Chapter Three #2
LANDON HAD WAITED patiently for more than two hours at the marina as boats had been temporarily evacuated by authorities while explosives-detection canines searched for other possible bomb threats.
Bomb technicians from several jurisdictions pored over the charred boat belonging to Eddie.
At least it had before being totally ruined and he went missing.
On that note, it would only go one of two ways.
Either he had been killed and maybe buried in an unmarked grave or out in the lake or Raquelle’s brother had fled for his life and was now lying low, panicked, trying to figure out where to go from here.
With the possibility that Eddie had jumped—or been thrown—into the water, before or after the explosion, the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources Division of Law Enforcement had dispatched a dive team to search Lake Owenne for his body.
Landon feared what they might find, given the boat’s destruction and no sign of Eddie.
No matter how bad things seem, I’d hate for Raquelle to get her hopes up, Landon told himself, even while feeling the same way.
Only for her to be let down in a big way if this went south as far as Eddie’s existence.
For his part, Landon needed him to be alive.
Both because of the knowledge that Eddie possessed pertaining to the investigation and, maybe more importantly, he didn’t want his former brother-in-law’s misfortunes to taint whatever chance Landon had for making things right again with Raquelle.
Or was that an impossible task at this point?
His musings were disrupted when ATF Explosives Enforcement Officer Chelsea Furillo walked up to him. Thirtysomething and slender in her uniform with blond hair pulled back into a topknot and green eyes, she said evenly, “Agent Briscoe, I have info on the boat explosion…”
“Okay. What do you have for me?” He prodded her along, having already briefed her on the specifics of the art-theft investigation.
“It was caused by an IED.”
Landon lifted a brow in considering the acronym, which was short for improvised explosive device. “Planted inside the boat?” he asked, as opposed to outside or beneath it.
“Yes,” Chelsea confirmed. “We believe that someone snuck on board and placed the IED beneath the engine. The bomb was almost certainly triggered remotely, though likely within reasonably close proximity to the boat.”
Landon thought about the man in a hoodie that Raquelle saw close to the scene. “I’m guessing that it was timed to go off with the owner, Eddie Jernigan, on board.”
“Makes sense,” she said, “unless the bomber intended to blow up certain contents on the boat.”
“Could be the unsub was looking to achieve both objectives,” Landon argued contemplatively. “If so, the bomber may have only succeeded halfway—with Jernigan’s current whereabouts unknown.”
Chelsea rubbed her nose. “If he’s still out there somewhere, maybe you can get to him before the perp can finish the job.”
Landon responded, in thinking about Raquelle, “That would be preferable.”
“In the meantime, we’ll see what else, if anything, we can dig up as clues about the unsub,” she told him. “Though it won’t be easy, given that the IED was powerful enough to ignite the gas—all but destroying critical evidence.”
He nodded. “Give it your best shot.”
“Will do.” She walked away.
Landon understood that they would need to rely on a combination of forensic evidence, surveillance videos, witnesses, and any other means to solve this and bring the culprit to justice.
Not to mention track down Eddie. Even though there was the real possibility that he was no longer in a position to cooperate in the case.
Landon watched as one of the DNR divers emerged from the water. Officer Julian Uchida, thirtysomething, tall and muscular, was in full gear as he approached.
“Find anything?” Landon asked hesitantly, not sure what to expect.
Julian shook his head. “Just some debris. No sign of a body submerged in the water.”
That’s good, he thought. Or at least it kept hope alive, considering the alternative. “Eddie must have gotten out of the boat in time—and in one piece,” he surmised.
“We’ll search a while longer, to be sure,” Julian told him.
“Okay.” Landon watched as he headed back to the lake to join the other diver still underwater. Until proven otherwise, Landon had to believe that his CI was still on land—if not buried six feet under somewhere.
* * *
AFTER WORK, LANDON HEADED HOME. He had a mind to stop by unannounced at what used to be his house but thought better of the impulse. Raquelle had enough on her plate right now than to be forced to rehash reminiscences with the man who divorced her. Or was it more the other way around?
Whatever the case, he wanted to try and work his way back into her life in a way that they both felt comfortable with.
She needed time to come to terms with Eddie’s disappearance, one way or the other.
So do I, Landon thought, gazing ahead at the traffic.
To say nothing of her learning that he had put himself in the unenviable position of being a CI by his own poor choices.
There would be time to get beyond the disappointments and regrets, whichever way the pendulum swung regarding someone who was once his brother-in-law.
And his ex-wife.
Landon drove into the parking garage of his condominium on Hampton Street in downtown Columbia. He parked alongside his off-duty personal vehicle, an autumn-green metallic Subaru Outback.
After taking the elevator up, Landon went inside the two-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath condo that he had leased six months ago.
It had an open concept with maple hardwood floors, high ceilings, and vinyl windows.
There was a spacious living room and dining room, with barnwood furniture and a chef’s kitchen with quartz countertops.
Not that he did much cooking, having no one to feed but himself these days. Maybe that could change.
He went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of beer from the French-door refrigerator and opened it, taking a swig.
Moving back inside the living room, he gazed at the wood acoustic guitar that was leaning against a rustic microfiber accent chair.
It was the same guitar he owned when he first met Raquelle.
She used to love watching him play some country, blues, easy-listening songs, you name it.
Just as he was riveted whenever she played the piano with the skill of a classical pianist. Together, they made sweet music in more ways than one.
Till the music died, seemingly before they ever knew what hit them.
Restarting it together would be a dream come true.
Or were some dreams simply out of reach with the baggage of time gone by?
Landon took another sip of the beer, then walked toward the sliding glass door to the balcony and gazed out.
It offered a nice view of the downtown area.
That was great, but it was not half as nice as what he saw outside from the vantage point of the house he once shared with Raquelle.
When the marriage ended, he didn’t hesitate for even a moment to turn over the property to her lock, stock, and barrel.
He saw no reason to take away something special that they both had wanted.
Even if he would no longer be around to enjoy it.
He owed Raquelle that much. And probably a lot more.
If the opportunity ever arises to try and make it up to her, I’ll take it, Landon told himself, tasting more beer.
In the meantime, there was the major issue of her brother missing, his prized boat totally destroyed. The big question remained as to whether or not he had been killed by someone who discovered he was helping the feds and was determined to stop him dead in his tracks.
Landon pondered this as he finished off the beer and then headed upstairs to take a shower before having something to eat.