Jeff Abbott - Black Joint Point

Whit went back to his car and his cell phone rang in his pocket. He answered. Within a minute, he was roaring out of the marina parking lot, speeding toward the Port Leo hospital.

‘Jesus, you look good,’ Whit said, touching Claudia’s hair. Lotion covered her skin, bandages wrapped her hands, an IV dripped into her arm. Her lips were swollen like jelly candies, her face blasted red with sunburn.

‘You’re the worst liar on the planet. I look like hell. I feel like I ran a marathon. On my knees.’

She had spent nearly eight hours in the Gulf, treading water, waving her, as she told him, ‘goddamned red pillow’, until a sailboat with a retired Michigan couple aboard spotted her and pulled her from the water. They’d hurried her into Port Aransas. Even before they reached Mustang Island, she was wrapped in heavy blankets and on the radio with the coast guard, telling them about the kidnapping, giving them details on Jupiter and Miss Catherine, and saying that Danny was headed to Stoney’s house at Copano Flats, off the bay.

‘Danny Laffite,’ Whit said. ‘Christ.’

‘But his boat didn’t make it. Apparently it sunk earlier in the day, a bit off the Flats. No sign of Danny. And no one is at Stoney’s house. They’ve sent people looking for him.’

‘I saw him today.’ Whit let go of her hand, sat on the edge of her bed. When he’d arrived she’d scooted her hovering parents out and asked a worried David to give them a moment’s privacy, which had been granted with a frown but not an argument. She’d been talking with the coast guard command, the sheriff’s office, and the FBI had been summoned in from Houston.

‘Why?’ she asked.

He told her the complete story then, all of it, from the discovery of Patch’s and Thuy’s bodies, the links he kept finding between Stoney Vaughn and Patch, the connection to the Laffite League, Triple A and Helen Dupuy, the murder a month ago at Danny Laffite’s house, the suicide of Jimmy Bird and the coins found in his pocket, his theory about a treasure dig.

She told him Danny’s story. Whit sat.

‘It’s David’s case,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure there was enough evidence about these connections… but based on what you’ve said-’

‘We need to find Stoney Vaughn. Find Ben.’ She closed her eyes. ‘danny and his thugs were demanding ransom for us right after the kidnapping. At least as of this morning, Stoney thought Danny had his brother. Which suggests to me that Stoney paid no ransom or the redhead – Danny says his name is Zack – never picked up the ransom.’

David stuck his head back into the room. ‘Pardon me, Whit, but we need to talk to her some more.’

‘Actually,’ Claudia said, ‘we all need to talk.’

An hour later, Claudia said good-bye to Whit, gave a feeble wave.

David watched him go. ‘I mean, you and him, you can just take the fucking case yourselves.’

‘David, no one could know that it was a much more involved case than anyone-’ she started, but he was mad, his skin flushed.

‘Christ. You’re both gonna make me look like an utter fool. All this other stuff, it still doesn’t change the fact that Jimmy Bird killed himself, left a suicide note pretty much admitting he killed Gilbert and Tran. The FBI’s handling the kidnapping. They’ll take it from me quick, and if all this is mixed up together, the Feds’ll take that case from me, too. What the hell am I supposed to do, Claudia?’ He stared at her, wobbled on his feet. ‘You could have been killed. Christ.’

‘I’m okay. I’m okay, David.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘Find Stoney. Find Ben. Stoney Vaughn seems to be the driving force behind all this mess. Y’all find him – he’s the key to this whole case.’

He nodded. It was like they were still married, she thought. He knew what to do on a tough case but he had trouble delving to the heart of the matter, letting himself get distracted too easily. ‘Stoney Vaughn. Yes, you’re right.’

He went and poured them each a cup of ice water. He brought her hers; she wasn’t so thirsty now, with the IV hydrating her, but she took a sip on her sore lips.

‘I need some more information from you if we’re to find your… boyfriend.’ He said the last like he had a roach in his mouth.

‘David,’ she said gently, ‘this clearly upsets you. Why don’t you let me talk to another investigator?’

‘It doesn’t upset me.’

She let it be.

He sat on the edge of the bed, had a notebook out but didn’t open it.

‘What else did you want to know?’

‘Um…’

‘Because I’m exhausted, David. I’m really, really exhausted. I’d like to get some sleep.’

‘Sure.’ He stood. ‘sure. I’ll be back soon. You rest.’ And awkwardly, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, quickly, chastely.

She watched him step out of the room.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d be out of the hospital. She’d check herself out, help in the search for Ben and Stoney. The FBI, she knew, would be poring over the Vaughn house, looking for Jupiter up and down the Texas coast.

Maybe Ben still breathed. She’d find him if he did. And if he didn’t, she’d find the bastards who’d killed him.

She fell asleep.

The elderly couple had lived near Encina Pass for nearly seventy years, close to the bay, in an old, small house made of heavy cypress. When the knock came on the door both were nearly asleep, having dozed off during a particularly boring cable movie. The old woman nearly jumped out of her skin with fright, touched the rollers in her hair in case one had worked loose. The old man rose from his recliner and answered the door.

The young man standing on the front stoop was sopping wet, with a heavy bruise marring his nose and cheekbones, like he’d been in a crash, smelling of the bay, shivering in the night heat, a broken pair of handcuffs dangling from his wrist. One finger was purpled, clearly broken.

‘Could you – could you please call the police?’ the young man stammered. ‘My name is Ben Vaughn and I was kidnapped by some crazy people. I think they killed my girlfriend.’

Alex Black returned to his motel room Friday night, tired, frazzled, in need of a shower. He stood in the shower’s hot spray for nearly twenty minutes until the water began to cool. He scrubbed soap hard into his skin and scalp until his body tingled. Then he toweled off with a vengeance, put on shorts and a T-shirt.

His cell phone rang. He picked it up, glanced at the readout. His father, calling from south Florida. At least it wasn’t that dumb shit Stoney, him he couldn’t deal with any more tonight.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, son, how are you?’ Big Bert’s voice was dry with cancer, but optimistic, like always.

‘You chasing the ladies tonight? Taking a breather to call me?’ It was an old game between them, pretending an active romantic life was barreling ahead at full steam. Suddenly Alex’s throat felt thick.

‘I chase ’em but they run faster’n me these days.’ A pause. ‘Sure would like to see you soon.’

‘Probably another few days,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

‘Dig keeping you busy?’

‘Client’s a big pain, but it’s okay.’

A dry click in his father’s throat. ‘Find anything interesting?’

‘Well, not as interesting as gold,’ Alex said, trying to cheer the old man up.

‘What you getting?’ Big Bert asked.

‘Pottery shards, bones, arrowheads.’

‘Not much junk to keep you from your old man.’

Alex didn’t like his tone. Not telling something, skirting an issue. ‘You feeling okay?’

His father gave a soft burp and Alex figured one of Big Bert’s friends had sneaked him beer into the hospice again. ‘Don’t you get thrown out of All Saints, having a party.’