Chapter 22

Howard Chaffee was right. He, Lyle, and Rey scrutinized the blue Firebird Trans Am with no result. Lyle didn’t press Rey to bring in criminalists to go over the car. He was satisfied this was the Firebird he’d seen in the desert. Now all they needed was the body.

When other duties called Rey back to the sheriff’s station, Lyle and Howard questioned the mechanic who found the car and talked to several employees who had cleaned it prior to it becoming a rental. Like so much police work, it told them nothing. Lyle offered to buy Howard a drink after work.

“I didn’t know this place existed,” Chaffee said when he and Lyle were sipping beer at Gilligan’s Island.

“You’re new to the park. I like this place mainly because it’s a half mile from my condo. And the decor of course.” Lyle swept an arm indicating the bar’s faux South Sea island atmosphere created with reedy wallpaper, lighted fish tanks, palm fronds.

“We live in Polk. Nice little town, but--”

“Culture shock from San Francisco?”

Howard smiled. “Just a little. But I don’t mind the crime profile here. Shoplifters, fender benders, the occasional bar fight. But you know. You were on the force in Phoenix. This is the quiet life, by comparison.”

“Why do you think I’m here? I maxed out on murders and assaults. Driving a cab in a quiet theme park seemed like a good escape--at the time.”

“Did you retire?”

“Not exactly. Long story. I’ll tell you sometime.” Maybe I really will.

Howard nodded slowly. “This Firebird thing is a puzzle. And no body’s turned up yet.”

Maybe Chaffee actually believes me, Lyle thought, but then the misplaced Trans Am substantiated his story. “It’s a big desert out there.”

Howard was about to reply when Lyle’s phone buzzed. Kate.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Are you behaving yourself and selling more NC vacations?”

“I’m in trouble. I tried calling you earlier, but you were in the park and probably didn’t have your phone on.”

Kate’s voice wavered. He heard the urgency. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m being blackmailed. Remember I told you about Busick when he came over to the booth and swore and threatened us? Well, somebody videotaped it. Shows me shoving Busick to the ground. They want $50,000 or they’ll send it to the police.”

“Holy--” Lyle was aware of Howard right next to him. He seemed a dependable, honest guy, but Lyle didn’t want to share this. “Kate, what you--”

“It looks bad, like I attacked him.”

“Let me go home and we can decide what to do. I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”

“Problem?” Howard asked when Lyle hung up.

“Sorry, I have to go. I don’t think it’s too serious,” he said, though it sounded like a catastrophe. “We’ll do this again.” Lyle took a long swig of his beer and was out the door.

Back in his car, driving home, he called Kate.

“Sorry, I was at Gilligan’s with the new security chief. I’m on the way home. Tell me you’re not in danger.”

Kate explained receiving the envelope and said she’d left the booth early to view the video on her laptop.

“And you haven’t heard from them?”

“No. I’m in the hotel.”

“Did you talk to anyone else? Call Max?”

“Max, are you kidding? God, maybe we’ll need his help, but he’ll flip out. Amanda knows something’s up but I told her it had to do with my attorney.”

“Okay. We’ll manage this.”

“The video is a small file. I copied and emailed it to you.”

“I’m almost home. I’ll look at it on my laptop and call you back.”

The blackmail cases Lyle could remember right away were really kidnapping ransoms or threatened kidnappings. But then there were the celebrity cases, corporate feuds. He tried to think of something similar, some starting point. When he walked in his condo, he poured himself a gin on the rocks. He set it down on his desk as he fired up his laptop. The video lasted only a few seconds.

The picture jiggled at first. Obviously shot with a cell phone or hand-held camera, the images were still sharp and clear. Kate sat on a stool and Busick stood facing her. The image began with Amanda in a white blouse and jeans saying something to Busick.

He seemed to push her out of the way saying, “Stay out of this, young lady.”

Busick’s gravel voice was loud and unmistakable. He turned to Kate, and she seemed to go on the offensive, telling him to keep his distance. The rest happened fast.

Kate stood up. Busick pointed a finger at her, appeared to poke her in the chest several times, then said, “Listen, blondie.”

Kate put both hands on Busick’s shoulders, and with a sharp push, propelled him backward. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. Whoever shot the video was close and caught all the action. Although Kate had described Busick as a stocky, aggressive guy, he seemed old and small compared to Kate.

The next second showed something Lyle was sure they wouldn’t want the police to see. Kate seemed to grab at Busick and he responded by taking a swing at her. Kate took a step back and the blow missed. Busick got up, staggered down the aisle, then swore at her loudly. The last shot showed Kate in an aggressive stance with one hand on a hip.

Lyle stared as the screen went blank. Then he watched it again.

“Did you see the person who filmed this?” Lyle asked when he called Kate.

“No, of course not. The place was crowded. People everywhere in the aisle. I watched Busick walk away.”

“Did you tell the police about this when they questioned you?”

“Not really. Bad, huh?”

Lyle tried to think. He started to take a long swallow of gin, then stopped. He had a pretty good idea he’d be in his car soon on the way to the airport.