The Blue Wall Of Silence Page 2

  Four bedrooms were on either side of a central hallway from the stairway landing to a bay window overlooking the beach. Whenever Meghan rushed up here, she felt an exquisite sense of wonder while leaning against her balcony railing, speechless over the vast Pacific Ocean and the sound of waves crashing on the shoreline.

  On the right was her brother Simon’s room. He was surfing with Dan at the Seal Beach Pier. The opposite room was empty, unfurnished. Down the hallway, on the right, was Julie Thomas’s room, facing the ocean. She was at home, studying for the real estate exam.

  The room on the left was Meghan’s, with a high arch and two doors. There were large bay windows with window seats, a fireplace with a white marble mantelpiece, and to the right, mahogany bookshelves. Meghan jumped to an oak rolltop desk topped with Wi-Fi tablets and lifestyle magazines. It was a splendid heirloom desk, sixty inches wide, with dark briar finish, gleaming in the room’s filtered sunlight. “Don’t take my desk.”

  “It’ll be thrown off the balcony first.”

  She shouted through the sounds of crashing surf and screeching seagulls. “No!”

  “Does your bedroom have a massive dressing room like downstairs?”

  Meghan opened two doors. “Wait till you see the world’s largest walk-in closet,” and her mind raced to the cash hidden behind the back wall. If Wayne finds the money, no one will trust me again. Why should they? I don’t trust myself. “The lighting’s bad. Please do me a favor, don’t teardown the back wall. I want two televisions and a sectional sofa in here. And, in the rear, near the bathroom, a fast-food area like at a gas station, with a microwave oven and coffee machine and a big refrigerator.”

  Wayne went to her balcony. “So, this is your multi-million dollar view of the Pacific Ocean and San Gabriel River.”

  “From the roof, you can see all of Alamitos Bay and Naples Island. Philip, next door, is Andrew’s vice president of Sun Coast Properties. Philip has a jacuzzi on his roof. Can you put a rooftop deck with a jacuzzi on top of my house?”

  “You could. But I won’t.” Wayne made a dismissive gesture at the waves breaking at the San Gabriel River jetties. “You gave me the value of the land as if vacant. That’s the first step in the cost approach. Your land is more valuable and desirable without the house.”

  “It’s my trophy beach house. I love it.”

  “It’s got more problems than a math book.”

  “What?”

  “We just walked out of the darkest walk-in closet in the world, not the biggest. The house has low ceilings everywhere. It worked for a single lawyer, seventy years ago. But times have changed, and it will not work for a family of today or tomorrow. I would tear it down and rebuild using the same floorplan with more floor to ceiling windows. I will lighten up the place and design for you… you know, you’ve helped me pour concrete floors with radiant heat. I’ll bring smart home blueprints with a net-zero, hybrid solar electric system where the amount of energy used by your home on an annual basis is equal to the amount of renewable energy created by solar panels.”

  “Are you serious? Even after I showed you the entire place?”

  “You just moved here a few months ago. All of this is exciting and new.” Wayne kept his voice calm. “Andrew’s from a long line of Fortune 500 home builders. They know better. This isn’t their first rodeo.”

  3

  Meghan Green reached into her brown beach purse. After some searching, she grasped a large, white, and floppy beach hat. While wearing it with black sunglasses, she relaxed into a small game of pushing her feet into the cold grass, enjoying the tiny, green blades moving through her toes while looking out to the marina where the water was a calm shade of blue.

  Gray clouds drifted across the sky. In the marina, beneath those clouds, white boats floated in their slips and a foggy, evening haze. Julie appeared, dressed in a black wetsuit. Walking up a long, wooden ramp, Julie was slender, with long brown hair. In front of Meghan, she stopped, looking down, quiet, quasi cautious as though she wished to avoid conflict.

  Julie smudged at a sticky substance on her sleeve. “Surfboard wax,” Julie’s tanned face was dark, full of deep lines. They just returned from surfing at Lower Trestles in San Clemente. Julie pulled back her brown hair. “The beach has been bleaching your hair, Meghan.” Julie used a red rubber band for her ponytail. “Oh, and the police and the FBI know you spent bank robbery cash at Marina Grocery. I thought you were committed to Andrew, me, and Dan. How could you screw it up so bad? You have responsibilities. Why didn’t you say anything about finding and spending the money?”

  “I wanted to wait and see what happened.”

  Julie folded her arms across her chest. “You can’t avoid this any longer. If you repeat what I say, I’m dead. Promise you’ll keep it a secret.”

  “I promise.”

  “Detective Davis coached me on what to tell you after she commanded me to make you go home to Big Bear.”

  “Commanded?”

  “She said, ‘I command you to make her go home to Big Bear, or I will kill you and everyone in your home.’”

  “Why?”

  “She wants you out of town. She thinks I can make you go.”

  Meghan held up a hand to silence her. “Davis is a social climber.”

  “She’s the police.”

  Meghan’s voice was dry and cynical. “If she keeps it up, it’ll be the dumbest thing she’s ever done.”

  “Detective Davis coached me to tell you to make a plan.”

  “I don’t need a plan or a coach.”

  “Why not? If Davis finds you’ve been hiding cash in your home, you’ll go to prison for grand larceny under a California law. Bad things happen to good people all the time. You have to stop talking to your family. If anyone asks about the money, tell them you found that hundred dollar bill on the street. And, you spent it at Marina Grocery. There’s no more money. Stick to that story or go to prison for grand larceny.” Julie turned back to the marina. “Here comes Dan and Andrew. And, you know how Andrew reads lips. So, shut up and stick to the plan.”

  She agreed, gazing at both men. “Fine.”

  4

  After Jim Temple’s plane touched down in California, he’d studied Meghan’s routines, admiring her schedule of surfing in Newport and Laguna Beach, and right off the shore from the old Western White House, La Casa Pacifica, where President Nixon lived in San Clemente. After surfing, she went straight to her construction work on Andrew Webster’s rental properties.

  Meghan had drive and ambition. Her Southern California beach energy inspired in Temple a season of youthful fire. Lately, he had been watching surfing videos and planning on retiring in Orange County. Temple praised Meghan’s West Coast lifestyle, and the days of his spying on her from the shadows were beginning to roll by smoothly until he noticed her car turn onto Ocean Avenue, followed by two police cruisers.

  He stiffened behind the wheel of his rental car when outside Meghan’s house, both cruisers flashed their lights and angled to a quick stop in front of Meghan’s car. Two detectives, in dark business suits, stepped from their vehicles. Emergency lights glowed blue in the evening, revealing clipboards in their hands.

  Wearing a dark blue FBI windbreaker, Temple stepped from his black Toyota Highlander. He was fixated on the cruiser's lights and all the berries and cherries, warning people to stay clear of a police incident.

  Temple assessed one of the detectives, Jennifer Davis. He knew Jennifer, but she didn’t know him. And he felt an annoying tension as he was out on a limb, by himself, in Seal Beach, Jennifer’s town, not his.

  Jennifer threw her grey blazer across the hood of her police car. Her hair was wound tight in a knot at the back of her neck. She faced him, her lips a tight, flat line. She rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. “This is a police matter. What are you FBI guys doing here?”

  Temple flashed his I.D. card. “Guys. I don’t see any guys.”

  Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “Stay out of this.�
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  Temple strolled around her police cruiser, nodding at the neighbors on the sidewalk as she moved beside him. Temple spoke with quiet emphasis. “For a week, I’ve been parked down the street, quiet as a mouse in a mousetrap maker’s bed. Now, this place is lousy with police, and bystanders, running up and down the street, wondering what’s going on in their beach town. Twenty minutes ago, this was a quiet, little seaside community. And now, because of you, it’s a three-ring circus, with cops doing stupid human tricks. I don’t care if you blow your cover. Why are you blowing my cover?” He was curious, seeing a change on her face. “Why’d you engage? Is it for the same reason you and your husband Steve burned your boats from Alaska two years ago?”

  “You leave my husband out of this.” Jennifer turned to the detective near Meghan’s car. “I swear to God, Dale, we show up here to do our jobs like ordinary police, and Temple treats us like criminals.”

  Temple nodded at Dale. “You mind if I speak with Jennifer in private? It’ll be just a moment. When I’m done, you can go back to what you were doing before I arrived. Fair enough.” Dale shrugged a response of approval and returned to his police cruiser. “Satellite imagery doesn’t lie. People lie.” Temple paused as Jennifer appeared to go white in the face. “I have satellite imagery from Russia of microwave bursts from your home moving through Wilkerson’s home and into a Russian vessel docked in the channel.”

  Jennifer lifted her chin and glared back.

  Temple held his cell phone high in the air so she could hear a voice recording of her saying, “We burned Wilkerson’s brains in a bucket for the toy manufacturer. The contract’s done.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “You used Wilkerson’s skull like a microwave-proof dish to cook Wilkerson's brains like scrambled eggs and ham until he died.” Temple showed no signs of relenting. “You did it for the toy manufacturer who funneled cash from California to the Kodiak, Alaska town founder who funded your husband’s contract on Wilkerson.”

  Jennifer arched a brow. “Why does the official autopsy say Wilkerson died from the opioid fentanyl?”

  “For the same reason, the official report doesn’t say you were forced to resign from the Kodiak Police Department and given two days to fly off of Kodiak Island, or you and your husband Steve would be shot dead by deer rifles.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Temple used a low and serious tone. “Your dogs were shot dead. And the roof of your house was filled with bullet holes. Your neighbors said it took two weeks for the roofing company to put a new roof on your home after you left. Hence the blue poly tarp on your roof. No doubt, a symbolic flag of public victory over you and your husband, Steve.” Jennifer refused a response. “Who knows what the official reports should have said. Your dead dogs aren’t going to tell us.”

  Jennifer glimpsed at the ground.

  Temple’s tone was composed. “I have an affidavit from the Spruce Cape veterinarian who sold you the T-61 you used to drug Wilkerson into a deep sleep so he wouldn’t move while you microwaved his brains in his skull with weapons of mass destruction. All I want from you is the name of the person who funded your husband Steve’s contract on Wilkerson’s life.”

  Jennifer responded with a faint tremor in her voice. “My husband’s employers will kill me.”

  Temple became instantly wide awake. “Your husband’s government contracts were to attack Russia, not Wilkerson. Your husband went rogue when he murdered Wilkerson. Washington D.C. no longer cares about Steve’s former contracts to attack Russia with weapons of mass destruction. You need to step back and take a deep breath. It’s not about you. It’s not about me. This is bigger than both of us. I was teaching classes on a Marine Corps base in Virginia. I’m an instructor, Quantico. You’re just a police officer in Seal Beach, California. All this comes from those political pin-heads back in Washington, D.C. Next month, I’ll be moving into an SES pay scale. I’m a desk jockey, not a special agent. All we want is the name of the man who gave your husband the contract on Wilkerson.”

  “Then, my husband will kill me.”

  Temple challenged her objection. “Your husband opened the door and let you in. I will let you out.”

  Jennifer nodded to Meghan’s car. “Don’t you have something else to do? I have to talk with a woman who just spent money from a man who killed a Eugene, Oregon police officer, and his family.”

  Her casual manner tried Temple’s patience. “You never cared about police brotherhood or anyone but yourself. Meghan Green is the least of your worries. And, if you hurt her, I will have you shot.”

  Jennifer’s voice hardened. “You mean arrested, don’t you?”

  Temple closed the distance between them with steady eye contact, and she looked surprised. Temple’s voice was cold and exact. “I will make you pay, right here, in Seal Beach.”

  5

  Meghan sat tensely in the seat of her car. Andrew slept in the passenger seat as the man from the FBI appeared on the sidewalk. During a discourse with the police, the FBI man looked to her car, his eyes searching and finding her. She looked down, breaking eye contact. When he walked to her, she decided to stay silent about the money she’d found behind her walk-in closet.

  The FBI man hunched down and looked at her. “What’s your name?”

  The guy was beautiful. He had deep-set eyes, nice, brown eyes, and a good days' growth on his beard. A period of silence loomed between them. “My name’s Meghan.” She smiled as he ran his fingers through his thick, brown hair.

  “My name’s Jim Temple.”

  Julie Thomas ran up to the rear of the car, dressed in her black wetsuit. “What’s going on here?” Julie glared at Jim. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Dan Reynolds shouted with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Sorry, boss! Julie’s outspoken, very protective.” Dan wore a black wetsuit like Julie. He had dark hair and a deep tan. Dan looked like any other surfer, fresh out of high school, except that he’d just stepped out of the scissor door of a black Lamborghini Aventador. Dan trotted over and shook Jim’s hand. “My name’s Dan.” He spoke with quiet emphasis. “You need anything. You let me know.”

  Jim eased away from Meghan’s car door. “The name’s Jim Temple, and these detectives want to talk with Meghan for a while. Hey, would you show me your car? It’s not something I can afford on an FBI salary.”

  Dan glanced over to Julie. “It’s not mine. It belongs to Sun Coast Properties. It’s Andrew’s car.” Julie nodded at Jim. “Andrew’s training us in property development and management. Julie will pass her real estate exam next month, and I’m a superintendent in residential construction. Andrew’s famous in real estate in Florida.”

  When they walked over to the black Lamborghini, the police hung back near their cars. Meghan stayed seated. Her eyes caught the driveway of her home. A lush garden of tall trees, evergreen shrubs, and brightly colored flowers filled the curved entrance while white flags, atop tall poles, were whipping towards the mountains. She glanced up at the clouds darkening above the treetops.

  They were gray clouds, not the black ones she’d expected from Hurricane Yolanda off Mexico. Yesterday, Andrew ordered roofing materials from the building supply. From the storm, they expected a south-west swell, maybe twenty-foot waves, with heavy rains. The waves were good for surfing, but the rains meant they’d be fixing roofing leaks at Andrew’s properties.

  “Good evening, a light rain before Thanksgiving?” Mentally shuddering, her eyes turned to the window, surprised to see a pencil-thin man in a dark suit. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Detective Dale Murphy.”

  She smiled and looked up at the detective. His presence was pleasant, and at the sight of his thick crop of yellow hair, she guessed the ocean had bleached his hair. A cool breeze rushed across her face. “I love the rain. It usually means big waves and good surfing.”

  He spoke with a slow and cheerful voice. “I am a detective with the Seal Beach Police Department. Will you be out of
town during the Thanksgiving holiday?”

  Her smile faded. “I wish we had time for a holiday. We have roofing repairs on parking garages because of Hurricane Yolanda. My mom and my brother will be here tomorrow morning. We’ll be back the next day.” Her parents encouraged her to invite friends to their Thanksgiving dinners in Big Bear. “Would you like to come to our Thanksgiving dinner?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps.”

  “My father has a rule on Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You stay where you eat. People say they’ll have Thanksgiving at our house, and then they cancel because they eat turkey at home, and they get too tired to drive to our house up in Big Bear. We’ve gotten stuck with a lot of food during Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  His expression stilled and grew serious. “I may stay at home. May I see your driver’s license and registration, please.”

  Her face turned to Andrew, still sleeping. “Sure, fine.” If not for his hearing problems, he may have woke, but Andrew slept fine. She rummaged in her purse and then handed documents to the detective.

  “Please remain in your car. I’m going back to check your paperwork on the computer. I’ll talk with you in a few minutes.”

  She watched her neighbors on the street, fascinated by their faces in police cars' flashing blue lights. If only her cell phone hadn’t fallen into the hole in the wall from remodeling. After removing the drywall from the rear of her walk-in closet, she found her iPhone resting on bales of cash like bales of hay, hidden in an anteroom.

  There were six bales of hundred dollar bills in clear plastic, held together with fencing wire. The same fencing wire her family used with barbed wire at their apple farm in Oak Glen. She grabbed a hundred dollar bill from a small, white bag, sitting on the bales. After spending it at Marina Grocery, she hadn’t planned on telling anyone about the cash. It’s my house, my money, why should I tell anyone? But now she was going to prison for grand larceny if she didn’t shut up and…