James Patterson - Lifeguard

He went over to a minifridge and opened a Pete’s for me. Then he sat on the fridge. “I figure you’re not here for the brew, now, are you, mate?”

I shook my head. “I’m in deep shit, Geoff.”

He snorted. “You think just ’cause my brain’s half fried and I’m drunk the other half of the time, I can’t read the papers, Ned? Well, that might be true – but I can turn on the TV.”

“You know I didn’t do any of that stuff, Champ.” I looked him in the eye.

“You’re preaching to the choir, mate. You think anyone who actually knows you believes you’re going around the country, killing every bloke you meet? It’s the rest of the world I’d be worried about. I was sorry about those friends of yours, Ned, and your brother. Just what kind of mess are you in?”

“The kind that needs help, Geoff. Lots of it.”

He shrugged. “You can’t be aiming very high if you’re coming to me.”

“I guess I’m coming” – I swallowed – “to the only place I can.”

Geoff winked, and tipped his beer toward me. “Been there ,” he said, nodding. “It’s a long straight shot down from number one, ’specially when you can’t see straight in the morning, not to mention trying to drive it, taking spoon curves at one hundred eighty miles an hour. I don’t have much cash, mate, sorry. But I know how to get you out of here, if that’s what you need. Know these boats that sneak in past the Coast Guard down the coast a bit, whatever the hell they’re carrying. Guess they go back out as well. I bet Costa Rica sounds good about now, right?”

I shook my head. “I’m not trying to leave, Geoff. I want to prove I didn’t do these things. I want to find out who did.”

“I see…You and which army, mate?”

“I figure it’s that, or kill myself,” I said.

“Been there, too.” Geoff rubbed an oily hand over his orange hair. “Shit, seems I’m perfectly qualified to lend a hand after all. That, and I’m a sucker for a lost cause. But you know that, don’t you, Neddie-boy? That’s why you’re here.”

“That,” I said, “and no other place to go.”

“Flattered.” Champ took another swig of beer. “You know, of course, I get caught just in the general zip code with you, I could risk everything here. My business, the comeback.”

He got up and limped over to a sink, looking as if he had crawled out of a scrum after two hours of rugby. He washed the grease off his hands and face. “Oh, screw the comeback, mate… But we oughta get one thing straight before I commit.”

“I won’t put your ass in any danger, Champ, if that’s what you mean.”

“ Danger ?” He looked at me as if I were crazy. “You must be joking, mate. I fly through gasoline fires for three hundred bucks a shot. I was only thinking…You are fucking innocent, aren’t you, Ned?”

“Of course I’m innocent, Geoff.”

He chewed on the beer bottle for a few seconds. “Okay, that makes things easier… Anyone ever tell you, you’re a hard fucking bargainer, Ned?” Champ’s eyes crinkled into a smile.

I went over and extended a hand, then pulled him toward me. “I didn’t have anyone else to turn to, Geoff.”

“Don’t get all maudlin on me, Neddie. Whatever you got in store is a whole lot safer than the usual line of work. But before we crack a beer on it, you must have some kind of plan. Who else do we have in the pit?”

“Some girl,” I said. “I hope.”

“Some girl?” Geoff squinted.

“Good news is, I think she believes me, too.”

“Good to know, mate. We’ll overwhelm ’em with numbers. So what’s the bad news, then?”

I frowned. “Bad news is, she’s with the FBI.”

“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT.” Special Agent in Charge Moretti stood up at his desk, staring at Ellie. His jaw had dropped in something between shock and disbelief. “You want me to bring in Dennis Stratton for questioning for murder?”

“Look,” Ellie said, taking out the evidence bag containing the black golf tee from Tess McAuliffe’s room. “You see this, George? When I questioned Stratton at his home, he took the same black golf tee out of his pocket. They’re from the Trump International Golf Club. Stratton’s a member there. It ties him to the scene.”

“It ties in a couple of hundred other people,” Moretti said, blinking. “I hear Rudy Giuliani’s a member. You want to bring him in too?”

Ellie nodded. “If he was having a relationship with Tess McAuliffe, George, yes .”

Ellie opened her file, placing Dennis Stratton’s photo on his desk. “I went back to the Brazilian Court and showed this around. He knew her, George. He more than knew her. They were having an affair.”

Moretti stared right through her. “You went around to a crime scene that’s not even our jurisdiction with a picture of one of the most prominent men in Palm Beach? I thought we had an understanding, Ellie. You don’t get to look into the dead people. You get to trace the art.”

“They’re tied together, George. The art, Stratton, Tess McAuliffe too. A waiter recognized him. They were having an affair.”

“And what would you like me to charge him with, Special Agent? Cheating on his wife?”

Moretti came around the desk and shut his door. Then he leaned on the edge of his desk, towering over her, like a reproving school principal.

“Dennis Stratton isn’t some punk you slap up against the wall without real evidence, Ellie. You went back to the Brazilian Court, overriding my orders, on a case that’s not even ours? You’ve been baiting this guy from the beginning. Now you want to bring him in. For murder?”

“He had a relationship with the victim. How do we not look into it?”

“I don’t quite get you, Ellie. We’ve got a suspect who put a goddamn gun to your head in Boston, whose prints are all over two murder scenes. Whose brother turns up dead and who turns out to have been with this McAuliffe gal the day she was killed. And it’s Dennis Stratton you want me to bring in?”

“Why would Kelly kill the girl? He was falling for her, George. Stratton’s lying, George. He didn’t come clean about knowing the victim. He didn’t mention it when the Palm Beach police were there.”

“How do you know he didn’t mention it to the Palm Beach PD?” Moretti asked. “Have you checked their depositions on the case?” Moretti blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ll run it by the PBPD. I give you my word. How’s that, okay? You’re just going to have to learn to trust that the agencies assigned to see these cases through are doing their job. Just like you have to do, right? Your job .”

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded. She had taken it as far as she could.

“Just one more thing…” Moretti added, putting his arm around Ellie’s shoulder as he ushered her to the office door. “You ever go around me again on something like this, your next job’ll be investigating ‘going out of business’ sales for fraud in the stores down on Collins Avenue.

“Now that sure would be a waste of that fancy degree of yours, wouldn’t it, Special Agent Shurtleff?”

Ellie tucked the evidence folder under her arm. “Yes, sir,” she said, nodding, “it would be a waste.”

ELLIE ROLLED HER KAYAK through a cresting wave, righting the craft as the next wave started to swell.

It was a beauty, and she held the kayak in a tight draw, climbing, anticipating the moment, as the wave peaked.

Then she hit the sucker hard. For a second Ellie hung there in stationary bliss, then released into the curl as though she were shot out of a rocket, cold spray slapping her face.