“What can she do — what can you do?”
“Hold a news conference.”
“That should be an eye-opener. Where? When?”
“Soon. Maybe tomorrow. That way it’s all out in the wash. Detective Grant can take her into custody, at least she’ll be safer. I don’t believe he has the evidence he needs to get a conviction in the death of Lonnie Ebert. In the Bandini case, I think a jury will believe Courtney’s story, defending herself against a sociopathic rapist.”
“But the big question, the one the nation would like to hear the answer to is this: is Courtney Burke the girl you and Andrea Logan conceived twenty years ago?”
“It’s time to let the chips fall where they will. This is about the life of a young woman. It trumps political rhetoric.”
“Is she coming back to Ponce Inlet?”
“No, I gave her directions to my river cabin. I expect her around midnight. She’ll be coming down I-75, catching 441 over to 40. Dave, my battery’s dying. I gave her your number, too. If she calls, if she gets lost, remind her my place is two hundred yards on the right past the first Ocala National Forest sign off Highway 445.” I hit the End Call button and let out a long breath. Dave had been magnificent. All of his covert training continued to serve him well.
A half hour later, I was pulling into my gravel and oyster shell driveway leading down to my river cabin, a place I wish I could retreat to and take up yoga. Not today, and certainly not tonight. I was expecting guests, unannounced guests, and I’d leave the light on for them.
I was glad the seclusion of an old cabin on the river would allow me to walk into my home with a life-size sex doll and not give the neighbors a season’s worth of gossip. Although my anonymity was lost, no sense in carrying the label of a sexual pervert, too. My nearest neighbor was almost a mile away, at this moment in time, not far enough. “Max, what do you say we call our friend? How about Suzy?”
Max looked up at me and snorted.
I turned toward the always smiling doll and said, “We hope you enjoy our little place on the river. You’ll have a great view of the water. More importantly, those folks who’d like to shoot a bullet through your rubber head will see you, but not too well. At least that’s Plan A. I’ve been known to go through the alphabet with my Plan A’s. Back in a second.” I had a sudden recall of one of the scenes from the movie Castaway when the character that Tom Hanks played spoke to a soccer ball he named Wilson.
Max and I left the doll in the Jeep and walked around the perimeter of my cabin. I checked windows and doors for the slightest sign of intrusion, examined the dust and pollen on windowsills and doorknobs. I couldn’t see any overt signs that someone had entered my home.
And then there it was.
Max was sniffing something near a live oak. A boot print. A combat boot. I recognized the unique pattern or tread left in the dirt next to one of the largest live oaks on my property. The print was made from what was called a Panama sole. These combat boots are excellent in tropical terrain. I spotted some abrasions to the bark on the tree, a rather slight discoloration from the surrounding area of the trunk. The intruder had climbed the tree. When he’d dropped back down, he left the single well-defined boot print and a partial of another. Why had he climbed the tree? I looked from the perspective back to my house. A clear view.
Surveillance camera.
I jumped up to the first low-hanging limb, pulled myself on top of the limb and examined the tree. Someone had mounted a small camera to the limb. The camera was no larger than the water nozzle you’d attach to a garden hose. It was fastened to a metal plate bolted onto the limb. But the wires leading to a battery and a weather-sealed laptop were not attached. The job wasn’t finished.
So they already knew where I lived.
I dropped to the ground and looked at the western sky, to the horizon far beyond the oxbow in the river. It was less than a half hour before sunset, the clouds beginning to blush into pinks and soft merlot colors. I’d wait until the cover of darkness to move Suzy into the house. And then, at midnight, I’d wait for them. I walked twenty feet away from the tree, turned and fired a single shot into the lens of the camera they’d mounted, glass raining down like acorns dropping.
65
At 8:00 pm, I set the bait. I carried Suzy into the house, turned on the television, and placed my house guest in front of the screen. I positioned her so the flickering light from the TV screen would cast the silhouetted form of a woman against the curtains in front of the bay window. I adjusted the light levels in the room, walked outside and checked. Perfect. Since Suzy was presumably watching TV, no one should notice that she wasn’t moving. At least I was counting on no one noticing.
And now, the countdown. In the conversation I had with Dave, I’d told him — and whoever was listening — that Courtney Burke was expected to arrive at midnight. Would they plan to be here before that time, or could I expect them anytime between midnight and dawn? I didn’t know, but I did know what I needed in my hands to stop the intruders if they came as a team — two or more.
I went inside and opened the gun cabinet, removed my Remington Special Ops Tactical 12-gauge pump shotgun, and loaded the chamber and magazine with double-aught buckshot. I cleaned and reloaded my Glock. Learning to expect the unexpected, I was seldom surprised.
Max seemed anxious, pacing the floor once or twice, occasionally glancing at our silent and lifeless house guest. I didn’t want her in harm’s way, but I needed her uncanny sense of hearing. Her bark would be a short alarm, just the edge I’d need to have a better advantage against the intruder or intruders. I’d planned on locking Max in a back bedroom facing the western approach to my cabin. The darkest area of the property. I would be outside, hidden, waiting in the shadows or trees. My point-of — view would include a bird’s eye perspective of the entire property, especially the road frontage, my driveway, and the side of the house with the silhouette in the window.
I went back inside, secured Max in a bedroom, and dressed in dark jeans and black T-shirt. I sprayed insect repellent on my exposed body parts before stepping onto the screened-in front porch and reaching inside a bag of charcoal. I removed two briquettes, crushing them together in the palms of my hands. Then I rubbed the black residue all over my face, ears, arms and hands. I used a wet-wipe to keep my palms clean.
A curlew called out across the river somewhere on the edge of the national forest. The dying sunset cast the St. Johns in cavernous shade from the palms, oaks and weeping willows along the shore. The river was very still. Woven in between the saw-tooth shade was the reflection of clouds like clusters of purple grapes floating in red wine, a wiry mist frolicking off the water and painting the surface into a river of dreams.
But the illusion of tranquility was short lived. I spotted the ripple of a V formation as a massive alligator slowly swam from murky water beneath a cypress tree. It swam around cypress knees sprouting like knobby posts out of the water, the big gator’s nostrils and eyes above the surface.
I was wondering how I might carry out a plan without resulting to torture. The thought of replicating the use of gas on a stove, like what was almost tried on Kim, disgusted me. I’d prefer to use Mother Nature. She could be much more convincing.
I used an aluminum ladder to get to my lookout position — my rooftop, pulling the ladder up behind me. I’d taken a viewpoint position from behind my stone chimney, putting it between me and the road. That was three hours ago. Watching. Waiting. Mosquitoes orbited my head, whining off-key in my ears. I set the shotgun down and did twenty-five pushups, moving the blood, keeping my senses as sharp as possible.