Standing, Julie nervously returned Kennedy’s smile. “Well, I think that’s all we have—”
“Tell me, are you the least bit concerned about what happened to my team in Summer Place that night?”
“Yes,” Julie said as she turned away. “I’m concerned that I’m going in there with the only man to walk out still sane — and alive. And you can take that to mean whatever you want it to, Professor.”
As Gabriel Kennedy resigned himself to his fate, his smile vanished.
He was going back to Summer Place. He prayed that he was bringing the right army with him.
EIGHT
Lionel Peterson signed the payroll outlay for Gabriel Kennedy and the four names on Kennedy’s list without batting an eye. It was just another silver bullet in the chamber to eventually use against Kelly Delaphoy. He knew the same silver bullet could take him down too, but that was a fact he was almost willing to live with as long as she hit the ground before he did.
As he leaned back, he also looked over the projections for the advertising revenue for the Halloween special. Thus far, they had landed Microsoft and GM, and several spots from Pepsi. He just hoped after this hoax was completed, he could get these valuable dollars back again for his own pet projects. He knew he had to find a way to distance himself from Kelly’s destiny. All he could do for now was make sure the production side went off without a hitch. He and Harris Dalton would make sure that Kelly’s downfall was live, in color, and technically perfect, for the entire country to see.
He smiled as he looked over the list Kelly had faxed him. The people Kennedy wanted for his team had, according to network security, all fallen from grace. Just like Kennedy himself.
“This is going to be something,” he said to himself. “If I wasn’t tied directly to this suicide attempt, I would be laughing my ass off.”
The first name on Gabriel Kennedy’s list was a man well known to the local constabulary of the seaside resort of Ogunquit. He was one of the broken people, homeless, seeking the comfort of the ocean that drew so many. He was a man in hiding, almost a twin of circumstance to Gabriel himself.
On any other day of the week he could be found down by the beach, dragging along the one possession that was his constant companion; a Halcyon A-260 metal detector. However, today he was in the local jail. He sat not on the steel cot but on the cold concrete floor, with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. Instead of digging for the lost treasures that had belonged to vacationers, he was a guest of the local community. That, in and of itself, was a small blessing to the islanders, who despised people like George Henry Cordero.
The private detective hired by UBC had a hard time tracing Cordero down. Then he came across his name on the Internet, listed by the night desk of the Ogunquit police department. One of the four officers on duty escorted the detective through the booking area and into the holding cell, exactly twenty-four hours after Cordero’s name had been placed on Kennedy’s list.
The tall man looked at the vagrant’s unkempt beard and long hair, and winced. This was the creep he’d been sent to round up for a television special?
“What’s the charge against him?” the detective asked.
“Charge — you mean charges?” the policeman said. “That’s plural, buddy.”
The detective didn’t comment, he just looked at the duty sergeant.
“Some kids were, you know, playing around with him. Things got out of hand, as things sometimes do.” He looked at the filthy man on the floor. “One of the teenagers accidentally broke his metal detector, and Grizzly Adams here took offense.”
“I see. They destroyed his property?”
“It was accidental.”
“And these kids…they’re locals? You call them islanders?”
“Yes.”
“So, what are the specific charges against Mr. Cordero?”
“He manhandled one of the boys. He, well, spanked one.”
“Spanked?”
The cop looked uneasy.
“How much to set Mr. Cordero free?”
“That’s for Judge Bennett to decide tomorrow morning, but it won’t be cheap. The judge doesn’t take to kindly to vagrants.”
The tall detective removed a cell phone from his pocket and held it to his ear. “Judge Bennett, you say?”
The cop nodded his head.
“And the charge is…?”
“Aggravated assault, panhandling, and disturbing the peace.”
“That’s three charges. You said two.” The detective held up a hand to silence the officer, and spoke into his phone. “Yes, this is Jenkins. Let me speak to security, please.” He addressed the officer. “What’s the last name of the boy that was allegedly assaulted?”
“Addison,” the cop answered.
“Is he a local businessman’s son?”
“Yes, his family owns the restaurant not far from—”
“Not far from where he was combing the beach for change,” the man from New York finished.
“Yeah.”
“Yes, I have Cordero,” the detective said into the phone. “The judge’s name is Bennett, and the charges are bullshit. Right, right… Okay, I’ll be here, just let me know.”
The detective returned the phone to his pocket and turned to the man sitting on the floor, ignoring the officer.
“Mr. Cordero, you’ll be out of here by ten o’clock in the morning. I’ve made arrangements for you to come to New York.”
“I don’t want to go to New York,” the man said with a thick Spanish accent.
“A man you may know said to tell you…” the detective pulled out a small note pad and referenced Cordero’s page. “That he’s going back into the house, and that he needs your expertise. You’ll be paid two hundred thousand dollars for the four days leading up to and including Halloween.”
The police officer momentarily lost control of his jaw as it fell open.
“House?” the shaggy-haired man asked, his eyes still closed. “Just who is this man?”
“Professor Gabriel Kennedy.” The detective closed his notebook.
Cordero’s eyes opened. His demeanor seemed instantly more alert and aware, as though he had just awakened after a long sleep.
“Summer Place, isn’t it?” Cordero said with a growing smile. “That stupid bastard is slapping that bitch again? What can I say — count me in.” He stood and felt at his beard. “Can I get a shave and a haircut?” he asked his jailer.
“Yeah, in the morning, before you see the judge.”
The detective looked at the cop. “I don’t think he’ll be seeing your local magistrate after my bosses make their calls to your city council — which they should be doing right about now.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be sending one of your local barbers down to see to Mr. Cordero. He has a plane to catch.”
“Summer Place…You know, I always wanted to pork that bitch myself.” Cordero had a gleam in his eye that made him look for all the world like Charles Manson’s twin brother.
“Mr. Cordero, if I may ask, what is it that makes you important to Professor Kennedy?”
The man in the cell thought a moment, pulling on his long beard.
“I’m a clairvoyant.”
The policeman laughed as he left the holding area. The man from the network was now alone with the nutcase in the cell.
“You’re kidding. If that’s so, why didn’t you see your arrest coming?” the detective asked.
“Maybe I did, and I just wanted to spank that little bastard anyway. My sense of justice has always been out of whack. And I’m hard-headed.”