5 Alive After Friday (8 page)

“Don’t worry about that part.” He took his phone
out.

Another five minutes passed.

She straightened in her seat. “The little rat just
came out of his hole. You see him?”

“Yes. Looks like he’s hiding the bike in those
bushes over there.”

“I’m going for the bike. That’ll keep him busy.”
She opened the car door and closed it quietly. She stood at the front of the
car for a full minute to give the cops some time to get over there. Then she started
strutting along the sidewalk, out in the open, as though headed for the tennis
courts. She saw him duck down between the first two parked cars. When the
sidewalk curved toward the courts, she ran straight for the bicycle in the
bushes.

She picked up the bicycle, got on it and started
riding away.

At first, he didn’t seem to realize what was
happening, or didn’t believe it. Then he yelled and started toward her. She
rode to the far end of the parking area and stopped. She didn’t want him going
out of the park. As he ran closer, she rode in a circle back around him. After
two circles, he wised up and walked slowly toward her. As she started to ride
one way he jumped that way. She moved the other way and he jumped that way. He
kept coming closer until he had backed her against the cars.

She got off and held the bike out in front of her to
fend him off. She could drop the bike and run away between the cars, but if she
did that he might take off. He wanted the bike and she wanted to keep him occupied
until the cops arrived.

Up close, he was a bigger than she had thought.
Maybe he wasn’t just a teenager. Maybe he was a skinny twenty-something. She
remembered his pasty face and dull brown eyes. He must have remembered her from
the other night and that confused him. He stood looking at her as though trying
to decide why he shouldn’t smack this smartass girl in the face or just knock her
down.

“Where’d you get the bike?” she said.

“Santa Claus brought it.”

She noticed his hands were forming into fists.

“Could you make it the Tooth Fairy? I don’t
believe in Santa Claus.”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe.” He wound
up and took a swing at her. She ducked and pushed the bike into him. He grabbed
for the bike—she held on. “You really want the shit kicked out of you, don’t
you? Let go or get your face smashed,” he yelled.

He yanked the bike back and forth pulling her with
it. She didn’t let go. Then he lifted the bike and swung around hard. She lost
her grip and went sprawling to the gravel.

He started toward her. She jumped up quickly. She
took a stance crouched forward with one fist out in front of the other, her
knees bent and a ferocious look on her face. She aimed her knuckles right at
him like a prizefighter.

He didn’t have time to laugh, because he started to
kick and scream. Martin had grabbed him from behind pinning his arms down to
his sides and lifting him off the ground in a fierce bear hug. When his scream
turned into a choke, Martin relaxed slightly letting the kid breathe.

Sandy was winding up about ready to slug him.

Martin turned the kid away from her. “Don’t do it,
Sandy! It’s not fair. And you’ll get blood on my suit. It’s already wrinkled.”

They heard a siren coming closer and then saw the
flashing rack lights as the patrol car screeched into the area. Sandy waved the
officer over. She explained that Detective Jaworski wanted the kid for
questioning in the Lagoon Park murder. The bicycle was evidence so be careful
handling it. They would follow him to the station to make a report.

After the kid was cuffed and put in the back seat,
Sandy peered in at him. “Maybe Santa will get you out of jail.” He turned in
the seat so she could see his hands cuffed behind him with both middle fingers
extended.

Martin came over next to her. “You okay? You are
pretty scary. Could you actually have had a fist fight with him?”

She was still brushing off the gravel. “Probably
not. All I could do would be a hard knee and deny him fatherhood. I’d hate to do
that to a young boy. Sooner or later, he’d have wrestled me to the ground and
clobbered me.”

“I called 911 as soon as you left the car. He
certainly took his time getting here.”

“I’ve had pizza delivered faster.”

S
andy
swung her bare legs over the side of the king-sized bed and bent over to pick
up her pink T-shirt where she’d tossed it. She reached behind and playfully
slapped Chip’s hand away. “Come on, I positively have to get out of bed.”

“That’s what you said thirty minutes ago.”

“Well, this time I mean it.”

She fumbled for her phone among the pile of
clothing on the nearby chair, and dialed. “Good morning, Martin. I guess you’re
getting ready...can we meet at Chip’s house instead of the office this morning.
Something came up. I’m running late...okay...see ya.”

“So, you’re going to go ahead and start chasing
after Jane?” He sat up on the bed. “I don’t believe you when you say you’re
just checking out a couple of things in West Palm. Obviously, you’re starting
in on the investigation. I thought we’d agreed that you’d stay out of that part?”

“Oh, I always reserve the right to butt into
anything, whether it’s my business or not.” She turned to face him. “Seriously,
I’d never agree to something such as that. You know me. I have to do something
or I’ll go bonkers. Trust me, I’ll stay out of the way of the police and don’t
intend to interfere at all with the FBI.”

“You don’t intend. I’ve heard that one before.” He
got up and put on his robe. “I’m not concerned with you and the police or FBI.
I’m concerned about you and the bad guys. And the West Palm trail dead Dick is
leading you down.”

“The Florida database last put him in Sarasota and
has nothing later. His mother over there has lost track of him. I found an old
girlfriend in Port St. Lucie who said he talked a lot about wanting to be a
truck driver in West Palm.”

“That’s a pretty feeble lead.”

“Ya think?”

“But you’re going ahead with it because it’s the
only lead you have, right?”

She gave him a crooked smile.

“And you aren't telling the FBI about it because
you believe you can handle it better.”

“I know I won’t screw it up.”

“So what I want doesn’t count.”

“Don’t put it that way. It’s just that you can’t
deny me this. I know I’ve gone a bit kooky in the past, but this case is
personal. And I need your support even if you disagree.”

He shrugged. “You’ve neatly boxed me out of this,
you know. If you’re withholding information from the FBI, I can’t help you and
be a party to that.”

“I don’t have the choice of working with the FBI.
They’ve told me to stay home.”

“At the least, I want to keep up to date on all
this but really feel out of the loop. For example, I heard you were at the
police station last night. What was that all about?”

“So unimportant I forgot to mention it. You know
about the punk in the park who found the body and switched bikes. Well, Martin
and I captured the little delinquent last night. He doesn’t bother me that much
but the bike he stole is evidence. We had to go to the station last night for
the paperwork.”

“I keep thinking there’s some other way I can help,
but I’m on call for the FBI drug task force.”

“No problem, really. The FBI is working the
extortion part of it and I’ve no idea what they’re doing. Park Beach police are
handling the murder of Boyd. Jaworski knows I’m trying to find out more about
Boyd’s background and is letting me roam for the time being. He knows I’m
following a lead to West Palm. He can access the FDLE database for me, and you
shouldn’t do that, since you’re not assigned to the case. So everything’s cool.”

“Why do you have to stay overnight down there? West
Palm is only an hour and a half away...fifteen minutes the way you drive. I’ll
miss being close to you.”

“We know zip about Jane other than she teamed up
with Dick. If Dick has been living in West Palm, the trail he left might lead
to her. I’ll camp down there a couple of days and work out of a hotel. And you!
Don’t stray too far from this bed.”

“This bed will be cold. Ain’t no sunshine when
you’re gone.”

* * * *

“With all the traffic we must be in Palm Beach
County,” Martin said on his phone. “I know you’re up there ahead of me on I-95
somewhere, but you’ve left me behind. As a matter of fact, you’ve left everyone
behind. I’ve a list of Marriott’s on my phone. We don’t need to be over near the
ocean. There’s one not too far on Coral Boulevard. Shall I check us in now?”

“Good Idea. You go on over and nail down a couple
of rooms. Then head over to that Road King Driving School I told you about.
I’ll check out Nationwide Driving School. You have the address?”

“Already in my GPS. In any case, they’re not going
to let me see their record of students, are they? How do I handle that?”

“You’re a lawyer, lie.”

“No lawyer jokes, please. What do I do?”

“First, remember that people love getting
attention. So make it about them. I’ve had plenty of doors slammed in my face,
but in general people talk to me because they love the attention and want to be
liked.”

“Yes, but I don’t look like you.”

“Martin, to a woman you look like a hot-fudge
sundae. My looks are nothing special and they help with only a certain type of
man. Well, okay—they’re not bad and they help with most men. The point is if I
want info out of someone, I just try to like them. I don’t flirt with them. Well,
okay, sometimes I do. Okay, often I do. But you don’t need to flirt, you’re a
charming fellow.”

“Fortunately, pretense is not one of my strong
points. I’m not good at it. I tried to flirt with you when we first met. You
didn’t even notice. I tried to give you a sexy smile and you asked if I had
gas.”

“Very funny. Truthfully, Martin, you charmed me at
hello.”

“So what do I say again?”

“Tell them a Calvin Boyd has applied for a truck
driving job with your company, and he claims he took their course. You can’t
reveal your firm—company policy. You just want to verify that he’s telling the
truth.”

“That sounds logical. I can do that. But isn’t
that something a prospective employer would just do on the phone?”

“Face to face it’s harder to be turned down, and sometimes
they volunteer additional information in person. Okay? Find out where Boyd is working
now. That’s what we’re after. If they confirm he trained there, ask them if he
used their placement service. Find out where they placed him.”

“You just made up all that didn’t you? You are
dangerous.”

“Just try it. Remember, people like being liked. Sometimes
it does help to flirt with them. If you’re dealing with a male, and you don’t
want to flirt, then appeal to his ego—never fails with men.”

Within twenty minutes, Sandy had parked at
Nationwide Driving School in West Palm Beach. Inside, a nice looking longhaired
brunette, wearing a classic white shirt with sleeves rolled up, was sitting at
a desk on the other side of the counter.

Sandy began with, “My cousin keeps talking about
learning how to drive one of those big rigs all over the country...but that’s
not why I’m here. We’re considering hiring a Calvin Boyd. I need a
confirmation. I just need to tell my boss that he actually had some training
here.”

As the woman stood and stepped over to the
counter, Sandy saw that she was quite tall and athletic-looking. She had a
great figure, perfect proportions on her large frame, yet appeared as though
she could tackle a runaway truck herself.

“Who wants to know?”

“We can’t discuss that until after he’s accepted
our job offer. Are you the manager?”

“Lady, don’t pull that going over my head shit. I own
the place.”

Great, an office honcho with an attitude. “Oh, I
didn’t mean that. I just thought maybe you weren’t the one to ask about
students.”

“I’m the one to ask about everything. Is Cal in
trouble?”

Must be the right place, she used his first name. “No
trouble. I’m sure you try to find employment for your graduates. Where’d he go
to work?”

“You possibly have a good job for him?” She was
still suspicious and looked closely at Sandy. “He’s working but doesn’t like
where he’s at. Is your outfit local or long-haul?”

Sandy took a guess, “Long-haul.”

“Okay then, he’s at Bristol Trucking in Jupiter.
You want their address?”

“No, we’re quite familiar with Bristol Trucking,”
she lied. She’d never heard of Bristol Trucking and didn’t know where in hell
Jupiter was. “What’s Cal’s home address?”

The woman screwed up her face. “I don’t think so.”

“Why’d you ask if he’s in trouble? If he’s a
troublemaker we don’t want him.”

“Nothing like that. He’s a good kid.”

“Do you have a brochure I can give my cousin?”

“Your cousin, huh? Let’s save some time and
bother. I can qualify him in two seconds. Tell me what he’s doing now and if
he’s married. Driving isn’t a job it’s a lifestyle.”

“Doing construction, not married.”

“He might like it then.” The woman reached under
the counter for a booklet.

She thanked the woman and went to her car, eager
to phone Martin, “Throw your fist in the air. We’re on the right track. Boyd got
a job at Bristol Trucking in Jupiter. He must have been living somewhere around
in the vicinity. You ever hear of Jupiter?”

“We passed it, back north on I-95. Not too far.
That’s a great start. Yet, we still don’t know if he’s Dick.”

“At least we now know he lived down here and went
up to Park Beach and got himself killed for some reason.”

“Yes, it’s all good. Okay, I’ll forget about going
over to the Road King Driving School. I’ll find Bristol Trucking and meet you
there. We can have lunch nearby.”

The Bristol Trucking operation out on the west
edge of Jupiter, Florida, was two acres of semi-trucks, their engines and
assorted parts. There were large covered areas for truck maintenance and
repair. Tractors and trailers, of varying remaining life expectancies were
lined up along the side. A covered maintenance area was in front of a large
two-story steel barn on the back lot.

Sandy parked with other cars behind the small
office building, careful not to get her baby MX-5 close to any of the highway giants.
She walked back to the maintenance area where one of the huge cabs was tilted
forward and a man had his head immersed in the entrails.

“You have a driver named Cal Boyd here?” she said
to his back.

Without raising his head from the dirty depths of
the engine compartment, “If you know him, you’d better tell the kid to get his
ass in here, or he’s out of a job.” Then he turned his head enough to see who
was speaking. “Oh, you a friend of his?”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen him for a few days. Is he
out on the road?”

“So he gave you some bullshit about being a truck driver?
No way. He’ll never be a driver—too wild. A truck driver needs discipline. Mucho
hours a week for not mucho pay. Not bad if you don’t mind living on a highway.”

“But he told me he went to driving school and
that’s how he landed the job here.”

“He moves the rigs around the lot here. Parks
them, brings them out, moves them around. We needed someone who could at least
start them, drive them around the lot and back them up without injuring too many
people. Mainly he washes trucks. Been here only about six months, and the word
is he won’t be doing that much longer, if he doesn’t show back up soon.” The
man straightened his back with a slight grimace and wiped his hands. “Now I’ve
a question for you. How does a loser like him hook up with an uptown girl like
you? I guess it’s not brains you’re looking for in a man.”

The uptown girl part of that sounded okay. She winked
at him. “Hey, whatever makes your bacon sizzle.”

He shook his head. “See Myra inside. She’ll know
where he is.”

“Myra’s the one who keeps track of everyone?”

“Well, she does a mighty good job of keeping track
of him.” The man’s head disappeared back into the engine compartment.

So, Boyd wasn’t a truck driver. That’s why he was
unhappy with his job here, as the woman at Nationwide Driving School had
mentioned. Sandy left her car parked and walked around to the front entrance.
Martin had just stopped and was starting to get out. She raised one hand signaling
him to stay put.

There were two desks and a long unoccupied counter
inside. Two young women sat at desks in front of computers. Behind them, beyond
the row of filing cabinets, was an enclosed corner office with an open door.
Sandy couldn’t see inside from her angle. She leaned over to the nearest woman.
“Myra?”

The woman jerked her head toward the office. “You
one of our accounts?”

“Looking for Cal Boyd.”

The woman moved over from her desk and stuck her
head in the corner office. “Myra, some woman here asking about Cal...Myra?” She
took a step in and then stepped back out. “Funny, she was just here.”

Sandy walked over beside the woman and glanced
into the back office. There were two unoccupied desks. On either side of the
back door was a row of windows; she could see the guy with his head in the
engine and could see her parked car.

Sandy checked her watch. “Where’s she go for lunch?”

“Brown bags it.”

“I’ll phone her, you have her card?

The woman laughed. “We don’t use cards around
here.”

“What’s her last name?”

“What’d you want Cal for?”

“Last name, please,” Sandy said sharply.

“Don’t be so touchy.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You
the police or something?”

“I’ll do until someone better comes along.”

“Okay, Cramer...Myra Cramer.”

“She the manager?”

“Bookkeeper.

Sandy thanked her and hurried outside. Martin stepped
out of his Lexus to greet her. She said, “Did a car just pull out of here?”

“Yes, came around the building in a hurry. A black
Kia. Pretty nice.”

“Maybe Jane was driving.”