Avenged by Janice Cantore Page B

the distance, buoy lights blinked at the mouth of the harbor. It was no surprise to Carly that couples liked to park out here. It was dark, beautiful, and quiet, and the sound of surf breaking on the rocks gave the illusion of being out in the middle of the ocean.
    When she reached the turnaround, her headlights illuminated the taillights of a boxy Land Rover. Stopping behind the SUV, she put her car in park, turned on her spotlight, and pointed it to shine directly into the other vehicle. For a minute she waited to see if someone climbed out. The bright spot would definitely destroy any romantic interlude.
    She couldn’t see any movement or reaction to the light, so she punched the license plate number into the computer to find out who owned the vehicle and whether or not it was stolen. DMV records told her the car belonged to Keith Sailor. There were no reports that it had been stolen. Carlyfrowned as she pondered the name. If she remembered correctly, he owned a catering company that was catering the bridge dedication. Picking up the mike, she told dispatch she’d be out of the car to check on the vehicle.
    Carly grabbed her flashlight and stood for a minute behind her open car door to survey the rest of the point. There were no other vehicles, no boats in the visitor slips, and she didn’t hear any voices. Sometimes people rode bikes along the jetty road, so there could be someone fishing, but she didn’t hear anything except the rhythmic drumming coming from Oceans First. She glanced behind her and noted that not even Duncan Potter was stalking her out here.
    Clicking on her flashlight, she illuminated the parking area and what she could see of the bathrooms. Satisfied she was alone, she closed the car door and approached the Land Rover.
    Habit had her unsnapping her gun as a precaution. With the beam of her flashlight adding to the bright light of the spot, Carly slowly moved toward the vehicle. The rear windows were tinted and the light simply reflected back at her.
    The front driver’s window was cracked open about two inches. Carly shone her light directly in.
    Between the bright spotlight reflecting in the rearview mirror and the powerful beam of the Streamlight flashlight, Carly saw the body slumped over from the driver’s seat across the center console and onto the passenger seat. She called out but knew the person couldn’t hear her.
    Stepping close on her tiptoes, she also saw that there wasno rise and fall of the chest. The waxy cast to the skin and the dried blood told her the person was dead and had been for at least a few hours.
    •••
    “The ID here says that this is Keith Sailor,” Georgia, the coroner’s investigator, said as she looked through the victim’s wallet. “But the damage to his face from the gunshot means you’ll have to wait for a positive ID through prints.”
    “That’s the caterer, right?” Carly asked with a yawn. She was standing a safe distance away from the SUV. She’d had to wait three hours for Georgia’s arrival and was groggy after sitting in her car with only the police radio for company during that time.
    Unlike the triple shooting of a couple nights ago, it was obvious this one was self-inflicted. As to the second shooting this week, it never ceased to amaze Carly how things seemed to run in packs—shootings, stolen cars, domestic disputes, drunk drivers . . . It seemed like when they got one, several more of the same would follow.
    “Yep, he owned Sailor’s Catering. You know, where everything is smooth sailing? They were in the news last month because he beat out the Hacienda for the contract to cater the bridge dedication.” Georgia was the only county coroner’s investigator that Carly knew who lived in Las Playas.
    “That’s what I thought.” She’d read the newspaper article, not because she cared about the catering, but because the pedestrian bridge dedication ceremony seemed to be gettingbigger all the time and all the hoopla made her more