Chapter 15

 

Fred went directly to his office when he returned to Sarasota. He briefed Jim on the high points of his visit. He was delighted to learn that the rash of burglaries had been solved during his absence. He could now concentrate totally on capturing Donna. 

Jim said, “At least we now have a good recent photo of Donna, her female partner in the escape, and the person who we now believe to be her male accomplice. I’ve already put out the expanded all-points and the media is cooperating fully by displaying her photo on all the local news stations.” 

Fred recognized that he needed outside help to capture Donna and he knew who it would be. He called CIA agent Debra Black, whom he had worked with earlier on the theft of the second extra-sensory device which had secretively found its way into Red China. 

Fortunately, she was in her office when he called. 

“Debra, this is Lieutenant Fred Harris, remember we worked on the Donna Lang case together?”

“Of course Fred, how have you been?”

“Good, but I need to ask a favor from you; how about meeting me at Joe’s Diner. You name the time.” 

“Okay Fred, I’m busy until three tomorrow. Is that all right?”

“Fine.”

* * *

At the same time Fred was calling Debra Black, Donna was searching frantically for the spot where she had buried her fortune over four years ago. She had carefully selected a site next to the bicycle path which traveled from Sarasota to Venice, about ten miles distant. The site was owned by the county. In several areas it was bounded by copses of mature oak trees. The county’s ownership extended a quarter of a mile into the path’s adjoining property, so Donna figured it would never leave government hands unless the austerity drive of the current governor was so extreme that county land would wind up in private ownership. She had figured that, unless the bicycle path was widened, an unlikely event, the county would retain the wooded area as a permanent natural green border. But the current governor was so enamored with his holy grail of private ownership, anything was a possibility, she reasoned. Under the circumstances she had to retrieve her fortune as soon as possible. 

Donna realized she would look very suspicious if she walked the path, shovel in hand, even though with her cap and eyeglasses she felt she would not be recognized. Instead, she drove to the area where the Tamiami Trail closely bordered the bike path. Although the ebb and flow of businesses next to the trail had been significant over the years, she was still able to identify a familiar landmark; a large microwave tower whose presence overwhelmed the placid country side. “That’s it,” she said. She parked her car near the trail and in less than ten minutes she found the spot.

As she was digging, a Sarasota cop on a bicycle was pedaling down the trail. Hearing the noise of the shovel, he pulled his bike off the trail and approached her from behind.

“What the hell are you doing, lady?”

Donna had never heard him approach. She turned and put one hand behind her back, grasping her weapon which was secured by her belt under her jacket. At that moment two more bicycles passed her on the trail.

I can’t afford to kill him unless I have to, she thought, this bike trail is too populated with bikers and joggers. Donna thought fast, even though she had not prepared for this eventuality. “Why, I’m on the county charity scavenger hunt.” 

“What the heck is that?”

“You must have read about it in the paper, it was organized by the mayor and each participant contributes ten dollars; all the money goes to the homeless. And it’s all kept within the county.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“The winner gets two hundred dollars; I could really use the money with all my college expenses.”

“You seem a bit old to be a college student.”

“Yes, I have a child, and a full time job. But now I’m going back to school after all these years.”

Donna observed the cop closely. He seems to be buying my story, she thought.

“You said something about the scavenger hunt being in the paper, I don’t remember seeing it.” 

“Well it was on page four of the Sarasota Living section just two days ago. They gave it a pretty good sized article.”

Donna hadn’t read the local paper since she escaped from prison; she hoped that the paper still had a Sarasota Living section. 

“Well, good luck and make sure you refill that hole you’re digging.”

“I sure will. And we’ll be planting roses after this is done in order to beautify the entire area.”

Why the hell did I say that, she thought. I’m pushing this envelope too far.

The policeman didn’t say anything but waved goodbye and returned to the bike path continuing his journey toward Venice, pedaling past two elderly bicyclists as he took off.

Donna heard a definitive metal clanking sound the next time she pushed her shovel in the ground. As she pushed the dirt away, a rusty metal box started to appear. She didn’t dare open it until she got to her car out of sight from curious bikers. The box was too heavy for her to carry so she pulled it painstakingly inch by inch from the bike path. When she finally was able to open it, she viewed the absolute magnificence of one million dollars in gold bullion. She remembered her aunt often bragging about its fungibility. Donna never knew what that meant until she looked up the word and found that it pertained to its ease of trading as an investment. During the FDR era, gold was purchased by the feds to take it out of private circulation. In fact, at the time it had been illegal to hold gold beyond certain limited amounts. In 1971 Nixon removed the nation’s gold standard, and suddenly gold was made available to the private market. Donna’s aunt followed the strict rules of her sect. She didn’t want to put her money in a bank or to invest it in any form of government currency. So for years she had maintained all of her wealth in gold bullion because she felt that way she would not violate the strict dictates of her religion. It had been undisturbed all these years after it was removed from the house Donna’s deceased aunt had been living in.

Now I only have a couple of tasks to complete, Donna thought. First I’ll kill Maureen and then wait awhile to allow Fred to suffer the right amount of grief. Then I’ll systematically get rid of him. Finally I’ll eliminate that lousy lover of mine, because he might well provide too much information to the cops when I depart this area. Then I’ll take on a new identity and relocate in Europe, maybe Barcelona, Spain where the weather is moderate. Yes, the future looks bright.

She decided to put the gold under her back seat bar by bar and throw the container off the highway somewhere. Hidden anywhere else in the car would be too risky, but no one would think to look under the seat. Good decision, she thought.

* * *

When the bicycle path cop returned to the office, he asked Jim about the scavenger hunt.

“What hunt? What are you talking about?”

“You know the hunt that was detailed in the local paper—the one for the homeless.”

“There’s no such hunt. Where did you get that information?”

“I came by a woman digging next to the bike trail and she told me that’s what she was doing.”

“I’m not sure what this is all about, but get back there right away. What did the woman look like?”

“She was quite small. She had her hair covered by a cap but I could see that she was blonde.”

“It’s probably too late by now, but get back there and bring me any evidence you find. I just have a strong premonition that the person you came across was Donna Lang.” 

An hour later the policeman returned to brief Jim. “Sorry, boss, but I found nothing except the hole where the woman had been digging and a trail of crushed grass all the way to the edge of the highway; but damn it, I had told her to cover up the hole before she left.”

“If it was Donna Lang, I don’t think she took your directions too seriously. Did you find anything else?”

“Yes, there were tire tracks. I recall having seen a car parked near the area where the woman was, just off the Tamiami Trail.” 

“What was its make and model?”

“I can’t recall; it was red, and in places the paint had peeled off; it had white primer below.”

“OK, get someone out there right now to get a cast of the tire print. Maybe we can at least get a hit on the type of car she was driving.”