All Through the Night (9 page)

FOURTEEN

A
s far as Wayne was concerned, John’s Island was seriously misnamed. The place should have been called Castle-by-the-Sea.

Two lanes ran side by side, one for cars and the other for golf carts. Wayne spotted a couple in matching togs and tans seated inside an electric surrey, right down to the fringed top. They were followed by a metallic silver cart with a fake Rolls Royce hood. Palms marched down both sides of both lanes in well-behaved rows. The orderliness defied anyone to speak an improper word or break rules that had no need of being posted. Even Tatyana lost her taste for speed.

“I hate this place already,” Wayne declared.

Tatyana was too busy being tense to respond. She turned into a drive of pearl-white paving stones and rumbled up to a palace only slightly smaller than Disney’s. Two peaked turrets sprouted from opposite ends, both sheathed in plates of polarized glass. The effect was like being inspected by a pair of frog eyes wearing Wayfarers.

She cut the motor but made no move to open her door. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you.”

“How did the cop know about the problem here?”

“He doesn’t exactly …” She waved that aside. “I need to tell you something. I fear I may have misspoken. The angel did not say my associate must find a warrior.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in angels.”

The hand waved a second time. “What he said was, my associate’s challenge was to find himself a hero.”

“Mr. Grusza, did I say that right? Easton Grey.”

The man had a gaze to match his name, clear as winter smoke, biting and deep. There was nothing easy about this man—no wasted motion, no spare flesh. He was not small so much as economical. Wayne decided he would hate to sit across the poker table from this guy.

That is, if a guy who believed in angels played cards.

Mr. Grey might have been dressed for at-home casual. He might offer Wayne a buddy handshake and lead them through the living room into a small parlor by the kitchen. He might even pour coffee for them himself. But there was no question in Wayne’s mind. Right from the get-go, he knew.

This guy was the real deal.

While on duty, he had met a couple of generals. Not on parade. In the field. Out where it counted. And both of those guys, they could take their medals off and pack away all the stars, and they would still be who they were. Leaders.

Just like this guy.

“How do you take your coffee, Mr. Grusza?”

“Black is fine.”

“Take a seat anywhere. Tatyana, would you like anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Grey.”

Wayne noted that. How even the frost queen was toned down in front of this guy. And no hint of lovey-dovey between them. Just a superior and his subordinate. Two pros.

Here to discuss a divine visitation.

“Do you believe in God, Mr. Grusza? I know your father was a pastor.”

“And his sister,” Tatyana added.

“Of course. But I still need to know. Are you a man of abiding faith?”

Wayne set his coffee on the table between them. “Probably not.”

Wayne took his time and scanned the place. The floors were patterned marble throughout all the rooms he had seen, including the kitchen. The coved ceilings were too high to measure, sixteen or maybe even eighteen feet. The kitchen had an open layout, with domed little false halls separating it from the living room on one side and the dining room on the other. The room where they now sat was an alcove that fronted onto the pool area and a long sloping lawn. A brown-haired girl in awkward adolescence tossed a Frisbee to a barking Lab. Beyond a border of blooming trees sparkled the blue-blue Indian River. And beyond that, over on the mainland, was a community of retirees in their little houses, three of which could fit into this guy’s living room. Reality.

Grey asked, “Are you saved?”

The guy would just not let it go. “As a kid I walked the walk, but mostly for my dad. When I left home I pretty much left all the God stuff as well. So the answer is, I really have no idea.”

They were seated in padded rattan chairs, with a glass-topped rattan table between them. The table was octagonal, like the room. The table was positioned precisely over an identical section of marble laid into the floor. The marble was as blue as the waters beyond the bay windows.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time God uses a miracle to bring a nonbeliever home.”

To either side of Grey’s chair were smaller versions of the rattan table. On one rested an open Bible, a pad, and a pencil. The two pages of Scripture Wayne could see were heavily annotated, words underlined, passages highlighted, comments scrawled in the top and bottom and side margins.

Grey said, “Obviously my questions have made you uncomfortable, Mr. Grusza. I apologize. But you must understand that this is a very important issue to me.”

A well-kept woman of middle years entered the kitchen. Wayne took her for Grey’s wife. She paused by the central island, straightened a container on the granite top, and moved out of Wayne’s field of vision. Something about the way she held herself, or how she glanced over and took them all in, the tight focus she pressed upon Wayne, left him certain. There was nothing off hand about her passage.

Wayne said, “Could you tell me about what happened?”

“I was at the dentist.”

“When was it?”

“A week ago. Last Thursday afternoon. The dentist was running late. There was some kind of emergency. The receptionist asked if I’d like to reschedule, but it was so hard to find the time, I thought I might as well stay. I returned a couple of calls. Gradually the place emptied out until I was the only one left. That was when he appeared.”

The young girl passed by their window. Up close she resembled her father a lot—the same spare frame, the same intelligent grey eyes, the same reserve. She gave Wayne a hard stare, then glanced at her father. Clearly very worried. The Lab kept tugging on the Frisbee she held in her right hand, trying to get her to play some more. But the girl knew what was going on inside that little room, and it worried all the play out of her.

Wayne asked, “Can you describe this person?”

“African-American. Hard to guess his age. Late twenties, possibly a bit older. I’d put him at about six feet. A handsome, strong-looking face, clearly defined angles, hair cropped very short. Not big. But he moved like an athlete.”

“How was he dressed?”

“Florida standard—polo shirt, pressed khakis, loafers.”

“Anything about him that caught your eye?”

“Nothing except a sense of power.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was a messenger sent by the Most High God.”

The way Grey spoke the words, calm and straight ahead, made the angel almost real. “You didn’t think to question this?”

“At first I thought he was a pastor. I meet so many of them. Perhaps I had donated to his cause, or maybe he was going to ask me for help. I had a thousand thoughts running through my head. But one thought stood out above all the others. This man was for real.”

Wayne glanced over. Tatyana had extracted a notepad and silver pen. But she wrote nothing. And she saw only her boss. Her expression was unreadable. But her features had gone very pale. Wayne asked, “What else did he say?”

“The exchange lasted a grand total of ninety seconds. He told me that he had been sent to warn me. That I and my family and my charges were in grave danger.”

“That was the word he used, ‘charges’?”

The skin around his eyes tightened. “You know, that was an interesting thing. When he said the word, he hesitated. Like he was searching for the right term, the way a foreigner might.”

Tatyana said, “You didn’t mention this before.”

“It just struck me.”

Wayne asked, “Did he have an accent?”

“None at all. What I mean is, I couldn’t say if he was American or not. He spoke English. His voice was very deep, very strong. He told me that we were in real and immediate danger. He said that for the sake of my family and my future, I needed to take refuge in my home. I should remove myself from my work. I should watch and pray. I should seek out a hero. A man with a warrior’s past, who had learned to set aside his weapons and who gave no importance to money. A man who was strong when others were weak.”

Easton Grey stared not at the sunlight-dappled waters beyond his lawn, but at the past. “The angel walked to the door. Then it was almost like he read my mind, because I hadn’t said a word, I was too shocked. He said, ‘If you identify the right hero, he will know what needs doing.’ Then he left.”

Tatyana gave him a minute, then said, “Tell him what happened next.”

Grey directed his words at his aide. “I walked over to the receptionist. She was busy on the phone and it took a while. When she hung up I asked her who the man was that had just left. She asked, ‘What man?’ I described him. She said there was no African-American patient scheduled that day, and no new patient that week. She had no idea who I was talking about.”

Wayne said, “Somebody got to her.”

Grey nodded slowly. “That’s certainly a possibility.”

Wayne studied the man. This corporate general. “But you don’t think so.”

“Well.” Grey almost managed a smile. “I’d hate to think I’ve spent a week in hiding for no reason.”

FIFTEEN

W
hen they drove back down the retirement compound’s central avenue, they noticed a police car in front of the community center and another parked over by the lane leading to the waterfront homes.

Tatyana said, “Something’s happened to one of the seniors.”

“Or Julio’s done something really special,” Wayne replied. Thanks a lot, Eilene.

Before they had emerged from the car, Jerry came hustling over. “You ain’t gonna believe this.”

“Tell me it’s not Julio.”

“What? No. The kid’s …Tell the truth, I been so busy I have no idea where the kid is.” The man revealed a side Wayne had never seen before. A cop in high gear.

Tatyana remained by the car. “I need to get back to the office.”

Jerry said, “You got a minute, you might want to tag along.”

Wayne said, “I need to speak with you.”

“First you are coming with me,” Jerry insisted.

Tatyana looked genuinely worried. She had a two-fisted grip on the car’s roof and door, intent on not going anywhere. “I will wait here.”

Jerry studied her, reading the woman at below skin level. “Come on, let’s go.” He waited until they had crossed the lot to say, “That lady’s got a thing about bad news.”

“Or cops.”

“Nah. I told her what I did, or used to do, she didn’t bat an eye. A lady who drives a car like that ain’t afraid of the odd runin with the law.” They hooked a left on the oyster-shell lane and headed down toward the bay. “I seen that before. Some folks get spooked on account of how things’ve gone down before.”

As Jerry’s house came into view, he lowered his voice and said, “Might be a good idea not to go into a lot of detail about the other night.”

The two cops were waiting in Jerry’s minuscule front yard. Each house had patches of private ground before and behind. Some grew flowers. Others set up borders and laid out Japanese-style gardens of stones and miniature trees. Jerry had a cluster of indoor-outdoor chairs set at an angle where the occupants could see the water. A young cop leaned against the side of Jerry’s screened-in porch. Holly was seated between Foster and a heavy-set cop. His jacket was tossed over the back of his chair, revealing a badge and pistol clipped to his belt. He asked, “This the guy?”

“Wayne Grusza, Detective Mehan, Naples Police.”

The detective was built like a cinder block and had a grip to match. “Grab a chair, Grusza. You don’t mind answering a few questions, right?”

“That depends.”

“Now, that’s not the sort of answer I’d expect from an innocent man.”

“Innocent of what?”

Mehan’s smile was a rubbery stretch of face and lips, there and gone. “Where’s the lady I been hearing about?”

“She elected to stay by her car,” Jerry said.

Mehan said to his young associate, “Why don’t you go have a word, see if she’ll join us.”

Jerry warned, “She’s a little skittish.”

“Make sure she understands how important this is.”

When the other cop had left, Mehan said, “I did a little checking around before I came over.” He lifted his chin toward Jerry. “It seems your friend here has buddies right up to the governor’s office. Five times decorated for bravery. Taught rookies at our own state school for five years, then decided he’d rather go back on the streets.”

Foster said, “I live next door to you for six years, and I gotta learn these things from a stranger?”

Mehan slipped off his sunglasses and polished them with his tie. “Me, they gave me a chance to sit in a classroom all day, I’d be off duty in a heartbeat.”

Wayne looked to where Jerry stood by the side of the house, his attention suddenly focused on the trees and the sparkling water. “He never mentioned any of that.”

Mehan turned to Wayne. “And I guess you never thought to tell him about your bronze star or the purple heart.”

Jerry looked up. “You took a hit?”

“What do you know. Something else you guys got in common. Besides breaking the law.” Mehan slipped a notebook from his pocket. “What I’d like to hear about is, how come two stand-up citizens got involved in a felonious B&E that apparently went totally wrong.”

Jerry said, “I never said anything about whatever you just mentioned.”

“And I wasn’t asking you.” Mehan’s sunglasses remained fixed on Wayne. “Well?”

“I was brought in to straighten out the community’s books. I discovered they had been victims of a scam. One operated by their former accountant, Zachary Dorsett.”

“You were sure about that. I’m asking, see, on account of how the experts I talked with at the state level said it was all supposition and conjecture.”

“They’re wrong.”

“Well, that sure works for me.”

“I can lay it out for you, but it took me weeks to work it out. Time your investigators at state weren’t willing to give to a group of no-count retirees. People living on tiny pensions and Social Security in a patchwork of cottages the size of double-wides. People without a shred of clout. People easy to ignore.”

“Hey, what do you know. Heat. I like that.” Mehan made a note. “We can call it motive.”

Jerry said to the waters, “Dorsett’s been murdered.”

Wayne felt a bitterness clogging his throat. A step or two ahead, just around the bend in a smelly concrete corridor, was a tiny room with bars. He heard the door give a foreboding clang. “That’s why you’re here?”

“What else could it possibly be, Mr. Grusza? Don’t tell me you’re responsible.”

Jerry said, “I called you and asked where the guy was located. I called back and asked who the guy worked for. You want to connect the dots from a couple of innocent questions to where we’re at?”

“Right now I’m just looking for a little help from a retired colleague. You want to make this official, say the word.”

Jerry gave Wayne a tight look. But his words were directed at Mehan. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Mehan looked like he was tempted not to respond. But he gave in. “Victim was shot twice. In his front doorway. Either bullet would have done the trick. Spaced maybe two inches apart, both through the heart. ME puts the time of death at approximately five this morning.”

“A professional hit.”

“Sure,” the detective agreed. “Just like some highly trained former military joe might do, right?”

Holly rose unsteadily from her chair and staggered away. Jerry watched her go, then asked, “You got anything else?”

“The attackers totally trashed the house. They’re calling it a burglary.” Mehan turned to Wayne. “I’m still waiting.”

Wayne said carefully, “We went to see him. But not last night. Two nights before.”

“That’s real interesting. On account of how the guard station has no record of any visitors to the Dorsett residence for the entire week leading up to the day in question.”

“We confronted him over what he had done,” Wayne went on. “We left. He was alive and well when we departed.”

Mehan looked from one to the other. “I assume you both got somebody to account for your whereabouts last night.”

“That is correct, Officer.”

The unexpected voice turned them all around. Victoria was there, and she was not alone. From where Wayne sat, she appeared to lead an army. Grey haired and tottering on a variety of canes and walkers. But there. It looked to Wayne like almost the entire community had turned out.

If Mehan was impressed, he did not show it. “Oh look. An alibi.”

“As many as you need,” Victoria replied.

“Doggone right.” Harry, the semi-deaf guy, shouted from somewhere at the back, “We take care of our own.”

“Make way, there. Coming through.” The other cop led Tatyana forward. The woman looked shrunk down within herself. “The lady’s got something she wants to report, Lieutenant.”

“About Dorsett?”

“No. About this guy Jerry mentioned. The rich dude.”

“Easton Grey.” This from Tatyana. “He’s the victim of another scam.”

Mehan was not pleased. “We’re not here to talk about some scam that might or might not have taken place.”

Victoria replied, “Well, you should be.”

Wayne said, “Dorsett basically confessed to fleecing these people.”

“Which was just prior to you shooting him, right?”

“We didn’t shoot anybody. Try and look beyond that for just a second,” Jerry said. “There’s something seriously devious about two professional scams happening so close together.”

“Let’s get this straight.” Mehan wrestled himself out of the plastic chair. “You got old folks who let some rip-off pro in a CPA suit waltz in here and steal their dough.”

“So you’re accepting there was a scam.”

“What I’m saying is, let me finish.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the barrier island. “And you got one of the richest guys in the state who’s been scared out of his corporate suit, and you’re telling me they’re connected?”

Jerry shrugged. “It’s too much of a coincidence, is all I’m saying.”

“Well, hey, I’d say that’s enough for us to take straight to the DA.”

Jerry was untouched by the man’s bitter sarcasm. “You don’t mind, I’d like a copy of Dorsett’s photo. Show it to Grey, see if he recognizes him.”

Mehan worked on that for a while, but couldn’t find anything wrong with the request. “I’ll lift the picture from the guy’s driver’s license.”

Jerry said, “Back to the scam. Dorsett declared bankruptcy before taking off with our money. Claimed he got ripped off the same as everybody else.”

“Are you going somewhere with that?”

“Think about it. The guy makes such a bad move he goes bust along with his client. Next thing you know, he’s got himself another job, one that gives him a castle on the water.”

“So somebody decides to give him a second chance.” But Mehan put no force behind his words.

“I’d like the name of his employer, and whoever owned that fortress he was living in. Pass the names by Grey, see if they ring a bell.”

“I’ll think about it.” Mehan motioned to the other cop, then said to Wayne, “We’ll be back.”

Wayne did not wait for the others to disperse. He figured the afternoon would run true to form, the people doing the old folks routine of standing around and talking the thing to death. He was suddenly too tired to care. The previous few days had released an entire lifetime of fatigue. He slipped through the crowd and took aim for the house.

But when he arrived back, he thought he had gone to the wrong place.

It was full of people. Old people. People he knew vaguely or not at all. And they were
doing
things. Scrubbing at the stubborn chips of paint he had not managed to scrape off the doorframes. Washing dishes. Going over his new countertops. Sweeping out the piles of sawdust and debris he’d managed to ignore. Even the maintenance guy was there, putting a coat of paint on the living room walls.

Hilda was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the porch floor. She glared at him and snapped, “Who lives like this? I’ll tell you who. A nincompoop lives like this. A rat lives like this. You call this healthy?”

That was when Foster caught up with Wayne. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Hilda exclaimed, “Look at what I’m finding here. Germs I’m finding. Accidents waiting to happen. You’re going to bring that nice young lady back to
this
?”

“That’s enough, Hilda.”

Wayne asked, “What are they doing?”

“Saying thanks,” Foster replied.

“And just what will that nice young lady think of you, she sees this mess of a house?” Hilda shook her wire brush at him. “What will she think of us, letting you live like a rat in his hole?”

Wayne made a mess of expressing his gratitude. He finally slipped into the back room, shut the door, sat down on the bed, pried off his shoes, lay down, and fell asleep to the sound of others working on his home.