Brook wasn’t concerned about herself. It was her father. The ominous phone call had been for him, and he couldn’t make sense of it either. Brook was a loving daughter with straight A’s in community college. She chose to stay at home after her mother died and take care of her dad in his retirement. They couldn’t have led more boring lives. Then this brief, electronic intrusion into their world changed everything. Her dad was too old for the stress, so Brook took the reins and flipped yellow pages.
Yes, it had to be some kind of mistake just like Mahoney said. And he promised to take care of it.
She smiled for the first time in an eternity and climbed into her VW Beetle.
Within days, her father would be dead, their house ransacked, and a cop involved in the case—as Mahoney phrased it—would “have caught a case of lead poisoning courtesy of Smith & Wesson.”
Brook’s life shattered again. Who was doing all this, and why?
She was still thinking those thoughts right up until she vanished off the face of the earth.
Not voluntarily, according to police. They found signs of a struggle and her abandoned VW.
She was in the wind.
Chapter One
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
Police stood in a solemn circle. If they’d forgotten how much blood a human body holds, they were reminded.
State Road 60 is one of those great old Florida drives. From Tampa on the west coast to Vero Beach on the east, rolling through Mulberry and Bartow and Yeehaw Junction. Phosphate mines and orange groves and cows loitering near water holes in vast open flats dotted with sabal palms, stretching for miles, making the sky big. Here and there were the kind of occasional, isolated farmhouses that made people subconsciously think:
Standing in another field were the cops, taking notes in the waning light. Forensic cameras flashed. Two detectives glanced at each other and simultaneously raised knowing eyebrows. The extremely deceased victim lay on his back. He had been sliced wide, abdomen to throat, and none too carefully. All internal organs missing. Well, not
“If I wasn’t standing here, I’d swear this was staged with fake props.” The detective bent down for closer inspection. “Like a horror movie.”
“One thing’s for sure,” said the second detective. “We’ve got ourselves a case of severe overkill, which means it was a crime of passion.”
The first detective stood up again. “I can’t even begin to think what kind of weapon did this.”
“Weapon? Singular?” replied his partner. “I’d say we’ve got everything from a machete to spiked clubs and concrete saws.”
They both looked back across several hundred yards of grazing land, toward where they had pulled off State Road 60 near the drive-in. Sparse traffic began turning on headlights. “What kind of sick—”
An out-of-breath corporal ran over. “Sir, I think we have an ID on the victim.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Found his wallet behind that palm.” A shaking hand held out the driver’s license.
The first detective grabbed it and squinted. Then his eyes widened. “Roscoe Nash? Not from the newspaper articles.”
“The same,” said the corporal.
The detective made a two-fingered whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up. I just learned who our special guest is here. Roscoe Nash. And I’ve changed my assessment of the attack. The killer didn’t go far enough.”
They all formed a circle and looked down again, laughing heartily.
THE PREVIOUS MORNING
A jet-black 1978 Firebird Trans Am drove past the state fairgrounds east of Tampa. The original Phoenix bird design that covered the hood had been painted over with a winged skull. The wings were in the shape of Florida.
Coleman pulled deeply from a bong he’d fashioned out of colorful hamster tubes.
Serge glanced over from the driver’s seat. “You realize there’s a hamster out there not getting his exercise.”
Coleman raised his head and exhaled. “No, he’s still in there.”
Serge’s neck jerked back. “You left the hamster in your bong? Why on earth would you do something so disturbing?”
“So the little fella can get righteously baked!” Coleman twisted apart the tubing and tapped his furry little friend out into his lap. “Ow! He bit me!”
“Serves you right.”
“Naw, he’s just got a mondo case of the munchies.” Coleman reached in a bag of Doritos and held out a chip. “See how fast he snatched it from my hand?”
“What next for the poor animal? LSD?”
