he did, but I guess I was wrong. A friend of mine told me he thought he'd seen my uncle working at a county fair that came through Charleston, South Carolina. That isn't too far from where I'd lived. So I went there. My friend said this guy was working as a weight and age guesser. That sounded like something my uncle would do.”

“Was he good at it?”

“Yeah, he was. As a traveler, working the summer circuit, he would sell senior citizens a new roof when they didn't need one. He’d convince people their driveway needed paving, whatever. He worked with a three-man crew, did crappy work, and like basically conned his way throughout the South. They stayed one step away from the sheriff.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“It’s been a little more than four years.”

“Why try to find him on your own? Maybe you should turn it over to the police.”

“They couldn’t ever find him. It’s a cold case. My grandmother’s scared shitless of him. I can’t prove he raped me from the time I was twelve ‘till I could hold a butcher knife in my hand. Before he was spotted working at a carnival, we’d heard he was a preacher in some Kentucky mountain town. He’s mentally a sicko, but he can charm people, especially women. He knows hypnosis, too. We heard he settled there, Kentucky. Somebody supposedly started calling him a prophet. He stole every dollar the little church had.”

“How do you know this?”

“FBI. They came around when a man fitting my uncle’s description robbed a bank in South Boston. And he did it without a gun. The teller said she couldn’t remember anything, even giving the money to him. It was like she’d been hypnotized. My uncle's picture was on the bank's security tapes. My grandmother identified him.”

“Is the FBI still actively looking for your uncle?”

“I think so.”

“What would you do if you found him?”

She was silent for a few seconds, her eyes drifting across the marina, fingers gripping her knees, knuckles cotton-white. She swallowed dryly and whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Could this man have killed Lonnie?”

“Maybe. If he was somehow there. He could be anywhere.”

I watched her staring at my hands, her thoughts remote. Then she raised her riveting eyes up at me like she was looking through me. She lowered her eyes to the pendant that hung from a chain around my neck. “What is it, Courtney?”

“The pendant you’re wearing … can I ask where you got it?”

“It was a gift from my mother. The last thing she gave me before she and my father were killed in a car accident. That’s been many years ago.”

“It’s great that you still wear it.”

“I’ve worn it so long I don’t even think about it.”

She was quiet, her eyes narrowing and falling to just above my heart. I said, “When I offered to help you, it was to give you a ride into town. You really need to take all this to the police. Tell them what you saw when your friend was killed at the carnival. If you run, it’ll look very suspicious in the eyes of a county prosecutor. Tell them what you know.”

“I don’t know anything, especially like who killed Lonnie. You did more than offer to give me a ride to town, you saved my life. Those two men would have killed me. I do know that. Maybe it's some kind of weird destiny thing, but I don't believe you just happened by last night.”

“What do you believe?”

“That sometimes, in some places, stuff happens ‘cause it was supposed to happen. I believe there was a reason we met on the road in that forest. I don’t know what it is, but I think the reason might be bigger than you pulling those men off me.”

I was silent, watching her body language, fingernails bitten down, red nail polish chipped. She looked up as a white pelican alighted on the canvas top of an adjacent boat. I could see the frightened young girl's face in the pretense of the bold disguise she tried to wear.

She said, “But I don't know the reason I'm here. Maybe it's because I have no place else to go. Maybe it's because you might be the only one who believes I didn't kill Lonnie, and somewhere inside of me something tells me that you might help find who did. Lonnie, was a carny, so the cops won't do much, except say I did it.” She bit her lower lip for moment. “You found me in the forest walking in the dead of night. Maybe you can help me find my uncle. He took something from me, but he took something from my grandmother, too. I'll never replace what he stole from me, but I might get back what he took from her, the gold Celtic torc she wore all her life. I feel so freakin' self-conscious even coming here. I'm sorry.”

“I wish I could help you, but I’m not a police officer. I’m not a private detective. I’m just a guy teaching part-time at a local college.”

“What do you teach?”

I started to change the subject, and then said, “Criminal justice.”

“Were you a cop?”

“Once.”

“My instincts were right.”

I said nothing.

“I’ll pay you. I don’t have much money now, but I have strong principles and work ethic. I’ll pay you for your time.” Max jumped up next to Courtney and rested her chin in the girl’s lap. She scratched Max behind the ears and said, “This little dog is smart. I wish I’d had a dog when I was a girl. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I apologize for wasting your time.” She stood to leave.

“Just sit still a minute,” I said, looking to her left, down the dock toward the Tiki Bar parking lot. Two police cruisers and an unmarked car pulled into the lot. “Sit back down, Courtney.”

“Why?”

“Unless you can swim across the bay, there’s no place for you to run. The police just got here. And they're coming this way.”

“I don't know what to do?”

“Yes you do. Tell them the truth.”

Two Volusia County sheriff's deputies walked down the dock next to a detective. As the three men approached
Jupiter,
Courtney and I were standing in the cockpit waiting for them.

“Here, Courtney, take this.”

“What is it?”

“My business card.” I handed it to her. “It says Sean O’Brien … fishing charters. I’m not very good at it, that’s why I teach part-time. Job changed, but the phone number’s the same.”

“Thank you.” She slid the card in the back pocket of her jeans.

The police officers were coming closer. I recognized the detective. Dan Grant, skin the color of coffee with a shot of cream, mid-forties, wide shoulders, dressed in a tan sports coat, pressed jeans, and no tie. He walked with a straightforward pace, hands slipping into his jean pockets and shaking his head when he stepped up to
Jupiter's
stern.

“Well, well,” he said. “Why am I not surprised to see Sean O'Brien standing here with a person wanted for questioning in a murder?”

“Hello, Dan. It's been a while.”

“I'm sure you both have great explanations as to why we're all gathered here today. But let's start with the basics.” He cut his eyes to Courtney and stepped closer. Max wagged her tail. “Are you Courtney Burke?” Grant asked.

She nodded her head. “Yes.”

“Miss Burke, we'd like to talk to you about your relationship with Lonnie Ebert.”

“Okay.”

“But before we do, I'd want to hear how you got to this marina and this boat.” He sighed and took out a small notepad. “Sean, let's start with you. How'd she get on your boat?”

I told him how I found her and added, “That's when we were visited by two gents with a lot of fur and gang rape on their dull minds. That would have happened to her after they split my skull.”

Grant slid the pencil behind his ear. He looked over to a charter boat that was coming into the marina, the whiff of diesel exhaust in the wind. “So, that was you who did some damage. Those bad boys are gonna be out of work for a long time.” He turned toward Courtney. “And that's how you got here. Sort of took your time hitchhiking through the Ocala National Forest after leaving a murder scene. Why'd you leave in such a hurry?”

“I was scared. I didn’t kill Lonnie. You gotta believe me.”

Grant studied her a few seconds in silence, probably trying to read eyes that were unreadable. Two sea gulls flew above the masts of moored sailboats, their staccato cries like mocking laughter across the harbor. Grant said, “Miss Burke, I'm going to take you downtown to talk about this murder. At any time you can have an attorney present.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, but we need to talk. I want to hear your story.” He nodded to the two deputies who boarded
Jupiter
. “These officers will escort you to their patrol car. We'll all reconvene in a little while. Sean, if you can think of anything else you may have seen or heard, you know where to find me. Let's go.”

Max barked once and followed Courtney to the steps leading over the transom to the dock. A deputy sheriff walked on either side of her. As they took her away, she turned toward me, her eyes wide, frightened, and now pleading, terrified eyes that would forever be padlocked deep in my mind.

***

Four hours later, Dave Collins ambled across the dock and boarded
Jupiter
. He stuck his head in the open salon and said, “Well, the arrest of that young woman is the talk of the marina, especially down at the Tiki Bar, and you're nowhere to be seen.”

I looked up from the bilge housing where I was storing some new belts and filters I'd bought. “She wasn't arrested, Dave. They took her in for questioning.” I stood, closed the hatch, and used paper towels to wipe some oil from my hands. “How'd they track Courtney here? You're probably the only one who picked out my voice on that 911 call.”

“I walked down to the Tiki Bar for ice. Kim said she recognized Courtney when the girl stopped in and asked for directions to your boat.”

“Did Kim call the police?”

“No. She said Captain Bill, you know the guy, retired charter captain with too much time on his hands, overheard the conversation and dialed 911.” Dave stepped to the small bar that divided the salon from the galley. He sat and blew out a deep breath, his forehead creased in thought. “So what do you think, Sean? Did the girl murder that guy? Is she a killer?”

“A killer? I don't know, maybe. Did she kill the man found dead at the carnival? I don't believe she did.” I told Dave everything Courtney had said to me and added, “Dan Grant is a good detective. He'll be fair with her. Unfortunately, fairness, integrity, and circumstantial evidence don't always balance the scale of justice. It'll depend on the physical evidence, apparent motive, and whether the prosecutor thinks he has enough on her to get a conviction.” I walked to the galley, pulled two very cold Coronas from the refrigerator, sliced fresh limes for each one, and handed a bottle to Dave.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a short sip and setting the bottle on the bar. “I've never seen eyes on anyone quite like the eye color I saw in Courtney's eyes. I saw something else, too.”

“What's that?”

“I don't know, exactly. But for a kid like her, it’s the oxymoronic combination of a saddened wisdom of the ages, and an old, recycled soul, if you will—cluttered with the outlying hope of real trust. It's as if she's a war refugee, a young woman with normal dreams buried inside some Old World culture.”

“When anyone's raped, especially a kid, the physical pain will fade with the passage of time. The torment of the spirit never completely heals. That will give a child an old soul before her time. It's horrible and a damned shame.”

Dave started to respond as my phone buzzed from where I’d set it on the table. It was Detective Dan Grant on the line. He said, “Sean, we cut the girl loose a couple of hours ago.”

“Good.”

“Maybe not so good.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m telling you this for two reasons: one is because we have a history together. You helped with a couple of cases. But then I remember why you helped. It was because, in one way or the other, you either knew the victim, or as a former detective, you’d crossed paths with the perps.”

“I told you why she came to see me at the marina.”

“Back away from this one, Sean. I’m still gathering information, but I have enough to push my suspicion meter way up. Courtney Burke is a nut case. I’ve got a report that tells me she’s been in two different mental institutions, diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.”

I said nothing, watching the condensation roll down the Corona bottle.

Dan said, “The FBI will be checking into this one, no doubt.”

“Why?”

“The murder at the carnival’s on their radar because it’s apparently not isolated. Feds are reporting the deaths of two other people, all men in their mid-twenties. All carny workers who were killed in the last six months. Each victim worked at a different carnival. If the perp is Courtney Burke, the county has a serious problem on its hands.”