Michael Connelly - Blood Work

“Think so,” Buddy said. “I don’t see anyone and nobody grabbed me on the way in. I didn’t see anything that looked like an unmarked cop car out in the lot, either.”

“What’s my boat look like?”

There was a silence while Buddy took a look.

“It’s still there. Looks like they got yellow tape strung between the piers, like you’re not supposed to go on it or something.”

“Okay, Bud, I’m coming in. I’m going to go into the laundry first and stick my bag in one of the dryers. If I go to the boat and get jumped by them, you come get the bag and sit on it until I get out. You okay with that?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, listen. If everything goes okay on the boat, I won’t be staying long, so I’m going to say this now, thanks for everything, Buddy, you’ve been a big help.”

“No sweat, man. I don’t care about what these bastards are trying to do to you. I know you’re cool.”

McCaleb thanked him again and hung up, then picked up his bag and started carrying it under his arm as he headed toward the marina. He first ducked into the laundry and found an empty dryer in which to stow the bag. He then made it all the way to the boat without problem. Before unlocking the slider he took one last look around the marina and saw nothing amiss, nothing that raised an alarm. He noticed the dark form of Buddy Lockridge sitting in the cockpit of the Double-Down. He heard a wah-wah tremolo from a harmonica and he nodded toward the shadow figure. He then slid open the door.

The boat smelled stuffy and stale but there was still a lingering scent of perfume. He guessed Jaye Winston had left it behind. He didn’t turn on a light but rather reached for the flashlight clamped on the underside of the chart table. He flicked it on and held the light down at his side and pointing at the floor. He headed below, knowing he had to move quickly. He just wanted to grab enough clothes, drugs and medical supplies to last him a few days. He figured, one way or the other, it would be all the time he would get.

He opened one of the hallway hatches and got out the large duffel bag. He then went into the master stateroom and gathered the clothes he would need. Doing it surreptitiously by flashlight slowed the process down but finally he had what he needed.

When he was done, he carried the bag across the hallway to the head to gather drugs, medical supplies and his clipboard. He put the open bag on the sink and was about to begin laying in the pharmaceutical boxes and vials when he realized something. When he had crossed the hallway, there had been a light on topside. The galley light. Or maybe one of the overheads in the salon. He momentarily froze and tried to listen for any sound from above while he reviewed his own movements. He was sure he had not put on a light when he had come in.

He listened nearly half a minute but there was nothing. He quietly stepped back into the hallway and looked up the stairway. He stood stock still and listened again while trying to weigh his options. The only way out besides going back up the stairs was the deck hatch in the roof of the forward stateroom. But it would be foolish to think that whoever was topside didn’t have that escape route covered.

“Buddy,” he called. “Is that you?”

The answer came after a long beat of silence.

“No, Terry, it’s not Buddy.”

A female voice. McCaleb recognized it.

“Jaye?”

“Why don’t you come on up?”

He looked back into the head. The flashlight was inside the duffel bag, illuminating little else but its contents. Otherwise he was in the dark.

“I’m coming up.”

She was sitting on the cushioned swivel chair near the teak coffee table. He had apparently gone right past her in the dark. He slid into the matching chair on the other side of the salon.

“Hello, Jaye. How’s it going?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“Same here. I was going to call you in the morning.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“And where are your friends?”

“They’re not my friends. And they definitely aren’t your friends, Terry.”

“Didn’t sound like it. So what’s going on? How come you’re here and they’re not?”

“Because every now and then one of us dopey locals turns out to be smarter than the bureau boys.”

McCaleb smiled without humor.

“You knew I’d have to come back for my medicine.”

She returned the smile and nodded.

“They figure you’re already halfway to Mexico if you’re not there already. But I saw that cabinet full of drugs and knew you had to come back. It was like a leash.”

“So now you get to take me in and get the bust and get the glory.”

“Not necessarily.”

He did not respond at first. He thought about her words, wondering how she was playing this.

“What are you saying, Jaye?”

“I’m saying my gut is telling me one thing, the evidence something else. I usually trust my gut.”

“Me too. What evidence are you talking about? What did you people find in here today?”

“Nothing much, just a baseball hat with the CI logo on it. We figured out it means Catalina Island and it matches the description James Noone gave of the cap the driver of the Cherokee was wearing. Then nothing else-until we opened up the top drawer of that chart table.”

McCaleb looked over at the chart table. He remembered opening the top drawer and checking it after the intruder had been scared off the night before. There was nothing in there amiss or that could hurt him.

“What was in it?”

“In it? Nothing. It was underneath. Taped underneath.”

McCaleb got up and went to the chart drawers. He pulled the top drawer out and turned it over. He ran his finger over the adhesive residue left by pieces of heavy tape. He smiled and shook his head. He thought about how quickly the intruder could have come in, taken a pretaped package and slapped it up under the open drawer.

“Let me guess,” he said. “It was a plastic-”

“No. Don’t say anything. You say anything and it could come back to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, Terry.”

“I’m not worried about that. Not anymore. So let me guess. Under the drawer was a bag-a Ziploc type of bag. Inside it was the cross earring taken from Gloria Torres and a photograph of James Cordell’s family. The one taken from his car.”

Winston nodded. McCaleb returned to his seat.

“You left out Donald Kenyon’s cuff link,” she said. “Sterling silver, in the shape of a dollar sign.”

“I didn’t know about that. I bet Nevins and Uhlig and that asshole Arrango put on six inches apiece when they found that bag.”

“They were strutting all right,” she said, nodding. “It made them very happy.”

“But not you.”

“No. It was too easy.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“You know, Terry, you don’t seem very concerned that evidence linking you to three murders was found in your boat. Not to mention the obvious motive you have for those murders.” She nodded toward McCaleb’s chest. “No, you look like, at best, you are maybe moderately annoyed. You want to tell me why?”

McCaleb leaned forward, elbows on his knees. This brought his face more fully into the light.

“It was all planted, Jaye. The hat, earring, everything. Last night somebody broke in here. He didn’t take anything. So he must’ve left things. I’ve got witnesses. I’m being set up. I don’t know why, but it’s a setup.”

“Well, if you’re thinking Bolotov, forget it. He’s been in Van Nuys jail since his parole officer picked him up Sunday afternoon.”

“No, I’m not thinking Bolotov. He’s in the clear.”

“That sure sounds like a different tune.”