

Frankly Speaking

By

Don Massenzio

# CHAPTER ONE

The sun emerged from the blue-gray waters of the Atlantic off Jacksonville Beach. The rising fireball amplified the haze that hung in the sky as a precursor of the humid weather to come on this July day in North Florida.

There was a haze of a different type in Frank Rozzani's brain that slowly began to lift as he felt the moist sticky texture of Lucy's tongue on his ear as she attempted to wake him from his four and a half hours of sleep.

"C'mon Lucy. Can't I just rest a bit longer?"

At the sound of his voice, Lucy hopped out of bed and impatiently waited for Frank to follow.

Frank knew that it was now hopeless. Lucy, Frank's bed companion each night, was a black Labrador Retriever and Border Collie mix adopted when she showed up at his trailer soon after he moved in. It still wasn't clear who adopted whom.

Lucy enjoyed runs on the beach. It didn't seem to matter to her that Frank stumbled in at 1:30 AM after his last set at the Sun Dog, the local greasy spoon by day, jazz club by night. He played piano with his jazz trio at the venue each Thursday and Friday night. The Dog drew a small, but loyal crowd that appreciated jazz and those that play it.

Frank could never be angry at the sweet dog. Her persistence in waking him up kept him on a schedule. He needed to keep in shape for his line of work, but he wasn't always motivated, especially after a late night.

It was a night of Frank's favorite music mixed with the anticipation of another case, this one to investigate the disappearance of a teenager. Frank had spoken with the girl's desperate father as he relayed the story of his daughter's disappearance from a church retreat. The police had labeled her a runaway. The father believed she had been kidnapped and was in danger. Frank knew from experience that the police had definitely screwed up in other similar cases. Those that had cases bungled by the local authorities often sought out Frank's services as a private investigator.

After resisting Lucy's tongue bath as long as possible, he sat up and pulled on an old pair of Syracuse University running shorts. Lucy bounced up and down in front of the trailer door.

"Just a minute girl," Frank said. "Old guys like me have to stretch unless you want to drag me back to the trailer when I cramp up."

Lucy cocked her head to the side as if she understood. After some halfhearted stretching, Frank grabbed a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and left the trailer to start down the path to the beach. Lucy matched him stride for stride.

After crossing the pliable sand furthest from the shore, Frank and Lucy came to the firm, hard-packed sand at the water's edge. The sand in Northeast Florida close to the ocean was once the scene of cars driving on the beach. Thanks to sea turtle nesting and some careless drivers that used sunbathing tourists as speed bumps, driving on the beach was now prohibited in this part of the state.

At this early hour, there was a surprisingly large crowd of runners, bikers and yoga enthusiasts. Frank and Lucy fell into a comfortable pace as they ran north on their usual two mile course that took them to the guard post at Naval Station Mayport and back. In his role as a private investigator, Frank used the run as an opportunity to reflect on his cases – past and present, upcoming endeavors, or to debrief himself on a completed case. The pain from his prior life in Syracuse was always in the back of his mind. For him the adage "time heals all wounds" didn't ring true. Some wounds were too deep for even a lifetime to heal.

As Frank and Lucy approached Mayport, the guard climbed down from his perch to the beach. As Lucy ran toward him he put a hand into his pocket. When she reached him, she rolled onto her back, and wagged her tail kicking up a spray of sand. The guard gave her the treat he had pulled from his pocket.

"Hello Lucy. Hello Frank," the guard said. "Beautiful morning for your run."

"It definitely is," said Frank.

Beautiful mornings in Florida were so numerous that they were almost expected. As Lucy and Frank turned to head back, Frank's stomach began to rumble.

"Let's go to the Sun Dog and get some breakfast," Frank said to Lucy.

As they approached the stretch of beach where Atlantic Boulevard ends at the ocean, a familiar figure emerged from the water. Clifford Jones III, aka Jonesy, was just finishing up his morning ride on the waves. He headed toward Frank and Lucy with his long board under his arm.

Jonesy's love for surfing bordered on obsession. He was known to brave the water of Jacksonville Beach every day, rain or shine; hot or cold. The only exception was when he took surfing trips to some exotic locale like Costa Rica, Hawaii, Australia, or other parts unknown in search of the perfect wave.

Jonesy was the drummer in Frank's trio as well as an attorney who had put his shingle on a rundown old building in Jacksonville Beach. It became the area's first surf shop and law firm combination. His clients were the poor and unfortunate that could not afford legal help. His law practice attire was mostly board shorts and a t-shirt, usually with a funny slogan or picture. Shoes were always optional. When a court appearance was necessary, long pants and shoes might be thrown in to make a good impression.

As Frank, Jonesy and Lucy sat at an outdoor table, their usual breakfast, cheese omelet for Frank with mushrooms and hash browns, and an egg white and spinach concoction for Jonesy arrived. Not to be left out, a healthy bowl of last night's chicken gumbo was set down for Lucy. Fat Sam knew his clientele so well that they rarely had to order.

Jonesy exuded his usual morning glow. He truly enjoyed his life. Whatever had driven him to turn his back on a promising and prosperous corporate law career clearly gave him no cause for regret.

"How do you do it, Jonesy?" Frank asked.

"Do what?" Jonesy replied in his Georgia accent.

"Play the drums until one AM and then hit the ocean surfing at five as if you slept for eight hours?"

"The ocean provides me with meditation time that beats the most comfortable deep sleep. Plus I knew I would get to see your smiling face this morning."

"Okay. Whatever you say," Frank said as he took a large gulp of high-octane coffee.

As the two friends tore into their delicious breakfast, they naturally settled into the business at hand.

"Do we both need to meet with the Bullocks today?" Jonesy asked.

"I'd like to get your take on the situation, especially in terms of the truth about what happened to their daughter."

"So am I the good cop or the bad cop this time?"

"You're the Zen cop. Try to focus your new age powers to see if you can spot any holes in their story."

"Hey, don't knock the new age stuff until you try it. It's relaxing and the yoga chicks are hot."

"Whatever," Frank said. "I'd rather eat a pretzel than end up looking like one. I'll stick to running with Lucy."

At the sound of her name, Lucy looked up from her food bowl long enough to see if she was needed and then went back to cleaning up every last morsel of gumbo.

The potential case had landed in their laps the previous night between their second and third set. Fat Sam summoned them to his private table where they met a fifty-something man with a desperate look in his eyes. The man was Travis Bullock, Jr., an attorney from the wealthy Jacksonville suburb of Ponte Vedra known for its McMansions. After introductions, Bullock, looking haggard and tired, relayed his story to Frank and Jonesy.

"My daughter Maggie is missing. She's 16 years old and was attending a church retreat when she disappeared. The church called us today to tell us that she didn't show up for breakfast. The staff checked her room she was gone," Bullock said, as tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes.

"Did you call the police?" Frank asked.

"We called them right away. They took a report from us, did a quick search of her room, and told us that she probably ran away and that we should wait to hear from her."

"And you don't believe them?" Jonesy interjected.

"Maggie is a straight A student, literally the perfect child. She wouldn't just disappear. It's not like her to do something like that," Bullock replied.

"If we take this case, Mr. Bullock, we'll need more than just your intuition that she didn't run away. It wouldn't be fair to you to take your money if this does turn out to be a simple runaway situation. Also, the police don't generally like us poking around in open cases trying to prove them wrong," Frank said.

"I understand, Mr. Rozzani. What I'm asking is for you to find my daughter."

Frank agreed to follow-up with Bullock and his wife at their home the next day so that they could explore the situation in more depth and determine if the Jacksonville Police Department had overlooked some key piece of evidence that might point to a scenario other than a typical teen runaway. Frank thought that he and Jonesy should come up with a strategy first thing in the morning which explained their breakfast meeting.

There was no question of paying the bill. They had an understanding with Fat Sam. He provided them food and a place to satisfy their desire to play jazz and he received services from them for himself and his patrons in need. Neither side abused the privilege.

# CHAPTER TWO

Frank and Lucy headed back to the trailer that Frank rented from Fat Sam. It was on a secluded patch of land among the low sand dunes with easy access to the beach. Lucy bounded through her doggie door ahead of Frank who unlocked the front door and went in after her. He checked his answering machine. The number that connected with the machine was a land line that he put into a small yellow page ad. Although he gave in to carrying a cell phone and had a computer, his cell phone number and email address were only known to a small group of trusted individuals. His business card had the answering machine number. No website for Frank. To him, technology was an intrusion and a pathway to finding him that, given his past, he did not need.

Today, the machine's message light was not blinking. He had been receiving hang up calls on his machine sporadically for the last month. They were always at the same time and from the same number. The number, according to the area code on the caller ID, was from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Of course, with today's disposable phones and Internet calling capabilities, the area code might mean nothing.

After taking a shower, Frank put on his unofficial Florida PI uniform, khaki cargo pants and a dark pullover polo shirt. The ensemble was completed with a pair of black tennis shoes as they were called in the south. Frank still preferred calling them sneakers. He had a meeting with the Bullocks in four and a half hours which gave him about four hours to research the man, his family, and his associates.

Frank sat at his small desk and logged in to his computer. Lucy settled in at his feet and let out a long sigh. As with any search, this one began with typing Travis Bullock's name into Google. The initial search for Travis Bullock received well over 1,000 hits. Adding the term "attorney" reduced the results to 300. Adding Jacksonville brought the number down to a manageable 57. Ten of those hits were from the web site for the law firm of Bullock, Bullock and Cobb. The firm turned out to be a small, but prosperous firm that Mr. Bullock owned along with his wife Margaret Susan "Peggy Sue" Mathis-Bullock and firm founder Stanton Cobb.

A quick check of the firm's web site brought up brief biographies of the partners and associates, a mission statement that indicated a southern conservative flavor, and contact information. Mr. Bullock's biography indicated that he completed his undergraduate and law degrees at Florida State University and was very active in their alumni, donor, and sports booster groups.

"Well Lucy, we know which side of the fence the Bullocks fall on," Frank said.

Lucy lifted her head and gave Frank a knowing look.

"You're either a Gator, a Seminole, or a Bulldog in this part of Florida. Looks like the Bullocks fall in the Seminole camp."

Lucy cocked her head at this important revelation.

The site also contained a mention of Travis Bullock's position on the board of the Ponte Vedra First Baptist Church, a wealthy offshoot of Jacksonville's First Baptist Church which jump started many of today's mega churches. First Baptist Church in Jacksonville regularly seated 10,000 for services where the faithful were serenaded by a full orchestra and a 250 member robed choir. This church is viewed as the headquarters of the Southern Baptist movement. It also has an iron grip on what was and was not deemed acceptable in Jacksonville.

Peggy Sue Bullock also attended Florida State through law school. According to her bio, she met Travis there and married him soon after graduation. They had always worked together when she was not busy having their four children. The law firm's primary specialty was family law.

Stanton Cobb was the founding partner of the firm. Also a graduate of Florida State, his graduation date put him at about 78 years old. His original firm was in downtown Jacksonville and was founded on providing adoption, divorce and other related family law services.

After perusing the firm's web site for any further insight, Frank moved on to the other search results. Most of the entries were society type stories, fund raisers for new wings at Baptist Hospital, various Republican event photo ops including a picture of Peggy Sue with Sarah Palin during a campaign stop that was part of the ill-fated McCain/Palin presidential bid.

There were also brief articles that referred to Travis' membership on the Baptist Church board and various opinions were made public by the board on the issues of the day. None of the opinions or quotes, however, was attributed to Travis or his wife who served on the Ladies Auxiliary. The church related articles mentioning the Bullocks were fairly constant until 2008 when they stopped completely.

It was amazing how much information could be gleaned, even by the casual investigator, from the Internet. Frank believed, however, that police databases were still the best source to dig up the true dirt, or lack thereof, on an individual or group. The truly deep search would wait until after the meeting with the Bullocks and until after the case was a paid engagement.

Frank stopped by the drive-through barbecue shack and picked up two pulled pork sandwiches and then drove to Kahuna's Surf Shop to pick up Jonesy. Jonesy's surf shop was a front for his law office. He enjoyed modest sales, but not enough to call the business a success. For him, it was more of a hobby, as well as a place to employ some of his more promising ex-clients while they got back on their feet. The real business was in the back in Jonesy's office where he transformed from a younger version of "The Dude" from The Big Lebowski into a sharp-minded legal scholar.

Frank pulled up in his 2004 Lexus IS 300. As Jonesy got in the car, he smelled the savory barbecue sauce from the sandwiches.

"Pulled pork? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Does that mean you don't want yours?"

"No, no. Give it to me. You know I hate waste."

Frank maneuvered the Lexus onto A1A South toward the wealthy suburb of Ponte Vedra. During the ride he told Jonesy what he found online regarding the Bullocks and Cobb.

"Do you think the Bullocks' split from First Baptist Church is important?" Jonesy asked.

"It might be. They were pretty active in both the leadership and fundraising aspects of the church and then they just left. It just seems unusual. We don't have much to go on so far, so any little detail that is out of place could be important."

"Well, let's ask them about it and see how they react to the question. That could be just as telling as the answer we get."

Frank and Jonesy neared the area where the Bullocks lived. Frank pulled into the Saw Grass village entrance. This development, like many other recent Florida construction projects, tried to merge opulent living and amenities with the natural setting. Of course, to achieve this careful landscaping, the use of numerous chemicals was necessary to stop the natural from encroaching on the opulent. Frank pulled up to the air conditioned guard shack and told the security officer that they were here to visit the Bullocks. After telling him their names and presenting identification, the cop-wannabe eyed them carefully and went back into his shack to use the phone. After about two minutes, he emerged with a bright yellow piece of paper, instructed Frank to put in on the dashboard, and raised the high-security thin fiberglass barrier arm.

Frank drove down the main road over multiple speed bumps and past many golf cart crossings. After about three quarters of a mile, he turned onto Magnolia Tree Court and pulled in front of what appeared to be about a 5,000 square foot two-story McMansion. The house was a subtle shade of salmon stucco with a burgundy colored tile roof. Frank pulled around the circular brick driveway to the front entrance. As they exited the car, the front door opened and a fit, well-preserved 50-something woman emerged. Frank recognized her as Peggy Sue Mathis-Bullock.

She was very petite and wore yoga pants and a tank top that appeared to actually have been used in the pursuit of exercise. She had longish blond curly hair that was tied back in a ponytail. As Frank and Jonesy got closer to her, the stress of non-stop crying could not hide the intensely blue, intelligent eyes that looked upon them.

"Mrs. Bullock, I hope we are not intruding," Frank said as he reached to shake her hand.

"Not at all Mr. Rozzani," she replied as she shook Frank's hand with a firm yet cold grip. "This must be Mr. Jones," she said as she turned to offer her hand to Jonesy. "Travis said you would be stopping by and we are anxious to help in any way."

She walked back through the door and motioned for Frank and Jonesy to follow. She led them through a spacious entry that had wood flooring and high ceilings with wide crown molding, through a family room to a large kitchen with Tuscan decor. She took a seat with her husband at a small round table nestled in a bay window space and motioned for them to sit.

"You have a beautiful home, Mr. and Mrs. Bullock," Jonesy said while looking around the kitchen.

"Thank you dear. We purchased it in foreclosure," Peggy Sue Bullock said, appearing relieved by the distraction. "It was built by a former pro football player as a home that he would eventually retire to with his family. The poor dear went from making millions to bankruptcy. His business manager invested much of his income in real estate during the boom of the early 2000s with an eye toward large profits for himself and his client. When the bubble evaporated, so did the profits."

"Well it is a beautiful home in spite of its history," Jonesy said.

"Gentlemen, I'm glad you agreed to come in today," Travis Bullock said in a tired raspy voice. "You were highly recommended to us by Samuel and several of his associates that are mutual acquaintances."

Frank stopped for a minute to comprehend that Samuel was the name that Fat Sam was known by to Travis Bullock.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bullock, I'd like get some information about your daughter's disappearance and determine if you need our services," Frank started. "There is no reason to waste my time or your time and money if the police turn out to be right about Maggie being a runaway."

"I assure you, Mr. Rozzani, she did not run away," Peggy Sue Bullock interjected. "We do, however, respect your process and appreciate your honesty."

"If we do find reason to believe that the police got it wrong, we can justify our involvement in the case," Frank assured her.

Frank ran down a list of questions related to the Bullock clan. As indicated through his online search, the Bullocks had four children, two sons and two daughters.

The oldest son was Travis III. He was 31 and had risen to the position of Deputy Attorney General for the State of Florida. Melissa, or Missy as she was known, was 29. She was also a graduate of FSU like her parents and older sibling. She majored in business and was now an interior designer in Savannah Georgia. The Bullocks were not particularly proud of Missy based on their reaction when Frank mentioned her.

"Missy was quite the partier through high school and college," Peggy Sue Bullock said. "She's working very hard to turn herself around."

At this, Travis Bullock's face displayed his skepticism.

The third Bullock child, Robert Bowden Bullock, was 24 and lived in parts unknown in Europe. He spent a semester abroad in Spain and never came back except for family events and only when his parents paid for the trip. He had abandoned his southern conservative roots for a more Bohemian lifestyle. The missing girl, Margaret "Maggie" Bullock was 16.

"We were both 40 when Maggie came into our lives. She was a surprise baby," Peggy Sue Bullock said with tears in her eyes. "She is a model student and we've had her in private school since pre-kindergarten."

For all of the trouble wrought upon Mr. and Mrs. Bullock by their other three children in terms of drinking, drugs, and carousing, Maggie appeared to be a candidate for sainthood. She had straight-A's, was popular, and was an active member in the church to which the Bullocks belonged.

"Maggie really is the perfect child. We were scared to raise a child in today's world with the prevalence of drugs, sex and other bad influences. Maggie seems to have risen above all of that with a minimum of effort from Travis and me," Peggy Sue Bullock said.

"Mr. Bullock, my research tells me that you were a prominent member of the First Baptist Church here in town until about five years ago," Frank asked. "Yet your daughter disappeared from the retreat associated with another church."

"You certainly did your homework, Mr. Rozzani. You're right. We left First Baptist. We made the switch to Christianity Today about five years ago," Bullock affirmed.

"What caused your family to switch churches after such a long affiliation?" Frank probed.

At the mention of the switch, Peggy Sue Bullock made her own uncomfortable shift in her kitchen chair and glanced at her husband. "Yes, it was a quick transition, but all for the best."

Travis Bullock shifted in his seat nervously at the question. "Let's just say it was time for a change. The reason for the change is not relevant here."

"I understand sir, I just want to be thorough in my investigation," Frank in an apologetic tone.

"Pardon my evasiveness, Mr. Rozzani. It has been a difficult time and we're just trying to bring Maggie home."

Frank reviewed what he knew about Maggie's disappearance with the Bullocks. He could sense a weakening in Mrs. Bullock's brave facade at the mention of her daughter's name. She grasped her husband's hand firmly. Mr. Bullock looked haggard and drawn from what was likely a night with little sleep.

Frank asked again if there was anything they could think of that might give any insight into why Maggie would disappear.

"Did Maggie have a boyfriend or any close friends that might be able to give us some additional insight into her disappearance?"

"No. No boyfriend," Mrs. Bullock answered a bit too quickly. "She has friends in the CT youth group but none that we haven't already talked to. She was a bit of a loner and preferred her own company, spending time reading and writing poetry as hobbies."

"May we see some of her poetry?" Jonesy asked.

"If you think it might help. I have the notebooks in my office upstairs. I'll get them for you. Is there anything else that I can help you with?" she asked.

"If you wouldn't mind, we would like to look around in Maggie's room, ma'am," said Frank.

"You can if you think it's necessary. Travis and I, as well as the police, have already gone through it from top to bottom."

"Do you think the police might have missed something?" Travis Bullock asked.

"We're just trying to be thorough," said Frank apologetically.

"I understand," Mrs. Bullock said. Her room is at the other end of the house from my office on the second floor. I'll show you the way and then get the poetry notebooks."

Mr. Bullock just looked up with sad eyes as Frank and Jonesy followed Peggy Sue Bullock out of the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, she pointed down a long hallway to the left.

"Maggie's room is at the end of the hallway on the right. I would help you look in her room, but it's just too painful for me right now. I'll meet you downstairs in the kitchen when you are through."

"We understand," said Jonesy. "We'll try not to disturb anything."

Frank and Jonesy entered the last room on the right and were immediately struck by two things. First, there was the sheer size of the room. It was a master suite type layout with high vaulted ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, and a large bay window looking out onto the golf course. The second impression was the decor.

"It looks like a unicorn threw up in here," Jonesy observed. "All of these pastel colors, stuffed animals, the teeny-bopper art, and the white canopy bed are about to make my eyes bleed. This isn't the typical bedroom of a sixteen year old girl."

Everything was precisely arranged and extremely neat. The drawers were filled with neatly folded clothes that were all modest in nature. There were no signs of typical bad teenage behavior hidden at the bottom of drawers, on closet shelves, or under the bed. While Frank perused the walk-in closet that was bigger than his kitchen, Jonesy lifted the edge of the white fluffy comforter and ran his hand between the mattress and box spring. After a couple of passes, he hit something rectangular and hard.

"Well, what is this?"

"Did you find something?" Frank asked.

Jonesy pulled out a pink, hard-covered 5"X7" notebook with a picture of a unicorn on the front. The notebook was nearly filled with neat girlish handwriting in pale blue ink. He walked over to the closet and found Frank replacing yet more stuffed animals to their resting place.

"Looks like the police were as thorough as ever," Jonesy reported with a half-smile.

Frank looked up and said, "Where did you find that?"

"In the universal teenager hiding place. It's where I hid my Playboy magazines before the Internet made them obsolete, between the mattresses. It's full of writing that Maggie apparently did not want to share."

"Well, let's take it with us. We don't have time to look through it now," Frank said.

Jonesy slipped the notebook into his pocket and they left the room. They headed back downstairs to the kitchen where the Bullocks waited at the table with a stack of four similar notebooks.

"Did you find anything in Maggie's room, gentlemen?" Mrs. Bullock asked looking up with newly moistened and reddened eyes.

Her husband paged through another notebook, presumably containing Maggie's poetry, and remained silent.

"No ma'am, I didn't find anything," Frank said while Jonesy remained silent.

"Well, I didn't think you would," she replied, "but I appreciate your need to be thorough. What do we do now?"

"Unless you can think of anything else, we are through disturbing your day. We have several other leads to follow up on over the next couple of days and then we will get back to you and your husband with our findings," Frank said.

She gave a weak smile and then Travis Bullock joined her to escort them to the door.

"Be sure to contact us if you need anything else, Mr. Rozzani," Travis Bullock said with moistening red eyes.

"I'm sorry for the situation, Mr. Bullock," Frank said. "We will do our best to discover what's happened."

Frank took the four notebooks from the Bullocks and he and Jonesy headed for the Lexus. As they were leaving the driveway, Jonesy took the notebook he discovered out of his pocket and added it to the pile with the other four.

"Aren't you going to look at it?" Frank asked.

"No. You're the research guy. I'm just the sidekick. Besides, it sounds like someone needs to pay the local mega-church a visit and since I'm not as concerned with getting struck by lightning when I enter a church as you should be, I thought I would take that task on."

"Sounds fine to me."

As they left the community and, once again, passed the scrutiny of the highly-trained security professional, Frank turned north on A1A.

"Let's divide and conquer," he said to Jonesy. "I need to follow-up on the Bullocks' split from the Baptist church to see if there is anything there and I need to look through Maggie's notebooks. You can visit Pastor Rick at CT and see what his story is."

"You're the boss. I might enjoy a different spiritual perspective."

Frank dropped Jonesy off at his surf shop and headed back to his trailer.

# CHAPTER THREE

Frank pulled into his pseudo-driveway next to the trailer and something immediately struck him as odd. He had installed a doggie door for Lucy so she could come and go at will. Her sharp hearing could distinguish the sound of the Lexus from at least a mile away and she usually bounded for the door or from wherever she was exploring nearby to greet him. At this time of day, with the Florida heat at its peak, she was usually lazing on his bed basking in the air conditioning and shedding short black hair all over his sheets. As he got out of the Lexus, he heard an unmistakable low growl coming from the trailer as if Lucy were either cornered or had cornered someone or something inside.

Frank reached into the Lexus glove compartment and pulled out the Glock that he kept there. One good thing about living in Florida was the ease of being able to legally carry a concealed weapon. He was surprised that, along with the free orange juice that they give you when you stop at the welcome center on I-95 when you enter Florida, they don't hand you a gun as well. Florida is the "stand your ground" state where you can literally shoot first and ask questions later. His home state of New York had gone the other way. If New York Mayor Bloomberg and Governor Cuomo had their way, guns would be exchanged for love beads or flowers and people would be put in jail for drinking large sugared drinks.

Frank found the door still locked. Whatever was inside with Lucy either came in through a window, courteously locked the door behind him or her, or crawled through the doggie door. Frank disengaged the lock and decided to throw open the door as the element of surprise had already been lost. When the door opened, Frank first saw Lucy, hackles raised, ears back, and lips curled into a non-characteristic, menacing growl. He then saw the subject of her anger. Coiled on the floor, fangs bared, in the corner of the kitchen was a two-foot snake. It looked like a water moccasin with its darkened body and broad head with distinct facial markings. Frank had learned a few things about these snakes. They are poisonous, they can be aggressive when cornered, but are rarely aggressive enough to perform breaking and entering.

He tried to call Lucy back, but her protective instincts were too strong. She put herself between Frank and the snake making a shot impossible without risking hitting her in the crossfire. She lunged at the snake just as it sprung to attack. The result was that Lucy's jaws clasped around the middle of the snake. Lucy's powerful bite sank into the snake's soft tissue. She began to shake the snake into submission. With its last bit of strength, the snake brought its head around and sunk its fangs into Lucy's right hip. Lucy gave out a whimper and dropped the now dazed snake. She then began walking around the room heavily favoring her injured hip. Frank thought about shooting the snake, but in the closed quarters of the trailer and with Lucy's proximity to the snake, he didn't want to risk it. He looked around the kitchen and found the heavy duty fire extinguisher that he had next to his small propane stove. As the bleeding snake tried to regroup and begin moving across the room, Frank brought the fire extinguisher down on the snake's head. It stopped moving.

The bite from a water moccasin is not generally fatal, but it does require immediate treatment. The venom is rich with tissue-destroying properties and Frank knew that he had to act quickly to get Lucy some help. He thought about bagging up the snake and bringing it to the vet to be sure, but that would mean two trips to the car and he didn't want to waste the time. He checked the snake again kicking it to make sure it was dead, grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and snapped a quick picture of it and then scooped up the 55 pound Lucy and ran out to the Lexus with her in his arms. He jumped into the driver's seat and screeched onto the road.

Nancy Rafferty, the closest veterinarian, and the only one from whom Lucy would accept an examination, had a small clinic about a mile from Frank's trailer. Frank had met her at the Sun Dog one morning, about a year before, when he and Lucy were enjoying breakfast. Nancy immediately made friends with Lucy, and by extension, with Frank. She was a thirty-something, attractive brunette that had a strong dedication to her work and to the community.

When Frank burst into the clinic, the receptionist/veterinary technician, Rusty, recognized them right away.

"Frank, what happened to Lucy?" she asked excitedly.

"Snake bite. I think it was a water moccasin. It bit her on the right hip," Frank answered still cradling the dog.

"Take her to exam room 1. I'll get Nancy," Rusty replied with professional efficiency and urgency.

Nancy was behind the property at the small kennel building where she boarded some of her strays and recuperating patients. When Rusty alerted her to the situation, she rushed to the supply cabinet and grabbed a vial of CroFab anti-venom which is used to counteract water moccasin bites. She flew into the exam room where Frank stood over Lucy who he had placed on the stainless steel examining table.

"Frank, are you sure it was a water moccasin?" Nancy asked while filling a syringe with the liquid from the vial.

"I'm pretty sure, but I took a picture," he said holding the phone where she could see.

"That's definitely a moc," she said.

Nancy quickly examined the bite and injected the anti-venom into Lucy's hip. "Frank, what happened?" she asked.

"The snake got into my trailer and Lucy decided to play super dog and attack it," he said, exasperated. "She shook it pretty well, but it bit her before I was able to finish it off."

"She's a tough girl to take on one of those snakes," Nancy said. "The area where she was bitten is a little tricky. Although the venom doesn't cause systemic failure like some other snake venom, the area of the bite is close to her kidneys so we'll have to monitor renal function. She's lucky that she didn't get bitten near the face where the venom could reach brain tissue. I'll need to debride the tissue around the bite and then watch her for a couple of days to make sure her kidneys keep working properly and she doesn't have an anaphylactic reaction. Hopefully she'll be as good as new in a week or so."

As if she understood, Lucy let out one of the trademark heavy sighs usually reserved for the end of a busy day of dog business. Her sigh caused Frank to let out a nervous laugh. Somehow the thought of losing his faithful canine companion after all he had lost already was too much to bear.

"How can I thank you, Nancy?" Frank said obviously relieved.

"Well, first you can pay me to replace the anti-venom. At fifty dollars a vial, it doesn't come cheap. After Lucy recovers, why don't you take me out to that new seafood place for dinner and we'll call it even," Nancy said with a devilish smile.

"Um...sure. That would be great," Frank said nervously as he felt that still too familiar twinge of guilt. "Let's do that sometime."

"Wow that sounded encouraging. Well, you can't blame a girl for trying," Nancy said looking deflated.

"Nancy, I...it's not..." Frank started.

"Don't say it's not you, it's me or I will give you a complimentary neutering right on the spot," She replied.

"I'm sorry. I'll explain some day," Frank said as he backed toward the exam room door.

"Frank, it's OK," as long as you have Lucy, I will forgive you. By the way, you said the snake was in your trailer, did you leave a door or window open?"

"No, I assumed in came in through Lucy's dog door," Frank replied.

"I don't think so," Nancy said. "First, the aggressive nature of Agkistrodon piscivorus is exaggerated."

"Astro who," Frank asked quizzically.

"That's the scientific name of the water moccasin," she replied. "Second, snakes don't know about dog doors and would only pass through one to escape to the outside or if they were forced by someone or something to go through it. They would never go willingly into a structure through something they can't see through."

"What are you saying?"

"Do you have any enemies? I think someone purposely put that snake through your dog door."

"Great. A self-propelled murder weapon." "Not a murder weapon, just something to scare the hell out of you." "Well, it worked. Now I need to find out who and why so I can return the favor," Frank said with a twinge of anger.

# CHAPTER FOUR

After checking in at his surf shop, Jonesy decided that it was a good time to pay a visit to "CT," the non-denominational mega-church that was just over the inter-coastal waterway in Jacksonville. A quick Internet search told him that the church was founded in 2003 and quickly grew to mega-church status seemingly overnight. Part of the accelerated growth at CT was due to its prominent founding membership which consisted of the starting quarterback and a popular offensive lineman from the local professional football team. This was the same ill-fated quarterback that had owned the now foreclosed-upon house that the Bullocks had purchased.

Another reason for the growth at CT was apparently due to the popularity of then assistant pastor and now pastor Rick Worthington. His movie-star good looks, along with his charisma, had drawn young people to the church in ever-increasing numbers.

Jonesy hopped on his vintage Harley Davidson, a 1978 blue Super Glide, fired it up, and was on his way. Jonesy never envisioned himself as a motorcycle type. He had received this bike as a bonus for some complex legal work that he had done for a local motorcycle club related to some tax evasion allegations. The club paid Jonesy in full, but gave him the bike and a club leather jacket as a bonus. Now, after a couple of months of riding the bike, he was hooked. Riding in the open air was like an extension of surfing. Although Florida had repealed its helmet law in recent years, Jonesy chose to wear a vintage helmet, a black skull cap with white stripes and matching goggles.

He rode over the Intracoastal Waterway Bridge and turned left on one of the main north-south thoroughfares that ran parallel to the waterway. The church campus was on this road between Atlantic and Beach Boulevards.

After about a mile, Jonesy thought he had taken a wrong turn and had somehow ended up in Las Vegas. On the left there was a very large electronic marquee with the words "Christianity Today" emblazoned across the top. Beneath the name was a gigantic video screen that displayed Pastor Rick Worthington in action. Although there was no sound, Worthington's arms were waving frantically. Jonesy noticed how the awestruck, cherubic faces of the faithful captured on a secondary camera shot indicated that the good pastor was saying something important and inspiring.

The campus of CT looked like a self-contained village. There were several large buildings that appeared to be a mix of school buildings, athletic facilities, and meeting spaces. There were professional-grade baseball, football and soccer fields. The focal point of the buildings was a large, dome shaped structure, with a large gold cross in the center of the high roof. Jonesy assumed that this was the sanctuary.

He followed the signs and directed the bike toward the administrative offices. Once inside, he was bombarded with an atmosphere of what he defined as calculated serenity. This meant that every item in the waiting area, from the decor, to the furnishings, to the books and magazines, and the video playing on the flat screen, demanded that whoever entered this space become calm and serene immediately. The video was a montage of photos of the campus, photos of Pastor Rick, and photos of the faithful, set to serene, New Age music.

If Disney opened a church, this is what it would look like, Jonesy thought.

At the reception desk, a fresh-faced receptionist whose name plate read Charity Goodwin greeted Jonesy with a high-voltage smile.

"How can I help you sir?"

"Hello, my name is Cliff Jones," Jonesy responded using the name that he used professionally. "I'm investigating the disappearance of Maggie Bullock and was wondering who I might speak with to gain some insight into her disappearance."

"That poor girl. Bless her heart. She was a ray of sunshine here. It's such a shame. Are you with the police?" Charity asked, sounding a bit less friendly. "I thought they had finished their investigation once they decided that she ran away."

"This is a private investigation ma'am. I am trying to add to the fine work done by the police," Jonesy replied trying his best not to sound sarcastic and to emulate her southern drawl.

"Well, school is out so the students and teachers are not on campus for the most part," Charity said.

"What about the retreat she was on this past weekend? Who is here that can talk to me about that?" Jonesy asked.

"The elite student retreat is run by Pastor Rick himself. He is here but is in a youth session in the auditorium for the next hour. His day is very full after that, but I may be able to make an appointment for you next week or you can talk to one of his assistants later this week if you would like," Charity said in an official sounding tone. The smile had dissolved.

"I will call and set that up after I check my calendar," Jonesy said, although he had no intention of doing so. Charity had become a barrier that he needed to circumvent.

"That's fine," she answered even though her tone conveyed that it was not fine for him to violate this sacred domain.

Jonesy left the administration building and, following the well-marked path, found his way to the auditorium. The outer entry to the auditorium was open and was bathed in the same aggressively serene motif as the administration building. As Jonesy made his way to the auditorium door, a woman wearing a "CT" polo shirt of pastel yellow stood guard.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked with the same high-voltage smile that Charity started out with.

"I was told that I could find Pastor Rick in the auditorium."

"He is in session with a teen group right now. Do you have an appointment with him?"

"No, I'm an old friend and I wanted to surprise him by stopping by. Charity told me he was here and that he wouldn't mind if I sat in the back during his session so I could chat with him between meetings. Charity said she was sure it would be OK."

"Well, in that case, I suppose so. Please sit in the back so that you don't interrupt the session," she said hesitantly.

"I will. I wouldn't want to disturb the great man while he is working his miracles."

The auditorium was very large for a school setting with about 800 seats arranged in stadium style. The teens filled up about 25% of the seats in the first several rows. Jonesy settled into a seat in the last row hidden in the shadows. He recognized the figure on the bare stage as Pastor Rick Worthington of Internet, roadside large screen, and lobby video fame. He was sitting on the edge of the stage wearing creased jeans, snake skin cowboy boots, and a peach colored CT polo shirt just like the yellow worn by his guardian outside the auditorium. Jonesy was immediately struck by the intensity of the man. He held the group of 200 teens in the palm of his hand as he addressed them.

"Let's talk about the plan that God has for us," Worthington said in a quiet yet commanding tone that hinted at his Oklahoma roots. "God gave us a plan through his only Son. That plan was written down and has been passed down through the ages. That plan from God has a manual. That manual is The Bible." Pastor Rick then leapt to his feet and began to pace on the stage. "The Bible has many messages for us to live by. The Bible tells us that sex outside of marriage is a sin, that homosexuality is a sin, that drugs and alcohol are sins, and that devotion to God, through his church, is the only path to salvation."

Jonesy listened to this and thought that he might need to thumb through a Bible to see if there were some pages that he might have missed that would back up Worthington's claims.

"I am here to help you down the path," Pastor Rick continued. "Let this church be the conduit through which you pass to salvation. Leave all of those temptations on the side of the path and join us."

As Jonesy continued to listen to the fiery leader of CT, it dawned on him that this was a recruiting session. Pastor Rick was trying to increase his flock by convincing these young people that CT was the only route to Heaven. In Jonesy's mind, this proved that nothing in religion had really changed in the last 1,000+ years. The technology and the setting were different, but the message and the tactics had not changed; scare your potential customers into submission.

After about 45 minutes, Pastor Rick's session appeared to be winding down. He actually had music to send him off and he reemerged for a bow during the thundering standing ovation as if he had just sung a complex aria at La Scala opera house in Italy. Once the applause died down, Pastor Rick went backstage and a small army of pastel CT shirts emerged and escorted the teens from the auditorium. At the same time, Jonesy exited via a side door so he could move toward the stage door exit where he assumed Pastor Rick would eventually come out.

Jonesy didn't have to wait long. Without any fanfare or an entourage encircling him, Pastor Rick Worthington exited through the stage door sipping from a bottle of Fuji water. His blank face lit up with a million gigawatt smile when he saw Jonesy.

"Hello there. How may I help you," asked Pastor Rick in a voice so sweet and folksy that Jonesy believed he had just developed three cavities on the spot just from listening to it.

"I'd like to speak with you for a couple of minutes if you have time, Pastor Rick."

"If you're thinking of joining our flock one of my assistants can help you out."

"No, not today. I'm here to talk to you about the disappearance of Maggie Bullock."

At these words, Jonesy observed an almost undetectable dimming of the wattage of Worthington's smile.

"Are you with the police? We have already spent considerable time with the authorities."

"This is a private investigation sir. We are following up on other potential leads."

"On whose authority, if I may ask?"

The smile faltered just a bit more.

"Travis Bullock has asked us to look into it."

Instead of becoming more uncomfortable, Pastor Rick visibly relaxed and adapted a more conciliatory tone.

"I told Travis to trust the police on this. They deal with hundreds of cases like this. They concluded that Maggie is a runaway and will likely return on her own."

"Isn't it odd that such a well-adjusted, bright girl like Maggie would choose to run away, while on your watch, I might add."

"The Lord only knows what runs through the wiring of a teenage brain. We are here to guide and recommend the correct path. We cannot force them to follow it. As for her disappearing on my watch, while I am deeply concerned that it occurred during the elite student retreat, in a group of 150 students, we can hardly monitor them all around the clock. They are not in prison when they attend a retreat. They are able to leave if the need arises. Frankly, I don't appreciate your insinuation. We have been through all of this with the police."

"I'm just trying to establish how Maggie Bullock might have disappeared if, as her parents believe, she didn't run away."

"Well Mr....I didn't catch your name."

"Jones."

"Jones," the pastor continued. "Of course. I understand the Bullock's feelings. They want to think the best of their daughter. The teenage mind, however, can exhibit shifts in behavior that are staggering. I myself wrestled with demons in my youth."

"I understand your point of view, sir. I'm just doing the job I was asked to do. I'm sorry for taking up your time. If you don't mind, I just have one more question for you and then I'll leave you to your busy day."

"Certainly, anything to help."

"This elite student retreat, is it specifically geared to the students with the highest grades?"

"Grades are certainly a factor, but other factors are just as important. Citizenship and how closely students follow the path weigh in a great deal for the committee selection process."

"Who makes up the committee that selects the students for the retreat?"

"The Assistant Pastor, the School Principal, and the Ministries Director all sit on the committee."

"Do you have a role in the selection?"

"I chair the committee, Mr. Jones. I have the ultimate say when the students are being chosen. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Thank you sir. That's it for now," Jonesy said as he turned to leave.

"Please go through proper channels if you wish to speak to me again Mr. Jones. I am happy to help."

"I will do my best sir."

Jonesy thought about the encounter with the pastor as he headed back to his bike. This man preached to thousands and bathed them in the baptismal waters of the mega church. In spite of this, Jonesy felt the strong urge to take a shower.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Frank left the veterinary clinic and headed back to his trailer. Who, he wondered, would put a poisonous snake in his trailer? Who was trying to scare him? He thought of the enemies he left behind in Syracuse. They were much more direct in their methods and would not be content to just scare him. This little trick had a definite local flavor to it. As he pulled in toward his trailer, he nearly hit the Jacksonville Police Department cruiser that was in his spot. Every JPD cruiser bore the initials and surname of the office that drove it. This one had the familiar name of Lt. W.R. Drake in dark blue letters across the front left side of the car. Sitting in the driver's seat, spitting his tobacco juice into a recommissioned diet soda bottle was Lieutenant William Robert Drake. Drake was not a fan of Frank or his associates and was likely not here to sell him raffle tickets. Upon seeing Frank, Drake opened the cruiser door and stepped out to greet him.

"Lieutenant Drake, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Don't get smart with me my eye-talian friend. This ain't no social call. Sounds like you've been a busy boy along with your hippie friend Jones."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Lieutenant. Jonesy and I play together in a band, but I didn't take you for the type that listens to jazz."

"I'm not talkin' about no beatnik, long-haired music group. I'm talkin' about Maggie Bullock."

The other cops called William Robert Blake "Billy Bob" behind his back. He despised being called by that name, even though he clearly lived up to the image it evoked.

"Wow, news travels fast. Yes, we are talking with the Bullocks about her disappearance."

"She ran away, pure and simple. Plus, it's a police matter. You know a private eye isn't supposed to get involved with an active police case."

"Active. I've seen dead armadillos on I-95 that are more active than the police activity on this case. Your department has made the assumption that she ran away. This perfect student and perfect daughter just snapped overnight and ran away? Based on what evidence?" Frank responded, the stress of the day diminishing his tolerance for this giant moron in uniform with an equally giant gun.

"I don't answer to you Rozzani, but if you must know, our conclusion is based on the fact that there is no evidence that she didn't run away."

"Well that settles it. So, if I follow that logic, Bigfoot must exist because there is no evidence that he doesn't."

"What did I say about getting smart with me Mr. Private Eye-Talian? You and your hippie friend need to back off and stop botherin' the Pastor and his people."

Frank realized that Jonesy must have made it to CT. He hid this realization as he addressed Drake.

"We were hired by the Bullocks, Lieutenant. They must not have a high level of confidence in your police work. I would suggest that you let us investigate so I don't have to let Mr. Bullock know that you tried to threaten us into stopping."

"You watch your step Rozzani. You're steppin' on the wrong toes. I could have you brought in for interfering."

"I will behave if you will, big guy."

"I'm just warnin' you Rozzani."

Drake got back into his cruiser, spit some tobacco juice into the bottle, and backed onto the path to the road.

Frank shook his head. Jonesy must have had an impact at the mega-church. They were shaking the trees and the fruit was starting to fall which was evident from his visit from Billy Bob Drake who resented Frank from almost the moment he arrived in Jacksonville. Frank had mopped up a botched armed robbery case during which the mighty JPD had locked up the wrong person in connection with a shooting during the robbery. The mother of the wrongfully accused teen appealed to Frank to help her son. Frank discovered that the wrong teen had been incarcerated. Because both teens were black, the mistaken identity, once made public, made the JPD look like bungling, bigoted idiots. Frank had been on Drake's hit list ever since. Frank didn't entirely fault the police. They did what they could with whatever resources they had. Some of them were quite sharp, but recent budget cuts and rising unemployment had depleted resources while the crime rate increased. Drake himself was a victim of a flawed system. His qualifications for moving up the ladder to lieutenant mostly stemmed from his influential connections. Drake came from a long line of cops and politicians that were deeply ensconced in the Jacksonville community. Just his last name and family connections were enough to push him up the ladder past other deserving candidates. Drake left a trail of unsolved and incorrectly solved cases in his wake.

The news that Frank and Jonesy had taken the case had obviously leaked out before they had a chance to formally accept it from Mr. Bullock. After talking to these people, he and Jonesy had racked up one nervous mega-church pastor, one riled up cop, and one special delivery snake. These factors added up to a case worth pursuing. It was only 3:30 and the day had been quite full already.

Frank cautiously entered the trailer and quickly disposed of the dead snake after once again poking it to be certain it hadn't become a zombie snake ready to munch on his brain. Before cleaning the blood from the kitchen, he heard his Buddy Rich Big Band ring tone indicating that Jonesy was calling him.

"Jonesy, what's the word from the good pastor."

"Not all that good apparently. While I was gone, someone decided to launch a brick through the surf shop window. It had a note wrapped around it saying 'Let it go'. I wonder what that was referring to."

"Not to try to outdo you, Jonesy, but I've had a fun couple of hours also."

Frank then relayed the events of his day since their chat with the Bullocks.

"Man, I hope Lucy is OK. You know that no one would talk to you if it weren't for that sweet dog."

"Well, it looks like we have a case. That is if you're willing to risk life, limb, and glass to work on it."

"Sure, it's been kind of boring lately. I need something to get the adrenaline going. I'm going to start some digging on Pastor Rick and the mega church."

"I've got to call Bullock and officially accept the case so we can get paid. Then it looks like I've got some teenage poetry to read before our gig tonight. We're only playing from nine to eleven. Fat Sam has one of his special guests playing the 11-1 shift."

In the past, Fat Sam's "special guests" had included Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, Aaron Neville, Harry Connick, Jr., Dr. John, and more Marsalis brothers than you could shake a stick at. These members of New Orleans music royalty always played under fake names. It was fun to watch the realization sinking in across the crowd.

"Why don't we catch some dinner at the Sun Dog at around 7:30 and see where we are?" Frank asked.

"Sounds good, see you then."

# CHAPTER SIX

Frank sat down at his desk with the five notebooks he and Jonesy had retrieved at the Bullocks' home. As he paged through the first one, he found a great deal of childish prose dedicated to springtime, ponies, and the beach. The other three notebooks that Mrs. Bullock had given them had similar entries, although by the third and into the fourth notebook, themes of Christianity began to permeate the writing. By the end of the fourth notebook, the poems were almost all religious in nature.

Frank expected the fifth notebook that they had discovered in Maggie's room to continue down the same path. He was quite surprised to find that this notebook did not contain poetry. It was a journal. The journal entries began about six months ago and continued up to the days before Maggie's disappearance. As he read the entries, he realized that the focus of the entries was on someone with whom Maggie had fallen in love. It wasn't the innocent love of a teenager, or a secret crush. It was a gradual sexual awakening that increased in intensity and detail. Frank felt uncomfortable reading this, but also began to realize that Maggie was no longer the innocent girl that her parents believed she was.

He has awakened feelings in me that I have never experienced before. He is my teacher, my lover, and my friend. He has awakened my mind and body with a power I never thought possible. I want to be with him every minute. He never leaves my thoughts. When we are together, nothing else matters and the outside world ceases to exist. I love him with my mind, heart and body.

Frank felt a bit dirty and voyeuristic reading this. The subject of her affections was not named, but Frank got the sense that Maggie's feelings for him were not those that a teenager feels for another teenager. She kept referring to his knowledge, his experience, and his worldliness. Frank began to think two things. First, the subject of her affection was older, perhaps much older. Second, the first solid lead into her disappearance had emerged. As he read the final entries in the journal, a key piece of information emerged; Maggie Bullock was pregnant.

\--------

Jonesy sat at the computer in his office and began researching Pastor Rick Worthington. The CT website was heavy on fluff and light on relevant facts. Worthington started out at the church as the assistant pastor to his father, Randall Worthington. The senior Worthington became the pastor in 2003 when CT opened. He served in that capacity for three years before suffering a massive and fatal heart attack days before a regionally televised event featuring the church. At the time of his tragedy, his son Rick was divinely inspired to take over for his deceased father and go forward with the broadcast in spite of his deep grief. That was the moment a star was born.

Jonesy then read about all of the miracles that had occurred during Pastor Rick's tenure. More regional and national TV exposure followed and the young man became a living legend.

Jonesy was able to find YouTube video of the elder Worthington preaching to the flock. His style could not have been more different than his superstar son. His calm, thoughtful delivery was full of references from Bible verses, both well-known and obscure. Jonesy's observations of the son revealed a fiery delivery laced with generalities and nebulous Bible references that may or may not have been accurate. The younger Worthington was dynamic and engaging, but totally lacking in referential credibility. The elder Worthington was educated, accurate, reverential, even-tempered, but, in a word, dull.

Jonesy concluded that the church's growth and popularity was attributed to the show-business style presentation of a new brand of pseudo-Christianity that was very profitable. It was now time to delve into Pastor Rick's pre-2003 history.

Jonesy was able to trace the Worthingtons back to Tulsa Oklahoma where the elder Worthington graduated from Oral Roberts University and then worked for the Roberts family ministries. There was no discernible information on Pastor Rick. There were no academic awards, no community service mentions, nothing. It appeared that Jonesy had hit a brick wall in the Internet. It was time to use other means. But first, it was time to head to the Sun Dog for dinner with Frank.

Frank found Jonesy already sitting at their usual table. He was sipping ice tea and enjoying a Cobb salad. Frank took a seat and started on a bowl of jambalaya with Mayport shrimp. He looked at Jonesy and shook his head.

"What is it?"

"This has been an action packed first day on this case."

While they ate, they caught each other up on the events of the day. When Frank filled Jonesy in on the contents of the discovered fifth notebook and Maggie Bullock's apparent pregnancy, Jonesy began to stroke his chin as he often did while formulating an idea.

"What are you thinking?"

"Something about that church made me feel like there was more going on related to this case than I was being told. My digging into the background of their superstar pastor has hit a dead end that I think we need to get around. I think we might find some leads that the police either overlooked or are covering up."

"I think we're on the same page," Frank agreed. "But we've already seen some retaliation for even considering this case. If you want out, I understand."

"Hey, that window they broke at my shop was dirty. They actually did me a favor. I don't have to clean it and it will get replaced with a shiny new one."

"OK, then. It's settled. But right now, we've got some music to play."

Frank and Jonesy headed inside and mounted the small stage in the corner across from the bar in the Sun Dog. Jonesy kept a small drum kit on the stage that was used by whoever was playing. Frank sat down at the ancient looking Steinway upright. The cabinet was, indeed, ancient, but the guts and keys on the piano were brand new. It was a beautiful instrument with a great sound. Already on the stage was Armand Bigtree. Never was a name so appropriate. Armand, at 6'5" dwarfed his full-sized upright acoustic bass. He was busy tuning it up and practicing some new bass lines with his massive, but quite nimble fingers.

With a quick nod, Frank indicated it was time to start and Jonesy counted them off into a speedy rendition of "On Green Dolphin Street." As the music started, the stress of the day melted away. The first hour set of their two hour gig went by quickly. After a fun arrangement of Dizzy Gillespie's "A Night in Tunisia," they took a break.

As Frank and Jonesy grabbed a Land Shark beer and a club soda respectively from the bar, Frank saw a familiar face that he was hoping to see, Anita Velasquez. Anita was a detective with the JPD. She and Frank had become friends based on their common interests. They both liked jazz, both had police backgrounds, and both were attracted to women. Velasquez had to keep this third interest secret. As the country had progressed in many ways, the southern United States were still not 100% tolerant of some aspects of modern society. Frank knew that Anita dealt with being hassled by Lieutenant Drake as well. Drake resented her intellect, talent, and gender. Frank was hoping that she could help them with the Bullock case by circumventing some of the barriers and dead ends they had encountered.

"Hey piano boy. You guys are sounding inspired tonight."

"We are just trying to measure up to Fat Sam's 'special guest', whoever that is," Frank replied.

"Heard you had some fun with Bubba today."

Bubba was the name Anita called Lt. Drake because it fit him so well.

"How did you know?"

"He told me right before he ordered me not to help you or Jonesy with the Bullock case. So, what can I do to help you?"

"I was hoping you would say that."

Frank then filled her in on what he and Jonesy had found.

"It's nice to know Bubba and his Bubbettes are consistently bad at their job. How did they miss that notebook?"

"They used their usual stellar investigatory techniques."

"So are you thinking that CT and Pastor Rick have more to do with this than they are saying?"

"I think that we are on the right path based on my reptilian visitor and Jonesy's broken window. Someone doesn't want us continuing down the current path. That means that we will, of course."

"What can I do?"

"We've hit a dead end with researching Pastor Rick before he came to Jacksonville. We can't find much on him during his days in Tulsa. If you could reach out to the authorities there, that would be a great start," Frank said.

"That shouldn't be a problem. You know, however, that Bubba's going to be pissed if he finds out that you found new evidence, specifically that notebook. You could argue, however, that Maggie Bullock's pregnancy gave her a reason to run away."

"I suppose that would be correct if there weren't people that obviously don't want us looking into the case."

"That's true. I'll follow up with looking into the good pastor and let you know what I find out."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

"You can pay me back by playing "My Funny Valentine" when you guys go back up there."

"No problem. It's one of my favorites."

Frank, Jonesy and Armand came back with a lively rendition of "Take the A Train," before honoring Anita's request and then finishing out their second set.

After their last tune, Fat Sam mounted the stage and took the microphone. He announced his "special guest" in his raspy Cajun voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I found this gentleman playing his accordion at the beach walk for tips. He wasn't half bad so I asked him to bring a couple of friends over to play a bit for you. Please let me introduce to you Mr. Alfalfa Polka."

As soon as he took the stage, all of the jazz aficionados immediately recognized him as the New Orleans legend Buckwheat Zydeco. He was between tour stops in Miami and Atlanta. It was the start of another special night at the Sun Dog.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

Frank woke up on his own at 7:30. It was two full hours later than he usually woke up. With Lucy, his faithful furry alarm clock, out of commission he slept restlessly. He grabbed his phone and called Nancy. She said Lucy was doing well and that there were no signs of kidney failure, infection, or anaphylaxis. Lucy had a good night and had eaten a half can of dog food this morning. Nancy wanted to keep her for another night just to be sure. Frank agreed and asked if he could bring her some food from the Sun Dog. Dog food was not her thing. Nancy agreed that he could later in the day.

Frank went for his run and felt obligated to explain to everyone along the way what happened to Lucy. She was missed. He came back to the trailer, took a shower, scrambled a couple of eggs for breakfast, and got busy making phone calls. The first call was to Travis Bullock. He wanted to see his client in person and deliver the news about the contents of the fifth notebook. He was set to visit him in about an hour. Mr. Bullock said he would ask his wife to be there as well. Frank was not looking forward to delivering the news about Maggie's pregnancy. While he was looking through the notebook one last time, he glanced at his answering machine and noticed the red blinking light. He went to the machine and pressed the play button expecting the usual hang-up call from the Scranton number. What he heard instead was the perky voice of Anita Velasquez. Her message said, "Hey piano boy, get your happy butt out of bed and call me. I've got some information about what we talked about last night and need some guidance moving forward."

Frank was glad it wasn't the hang-up call. He would have to investigate that someday, but he was afraid of where it would lead. He was also puzzled by Anita's message for three reasons. First, it was quick. She must have found something or hit a roadblock fairly quickly. Second, she rarely needed guidance. Still in her early 30s, she had more ability and instinct than many veterans of the police force. Third, how was she so damn perky this early in the morning? They had both stayed at the Sun Dog and listened to Buckwheat Zydeco until 1AM.

It was time to head to Bullock's office. He would call Anita on the way and would check in with Jonesy afterward. He called Anita's cell as he drove down A1A. She answered on the second ring.

"Hello Piano Boy. You really stepped into it on this case."

"I'm fine thanks and you."

"I don't have time for chit chat. Bubba ran out of donuts, but he'll be back from the Krispy Kreme soon."

"So what did I step in?"

"A whole bunch of good ole boy intrigue is my guess so far. I looked up your boy, Rick Worthington, and found a trail with a lot of covered tracks in Tulsa. He apparently was a bit of a wild child in his teen years that was caught with alcohol and drugs numerous times and did a lot of community service and some probation. Then, at seventeen, something more serious happened that resulted in him disappearing for three years. There are a whole bunch of sealed records surrounding what happened. They are sealed so tightly that my substantial charms could not even get me a description of what was included in them. He resurfaced at 20 and became daddy's little Christian minion with a clean slate."

"Sounds interesting and definitely worth pursuing. Do you think you can get the records unsealed?"

"Since he is an adult, I may be able to look at them if they are material to a more recent crime. Right now, I don't have a leg to stand on."

"Does statutory rape count as a potential crime that could get them unlocked?"

"You bet. Now you just have to prove that it happened."

"Yup, that's all. Thanks for the effort. I'll see what other evidence I can scare up and I'll be in touch."

"Sounds great. I think I hear Bubba slinking his way in. I'll talk to you later."

Frank spent five minutes sitting in the parking lot of the Bullock's law firm. He exited the Lexus and entered the reception area. The reception area of the firm looked like a shrine to Florida State University. One thing to understand about Jacksonville, you are either a Gator (University of Florida), a Seminole (Florida State University), a Bulldog (University of Georgia), or from somewhere else wondering why these various camps are so passionate for college sports yet the atmosphere for pro-football is so apathetic. Frank was definitely from somewhere else.

The receptionist that greeted him was a cross between Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith Show and Paula Deen, the troubled southern celebrity chef and purveyor of all things made with butter.

Frank told her that he was here to see Mr. and Mrs. Bullock about their missing daughter.

"Well bless your heart. Please have a seat and I'll let them know you're here."

Frank had learned that "bless your heart" was the southern equivalent of "aloha" as it had multiple meanings. It could mean, "Well that is wonderful." It could also mean, "You are beneath me and I know it, but I'm going to fake southern charm by using an empty compliment."

Frank took a seat on one of the Gone with the Wind style wing-back chairs in the reception area. He picked up an old copy of Southern Living and started to leaf through it.

After a few minutes, the receptionist announced, "The Bullocks will see you now."

She then raised her ample self from her chair and escorted him to a corner office. If the receptionist area was a shrine to FSU, Travis Bullock's office was a Cathedral dedicated to the institution. Most prominent in his office was a 3'X5' landscape portrait of a capacity football crowd at Doak S. Campbell Stadium on the FSU campus. Only in the south are names like Doak and Dorcas viewed as normal. Next to the monstrous photo was a picture of Travis with Bobby Bowden, the iconic former FSU football coach. Only in the south can an 80-something year old man still be called Bobby. The Bullocks were sitting on a small gold sofa under the huge football stadium picture. They both looked haggard as if sleep had not been something in which they had participated lately.

"I came into the office as soon as Travis let me know you were coming," Mrs. Bullock said as she shook Frank's hand. "What did you find out?"

Frank returned the four original notebooks from his messenger bag. He then told them about what Jonesy had found between the mattresses and that it shed new light on the case.

"Why didn't you tell us when you found it?" Mr. Bullock asked with a touch of anger in his voice as Frank handed him the fifth notebook.

"I wanted to assess what was in it first. If the content was irrelevant, then no harm done. If it was hurtful to you and your wife, but not relevant to the case, then why increase your stress."

"But you are here with us, so which scenario is it?" Travis Bullock impatiently asked.

"Neither. The content is out of character for Maggie and may disturb you. I am here because of the detail at the end of the text. It could be very relevant to the case."

Frank watched Travis Bullock's face transform as he read the fifth notebook. His body language showed a man discovering something that he truly did not expect or want. He sagged visibly into the couch and seemed to age as he read the last page. As he handed the notebook to his perplexed wife, he kept muttering, "Who did this to her? Who did this to my baby?"

When Mrs. Bullock finished her reading of the notebook, her eyes welled up with tears and she sagged next to her husband.

"I want you to find out who the bastard is that did this to our baby girl. Just give me his name and I'll deal with him," Mr. Bullock said, his face red with rage.

"I was hoping that one of you could give me some leads on who she has written about in her journal. If he is an adult, there are certainly serious charges that can be brought against him."

"I don't care about charges. I just want a name," Bullock said in a menacing tone.

Frank opted not to tell them about Pastor Rick's murky past until he was more certain about the potential connection to the case.

"Sir, I will do my best to find the man responsible. I won't, however, let any client seek vengeance outside of the law. I just can't do that. I know what it is like to have loved ones harmed and in danger. You may share this new information with the police if you like, but I don't think it will do anything to discourage their runaway theory."

"The police have displayed their lack of skill by failing to find the notebook. I don't see any reason to expect them to improve," Bullock conceded. "Whatever resources you need, Mr. Rozzani, I will see to it that you have them."

"I appreciate that sir."

Frank got up to leave the uncomfortable scene, said his goodbyes, and walked toward the reception area. As he walked, he passed the office of the Bullocks' law partner, Stanton Cobb. Cobb was the founding partner of the firm. If there was ever a human incarnation of C. Montgomery Burns from The Simpsons, Cobb was it. He stood in the doorway of his office wearing a charcoal pinstripe three piece suit that was stylish in the 1940s, but somehow looked contemporary on him. He had leopard like parchment-thin skin on his bald head that denoted a man who had spent many years in the Florida sun.

Frank stopped, extended his hand, and introduced himself. As Cobb closed his bony/leathery grip around Frank's hand, Frank half-expected him to say "Excellent." He did not. Instead, in his southern bred surprisingly strong voice he said, "Yes. Mr. Rozzani, the ex-policeman turned detective. Travis told me they had engaged your services. I told them it was frivolous to pay you to achieve what the police cannot accomplish with their vast resources and technology. They are stubborn, however, and refuse to take my advice and let the girl return."

"So you believe she is a runaway as well, sir?"

"It seems obvious to me. Teenagers these days are rebellious and have too much access to bad influences," Cobb said, sounding more like Grandpa Abe Simpson now.

"I respect your perspective, sir. I am only trying to help."

"If you want to help, Mr. Rozzani, why not step aside and let the police do their work? You can also stop robbing my partners of their money."

"If that is their decision, I will accept it and do just what you suggest Mr. Cobb"

Frank took his leave from Stanton Cobb and headed for the exit feeling like he'd just been threatened somehow. Pushing that thought from his mind, he decided it was time to check in with Jonesy and begin the leg work that lay ahead.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Frank was on his way home when he spotted an Atlantic Beach fire truck and red fire chief SUV parked in front of the Sun Dog. He pulled into a parking spot and went inside to see what was going on. He found Fat Sam sitting at a table with his cook Louie and two uniformed fire fighters. Other fire fighters were entering and exiting the kitchen. Frank waited until the fire fighters were done with Sam before he approached the table where he sat with Louie.

"Did you have a kitchen fire?"

"Not quite Frankie. You know Louie has been staying in my back room while they repair his place from the last big storm we had. He woke up when he heard glass break in the kitchen last night. When he got up to check it out, someone had thrown a good old-fashioned Molotov cocktail through the window. Louie grabbed the fire extinguisher and put it out before it did much damage. Because it was arson, we called it in."

"Where are the police?"

"Drake was here, but he and his 'Drakettes' concluded that it was kids up to mischief and left already."

"Another stellar piece of police work. Who do you think did it, Sam?"

"Well Frankie, I'm so old that most of my enemies from the old days have died. Besides, if someone from the Big Easy drove all the way over here to do this, the place would have been burned to the ground. Those crazy Cajuns don't do anything half-assed like this. I'd argue that it was kids, but I would have found out who did it by now. I have a lot of eyes and ears out there. The people who did this were amateurs. The kind of amateurs that might stuff a snake into a trailer or throw a brick through a window, if you catch my drift. Somebody wants you off that Bullock case and they think these little pranks on you and your friends will accomplish that."

"Sam, I feel awful that this happened. Do you want me to drop it?" Frank asked, already knowing the answer.

"Frankie, I would lose all respect for you if you dropped this case. These idiots made a big mistake pulling me into this. They now have to deal with my underground militia of homeless, panhandlers, surfers and other colorful beach folks. I call them the 'Fat Samaritans', and they should not be underestimated."

"Well, if your eyes or ears see or hear anything, be sure to let me know."

"You know it, Frankie," Sam said with a big bear hug.

Instead of calling Jonesy, Frank decided to stop by his surf shop and see him personally. Frank entered the shop and was struck by the sound of beach music and the smell of cocoa butter. Dusty, Jonesy's latest client/project/employee was showing a prospective customer some long boards.

"Hey Mr. Frank," Dusty said without missing a beat of his sales pitch. "He's in his office being all lawyerly today."

Frank walked past the displays, past the restrooms, and knocked on the door of the secluded office.

"Enter," was the word of welcome he received. Frank opened the door to see Jonesy sitting behind a huge vintage desk in front of a state-of-the-art computer which was connected to the fastest civilian Internet connection available. His surfer, beach bum exterior belied the brilliant analytical mind that he possessed. Legend had it that Jonesy passed the Florida and Georgia bar exams without studying and likely could have passed them without attending law school. Yet, to look at him, you would think he was just another pretty boy surfer with no future. Legend also had it that Jonesy had wisely invested substantial trust fund money at the age of 21 and was well on his way to purchasing his own island where he could live out his days surfing.

Today, he was truly in business mode. Few people experienced this side of Jonesy. It was truly awe-inspiring.

"Frank, I've been tracing the ownership of Christianity Today. Like many mega-churches, the ownership is set up through a holding company. These holding companies like to have ownership of religious institutions so that they can take advantage of the many tax benefits associated with them. They are sometimes used by less reputable holding companies as a way to launder money from other endeavors that are not as pious."

"Is that the case with CT's holding company?"

"I don't know yet, but the number of layers in their ownership is astounding."

"Number of layers?"

"The CT holding company is owned by another holding company which, in turn, is owned by another holding company, and so on for about five more levels so far. I haven't traced it to its root owners yet, but it smells fishy."

"Well, I'll leave you to keep digging through whatever secret channels you have."

Jonesy looked up and smiled, "Let's just say I have friends in the right places when it comes to corporate finance and banking."

"By the way," Frank said, "did you hear what happened at the Dog?"

"Dusty saw the trucks on the way to work and I talked to Sam right before you got here. The fat man is riled up. I feel badly for whoever did that. He will find out."

"Sam thinks it's related to the Bullock case based on the half-assed intimidation tactics we have all experienced."

"I have to agree. The snake, the brick, and the fire bomb all have the stench of half of an ass," Jonesy quipped.

Frank left Jonesy to his analytical work and returned home to plan his next move.

Frank realized that he had a possible conduit to unseal the Rick Worthington file. After his conversation with Anita, he knew that her hands were tied until he could prove that evidence against Worthington in this case was more than just a suspicion. He fired up his less-than-state-of-the-art computer and looked up the contact information for Travis Bullock III, the eldest son of Travis and Peggy Sue Bullock. The young lawyer had risen through the ranks of the state legal system and was now the Deputy Attorney General in the state capitol of Tallahassee. Perhaps the younger Bullock might have some clout to reach out to his counterparts in Oklahoma for some help with his sister's case.

Frank dialed the number he found on the State of Florida web site. Frank asked for Travis Bullock and was advised that Mr. Bullock was very busy today, but if he wished to leave his contact information, Mr. Bullock or one of his assistants would get back to him within the next three business days. Frank left his name and number even though his next step was to find other means to get what he needed as this appeared to be a bureaucratic dead end. Just as Frank was about to search for contacts in the Tulsa area, his cell phone rang and the screen displayed a Tallahassee number. He answered with his usual, "Rozzani."

"Mr. Rozzani, this is Travis Bullock, Maggie's brother. How can I help you?" the voice asked.

"Mr. Bullock," Frank said, trying to hide his surprise. "Thank you for calling back so quickly."

"No problem, Mr. Rozzani, I spoke with Mom and Dad and they told me you were investigating Maggie's disappearance."

"Mr. Bullock, I'm not sure how much your parents have filled you in on the case."

"Please call me Travis, Mr. Rozzani. My dad told me about the journal you found. I was shocked when I heard about the final entry. Until that point, I was almost relieved that Maggie had an interest outside of church."

"Travis, please call me Frank, by the way, I'd like to share some additional information with you that I have not shared with your parents. Your dad seems determined to go after whoever impregnated your sister and I'm trying to be judicious with what I tell him about our leads."

Frank was taking a chance that he could trust this man he just met by phone.

"Dad's an old-fashioned guy. He and mom raised us in a different time. If the culprit is an adult that took advantage of her, however, I want to go after him to the full extent of the law."

"I agree, Travis."

Frank filled him in on what Jonesy and Anita had found regarding Pastor Rick Worthington.

"That guy had quite an influence on Maggie and her peers at CT," Bullock said when Frank was finished. "I met the guy once and he seemed nervous around me when he found out I was a Deputy Attorney General. I'll be glad to see what I can do with my peers in Oklahoma."

"That would be great, Travis. It's up to you what you tell your parents and the authorities. I would just appreciate it if you told me first."

"Frank, can you send me a dollar?" Travis asked, clearly up to something.

"I suppose so."

"Great, you are now my client and the information we share is subject to attorney/client confidentiality. I will only talk to you about what I find."

Frank was really starting to like this guy.

"I will get back to you as soon as I have something. Was there anything else you needed from me?" Travis said in closing.

"Just one question, do you think Maggie ran away?"

"Honestly, I don't think so. Not without talking to one of us. As far apart as I and my siblings are from her in age, she was not afraid to reach out to us when she needed advice."

"If she didn't call you, do you think she might have called another one of your siblings?"

"My sister, Missy would probably be her shoulder to lean on in this case. She has, how should I put this, experience in the ways of the world. Also, being a female, Maggie might have been more apt to call her than my brother Bobby who is doing who knows what somewhere in Europe."

Frank took down Missy's contact information and thanked Travis again. With Travis digging up what he could on Worthington, Frank decided to call Melissa Bullock to see if Maggie had reached out to her.

When Frank dialed the number, a sweet, girlish voice answered the phone saying, "Savannah Decor and Party Planning, how may I help you?"

Frank explained who he was and like Travis, Missy's parents had brought her up to speed with what they knew. Frank asked her if Maggie had contacted her. There was a long pause after this question.

Then, finally, "Mr. Rozzani, I feel awful about this, but, yes, she called me for advice. At first, I thought it was an innocent thing. She is so naive and sheltered for a girl her age. I almost envy her. I wasn't shy or innocent at that age. Then, when she started telling me the details I started to worry about her. It sounded like he was older, as in 18 or older. Only later, when she told me she was pregnant, did I realize how serious her situation was. She seemed really happy when she told me. She said I was the first person who knew. She said she was going to tell the father that night and that he was going to be as happy as she was. I tried to be happy for her, but I was worried. I didn't know anything about the father and couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. The next day, my dad called me to tell me Maggie was missing, and that the police thought she was a runaway. I couldn't bring myself to tell dad that I might know why. I have been such a disappointment to my parents that this would have been one more black mark on my record. I thought that maybe she had run away to get married or even to see me if telling the father went badly. I hope I didn't put her in more danger by not telling my parents what I knew."

"I don't think you did, Ms. Bullock, but I'm glad you told me. I will not share our conversation with your parents, but you may want to consider doing so. If you hear from Maggie, please contact me right away."

"I will, and thank you," she said nearly breaking down.

"Why are you thanking me?" Frank asked.

"For listening and not judging me," she said.

"I am hardly one to judge how people handle situations like this, Ms. Bullock."

They said their goodbyes and Frank looked at the time and realized it was time to pick up some real food for his canine companion and deliver it to her.

# CHAPTER NINE

Jacksonville has many barbecue restaurants, both chains and small independent joints. Frank's favorite was Mona's, a tiny shack near his trailer. He stopped in and ordered three barbecue beef sandwiches with a side of Mona's signature cheese tater tots. He put the brown bag on the driver's seat and made the short drive to Nancy Rafferty's Veterinary Clinic. Nancy had a small house behind the clinic and, since it was now after hours, he decided to drive around the back to the house. When he pulled in, Nancy was sitting on the front porch on a comfy looking chair with a familiar looking black dog by her side on a dog bed. At the sight of Frank, Lucy's ears perked up and her heavily sedated tail wagged slowly.

"She looks a bit too comfortable here with you," Frank said as he walked to the porch.

"The sedative helps her look comfortable, but we have engaged in some bonding. She's a great girl."

"Takes one to know one," Frank said clumsily, regretting what he said as soon as it came out.

"I brought dinner," he said, trying to recover.

"Well, it's not the new seafood place, but it smells like BBQ from Mona's which is good any day. Guess I'll have to settle for what I can get."

Frank settled into the chair next to Nancy with Lucy in between them. As he dug through the bag to distribute the food, Nancy poured him a large glass of sweet tea. Calling iced tea in the south "sweet tea" is an understatement. Sugar was added to this tea to the saturation point. Frank unwrapped a sandwich for Lucy and set it down in front of her. She sniffed it, then explored it with her tongue and finally began eating it with her tail wagging in rhythm with her chewing. Frank handed Nancy her sandwich and relaxed in the chair with a heavy sigh.

"Tough couple of days, Mr. Detective?"

"Just full of surprises."

He filled Nancy in on some of the general details of the recent events of the case. She was a good listener. "Frank, I'm not sure how you do it. You get involved in the lives of your clients and help them clean up their messes while you have the police and others trying to sabotage your efforts."

"It does make life interesting, but sometimes working on the problems of others helps you put your own issues aside," he said, not sure why he was revealing this much of himself.

"Frank, I know you're carrying some sort of burden from your life up north. You know I'm here for you when you're ready to talk about it."

Frank exhaled, took a sip of his tea and said, "I think I'm ready to talk about it with you. You deserve an explanation for my behavior toward you."

Nancy sat back and Frank began to tell her part of his painful story.

\--------

Frank told Nancy about his roots in Syracuse, NY as a second generation Italian American. He grew up in the mostly Italian north side of the city in a 100 year old two family house with his parents, brother, and grandmother on his mom's side.

"My grandmother was mother to nine children. My mom was the youngest."

"Nine children! You must have had a huge family."

"I had dozens of cousins and second cousins. In my family every holiday and family event revolved around food. If there was a birth, a death, a marriage, a graduation, a christening, or a confirmation, there was food. If you were happy, have some food to celebrate. If you were sad, food could cheer you up. My grandmother was a magician in the kitchen. Everything she made was organic before anyone knew what organic was. Learning to cook was mandatory for me."

"It's amazing that you're not overweight from all the food."

"I played a lot of sports and then later kept in shape so I could enter the police academy when I was old enough."

"What made you want to become a cop?"

"My father was a cop. He had great instincts and was pretty well regarded in the force. Being an Italian cop in the late 70's was interesting for him, though."

"Interesting in what way?"

"There were a lot of Italian stereotypes because of movies like The Godfather. My dad was a clean cop. He wasn't tied to the mob or on the take."

"Wasn't your brother a cop also?"

"My brother Michael and two of my dad's brothers. It made for interesting family gatherings."

"Why is that?"

"Let's just say my mother's side of the family was a bit more colorful. Dad's family was originally from the Northern, blue-eyed, blond-haired part of Italy"

"That explains your baby blue eyes"

Frank felt the warmth rise in his cheeks as he continued.

"Mom's mother's family is Sicilian. This difference was a big deal when the families came together for my parents' wedding in the 60's. The Rozzanis looked down on the Scarpinos. For every Rozzani that was a police officer, business owner, or priest there was a Scarpino that drove a big black car and lived in places like Rochester, Buffalo, and Utica. I remember that my Uncle Louis in Rochester always seemed to have a big wad of money in his pocket when we had family parties at his nightclub, but he never seemed to actually work. He had a huge house that was part of a compound where a bunch of his kids lived."

"So how did the families get along?"

"It was difficult for both sides. My father took a lot of heat because of Mom's family. People just assumed he had mob ties."

"So you and your brother followed in his footsteps?"

"Yes and no. Michael was five years older. He got into the police academy and started as a rookie cop when I was a sophomore in high school."

Frank told Nancy about his two life changing experiences in high school. The first was around music and his love for the piano. Like many Italian boys, Frank had taken accordion lessons. He was drawn, however, to the baby grand piano in his grandmother's living room and began to transfer what he had learned on the accordion to the piano. He listened to his grandmother's recordings of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Perry Como, and Dean Martin, and was drawn to the chord progressions of the standards that they sang. These songs were written in the 1930's - 1960's by such masters as Gershwin, Porter and Van Heusen. This music spoke to Frank and he quickly learned to play the songs by ear.

This love for standards was private to Frank until he entered high school. He was walking the halls one day when he heard the music he loved coming from a piano in one of the practice rooms in the music section of the high school. He looked through the glass of the practice room door and saw a stocky man making incredible music come from an old studio piano. Frank immediately noticed the conflicting image of the squat looking man with fingers, that looked like over-stuffed sausages, flying across the keys with the sound of "Here's that Rainy Day" coming out with chord progressions that he had never heard before, but wanted to hear more.

"That's where I met Tommy O'Neill. He was a teacher at the school and kind of took me under his wing and taught me all of the tricks I know on the piano."

"Well he certainly taught you well. You know your way around the piano."

"It's been therapeutic for me especially in the past six years or so."

Frank was suddenly quiet.

"Frank, you don't have to go through this if you're not ready. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No. I need to do this. Not just for me, but in fairness to you."

Frank and Nancy had dated a few times as they bonded over their mutual admiration for Lucy. During their dates, Frank felt a mixture of happiness and guilt as they began to become closer. Eventually, the guilt won out and Frank stopped calling Nancy without much of an explanation. He stayed quiet for a while before continuing.

"I had a wife and kids in Syracuse", Frank admitted in a tone of voice so quiet, it was almost a whisper.

"I figured something like that, Frank. That's why I thought you wanted to move slowly when we were, you know, dating. I guessed that you were still in love with someone that you needed to get over."

"That's not quite it. Something bad happened in Syracuse involving my wife and kids. It was a bad situation and I had to leave because of it."

"Did she cheat on you?"

"No. She ended up dead because of a case I was working on. It involved some pretty sleazy characters and I had to leave my kids to keep them out of danger."

"Frank, that's awful. I had no idea."

"It's not something I talk a lot about. Those people could still be looking for me. It makes me nervous about getting close to anyone. Plus the memories of what happened..."

Frank was silent.

Nancy held on to his hand and then broke the silence.

Frank finished telling his story to Nancy. He could feel the moistness in his eyes and the tightness in his chest. When he looked up at her, her eyes were moist as well.

"Frank, I can't imagine the pain you have gone through. I am so sorry if I pressured you."

"It felt good to be able to trust someone enough to share it. I appreciate you listening."

"You are a good man, Frank; better than most. I will always be here for you."

Frank felt a warm wetness on his right hand and looked down to see Lucy meeting his gaze and licking his hand. Frank patted her head and finished his tea in silence.

# CHAPTER TEN

Frank would be spending one more night without Lucy in the trailer. He left Nancy's and headed home. He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders by sharing his story with her. He also felt that familiar guilt which had him wondering if he could have done something differently to save his wife. He also felt guilt for leaving his children behind and dreamed of a day when he might be reunited with them. That day might never come. The vengeance of his enemies was something that could survive for generations.

Frank pulled in next to his trailer and cautiously unlocked the door. He checked the small space thoroughly. No snakes, bricks, or firebombs. Things were looking up. He checked his machine and the light was on indicating a message. When he hit the play button, the gravely Cajun voice of Fat Sam spoke to him. "Frankie, my people came through for me. You and Jonesy should stop by for breakfast in the morning. I've got some interesting things to tell you."

Frank wasn't surprised that Fat Sam had information so quickly. His network of people had eyes and ears everywhere. Frank decided to call Jonesy to see if he had any updates on his research into the mega-church's ownership.

"Jones," the voice on the phone said.

"Hey Jonesy, it's Frank."

"Hey Frank, I've been buried in this ownership mess all day. It's one of the most complicated holding company configurations I've ever seen."

"Did you get to the bottom of it yet?"

"I'm just waiting for confirmation from some deeply placed sources. Once I hear from them, if they confirm what I've found, the plot of this case will thicken quite a bit. I'm expecting a call from Europe at about 2AM and then I'll know for sure."

Frank brought Jonesy up to speed on his conversation with the Bullocks' son and daughter.

"Sounds like you might get some help from Travis the third and the daughter filled in some of the missing pieces."

Jonesy and Frank finished agreed to meet the next morning for breakfast with Sam to plan their next steps.

Frank woke from a long night of tossing and turning. Talking about his family last night awoke a number of old horrors that he had not dreamed about in a long time. Visions of his wife and children calling for his help made him wake up in a cold sweat. It was 7:30 by the time he showered and made his way to the Sun Dog. No run today. When he walked up to his usual table, Jonesy and Sam were already deep in conversation.

"Sorry I'm late. It was a rough night with no sleep."

"It must be that Lucy isn't back yet to make you feel safe," Jonesy said.

"No. She's getting spoiled by Nancy. I hope she wants to come home today."

"You might need her to protect you based on what Sam told me this morning."

"That's right, Frankie," Sam chimed in. "One of my dishwashers who used to sleep on the beach told me that your buddy Lieutenant Drake was down at the beach talking to some new arrivals. Apparently he passed one of the new homeless some money to pull the brick stunt at Jonesy's surf shop. The night of the fire, a big Ford F-350 pickup was seen behind my restaurant. Doesn't Drake drive one of those?" Sam asked.

"Yes. He's definitely compensating for something with that big-ass truck," Jonesy added.

"Then Drake shows up at my place the same day as the snake incident," Frank said. "Do you think he's so stupid that he would be behind these stunts?"

"Is that a serious question?" Jonesy asked. "I'm actually surprised he was smart enough to pull those bush-league stunts off without getting bitten by the snake or setting himself on fire."

"Why would he go to that extreme to throw us off this case?" Frank asked. "Is his ego that big or is he protecting someone?"

"Yes and maybe," Jonesy said. "But who would be desperate enough to go to that idiot for protection."

"Maybe someone who has something on him and needs a favor," Sam said.

"That's a strong possibility, Sam," Frank said. "I think we should lay low for now and see what his next move is."

"Based on the stunts he's pulled so far, maybe he'll short-sheet our beds or put flaming bags of dog poop in front of our doors and ring the doorbell," Jonesy said.

"That's fine with me," Sam said. "It would be more fun to catch him in the act. Let me know what you need me to do," Sam said as he got up from the table.

Jonesy took this as his cue to tell Frank what he had found and confirmed with his late night/early morning call.

"Well," he began. "After tracing the ownership of Christianity Today through many twists and turns, I found a corporation that owns the mega-church. The name of the corporation is not interesting, but the board membership is. The chairman of the board is the charming Stanton Cobb. The other board members are all elders within the First Baptist Church."

"Really? So, when the young Baptists become disillusioned with the mother church, they rebel and join a church that they don't realize is owned by the mother church."

"Ironic, isn't it? So much for breaking that southern incest stereotype."

"Now it makes sense that Cobb was not happy with our investigation. If the pastor is involved, it could hurt Cobb financially and socially," Frank said.

"This also makes our interest in the good pastor's mysterious past even more relevant."

"That's correct. I'll give Travis Bullock III a call later to let him know what's happening and try to get his help."

"I think it's also important that we circle back with the Bullocks and find out a bit more about their split from the First Baptist Church."

"They didn't split from the church as much as they think based on the ownership structure. I wonder how they'll react to Cobb's role in the church, not to mention the board structure," Frank said. "I guess we'll find out."

Since it was Sunday, Frank called the Bullocks first to see if they were available to meet. They agreed that he and Jonesy could come over at around 11AM. Jonesy would explain the layers of church ownership and could also back Frank up on other details.

They pulled into the Bullocks' driveway and walked to the front entrance. The door opened on a haggard looking Travis Bullock. He walked Jonesy and Frank to the same kitchen table that they had used in their prior meeting. Peggy Sue Bullock was already seated at the table sipping coffee and looking like she hadn't slept, but somehow still looking attractive.

"We wanted to follow up with you on some details that are relevant to the case. I can't quite tell you the relationship yet, but we have found some interesting information related to the ownership of Christianity Today that you may not be aware of," Frank said.

"How is the ownership of the church relevant to Maggie's disappearance?" Mr. Bullock asked, sounding tired and annoyed.

"I was hoping that you might be able to tell us once we fill you in," Frank said.

He deferred to Jonesy who went through what he had found using legal terms that Frank was not familiar with, but seemed to have meaning to the Bullocks. When he informed them of the chairmanship and the makeup of the board, Mr. Bullock was visibly rattled.

"Cobb is the chairman of a board made up of First Baptist elders?" Bullock asked. "That must be a mistake, Mr. Jones."

"I assure you that it is not, sir. My resources are quite reliable."

"So you're telling us we never really left that church after what they did and Stanton knew all along?" Mrs. Bullock interjected, while her husband shot her a quick warning look.

"That appears to be the case," Jonesy confirmed.

"Now I think it may be relevant for you to tell us why you split from First Baptist Church," Frank said.

The Bullocks exchanged a look and Peggy Sue nodded her head in reassurance for her husband. Bullock gathered himself together and reluctantly recounted the event.

"My family has been members of First Baptist Church going back many generations," Travis Bullock began. "There has always been a Bullock on the council of elders. Our family has been a large financial donor as well. All that changed in early 2007 with what happened to our son, Bobby. Bobby was a very artistic child. He was never into sports or any typical boy activities. He loved to read books, write, paint, and was especially fond of singing. He sang in the youth choir at First Baptist and seemed to really find it enjoyable. In 2007, when he was 17, Bobby suddenly quit the choir. The following Sunday, said he was sick when it was time to go to church. When we came home, we found him in his room unconscious. He had tried to overdose on prescription medications. Fortunately, the mixture of drugs that he ingested was not strong enough to kill him. At the hospital, Bobby told us what happened. He had been sexually abused by the youth choir director."

"Of course, we were extremely upset. We went to the council of elders and asked for the choir director to be fired and arrested. Their reaction wasn't what we expected. It turned out that the choir director was related to a wealthy, high-profile donor. They apologized, but that didn't seem like enough to us. I kept insisting that the director be terminated and charged. This changed their position to one that was more threatening."

"What do you mean?" Frank asked.

"They said that if we went public with the case, none of the local news outlets would touch the story because of their loyalty to the church. If we went national, they said they would respond that Bobby is gay and seduced the choir director. This wasn't true. Although Bobby is artistic, he is not gay. In fact, he has a beautiful girlfriend in Europe. It was a no-win situation for us. We left the church totally disillusioned with the leadership. We had heard of Christianity Today and decided to give it a try. It's a little too flashy for us, but the kids, Bobby and Maggie, took to it right away. But Bobby was never the same. We believe he moved to Europe because of what happened."

Bullock paused briefly.

"Now you're telling us that we haven't actually split from that corrupt bunch, we're still giving them our money, and our partner didn't tell us?"

"I'm afraid so," Frank said.

"So how does this relate to Maggie's disappearance?" Mrs. Bullock asked.

"We think that there might be some relationship between your split from the church and Christianity Today's response to our investigation. I don't want to say more until I'm sure," Frank said. "I promise you that if we have any information that pertains directly to your daughter's disappearance, we will let you know immediately. Right now, we need to keep following up leads with no distraction as quickly as we can. Time is of the essence in these cases."

"I understand," Mr. Bullock said. "I just don't see the connection. We'll make ourselves available to you."

Frank and Jonesy rose to leave.

"Just one more thing," Frank said. "Don't let Stanton Cobb know that you found out about this. If there is a connection, I don't want him tipping anyone off."

"That shouldn't be a problem. At his age, Stanton is only in the office an average of one day a week. Right now, he's involved with one of his special projects. He'll be away for a few weeks," Mr. Bullock said.

Frank and Jonesy exchanged a quick look. They said their goodbyes to the Bullocks and got into Frank's car.

"I think we should divide and conquer," Frank said. "Cobb has become a mystery character in all of this. Can you track him down and dig into his past a bit. We also need to find out what his special project is and if it's related to Maggie Bullock's disappearance. I'm going to lean on the younger Travis Bullock to see if I can speed up his research into Pastor Worthington's youth in Tulsa."

"Sounds like a plan," Jonesy said.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jonesy was back in his office ready to redirect his efforts into research on Stanton Cobb's background. He found that Cobb entered FSU in 1963 at the age of 22. That seemed like a good place to start. Florida State University was the first state university in Florida founded in 1851 in the state capital of Tallahassee. Cobb earned a four year degree in 1967 and went on to the newly-formed FSU College of Law. He was a stellar student. He was the editor of the FSU Law Review in his 2nd and 3rd years. As Jonesy perused the online archives, he came upon a picture that sent his research in a completely new direction. The picture showed a young Stanton, freshly graduated from law school, with his beaming parents, Dorcas Cobb and Ophelia Drake-Cobb.

Drake, as in Lieutenant Robert William "Billy Bob/Bubba" Drake?

That connection would definitely make things more interesting. Jonesy began to search back through public records. This included birth, marriage, divorce, and death records. He found that Ophelia Drake married Dorcas Cobb in 1940. She had three siblings; a sister, Ruth, and two brothers, Rufus and Jedediah. Rufus Drake had a son named William and he had a son that he named William Robert. That made Stanton Cobb's mother the great aunt of Lieutenant Drake. It appeared that the Drake family had two distinct factions. Ophelia and Jedediah married well and were respected members of society. Ruth was married and divorced three times and had apparently committed suicide. Rufus was a police officer as was the son William and grandson William Robert. The connection between Drake and Cobb had been established.

Does that connect Cobb to our case?

Finding out was the next step. Cobb was becoming the central connection in the case. He was a partner to the Bullocks, connected to their former and current churches, and now he was connected to Drake who had tried to discourage them from the case, both overtly and covertly. That was too many coincidences.

Jonesy decided to call Frank and fill him in on what he had found.

Frank was on hold waiting for Travis Bullock III to come to the phone. His administrative assistant told Frank that she had been instructed to find Mr. Bullock immediately if he called. While he was on hold, Jonesy's number rang in to his cell phone. Frank would return his call after speaking to Bullock. After another minute, the phone clicked and Travis Bullock III spoke.

"Mr. Rozzani. I was about to call you today. Some interesting things have been happening since I started digging into the past of our person of interest."

"What kinds of things, Mr. Bullock?"

"I'd rather not cover it on the phone. In fact, I'd like to meet in person. There are some things I'd like to share with you, but I don't want to let them out of my control until we have a chance to meet."

"Where and when did you have in mind, Mr. Bullock?"

"Please call me Travis, Frank. Let's meet halfway. There's a great diner called Biff's in Lake City."

"I know the place. What time would you like to meet?"

It's noon now. How about 2PM? I'll clear my afternoon. I don't need to be in the office on a Saturday anyway. Oh, and be sure to bring Mr. Jones if he's available."

"That sounds great. I'll check with Jonesy and we'll see you then."

Frank ended the call and called Jonesy back. Jonesy filled Frank in on his Cobb family tree. Frank told Jonesy about his call with the younger Travis Bullock. They agreed to talk about the Cobb-Drake connection on their way to Lake City.

Frank had some time before he and Jonesy had to drive to Lake City so he decided to call Anita Velasquez to see if she knew anything about Drake's little pranks. She answered her cell phone with her familiar pet name for him.

"Hey Piano Boy."

"Hey yourself."

"I haven't heard from you in a couple of days. Have you had any luck tracking down dirt on the good pastor?"

Frank filled her in on his call with Travis Bullock, III.

"So you're going to meet him today? He must have something juicy for you," Anita said when Frank finished.

"We will see. I don't get the impression that he is one to exaggerate. I do, however, have something interesting for you to follow up on if you're interested"

"Hmmm. Let's see. I've reached my quota for arresting naked drunk people on the beach, so anything you have is going to be more interesting. What have you got?"

Frank filled her in on the information about Lt. Drake's ties to the pranks on Jonesy, the Sun Dog, and himself. He also told her about Drake's ties to Cobb.

"So Bubba has been a bad boy. Of course, we could never prove it and he would skate even if we did," Anita said.

"I don't care about Drake. I want to know what Cobb is up to. He seems to be turning up everywhere we look in this case. Now, he is conveniently away on some special project. Can you try to find out where he might be?"

"Sure. Drake seems to be missing on some kind of fishing trip as well. Maybe I'll get lucky and find them together."

"I'm not sure I'd call that luck. Maybe interesting."

They said goodbye. Frank headed out to the car to pick up Jonesy and head to Lake City, about an hour west of Jacksonville where I-10, which stretches west to California, meets I-75, which stretches north to Canada, intersect. It was a small city and a rest stop for many travelers. As Frank and Jonesy navigated through the Osceola National Forest, they recapped what they knew about Maggie Bullock's disappearance. Unfortunately, it wasn't much. She was a good student. She was religious. She had a mystery adult lover. She was pregnant. She was missing. The local cast of characters on the borders of her disappearance did not want Frank and Jonesy looking for her or investigating her disappearance. The police insisted she was a runaway. The man in charge of the case was an idiot who was committing acts of vandalism against Frank and his associates. These pranks apparently had the endorsement of his elderly relative. It sounded like a bad soap opera.

They pulled off I-10 and soon found themselves at Biffs. Frank parked his old Lexus next to a dark, late model Mercedes sedan. The two cars stuck out a bit amid the pickups, SUV's, and big rigs. Frank thought the Mercedes with the Florida government tag just might belong to Assistant Attorney General Travis Bullock, III. They entered the restaurant and the hostess/waitress/owner directed them to a table in the back where a man in business casual clothes rose to greet them.

"Mr. Rozzani. Mr. Jones? I'm Travis Bullock."

"Please call me Frank. It's nice to meet you in person."

"You too. If I'm calling you Frank, then you're calling me Travis."

Travis Bullock, III was the perfect blend of the best features of his parents. He had his mother's deeply intelligent blue eyes and tight curly blond hair. He also had his father's strong jaw line and chin. He only had one chin, however, unlike his father. He was fit like his mother with a runner's build.

"And this must be the legendary Clifford Jones. You are a bit of a legend in law school circles. Your ability to analyze complex laws and speak to any legal area at a young age is well known even if you did go to that other school."

Bullock was referring to Jonesy's alma mater, The University of Florida, which had a long and spirited rivalry with his own Florida State University.

"I just have a good memory. By the way, please call me Jonesy."

Frank was surprised at this as it usually took Jonesy much longer to trust someone enough to allow them to call him by that name.

"I want to fill you both in on what I've found out about Worthington, but first I need to know how vital you think his background is to the case," Bullock said.

"Why don't I let Jonesy fill you in on what he discovered regarding the ownership of the good pastor's church and we can move forward from there."

"That's a good idea. From what I know so far about how well Worthington's files are protected, I need compelling evidence to pull the trigger on the favor I would call in to get to it."

Jonesy spent the next 20 minutes laying out an extremely detailed picture of the complex ownership structure and board memberships of the company hierarchy of Christianity Today. His detailed account included names, dates, cities, bios of key individuals, some of the less than reputable business pursuits, and the industries that the ownership spanned. He did all of this without referring to a single note. Jonesy believed in keeping everything in his prolific memory. It was safer that way. He then switched to the Cobb-Drake family tree. Bullock shook his head when he heard about Drake's involvement in trying to intimidate Frank and Jonesy off of the case.

"First," Bullock said when Jonesy was finished, "That was an incredible accounting of the information you discovered. Not only was it extensive, but you have some information that is highly confidential to those outside of the companies you've researched. How did you get to that information so quickly?"

"Mr. Deputy Attorney General, sir. I would prefer not to answer that question."

"Good point," Bullock said. "Based on what you've told me, Worthington is involved in this. That snake Cobb doesn't want him exposed because of his financial interest in the church. He has his idiot relative pulling high school pranks on your friends. Apparently he is not aware of your background, Frank."

Frank was startled at this statement, but not surprised. The more he got to know this man, the more respect he was developing for him.

"I think it's time to fill you both in on what I found as well. It is starting to make sense."

Bullock then went on to tell them about his initial calls to the Oklahoma Attorney General.

"At first it was all roadblocks. Worthington did something bad. He was a juvenile so his records were sealed. I used every argument I could to convince him the content of the file was relevant to Maggie's case. They just wouldn't budge. Then it all changed this morning. A mysterious call came in from a woman who was a law clerk for the judge that handled Worthington's case. She was an FSU grad and knew my family. She said she could get me a copy of the file if I could help her with a case here in Florida. Normally, I wouldn't get involved in a situation like that, but my sister is missing and if Worthington is involved, he needs to pay. What you've shared with me justifies getting the file from her."

"That's great Travis," Frank said. "How long will it take to get it?"

"Order a piece of Key Lime pie and some coffee. By the time you get it, the file will be here," Bullock said as he took out his phone.

Bullock waited for an answer to his call and then simply said "Do it" and disconnected.

The pie and coffee arrived while Bullock reached into his messenger bag and took out an iPad. He opened his email and opened an attachment. As he read it, his expression changed to concern. He handed the tablet to Frank so that he and Jonesy could see what had been received. The reason for his concern was immediately clear. Worthington had been charged with the rape of a teenage girl. The girl was 15 and had become pregnant.

There was other information in the file related to where Worthington was during his "missing years." As part of an elaborate plea bargain process, he was sent to a Christian "boot camp" for lack of a better term. This preempted him from being tried as an adult, branded a sex offender, and potentially spending decades in prison.

Jonesy, Frank and Travis felt a new aggressive posture toward the pastor. He would now be a central figure in the investigation. They finished their pie and coffee and got up to leave. Bullock had agreed to email them the file. As they walked to their cars, Travis asked Frank to wait for a minute.

"I hope you weren't offended by the reference to your past, Frank. I had to do my homework."

"As little as I know you, I would have been surprised if you hadn't checked up on me."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for your loss. I appreciate you helping us deal with ours."

"It helps me cope," Frank said.

They shared a warm handshake as Bullock and Frank walked to their cars.

"Jonesy," Bullock said "If you ever want to apply your talents at a higher level, I will make room for you in Tallahassee."

"I'm at a good level right now. Besides, I don't want to invest in long pants and shirts with collars. Thanks anyway."

# CHAPTER TWELVE

They all got back on I-10. Bullock headed west to Tallahassee and Frank and Jonesy headed east back to Jacksonville.

"Well, that was worth the trip," Jonesy said. "Now I get to visit my buddy Pastor Worthington once again."

"It's going to be hard to get to him, especially now that he knows who you are."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way."

"I'll follow up on Cobb. I feel like he has something significant to do with this case."

"Sounds like the right approach."

They traveled silently for about 15 minutes and Frank's cell phone rang. It was Nancy Rafferty.

"Hey doc. How's my favorite furry patient?"

"She's bounced back remarkably well. I think she's ready to come home," Nancy said.

"Great. Why don't I pick up some dinner and you can make some of that great iced tea."

"This is getting to be a habit, but it sounds great."

As they said goodbye, Jonesy gave Frank a look.

"What?" Frank asked.

"Are you starting to live again?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I haven't scared her away. I told her about my past; what happened on the force in Syracuse and the death of my wife. It's a small step."

"That's a big step. Next thing you know you'll be getting free vet care and you and Lucy will settle in with the doc. You could do worse, although I'm not sure she could."

"Let's not jump to conclusions here," Frank said. "She is fun to hang out with and Lucy likes her."

"Whatever you say."

Frank dropped Jonesy off and headed for his trailer. He needed to get back to his trailer and do a little digging on Cobb. Later he had a dog to pick up. He missed her more than he could admit.

Cobb was not in the office or in his Ponte Vedra home according to the Bullocks. Frank had a hunch that there might be other properties that Cobb could retreat to. Frank sat down at his computer and began to research. The immediate Jacksonville area consisted of several counties. The city of Jacksonville is in Duval County. The borders of the county and the city limits are the same making Jacksonville the second largest city, in terms of square mileage, in the world. Shanghai China is the largest. To the south of Jacksonville is St. John's County. To the east is the Atlantic Ocean. To the West is Clay County and to the north is Georgia. Each county offered a searchable "Clerk of the Courts" web site which contained property records that were publicly available. Frank started with Duval and St. Johns counties and only found Stanton Cobb's $1.8 million home in Ponte Vedra. When he searched the Clay County web site, he found several Cobbs and Drakes. He did find a 10 acre property in the name of Stanton Cobb in Green Cove Springs which was just over the border of St. Johns County into Clay County. The property had been under a Cobb name for over 150 years dating back to Civil War times. Stanton Cobb took ownership of the property when his father died in 1970. Frank thought a trip to Clay County was just what he needed tomorrow. In the meantime, he had food to pick up and a dog to bring home. Another evening with Nancy without the burden of his hidden past would be a bonus.

His phone rang again as he was pulling into the Loop restaurant to pick up some burgers and their great French fries. It was Anita.

"Hey Anita."

"Hey Piano Boy. I just wanted to give you a quick update. Bubba stopped in here today to pick up some things and he looked awful. When I asked him what was wrong, he was very evasive and mumbled something about a family emergency and that he was going to be out for a couple of weeks. When I offered him help, he just shook his head and said 'no thanks'. I almost felt sorry for the bastard and then I remembered who he is."

"Interesting."

Frank then told her about the property in Green Cove Springs and about the other details of the case he had recently uncovered.

"Hey, I'm off tomorrow. How about if I join you on your little road trip?"

"Sounds good, but I don't want you to get in trouble with Drake."

"We're just two friends taking a ride. He has no reason to get mad. Unless, of course, he's doing something wrong."

"It's a date. We'll head out around ten."

"Ten is good, but it's not a date, though. You're not exactly my type. Now your friend, the vet, she's more my speed."

"Too much information. See you at my trailer at ten."

Frank went in and got the food. He then made the short drive to Nancy's. This time, when he pulled in, Lucy jumped up to greet him. She walked up to him looking pitiful with her shaved and stitched up hip, but basically looked to be back to normal. Frank patted her head, but her attention was on the Loop burgers and fries. She was definitely back to normal. Nancy was sitting on the porch with a large pitcher of iced tea, two glasses, and a dog dish.

"Lucy seems to be good as new," Frank said.

"She's about 90%. I wouldn't take her on a full run tomorrow. Take a couple of days to work up to it. Her stitches will dissolve and her fur will grow back before you know it."

They sat down on the porch and ate their burgers and fries in silence. Frank broke the silence.

"This tea is great. I need the recipe."

Nancy laughed.

"Just drive to Publix and buy a gallon with some lemons and you're done."

"OK," Frank said, ever the smooth talker.

"Um, I wanted to thank you for listening last night. It was good to get it off of my chest."

"I'm always here to listen."

Nancy took Frank's hand.

Frank felt nervous, but warm from her touch. He didn't pull away, but just sat holding hands with Nancy for a while. He felt better than he had in a very long time.

"Well, I have a big day tomorrow. Anita and I are following up on a lead and have a short road trip."

"Anita, huh? I'd say I'm jealous, but I think I know better."

"Anita is the sister I never wanted. She's a great cop."

They sat for a while longer and then Frank got up to leave. Lucy jumped up to go with him.

"Thanks for dinner."

"It's the least I can do. You've healed Lucy and you've started healing me too."

Nancy moved in and kissed him on the cheek and hugged him. Frank hugged her back enjoying the smell of her hair and the feel of her body against his. He forced himself to pull away and awkwardly said good night. He and Lucy walked to the car and got in for the short ride home.

When they got to the trailer, Lucy jumped out of the car with a little whimper forgetting the stitches in her hip. She tentatively walked to the dog door, sniffing every inch along the way, and cautiously entered the trailer. Frank unlocked the door and went in. He found Lucy searching the kitchen where the snake had been. Once she was satisfied it was gone, she hopped on the bed and was out like a light. Frank felt that life was somewhat in balance. He was going to sit at the computer and read through the Worthington file. Just then, his phone rang. It was Travis Bullock.

"Hello Mr. Bullock."

"Mr. Rozzani. I'm sorry to call you so late, but I wanted to let you know that Maggie just called us. She called to tell us that she ran away and that she is OK."

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Frank was silent. He wasn't quite sure what to say.

Was the case over that easily? Was everything that they had found meaningless?

He asked Bullock directly.

"Does this mean that the police were right? Did Maggie run away?"

"Not by a long shot. Maggie is being held against her will."

"I'm confused. You just told me you spoke to her and that she told you she ran away."

"That's how she began the call, Mr. Rozzani. She sounded rehearsed. It didn't sound like her at all. Then, at the end of the call, she tipped us off that she is being held."

"How exactly did she tip you off?"

"She told me to say hello to Liam"

"I'm not sure I follow. Who is Liam?"

"Liam Neeson. You know, the actor."

"I'm still confused. Liam Neeson?"

"Have you seen the movie, Taken, Frank? Liam Neeson plays a father who rescues his teenage daughter that's been kidnapped in Europe. It was a favorite for both of us. She used it to tell us she has been taken. I'm sure of it," Bullock said adamantly.

"Did she give you any other clues? Did she say where she might be or who she's with?"

"No. Someone was listening and told her what to say. The number was blocked. I almost didn't answer it."

"That's OK. At least we know she's alive and wants to be found. That's a big break for us. Now we have to find her."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"If you hear anything else from her, please let me know right away."

"We will."

After he hung up Frank called Jonesy to tell him the latest development.

"I think we should move forward as planned," Jonesy said to Frank when he finished relaying the story. "The pastor and Cobb still smell fishy in this case and may just lead us to her."

"I agree. The people who've been trying to get us off this case are probably involved in it. I'll still plan on going with Anita to Cobb's spread in Green Cove Springs tomorrow."

"Since tomorrow is Sunday, the good pastor will be laying it out there for his 11 AM service," Jonesy said. "My sources tell me that he retreats to his house in Queens Harbor and collapses for the rest of the day after the service. That sounds like the perfect time to pay him a visit. His guard will be down."

"Sounds about right. One problem though, how will you get in? Queens Harbor is gated up tighter than a lot of military bases."

"One of my good customers put me on their guest list as a favor. Once I'm in, it doesn't matter where I go."

Frank and Jonesy said goodbye. Frank got ready for bed doing his best to move Lucy out of the way. She growled softly in her sleep and then finally surrendered by letting out a long sigh. Frank slept soundly for the first time in three nights.

\------

Frank was awakened by his newly-returned furry alarm clock at 5:30 AM. He felt refreshed after a night of dreamless sleep. He pulled on some running shorts and a t-shirt and he and Lucy walked down the path to the beach for an abbreviated walk/run. He could tell Lucy was not quite 100% by the way she favored her stitched hip.

After about a half-mile, they turned and headed back. When they reached the trailer, about an hour had gone by since Frank woke up. Lucy cautiously entered the dog door and drank a healthy amount of water. She was clearly more tired than usual.

Frank took a shower, dressed and made them breakfast. Lucy ate her scrambled eggs hungrily. At least her appetite was back to normal. Frank sat at the computer with a mug of hazelnut coffee and began to search for more clues about Stanton Cobb. Lucy assumed her usual position under the desk. Life was back to normal. At least this version of normal.

Frank's first stop was Google Maps. He plugged in Cobb's Green Cove Springs property address. The satellite view of the property revealed a typical old-style southern plantation layout. There was a large main house with a series of out-buildings arranged in an arc around a field. These outbuildings were likely slave quarters when they were originally built. There were also some modern amenities on the property including a fortified guard shack at what appeared to be the one and only entrance to the property. Cobb would know they were coming.

Frank decided to do a little digging on the history of the property. Green Cove Springs was established in 1854 and was a favorite place for land owners with slaves to settle as they believed it was far south enough that slaves could not escape north to the safety of the union troops. Frank assumed that the former plantation, which was small by southern standards, was one of those established to prevent the escape of slaves. From the satellite images, both the main house and the group of outbuildings looked well-maintained.

Frank then switched over to investigate some of Stanton Cobb's legal career highlights. After graduating from law school, Cobb and his wife moved back to Jacksonville where he joined a downtown law firm named Laney, Roberts, and Hughes. The firm specialized in domestic law. Since it was the late 60's, divorce, common law marriage, and other areas of related legal proceedings were beginning to grow quickly.

Cobb didn't attain much notoriety at first. That all changed in 1974. Cobb was retained by a wealthy family, prominent in the Baptist church, for an adoption case. The plaintiff in the case was a poor Jacksonville woman who had put her young son up for adoption when she gave birth to him at age 16. The woman, now 24, wanted custody of her son returned to her. Cobb represented the adoptive parents. The woman claimed that she signed over her son under duress due to her need for money and her young age. She was married with another child and wanted her son returned to her.

During this case, there was some significant coverage in Jacksonville's newspaper, the Florida Times Union. According to the articles, Cobb was masterful in arguing that, even though the woman was under age and was now more financially and domestically stable, the child would clearly benefit from staying with his adoptive parents. He argued that they were able to provide him with a better education and with a faith-based environment. He also argued that there would be significant trauma to the child of being ripped from the arms of the only parents he had ever known. Cobb supplemented his assertions with expensive expert testimony that validated the potential psychological damage to the child. He even had the child testify, via closed circuit television, how much he loved his adoptive parents and how sad he would be to ever have to leave them. According to the newspaper report, this maneuver brought the whole court room to tears, including the plaintiff.

The judge ruled in favor of the adoptive parents and Cobb. His career was launched due to the prominence of the case. It didn't hurt that the adoptive parents were the great nephew and niece, by marriage, of the pastor of First Baptist Church. Cobb had made his mark both publicly and within the church. He soon launched his own thriving family law practice and would later be joined by two young lawyers, Travis and Margaret Bullock.

The legal highlights for Stanton Cobb were very few after the one blockbuster public case. He had apparently parlayed that case into a financially successful and influential career. Cobb was now among the elders of First Baptist Church, a group with more power in Jacksonville than the city government. As Frank knew, he also had power and influences in other, less well-known circles.

As Frank searched for other hidden morsels of information, he heard the unmistakable sound of a Harley-Davidson engine pulling in near the trailer. Lucy heard it too and jumped to attention. Only two people that Frank knew rode Harleys. One was Jonesy, who occasionally rode the one that he had received as a bonus. The other was Anita. Since he was expecting her, he assumed she had arrived. Lucy knew both possible Harley riders well so she was out the dog door before Frank could get up from his desk. He found Lucy outside on her back having her belly scratched by a fit-looking Anita completely dressed in black.

"Hey Anita."

"Hey Piano Boy. Ready for our road trip?"

"I think so."

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Frank and Anita headed south on the I-295 connector. Exited on San Jose in Mandarin and drove into St. Johns County over the Julington Creek Bridge. Once over the bridge, San Jose turns into State Route 13. They enjoyed the beautiful houses and live oak trees with their beards of Spanish moss as they passed through the area known as Switzerland. They eventually came to the Shands Bridge, which is the farthest south of the seven bridges that cross the St. Johns River in the Jacksonville area. As they crossed the Shands, they saw the port with many of the expensive pleasure boats docked in the river. As they entered Green Cove Springs, a County Police Cruiser settled in behind Frank's car and the rotating lights came on. Frank and Anita shared a look.

"Looks like they've been expecting us," Frank said while looking into the rearview mirror.

Frank pulled off onto the shoulder and the cruiser pulled in behind him. A large, mustached, shaved-head officer emerged from behind the wheel and walked to Frank's car. Frank rolled down the window and greeted the officer with a smile.

"Good morning officer. What can I do for you?" Frank asked.

"You can follow me. I'm going to escort you to Mr. Cobb's property so that I can make sure you don't lose your way."

His tone was not friendly.

"We know our way officer. We were maybe going to stop for a quick lunch first," Anita said from the passenger seat.

"Aren't you out of your jurisdiction, Officer Velasquez?"

"I'm not trying to cross jurisdictions. This is my day off. We're just two private citizens visiting your town and we haven't broken the law."

"Not so far."

"It's alright, Anita. I've lost my appetite. Let's follow the nice officer," Frank said.

The officer grinned, shook his head, and walked back to his cruiser. As he pulled around, Frank pulled off the shoulder and followed him to Cobb's property.

They drove through the small, but well-kept downtown area and then exited to a tree-lined two lane road. After about a mile, the county cruiser turned right onto a private road. Frank followed. After about 200 yards the police cruiser stopped at a guard shack. Frank recognized it from the satellite image of Cobb's property. Officer Friendly chatted with the guard for a minute and pointed back to Frank's car. He then got back into his car, moved out of the way, and motioned for Frank to pull forward.

Frank pulled up to the guard shack. The guard was not your typical rent-a-cop. He appeared to be ex-military. It dawned on Frank that this was overkill for a property that belonged to your average prominent attorney. The guard asked Frank and Anita for ID. He looked them over and passed them back, instructing Frank to follow the road to the main house and to pull up in front of the main entrance. The guard then opened the mechanical chain link gate.

The main house was an all-white three-story building with six pillars and a large porch on the front. Frank pulled around the circular driveway to the front entrance. He expected burly guards to emerge and scrutinize him and Anita closely before letting them get near Cobb. Instead, they were greeted at the door by Cobb himself. Cobb was dressed in khaki pants and a blue dress shirt. He held a mug of coffee. He didn't look as menacing as he did when Frank encountered him in his office. He looked like any old grandfather enjoying a relaxing Sunday at home.

"Well, Mr. Rozzani and Ms. Velasquez, you found me," Cobb said. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I think we need to have a talk, Mr. Cobb," Frank answered. "Our investigation of Maggie Bullock's disappearance keeps pointing back to you and your connections."

"I will speak to you, Mr. Rozzani. Hopefully we can separate the fact from the supposition and put any suspicion of my involvement to rest. Please come to my office. Officer Velasquez, since my great nephew is your superior, for your best interest and his, I would request that you remain in the sitting room while Mr. Rozzani and I speak. My assistant will provide you with snacks and a beverage."

"That's fine sir."

Anita took a seat across from a muscular male assistant seated at a rather feminine secretary's desk in a room to the right of Cobb's office. She knew that Frank would fill her in on the details later anyway, and this gave her a chance to observe the household activity.

Frank followed Cobb into his darkly-paneled office with matching dark furniture and sat in one of his guest chairs. Cobb sat behind his over-sized desk.

"Well, Mr. Rozzani, you certainly decided not to take my advice regarding this case. As a result, you've surfaced a great deal of irrelevant information that has put me and my interests in a position of risk. This was all in pursuit of the crazy notion that Maggie Bullock is anything other than a typical teenage runaway."

"Mr. Cobb, Maggie's parents are still adamant that she is not a runaway. They believe she was taken and is being held against her will. Based on my investigation, I tend to agree with them."

"Parents like to believe the best about their children and children like to spin circumstances in the best possible light for their parents. Travis and Margaret want to believe she is the perfect child, but her indiscretions at the age of 16 contradict that image, wouldn't you say?"

"Not necessarily. Let's look at a hypothetical situation, shall we? Suppose a naive teenager becomes infatuated with a charismatic figure for whom she has a great deal of respect. That person takes advantage of that infatuation and makes a bad decision when it comes to matters of the flesh and an underage girl. Then suppose that person's lack of good judgment has put other influential people at risk. Do you see how the light might shine back on that influential person when that teenager turns up missing?"

"It's all circumstantial and utterly ridiculous, Mr. Rozzani. I have little regard for you and your associates. Your methods for gathering information and jumping to conclusions seem less than above-board. Of course, I have my own methods and connections that allow me to gather interesting information. I promise you that if my connection to Christianity Today becomes public along with allegations against any of its employees, I might have a reason to pass your current whereabouts to certain devious characters in Western New York."

Frank was incensed at Cobb's threat. He did, however, expect something like this.

"Mr. Cobb, if I determine that your connections to Christianity Today or the actions of Pastor Worthington will help bring Maggie Bullock home, I will not hesitate to use that information. As for your threat, if you think I am intimidated by alerting anyone of my whereabouts, you should probably do your homework a bit more thoroughly. Unlike you, I have nothing else to lose."

With that, Frank rose from his chair and left Cobb sitting behind his desk. Anita saw Frank emerge from the office and knew by his expression that it was time to leave. She joined Frank as he exited the house. They both got into the Lexus and Frank drove away from the property silently.

After they left Green Cove Springs and had crossed back over the Shands Bridge, Frank was calm enough to fill Anita in on what Cobb had said.

"So Cobb is still in the thick of it?"

"He is either in the thick of it or there are an amazing number of coincidences," Frank said.

"Well at least I may have some information related to Cobb's special project that is keeping him from the office."

"What would that be?"

"A doctor stopped by to see Cobb while you were in with him. He seemed anxious to speak with him and said he would be back. Maybe Cobb is having health issues."

"Did you get the doctor's name?"

"Doctor Wells. He said he was going back to his office, but would be back within an hour. That means he's local to Green Cove Springs or very close by."

"I'll have to check him out," Frank said. "Maybe he has a specialty that will lead us to what is going on with Cobb."

Anita and Frank talked about the next steps as they traveled the rest of the way back to Frank's trailer.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Just as Frank and Anita were heading back to the beach, Jonesy was setting out on the short trip over the Intracoastal Waterway to Queens Harbor to visit Pastor Rick Worthington. He wanted to give Worthington enough time to get home and settle in after his televised Sunday morning service. He thought that confronting Worthington when his defenses were down might result in a better outcome than their last chat. Jonesy drove his Subaru crossover which, while not stylish, was long enough to carry his surfboards and respectable enough to drive around different residential neighborhoods without drawing attention. He pulled up to the guard shack that restricted entry to the complex and told the guard he was here to visit his friend Bob Benzel. The guard checked the list, gave Jonesy a temporary pass and opened the gate. Jonesy drove through and navigated to the address that he had for the good pastor. It occurred to Jonesy as he drove past the multi-million dollar homes that the traditional image of religious leaders had changed. This pastor didn't even try to portray an image of humility.

Jonesy turned down a street with a 'No Outlet' sign and pulled in front of a tan stucco covered house in the middle of the cul-de-sac. The house was on the water with its own dock in the back. As Jonesy looked toward the dock, he could see Worthington sitting in a folding canvas chair fishing in the stocked waterway. Jonesy decided to walk directly to the dock. As he got close to Worthington, he could see that the pastor was enjoying a beer while he fished and that there were four empty beer cans on the floor dock near his feet.

"Are they biting today?"

"I suppose you mean the fish, Mr. Jones. I was wondering when one of you would get here. Once my file in Tulsa was unsealed, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Jonesy was struck by the calmness in Worthington's voice, possibly attributed to the beer consumption.

"You must admit that the parallels between your file and the Maggie Bullock situation are more than an amazing coincidence."

"I was a young and troubled man then. I am quite different now."

"That sounds great, but forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical. We have a pregnant 16 year old girl who wrote about being in love with an older charismatic man. When we factor in your past history and our investigation naturally leads to you."

"That assumes that I am the same lecherous person that I was in my youth, Mr. Jones. Actually, I'm not capable of what you're accusing me of."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

"You don't have to take my word. I am physically unable to do what you and Mr. Rozzani are accusing me of."

Worthington went on to tell Jonesy his story.

"I was the typical rebellious child of a preacher. I went out of my way to impress my peers by drinking the most alcohol, doing the most drugs, and sleeping with the most girls that I possibly could. Luckily, most of the girls that I slept with were experienced and used some type of contraception. Sally Fulsom was different. She was a sophomore at my high school. I was a senior. She had wholesome looks and was incredibly bright. She was an honor roll student with a promising future. I crossed paths with her because of my bragging to my friends about the number of girls that I conquered. I told them that I could have sex with any girl in the school. They were tired of my bragging and challenged me to land Sally Fulsom. She never had a boyfriend and was totally focused on school. I took the challenge and, although it wasn't easy, I used every bit of my charm and finally convinced Sally to go on a date with me. I had my own car and I picked Sally up for the date, took her to dinner, a movie, and back home. I was a perfect gentleman."

"I don't understand. She didn't get pregnant from you being a gentleman."

"It was all part of my plan to gain her trust. But there was something I didn't plan on. From the first date with Sally, I realized that she was an intelligent, fun girl to be with. I actually liked her and enjoyed spending time with her. I started to feel guilty about the bet and tried to back out of it on the day after our date. My friends wouldn't let it go. They questioned my manhood. Even worse, they called me the name that I hated most, 'Preacher's Son'. I decided to continue the bet. Then it all went out of control. Sally Fulsom fell head over heels in love with me and wanted to spend every minute together. I could easily cash in on the bet, but the little bit of conscience that I had stopped me. Eventually, teenage hormones took over, however. One night, when we were parked in the car on a deserted dirt road, it finally happened. I knew she was a virgin and was stupid enough to believe the rumor that a virgin couldn't get pregnant the first time she has sex. We both know how that turned out. Sally got pregnant.

I couldn't escape from it. My father was angrier than he had ever been. I offered to do the right thing and support Sally and the baby. My father wouldn't hear of it. He said the scandal would affect his position in the church and would reflect on the church itself. Sally's parents were not any more understanding. Because I was almost 18, they wanted me tried as an adult for statutory rape. They wanted me to pay for ruining their daughter's promising future. Sally and I just wanted to be together. I wasn't allowed to contact her. I was eventually arrested. Sally sunk into a deep depression and she committed suicide. It happened while her parents were talking to the police in their downstairs living room. She locked herself in the bathroom and slit her wrists in the bathtub."

Worthington stopped to collect himself, obviously still hurting from this event. Jonesy quietly waited for him to continue.

"My father called in some serious favors to have me tried as a juvenile with sealed records. When it came time for sentencing, the church made sure I was sentenced to two years in a Texas-based Christian Boot Camp. The camp was closer to a prison than to a Christian retreat or seminary. My days were spent working the fields of the camp's small farm where we grew fruit and vegetables and sold them. The rest of the day was spent studying scripture. In the two years that I was at the camp, the Bible was analyzed cover-to-cover at least four times. I could handle the labor and survived the studying. It was the nights in the dormitory that were the hell of being at this camp. There was a pecking order. I never told anyone why I was there, but somehow the more hardened "campers" found out what I did. That's when the beatings and abuse started. First it was taunting. I felt I deserved it. When I wouldn't fight back, it turned into beatings. I was beaten, sodomized, and abused in many other disgusting ways. By the time the abuse stopped, I was physically damaged to the point that what landed me in the camp was no longer physically possible. That was when I devoted myself fully to God's work."

Jonesy was truly stunned by the revelation that Worthington was incapable of being the father of Maggie's baby. The man would never physically recover, but he had apparently recovered spiritually to the point where he could inspire thousands of people, including Maggie.

"I feel like I owe you an enormous apology on this," Jonesy said.

"I appreciate that," Worthington said quietly with his head bowed. "I'm not completely innocent when it comes to your case, however."

"What do you mean?"

"The father of Maggie's baby came to me for advice. It was like reliving a nightmare. He and Maggie were in love and he wanted to do the right thing."

"Why was that a nightmare? I don't follow."

"Unfortunately, he was a 19 year old seminary student interning at the church for the summer."

"What advice did you give them?"

"I advised them to sit down with their parents and explain the situation. They are both the children of Christian parents and they obviously loved each other deeply. My hope was that the parents would see this and work through it with them like my dad and Sally's parents couldn't."

"Did they follow your advice?"

"They intended to. Maggie was going to talk to her parents immediately after the retreat. She wanted to talk to them together with the baby's father. She had every confidence that her parents, although likely to be shocked, would ultimately be helpful and would help them speak with his father."

"And then she ran away. Do you find that strange?"

"I do. I have been agonizing over it since we first spoke. The reality of the situation has sunk in. I am starting to agree with the Bullocks."

"You think she was taken against her will?"

"I do."

"By whom? When Maggie and the baby's father met with you, who else did you tell?"

The pastor struggled for an answer to Jonesy's question.

"My first reaction was to keep it confidential until they had a chance to at least speak to the Bullocks. Travis is a church elder. My fear was, if I told the other elders, word would get back to Travis before Maggie had a chance to speak with her parents. Because of Maggie's age, however, I had to bring the situation to our senior elder, Stuart Jameson. He is a Saint Johns County judge so I felt he was the best choice to lend advice and to exercise discretion."

"Stuart Jameson. I know him very well. I didn't realize he was an elder in your church. Are you aware of the ownership hierarchy of Christianity Today?"

"My accountability is to the elders and to the membership. I've never been much of a business man. I'm a man of God. This house, my car, my expenses, they're all covered by my business manager who was appointed by the church. I do not even know how much I make, Mr. Jones."

Jonesy was seeing Worthington in a new light. This man was not the manipulator, he was being manipulated.

"I want to thank you for your honesty this time around," Jonesy said.

"It's the least I can do. If there is further help I can offer, please feel free to contact me without a sneak attack."

"I will," Jonesy said as they shook hands.

As Jonesy left, he actually felt an emotion toward Worthington that he not felt previously, pity. Now he would turn his attention to Stuart Jameson who must have tipped someone off that started the process that led to Maggie's disappearance. Jonesy called Frank as soon as he was back in the Subaru.

Frank's cell phone sounded with the familiar ring tone assigned to Jonesy. He put the phone on speaker so that Anita could listen in.

"Rozzani"

"Frank, how is your day going?"

"Let's see. I was pulled over by a yokel cop, threatened, and had to drive all over North Florida to enjoy these things."

"Sounds like you had more fun than I did. I was able to talk with Rick Worthington. He's not our man, but he did give me a good lead."

Jonesy and Frank caught each other up.

"Every time I think we're on the verge of solving this one, it takes a turn," Frank said. "Is Cobb just a sick old man with shady business dealings? Is Worthington just a simple, gifted preacher? What about Drake? He was nowhere to be found."

"We've still got some digging to do," Jonesy said. "If we can find the baby-daddy, we might find a clue to Maggie's whereabouts. Worthington would not share his name with me. I'll hit the ground running tomorrow with Judge Jameson."

"I'll work on the doctor and the baby-daddy angle," Frank said.

"And, I'll track down Bubba Drake," Anita chimed in. "If he's involved in this, I want to be the one to bust him."

Frank and Anita finished the drive back by mid-afternoon. She said goodbye to Frank and Lucy, fired up her Harley, and was on her way. Frank decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon researching the doctor in Green Cove Springs that visited Cobb and try to discover who the father of Maggie's baby might be. He and Lucy headed back into the trailer. He saw that his answering machine light was blinking again. He punched the play button and it was a hang-up. The caller ID told him, by the 570 area code, that it was a Scranton number again. When he did a reverse lookup on the number before, it came up as unlisted. He had not expended the energy to find out who it was listed to yet. The odds were that it was a telemarketer or some other automated call. He couldn't shake the feeling that it might be something else. Right now, he couldn't let it distract him. Time was critical on the Bullock case.

He settled in front of his computer. Lucy lay down at his feet.

"Sorry I've been neglecting you girl. I promise I'll take some time off after this case and we'll have some fun."

He scratched between her ears and she wagged her tail in thanks.

Frank decided to start with the doctor Anita had seen at Cobb's property. He used Google to search for Doctor Robert Wells in Green Cove Springs. He expected Wells to come up as a general practitioner, internist, urologist, or even an oncologist based on Cobb's age. What he discovered was not expected. Doctor Wells was an obstetrician. What could that possibly mean? More unanswered questions. It now seemed important to find the baby's father. Since he was an intern at the church, Frank thought he might find some clues on the church's web site. He looked at the staff page first. The seminary student was not listed. He then went into the photo gallery page to look at pictures of recent events. He started with the youth group picnic. There were three pictures out of the 25 for this event that showed Maggie Bullock. In two of them, she was next to a handsome young man wearing a Christianity Today pastel polo shirt. He then looked at photos for an event called "Rock the Universe," a Christian music event at the Universal Studios theme park in Orlando. Of the 60 photos, Maggie was in seven of them, four of which also contained the mystery young man.

"He must be the one."

Lucy looked up at him as if she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Frank finally hit pay dirt when he looked at the May edition of the church newsletter. Toward the end of the document, there was a blurb about the seminary students that would be participating in the summer internship program at Christianity Today. There were three. One was female. The second, a twenty something prematurely balding man. The third was an exact match for the mystery man seen in the pictures with Maggie Bullock. The article identified him as Troy Compton, a young man from Amelia Island, just north of Jacksonville. Frank found two Comptons in Amelia Island. One was a 70 year old woman and the other, Joseph Compton, was 42. He made note of the address and telephone number. Frank would visit the Compton house tomorrow.

As Frank continued to search, there was a knock on the door of his trailer. Lucy, who had been dozing at his feet, jumped up to greet the visitor. She shot out the doggie door before Frank had a chance to see who it was. It was Nancy.

"Hi Frank, I saw your car and thought I would take a chance on coming by and checking on the patient."

"Which one, Lucy or me?"

"Well, mostly Lucy, but I wanted to see how you were doing too."

Nancy was wearing a tank top and yoga pants which showed off her fit body. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail which showed off her attractive hazel eyes. Frank wondered if she always looked this good or if he was just starting to notice.

"Come on in. I'm just doing some research, but I'm mostly done for tonight."

Nancy sat down in one of Frank's two chairs and Lucy came to her immediately. Nancy looked at the snake bite site and felt the wound carefully. Lucy wagged her tail seemingly enjoying the attention.

"She is healing just fine. I think she is going to recover fully."

"I'm honored by the house call. You certainly offer premium service."

"Lucy is a special patient. I don't offer this service to everyone."

This snappy interchange was followed by a lingering silence. Finally Nancy was the first to speak again.

"Are you OK Frank?"

"I'm not sure I'll ever be completely OK. I'm better. Being able to open up to you the other night was a big help. It's just one day at a time for me."

Nancy patted his arm and then left her hand on his forearm. Frank felt that same warmth as the last time she had touched him. It was spreading up his arm. Suddenly Nancy sprung to her feet.

"C'mon. You and Lucy can walk me home. I want to watch her walk."

Frank followed Nancy and Lucy out of the trailer. They decided to walk the short distance on the beach instead of on the road. Since it was Sunday afternoon, the beach was nearly deserted. The Floridians were in their air conditioned houses and the tourists had either left or had not arrived for the week yet. Nancy and Frank walked at a slow pace while Lucy stalked the sea birds searching for tasty morsels in the sand. They walked close to each other, their hands and arms occasionally touching every few steps. Finally Nancy grabbed Frank's hand and they walked along like a couple of teenagers. Various feelings went through Frank's mind including guilt, excitement, comfort, and other long dormant feelings. They turned to use the walkover that would take them toward Nancy's place. Lucy ran ahead and was lying on the porch by the time Frank and Nancy reached the house. She looked a bit too comfortable. Frank regretted that it was time to stop holding hands. While he was prolonging it, Nancy moved in for a hug. The warmth rapidly spread through Frank's body. Nancy kissed his cheek and then moved to kiss his lips. The warmth was now reaching its boiling point. Nancy whispered to Frank asking if he would like to come inside. Frank tensed up. She had her answer before he could verbalize it. He just wasn't ready.

"I'm sorry. This case. I've got a busy day tomorrow."

"It's OK. It's just not time yet."

Frank gave her one last hug, questioning his reluctance to take this next step as he did. Nancy was smart, beautiful, independent, and most importantly, Lucy liked her. As he walked back toward the beach with Lucy, he nearly turned back toward Nancy's house, but instead continued back to the trailer.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Judge Stuart Jameson was a familiar name to Jonesy. His eidetic memory recalled the name from the board membership of one of the holding companies in the Christianity Today ownership hierarchy. He also knew that Travis Bullock, III, his new highly placed acquaintance in Tallahassee, was once a law clerk to his honor. Instead of spending Monday morning researching the judge, Jonesy thought he might save time by going directly to Bullock. Jonesy called the private cell phone number that the Florida Deputy Attorney General had given him. The familiar voice answered after the third ring.

"Mr. Jones."

"Jonesy, please."

"OK, Jonesy. What can I do for you on this early Monday morning?"

"Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to bring you up to speed and see if you have some information that can help us out."

"I'll do my best."

Jonesy recounted his and Frank's Sunday adventures. He finished with Pastor Worthington's revelation that he had told Jameson what had occurred between Maggie and the seminary student.

"Mom and Dad would have been disappointed, but they would have supported Maggie to the ends of the Earth. They have been that way with all of us. Dad told me about her call. She's a smart girl and I think Dad interpreted her message correctly."

"What's your take on the involvement of Jameson?"

"I became a law clerk to Jameson based on a recommendation from his very close friend, Stanton Cobb."

Once again, all roads led to Cobb, Jonesy thought to himself.

"The judge was very active in the First Baptist Church hierarchy. He served on their council of elders when the incident with Bobby took place."

"So he must have moved to Christianity Today when your parents did. This is extremely helpful. It appears that Mr. Cobb might have more than a circumstantial connection here. We just need to figure out what that connection is."

"Keep me posted and let me know if you need more information. I'm in meetings all day, but will return your call during a break."

"Thanks again Travis."

It was 7AM and Frank was likely back from his run. Jonesy called his cell phone.

"Jonesy, what's up?"

"I just enlisted the help of our friend, the Deputy AG."

Jonesy recounted what Bullock had told him about Jameson. Frank filled Jonesy in on the information he had gathered on Dr. Wells and Troy Compton.

"Do you think that Cobb and Jameson made Maggie disappear, or did they scare Compton enough so that the kids ran away together?" Jonesy asked.

"I don't know. The Bullock family firmly believes that Maggie would not run away, but after the threats and cover ups from the incident with her brother, either scenario works. I'll know more after I drive to Amelia Island today."

"Let's touch base after. I have some actual surf shop work to do today and I have a feeling we are getting close to something that might cut into my day job soon." Jonesy had a shipment of boards coming in from a new supplier and he wanted to personally do some quality checking. He would go over each board with careful scrutiny looking for any minute flaws. He only carried and sold the best.

Just as he was settling in to perform this menial work, his cell phone rang. It was Anita.

"Hey Anita, your Piano Boy is not with me."

"I know, I called him first and he was on the Mayport Ferry headed to Amelia Island."

"So I'm your second choice?"

"I need one of you to help me with a situation."

Anita was obviously not in a mood for witty banter this morning.

"I drove by Bubba Drake's house this morning on the off chance that he might be back. His truck was in the driveway, but he wouldn't answer the door. I broke in and found him passed out. There were empty Crown Royal bottles on the floor. When I brought him back to some level of consciousness, he started muttering something about 'messing up real bad'. He looks awful. I need your help to sober him up and help me find out what's going on."

"I'll be at his place in about 30 minutes depending on traffic."

Jonesy took the bike and made his way to Drake's house. Drake was single and lived in a two bedroom bungalow off of Saint Johns Bluff road, a major thoroughfare in East Arlington. Rush hour was in full swing for the Monday morning commuters coming in from the beach. He finally made it to Drake's after about forty minutes. Anita's cruiser was parked on the street. Jonesy entered through the front door and was struck by the mess and the smell almost immediately. It looked like Drake had not taken care of his garbage in days. There were pizza boxes, beer cans, and takeout wrappers everywhere. Drake was lying on the couch in a pair of ripe boxer shorts and an old t-shirt. Anita was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee.

Eventually, as Anita and Jonesy sat Drake up and Anita began pouring strong coffee into him, he focused on Jonesy.

"What's he doin' here?"

"He's here so that we can both hear what you've got to say."

"I couldn't do it. It was over the line, I can look the other way. I could handle the small-time stuff. But this was too much," Drake muttered.

"Bill, pull yourself together. What was over the line? What was too much?"

Anita was trying to extract some coherence from a still out of it Drake.

"My uncle. He went over the line."

"Are you talking about Maggie Bullock?" Jonesy asked.

Drake wouldn't respond directly to either of them. They decided to continue to sober him up and try to make sense of his ramblings.

"How are we going to get this guy talking?" Anita said.

"I don't know. Maybe some time in the drunk tank?" Jonesy guessed.

"We don't even have a drunk tank. Plus, I don't want to turn him in just yet. If he gets placed in custody for the minor stuff we know he's done so far, he'll be lawyered up before you know it and we'll find out nothing. I'll stay here and babysit him while you get back to working on the other angles of the case."

"Are you sure you can handle him?" Jonesy asked Anita somehow dreading her answer.

"Listen Drummer Boy, I've been handling him for years. All I have to do is hide his keys and keep pouring coffee into him. He isn't going anywhere."

Jonesy shook his head and headed back to his shop.

Frank exited the Mayport ferry and drove to the Compton house just outside of the Village of Amelia Island. It was a quaint little town with great restaurants, an aging Ritz-Carlton hotel and the luxurious Amelia Island Plantation Resort. The Compton's home was an old style Cape Cod that was white with black shutters, the all-American home. There was an SUV in the driveway.

Frank had called before getting on the ferry to make sure someone was at home. As long as the drive was, he wanted to be sure that his trip wasn't fruitless. A quiet sounding man, Joseph Compton he presumed, answered the phone. Frank disconnected. He didn't know how much Compton knew and he didn't want to tip him off, or worse, have him refuse to speak.

As Frank approached the house, he couldn't help but notice the Christian-themed items adorning the small porch. The front doormat bore the inscription "God Welcomes You." Frank thought that, even though God was welcoming him, he might not be welcome at the Compton house once his message was delivered.

When Frank knocked on the door, he was greeted by a small man who was definitely an older version of the young man depicted in the photos of Troy Compton.

"Hello friend," the man said in that same serene voice with which he had answered the phone.

"Mr. Compton?"

"You can call me Joe. Mr. Compton is my dad."

Frank was starting to dread this visit. Joe Compton's demeanor was not that of the father of a statutory rapist. Frank guessed that he must not know.

"Mr. Compton, Joe, I'm Frank Rozzani. I'm a private investigator."

"Is this about the Thompsons? I know something wrong was going on in that house."

"No, sir. It's about Troy. I'm assuming he is your son."

"Yes he is. I'm so proud of that boy. You know he is interning with none other than Rick Worthington this summer."

"Yes sir, I know. That's partly why I'm here."

"Did something happen at the church?"

"You might say that sir. Do you have some time to talk?"

"I do. Today is my day off. I run a little breakfast cafe in the village and we are closed on Mondays. Come on in and sit down."

"That would be great, Joe. This might take a little while."

Frank followed Compton into a small living room. It had a small TV tuned to Fox News and a pair of overstuffed chairs. Joe Compton directed Frank to the less worn of the two.

"Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Rozzani"?

"That would be great, sir."

As Compton poured some coffee in the kitchen, Frank tried to come up with an approach to bring this saintly man up to speed on the events involving his son.

"Is Troy's mom home as well, Joe?"

"No. She hasn't been home in about seven years."

"I'm sorry. Did she pass away?"

"No, it was much sadder than that. She didn't appreciate the simple life on the island. Last I heard she was a cocktail waitress at a casino in Reno."

Reno, Frank thought to himself. That was worse than death.

"So what sort of intrigue has Troy gotten involved in? Was his bike stolen, or his wallet?"

"I'm afraid it's neither of those sir. This involves the disappearance of a girl from a church-sponsored retreat."

"Oh how awful. Do you need my permission to talk to Troy? You could've called for that."

"I would like to talk to him, Joe. Do you know where he is?"

"You can talk to him as soon as he gets back."

"Gets back? From where, if you don't mind me asking."

"From the church trip. He called me on Friday and told me that the church was sending him on some type of retreat, and that he would be unreachable for a couple of weeks."

"Did he say where the retreat was?"

"I asked him and he said it was a mystery to him. He wouldn't know until he got there. I know a man with Pastor Worthington's reputation would never let him be in any danger."

"So you haven't heard from him since then?"

"Just a quick text about an hour after we spoke."

"Can I ask what the text said, Joe?"

"It just said 'Love you dad'. Is that a great kid or what?"

"He sounds special."

"What does he have to do with this girl's disappearance? Did he witness something?"

Frank now had to, for the second time in less than a week, tell a parent the truth about their child that would shatter the image that they held dear. Sometimes this job sucked. Frank told Joe Compton enough of the details while trying not to cast Troy in a bad light. He left out the details about Worthington's past and Stanton Cobb. When Frank was done, he noticed that Joe Compton had teared up. Frank felt awful, but he also felt that the man had a right to know. Compton sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Mr. Rozzani, if my son needs my support to get through this, I want him to know that he has it. One hundred percent. If you speak to him before I do, please give him that message."

"I will, Joe."

With the mission of ruining the man's day now complete, Frank got up to leave. Joe Compton followed him to the door and Frank turned to shake his hand.

"My son really is a good boy."

"I'm sure he is, sir."

Frank felt dejected as he returned to his car.

As he started the engine, he noticed several missed calls from Anita and Jonesy. That couldn't be good. He dialed Jonesy.

"Jones."

"Jonesy. I just finished up with our mystery intern's father. It wasn't fun telling him that his perfect son is not so perfect."

"Well, Frankie Boy, I would have traded with you. I've been busy sobering up 260 pounds of blubbery, drunken, redneck cop this morning."

Jonesy filled Frank in on the morning's events.

"So did Drake give you anything meaningful?"

"Not really. He just kept saying that his Great Uncle Stanton wanted him to do something to those kids and it was over the line. He is a mess. I can only imagine what Cobb threatened to do to him. Anita stayed with him to try to get more out of him when he sobers up."

"Well at least our illustrious Deputy AG helped you tie Judge Jameson to Cobb."

Frank was silent for a couple of beats.

"Jonesy, I think it's time we put a full court press on Cobb. He's our key to finding Maggie."

"I agree except for the damn basketball reference. You're not in Syracuse anymore. This is football country. It's time to blitz Cobb."

"Whatever."

Frank knew he would go insane without Jonesy's penchant to see humor in everything.

"Let's meet at the Sun Dog for dinner. Tell Anita to come too. We need to plan this one out."

Frank dialed Anita's number yet as he parked on the Ferry for the return trip and shut off his engine.

"Hey Piano Boy, not the best time to chat."

"I heard. Anything more from Drake?"

"Actually, I'm not having any luck at all because he's not here."

"What happened?"

"I hopped on my bike to go get more coffee from the store. I took his keys so he couldn't go anywhere and he was still acting like he was half passed-out, but when I came back he was gone and so was his truck."

"Did he hot wire it?"

"No, he probably had a spare set of keys somewhere. I feel like such an idiot, especially being outsmarted by an even bigger idiot."

"Any clue where he might have gone?"

"No. And I don't want to put an APB out on him. I told Jonesy that I don't want him being brought in for petty stuff and then lawyering up on us. I'll try to find him on my own."

"You be careful. We don't need you in any danger."

"Aw, thanks for caring, but I'm a big girl. I have some ideas where he might be, but I need to get going so I can find him."

"Alright. We can catch up later."

Frank told Anita about meeting with Jonesy at the Sun Dog to plan next steps.

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Frank and Lucy were already at an outdoor table when Jonesy, and then Anita joined them. Frank dove right in to business.

"We know the following: Maggie Bullock is missing. Troy Compton may also be missing. Stanton Cobb is involved in this up to his wrinkly turkey neck."

Frank and Jonesy reviewed the spider web of connections that had emerged around Cobb to fill in all of the blanks for Anita. Cobb was the spider at the center of the web that was threatening to spew his poison on anyone that challenged him. Frank warned Jonesy and Anita that the plan he had devised to trap Cobb would likely cross the line into being slightly illegal.

Jonesy's reply was, "You say illegal. I say fun."

"Great. I'm working with wise asses."

Anita added, "Hey, if my boss can unleash snakes, fire and bricks, why can't I have some fun."

"By the way," Frank asked "Any sign of Billy Bob?"

Anita hesitated.

"No, I haven't found him yet, but I don't think he knows much more. He's probably just hiding somewhere or ran back to his uncle turkey neck for protection. My guess is, if we find Cobb, we find Billy Bob".

"You're probably right", Frank admitted.

They agreed to spend Tuesday gathering what they needed and then put this plan into motion that night.

When Tuesday came, the three conspirators split up to gather the essential supplies for the coming night's festivities. Frank went to the mega hardware store for some rope, duct tape, electrical tape, and various tools, including a heavy-duty bolt cutter. The pimply faced cashier looked at the supplies and quipped, "Hey mister, what are you doin', breakin' somebody out of jail."

"No, I have really bad toenails. The bolt cutters are the only thing that will do the trick."

The confused cashier finished ringing up the order. Frank thought to himself, those two are turning me into a wise ass.

He then put the purchases in the back of his Lexus and headed back home. He would call Travis Bullock Senior and then Junior with very different updates. He couldn't tell Senior the identity of the baby-daddy as he might go all Liam Neeson on the boy. He would, however, tell him about his visit with Cobb and the Dr. Wells connection. Because he planned on paying Junior that dollar he had promised when they had met, he was going to fill him in completely except for the little caper he had planned for tonight. His help might be instrumental later in the process.

As he was driving toward home, he spotted a stand on the side of the road selling fresh-cut wild flowers. On impulse, he stopped and bought a colorful bunch. He immediately questioned his purchase, feeling like an awkward school boy. Then he thought, what the hell. I can't let them go to waste.

He made a short detour to Nancy's office. He walked into the patient and master filled lobby and the immediate reaction from the receptionist was, "Is something wrong with Lucy?"

Nancy heard this from a nearby exam room and came out to the reception desk as well. Now there was no turning back.

Frank held out the flowers and eloquently said to Nancy, "These...you...flowers...thanks."

His Tarzan-tongue was in full swing.

Nancy turned red and so did Frank.

Apparently Tarzan tongue is contagious. Her response was, "Thanks...beautiful...vase...water."

The receptionist and the humans in the lobby erupted into a pack of cackling hyenas. The secret was out now. Nancy and Frank were publicly "in like." If he had a tail, it would have been firmly tucked between his legs as he turned to leave.

Jonesy's tasks for the day were a bit different. He had a good friend with a spy shop on Beach Boulevard. He let Jonesy borrow some night vision goggles and high definition camera equipment. He also borrowed a sturdy case with foam inserts molded to equipment. When he returned to the surf shop, the black Toyota Tundra pickup he was borrowing, complete with a Clay County tag, had been delivered. Everything was coming together.

Anita was busy borrowing police equipment. With Bubba gone, the department wouldn't miss three Kevlar vests and some Tasers for the evening. She also borrowed some hardly-used all black S.W.A.T. coveralls.

The three of them agreed to meet at a Wal-Mart parking lot just off I-295 and San Jose. Frank and Anita could safely park their vehicles there without arousing suspicion. Jonesy pulled up in the pickup and when he rolled down the darkly tinted window, he was wearing old school, mirrored aviator sunglasses and chomping on an unlit cigar. He was having way too much fun.

Frank and Anita climbed into the pickup. The gear was stowed in the toolbox in the bed of the truck. The sun had already set. Darkness was a necessary ally for their venture. It was 10PM when they started out on their trip. Instead of the shortest route, they were taking a more indirect route. Cobb's property in Green Cove Springs was their objective. Their approach would be from the west so that they would be able to get to Cobb's property without going through town. This trip took twice as long, but the advantage of approaching the property undetected was well worth it. Once near the property, Jonesy pulled the truck down a dirt road behind Cobb's property. The road was essentially a deserted logging trail in the woods. They stopped on the road about a half mile from the back perimeter of Cobb's property which could be approached through the woods. Once the truck was in place, the three of them prepared for their trek through the woods. They had split up the duties that they would carry out once they got onto the property. Frank would check out the estate's out buildings which were toward the back of the property. Jonesy and Anita would hit the main house. Cobb's office was in the back of the house and a window to the office faced the woods.

While Frank and Anita were on the property two days earlier, talking to Cobb was one of their objectives. The other objective was to assess security. Other than the guard shack at the gate, the property was bordered by a standard eight-foot chain link fence. It was not electrified, but did have some barbed wire at the top. The house itself, and, they assumed, the outbuildings were alarmed with a residential alarm system that could easily be thwarted. There was a video camera on the guard shack and one at the main house front entry, but none at the rear of the building. In terms of security, Cobb's estate would not prove to be much of a challenge. With any luck, no one would know they had been there and they would have enough leverage to get Cobb to talk.

After pulling on the black coveralls, securing the night vision gear, and stowing the other things they needed in black duffle bags, they were off through the steamy, damp woods. The night air chirped and buzzed with the sound of various creatures. They could see and feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on them as they made a path during their short trek to the chain link fence that cordoned off the back of Cobb's property. After about 20 minutes, they reached the fence. Frank quietly used the bolt cutters to open a seam in the metal links. He was worried about the noise this might create, but luckily the chorus of night creatures that surrounded them provided adequate cover.

Once the opening in the fence was large enough to squeeze through, the team stealthily entered the property and quietly separated in the direction of their tasks. Jonesy and Anita headed toward the back of the main house. Cobb's office was on the left with a window facing the back. The window was dark, but with the night vision goggles they were wearing, they would have no difficulty seeing. Once they reached the window, Jonesy took out a special tool from his duffel and slid it between the upper and lower panes easily unlocking the window. He then went to work bypassing the contact circuit for the alarm so that opening the window would not set it off. With this done, the window easily opened and he and Anita slipped into Cobb's office.

They would be looking for some type of paper trail. Cobb did not have a computer. Any evidence they might find would be stored the old-fashioned way. Jonesy went to work on Cobb's desk. There were three drawers on each side with a pencil drawer in the middle. On the left side he found documents related to the property including insurance policies, property tax records and other routine information. He did make a note that the house and outbuildings were insured for unexpectedly high amounts. He photographed the figures. The top drawer was locked. He easily picked the desk lock and found Cobb's check book.

Moving to the right side of the desk, the only incriminating thing that Jonesy found was an array of liquor bottles in various states of emptiness. So far, not much luck.

Anita was concentrating on the file cabinet. It was locked which was only a temporary setback. The top drawer contained what appeared to be routine files related to bills. The second drawer also contained routine files hanging vertically from metal bars. Anita was just about to close the drawer when she noticed what appeared to be a gap in the drawer's bottom. When she pulled up on the bottom platform, it gave way and she discovered a small storage space. In the space was an old-fashioned ledger book of the type used in accounting. She motioned to Jonesy who pointed to Cobb's desktop where they would have room to open it.

The ledger contained several entries, each with three columns with the headings AP, DD, and AMT. The AMT column had numbers that ranged from the tens to hundreds of thousands. It was clear that this was an amount field. The D field appeared to have dates that spanned from the 1980's to the present year in a mostly chronological order. The AP column had strings of capital letters. By the look of the ledger, there appeared to be well over 500 entries filling about 20 pages of the 50 page book. Jonesy quickly photographed each page and Anita closed the book and replaced it.

Just as they were getting ready to leave, they heard voices in the hallway outside of Cobb's office. They couldn't make out what was being said, but they could tell by the increasing volume that they were getting closer. Jonesy and Anita crouched behind the desk. The voices trailed of and they then heard the sound of an electronic motor. It appeared that a vacuum cleaner was running. They took this as their cue to exit back through the window. Jonesy closed and relocked the window and reengaged the alarm contact. They had searched as much as possible and would later examine what they had found with Frank.

Meanwhile, Frank was investigating the outbuildings starting with the one closest to the rear of the property. This happened to be the largest and seemed to be deserted. The rear entry door was cast in heavy metal and had a lock on the doorknob as well as a sturdy deadbolt. Frank pulled a lock pick gun from his duffel and held it to the dead bolt. The pins from the gun quickly adjusted and the lock turned and opened. He did the same with the doorknob lock which gave way much more quickly.

When the door opened, Frank found himself in a room that contained a refrigerator and other appliances, a kitchen. The sink was a restaurant type and a half dozen cafeteria trays were drying on the counter. There were also recently used pots and pans.

Frank left the kitchen and found himself in a hallway with three doors. He opened the first door and found an examination table not unlike one found in a physician's office. Next to the table was a large monitor and equipment that Frank recognized as the components of a sonogram machine similar to the one used when his own wife was pregnant. He pushed the memory out of his mind.

He left this room and went on to the next door. It was an exam room complete with a table, supply cabinet, sink, and menacing stirrups connected to the table. The third room was identical to the second.

Frank went back through the kitchen and out the door into the night. There were two other outbuildings that were identical to each other. Both had a small amount of light shining from their front windows indicating activity. The way these buildings were laid out, Frank couldn't risk entering them, but he could sneak around the back and try to catch a glimpse through the windows. There were three windows in the rear of each building.

Frank crouched low so that he couldn't be spotted by anyone that might happen to peer out a window while he was moving past. He stood up slightly and looked in the first window. What he saw was another piece of this quickly assembling puzzle. He thought, at first, that he was simply looking at an empty bedroom. Because the room was unoccupied, he had a chance to look carefully at the fixtures in the room. It was not a simple bedroom; it was a birthing room complete with technology that would rival any hospital. There were two more windows along the back of the building. Frank crouched once more and moved to the second window. This room was occupied by a sleeping young girl. She had long straight hair and by the bulge in the bed's comforter, looked to be at an advanced stage of pregnancy. The third window also revealed a similar result except the occupant of this room had a short pixie-like hairstyle. Based on their appearance and advanced state of pregnancy, neither girl was Maggie Bullock. On to the next building. This building had windows as well. The first appeared to be some type of recreation room with a television, books, and board games. The second room looked like a college dorm unit with two beds and two small desks and dressers. It was unoccupied. The third room was the same dorm-like configuration as the second with one young girl, again not Maggie Bullock, asleep in one of the beds.

Based on what he had seen, Frank was starting to piece together what Cobb was likely up to. Of course, there were still missing pieces and many possibilities regarding his end game, but the chance of Cobb being coincidentally involved was quickly disappearing. It was now time to exit the property and compare notes with Jonesy and Anita.

When Frank reached the breach in the fence, he slipped through quickly. They had made sure that the hole in the fence was in a spot that was heavy with vegetation. It might be discovered eventually, but hopefully long after it mattered.

Frank emerged from the woods and found Jonesy and Anita already in the truck looking at Jonesy's i-Pad. It was time to head back to Jacksonville following the same circuitous route that got them here. They would debrief during the drive home.

"Cobb is running a maternity ward on his property," Frank began. He described what he had seen in the outbuildings. "All of the reasons that I have come up with for him doing this point to something less than benevolent."

"That explains the high coverage and extra riders he has in his insurance policies," Jonesy added. "The guy is running a baby factory and the ledger Anita found might be a list of his customers."

"I thought so too," Anita said. "Until we looked at the photos of the ledger more closely. That AP column that I thought was a list of names has just strings of characters that don't make sense."

"They might be in some type of code," Frank said. "I'll take a crack at it tomorrow."

"The ledger is key," Jonesy said. "Without it, we have no proof of any wrongdoing"

"Not even with the maternity ward?" Anita asked.

"No," Frank said. "Cobb could be running a private clinic. If he's done all the right things in terms of regulations, we have nothing."

"Not to mention we cut a hole in his fence, disabled his alarm, and picked his locks to find the evidence," Jonesy said. "They would laugh us out of court and into jail."

"We have to get someone who knows about Cobb's little operation to flip," Frank said.

Then, almost in unison, they said, "Dr. Wells!"

"We just need a piece of concrete information so that we don't tip Wells off about our little adventure tonight," Frank said. "If we can convince him that we know more than we do, it just might work."

By the time they returned to the Wal-Mart parking lot, it was well past midnight. Jonesy dropped them off and Frank and Anita drove their own vehicles home. When Frank got back to the trailer, he was exhausted both physically and mentally. Cobb was certainly turning out to be an enigma. He refuted any involvement in the disappearance of a pregnant young girl, yet he seemed to have a penchant for taking them in and caring for them. Why? These were among his last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Morning came quickly, but Frank was surprisingly alert when Lucy nosed him into consciousness. It was time for a run and then time to research the information they had gathered from Cobb's property last night. He thought about possible codes Cobb might be using in the ledger that he would try out.

Lucy made it the full distance today, but was obviously tired based on the way she flopped on the bed when Frank went to take a shower. She was snoring by the time he was dressed and at the computer. Frank brought up an image of the first page of the ledger. The column they assumed was a date had an entry of 820213 in the first row. Was this for February 13th of 1982? It made sense since the dates, as Jonesy had pointed out, seemed to advance chronologically. The number in the AMT or amount column was 60,000. Was this a dollar amount? Frank contemplated this as he looked at the AP column. The entries were all letters but were essentially gibberish. The first entry was ABLDS. He tried some simple techniques like increasing each letter by one. This yielded BCMET. Not much clearer. He tried reducing each letter by one. ZAKCR. Not much better. When he tried alternating this technique with each letter he found a much more promising result. BAKER. That was definitely a name, but he needed to decipher more entries to be sure. He went on to the next. It read LPQSHT. Using the same technique, MORRIS. He did a few more and ended up with PERCY, LUDLOW, and BROWN. Frank yelled out "Got you, you old bastard!"

It was loud enough to wake Lucy and earn him a look that conveyed her unhappiness at being disturbed. Frank called Anita to see if any of the names were familiar to her.

"I don't recognize any of them. What would make sense is to submit them to the national crime database to see if any hits come up for the names and dates," Anita said.

"Can you do that for me?"

"I can, but here is the problem. I have to get approval and for accounting, I have to tie the search to an active case. The searches cost about $.50 each. If I tie it to the Bullock case, I'll get all kinds of attention we don't want."

"That sucks. A civilian Internet search would take a lot of time that we don't have." Frank's frustration was mounting.

"There is another option," Anita said.

"What's that?"

"Have someone else submit the searches, someone with access that's through a back door and is less than official so that it doesn't draw attention. Do you know anyone with those skills?"

"Jonesy?" Frank asked.

"See, you're not as slow as I thought."

They hung up and Frank called Jonesy. Frank told him what he found and Jonesy immediately said, "We need to tap into the National Crime Database."

"What a brilliant idea."

"You'll need to help me. You can feed me the information while I look it up and you can record the results. We've got to be in and out before they realize that they've been hacked. You've got over 500 entries so let's do a sample of 50 with dates from 1990 forward."

"Why 1990?" Frank asked.

"That's when they established the database and they were less than thorough pulling in data for the prior years."

"OK. I'll need about an hour to pull 50 of them and decode them. I'll see you when I'm done."

"Sounds fun. I'll be here."

Frank pulled 10 names from 1990-2000, and 20 each from 2000-2010 and after 2010. He noticed that some of the dates were followed by a capital A. He wasn't sure what that meant, but included some of those entries in the sample. Now it was time to head to the surf shop. Dusty waved Frank to the back office as soon as they made eye contact. Jonesy was waiting for him. He had a laptop set up with a waiting Google screen facing the guest chair opposite his own.

"Are you ready for some nerd power to help you crack this case," Jonesy asked as Frank settled in.

"That seems to be what we need."

"OK, the way this is going to work is that you'll give me a name and the date that goes with it. I'll log in to the database using an ID that ties me to some random police department somewhere in the US. If I get a hit, you can type it into Google and do a quick search. If you get some relevant information, we'll flag that one for further research and move on. Once we get to a number of hits that makes you comfortable enough to confront the good doctor, we'll stop. Doing it this way makes it look like a bunch of random cops from random cities are doing a single search. That way we won't show up on anyone's radar."

"How are you getting logins and passwords for all of these cops?"

"Let's just say that police departments are less than diligent about deleting IDs when officers leave or retire. I collect them. You never know when you might need to access data like this."

"Jonesy, I'm glad you decided to be a good guy. You would be a scary criminal."

"You have no idea. OK, let's have the first name and date."

"Adamson, 1992"

Jonesy logged in and entered the information.

"I found five traffic tickets and a prostitution charge. Nothing that fits what we need."

This continued for the next 30 entries over the next hour.

"I don't think we're going down the right road," Frank said. "I don't think the names are people who are going to show up on the crime database. I have another idea, but this one might be a bit tricky."

"What are you thinking?"

"Well, Cobb is running a baby factory, as you so eloquently put it. What if he is supplying babies to families that can afford to pay for them? That would explain the amounts. They are the amount of cash he received for each child."

"Babies for sale, now that's creepy," Jonesy said.

"And Cobb's not capable of creepy?"

"There is a way that I might be able to prove your theory, but it is highly illegal and risky."

"Is it more illegal than imprisoning pregnant girls and selling their babies?"

"You have a point. This is a long shot, but in order for Cobb to transfer parental rights for the kids, there would have to be a court involved."

"Wouldn't those records be sealed?" Frank asked.

"Whatever is sealed can be unsealed if you know what you're doing"

"And you know what you're doing?"

Jonesy gave Frank a look that answered his question.

"If I find a match it will tell us who the birth mother is as well as the adoptive parents."

"The what?"

"The adoptive parents. Why?"

"Adoptive parents," Frank repeated. "I think I might know what the "AP" stands for in the ledger.

"Well, let's find out."

Jonesy tapped away at the keyboard for a few minutes. He then furrowed his brow and tapped away again.

"OK Frank. I think I have something. One of the names you gave me was WAGONER and the date was 20010505. I have a baby girl adopted by a Samuel and Rene Wagoner on May 5th, 2001. The birth mother was Andrea Smith and the judge..."

"Stuart Jameson."

"You guessed it Frankie, in the Clay County Court House."

"How about a more recent one. I need to be able to confront Dr. Wells."

"OK. Here's one. BOYLE, 20121009."

Jonesy tapped away.

"I have it. Robert and Shirley Boyle adopted a baby boy on October 9, 2012. The birth mother was Karen Munson. Stuart Jameson presiding once again."

"OK Jonesy, can we put the name Karen Munson in the crime database?"

Jonesy tapped away on the keyboard again.

"Karen Marie Munson, 15. Reported missing from Birmingham, Alabama on March 13th 2012. Presumed to be a runaway."

"Let's try another one," Frank said. "It could be a coincidence with one hit. Two would be hard to explain."

"OK," Jonesy said. "I've confirmed another adoption with Jameson as the presiding judge. Adoptive parents TAYLOR. Birth mother was Rebecca Springer."

He switched to the crime database search.

"Uh oh."

"What did you find?"

"Another ugly turn in this case. Rebecca Springer was reported missing in April of 2011. She was found dead in February, 2012...in Dubai."

"Dubai. How the hell did she get there?"

"Good question. The better question is why."

"Jonesy, I've got enough to confront Dr. Wells. I need you to go through more of these entries to see if we can find out what happened to these girls."

"I'm on it. I don't like where this is headed. We need to find Maggie Bullock as quickly as possible before she ends up somewhere that will make it impossible to search."

"I'm on the same page with you, Jonesy. It's time to tighten the noose around Cobb right after my visit to Dr. Wells. Hopefully we'll not only find Maggie, but will be able to take down Cobb and Jameson too."

Frank left Jonesy to go through the records while he geared up to go visit Doctor Wells in Green Cove Springs.

Frank drove to Clay County on the most direct route this time. There was no need to sneak into town. Speed was more important than stealth. When he crossed over the Shands Bridge this time, he didn't have a welcoming party. He drove into town and went directly to Dr. Wells' office. He would take a chance that the doctor was in. Wells' office was in a two story brick building of which the first floor was office space and the second floor was apparently a residence. All the way to his destination, Frank was thinking of how he might confront Wells. He had the girls' names, but Wells might not even know the names of the patients he was seeing. Just as he parked the car, his phone rang. Jonesy.

"Hey Jonesy, I'm just about to go in. What have you got?"

"I was thinking about what you were going to say to Wells. I thought you were on thin ice, but I understand why you are there."

Great minds..., Frank thought.

Jonesy continued.

"Wells apparently had some serious malpractice charges brought against him in the late 80's. During a difficult birth it was alleged that his actions led to severe brain damage in the baby. The bottom line is that the case was dropped. The presiding judge once again, Stuart Jameson."

"Jonesy, I owe you an extended drum solo at the next gig."

"Wow that will be exciting for everyone. How about you catch the bastards first and find Maggie?"

"Deal. Thanks."

Frank now had his strategy.

He walked into the waiting room of Dr. Robert Wells, MD. He was struck by the high quality decor and furnishings. Even the magazines appeared to be current. The office had the appearance of belonging to a highly successful doctor. One element, however, was missing. There was only one patient who appeared to be leaving. She was standing at the reception window. Frank waited for her to leave and then approached the window which was just beginning to slide closed.

"Excuse me," Frank said.

The window slid open again.

"May I help you?" a voice asked, clearly not in the mood to help him at all.

"Yes. I need to see Dr. Wells."

"I'm sorry," the voice said. "Dr. Wells is extremely busy. He only sees medical device and pharmacy reps on Friday mornings."

Frank was not in the mood to be dismissed.

"First. I can see by your current lack of patients that, unless the doctor is practicing his golf swing, he is not that busy. Second, I do not sell medical devices or drugs."

"Well, clearly you're not a patient. So unless you can tell me why you need to disturb Dr. Wells, I will not disturb him."

Frank was growing very frustrated with the voice.

"Please tell Dr. Wells that I am here to ask him about the private clinic on Mr. Cobb's property."

It was a gamble, but from the way the voice's face went white, it was a good gamble.

"I'll be right back," she said in a much quieter, less indignant tone. The voice belonged to a hefty woman whose name was apparently Dawn-Marie according to her name plate. She heaved herself out of the chair and waddled to the back of the building. Within two minutes, she returned.

"Robert is in his office. Come through the door on your right and walk straight back."

Gone was the indignant tone. Frank had clearly scared Dawn-Marie. She must be involved as well.

When he reached Dr. Wells' office, he found a man trying to look calm and collected as he sat behind his desk. His ashen face and animated hands, however, gave him away.

"Dr. Wells," Frank said as he entered the office.

"And you are..."

"Frank Rozzani. I'm a private investigator."

"A private investigator. What can you possibly want with me?" he asked unconvincingly.

"I'm going to cut to the chase. Lives are at stake here. What can you tell me about what happens to the girls that are held on Cobb's property?"

"Stanton Cobb? I don't know anything..."

"Dr. Wells. I know about your past malpractice incident. I know you have some kind of business relationship with Cobb. You were spotted on Cobb's property just this week. Now unless there's been some kind of scientific breakthrough, he isn't one of your patients."

"Just because I was on his property..."

"Doctor, I'm not in the mood to dance around. I need answers."

"What did you mean when you said lives are at stake? All of the babies in the clinic that have been carried to term have been delivered healthy."

"I'm not talking about the babies. I'm talking about the young mothers imprisoned there."

"Imprisoned? My understanding is that they are runaways or are not welcome in their homes because of their predicament. Mr. Cobb is providing a community service to them and to the adoptive parents."

Now Frank knew that he was correct.

"How much of a cut do you get, Doc?"

"Cut? Cut of what?"

"Cut of what Cobb charges the adoptive parents."

"I don't know what you mean. I volunteer my time to repay Mr. Cobb for some legal aid he provided me in the past. I am given a modest stipend to cover expenses."

"Expenses like the high-end office furniture and medical equipment. I don't think you paid for that with revenue from your massive patient load."

"Patient volume is off a bit, but I do have a viable practice."

"For now you do, but you may not have a practice at all if I tie you to Cobb's activities."

"What activities? What are you talking about?"

"Dr. Wells, what happens to the girls once they give birth?"

"Actually, I'm not sure. They go home, I would assume."

"You don't know? Do you remember a girl named Rebecca Springer? She delivered a baby in November of 2011."

"Honestly, I don't know the names of the girls. I respect their privacy and don't ask much about them. I will tell you that they don't act like girls who have been imprisoned. Sure, some of them are depressed. I assume that is due to their condition, but most are grateful to have a comfortable place to deliver their baby and ensure it a good home."

"Dr. Wells, did you know that the majority of these girls were reported missing by their parents and were never heard from again?"

"Well, if they were runaways, maybe that's not that unusual."

"Would you think it unusual if one of these girls wound up dead in a Middle Eastern country with evidence of extreme sexual abuse?"

At this, Wells visibly reacted by wringing his hands and beginning to sweat.

"What is it doctor?"

"It's just that...well...Cobb told me they were all here willingly, even the last one. She put up such a fight. He said he was legally bound to see them through to the end of their pregnancy."

"Dr. Wells, this is very important. The one who put up a fight, what did she look like?"

At this question, a last bit of indignant tone returned.

"Under the rules of patient confidentiality, I can't..."

The end of his sentence was cut off as Frank reached across the desk and grasped his $300 tie pulling it upward.

"Listen to me, you quack. You can't hide behind the rules when it's convenient. Either answer my question or you can kiss your practice, your medical license, and your freedom goodbye. I'm out of patience and time."

All indignant behavior vanished.

"She was a blond. Very curly blond hair. She had blue eyes and was petite."

Maggie, Frank thought.

"Where is she"?

"I don't know. The last time I did rounds, she was gone. Dawn-Marie said she had miscarried during the night and was gone the next day. I assumed she returned home since that is what she wanted to do."

Frank came to the realization that Dr. Wells could not be any more help. He had enough information to do his job and nothing more. He also realized that it was likely that only one man could tell him where Maggie was, and that was Cobb himself. He left Wells' office and hurried out to his car. Dawn-Marie was not at her post. Frank jumped into the car and quickly drove to Cobb's property. He called Jonesy on the way and told him what happened with Wells.

"Sounds like you need to get to the man and ask him about Maggie quickly. Based on what I found, she could be anywhere in the world by now."

"What do you mean?"

"I found another case. Another girl who was at Cobb's clinic in 2009. She was found six months after the date in the ledger. She had been strangled in a brothel in Bangkok. Dubai and Bangkok. Two cities that are leaders in the human trafficking trade, especially when it comes to young American girls."

"I'm almost there. Jonesy, take what you found and go to Travis. We may need his help."

"Frank, remember, we used less than orthodox methods to get this information. I don't look good in an orange jump suit."

"Remember, this is his sister. I think he'll likely overlook your special methods if it leads to getting her back."

"It's going to have to be a long-ass drum solo for this one, Frank."

"You can have a whole set and I'll force people to stay and listen."

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lieutenant William Francis Drake had come to a realization. Uncle Stanton was a bad person. Between what Velasquez had asked him and what he had pieced together on his own, his uncle was into something highly illegal. Drake may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a cop and had some measure of cop instinct. He needed to know what was going on.

He had faked being passed out and waited for Velasquez and Jones to leave him alone. Velasquez had taken his keys, but he had used the key hidden in the magnetic box under his rear fender when she left him alone at his house for a trip to the store. He didn't take the time to grab clothes or anything else in case Velasquez came back. He needed to get himself together and come up with a plan for confronting his uncle. He headed down I-10 west toward his family hunting cabin about 45 minutes west of town. He knew it would be empty this time of year and there were some extra clothes and provisions there. Hopefully, no one would think to look for him there.

Drake parked outside of the cabin and grabbed the key that was hidden on the property. Once inside, he switched on the generator and washed up. The warm water of the cabin's small shower stall gave him time to think about the situation. He toweled off and pulled on some green camouflage pants, a JPD t-shirt, and some boots. He then pulled out the small gun safe under the bed and grabbed the 9mm handgun that he kept in it along with some ammo.

Drake first tried his uncle's house in Green Cove Springs.

"Hello, Mr. Cobb's office," an unfamiliar voice answered.

"Yes. Is Mr. Cobb in?"

"No he isn't. Can I ask who is calling?"

"This is his nephew Lieutenant William Drake from the JPD. Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Lieutenant Drake. I am filling in for the housekeeper and was just cleaning your uncle's office."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No, I don't. He was here about 45 minutes ago but left in quite a hurry after receiving a telephone call."

"Ok, thanks. I'll try his other number."

"You're welcome sir."

Drake tried to think of where else his uncle would go. He had a good idea where he might be, especially if he felt the heat closing in on him. He didn't think he would be at his house, but he tried the number anyway. It rang several times before going to a generic voice mail greeting.

Drake decided to head for the law office.

The parking lot was deserted except for one nondescript sedan parked near the front door. It could be a car belonging to one of Cobb's staff members. He parked at an angle behind it blocking any possible exit, tucked his gun into the back of his pants and went to the front door. It was locked.

He could see lights on through the glass entry door. He decided to unlock it the hard way and used the butt of his gun to break the glass so he could reach through. He opened the door and walked through not bothering to be quiet. The breaking glass had foiled any attempt at a quiet entry. Instead he decided to call out.

"Uncle Stanton. Are you in here?"

Silence.

"Uncle Stanton. It's William."

"In here. I'm in my office."

Drake cautiously walked to Cobb's corner office keeping his handgun hidden hoping not to use it.

Drake stood in the door frame of Cobb's office.

"Uncle Stanton, I need to talk to you. There are some things that don't add up."

"William. I told you that you shouldn't concern yourself with the details around my dealings. Dealings that make up the bulk of your inheritance, I might add."

"I don't give a rat's ass about my inheritance if it means that girls are being kidnapped, or worse."

"These girls deserve their fates thanks to their loose morals. Think of all of the families that we are helping by giving them a priceless gift."

"Priceless? It's not exactly a priceless gift if it's got something to do with my inheritance. Somebody's payin' for something."

"William, you don't understand. People are getting exactly what they deserve and I am earning a modest fee for making it happen."

"Even if it ain't legal? Uncle Stanton, I think it's time we end this and I'm the one that's gonna make that happen."

"You're right about us needing to end this, but I think I will take the lead in making it happen."

Just then Cobb raised his own handgun that he had been hiding on his lap under his desk and fired at his great nephew. Drake's police training, or maybe his dumb luck, saved his life as the shot went wide. And struck the wall to the left of the door frame. Drake ducked into the hallway and crouched down to the floor. The next shot from Cobb went high and into the wall across from his office.

"Drop the gun Uncle Stanton. Don't make me shoot you."

"You wouldn't dare William. You don't have the guts or the brains to outsmart me."

Drake raised his gun and shot his uncle between the eyes where he stood behind his desk.

"No, Uncle, but I do have the record at the JPD gun range."

The shot killed Cobb instantly.

Drake turned and slowly walked out to the receptionist's desk and dialed 911.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

Frank had a strange feeling as he approached the Cobb property. Something didn't seem right. When he pulled up to the guard shack prepared to do whatever it took to get on the property, he was almost disappointed when he found it deserted. The gate was closed, so he cautiously got out of his car and tried the door so he could flip the switch that opened it. The door was locked. Frank grabbed his Glock from the glove compartment and broke the glass on the door. He unlocked the door, opened it and flipped the switch opening the gate. He drove through and followed the driveway to the main house. Frank parked by the front door, grabbed his Glock, and tried the door. It was unlocked.

Without stopping, he went directly to Cobb's office expecting to find it empty. Cobb was not there. He searched the rest of the house. It was deserted. This was not good. Cobb was the quickest path to finding Maggie and saving the other girls as well. Where was Cobb? Frank couldn't waste much time contemplating the situation. He called Jonesy.

"Jones," came the response.

Frank told him what he discovered on Cobb's property.

"Well, FDLE will be there to take control. They have been instructed to take orders from you and to provide you with any evidence you think will help find Maggie."

"Good work. I guess the deputy AG didn't get mad at you."

"No. He said he would help cover my tracks and offered me a job again. He is also issuing warrants to seize Dr. Wells' records and wants to personally head up the investigation of Judge Jameson, but first and foremost, he wants us to find his sister."

"I think our best bet is to let FDLE look at the evidence here at Cobb's place. They can search the place in the light of day and might find other clues that will lead us to Maggie. Stand by with your computer."

"I have 3.6 Gigahertz of power and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I need to find Cobb. I'll start with his house and the office in Ponte Vedra."

As Frank was leaving Cobb's house, the first FDLE vehicles were starting to arrive. The FDLE or Florida Department of Law Enforcement is a statewide police force that is more powerful than any local police force, even the state troopers. The FDLE is the equivalent of Florida's FBI. FDLE personnel descended on Cobb's property like a small army. They brought panel-type evidence gathering trucks and even a small bus, presumably for the girls. Frank was approached by a giant of a man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses.

"Are you Rozzani?"

"I am."

"I'm Special Agent in Charge Hammersmith. I have orders from the top to follow your lead. You say jump, and we'll say 'how high'."

Frank briefed Hammersmith on the situation starting with Cobb's disappearance and then told him what evidence they needed to look for.

"This guy is one sick character."

"Yes he is. That's why I need to leave and find him."

"We've got several units out looking for Stanton Cobb. We need you here to help us sort out the evidence and listen in on the questioning. I've pulled agents from other cases in this area of the state and threw this unit together in a hurry. It was flagged as priority one from Tallahassee. I could use your help."

"What questioning?"

"I'm going to have the hostages evacuated so they can get the proper medical attention. Then we'll round up the staff and start piecing together what was going on here. We'll also start gathering evidence with a focus on Cobb's office. My team will go over everything quickly and thoroughly. You and I will man the command center and go through anything relevant."

Frank understood the FDLE process, but he really wanted to be involved in the search for Cobb. He could be anywhere and it probably made more sense to look for clues here at his property.

A command center was quickly set up in Cobb's living room which was a short distance from his office. Long tables, computers, and telephones were also set up for their use. Frank really hoped they found something relevant.

After about a half hour, the first files began to come out. Everything was carefully categorized before it went to Frank and Hammersmith for review. Frank knew what to expect from each of the drawers, but had to project some amount of surprise.

Finally, the ledger came out and Frank quickly showed Hammersmith the coding for the names in each entry. This had to move along.

"So we think Cobb was kidnapping these girls, keeping them until they had their babies, selling the babies and then selling the girls into human trafficking," Hammersmith concluded. "What a sick bastard. There must be 500 girls on the list."

Frank was glad to see Hammersmith figure out the case so quickly.

"And, Maggie Bullock was his law partners' daughter. I repeat, what a sick bastard."

Hammersmith went into Cobb's office to relay this latest information to his team so they could refocus their search for relevant evidence.

About ten minutes later, one of the FDLE team members emerged with a leather-bound notebook.

"This was in a false bottom under the pencil drawer," she told Hammersmith.

That was one place Jonesy and Anita didn't have a chance to look. Frank opened the notebook as Hammersmith watched over Frank's shoulder.

The notebook was in the same scrawling handwriting as the ledger. It had five columns. The first had numbers separated by commas. This was followed by a column containing a string of characters, then a date, another string of characters, and an amount. There were no titles over the columns. Frank tried his code deciphering technique on the first column of characters. It read CVAZJ. Frank translated it to DUBAI.

"I think you're on to something, Rozzani," Hammersmith said.

Frank moved on to the fourth column. It read ZYDMLBCSRL. It translated to AXELMAERSK.

"That doesn't make sense to me," Frank said.

"I don't recognize it either," Hammersmith agreed.

"It's a ship," a voice said from behind Hammersmith. It was the female FDLE office who had discovered the notebook.

"What's that agent?"

"It's a ship. Maersk is a shipping company. It's probably a cargo ship."

"It makes sense," Frank said. "We need to confirm it, though."

"We can check with the Port of Jacksonville office. If we can get their cargo ship manifests, we might find something," Hammersmith said.

"I might have a quicker way if I can photograph these pages."

"Normally, I would say 'no way', but Tallahassee has given you a blank check. Let's speed this up if we can."

Frank used his phone to photograph the pages and then called Jonesy.

"What have you got, Frank."

"Another task for you."

Frank explained the notebook pages.

"So the names follow the same pattern. Great. I wrote a little program to translate the names on the ledger to save time. It'll work on the notebook pages as well."

"That's good, we need this quickly."

"Frank, one more thing. On the ledger, do you remember that some of the entries had A's in the date column"?

"Yea. What does it mean?"

"None of the entries with an 'A' had corresponding adoption records and the amount was blank. I think the 'A' stands for babies that were aborted. Out of 562 entries, there are 47 A's."

"Great, add murder to Cobb's list of things we can charge him with. We just have to find him."

"I'll let you know what I find from these pages."

"Thanks."

When Frank hung up, Hammersmith gave him a curious look.

"What?"

"So, you had access to the ledger before today?"

"We may have come across it during our investigation."

"Did your investigation have anything to do with that hole we found in the fence at the back of the property? You could have saved us some time."

"Agent Hammersmith, you and I both know that evidence discovered without going through the proper channels is not usable in court. I knew that your fine team would find it quickly. The notebook, however, is new. The agent here found that on her own and knew that the second character string was a ship. That saved us a lot of time and possibly some lives."

"Yes. Good job agent... What is your name?" Hammersmith asked.

"Agent Shurr, sir."

"Nice work Shurr. When this is over, let's be sure to talk about your future with FDLE."

Just then, Frank's cell phone came to life. It was Jonesy.

"Did you run into a problem, Jonesy?"

"No. I'm done. They're all cargo ships. The dates associated with each one are when they set sail from Jacksonville and the cities were their destinations. I don't even want to think about the dollar amounts. If we're right, Cobb sold those girls into human trafficking rings for less than he sold each of their babies. Why?"

"We may never know, Jonesy. What about the numbers in the first column?"

"As I compared the notebook to the ledger, the numbers of the entries on the ledger are all associated with dates that are before the date the ship sailed from Jacksonville. The girls must have been grouped and shipped to each destination."

"That means they were kept somewhere while waiting to be shipped. Where?"

"I don't know, but here is the kicker; the last date in the notebook is tomorrow and the ship associated with it is bound for Qatar."

"Maggie could be headed for that ship"

"That's what I was thinking"

"Jonesy, I need you to brainstorm and figure out where Cobb holds the girls before they are sent overseas. I want to get to Maggie before she is loaded onto that ship."

"I'm already on it," Jonesy said as he hung up.

# CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

It was dark and the stench was terrible. The rocking was constant. The bathroom was a plastic bucket. The food was a bowl of slop with gritty water to drink. It was quite a contrast from just two days ago. She thought that was hell. Being tied to a bed and locked in a room was heaven compared to this. There was no bed. She shared the wooden floor with four other girls that had been here longer then her. All of their will to live seemed to be gone. They just existed and had given up hope. She had not given up yet, but hope was beginning to fade as she wondered how she had ended up here. Just a week ago, she was the happiest girl alive. She was in love. God had given her the gift of a new life which she had carried inside of her. She had all of this with Troy, who at 19 was wise beyond his years. He was kind, caring, and the father of her child. Now, just a week later, all of that was gone.

She agonized as she relived her ordeal. She knew surprisingly little about her captors or about her location. She went back to her last memory of freedom. She was at the retreat. Pastor Rick had been so inspiring that day. He had spoken about trust; trusting yourself, trusting your family, and trusting God. His talks inspired her and Troy to trust Pastor Rick and confide in him about their situation. They trusted him and wanted his guidance. They told him of their plans to talk to her parents and Troy's dad. Pastor Rick was supportive, but also concerned about their ages. She had known she was pregnant for a week after receiving a positive result on a test. As they left Pastor Rick, she and Troy decided to speak to Maggie's parents as soon as the retreat was over on Saturday morning. She was, at most, two months pregnant. It was early, but she did not want to hide this from her parents. She knew they would be supportive. Her talk with her sister, Missy, had confirmed this for her. Missy said that her biggest mistake as a rebellious teen was not telling her parents when she first had a problem she needed help with. This only made it worse later when she could no longer hide the problem from them. So Maggie returned to her dorm room at Christianity Today that Tuesday night feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Then, her world changed.

She remembered waking in the middle of the night. Two figures wearing black ski masks were standing over her bed. She remembered thinking it was a prank, but then she saw the syringe, felt a pinch, and then blackness. When she awoke she was in another bedroom. It was similar to the dorm at the retreat except for one key difference- the bed she was in had restraints that were now attached to her arms and legs. She must have been observed by a camera in the room because, as she began to move, a tall nurse wearing blue scrubs with a small gold cross around her neck came into the room with a giant smile and soft, reassuring words. She kept saying that Maggie was lucky and chosen and would receive top notch care for her and the baby.

As Maggie's mind cleared, she started to realize that her surroundings were not familiar. She asked for her parents. She asked for Troy. Instead, she was told that her parents knew where she was and that she was being well taken care of.

"Can I call them?" she asked.

"Not right now dear. Not until after your orientation later this morning."

The nurse smiled again and left the room.

Orientation? Where was she? She fought against the restraints and realized that struggling would do no good. She had to make the nurse believe she had calmed down so that the restraints would be removed. She knew the camera was on her so she did her best to appear calm and cooperative.

"I'm sorry," she said, assuming there was also a microphone in her room. "I was scared and not sure where I was. I didn't mean to be so difficult."

Within five minutes, the nurse returned.

"I understand. We restrained you for your own protection. We didn't want you to injure yourself or your special cargo when you woke up."

"I'm better now. I really want to hear all about this place. Right now, I really need to go to the bathroom if that's OK."

Maggie gave the most sincere smile she could muster. The nurse appeared to have fallen for it. She loosened Maggie's restraints.

"I'll be out at the nurses' station," she said. "Don't try anything silly. You may still be a bit woozy from the sedative. I'll be back in when you're done and we'll talk about your stay with us."

Maggie went off into the bathroom. She really did have to go. She was a bit unstable on her feet, but concentrated to steady herself. Once she was done, she quickly formulated a plan. The nurse had shut the door to the room and locked it from the outside. The room had a small wooden desk and a padded metal chair. Maggie worked quickly. She knew the camera would spot her every move. She left that bathroom and slid the desk in front of the door. She then picked up the metal chair and swung it toward the window. The chair did its job. The window shattered all over the bed and the floor. Unfortunately Maggie was only wearing the shorts and t-shirt she had worn to bed. She had no shoes. In her hurry to escape through the broken window, she cut her feet badly and scraped her arms and legs on the broken glass. Adrenaline, fear and urgency caused her to block out the pain. She found herself outside. It was early morning and the sun was just starting to peak through the trees. Maggie saw fencing all around her. The razor wire along the top of the fence made climbing a poor option. She ran away from the woods toward what looked like the front of the property. She could hear shouting now as others joined the nurse in the chase. She saw a gate that she might be able to squeeze through at the front of the property. If she could make it there, she might just have a chance. The gap between the chain link gate and the fence looked just big enough for her to fit through and work her way out. She could see a guard shack beyond the gate. Her pursuers were about fifty feet behind her. The gate was about 20 feet in front of her. The adrenaline surge that kept her ravaged feet from hurting was wearing off as she went from the soft St. Augustine grass to the gravel of the driveway that entered the property. She was almost to the gate. Her pursuers would not catch her. As she slid through the gap, she felt something hold fast to her t-shirt. She looked back. Her pursuers were still at least 25 feet away. Still, something had her shirt. She then realized it was caught on the gate. She pulled with her quickly diminishing strength, heard a tear, and broke free. The delay was almost enough to allow her pursuers, the nurse and her makeshift posse, to catch up. It was almost, but not quite enough. She was past the gate and ready to ignore the pain in her bloodied feet in order to reach freedom. As she began to sprint toward the road, she ran into the iron embrace of the guard who inhabited the shack on the night shift. In spite of her flailing arms and kicking legs, he was able to subdue her. He secured her wrists and ankles with plastic zip ties rendering her helpless. He then opened the gate and the nurse emerged with another syringe. Maggie felt that familiar pinch and then darkness.

Her next memory was of waking in a similar bedroom, but not the same one. She was restrained to the bed more tightly this time. As she stirred awake, a new nurse entered her room. This nurse, a muscular male, had no smile and did not look happy to see her. He checked the bandages now wrapped around her swollen feet and then left her. She realized she had been changed into a hospital type gown. She felt sweaty and dirty from her failed adventure.

The restraints rubbed painfully against her wrists and ankles. She abandoned hope of struggling against them after a couple of halfhearted tries. After what seemed like hours to her, but was only about 90 minutes, the male nurse returned with a tray that contained a cup of tomato soup and a carton of milk, both of which had flexible straws in them. He positioned the tray and raised the top half of the bed so that Maggie could drink her meal without having the restraints removed. She wanted to resist eating the food in protest, but the hunger and thirst her body was experiencing along with her concern for her baby won out over her convictions. She greedily finished the liquids and settled back down into the bed. The nurse came back in to remove the tray.

"I need to use the restroom," Maggie said to him.

The nurse smirked, left the room and returned with a silver metal bedpan. He unceremoniously pulled back the bed covers and said, "Lift" while placing the cold vessel under Maggie's bare bottom. So much for modesty, she thought.

Maggie lay there restrained for the remainder of the day with the only human contact consisting of silent visits from the nurse to remove her bed pan, give her medication, and bring her juice to drink.

Finally, dinner was brought in by the nurse that she had outsmarted the night before. She was not alone. She was accompanied by a man in his mid to late 30s who did not look like someone she would like to mess with. He was wiry, small, but muscular. He smiled, which made him look more menacing. The nurse uncovered the tray. It contained a cheeseburger, French fries, and a hot fudge sundae. Maggie could feel her mouthwatering as she smelled the food.

"Looks delicious, doesn't it?" the man said in a non-distinct accent. "It's all yours if you will just speak to me for a bit."

Maggie nodded her head.

"Please remove the restraints, Phyllis," he said to the nurse.

Once her hands were free, Maggie tore into the food.

"My name is Nico. I'm here to talk to you about your stay with us and about what happened last night. Is that OK?"

Maggie looked at him with a mix of determination and fear and again nodded her head.

"You probably have a number of questions."

"Just one. When can I go home?"

"First things first, my dear. We need to talk about your behavior last night which injured you and put the baby at risk. This is not acceptable and will not be tolerated during your stay here. Second, there is the behavior that resulted in your ending up here."

At this statement Maggie looked confused.

"You see, that is the problem with your generation. Your look tells me that you don't even realize that being pregnant at 16 resulted from bad behavior; behavior that could end a promising young man's career; behavior that could ruin a church. You have no idea."

"I don't understand. Troy and I love each other. We are going to make this work."

"No. You don't understand. Troy was being groomed for big things. These things are now jeopardized because of raging hormones and a young girl who couldn't control herself."

Maggie's eyes began to fill with tears. Could this be true? Had she hurt Troy and the church?

"I want to speak to my parents."

"You will in good time. First, I want you to know that our benefactor understands your predicament and wants to help you."

"You can help me by letting me go home to my parents. This is kidnapping!"

At this, a dark and foreboding look flashed across Nico's eyes.

"You have no idea who I work for. He is a very powerful man with even more powerful connections. You will be given the best of care throughout your pregnancy. The baby will be given a good home, and your family will remain safe. All of this in return for your cooperation."

The seriousness of what he had said sunk in for Maggie. She realized that she would not be leaving before the baby was born. She would not see Troy. They were planning on taking her baby and had just threatened her family. Her mind was reeling as she digested all of this. The meal she had just relished now churned in her stomach. She had to come up with a plan. Her mind told her to cooperate with Nico as he posed a threat to her. She forced her body to relax.

"The first thing you are going to do is speak with your parents."

Maggie's face brightened.

"You will tell them the following: You are fine. You have run away to sort things out for a while. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but they will ask why I ran away."

"They know about the baby. You can't hide such things from your parents."

Maggie's heart sank. She wanted to be the one to tell her parents. How did they find out? How did these people find out? She quickly recounted who she had told. Troy, Missy, and Pastor Rick. Had one of them called her parents? Also, her journal. Had Mom and Dad found her journal?

"I see by your expression that you still have a number of questions. When you complete this task, all of your questions will be answered."

Maggie thought about what she was being asked to do, lie to her parents. She had never really done that before. How could she now in this situation? Then she thought of Nico's threat to her family. She didn't know this man, but somehow she knew enough to take him seriously. It would be good to hear her parents' voices and maybe somehow she would devise a way to send them a message.

"OK. I'll talk to my parents and tell them what you said."

"A wise choice, my dear," Nico said as the menacing smile reappeared.

He retrieved a cell phone from the bag he was carrying. He dialed a number and handed it to her.

"Remember what you are to tell them. Nothing more."

The phone was going on to its fourth ring. Maggie was afraid there would be no answer.

"Hello"

It was her father's voice.

"Daddy," she said feeling six all of a sudden rather than sixteen. "It's me, Maggie."

"Maggie? Are you alright? Peg, it's Maggie. Where are you?"

"Dad, I'm OK. I just needed to get away for a while to sort things out."

"Maggie, it's OK sweetie. We know. Come home and we'll work out together as a family."

"Daddy," the tears were flowing now. "I can't come home right now. I'm OK. I really am." Then a quick thought. "And Daddy, tell Liam I said hello."

Nico grabbed the phone from her and disconnected. He then began leafing through a folder full of paper and pictures that he had retrieved from his bag.

"Maggie, who is Liam? There is no one in your house by that name. You don't have any known acquaintances by that name."

"He's, um...my dog"

Damn, she had hesitated just enough to be caught in a lie.

"Maggie, we know everything about you. You don't have a dog."

Maggie remained silent.

"Who is Liam? What did this mean?"

Still no answer. She was caught. What was going to happen to her now? What was going to happen to her family?

"You didn't play by the rules. Now it will be up to our benefactor to decide what fate you have brought upon yourself and your family."

Nico abruptly left the room. The nurse stayed behind and began to refasten Maggie's restraints.

"Please," Maggie sobbed. "Please let me go. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Now young lady, you brought this on yourself. The moment you opened your legs and tempted that young man, you took this evil road. Now you'll have to deal with the consequences. This place was your last chance for redemption for you and the baby. You may have just squandered that chance."

Maggie thrashed against the restraints sobbing uncontrollably. The nurse left her. Maggie's mind raced while she pondered what would happen next.

After 30 minutes, the nurse returned carrying the dreaded syringe. She had a grim look on her face as she moved toward Maggie. As the liquid was injected into her, blackness enveloped her once again.

When she awoke, darkness still surrounded her. It was night, but what night was it? She felt as if she had been sleeping for a while. How much time had passed? She was almost immediately aware that something about her body did not feel right. She saw an intravenous bag hanging above her connected to her arm with a tube. The severe abdominal cramps that she felt were like an extreme menstrual period, but that couldn't be the cause because she was...Oh dear God, she thought, don't let it be that. She was still restrained. What have they done to me? What have they done to my baby? She thought these questions even though she knew the answers. She could feel a void where life had once been. They had murdered her baby. She sank into the bed and tears flowed steadily and quietly. The nurse returned with a syringe which she injected into the IV drip. Maggie once again drifted off into artificial sleep.

As she began to stir sometime later, the door flew open and Nico, the nurse, and two other ominous-looking men burst into the room.

"You can't do this. It's too soon," the nurse said.

"The boss said to do it now, so that's what we are doing, unless you want to tell him it's too soon."

"Just be careful. She may still be bleeding. Take some extra pads."

"OK. Let's get her dressed and out of here."

Maggie, still drowsy from the anesthetic, felt the restraints being removed only to be replaced by strong, muscular hands.

"Can she have some privacy while I get her dressed," the nurse asked.

"We don't have time for this, just do it."

The nurse shook her head and eased the hospital gown off of Maggie. As she lay there naked, she could feel the eyes of the terrible men on her body. The nurse quickly changed her bloody pad and dressed her in sweatpants and a t-shirt that were both a bit too big, but at least covered her.

"OK, you can leave now," Nico said to the nurse.

When she left, Nico nodded to the two men. One of them retrieved two rolls of duct tape and some scissors from his bag. They went to work securing Maggie's ankles and wrists together. They then stuffed a small rag in her mouth and covered it with duct tape. Her head was then covered with a black burlap sack with drawstrings that they tightened around her neck. The sack stank of vomit and sweat left over from previous wearers. Once this was done, she heard Nico say, "Let's go."

She was carried by the men who had little regard for gentleness making her pain increase. She could tell by the difference in the air that she was outside now. She could hear car doors open and felt herself being set down on a car seat. She then heard the engine roar and felt movement. She tried memorizing the turns and estimating the distance, but realized that this was futile due to the lack of knowing where she started. After a while, she could feel the car driving on a gravel surface. They had left the paved road. The car came to a stop and when the door opened and the men pulled her out, she could sense they were near water. She was carried a short distance and then set down again on something that felt like car upholstery, but she was still outside. Almost immediately, a powerful motor started up and she could tell by the sound that she was on some type of motor boat. As the boat moved, the movement of the air felt good on her body, but couldn't fully penetrate the smothering stench of the burlap sack on her head. After what seemed like a very long time, the boat motor slowed to an idle and the boat bobbed in the water. Were they going to dump her? That was her first thought. Then she heard voices in a language that sounded like a version of Spanish, but her three years of studying the language in high school were not helping her translate much of it. She was now being lifted again and being transferred to a new set of hands. She could feel the rumbling of the engine of a much larger boat. She heard a large door open and then the tape that bound her ankles was cut. She was being walked down stairs into a stuffy area that smelled of human perspiration, waste, and despair. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard murmuring around her. The tape binding her wrists was now cut. She heard a voice in the same non-distinct accent as Nico's say, "Ladies, I have a new playmate for you."

In two quick movements, the burlap sack was removed as well as the tape over Maggie's mouth. What she saw, illuminated by a single bare light bulb, were four girls around her same age in various stages of sleep or shock lying on large burlap sacks on the floor of a cargo hold. Her new captors wore black ski masks and shoved her toward an empty sack. They returned up the stairs. Maggie caught a glimpse of the stars as the cargo door opened and then it slammed shut. She could hear it lock on the other side and then the light abruptly went out.

That brought her to the present. She was locked in this filthy cargo hold and had been here for, God only knew, how long. She was trapped here with four other creatures who were once, like herself, teenage girls. She was quickly losing her own humanity.

Unknown to Maggie, while she was back at the clinic being taped by the benefactor's minions, three people were trudging through the woods toward a chain link fence that would be cut. Frank, Jonesy and Anita entered the property for their unsanctioned investigation just ten minutes after the car carrying Maggie pulled through the gate.

# CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Frank and Hammersmith had been through all of the physical evidence from Cobb's office. It was now time to talk to people. Cobb had employees. Each of them might be in the dark, but together they might offer some significant clues regarding where Maggie had been taken. Frank suggested they start with Dawn-Marie Wells. She was connected to the clinic, her husband as the clinic's physician, and Cobb.

Hammersmith radioed the agents holding the clinic employees and asked them to bring Dawn-Marie to the command center. Her former indignant attitude was now replaced by nervousness and fear, no doubt caused by the intimidating FDLE presence.

"Dawn-Marie," Frank said sternly. "I want you to tell me exactly when Maggie disappeared from the clinic."

"All I know is that she was here yesterday. I changed the dressings on her feet myself"

"Dressings?"

"Yes, she tried to escape her first night here and when she broke her bedroom window to get out, she cut her feet."

"You said Cobb gave the order to terminate her pregnancy. When was that?"

"I know it was two days after her attempted escape. I don't know the details, but she must have done something bad to have that happen so early on."

"Did your husband perform the abortion?"

"Heavens no. She was early enough along that it was done medicinally."

"And who administered the medicine?"

"That would be the nurse on duty at night, Phyllis Kimbrough. She lives here in Green Cove Springs."

Dawn-Marie, now suddenly very cooperative, recited Phyllis's address. Hammersmith gave the address to a junior agent who sprinted from the room and out the door.

"Mr. Rozzani, how bad is this going to get?" Dawn-Marie asked.

"You mean for you and your husband?"

"Well, um...yes."

"Your one saving grace is that Cobb seemed to hide the big picture of what was going on here. That being said, you and your husband should have known better. Your ignorance will only protect you to a certain degree. I can't and won't predict how serious this will get, but your little endeavor with Mr. Cobb has affected some highly placed people. I wouldn't plan on a wrist slap and community service."

"Oh my. That's what I was afraid of."

"Your husband has already been arrested and will be held for questioning," Hammersmith chimed in.

"What about me?"

"We're done with you for now, but we won't be allowing you to leave the property until we sort everything out."

"Sort everything out?"

"Yes," Frank responded. "If we get Maggie back safely, things will be a bit more positive for you. If we don't, I would plan on a long stay in a not-so-nice facility."

Hammersmith motioned from one of his agents to take Dawn-Marie back to the clinic. Just then, his cell phone chirped.

"Hammersmith," he said. "Uh huh," after a long pause, "Bring her in."

Then to Frank, "Phyllis Kimbrough was home asleep. Apparently she was scheduled to work here tonight. She'll be coming in a bit early."

"Did they tell her she won't be earning overtime?"

"They should be here in ten minutes."

"Good. I'm going to walk around and report in to Jonesy."

The call was short, partly because there was nothing new on Jonesy's end.

"I've hit nothing with regard to other properties where Cobb might be holding the girls as they wait to get shipped tomorrow. I did hear from Anita, though. Apparently Drake is still missing. She is going to wait another 12 hours or so and then alert her superiors about his involvement in this. She figured that would give us time to bring things to closure."

"Drake didn't seem to know much anyway. His uncle must have recognized his intellectual limitations," Frank said.

"True. Let's hope we catch a break soon or Maggie is going to be on her way to a horrible life overseas."

"Thanks for the unnecessary motivation."

"Any time," Jonesy said.

As Frank hung up, he saw an unmarked FDLE vehicle pulling up to the house with speed that indicated urgency. From the back seat emerged a tall, gangly, disheveled woman of about 40 wearing wrinkled blue scrubs. She had a severe case of bed head and obviously hadn't been given time to apply makeup which completed the scary look. Presumably this was Phyllis Kimbrough. Frank waited until she was inside and then made the short walk to the house.

As Frank entered the command center, Hammersmith was already talking to the woman.

"Mr. Rozzani, this is Ms. Kimbrough. As you know, she is the night nurse in this Little Shop of Horrors and I'm sure she has an interesting story to tell us."

Kimbrough looked confused and constantly fingered the gold cross that hung around her neck as she sat nervously.

"Ms. Kimbrough, I'll get right to the point," Frank said. "What do you know about the disappearance of a girl named Maggie?"

She looked down at the floor.

"Ms. Kimbrough, did you hear the question?"

"I did," she said quietly.

"Ms. Kimbrough, I am trying to save this girl's life. Where was she taken? When was she discharged from the clinic?" Frank was quickly losing patience.

"If you know where she is and you don't tell us, you can be charged as an accomplice if any harm comes to her," Hammersmith chimed in.

"I don't know where she is. I don't know where Nico takes them. It was too soon to move her..."

"Excuse me," Frank interrupted. "Who is Nico?"

"He works for Mr. Cobb. He handles the transition phase when the girls leave us."

"Where does he take them?" Frank asked.

"I don't know. I just don't know."

"Do you know Nico's last name, Ms. Kimbrough?" Hammersmith asked.

"No. All I know about him is he is not from here."

"Not from here?" Frank asked.

"He has an accent. Not quite Spanish, but similar."

"Ms. Kimbrough, I'm going to put you with a computer sketch artist so we can come up with a description of Nico," Hammersmith said.

"What about surveillance video from the clinic?" Frank asked. "Nico must appear on some of it."

"No. He always called ahead so that we could turn the surveillance system off."

"Was he doing things in 'transitioning' the girls that he didn't want recorded?" Frank asked.

At this question Phyllis Kimbrough just tugged at her cross and looked down.

"What is it Phyllis?" Frank asked.

"His methods were a bit aggressive, but those girls with their loose morals, they deserved it."

"They deserved to have their babies stolen or aborted by you and then disappear forever," Frank asked with growing anger.

"Disappear forever? What do you mean? Does Nico kill them?"

"What happened to these girls may be worse than death, Phyllis. Do you think they deserved that?"

The last question caused Phyllis Kimbrough to tremble. They had reached the end of her usefulness in answering questions.

"Let's get her with the sketch artist and get a description of Nico pulled together quickly."

"The sketch artist is on the way with her computer," one of the junior agents in the room reported.

Frank and Hammersmith questioned other clinic employees. They also questioned the three guards that rotated on duty at the guard shack. They all acknowledged seeing Nico and his associates enter the property periodically. They were instructed to give him uninhibited access. One of the guards admitted to being the one that caught Maggie trying to escape.

While they waited for the sketch to be completed, Frank and Hammersmith pieced together a time line from what they had found out. Maggie and Troy had talked to Pastor Rick on Tuesday afternoon. She disappeared Tuesday night. She tried to escape from the clinic on Wednesday night. Her father spoke with Frank and Jonesy on Thursday night after becoming frustrated with the police investigation. Maggie was at the clinic when she called her father on Sunday. Her pregnancy was terminated on Monday and according to the nurse and the guard, Nico had removed her from the property at around 11:30 PM on Tuesday. Last night. The boat that would take Maggie to Qatar was set to leave the Port of Jacksonville on Thursday. Tomorrow. Frank suddenly flinched.

"What is it, Frank?" Hammersmith asked.

"Let's just say that whoever made the hole you found in the fence may have been on the property about 15-30 minutes after Maggie was taken by Nico."

"If I were that guy, I'd feel pissed," Hammersmith said with a knowing look.

An agent came in and whispered something to Hammersmith.

"We have a digital image based on the various descriptions of Nico from the clinic staff and the guards. We can email it to Tallahassee and get it prioritized to run through the national facial recognition software," Hammersmith told Frank.

"How long will that take?" Frank asked.

"I'll get it bumped to the front of the line and have results within eight hours."

"Eight hours may be too long. Can I also send the image to my associate to see if he can accelerate the search somehow?"

"You can send it to whomever you like that can help us, but the national system is state-of-the-art. I'm not sure what capabilities you have."

"I have a Jonesy."

"A what?"

"Never mind. I'll give you an email address to send it to. I need to make a call."

Frank stepped outside and dialed.

"Jones."

"Jonesy, we have a digital sketch of the guy who took Maggie from Cobb's property. I've had it emailed to you. The guy's first name is Nico."

"You have his name and a description. Anything else?"

"He has an accent and speaks a language that is not quite Spanish."

"OK, that's something to work with. I'll see what I can do."

They hung up and Frank's phone chirped to life again almost immediately. It was Travis Bullock III.

"Travis thanks for sending in the cavalry. We are making some headway."

"I know. Hammersmith has been reporting directly to the head of FDLE and I'm getting regular briefings. He's quite impressed with you and Jones."

"Well, tell him to hold that thought until we bring Maggie home safely."

"I just called to tell you that if you need any resources, just name them. I have the coast guard on hold if and when you need them."

"What we need now is some luck."

"We could all use some of that."

Frank ended the call and went back to the house. Someone had brought in assorted sandwiches and soft drinks. Frank was too anxious to be hungry, but thought he should eat. He joined Hammersmith who was also taking a break to choke down some food.

"This case gets stranger the more you dig into it," Hammersmith said.

"You have no idea."

Frank told him about the snake, the brick and the Sun Dog arson.

"Small time tactics against someone with your background."

Frank gave him a look.

"What? Did you think that I was going to blindly put my resources at the disposal of someone that I know nothing about?"

"I guess you're right."

"It must have been hell for you."

"Again, you have no idea."

"Do you think the smoke will clear enough for you to go back home someday?"

"The people involved don't forget easily. I'm afraid that if I go back, I'll put those around me in danger."

"Well, if you keep solving cases here, you're going to get noticed."

"Then it will be time to move on again."

Hammersmith was then interrupted by the ring of his own phone. His face gave away the disconcerting nature of the call almost immediately. After about three minutes of listening with a furrowed brow and asking some muted questions, he hung up.

"What is it?" Frank asked him.

"News on Cobb. Not good news."

"Did he get away?"

"In a manner of speaking. He was just found dead in his law firm office. He was apparently shot by a JPD officer."

"A JPD officer? It wasn't an officer named Drake by any chance, was it?"

"How did you know? Apparently Drake discovered Cobb was in his office and confronted him. Cobb pulled a gun on him and Drake shot and killed him."

"Drake is Cobb's great nephew. Also, he was the one doing the amateur intimidation tricks on us. Cobb must have finally pushed him too far. He must have been trying to make things right. Not having a live Cobb to question is going to make this that much harder."

"That's true. Hopefully your Mr. Jones can come through with the sketch of Nico."

Frank's phone rang again almost on cue. It was Jonesy.

"What took you so long?"

"Niccolo Souza. Age 34. American citizen born in Brazil. That strange language was Portuguese."

"How the hell did you find him this fast," Frank said getting Hammersmith's attention.

"I took a long shot. It seems like Cobb would hire someone with the right criminal skills to do his dirty work. Who has access to criminals and can leverage their help in exchange for leniency?"

"A judge as in Judge Jameson?"

"Bingo. He's in this almost as deeply as Cobb."

"Anything else?"

"Nico's brother and cousins are commercial fishermen. If we think Maggie is destined for a cargo ship to the Middle East, there may be boats involved to get her to that cargo ship while it's in port."

"You mean they might hold her on a fishing boat and then transfer her to the ship. They'd never get near the port without drawing attention."

"No, but if the cargo ship sent a tender to the fishing boat, that would be undetected. Tenders leave and arrive at cargo ships all the time to transfer crew to and from shore."

"Jonesy, this is a big help. Stay tuned."

"I wouldn't miss the end of this one."

# CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Niccolo Souza lived in a one bedroom walk-up apartment above a local bar in Green Cove Springs. With the information Jonesy had provided, FDLE resources were already at his apartment. He was not there, but because he was believed to be instrumental in finding Maggie, his apartment was searched. There was not much to search through. The furnishings were modest. He had no television or other electronics. He had a single bed with two sets of cardboard drawers that held his clothes. His kitchen was nearly empty with only some bottled water and beer in the refrigerator. His closet contained a few shirts, a black suit and some shoes. There was nothing here to help the case.

As the FDLE team left the building, a man in dark slacks, a white shirt and sunglasses dialed a number on his phone from the diner across the street. He spoke in rapid Portuguese. On the other end of the call a warning had been delivered telling his cousin that he had been discovered and to be wary of approaching boats.

"Nico, it's a big ocean. They'll never find us before we deliver our cargo."

————

"So you and Jones believe the girls are being held on a fishing vessel and they'll be transferred to the cargo ship? It's a long shot, but based on your results so far, we can hardly ignore it," Hammersmith said.

"So where do we go from here? If the Coast Guard storms the cargo ship before Maggie is on board, we'll come up empty."

"Well, finding the fishing boat that belongs to Nico's family out in the open ocean will be nearly impossible. We will have to hope we can track the exchange. We will have to rely on the Coast Guard at this point. They have jurisdiction. It's a long shot unless we can get a location on the fishing boat. We've already seized the records from the office of the company Nico's brother and cousins run. They didn't file a plan for their travels."

"I'm not sure where I can help at this point," Frank said growing visibly restless.

"I'm not sure either. You've given us a huge jump in tracking these guys. We know that Maggie is likely on the Souza fishing boat, Rei do Mar. We know the name of the cargo ship and where it's docked. The ideal scenario would be to find the fishing boat and recover Maggie there and catch the bad guys. If we have to, as a last resort, we'll stop the cargo ship before it can leave port tomorrow. That would be tricky, though."

"Why do you say that?"

Hammersmith frowned.

"Usually, because the port is in a free trade zone, it's very hard to get clearance to stop and search a ship. It requires a federal warrant from the Department of Homeland Security under circumstances that point to an imminent threat of terrorism. It may be hard to pull that together in less than 24 hours."

"So we still have to improve our odds. That sounds like something I can work on with Jonesy. I can't just sit on the sidelines and wait to see if it all works out."

"I appreciate how you feel, but I think there is strength in numbers at this point."

"Well, we might attack it at a different angle."

"Just make sure you don't do anything crazy without filling us in."

"Crazy, we would never do that."

"Frank, I know you want to see this case through, but don't go rogue on me just to be the hero."

Frank shook his head. He said goodbye to Hammersmith and headed to his car. Once in the car and on his way, he called Jonesy.

"Jones."

"Jonesy, it looks like we are in a holding pattern."

"What do you mean?"

Frank went through what Hammersmith had told him about their options.

"Those boys are thinking on a large scale," Jonesy said. "I've got some small scale ideas."

"What do you have in mind?"

"What was Nico's address in Green Cove Springs?"

Frank pulled over to look it up on his phone.

"It's upstairs from the Corner Pocket bar at 14 South Magnolia Avenue."

"OK. Good. Get yourself to the surf shop as quick as you can."

"I'll be there."

Frank sped up and reached Jonesy's shop in about 40 minutes. Frank walked through the front door, nodded at Dusty, and headed directly to Jonesy's office.

"What's the plan, Jonesy?"

"I may have something. It's a long shot, but it's holding up the more I dig."

"Let's hear it."

"I took Nico's address and started looking at cell phone traffic. Because he lives over a bar, the traffic was pretty heavy in that location."

"So how can we identify his cell phone activity?"

"Well, it occurred to me that Nico is probably in contact with the boat that his brother and cousins are using to hold the girls. I had to make some assumptions. Since they didn't find a radio in Nico's apartment, I assumed he is using a cell phone. Unless the boat stays in US waters a mile or so from shore, a traditional cell phone wouldn't work."

"So how can he use his phone to get in touch with them?"

"If they have a satellite phone, Nico could call them wherever they are on the ocean."

"Would that be common? That's pretty high-tech."

"They used to be, but now satellite phones are about the size of your average smart phone. You can get one for about $600."

"So how does that help us?"

"Satellite phones only go through a limited number of carriers. There are six worldwide, to be exact. Only three service the United States."

"So you were able to find calls using one of these carriers?"

"Eventually I was. A single cell phone was used to call a satellite phone at or near Nico's address. One call was as recent as today."

"Today? But the FDLE searched his place today."

"The coordinates of the phone are accurate to within 300 yards. He could have been close to his apartment watching the FDLE while he placed a call warning his relatives."

"What can we do with this information? We have a number, but we can't exactly triangulate them on the ocean, especially if they are moving."

"We might just be able to find the boat's exact location."

"How?"

"Actually, we can use simple technology. After 9/11 all cell phone manufacturers were mandated to put a GPS tracking chip in all phones, including satellite phones. When an individual needs to be tracked, this tracking chip can be activated and tracked to a nearly exact location within ten feet or less. The signal is emitted from the phone several times each minute even if the phone is turned off."

"So how do we get the chip activated?"

"Well, there are two ways that I know of. One is to go through proper channels with the federal government and wait for them to decide if the request is compelling enough to approve."

"That sounds too slow. What's the other option?"

"The other option involves me hacking into the satellite phone carrier's system and turning on the tracking chip."

"How long before you have that done?"

"Five minutes before you got here."

Frank smiled.

"OK, so what do we do now?"

"I have a plan," Jonesy said. "We'll need Anita and a couple of pieces of equipment."

"Well, it's almost dark, let's get Anita here."

"She's on her way."

Jonesy filled Frank in on the plan.

"I want to handle this quickly," Frank said. "FDLE asked me to keep them informed. They just didn't say when. Let's put your plan in motion and we'll bring them and the Coast Guard in at the right time."

Just then, Anita arrived.

"What's the plan?" she asked by way of saying hello.

"A little late night rendezvous on the water," Jonesy answered.

"Well I hope there's more to the plan."

"There is, but first, we need access to a fast boat," Frank said.

They both looked at Anita.

"Why am I the source of the boat? Doesn't Fat Sam have a boat?"

"The Big Easy IV?" Jonesy said. "It's not exactly built for speed. We could probably row it faster than the engines would take us. That boat is built for partying not stealthy, high-speed ocean espionage."

"Didn't you just confiscate a boat in that drug bust a couple of weeks ago?" Frank asked.

Anita smiled.

"Well, I am in charge now that Bubba's missing. I suppose we can take it for a spin."

"I need to pick up a few things from the trailer," Frank said.

"That works. I need to get the boat keys out of evidence."

"I need to get a few things together too," Jonesy said.

They agreed to meet at Jacksonville Beach Marina in an hour.

Frank returned to the trailer. Lucy was happy to see him and he felt guilty for neglecting her.

"It will be over soon, girl, one way or another."

Frank went into his bedroom and lifted the small throw rug in front of his dresser. He grabbed a duffel bag from under the bed and unlocked the small trap door that was under the rug. The compartment held a few emergency provisions that Frank had collected for occasions like the one they were facing tonight. Among the supplies were some non-lethal flash bang grenades. He took two. These devices were used to temporarily blind and disorient targets. Frank also grabbed two SIG Pro semi-automatic pistols with four extra clips. To these, he added a handful of assorted zip ties to use as restraints.

While Frank was gathering his materials, Jonesy was also retrieving a couple of essential supplies. He had a special GPS tracking unit that could easily be tuned to pick up the satellite phone's signature on the open water. He also grabbed the night vision goggles they had used on Cobb's property along with an infrared sensing pair of special binoculars.

Anita collected the keys to the confiscated speed boat as well as some things they would need for the roles they would be playing. She then changed into a skimpy sun dress to complete her transformation into a bimbo out with two men for a late night cruise.

# CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Frank, Jonesy, and Anita met at Jacksonville Beach Marina. It was now 9:45 and fully dark. Not too dark for Jonesy to give a long look at Anita.

"What is your problem, Drummer Boy? Do I have anything you haven't seen before?"

"Well, I wasn't sure there was a girl under all of the black clothes and leather. There definitely is."

"Put your eyes back in your head, we've got a job to do."

They walked together to the slip that held the confiscated boat. Frank and Jonesy were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the boat, a 42' Special Edition Cigarette Ducati speed boat.

"Wow. Your drug dealer had excellent taste in boats. That boat goes for about $700,000 and will do about 120 miles per hour with those twin Mercury engines," Jonesy said.

"Well, he may have been smart about boats, but he was dumb enough to get caught speeding on I-95 with about ten pounds of cocaine in his car on the way to a party," Anita said.

They loaded the supplies onto the boat. Jonesy took the keys from Anita and expertly started up the powerful engines. He then connected the GPS unit and quickly configured it. A red dot began flashing on the grid that overlaid the electronic ocean chart on the 10 inch screen.

"It looks like they're about 60 miles off the coast of Atlantic Beach. With this boat, we can get to them in about 45-60 minutes," Jonesy said.

Anita climbed in and Frank untied the lines and followed her. Jonesy expertly maneuvered the boat out of the marina and onto the Intracoastal Waterway for the journey north to the mouth of the St. Johns River and through the brackish water to the open ocean. Once on the ocean, he was able to open up the powerful engines and quickly close the gap between them and the flashing red dot on the GPS. During the journey, they took turns at the wheel while the remaining two went over the details of the plan.

Soon Jonesy eased back on the throttle, shut down the engines, and killed the boat's lights so they could do one more run through of the plan.

"OK, we are about two miles away, just out of visual and audible range," Jonesy said. "It's time to put the plan into action."

The three began to carry out their prearranged tasks. Anita put empty wine and beer bottles on the deck of the boat to indicate they had been partying heavily. Frank helped her finish this and then positioned himself on the bench seat in the starboard section of the boat and laid face down with an arm hanging onto the deck. Anita sat in the copilot seat next to Jonesy. He turned the boat's lights back on and adjusted the throttle and clutch so that the single engine he turned on sounded like it was struggling. He also lit up the 550,000 candle spotlight and began shining it on the water in front of them as he eased the boat forward.

After about 20 minutes of this, Jonesy trained the light on a 68 foot trawler. The name Rei do Mar was in large black letters on the back of the boat. They had found the boat. Jonesy quickly killed the spotlight. It was show time. Frank slowly raised his head and brought the infrared binoculars to his eyes. He was able to make out the outlines of human forms on the boat.

"OK," he said quietly. "I see two people on the deck, one at port, the other at starboard. There are four in the cabin above deck."

He pointed the binoculars toward the side of the hull.

"I can make out five huddled together below deck. That must be where the girls are being held. Let's do this."

He put his head back down and pretended to be passed out on the seat. Anita sat casually in the copilot seat faking considerable alcohol consumption and Jonesy pretended to have engine trouble. Suddenly Anita's voice became loud so it would carry over the water. "See, you stalled it. I told you it was going to. You just don't know what you're doing."

"Well, your boyfriend, who supposedly knows what he's doing with this boat, is passed out in the back. I don't know what you see in that loser anyway," Jonesy answered loudly.

"You're just jealous. If you could afford a boat like this, maybe I'd see something in you."

"If I owned a boat like this, at least I'd take care of it and I'd take care of you too."

All the time Jonesy and Anita were having this loud discussion, Jonesy was maneuvering the speed boat closer to the fishing trawler. They were surely within earshot now. As he eased up on the side of the boat, he cut the engines completely.

"Great. Now what?" Anita said.

"I think I flooded them. I guess we'll just have to wait a while and then try again."

"Hey, what about that boat over there?" Anita said wavering on her feet as she pointed toward it. "Maybe they can help us."

"It's worth a try unless you want to wait until sleeping beauty wakes up."

Jonesy shined the light on the deck of the Rei do Mar. When he moved the beam to the direction where Frank had seen the crew member at the bow of the boat, they saw a tall man who was already looking in their direction.

"Hey, can you help us out?" Jonesy shouted as they moved closer.

The man shined his own spotlight in Jonesy's face and said, "No. We can't help. Pull away from this boat now."

"I'm sorry, we can't pull away. My engines are stalled. Don't you have someone that can take a look at them for us?"

"It was not very smart to come out this far into the open ocean without bringing someone who can service your engines."

"Well, we have someone, but he is not...um...not well right now," Jonesy said as he shined the light on Franks still form on the bench seat.

"We can't help you," the man insisted.

"But we're out here so far and I'm starting to get scared," Anita said flashing a good amount of leg and cleavage.

The man's posture changed a bit as he moved his spotlight beam to Anita and focused on her from the neck down. She shifted in her seat accordingly making the most of the skimpy sun dress.

"Alright, you can come aboard while we have someone look at your engines. The sick one stays on your boat."

"Thank you so much," Anita said in her best sultry voice.

The boats had drifted close enough together so they could reach the ladder that had been put out for them.

Jonesy stepped onto the bow of the speed boat. The other crew member from the back of the boat had joined the original crew member. He carried a tool box and was presumably the one to look at their engines. Jonesy boarded the fishing boat and was immediately frisked. Anita joined him and, despite the very small possibility of being able to hide a weapon under her flimsy dress, the first crew member frisked her very slowly and thoroughly. Jonesy felt sorry for him knowing what was coming and what was going through Anita's mind.

The second guard climbed down the ladder to the rear of the speed boat. As he neared the seat where Frank was "passed out," he began to climb over the bench seat to access the engine compartment. As he did this, Frank sat up and shouted, "Now!" Frank struck the mechanic in the jaw with a heavy metal flashlight and at the same time, Jonesy quickly put the first guard in an incapacitating hold while Anita grabbed the pistol that he had stored in the rear of his jeans. Frank tossed a small bag with duct tape and zip ties to them so they could secure and silence the crew member. Anita took great pleasure in making the zip ties extra tight. She then returned the favor by frisking him without the lustful groping that she had experienced. Instead, she quickly and efficiently checked him for weapons with a lack of gentleness that brought tears to his eyes. They stuffed a small rag in his mouth and covered it with duct tape.

Frank, having secured the mechanic, joined them on the deck. He handed pistols to Jonesy and Anita and carried one of his own along with a flash bang grenade. They moved together toward the above deck cabin where the four remaining crew members were presumably sleeping. Anita tried the door and it was unlocked. Frank armed the grenade. Anita opened the door and Frank tossed it in away from the sleeping men. The resulting noise and flash of light accomplished the goal of disorienting the men. When the flash had dissipated, the three of them put on the night vision goggles and entered the dark cabin. The four men were in various stages of rubbing their eyes and holding their ears.

Frank and Jonesy moved quickly to subdue the four men while Anita secured their wrists and ankles. They had secured the boat's crew with no bloodshed so far.

As they came out of the cabin and moved to the cargo hold where the girls were being held, a shot rang out from above the deck from the direction of the ship's bridge. Jonesy immediately went down. Anita swung toward the direction of the shot. She took aim and fired twice. A figure fell from the bridge to the deck below. Frank immediately went to Jonesy. Anita went to check on the status of the fallen gunman. She found that she had hit him in the leg causing his fall. He drifted in and out of consciousness as she secured his arms and legs. His pain indicated potential broken bones, but he would live. She left him and rejoined Frank who was tending to Jonesy.

"Is he OK?"

"He's lost some blood, but the bullet hit him in the left shoulder. I'm just worried about the angle that it hit him at."

Frank had torn Jonesy's Ron Jon t-shirt and was using it to compress the wound to stop the bleeding.

"Hey man, your ruining my favorite shirt," a weakened Jonesy said through the fog of pain he was experiencing.

"Well, that's a good sign," Anita said. "He's bitching about his shirt."

Frank tore off some duct tape and secured the wadded t-shirt to Jonesy's wound.

"Let's go back to the cargo hold and look for Maggie," Frank said. "But be careful. We don't need any more surprises."

Anita backed Frank up as he drew his gun and opened the cargo hold. The stench from the enclosed space was nearly overpowering. Frank made sure there were no threats and then flipped the switch that was next to the hatch. A single light bulb illuminated the disoriented group of girls. As he and Anita descended, he shined a flashlight from figure to figure.

"Maggie? Maggie Bullock?" Frank said as he searched with his flashlight.

Finally, in the furthest corner of the space, the beam caught a mass of blond curly hair. The head turned and unmistakable blue eyes that Maggie shared with her mother looked tentatively at Frank and Anita.

"Who...who are you?" she asked.

"I'm here to take you home," Frank said.

Anita and Frank helped each of the five girls to the deck above. As they helped Maggie, who was physically the most stable, she asked, "How did you find me? Who are you?"

As Frank was about to address her questions, a powerful spotlight lit up the entire ship. A loud amplified voice quickly revealed the source of the light.

"This is the US Coast Guard Cutter Valiant. Please drop your weapons and put your hands where they can be seen."

"That's a relief," Jonesy said from the deck where he had worked himself up to a sitting position.

"What are you talking about?" Frank asked.

"When I saw the bright white light, I thought I was a goner."

Frank just shook his head. What a wise ass.

# Epilogue

Two weeks had passed since Frank and company had rescued Maggie Bullock and four other girls from the Rei do Mar. He sat at an outdoor table at the Sun Dog eating breakfast with Jonesy whose left arm was in a sling and Lucy who was content at Frank's feet.

"So, we have a Friday night off again. It's not much of a jazz trio with a one-armed drummer," Frank said.

"I'll be back in another three weeks. The physical therapist says the bullet didn't cause any nerve damage. I was pretty damn lucky if you can call yourself lucky after being shot."

"It could've been a lot worse"

"You're just glad you don't have to pay up on the drum solo promise that you made for a while longer."

"Well, like I said, it could be worse. The FDLE and the Coast Guard were not amused with our little adventure until they searched the ship and found a treasure trove of evidence."

When they made contact with the boat holding the girls, Jonesy had activated an SOS beacon from the speed boat allowing the Coast Guard to easily locate them.

"Once the Coast Guard figured out we weren't the bad guys they were more than thrilled to nail the Souzas for human trafficking, but they also enjoyed finding the 100 pounds of cocaine they had squirreled away on the ship as part of their side business," Frank said.

It was the perfect storm. Based on Jonesy's information, FDLE was able to pick up Nico Souza by tracing his cell phone. The man that Anita had shot was Nico's brother Paolo. There had been a family disagreement brewing between Nico and Paulo and the Souza cousins over the risk and lack of reward for transporting the girls. They didn't understand Nico's bond to Stanton Cobb and wanted to concentrate on the less risky, more profitable drug business. The cousins agreed to a plea deal in exchange for incriminating information on Nico and Paolo.

"Anita has her hands full now that Drake is out of commission for a while", Frank said.

Drake had shot his great uncle in what turned out to be self-defense. He still had other charges to answer for but had essentially turned out to be repentant at the end of the case. Anita was in charge until, and possibly after, his return to JPD.

"Anita scored some points with the Deputy AG and Hammersmith. She told me they offered her a job with the FDLE. It'll be interesting to see what she does", Jonesy said.

"Well, we didn't nail Cobb, but Travis Bullock III took great pleasure in personally visiting Judge Jameson with a laundry list of charges," Jonesy said. "Aside from getting his sister back safely, he was very thankful for that opportunity. By the way, how are the Bullocks doing?"

"I stopped by to visit them yesterday. Maggie seems to be pretty resilient. A lot of kids would withdraw after an experience like hers. After FDLE was able to track down Troy, he and Maggie sat down with her parents and talked through the experience. They really like Troy. Travis Senior is talking about sitting down with Rick Worthington to plan the future of Christianity Today."

"I know. They called me to consult on it. They want to put together a legitimate ownership structure. I just might take them up on it. It might be a good investment opportunity."

"So, did your near death experience bring you closer to religion"?

"No. My experience convinced me to speed up the growth of my nest egg so I can get away from adventures that result in near death experiences."

"Oh come on. You loved the action. Just admit it."

"Maybe just a little," Jonesy reflected. "So what are you and Lucy going to do with your spare time now that the case is over"?

"Well, Nancy, Lucy and I are going to spend time at the beach this weekend. I'm going to finally take Nancy out for a long overdue dinner. From there, I don't know."

"Be careful. It sounds like you're getting a real life."

"Whatever. I need to get going. I've got some loose ends to tie up."

Frank got up to leave and Lucy joined him for the short walk back to the trailer. Lucy bounded through the door. Frank followed. He wanted to take a shower and get over to Nancy's. He hadn't felt this way in quite a while. It was pleasant, yet a bit scary. He glanced over at his answering machine and saw the blinking light indicating a new message. He pushed the play button expecting the usual hang up. It was the familiar Scranton, PA number that had called before. This time was different, however. There was the silence of an open line and then a quiet, familiar child's voice with a short message. "I'm calling for Frank Rozzani. This is Michael...your son." The line disconnected abruptly.

Please enjoy first two chapters of the next Frank Rozzani book, Let Me Be Frank, coming out on October 24th, 2014 and available for pre-order on Amazon.com:

Let Me Be Frank: A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel

By Don Massenzio

Text copyright (c) 2014 Donald S. Massenzio

CHAPTER ONE

Things were turning around. Since coming to Jacksonville six months ago Dani was finally starting to feel like life might turn out okay. Thanks to Uncle Sam she had a place to live and money for food and to buy a few things. She was so lucky that Sam Monreaux remembered her family and had taken her in. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like there was some hope. She could feel the bills from the tips she earned in her pocket. She might be able to buy a television for her apartment with the money she had saved.

As she walked home after closing time at the Sun Dog, she thought of all the possibilities. She turned down the dark alley that was a shortcut to her apartment building. Sam owned the building and many of its occupants worked at the Sun Dog. Rent was paid based on what she thought she could afford. Sam never asked for more. She thought about how fortunate she was to have this second chance. As she walked she listened to Lorde on the second-hand iPhone that someone had given her. She enjoyed walking home. It was late. The Sun Dog closed at 2AM and she had worked serving drinks and bar food until then. Frank Rozzani's trio was playing tonight and the drummer had offered her a ride home. The walk was short, though, and she enjoyed walking in the humid air with the smell of the saltwater in her nostrils. The area was safe, and, even though he seemed nice, she didn't want to accept a ride from a man this late. She just couldn't do it.

She didn't hear the white panel van stop at the end of the alley or the approaching sound of footsteps. The two men pursuing her were surprisingly quiet considering their size. One man carried a pistol and the other a tarp. They were cold and calculating in their mission. Their boss had been very clear. There was to be no mercy. The girl must die to deliver a message.

She didn't hear them coming until it was too late and there was no escape. She started to run, but tripped and fell forward in the alley, catching herself with her hands. Her iPhone screen was smashed as it flew from her hands and skidded under a dumpster. She could feel the gravel bite into the skin on her palms. She tried to get up and run again when one of the men chasing her wrapped his arm around her neck and held a pistol to the back of her head. He pulled the trigger. The small caliber pistol caused little immediate mess as the bullet careened around in her skull, but did not exit.

The two men quickly rolled her into the tarp and carried her back to the van at the end of the alley. They threw her body into the van and drove off to dump it somewhere where they knew it would be discovered quickly.

The white van pulled into the park entrance. It was dark. Not city dark where the illumination of the streetlights, storefronts, and houses give off a dull glow. This was pitch dark where you couldn't see your hand in front of you. The van backed into its assigned spot and the two occupants exited the vehicle. They grabbed the tarp with its lifeless cargo wrapped inside and trudged off through the moist undergrowth toward the short stretch of woods that separated their assigned parking spot from the mountain bike trails.

"Tony, I didn't know we were going to kill her."

"What did you think it meant, Joey? I told you we were being paid to take care of her, take her out to dinner?"

"I thought we were going to scare her. I just didn't know. What did she do anyway?"

"You ask too many questions bro. She didn't do anything. Somebody wanted to send a message. When uncle says take care of her, you've got to know what he means."

"I'm not sure I want to be part of this."

"Well, that's a problem. First, you were already a part of it. Second, you want to be part of this family business then what's good for the business comes first. If you want out, there's only one way out."

"Hey. I didn't mean it. I'm just... I've never..."

"I know bro. It was your first time. I was nervous when I had my first job. Hopefully, if we do a good job on the next few, we can work our way out of the front-line work and into something more lucrative."

"How long do you think it will be before they find her?"

"Pretty soon. After the sun comes up. We left her right next to that bike trail. Somebody passing by that log wouldn't be able to miss her. That was the whole point. She'll be found. The message will get back to Monreaux and her family."

"After the message is delivered, do you think we'll get caught?"

"I doubt it. We've got no ties to her or her family."

"It just seems senseless because she was innocent."

"She wasn't as innocent as you think. She's had a past and her family is what got her killed. Right now, we've gotta ditch this ride and pick up a new one. That'll help you get this behind you."

"How are we gonna ditch it?"

"Joey, I'll show you. Just like everything else on this job, we've got to be careful."

CHAPTER TWO

Frank loved this time of year in northern Florida. The days still warmed up enough to remind him of the subtropical climate, but the evenings and mornings were cool enough that he could take his morning run without needing a shower before he even started. This morning, the humidity was low and the sky was crystal clear as he and his faithful canine companion, Lucy, ran on the hard packed sand on Atlantic beach.

These moments of solitude were becoming rare. Frank's high - profile kidnapping case earlier in the summer meant that his modest private detective business had now grown to the point where he was selective about the cases that he took. Frank had reason to be selective and discrete. He could not again risk the kind of public attention his first case brought. There were elements of his past that might be at risk if he were to gain too much notoriety. Thankfully, Frank had a conduit of associates that only brought him cases that allowed him to help the victims and their loved ones without drawing a great deal of attention to himself.

Frank also had Jonesy. Clifford Jones, III was the Watson to Frank's Holmes. The Spock to his Kirk. The Sundance to his Butch Cassidy. Jonesy was an enigma. By all appearances he was a scruffy surfer dude. Beneath the Jeff Spicoli appearance was a legal and analytical genius with mad computer skills. He was a decent drummer as well, joining a piano playing Frank and a bass playing Armand Bigtree two nights a week at the Sun Dog, a local bar and jazz club.

Frank and his unofficial team had no shortage of casework. The problem was that Jonesy and Anita had day jobs. Jonesy owned a combination surf shop and law office in Jacksonville Beach. Anita had recently been promoted to Lieutenant in the Jacksonville Police Department which was a double-edged sword. She could discreetly provide Frank the access that he needed, but had to be cognizant of her position in the JPD.

As all of these thoughts ran through Frank's head on this crisp fall morning, he and Lucy had finished their run and had arrived back at the trailer they shared. Frank would normally have been concerned with the sight of a JPD cruiser parked behind his old Lexus IS-300, but he saw the inscription over the left front tire that said Lieutenant A. Velasquez and he relaxed. Anita had been promoted to Lieutenant in the JPD after helping Frank and Jonesy solve the kidnapping case earlier in the year. Lucy left Frank's side and ran up to the car to greet Anita as she exited her cruiser.

"Hey Piano Boy," Anita said to Frank as he walked up.

"Hey Anita. What brings you around here? I haven't seen you around the Sun Dog. Did you miss my smiling face?"

Anita wasn't her usual jovial self. Frank knew she was here on business.

"I'm actually here for your help. We've got a dead body and the facts aren't lining up."

"You're coming to me? Shouldn't that be a police investigation?"

"Usually it would be, but this one is different. The initial investigation points to this being a homeless girl in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there is something about this one that requires your special attention."

"What makes this one different?"

"This homeless girl is someone that Fat Sam knows. He took her in when she came to Jacksonville and set her up with a job and a place to stay."

Fat Sam was the owner of the Sun Dog and a mysterious transplant from New Orleans with a colorful past. Frank was good friends with Sam as well as a tenant in his trailer and sometime piano player at his establishment.

"What was her name?"

"Danielle Indigeaux."

"Not Dani. Oh man. I remember when Sam put her to work as a waitress. She was working the closing shift two nights ago while we were playing."

"It looks like a professional hit."

"When did this happen?"

"A mountain biker found her body yesterday morning near a trail in Hanna Park. After he was done puking all over the crime scene, he called us. The crime lab determined that she died of a single small caliber gunshot to the back of the head."

"I didn't think Hanna Park was getting that dangerous."

"The crime scene techs are pretty sure she was killed somewhere else and dumped at the park."

"So how can I help with this? Dani seemed like a nice kid that maybe had some issues in the past. Do you think one of those issues came back to haunt her?"

"That's why I'm bringing you in. The brass at JPD is treating it as a homeless killing. That puts this case in the pecking order somewhere between a stolen bike and a cat stuck in a tree. There are those that view a murdered homeless person as one less vagrant they have to deal with."

"Sam might not view it that way. That's probably where I should start with this. He might have some insight that will help."

"That's why I came to you."."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that?"

"The brass is treating this as a random homeless killing. Because of her relationship with Sam, I thought you and Jonesy might want to step in on this one and take it further. "

"You're right. Sam's got to be taking this pretty hard. Do you have a copy of the case file so I can get up to speed? I'd like to look it over before I go talk to him."

"I do," Anita said as she handed Frank a thin folder.

"Thanks. I'll get with Jonesy and then Sam and keep you posted."

"Sounds good," Anita said then turning to Lucy, "You take care of this guy Lucy. Don't let him get into trouble."

Lucy cocked her head and looked at Anita as if she understood.

Anita got into her cruiser and backed out onto the road as Frank and Lucy went into the trailer. Lucy lapped up some water from her bowl and then flopped on the bed. This was their morning routine on most days. Frank would start coffee brewing and jump in the shower while Lucy readied herself for breakfast. Frank was convinced that Lucy viewed herself as human. She refused to eat dog food and liked to have three meals a day. Frank finished showering, made some scrambled eggs for both of them, and then noticed the flashing light on his antiquated answering machine. Frank liked to make use of modern technology on his cases, but he still liked the idea of having a telephone land-line. The number was only given out to a select few so it acted more like a hotline than a true business line. For cases, he carried a cell phone but used cheap burner phones that he could change frequently so that his number generally changed with each case.

Frank pushed the play button on the machine and listened to the familiar voice from the past.

"Rozzani, this is Ashburn. I got your message and my advice to you is that you stop pursuing this for a while. Your adversaries have eyes and ears everywhere and, if you want to stay anonymous and preserve the safety of those in question, you should let this go for now."

Four months earlier, Frank had received a brief message from his son that came from a Scranton, Pennsylvania telephone number. The number was disconnected by the time Frank called it back and all of his efforts to track down the origin of the call through official and unofficial channels had been fruitless. Frank had been trying to reach Ashburn for quite some time. He had discovered that, due to the same case that had ripped Frank's family apart, Ashburn had to keep a low profile for his own safety.

Lucy, seeming to sense his emotional state, padded over from the bed and put her head on Frank's lap as he sat at his desk.

"Well Lucy, another dead end. I guess I need to let it go for a while."

Lucy looked up at him with her expressive brown eyes as if in agreement with him.

"At least we have a new case to keep us busy for a while," Frank said as he began thumbing through the police file on Dani Indigeaux.

Frank had seen other JPD police files and the quality of the content and the procedure followed had definitely improved since Anita took charge. Dani's murder had been classified as a homicide with the context/motive unknown, a common classification for homeless victims. The method of attack was a small caliber firearm.

From his time as a detective on the Syracuse police force, Frank knew that the actions of the initial responders to the scene of a homicide could often make or break a case. There needs to be an investigatory atmosphere from the very beginning. The first priority, even if it's unlikely, is to treat the victim as if they may still be alive. Being certain that there is no life to be saved should be the first priority. It looked like this was never a possibility with Dani. The bullet hole in the back of her head indicated that she likely died instantly. The crime scene photos confirmed this and revealed the stark contrast between her young, pixie-like face and the damage the bullet had done inside of her skull.

Frank noted that the crime scene had been thoroughly photographed and preserved. After he talked to Jonesy and Sam, he would take a trip to Hanna Park to check it out. The file also noted that relevant evidence had been cataloged and collected and the other people present in the park had been canvassed with no relevant information resulting. It was time to call Jonesy and get the ball rolling on this case.

If you enjoyed these first two chapters, preorder your copy of Let Me Be Frank – A Frank Rozzani Detective Novel today at Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NRVWN68

Text copyright (c) 2014 Donald S. Massenzio

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

*****

This book is dedicated to my wife Caryn who didn't tell me I was nuts when I said I wanted to write a book and to my children whom I love dearly.

Also, many thanks to my dear friend Catherine Violando who relentlessly read the manuscript many times and gave me numerous suggestions to make this book better while encouraging me that it was worth completing.

About the Author

Thank you for taking the time to read my book. Please take a moment to leave a review or comment at the site from which you purchased it. Your feedback is greatly appreciated and is what keeps me going and striving to improve in future writing.

