Designed to Kill (27 page)

I swerved into the side street and gunned the accelerator. I would turn at the next intersection and double back. In the mirror, I saw the Cadillac had started past the street but was backing up to make the turn.

“Hang on, babe,” I said.

A street
branched off to the right at the end of the long block. I skidded around the corner into it. As soon as the headlights flashed down the road ahead, I knew I had made a big mistake. We faced the tall wooden skeleton of a two-story house under construction. The street was a cul-de-sac. And there would be no sanctuary among nearby residents. The subdivision we had stumbled into was a work in progress. Totally unoccupied.

By the time I got my Jeep turned around, the Cadillac’s headlights were bearing down on us.

 
“Look out, Greg!” Jill yelled.

I cut my wheels to the left in an attempt to get around him, but the driver turned toward me. We collided in a noisy crash.

I had been traveling rather slowly, however, and the Cadillac braked just before impact. It was more of a sideswipe, so the air bags didn’t deploy. The damage was no worse than dented fenders, but that was enough to make my blood hit the boiling point. Up to now, my trusty Jeep had not suffered the slightest scratch.

Of more concern at the moment, however, was Jill. Looking around, I saw her holding her left arm. Her face was drained of color.

I felt a hollow spot in my stomach. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I—I think so. I got quite a jolt, but I don’t think it did any damage.”

My headlights were still on. Glancing back toward the Cadillac, I saw two burly characters get out. One appeared close to my height, bushy black hair streaked with gray, heavy brows, dark complexion. The other was shorter, with a balding head and large, querulous eyes. Both men were casually dressed.

As I pushed the Jeep door open, Jill grabbed my arm, her voice frantic. “Don’t go out there, Greg.”

“I don’t intend to let these guys intimidate me,” I said, my anger rising. Coercion was one practice I could not stomach. Furthermore, banging into my Jeep definitely required an explanation. “You stay put,” I said.

I stepped out into the street just as the men walked up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said.

“You’ll find out,” the tall one said, promptly throwing a punch toward my face.

I ducked the blow, blocking it with my arm, but the shorter man followed with a jab into my midsection. I felt the breath going out of me. I staggered, clutching splayed hands to my stomach. Jill screamed just as the tall guy pounded the side of my head with what felt like something other than a bare fist. My head seemed to explode and flashes of lightning flared before my closed eyes.

I felt myself falling backward and hit bottom first, then collapsed onto my back. A blow that must have been a kick dug into my left side, then I heard a harsh voice near my ear:

“You’ve been butting into matters that are none of your business, Mc
K
enzie. You’d better get your ass out of here. This was just a sample. You don’t want to know the full treatment.”

Feeling pain all over, I lay there groggily as I heard the car start and drive away. Then I sensed Jill leaning over me, calling frantically. “Greg, can you hear me? What did they do to you?”

Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position. I felt blood trickling down the side of my face. My head reverberated with a throbbing sensation.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. Bending down, she pulled out some tissues and began to dab at the blood. “Can you talk?”

“Yeah. But I can’t think of anything worth saying. Help me up.”

She tugged at my right arm with her good hand and I struggled to my feet. We were near the Jeep, and when I teetered a bit Jill tugged me toward the vehicle.

“You’d better get over here where you have something to hold onto,” she said, having gathered her wits a bit more quickly than I had. “You aren’t about to pass out on me, are you?”

I shook my head, then wished I hadn’t. I only managed to aggravate the pounding inside. “I feel like I’ve been mauled by a big black bear,” I said.

She handed me a handkerchief to hold against my head. “Shouldn’t I call 911?”

“What would you tell them? I have no idea where we are.”

“You’re not going to let those goons get away with this?”

“They already have,” I said. “I didn’t see the license plate.” Leaning against the Jeep, I reached for the door handle.

“Let me help you around to the other side. I’ll drive.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” I asked.

“I’m sure you aren’t. Let’s go.”

She clutched my arm as I stumbled around to the passenger side and somehow managed to climb into the seat. Jill returned to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel.

“Shall I drive over to the police station?”

“I have no idea where the
Orange
Beach
police are located,” I said.

Of course, there was a chance we might run into a police car on the way back to the beach highway, but I doubted it. I’ve always accepted as a truism that the police will never be around when you really need them. “Just take me home,” I said. “I need to rest.”

She sputtered a moment, then said, “You’re the hardest-headed man I’ve ever known. With the possible exception of my father.” That was the reason she always gave for why her dad and I never got along. She started the Jeep and drove toward the cul-de-sac outlet. “What did those men say to you?”

My memory, along with everything else, was in a bit of disarray at the moment. But I couldn’t forget that threatening voice in my ear. “The guy—I think it was the big one—said what I got was just a sample. If I didn’t want the full treatment, I had better butt out of their business.”

“And what is their business?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Then how are you to—”

“Come on, Jill. It obviously has something to do with this
Sand
Castle
affair. I must have hit a nerve somewhere. I’m getting too close for somebody’s comfort.”

I wasn’t sure whose nerve I had hit, but it sure looked like Claude Detrich. Were these two goons, as Jill had called them, responsible for Ollie O’Keefe’s murder? Now that I considered the possibilities, could they have been involved in Tim’s death?

“I think you should go to the emergency room and let them check you out,” Jill said. “You could have some broken bones or a concussion.”

I finally thought of something almost worth a smile, but not quite. “As you pointed out so succinctly, I have a very hard head. I doubt if anything’s broken there. The only other possibility would be a cracked rib from that kick in the side. If memory serves me correctly, there’s nothing they can do for a broken rib but let it heal. Just take me home where I can get a hot bath. Then you can ply me with TLC. That should make me as good as new.”

———

We got back to Gulf Sands around
seven o’clock
and found a message from Walt Sturdivant on the answering machine. He advised in that staccato delivery of his:

“I got a call late this afternoon from
Pensacola
. The building inspector has retained a structural engineering firm. Their job is to investigate the balcony collapse. Everyone connected with the project is to be there for a hearing Monday at nine. I thought you’d like to know.”

33

The hot shower helped soothe my aching side but only irritated the tender, scraped spots on my face. My cheek felt like it had been caught in the midst of a cat fight. After carefully slipping on my pajamas I eased onto the sofa, where Jill brought me a tray with a bowl of vegetable soup, a slice of toasted five-cheese French bread and a cup of coffee. She sat and watched as I began to eat.

“Where’s yours?” I asked.

“I lost my appetite at
Orange
Beach
.”

“You aren’t eating anything?”

“I nibbled on some crackers. I’ll get a cup of coffee in a minute.”

I tried a smile but it made my face hurt. “You’ve got to keep your strength up if you’re going to look after me, babe.”

“That’s becoming a bigger job than I had counted on.” Then she tapped a finger against her chin. “Do you remember what you promised to do tonight?”

“What?”

“Call Sam.”

As soon as I finished eating, I made good on my promise. I gave Sam an abbreviated version of what had happened so far in the investigation, leaving out a few thorny details. like my run-in with Lieutenant Cassel and the encounter with the boys from
Louisiana
.

“So Tim definitely wasn’t responsible for that accident,” Sam said, his voice upbeat.

“That’s right. And he told somebody that night he didn’t feel any responsibility for it.”

“That knocks out the suicide motive, doesn’t it. Who told you that?”

I caught myself before replying. It didn’t seem advisable to bring Sherry Hoffman into the picture. “I don’t recall offhand. It’s in my notes.”

“But you’re sure they didn’t build the balcony the way Tim designed it?”

“I’m sure.” Again because of what Tim had said to Sherry. “But I don’t have anything yet to conclusively prove it.”

“I have a feeling you’ll find it. I’ve got confidence in you.”

The feeling I had at the moment was closer to weariness than confidence. “We’re giving it our best shot, Sam.”

“It sounds like any of those three guys could have killed him, if they were all out running around late that night.”

“That’s true. We’ll try to dig a little deeper tomorrow into what each of them was doing.”

“What’s behind this, Greg? Is it money?”

“Probably.”

“Damn! How do you put a price on a man’s life? A father of three boys?”

“You can’t, Sam.”

“Find him.”

“I will.”

I punched off the phone and sat there. My head hurt. My side hurt. I hurt in places I couldn’t touch. I hurt for Sam.

“What happened?” Jill asked. “You look worse than you did on the pavement in
Orange
Beach
, if that’s possible.”

“Sam doesn’t understand how somebody could murder his son.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve got some good ideas. They don’t make sense to a rational person, but rational people don’t commit murders.”

“You told Sam ‘I will.’ I will what?”