weekend.”
Accepting the cup in both hands and taking a slug, Matt rolled his eyes and sighed, “Oh, yeahhhh.” Leaning his back against the doorframe, he bent at the knees and allowed his body to droop downward. Slowly, very slowly, he sank to the floor, eyes shut tight. The pain in his side was obvious from the wincing of his facial muscles, but he held the now half-filled cup in front of him as though its contents were the elixir of life.
“Guess your day wasn’t filled with too much sunshine,” Park said, his words intended more as a question than a statement.
“Not bad ‘til I got outta bed this morning. Downhill ever since.”
Park pointed at the bruises and bandage on the side of Matt’s face and the adhesive wrapped tightly around his midsection. “You meet with Dr. Mason before you got all that?”
“Yeah, and with a state senator named Jameson. Represents the Jacksonville and hereabouts area. A real sweetheart. About a five-foot-six, two hundred and fifty-to three hundred-pound sweetheart.”
“Nice guy, huh?”
“Not what I’d call particularly statesmanlike. Probably on the board of directors for Henry Shoemaker’s AFI organization or one of Shoemaker’s dozen or so other corporations. And for all I know, so is Brandy.”
“You know that’s not so.”
“Times and people change, Steve, and politics can be a great catalyst for change. Unfortunately, in most cases, not for the better. Learned that on a tour of duty in the Pentagon as a liaison officer to Congress.”
“So we’re out of luck with the application?” Steve asked, pouring himself a shot of Scotch.
“You might say so, at least so far as Tallahassee’s concerned. We’ve got Sam Gravely in Washington. If he got those copies of the application to the Smithsonian and the Library of Congress like I asked, we might still be able to prove we beat AFI to the punch.”
“Don’t think I’d count on that, Matt.”
Matt’s right eyebrow raised as he asked, “Whatta you mean?”
“Terri Good, a friend of mine with the Jax Beach Police Department, stopped by this afternoon with a Detective Hammersmith. They were looking for you.”
Matt jabbed a thumb against his chest. “For me? Why?”
Park pulled a swig from his coffee cup before answering. “Your friend Gravely was found dead yesterday morning.”
Matt’s upper body jerked to attention. “What the hell did you say?”
“His home in Chantilly, Virginia. Homicide. Shot to death.”
Setting the unfinished cup of Scotch aside, Matt pushed to his feet, shaking his head and arguing, “No! No way. You’ve got it all wrong. Not Sam.”
Speaking the facts as he knew them, Park went on. “Fairfax County police are checking all known acquaintances. Your name and address are in his Rolodex, and they picked up a phone call on his answering machine you made before you went to Washington, asking him to meet you at Dulles International. Tried Charleston, and your mother and Ashley told them you were down here.”
“Damn!” Leaning against the desk for support, Matt bit his lower lip in frustration before asking, “What else they tell you?”
“Nothing, but Terri and this Hammersmith guy want to see you tomorrow morning at nine sharp at police headquarters.”
Matt stared blankly at a framed, color photograph of Park’s dive boat,
Native Diver,
on the far wall. “Gravely dead. Son of a bitch!” Turning back to Park, Matt muttered through clinched teeth, “They did it. I know damn well they did it.”
“You hear me, Matt? Nine a.m., police headquarters, Jax Beach.”
“Yeah, nine a.m.”
“Not to change the subject,” Park said, “but assuming Dr. Mason and the good senator didn’t do that to you…” Park pointed again at Matt’s injuries, “…what happened?”
Matt shook his head. “A little warning not to go back out to the barge and to what I’m pretty sure is a World War Two German U-boat, based on what Gravely told me. I wouldn’t, however,
Accepting the cup in both hands and taking a slug, Matt rolled his eyes and sighed, “Oh, yeahhhh.” Leaning his back against the doorframe, he bent at the knees and allowed his body to droop downward. Slowly, very slowly, he sank to the floor, eyes shut tight. The pain in his side was obvious from the wincing of his facial muscles, but he held the now half-filled cup in front of him as though its contents were the elixir of life.
“Guess your day wasn’t filled with too much sunshine,” Park said, his words intended more as a question than a statement.
“Not bad ‘til I got outta bed this morning. Downhill ever since.”
Park pointed at the bruises and bandage on the side of Matt’s face and the adhesive wrapped tightly around his midsection. “You meet with Dr. Mason before you got all that?”
“Yeah, and with a state senator named Jameson. Represents the Jacksonville and hereabouts area. A real sweetheart. About a five-foot-six, two hundred and fifty-to three hundred-pound sweetheart.”
“Nice guy, huh?”
“Not what I’d call particularly statesmanlike. Probably on the board of directors for Henry Shoemaker’s AFI organization or one of Shoemaker’s dozen or so other corporations. And for all I know, so is Brandy.”
“You know that’s not so.”
“Times and people change, Steve, and politics can be a great catalyst for change. Unfortunately, in most cases, not for the better. Learned that on a tour of duty in the Pentagon as a liaison officer to Congress.”
“So we’re out of luck with the application?” Steve asked, pouring himself a shot of Scotch.
“You might say so, at least so far as Tallahassee’s concerned. We’ve got Sam Gravely in Washington. If he got those copies of the application to the Smithsonian and the Library of Congress like I asked, we might still be able to prove we beat AFI to the punch.”
“Don’t think I’d count on that, Matt.”
Matt’s right eyebrow raised as he asked, “Whatta you mean?”
“Terri Good, a friend of mine with the Jax Beach Police Department, stopped by this afternoon with a Detective Hammersmith. They were looking for you.”
Matt jabbed a thumb against his chest. “For me? Why?”
Park pulled a swig from his coffee cup before answering. “Your friend Gravely was found dead yesterday morning.”
Matt’s upper body jerked to attention. “What the hell did you say?”
“His home in Chantilly, Virginia. Homicide. Shot to death.”
Setting the unfinished cup of Scotch aside, Matt pushed to his feet, shaking his head and arguing, “No! No way. You’ve got it all wrong. Not Sam.”
Speaking the facts as he knew them, Park went on. “Fairfax County police are checking all known acquaintances. Your name and address are in his Rolodex, and they picked up a phone call on his answering machine you made before you went to Washington, asking him to meet you at Dulles International. Tried Charleston, and your mother and Ashley told them you were down here.”
“Damn!” Leaning against the desk for support, Matt bit his lower lip in frustration before asking, “What else they tell you?”
“Nothing, but Terri and this Hammersmith guy want to see you tomorrow morning at nine sharp at police headquarters.”
Matt stared blankly at a framed, color photograph of Park’s dive boat,
Native Diver,
on the far wall. “Gravely dead. Son of a bitch!” Turning back to Park, Matt muttered through clinched teeth, “They did it. I know damn well they did it.”
“You hear me, Matt? Nine a.m., police headquarters, Jax Beach.”
“Yeah, nine a.m.”
“Not to change the subject,” Park said, “but assuming Dr. Mason and the good senator didn’t do that to you…” Park pointed again at Matt’s injuries, “…what happened?”
Matt shook his head. “A little warning not to go back out to the barge and to what I’m pretty sure is a World War Two German U-boat, based on what Gravely told me. I wouldn’t, however,
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