Page 131 of Maddy's Justice

With the sign on the dashboard announcing the car as Sheriff’s Department, they had parked in a no parking zone on the street. Now they were back in it.

“The Blake guy was telling the truth. Spenser, I don’t know. He’s a lawyer so he’s probably good at lying. Then again maybe he was being straight,” she answered.

“Cynical cop,” Childs said. “Okay, what about Stafford?”

“He’s not as good a lawyer as Spenser. I liked to play poker with him. He knows something,” she said.

“Yes, he does,” Childs said as he pulled the car into traffic.

Cliff had walked the detectives out the door and as soon as they were gone, he practically sprinted back to Stafford’s office. He went right in and found Stafford exactly where he left him.

As calmly as possible Cliff sat down where he had been seated and asked, “Now what?”

Stafford remained silent and immobile staring straight ahead unblinking.

“Brandon!” Cliff said after a long twenty seconds had passed.

“What?” he asked snapping his head toward Cliff as if he just now noticed him.

“What now?” Cliff asked again.

“They, ah, screwed it up, screwed it up,” Stafford said. “I, ah, don’t know what to do, what to do,” he stuttered.

“We’re in a lot of trouble, Brandon,” Cliff said. “You need to pull your head out of your ass and soon.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Stafford said. “I just don’t know…”

“Here’s what we have to do and right now. We call the man up North. Tell him what happened. Then we have to put some people on this and find her.”

“Then what?”

“Finish the job.”

“I can’t do that. Can you do that?”

“Who did you talk to? Who did you go to when you set this up?”

“An old friend of my dad’s. Actually, my grandad from way back when this guy was a kid. He was a gangster most of his life. He’s almost ninety now and…”

“Not Sly Westin?” Cliff asked, clearly disappointed.

“Well, yeah. I don’t know anyone else,” Brandon said.

“Sly Westin was never that sharp. What were you thinking?” Cliff said as he went to Stafford’s credenza. He tried one of the drawers and found it locked.

“What are you doing?” Stafford asked.

“The phone, Brandon. I need to make a call.”

Three hours later the two lawyers were trying to explain away this massive foul up. The island’s owner sat quietly listening while thinking about a solution.

“Where would she go?” he asked. “The detectives said she was not at home.”

“That’s right,” Cliff said.

“What time did the accident happen?”

“The cop said probably before midnight, before it stopped raining.”

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