Chasing the Son (18 page)

Jerrod glared up at him. “You’re good at making speeches. But if you kill me here, it’s not combat. It’s murder. And Chad and Preston are on the way. They’ll know it wasn’t suicide. So fuck you.”

Dillon kicked out, the tip of his boot thudding into Jerrod’s side. There was the sound of a rib cracking, Jerrod grunting in pain, the crying out in alarm as his body rolled, tipped on the edge of the bridge, and then he fell.

He came to an abrupt halt at the exact height Dillon had predicted. He stopped so quickly, both his loafers were jerked off his feet, landing in the fluffer mud a foot below.

Jerrod was screaming, his voice undulating up and down the spectrum of abject fear.

“Shut up,” Dillon said, leaning over the edge of the bridge. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not choking.”

And Jerrod did finally notice. The noose around his neck wasn’t tight. A nylon strap just two inches shorter than the rope, coming down from a truss underneath the bridge, looping under Jerrod’s arms and up the back of his neck was holding him up. Dillon had put the strap on Jerrod while he was unconscious.

“Your fucker!” Jerrod yelled.

Dillon sniffed. “Did you shit yourself?”

“Fuck you!”

“You did a good job protecting your asshole friends,” Dillon said. “But next time, I won’t be as nice.”

Dillon put the ring on the edge of the bridge, above Jerrod’s head. He walked away, got in his car and drove off, leaving Jerrod Fabrou dangling underneath the bridge, screaming into the darkness.

* * *

The ‘dissemination of information’ took a while. Chase went first, updating them on what he’d learned from Tear and Doc Cleary.

That part didn’t take long.

Riley went next, relaying his conversation with Farrelli.

“Who is Harry supposed to have killed?” Chase asked, when Riley finished. “Tear said the grandson of some important woman in Charleston. Who?”

Kate Westland spoke for the first time. “Greer Jenrette.”

All the men turned to look at her: Chase, Riley, Kono and Gator.

“How do you know?” Chase asked.

“Cardena briefed me.”

“Old Lady Jenrette is a powerful woman,” Kono said. “She runs Charleston.”

Chase spread his hands toward Westland. “Pray tell. What did Cardena tell you?”

“There are two things going on,” Westland said. The men were seated around the living room, Chase on his locker, Kono and Gator on the brick step in front of the fireplace, Riley on a branch of the tree. Westland had been sitting next to him, but now she was standing, a person obviously well versed in giving operational briefings. They only had a couple of lights on, dimly lighting the room.

She held up a single finger. “One is the thing that concerns you most immediately. Harry Brannigan.” She looked at Chase. “Your son with Erin Brannigan.” She held up the other hand, a single finger. “Two. Daufuskie Island. It’s the center of a complex bidding war and land-grab.”

“How are they connected?” Riley asked.

She pulled the fingers down but left her hands up. “The players. Mrs. Jenrette is one. The other is Merchant Fabrou, out of Savannah. His son was involved in the incident where Greer Jenrette died.”

“I still don’t see the direct connection,” Riley said.

“I don’t exactly know if there is one,” Westland said. “I don’t think Cardena does either.” She dropped her hands. “I believe that’s why he’s gotten me involved.”

“He didn’t order you here?” Chase asked.

“I’m retired,” Westland said. She nodded toward Riley. “Cardena dangled my old friend in front of me and I bit.”

“Who is this Greer Jenrette that Doc and Chase’s son had to run away?” Gator asked, focusing on the violent aspect. “And how did he die?”

“As was noted,” Westland said with a nod at Kono, “he’s the grandson of the most powerful woman in Charleston. He died during a hazing incident at the Military Institute of South Carolina around eighteen months ago. You son,” she looked at Chase, “is the one who killed him. Allegedly. An interesting aspect is that no legal authorities were involved. The death was labeled accidental.”

“What kind of accident?” Gator asked.

“A ceremonial bayonet in the heart,” Westland said.

“Helluva accident,” Gator said.

“Exactly Mrs. Jenrette’s feelings,” Westland said. “I believe she wants your son dead in return and that’s why Doc Cleary is keeping him far away from South Carolina.”

“Fuck,” Chase said. “Did he do it?”

Westland shrugged. “That’s the unofficial official version. More importantly, it’s what Mrs. Jenrette believes. Greer was her only grandson.” She put her hands together briefly. “And she’s the guiding force behind Sea Breeze. Almost all of Daufuskie Island under one ownership, developed into a major resort on the east coast.”

“There
was
a resort on Daufuskie,” Riley said. “It went under. As did the three golf courses. It’s dead. The island’s practically uninhabited now. I don’t see the plan. The land isn’t going to be worth much more.”

“Not if there’s a causeway to the island,” Westland said. “And it gets deeper. The upperclassmen who were present when Greer Jenrette died, supposedly at the hands of Harry Brannigan were Preston Gregory, Chad Mongin and Jerrod Fabrou.”

Westland ticked off the first name. “Preston Gregory is the son of Senator Gregory. Who has the authorization for Federal funding for the causeway in his desk, just waiting to file it and the funds will be released. The word is that’s going to happen on Saturday. And he’s also head of the Select Committee on Intelligence.”

“Oh crap,” Riley said. “Now we know why Cardena and the Cellar want to know what’s going on.”

Westland pressed on. “Chad Mongin’s family first came to the Daufuskie area in the 17
th
Century. They’ve been selling up their land for the past century, but they still own a key piece. The access point on the mainland where the causeway will start.

“Jerrod Fabrou is the son of Merchant Fabrou, a prominent businessman in Savannah. He’s an Institute graduate who is negotiating with Mrs. Jenrette regarding Daufuskie. It appears they will share ownership.”

She folded her arms. “Now you know what I know.” Then she said: “Ah. Except one thing. There’s another significant piece of property on Daufuskie that needs to be bought to make the resort complete: the Bloody Point Golf Course. Its ownership is buried under a number of shell corporations. Which were being investigated by the Treasury Department. They managed to dig down and find that Karralkov owned it once upon a time.”

“Well—“ Riley began, but she pressed on.

“Note I use the past tense,” Westland said, gracing her old friend with a smile. “Prior to his departing this world care of Cardena, he was bought out. By another shell company. Owned by the Jersey mob and then devolved to a man you’re familiar with: Alfonso Farrelli.”

“The shit just gets deeper and deeper,” Gator said. “Why don’t we just invite everyone to Daufuskie and have a shoot-out?”

“If only it were that easy,” Westland said.

“We don’t give a shit about Daufuskie or this Sea Breeze,” Chase said. “Did my son kill this Greer Jenrette? You avoided the question earlier.”

“I avoided it,” Westland said, “because I can’t answer it. The only people who know what happened that night were in that locker room. One is dead. Four of them swear to one version. We don’t have your son’s version.”

Chase spoke up: “Doc Cleary’s not bringing him back until this is cleared up. So we won’t get the other side of the story until then.”

“Great,” Gator said.

“How does Sarah Briggs figure into all of this?” Chase asked.

“That’s the real question I need to get an answer to,” Westland said.

“That’s Cardena’s dog in this hunt,” Riley said. “Briggs. And if he’s part of this Cellar, that means it’s likely that Briggs is a former operative gone rogue.”

Westland nodded. “It’s likely.”

“Then he should have a file on her,” Riley said. “Which means you should have a file on her.”

Westland shook her head. “There’s a level where there are no files any more. Cardena simply told me that Briggs is dangerous and to find her and report back to him. That’s it.”

Riley started at her hard but there was nothing more forthcoming. He stood up. “All right. We’re not gonna figure this out in the next five minutes. I say we sit tight for a little bit. Then come up with a course of action.”

“Maybe you should have a chat with Farrelli again,” Gator suggested. “I’ll come with you.”

“We’ll go in the morning,” Riley said. “For now, we hunker down for the evening.”

Chase divvied out sleeping assignments. Then he sought out Riley. The two went out back, next to the slime-filled pool.

“Can we trust her?” Chase asked.

“I trusted her with my life on that op,” Riley said.

“That was a quarter of a century ago,” Chase pointed out. “And if she’s working for Cardena, who knows what her real plan is, or more accurately his plan. We’re getting side-tracked by this Daufuskie thing.”

“No,” Riley said, “we’re not. We know where your son is. With Doc Cleary. Who isn’t coming back until this issue of the death of Greer Jenrette is cleared up. So he’s safe. And Mrs. Jenrette is involved in this land deal. There’s something binding all this together. I just don’t know what it is.”

“Sarah Briggs,” Chase said. “Westland is holding back on that. I’m sure there is a part of the black world where there are no files, but no one comes out nothingness. She knows more about Briggs than she’s telling us.”

“I agree,” Riley said. “But she’ll tell us when she wants to. For now, we can use her help.”

Chase didn’t look happy with that. “Everyone keeps saying we should have killed Sarah Briggs.”

Riley nodded. “So let’s kill her next time we see her.”

* * *

“What did Dillon want to know?” Preston asked.

“Get me up,” Jerrod demanded.

Preston and Chad were kneeling on the bridge, looking down at Jerrod, twisting and turning on the harness below them. Chad had a flashlight aimed at Jerrod, effectively blinding him.

“Just get me out of here,” Jerrod begged.

“Did you shit yourself?” Chad asked, taking a deep sniff. He turned to Preston. “He shit himself.” He laughed. “What a pussy.”

“What did he want to know?” Preston persisted. He had Jerrod’s Institute ring in in a plastic bag and was looking at it as if it were something new to him, even though he wore a similar ring on his own hand.

“Same as in the High Cotton,” Jerrod said. “What happened that night with Jenrette and Brannigan.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him the same thing we told him there,” Jerrod said.

“Bullshit,” Preston said. “You ratted on us.”

“I swear,” Jerrod said. “Would I be hanging here if I had?”

“Maybe you’d be dead if you hadn’t,” Preston said.

“I swear,” Jerrod pleaded. “I kept to our story.”

“I don’t know,” Preston said. “I don’t think you have the balls to stand up to Dillon alone. You didn’t come to the barracks when we beat the shit out of him.”

“That was stupid,” Jerrod said. “The Pelican Brief syndrome, you dumb fucks.”

“What?” Chad asked.

“By beating the shit out of him,” Jerrod explained, as best one could dangling from an old wooden bridge, “you made him want to know more.”

Chad laughed. “I don’t think so. He’ll think twice before coming after us.”

“Look around,” Jerrod said. “He’s already come after us. Or else why am I hanging here.”

“He’s got a point,” Preston allowed. “Dillon is turning out to be a major pain in the ass.”

“Cut me down,” Jerrod said. “I need to get out of here. And turn that damn flashlight off. I can’t see anything.”

“Tell me what you told him and then I’ll cut you down,” Preston said. Chad turned off the light.

Jerrod’s voice shifted into a whine. “I’ve already told you!”

“Your daddy is trying to develop Sea Drift for you, isn’t he?” Preston asked. “To establish your power base.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jerrod peered up. Preston and Chad were just dark figures up on the bridge now, lit partially by the headlights of their SUV. Jerrod had dangled for what seemed like ages since Dillon left, but was really only thirty minutes. His arms were numb and he stunk.

Under the circumstances it had been a very long thirty minutes.

“Mrs. Jenrette told my father she foresaw me and Greer working together,” Preston said. “With Greer being the money behind my political aspirations.” He laughed. “But a study of history shows that the power of the purse is what this country was founded on. He who has the money controls. And I will be beholden to no one. And I will not tolerate rivals.”

Jerrod looked up. “I didn’t say anything to Dillon. What happened that night stays with us. Within the Ring of just the three of us.”

“But three can keep a secret only if two are dead,” Preston said.

“Four know,” Jerrod said.

Preston nodded. “Good point.”

“And we swore an oath,” Jerrod reasoned. “The person we have to find is Brannigan. And that’s what Dillon is after. Maybe we let him do his job?”

“If he gets to Brannigan,” Preston said, “then he’ll learn the truth. And then he’ll be after us.”

“Not if you use your father’s power to take care of Dillon
and
Brannigan,” Jerrod said. “My father has people who do that kind of work too.”

“Interesting,” Preston said. “I do have some men standing by.”

“Come on, Preston,” Jerrod begged. “Let me up.”

Preston got on his knees. He pulled a folding knife out and opened it. Getting on his belly, he reached underneath the bridge toward the nylon strap wrapped around the bridge trestle.

“The rope first,” Jerrod pointed out. “Then pull me up. Or just cut the rope, then the nylon and I’ll crawl out of here.”

“I know,” Preston said, and then he cut through the nylon.

Jerrod dropped two inches, then a couple more as the rope cinched down around his neck. His mouth was open as he tried to cry out, but nothing came out of his lungs and nothing was coming in.