Cactus Island, page 11
"This must be a professional job---maybe organized crime?"
"I suppose so. The FBI has been called in, which could be because of the possibility of kidnapping or because organized crime is involved. Unfortunately, they won't talk to me. They might talk to you, however. Why don't you contact them and tell them about the similarities between the two crime scenes? If they got involved, it could help both of us."
"Good idea, Ms. Waters. I'll contact your embassy and see if I can get them to contact me."
"Great. It's been nice talking to you."
"Likewise. I'll let you know if I discover anything of interest."
I couldn't wait to tell Stan and Cheryl what I had discovered. Now the only problem was to find out what Martin and Rubin had gotten themselves into and who would have benefited by their death or disappearance. My head was beginning to ache just thinking about that daunting task. It was time to call in Paul Thayer. It was going to take a lot of manpower to get to the bottom of this mess.
Paul agreed to meet me for lunch to discuss the case. We met in a little café in Ola Podrida across the street from our offices. We took a seat in a quiet corner in the back of the restaurant. Paul had worked on several cases for us in the past and had been instrumental in many of our successful verdicts. Paul was a quiet, thoughtful man who had worked for the FBI in his earlier years. He looked more like an accountant than a private investigator.
"That is a strange signature," he said thoughtfully. "The crime families I've dealt with in the past have used a much simpler method of sanitizing a crime---gasoline and a match."
I smiled. "Well, this job must have taken hours, and a lot of people must have been in the house to pull it off."
"What I don't understand," Paul said, "is why go to all this trouble? What were they trying to hide?"
"You know, I'm thinking this might be the work of the CIA or the military," I suggested. "It's just too clean a job for a criminal organization."
"Maybe. I'll check out that angle. If that's true, though, you better be careful. I'd hate for you to be the next person to disappear."
A jolt of fear shot through me. I hadn't thought through the implications of our investigation. If I discovered why Martin and Rubin had been kidnapped, I would become a threat to the abductors. Nevertheless, I couldn't let that possibility deter me. I owed it to Cheryl to diligently defend her even at my own peril. I'd just have to be careful and take measures to protect myself. I decided it was time to bring Bart up to speed. I hadn't wanted to worry him, so I hadn't mentioned that I was being followed. But now with Paul's warning I decided I had to tell him.
That night after dinner, Bart and I got a couple drinks and went out on the balcony to talk. I told him about my meeting with Paul Thayer and the situation with Rubin Quinlin. Then I told him about Paul's warning. His eyes widened. "You're being followed?"
"Yes, I think it's just a tabloid reporter looking for a scoop. They've been following Stan around too."
"You need to stay in the office and let Paul do the leg work from now on. No more amateur PI crap," Bart said.
"I can't sit around the office all day. I need to talk to witnesses, go to court, and follow up on leads."
"From now on you need take a bodyguard with you whenever you go out. It's too dangerous for you to be alone with all those lunatics hanging around and people following you. Have your witnesses come to you. Remember you're a lawyer, not a detective."
I took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm probably not in any danger. The guy following me is most likely harmless."
"I don't care. Promise me you'll keep a bodyguard with you at all times."
I hated the idea of having a bodyguard hanging around constantly. I liked my freedom and my privacy. Unfortunately, Bart was right. It was too dangerous and I was beginning to worry about what I might uncover if I continued to dig.
"Okay, I promise. It's going to be a royal pain in the ass, but I'll do it for you. I don't want you to worry about me."
"I do worry about you," Bart said. "I don't know why you always have to get involved in these high-profile murder cases. Why don't you take on more routine cases, or better yet, find a new specialty?"
I sighed. "Come on, you know I'm living my dream. I'm not going to do anything else and I'm not going to let anyone intimidate me."
Bart put his drink down and put his arm around me. "I know, honey. But I love you and I'd die if anything happened to you."
I smiled softly and we embraced. "Don't worry," I said. "I won't do anything foolish. I love you and our life together too much to jeopardize it."
With that Bart stood up and led me to the bedroom. It was only eight o'clock but I didn't put up a fight. Making love to Bart was wonderful, but what I loved the most was cuddling with him after our passions had died. In his arms I felt relaxed and safe. All my fears and anxieties melted away and for a few moments that night I was at peace with the world.
* * *
Chapter 18
A One Way Ticket to Seattle
The day of Steven Caldwell's second appointment with Dr. Gerhardt finally came. I don't know who was more nervous about it, Steven or myself. The missing two minutes were critical and could make or break our defense. Dr. Gerhardt explained again how the session would proceed and asked Steven if he wanted to continue. He said he did. He wanted to know how Jimmy had died. Dr. Gerhardt handed Steven some cotton balls. Steven frowned. "You will probably need these," Dr. Gerhardt said. Steven shrugged and took them from him.
As Steven lay back and relaxed on the sofa, Dr. Gerhardt began slowly waving his small flashlight back and forth in front of Steven's eyes. "Now your eyes are getting heavy. They feel so, so heavy. You can barely keep them open. Now I'm going to count to ten and you're going to be back at Possum Kingdom Lake. It will be Monday the 10th day of September 1990. Now when we're finished thinking about what happened that day, I'll count to three and tell you to wake up. When you wake up you will remember everything. Okay?"
Steven took a deep breath and focused on the small light, "Okay," he replied.
Dr. Gerhardt counted to ten slowly while he continued to manipulate the light around Steven's eyes. When he was finished counting, he said, "Are you there? Tell me what you see, Steven."
Steven grabbed his ears. "Ah! What's that noise? I can't stand it."
"Put the cotton balls in your ears, Steven," Dr. Gerhardt commanded. Steven crammed a cotton ball in each ear. His face calmed. "Now look around you and tell what you see."
Steven took a deep breath. "There's a flash of bright light. I'm looking up at the dark sky. Whoa! Look at that. What the hell? The car is starting to shake and rattle---Oh, Jesus! I'm driving off the road. I'm slamming the brakes hard but it's too late. Now I'm reaching for my seatbelt. It pops open. We've got to jump, Jimmy! We're going off the cliff! I glance at Jimmy. He's fumbling with his seatbelt---it won't release. I want to help him, but there's no time. I have to jump now or it will be too late. I look again at Jimmy frantically scratching and clawing at the seatbelt. It won't open! 'Help me!' Jimmy yells. 'Please, Steven! Help me!' I hesitate, but there's nothing I can do. I open my door and jump and as I hit the ground hard and start sliding down the mountain, I can still hear Jimmy screaming."
Steven's head nodded like he'd fallen asleep. Dr. Gerhardt snapped his fingers but nothing happened. He picked up a stethoscope and listened to Steven's heart, took his pulse, and called in his assistant to take his blood pressure.
"He's unconscious but his vital signs are fine, Dr. Gerhardt said. He must have hit his head when he jumped from the Jeep. We have to wait for him to wake up then I'll bring him out of hypnosis."
"You mean he's even reliving unconsciousness?"
"Apparently. He should wake up here momentarily."
Steven's head jerked, and he tossed and turned on the sofa. Dr. Gerhardt said, "Now at the count of three I'm going to snap my fingers and you're going to wake up. One. Two. Three." Snap.
Steven's eyes opened. He looked pale and was sweating profusely. "I remember now," he said. "Jimmy couldn't get his seatbelt opened. I told him to jump, but he panicked and couldn't get it unbuckled. We only had a split second to jump. There was no time. I just couldn't help him."
Steven began to cry. "I tried to help him, I really did, but he went crazy. He must have known he was about to die. He grabbed my arm as I was trying to jump. I had to jerk it away to get free. Poor Jimmy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Dr. Gerhardt put his hand on Steven's shoulder. "It's okay, Steven. It wasn't your fault. It was just Jimmy's time to go. It wasn't your fault. It was his fate."
"But why couldn't he release his seatbelt? I don't understand what happened. He shouldn't have died."
"I know. Death never makes sense. But you can't blame yourself for this. It was out of your control."
I said, "Well, at least now we have a rational defense. I think I can convince a jury this was just a tragic accident. You were distracted by something---we don't know what exactly---but the bottom line is that Jimmy's death was just an accident. You were able to jump from the Jeep but unfortunately Jimmy couldn't get free of his seatbelt in time to jump."
Steven wiped a tear from his eyes. "You really think the jury will understand?"
I nodded. "I'll convince them. Don't worry. This was just a terrible accident. Nothing more."
Steven took a deep breath and tried to smile. I looked at Dr. Gerhardt. "Thank you, doctor. This was great work. We owe you one."
Dr. Gerhardt shook his head. "No, Steven is the one to be congratulated. He let us into his subconscious mind so we could find the truth. I'm just glad I could help."
I couldn't wait to get back to the office to tell Paula about the breakthrough. I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. For the first time in weeks I was starting to feel confident about the trial and keeping Steven out of prison. Now all I had to do was downplay all the spaceship hoopla and get the jury to focus on the accident itself. Sure, Steven had been speeding and driving recklessly, but he was just being a teenager and had no intention of hurting anyone. Had Jimmy been driving it could have been Steven at the bottom of the mountain. It was just a horrible misfortune.
The next day Steven was scheduled to appear in court in Palo Pinto. It was standard procedure for the court to require a defendant out on bond to appear from time to time just to make sure he hadn't fled the jurisdiction. The notice I had received also advised us that a scheduling order would be worked out as well. This meant we would be given a trial date and the clock would start ticking.
Since we were traveling all the way to Mineral Wells, I decided Steven and I should meet with our accident reconstruction expert after the hearing. He would need to spend some time at the crash site and talk to Steven about what had happened there. From his interview with Steven and our inspection of the site, he'd be able to construct a video simulation of the accident. This would be critical if I was to convince the jury that the crash was just an unfortunate accident.
Up until now I hadn't had any communication with the Assistant DA assigned to the case outside of our meeting at Jimmy's funeral. I wondered how they were handling all the publicity the trial had been generating. They had so far been unusually quiet particularly considering their outspokenness at the funeral.
Since Palo Pinto was several hours away and the hearing was in the morning at nine, we decided to drive up the night before and stay in a motel in Mineral Wells, close to Palo Pinto. Unfortunately Jodie discovered there were no vacancies because of all the press and tourists who'd been pouring into town after the UFO sighting. That meant we would have to leave Dallas at five to get to court on time. Since I was a night person, I dreaded the thought of getting up at four to be ready at five. As I was agonizing over this development, Jodie indicated someone from the mayor's office in Mineral Wells was on the phone. I picked up the receiver.
"This is Stan Turner."
"Mr. Turner. This is Ruth Zelle. I'm the mayor's secretary. We heard you were trying to get lodging in town tonight."
"Yes, I've got a hearing early tomorrow morning and I'd like to come up tonight, but I guess the town is overrun with tourists."
"Yes. Thanks to your client, business is certainly booming. That's why the mayor told me to find you a place to stay."
"Oh, that's okay. I understand. We'll just get up early---"
"Nonsense, I've made arrangements for you to stay with one of our distinguished citizens, Robert Swanson. He's the President of the Chamber of Commerce and owns several businesses in the area."
"Oh, no. That's too much trouble."
"It's no trouble. He has a big house and his wife Lauren loves to entertain. When I told her you needed a place to stay she volunteered immediately. She's been following the case with great interest and would love to meet you and Steven."
"Well, then, we wouldn't want to disappoint her."
"Good. Give me back to your secretary and I'll give her directions."
After transferring the call back to Jodie, I contemplated this unexpected hospitality. Did Lauren Swanson really care about Steven? Would the rest of the community be as sympathetic?
I got the answer to my question when we drove into Mineral Wells late that afternoon. The first marquis we passed on the main road into town read, 'Good Luck, Steven. We know you're innocent.' Later on we passed other signs and banners indicating support for Steven Caldwell. When we drove by the courthouse in the center of town, a lot of the people mingling around carried placards with a variety of messages---We are not alone!---The End Is Near!---Steven, We Believe!---Love Thy Aliens.
Mrs. Swanson must have alerted the media that we would be staying at her house because there was a huge welcoming party when we arrived. The police were there directing traffic and clearing a path for us into the Swanson mansion. Steven seemed shocked and amazed at all the attention he was getting. As we got out of our car the cameras started flashing and the spectators began chanting, "Steven, we believe! Steven, we believe! Steven, we believe!"
Lauren was a tall, elegant, articulate woman I guessed to be in her late 30s. I wondered what a woman like this was doing in a small West Texas town. I pictured her at home in Boston or New York but not Mineral Wells. Once inside Lauren greeted us and told us how pleased she was to have us as her guests. She advised us the cook was preparing a special dinner and that she had invited some guests who were due at seven. I cringed at the thought of having to make conversation with a room full of strangers. No doubt, they had but one thing on their mind: Had Steven really seen an alien spacecraft?
A maid led us through an enormous sitting room, up a flight of winding stairs, and down a hallway to our rooms. I counted six bedrooms just in this part of the house alone. My bedroom was the size of our family room at home. Since we had a couple hours before dinner, I decided to call Rebekah and then take a short nap. Judging from what I'd seen so far it would be a long evening. Rebekah is a worrier, so she was glad to hear from me and expressed great relief that we had arrived safely. I told her about Lauren, her beautiful home, and the special dinner she was having for us. She asked when we would be returning. "It will be late," I said. "Now that his memory has returned, I want to take Steven back to the crash site and have him walk me through everything that happened."
"Do you think that's a good idea? It may be too traumatic for him this soon after the accident."
"Maybe. But we don't have any choice. Judge Applegate is going to set a trial date tomorrow and it probably won't be that far off. Since we're so close to Possum Kingdom Lake, we need to do this now."
"Well, you're going to miss Peter's soccer game."
"I know. Tell him I'm sorry."
I flicked on the TV in the corner of the room. The six o'clock news was on. Mineral Wells didn't have its own TV station but it was close enough to pick up the Ft. Worth station. After kicking off my shoes, I lay down on the bed, closed my eyes, and listened to the newscast. The voices on the TV started to fade as I dozed off . . .
I was steering a bass boat through rough water. The wind was strong and the boat was rolling with the waves. In the dim light I could see the rocky shore of Cactus Island dead ahead. As I neared the shore, I cut the engine and drifted up to the dock. A gust of wind nearly pushed me off the dock as I struggled to the secure the boat.
In front of me was the steep trail to the island's summit. Above me clouds partially concealed a full moon that was casting eerie shadows over the island. Then a blue light from the eastern sky came toward the island. With a surge of adrenaline and an unexplained yearning to reach the summit, I started climbing quickly up the trail. With surprising speed I made it to the large flat surface of Cactus Island.
As I walked slowly toward the center of the island, the blue light hovered overhead. A strange peaceful feeling came over me. I felt no fear or anxiety over what was about to happen, but a willing acceptance of my fate. I took a deep breath and suddenly a warm beam of light engulfed me and I became buoyant, like I was in a swimming pool. My body began to rise toward the blue light. Then---
"Tomorrow morning in Palo Pinto Steven Caldwell is scheduled to make his first court appearance since his indictment for the alleged murder of Jimmy Falk at Possum Kingdom lake in September," the reporter said. "But tonight Caldwell and his attorney, Stan Turner, are the special guests at a gala dinner hosted by socialite Lauren Swanson."
Hearing Steven's name jolted me from my nightmare. I sat up feeling a little dazed. The dream had seemed so real, yet I knew it was simply my over stimulated imagination reacting to the strange events of the past few weeks. But even so, I immediately regretted being awakened. It reminded me of my childhood when I went to the movies and the film broke right in the best part. That made me so mad. Luckily the projectionist always spliced it back together quickly so nothing was missed. A dream, however, wouldn't necessarily start up again if you went back to sleep. I wondered what my mind would have conjured up as an ending to my mental flick. I knew it would have been good.
