Chapter 2

April woke up in a large comfortable bed. She half remembered walking from a car and into the house. Someone else was willing to shoulder the burden; she had let exhaustion and grief overcome her. The room was decorated in green, light subtle shades of green that could as easily be shadows as different colors of paint. She was in a four poster bed with curtains to her right. The room was large, with a couch and a dark green leather chair in front of a large TV. She pulled up the sheets and looked under them; she was still dressed in the grey slacks and white blouse. She climbed out bed and pulled back the curtains.

There was a deck outside. A door next to the curtain let her out onto the deck. The view was magnificent; across the dark blue of the Strait of Georgia, she could see the white sails of ships on the water and the rocks, evergreens, and buildings of Vancouver Island. It was May and winter is slow to let go this far north; the day was cold to a woman from Florida. She went inside searching for clothes and a shower. Thirty minutes later she walked downstairs where Martin was waiting. The stairs and the floor were white marble; the walls and ceiling were white plaster squares and circles. There were seats, but this was not a room for sitting. The room subtlety urged you to either move on, either out the door or further into the house.

"I trust you slept well?" Martin spoke first.

"Yes, thank you."

"You are completely safe here. Come, let's eat breakfast. What do you want?"

"Just toast would be fine," she answered.

"I'm having pancakes, would you rather have that than toast?"

"Oh, sure, sounds good."

"What would you like to drink?"

"Coffee would be fine, please."

"Jenny?" A small grey haired lady appeared at the door to the kitchen. "Would you have Cecil fix us some pancakes, some coffee for April and tea for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"April, I am going to leave you for a few days and do some investigating back in Sarasota. You'll be safe here. Make yourself at home until I come back."

"Mr. Martin, who are you and what is your connection to my family?"

"Finish eating, and then we'll go for a walk and I'll to explain to you."

"I'm going with you to Sarasota." April was adamant.

"No, you're not," he replied calmly.

"You can't stop me."

"Of course I can. I can chain you to the toilet. It wouldn't bother me. I have old ways. I'm oath bound to protect you, whether you like it or not. I'll keep you out of danger even against your own will. Please understand that this is for your protection," he continued. "Another thing and this might be painful, later today my attorney will come out to arrange for the disposition of your bother's body. I would appreciate it if you'd let my own doctor do an autopsy."

"Why?"

"Sometimes Medical Examiners are too busy to do a good job and sometimes they are paid to do a poor job."

"You believe me, don't you?" April asked.

Jenny brought tea and coffee.

"I believe that you believe. That is enough for now. I've made an oath to keep you safe. I can protect you here but not in Florida. Please just stay put here until I return. I don't want anything to happen to you. By the way, we are related and my will specifies that your family is to inherit all my belonging if I die. Since you are the only heir of Randall Martin, you are my only heir. Now drink your tea. It's rude to talk business over a meal. What did you think of the view outside your room?

Martin and April walked along his running trail. Cut through the woods it gave no scenic views but no snipers could see him from long range along this trail, he could exercise safely. His gardeners had done what they could to make it beautiful, the ferns, grasses, flowers, and berries contrasted and complimented each other. Almost every time he ran, a rock had been moved or leaves rearranged as the gardeners constantly tried to improve the trail and his yard. Why is it that the younger race produces such art? I like what they did while I was away. I need to thank them, he thought.

"You said you would tell me who and what your connection is," April spoke as she walked next to Martin. He seemed powerful even though he was at least 10 centimeters shorter than she was. He had a presence.

"I said we would talk. I didn't say I would tell you. Be aware of the difference when we talk. The difference is important to me, and I can't tell you everything that you want to know."

"I can tell you that in the past a member of your family did me a great service. I swore an oath to protect him and his seed to the best of my ability. Now you are the last of his line, your father and brother are dead. You are very important to me. If you stay here, it will be easier to protect you and I can look into the deaths of your father and brother. If I must protect you myself, I cannot investigate their deaths. Which do you want?"

"You're my age so it couldn't have been very long ago."

"Please, just answer the question."

"I'll stay here. I want to know why my parents and brother were murdered."

"You must promise not to leave before I get back. Do you so promise?"

He's very formal, this promise isn't a small matter to him, she thought. April didn't say anything at first, but then she answered, "Yes. I promise to stay here until you come back or you release me from my promise."

Her promise pleased him. She was careful. He was satisfied but he would keep two guards watching her all the time.

A short young man walked into the police station in Sarasota dressed in jeans, a knit shirt, and running shoes, but no watch, and he would go unnoticed in a crowd, just another high yellow in the jail. The station looked like police stations everywhere, a completely depressing place. Give me one day with these people and I would have this mess sorted out, he thought. They wouldn't care for his justice.

At the front desk, he asked if the Sergeant knew where Reagan and Overby were. The answer was 'No, ' but the restaurant's image was clear in the Sergeant mind.

The restaurant was more a diner than a real restaurant. It didn't have a particular decorating theme, the owner had added anything that caught his eye and was inexpensive. It was almost painful to sit in, but Martin sat at the counter with his back to the two detectives. Typical young males, mostly they thought about the opposite sex. Their discussion was just as meaningless.

When the waitress approached him, Martin said, "May is hotter than April, isn't it? Let me have some ice tea."

Reagan's thoughts were of April's breasts but Overby's were more complicated a mixture of guilt, greed, and an image of Ted Martin. Reagan would be ignored but Overby was worth talking with.

Robert Overby lived alone, a small apartment. His wife got alimony, a large chunk of his small law enforcement check, this apartment was all he could afford. Overby ate a frozen dinner over the sink and went to bed. A sad existence, he had no life outside of work. He lived for the job and the bribes, that's all he had left.

Overby's bedroom was small, the twin bed nearly filled a third of the room. There was a small TV on a chest of drawers and clothes strewn about the floor of the closet. Martin couldn't see the clash of colors in the dim light. Thank God for small favors, he thought. Overby woke up sometime during the night with a pistol held to his head. "Be calm and you may live," Martin spoke to him. He used Overby's handcuffs to secure his hands behind him and tied feet with duct tape.

"Tell me about Ted Martin and the money," Martin said.

"Ted Martin overdosed on Ecstasy, I don't know about any money."

Martin was quiet for a moment as he listened to Overby's thoughts. He couldn't follow thoughts down and pick out specific memories - he could only see what his questions brought to the surface. He almost felt pity for the man but Martin followed a different set of rules than the young ones.

"Why would someone want you to wait two hours before you discovered a body?" Martin asked.

Overby was sweating. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a cop. Do you know what will happen to you if you kill a cop?"

"How much were you paid?" Martin didn't bother to answer Overby's question.

"Nobody paid me for anything."

"What was his name?"

"Listen, I don't know what you are talking about."

Overby didn't know the man's name but he knew the man's face and now Martin did. "Why did you question April Martin a second time?"

"Reagan had the hots for her."

The first truthful statement, he thought.

"Has the man contacted you again?"

"What man?"

Martin had all the information that he would get from Robert Overby. He covered Overby's mouth with duct tape. "Someone tied up Ted Martin," he said, "Probably with Saran wrap so that it would be harder to see the ligature marks. They gave him a lethal injection of methlyenedioxy-methylamphetamine, ecstasy. While you waited two hours, he cooked to death."

Martin pulled Overby to the floor and without emotion he pulled a syringe from his coat pocket. When Martin left the house, Robert Overby was feeling the same Ted Martin had felt the night he died.

Martin drove out John Ringling Boulevard towards the Martin's house. His syringe and gloves went over the bridge into water. He'd return the rental car tomorrow and buy a car for the rest of his stay.

Without more information, he was stuck. He had the man's face but no name, no city. He'd dangle himself as bait and see if he could catch something before something caught him. Tonight the car needed watching, he'd learned patience over the years. Tomorrow he would have help. He called home.

"Security," he heard.

"Howard, I want you and Tommy to meet me at the Tampa airport tomorrow, around 1300. Bring surveillance hardware and let April know that you are leaving. Keep two people on her at all times especially if she leaves."

"Yes sir."

He closed the phone and looked out the window. A fairy ring was growing in the front yard. Although he couldn't see the details in the dark, he knew that the grass would be lush underneath the ring where the mycelium turned detritus into food for the grass. The young fruiting bodies of fungus rose above the ground, the classic mushroom shape with pale green gills until the mushroom ripened and the graceful lines were lost, Chorophyllum molybdites, unexpected beauty in the night. The mycelium would continue to grow outward from the center of the ring, eating the dead grass and other detritus. The next year the fairy ring would be larger. He wished it was safe to go outside for a closer look.

Martin took out his phone and dialed.

"Security."

"Martha, please have someone drive my car to 15 North Washington Drive, Sarasota Beach. I need it here as soon as practicable."

"Yes, sir."

Martin continued to sit in the dark house and look out the window at the car.

Martin watched from inside the house throughout the night, after the sun rose, and up until the shadows began to grow small. Now is the dangerous time, he thought. He walked briskly out the front door of the house to the car, entering through the unlocked door and seating himself in the driver's seat. He closed the door, started the car, and drove uneventfully out the brick driveway. Once he was on the road he felt much safer. The killers either weren't ahead of him or weren't after him.

Except for the bridges, he disliked the drive. Bridges were remarkable inventions; young ones improved them every few years. The Sunshine Skyway Bridge had been a steel-truss bridge until its vulnerability was so dramatically revealed. Now it was a cable-stayed bridge - the cables painted a golden-yellow, shinning down like the rays of the western sun. The Howard-Franklin Bridge was a concrete span bridge, but even it had graceful curves as it snaked across Tampa Bay connecting the Beaches with the mainland. North and south were the Courtney Campbell Causeway and the Gandy Bridge but the Howard-Franklin was his favorite of the three.