Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

“Ah!” The exclamation came out like the climax of an aria. “Yes, I have good news and bad.”

“And that would be ... ?”

“The quote-unquote good news is that the state has been processing the evidence in this case quite expeditiously. So they’re providing discovery faster than a speeding bullet, so to speak.”

“Um, what?

“They’re not dragging their feet. They’re prosecuting with all due speed.”

“Okay.” Which meant the bad news was …

“That means things are moving quicker than expected. The preliminary hearing has been moved up to next week.”

“Holy shit!” The words slipped out. “You must be kidding? Can we get a continuance?”

“We can try and, of course, we have grounds in our favor. However, you can’t assume they’ll grant our motion, even if it’s a slam dunk. Frankly, I suspect Bower’s attorneys have been maneuvering behind the scenes. Unfortunately, some people feel no compunction about breaking the rules when it comes to making ex parte contacts with judges or their staff.”

I burned with silent anger. Thanks to these assholes, my friend was looking at going down for a murder she didn’t commit. Her presentation on ethics would’ve fallen on deaf ears among that bunch.

“Anyhow,” Mulrooney said. “I’ve told Conroy and I’m telling you, we need to be prepared. And soon.”

*****

As I finished up with Mulrooney and closed the phone, I felt the brief sensation of the earth falling away. As if its rotation were taking place and I were standing still. Ridiculous. The thought made me dizzy. My surroundings spun. Was it something in the lemonade? Was I simply hungry? Stressed out? Probably just the last two. Honestly, Sam, don’t be paranoid.

Focus, I thought. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. Focus and relax. Don’t freak out. You’ll find the solution. It’s probably right in front of your face.

After several minutes of deep breathing my way to relaxation, the world stopped spinning. I boarded the scooter and motored to a nearby sandwich shop to grab a late lunch of meatball sub and onion rings. Greasy, but I deserved it.

What now? Who would have a motive to kill Billy Ray? If it wasn’t the terrific trio handling his shady business affairs, then who? What about Marsha? She stood to gain financially. But she’d walked away from her family long before the business even existed and already had plenty of trust fund money. So what would her motive be?

While I scarfed down my food, I thumbed through the issue of Poultry Today, which I’d snagged fr

om Bower’s office. It was among the effects in Jamila’s car that I’d moved into the storage compartment of the rented scooter. I hunted through it now, in a desperate bid for information of any sort. My gaze caught on an item at the bottom of the “Chicken Feed” gossip column, which read:

A benefit concert for Sea Turtle Saviors will be held in San Diego, CA on July 31, 2006. The Costa Rica-based nonprofit is believed to have been established by an individual or entity connected with the poultry industry.

Something clicked.

Big operations south of the border.

And Maria Benitez.

Bingo! .

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Okay, I had a theory. Maria Benitez could be saving sea turtles in Costa Rica. Or not. This led to all sorts of interesting possibilities, if you applied the “follow the money” principle.

Suppose Maria Benitez was involved in the business, but not directly. Maybe she was using the nonprofit as a front. And Maria was probably more than just Dwayne’s drug supplier. She no doubt supplied illegal help to Curtis. Labor in Central America is so much cheaper and good help so much more plentiful than here. Plus, the nonprofit could be used to launder money. How convenient.

Right now, all I had was a name and a theory. One problem: how to prove it, by next week? Or, better yet, in the next two days?

Meanwhile, I wondered if Jamila had been scratched from the program yet. And I still owed Jinx Henderson an answer to her question about Ray.

Damn it, what do I do? I stared at the greasy remains of my onion rings. I had no access to the necessary databases to confirm anything. Conroy would tell me to buzz off, in less polite words. How could I find the help I needed stranded here on these alien shores?

Then, I realized, Sam, you’re an idiot!