Beach Wedding(47)

“But if you’re going to continue your investigation, and they’re watching you, you’re going to need some backup,” Marvin said as he patted me on the shoulder.

“What are you saying?”

“Me and you are partnering up now,” Marvin said. “I can run cover for you. With Tapley watching you, you’re going to need someone watching your six.”

“Okay,” I finally said, looking at everyone. “I have no problem working together. You got it. But what about all the stuff I just got off Father Holm concerning the family company and Noah’s will? Isn’t that good enough to move forward with a retrial?”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d bring it to Wheaton,” Volland said. “But this thing has to thud when it hits Wheaton’s desk. He has to have no way out of it. He needs to believe that if he doesn’t prosecute, it will be leaked to the press, and he’ll look bad.”

“He’s slimy but political, Terry,” Courtney said. “He can be moved, but we’re still going to need to come up with a little more, I think.”

“If you still want to do this, that is,” Marvin said. “With the county now watching you, it could be some trouble for you, Terry.”

“They’re not even cops anymore. Just crooks with badges,” ASAC Marino said, the concern in eyes sincere.

“Tapley, especially, is a nasty character,” said Marvin. “He’s paranoid now, as well. He knows or at least suspects we have an investigation open on him.”

“So, what do you think, Terry? You want to keep going?” Courtney said.

I looked around the barn. The back of it was collapsed and the weeds were coming in, nature taking back over. Beyond it in the green field, there was a rusted flatbed from the fifties surrounded by black-eyed Susans.

The whole barn smelled like flowers, I suddenly noticed.

Like a floral shop, I thought as I tried to decide. Or was it maybe more like a funeral parlor?

I smiled at Courtney.

“You better believe I want to keep going,” I finally said. “All the way back to the Arthur M. Cromarty Criminal Courts Building or bust.”



63

Even during the day, the perfect stretch of beach between the summer mansion and the Atlantic was as serene as a meditation video.

At six o’clock in the morning with the sun cracking the sky above the waves, it made you feel like taking up yoga. Or like maybe you were the last person on earth.

Good, I thought as I came down Sandhill Point’s private stairs and closed the security gate firmly behind me.

I knew the village police department patrolled the beach at night to bust people who tried to camp out on the million-dollar sand, but thankfully, I didn’t see anybody.

Or, more importantly, I didn’t see anyone seeing me.

I’d been extremely vigilant ever since I’d been told about the county car trailing me. I’d actually stood watch with binoculars for over an hour the night before from one of the spare bedrooms facing Meadow Lane, looking for any sign of surveillance.

I’d seen nothing, but that was actually more disturbing, I thought. I knew from experience all the ways one could be watched by the police with electronic cellular surveillance. Heck, some departments used drones now.

A minute later, I came up off the beach and waved at the pair of headlights that flashed off to my left in Road D Beach’s small parking lot.

“Morning, Terry,” Marvin Heller said, handing me a huge cup of 7-Eleven high-test before I hopped into the back of his Nissan pickup and scrunched down.

“Milk and sugar okay?” he said as he backed out onto Meadow Lane.

“Perfect, Marvin. Thanks.” I smiled from the rear compartment. “How we looking? See any lights?” I said as we made the left onto Halsey back for the village.

“Nah, we’re good,” he said. “Seems like the world’s still sleeping. Even the corrupt bozos at County. Where you headed today, Mr. Investigator? Or should I even ask?”

“Need-to-know basis only, Marvin. Got to keep this as covert as possible,” I said.

“Aye, aye, Agent X,” he said.

Ten minutes later, Marvin dropped me off at the Enterprise car rental place at the small airport in West Hampton, where I picked up the Maxima I had reserved online the night before.

It took me about half an hour to drive over to Port Jefferson through the light traffic, and I was able to catch the eight o’clock ferry to Bridgeport, Connecticut. I stopped once for another coffee and an Egg McMuffin outside of Fairfield and spent the rest of the morning driving across Connecticut into New York State.

I arrived at my destination around ten fifteen, slowing as I came up on the large sign just off the wooded two-lane road in Otisville, New York.

US Department of Justice


Federal Bureau of Prisons


Federal Correctional Institution




64

With the grass and strolling paths running between its unassuming glass-and-concrete buildings, the federal prison camp at Otisville looked more like a corporate park or a college than a jail. If it weren’t located next to a real jail with fences and razor wire, you probably couldn’t even guess its purpose.

As I pulled into visitors’ parking, I spotted a half dozen deer grazing in the grass alongside the razor wire for the real prison.