Bloody Point (21 page)

“Like the Bible?”

“Well, yeah, some.” Six months ago he would have read the
phone book twice over before he’d pick up a Bible. But something about the
physical frustration he was dealing with, the sorrow he felt over his kids,
losing Mike … these things had made him start to look for something else …
something that would help make sense of things.

“So what did you think?” Trudy prompted.

“A lot of what I read was not what I expected. I always
thought Jesus was this wimpy, ‘I love everybody’ kind of guy. Way too passive
and weak. But from what I read, when he was talking to some people, he could be
tough. Angry even. And I have to admit, I liked that.”

Trudy smiled.

“But I don’t know, you tell me. If God is love, how could He
let your husband suffer like that? And you? When you know darn well he could
fix it?”

Trudy brushed her hair back from her face. Jake saw a tear
glistening in her eye. “I’m … I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I shouldn’t have …
”

“No, no. It’s okay. It was, as they say, a severe mercy.” She
took a deep breath. “When Wes first got sick I was so angry with God. I was
furious.” Trudy glanced toward Jake. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little.”

“Instead of praying, I yelled at Him. I asked Him just that
question over and over, ‘How could You let this happen?’ I cried, I prayed, I
begged, I bargained. That went on for two years.”

Jake tried to picture Trudy that angry. Somehow he could, if
he thought of Cassie. The thought made him smile.

“For two years I fought with God over my husband. I lost my
appetite, my hair began to turn gray. And then one day, in desperation, I
pulled out my Bible, and I just started reading. I read and read and five days later,
I surrendered. God was God, I decided. All through the Bible, it was clear. God
was sovereign, in charge. He had allowed this illness to take place. Yet he was
clearly good. I had to trust Him. I decided I would find a way to make the best
of the situation, and worship Him despite it.”

Jake’s jaw muscles were tight. He stared straight ahead, not
daring to voice what he was thinking.

“Then I decided to look for Him
in
that terrible
circumstance. And that has made all the difference. The world you’re looking
for, Jake, the one where goodness is rewarded and disease and trauma don’t
affect the innocent, that’s not this world. That world comes later. Sometimes
God does warn us, with His still, small voice, and more often than we realize,
He protects us when we don’t even know we are in danger. But this world is full
of sin and disease, unfairness and loss. Jesus said himself, ‘In this world you
will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.’ Even in the
midst of horrible circumstances, we can still find joy and hope. The only real
question is, will you surrender to Him or fight Him?”

Jake rubbed his hand on his pants leg. He was sweating.

“He loves you Jake, and He’s reaching out to you. Look at the
people He’s surrounded you with!”

That was true. Mike, Cassie, Craig, now Trudy … the people he
respected most, shared a deep faith. “Yeah,” he said, “they’re Christians, but
I try not to hold that against them.”

Trudy laughed. She pulled up to the toll plaza at the
entrance to the Bay Bridge and paid the toll, then she looked at Jake. “You
know, there’s only one way to get across this bridge, and there’s only one way
to get to heaven, to that world you want so much to see. Your toll has been
paid, but you have to accept the ride, Jake. That’s up to you.”

As they climbed the arch of the bridge, Jake looked down on
the Bay, dotted with boats. “That just strikes me as too … exclusive. Almost
arrogant. No offense.” He looked at her quickly.

“I’m just repeating what Jesus said: ‘I am the way, the
truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

Jake fell silent. In some ways, he wanted to believe. Fact
was, he just didn’t.

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 21

M
ONDAY morning, bright
and early, Cassie pulled up in front of On the Bean, parked, and entered the
shop. With its bright yellow walls and deep red chair cushions the place itself
looked caffeinated. It had quickly become a favorite stop for her in the
morning or after work. Mike had always teased her about her coffee “addiction,”
and for a while she had cut it out. But now she was back “on the bean” as Mike
had jokingly called it. The name of the shop was a painful irony.

Craig was already there sipping a Grande Kenya black at a
table near the back. Cassie walked up to the counter, ordered an almond
croissant and a tall Sumatra. She joined him at the table. “You’re not eating
anything?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “I had a bite at home.” Then, after a few more
pleasantries, he began asking questions.

She was hesitant at first, but the thought of Yellow Shirt
and the blue headlights made her open up. She began telling Craig everything:
about her conversation with Skip, and her contacts with Desiree and Schneider’s
wife.

“How did you get to them?” he asked.

“Through Tam.”

Then she took a deep breath and told Craig about the car with
the headlights, the photos of the yellow shirt, and how she was undoubtedly
being followed at KidFest, too.

“And Tam knew where you were going on Saturday.”

Cassie mulled that one over. Could Tam be involved? She
picked up her cup and took a drink. The coffee was strong, just the way she
liked it. What should she say? Could Tam really be involved?

Noting her hesitation, Craig said, “Don’t worry about that
right now. Tell me what you found out from Schneider’s wife and mistress.”

“I had to do quite a bit of talking, but finally both women
agreed to see me. I think the cops scared them. I don’t think either woman had
anything to do with any of this. The mistress said she overheard the guy having
an argument with another man, someone she didn’t know, and the issue was
money.” Cassie played with a sugar packet that was on the table. “Craig,
Frederick Schneider was terrible with money. He was deep in debt, overdrawn on
his accounts … the thing I can’t figure out is where he came up with $80,000 to
buy a new boat. His wife said he didn’t have money for new socks. So where’d
the boat come from? He paid cash for it a year ago.”

“Cash? Then the broker should have reported that.” Craig made
a note. “We can press him if he didn’t.”

She took a long drink. “And there’s another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I went to Sullivan’s Wharf and saw the place where
Schneider’s body was found. As I stood there looking around, I was overwhelmed
with the similarity … ” she hesitated.

“To what?”

“The place where we found Jake.”

Campbell’s eyes grew intense. “What do you mean?”

“Tall grass, bugs, it was near the water … when I was there,
I just felt like I was in Cedar Brook Park where we found Jake. It was eerie.”

Craig wrote that down.

“I also saw a boat surveyor I know there. We went to dinner.
He’s been helping the fire marshal investigate those boat arsons. They have a
suspect.”

“Who’s that?”

Cassie took a deep breath. “Myron Tunney. Scrub. A dockhand.”
She put her head in her hands. “I still can’t believe it. He helped my dad
raise my boat!”

“What do they have on him?”

She told him about Scrub’s juvenile record, and then shook
her head. “I cannot believe it, Craig. I just can’t believe it.”

Craig got another round of coffee for both of them, and then
asked more questions.

“I brought you some things,” she said, reaching into her
attaché case. Cassie pulled out the Palm Pilot and a copy of the CD with Yellow
Shirt’s photos on them. She explained what they were.

Craig raised his eyebrows. “How’d you get this?” he asked,
indicating the PDA.

“From Desiree. Here’s the pass code,” Cassie said, writing it
down on a scrap of paper and handing it to him.

“Okay, thanks,” he said, taking a deep breath. He leveled his
eyes at Cassie. “Are you ready to back out of this now? Leave it to the Bureau?
I mean, you’ve got somebody following you, at least one person. How about
letting us take this?”

Cassie hesitated. What could she say? She couldn’t make that
promise.

“I figured,” he said, reading her thoughts and shaking his
head. Then he leaned close. “Look, Cassie, I called Headquarters the other day,
and I tried to pull some strings to get your reinstatement through quicker.”

Cassie brightened. “Thank you!” Wow, that was unexpected.
Craig, going to bat for her?

“I know you’re going after this guy, whoever he is, and
frankly I’d rather have you doing it with a badge and a gun. I don’t have any
idea if it did any good, but I gave it a shot.”

“I appreciate that!”

He closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. “In the
meantime, please watch your back. Be careful. Please.”

“I will.” Cassie then asked him some questions about the
FBI’s investigation of both Mike’s death and Jake’s assault. He gave her
guarded but clear answers.

“Fact is,” he said, summarizing, “I’m not the case agent.
DiCarlo is. Foster’s so mad at me he’s ordered me to stay off the case.”

Cassie looked at him in amazement.

“So, I’m bootlegging just like you are.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Working this on the side.”

That impressed her. “I’m glad you are, Craig.”

“I had to,” he said standing up. “It was the right thing to
do.”

† † †

Cassie had selected a festival in Scrub’s hometown for her
next assignment, ostensibly just to expand her horizons a bit, but in reality
she wanted to pick up anything she could on his history. She still couldn’t
believe he was involved in arson, much less murder.

Rick had invited her out to dinner, and she’d said yes. Was
it because she was lonely? For two days, she’d thought about canceling. But,
one thing led to another and she’d never gotten around to it.

He said he was going to be in Annapolis, at Fawcett’s near
City Dock, picking up some boat supplies. Cassie arranged to meet him at a spot
he suggested, Ceili, an Irish pub in Eastport. All the way there she kept
thinking about Jake. Her aunt said they noticed the dog was sensing his
seizures. Since Sunday, they’d been focusing on that, and sure enough, Jazz
would try to get Jake’s attention moments before an episode. If he caught her
signals, he could make himself safe before the attack came. And that was giving
him a little more control, and that was raising his spirits.

Cassie was skeptical. How could a dog predict seizures? But
hey, if it made Jake happy, so be it.

Ceili was jammed when she walked in, full of men in Dockers
and boat shoes. Their eyes followed her as she moved past them and she felt
uncomfortable. A band was in the corner, playing traditional Celtic music. A dark-haired
young woman was fiddling for all she was worth, accompanied by guitarists and a
drummer. The toe-tapping sounds filled the room.

Rick was sitting in a booth in a dark corner, and rose as
Cassie approached. “Good evening, my dear. Would you like a drink?” He had a
beer sitting in front of him.

Cassie suddenly felt strange. What was she doing here with
this guy? “Just water, please, with lemon.”

But soon she forgot her discomfort. For the next two hours,
the two reminisced about high school as they consumed salads and soda bread,
Irish stew and shepherd’s pie. Cassie discovered Rick knew a lot more about the
current status of their old classmates than she did, and he was all too happy
to tell her stories about them. She found out about the average guy who had
surprisingly become an airline pilot, and the sweethearts who’d married and had
three kids already, and the girl who’d become a lawyer.

Once she relaxed and started listening, she found she was
actually intrigued by their stories, and by the end of the evening, she
realized she’d temporarily forgotten her problems. At quarter ‘til ten they
left the restaurant. Rick walked her to her car and she wondered momentarily if
he was going to try to kiss her, and what she would do about that.

He didn’t. He just closed the door after she got in, waved
good-bye, and walked back inside Ceili. He’d seen someone he knew on the way
out, and he wanted to go talk to him.

Rain was predicted, so she wasn’t surprised when, by the time
she hit Route 2, the heavens opened. She flipped her wipers on high and leaned
forward. In the dark it was really hard to see. Her windshield was smearing.
She was always forgetting to clean it.

Focused as she was on the road ahead, Cassie was oblivious to
what was behind her. When she sat back in her seat, however, a headlight
blinded her. It was blue and it was mis-aimed.

Cassie’s heart began to pound. Panicked, she fumbled for her
cell phone, but it slid out of her grasp and onto the floor on the passenger
side. Glancing quickly around, she realized they were the only two cars on the
road. What should she do? Pulling over was not an option.

She decided to just keep driving. Gradually she increased her
speed. The car behind her kept pace. She estimated it was about 50 yards behind
her. The headlights were squarish … she memorized the pattern.

Keeping one hand on the wheel she leaned over and tried again
to reach her cell phone on the floor. She couldn’t do it. Frustrated, she sat
up and inadvertently jerked the wheel. The Cabrio swung back and forth
momentarily, and adrenaline shot through her. She got it under control and
glanced in the rear view mirror. The car was only twenty-five yards back.

The rains were coming harder now, hitting the windshield like
pellets, drumming on the roof in a staccato barrage. Cassie’s hands were
sweating and her throat was closed up. “Please go away, please go away,” she
said, over and over. She tried to remember the road ahead. State Route 2 would
wind all the way down to Solomon’s. In no event was she going to exit anywhere
near her home. Was there a state police barracks or a truck stop ahead? Yes,
she remembered one. How many miles was that? She increased her speed. Maybe a
cop would pull her over.

The car behind pulled a little closer. She strained but could
not see what kind it was in the dark. When she re-focused on the road ahead,
she saw a small, leafy branch in the road. “No!” she yelled, and she held on
tight as the little Cabrio rolled over it. The branch thumped and thudded under
the car.

“Okay, okay, okay, stay calm,” she told herself, but her
hands were shaking and her knees were weak. And then she looked up. Straight
ahead a deer was standing in the middle of the road, illuminated for a moment
by lightning. “No!” she screamed. She instinctively pulled right. The Cabrio
went on to the shoulder. Cassie hit the brakes, then she hit the accelerator
again. The car skidded, fishtailing on the wet pavement. She fought for
control. It pulled to the right and the right wheels dropped part of the way into
a ditch. The car shuddered and shook and Cassie gripped the wheel. Bushes and
weeds flapped against the windshield, while sticks and rocks rattled against
the underbelly of the car.

As the Cabrio finally rolled to a stop, the car behind her
whizzed by. Cassie looked up just in time to see a flash of lightning
illuminate the passenger compartment. The driver was wearing a floppy
light-colored hat.

Cassie’s heart was in her throat.

Shaking, Cassie unbuckled, retrieved her cell phone, and
called the State Police. Her car was down in the ditch. She was in too deep and
couldn’t get out. Then, her mind churning, she called information, got the
number for Ceile, called it and asked for Rick. Maybe he could help her.

“Sorry, he’s already left,” the bartender said, shouting over
the music. “You just missed him.”

Cassie hung up her cell phone, locked her doors, and sat back
to wait for the police.

“I … I think it’s okay. I just need a tow,” she said to the
trooper when he arrived. They were standing in the rain, looking at the little
Cabrio.

“It was a deer, you say?” he asked her, shining his
flashlight in her face.

“It was right in the road.” She shivered involuntarily.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight, miss?”

“Yes. A tall mocha latte. And water with lemon.”

He laughed. Fortunately. And then he returned to his cruiser
and called a tow truck.

It took an hour to get the car out and by that time, the
rains had slowed to a gentle sprinkle. Once it was back on the pavement, Cassie
was happy to find the Cabrio was drivable. It was scratched up, but no major
damage was done.

“You drive carefully now, miss,” the trooper said, and Cassie
waved good-bye with relief.

Later, when she got into bed, she pulled the covers up to her
chin and stared into the blackness. When she closed her eyes, all she could see
was a mis-aimed blue halogen headlight. Had the car tried to run her off the
road? No, it was the deer, she kept reminding herself. She’d had to brake for a
deer. But alone in the dark, fear began to play tricks with her mind. Was she
run off the road? Or was it just an accident?

† † †

Wednesday morning Jake sat in the kitchen, lost in thought.
The doctor’s office had called. The tests had found a spot on Jake’s brain,
damage from the blow he’d taken, that might be causing his seizures. The doctor
would like to talk to him right away about brain surgery.

Brain surgery? That was not something Jake wanted to talk
about at all. No thank you … the risks were too high. But what were the
alternatives? Living like this for the rest of his life? Trying yet another
medication?

Sighing, Jake pushed himself out of the chair. Trudy would be
down in a minute. He had a short time to consider his options … what should he
do?