Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) (17 page)

“That’s pretty compelling evidence
of a conspiracy,” he said. “You’ve been busy. Here I thought you were kickin’ back
with dancing girls in the tropics. What do you think is going on?” Stan asked.

“Remember that auto theft ring you
guys busted last year?”

“Sure, high end cars pilfered to
order. Choose an exotic car; place your order and the dirt bags boosted the car
of your dreams and delivered it to you. What’s that got to do with…you don’t
mean…”

“I don’t know for sure, but my gut
says nothing else fits.” I said. Good-looking women are disappearing without a
trace. There is no apparent connection between them. The guy who took a powder
with my client’s daughter is from a South American crime family who are master
smugglers. What conclusion would you make?”

“That’s a pretty big leap, Mac.”
Stan said. “What are you going to do?”

He was right, it was a big jump
from a handful of unrelated missing person cases to an international abduction
conspiracy, but one of the women missing was Lia and it was a place to start. I
didn’t tell him Sergio Sebastian, the guy allegedly missing from the
Wind
Dancer
, was in Miami.

“Remember Pete Morris?” I asked.

“Sure I remember him. He was a damn
good analyst for us over there. He’s working for some government agency now,
isn’t he?”

“He’s running the U.N. Money
laundering program. He’s going to put out a straw man cover story for me so I can
meet with the main players, I hope.”

“Where are you going to do this? I
can’t help you in Nassau,” Stan warned.

“I’ll be back soon. The lead
figures are supposed to be in Miami,” I assured him. “When do you meet with
department analyst to go over the missing person’s reports?”

“Seven thirty in the morning,” he
replied.

“I won’t make it, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he huffed. He was
annoyed with me, but I’d made progress.

“Be sure to look at nationality on
the victims. See if they made any trips outside the U. S. for oh say a year
before their disappearance.”

“Anything else your majesty? You
want shoe size or the name of their hairdresser too?”

“Stan…”

“Fine, nationality, got it.
Anything else?”

“You should go by the Alpha Mu
sorority at UCF and interview Hannah London. She went to Nassau with Jennifer
Summers, but only stayed for the day. They reported her missing when the
Wind
Dancer
went down and her excuse for not calling anyone is lame at best.
Maybe she knows something or Sergio Sebastian said or did something we can
use.”

“Good idea. I’ll head out there in
the morning. Let me know where you are and what’s going on, will you please? I
have to report to the sheriff, remember.”

“Sure thing buddy.”

“How about Randi?” he said. “She’s
asking why you haven’t called her back. You can’t duck her forever.”

I’d avoided calling Randi and Stan
knew it. The situation with Madison, Randi coming on so strong, and my own past
made what looked like a good thing seem like a Cassandra’s curse. I knew what
would happen, but I was powerless to stop it. It wasn’t like me to dodge a
fight though. I decided, for the time being I’d concentrate on the case and
staying alive.

“I’ll call her,” I said.

“Well make it soon, ‘ol buddy, make
it soon. Let’s talk again tomorrow.”

“OK, tomorrow, good night.”

When I hung up, I saw I had a text
from Madison that said, ‘I’m delayed. Problem with Cox’. I wondered what the
problem could possibly be.

Twilight was setting in over the
harbor and I had to gather my thoughts. Building a cover could take weeks and I
didn’t have that kind of time. If I was going to get Jennifer Summers and Lia
back alive, if they were still alive, I had to move fast…and I had to be right.

I jotted down some basics about my
fictional Ralph Lawless. What were his drug habits? How did he score? How did
he keep his bad habits under wraps? I made some bullet points on how I might
hook up with Munoz, Sebastian or his son, depending on who picked up on my
bait. The prospect of a vulnerable ex-banker and money-laundering expert would
be like honey to the bees for someone trying to make illegal profits
legitimate.

Money laundering is just what it
sounds like, the process of making illegal proceeds seem legal or ‘clean’. There
are three steps: placement, layering, and integration. First, the dirty money
goes into the financial system usually from a legitimate business. Then, a
series of transfers send the money through countless accounts to cause as much
confusion as possible. Finally, a legit source uses the money for legit
transactions making the ‘dirty money’ appear ‘clean’. Dirty money seems to come
out of thin air, its source a mystery. It needs to appear as though it came
from legal activities.

I decided to make Mr. Lawless an
expert in smurffing, the art of breaking large transactions into dozens, even
hundreds of smaller deposits through repeated small, automated wire transfers.
I’d picked Bermuda because, despite the government’s best efforts, the island
was still a hotbed of illegal money transfers. A former banker and AML official
with a drug habit would be irresistible to someone with a sizable racket, as I
guessed Sebastian’s must be.

I finished making notes and glanced
up. Lights were coming on all over the harbor particularly on the yacht I’d
been watching. It was a big damn boat, three levels and maybe a hundred fifty
feet long. I watched, fascinated, as the sleek craft glistened under the
lights.

“Sir, would you like another beer?”
Marcellus asked.

I’d eaten and had three already,
but why not. “Sure, bring me one more,” I slurred.

The beer was hitting me hard. A
couple months without a drink had made me a lightweight. Then I remembered last
night’s bourbon.

Movement on the dock drew my
attention back to the yacht. An imposing black man, in a flowered short-sleeved
shirt and light pants strode down the dock. I hadn’t noticed where he’d come
from but it was a sure bet it was the black Mercedes parked near the boardwalk.
There hadn’t been a car there all afternoon. He went down the dock, stopped at
the stern of the yacht then went up the gangplank onto the lighted deck.

I caught only a glimpse of his face
in the failing light. It was round, and smooth-a boyish face perched atop of an
over sized linebacker’s body. The odd contrast made the guy more than
memorable. Two men came on deck to greet the big guy. Something was familiar
about the younger one, but at a distance and in the dim light, I couldn’t
identify him. He was tall with fair features and was dressed casually. The
other man was taller, older, and more muscular. He appeared to be in his
thirties. He wore a light colored sport shirt and jeans and had a ponytail ran
halfway down his back. The three took seats and began to talk.

I sipped my beer and stared aimlessly
across the marina thinking about my close encounter with Madison. I was about
to dial her number when my phone rang. It was Randi.
Great, just what I
need.
I was going to ignore the call, but that was the coward’s way out.

“Hi Mac,” she said. “You haven’t
called.”

She tried to sound sweet, but there
was tension in her voice.

“I’ve been busy,” I said. “I’m
working a case, remember?”

“I thought I’d at least hear from
you,” she said. “I thought”

“You thought what, that we were an
item?”

“Well…”

Well what?” I said. “We just met,
Randi. Give me some air.”

“You…you want time to think about…”

The conversation onboard yacht was
taking a turn. The younger guy was on his feet excitedly gesturing with his
hands and shouting at the big guy. The three men were having a lively
conversation. From their posture and actions I’d bet they were arguing.

“Randi, give me a break,” I said.
“We met Friday. It’s Sunday evening. I’m working. Will you give it a rest? What
are you, some kind of stalker?”

“That’s not fair,” she shot back.
“I haven’t called or texted you once.”

“No you haven’t and you knew where
I was and what I was doing,” I said.

“So you’re not in to me after all?”
she said.

“I didn’t say that,” I replied.
Geez,
arguing with a woman is like reading a software license agreement.
“I don’t
know you yet and I’m…”

“Oh I get it,” she shot back. “You
just used me for information. You hooked up with Madison, didn’t you?”

“Will you stop it?” I said. “I’m
trying to find a couple women before they’re killed.”

She didn’t say a word.

“You think Lia’s abduction is
connected to the Summers girl?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Could the Summers girl still be
alive?”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” I said. I
regretted my slip of the tongue. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”

“You’ve you found something haven’t
you?”

“Randi, I can’t say any more now.”

“Why not oh well I guess I
understand,” she said. She didn’t sound like she understood at all.

“I’ll call you when I get back in
town,” I said.

“When will that be?”

“It’ll be when I get back in town,”
I said. “You have to give me some space. Good night.”

“But Mac, what about…”

I ended the call.
I don’t need
this crap.

The animated conversation on the
yacht had calmed down. As I tuned my attention back to the men in the distance,
the young guy took a cell phone call. He jumped to his feet with his phone to
his ear. He paced and waved his free hand then threw his phone down. He turned
to the ponytail guy and shouted something at him. The two men abruptly rose and
hustled down the gangplank leaving you younger one on the yacht. Two more men
dressed in shorts and polo shirts, probably from the yacht’s crew, joined them
on the dock. The four walked up the dock. The big guy went straight to the car
I’d noticed parked by the quay. The remaining three men disappeared down the
dark street.

Marcellus reappeared as I slammed
the phone on the tale and noticing I was dry again asked, “Another beer sir, or
perhaps some dessert?”

I looked at the empty bottle in my
hand and realized I’d sucked the brew right down while I’d argued with Randi.
Old
habits die hard.
I opted for one last beer.

“One more, then cut me off,” I
said.

Marcellus laughed and was about to
scurry off when I asked, “Who owns the Queen Mary there in the harbor?”

“What?”

“The big boat-who owns it?”

“I don’t know who owns her, but the
Wind Chaser
is here often. She might be a charter yacht.”

Wind Chaser-there is no such
thing as coincidence.

“Thanks,” I said.

Marcellus went off and reappeared a
moment later with another frosty Corona. I vowed to take my time with this one.
Without the distraction of the people on the boat, my mind began to wander.
I started to feel the beers. I’d had a six-pack in just a little over ninety
minutes.
I wonder what’s happened to Madison
.
I thought she would
have called by now. Maybe she will want to do it again.

Marcellus reappeared and said,
“Sir, there is someone downstairs asking about you. At least I think it’s you.”

“A woman?” I asked.
Madison,
think of her and she appears
.

“No sir, it’s a man,” he replied.

“What does he want?”

“He didn’t say. He described a man
and asked if he was here. He said he needed to see him. It sounds like you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. I said
I’d see if I could find anyone.”

“Describe him for me,” I said.

“He’s in his thirties. He looks
like a bull-you know a copper,” Marcellus replied.

Must be Hilton,
I thought.

“Did he ask for me by name?”

“Yes sir. He asked if there was a
tall muscular American with short brown hair here and Everett. I didn’t tell
him anything, sir. I’m sorry if…”

“It’s OK. Where is he?”

“He said he’d be at the back door.
I’ll show you.”

“Cash me out, will you Marcellus,”
I said.

He fished the bill out of his apron
and handed it to me. I counted out the cash then said, “And this is for you.”

I handed him a fifty.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You took good care of me
Marcellus. I appreciate you keeping the other customers away too. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Thank you.
Please come back again.”

I downed the last of the Corona.
I’d drunk it fast enough the swill was still cold. I plunked the empty on the
table and said, “Lead the way.”

I stumbled down the stairs
following Marcellus. He led me around behind the bar and held open a curtain.
He pointed to a door at the back of the kitchen. My little voice was screaming
at me to stop and think but a six-pack of Coronas had done its job. I ducked
past the curtain, went through the kitchen and out the service entrance to
emerge into a dim alley.

I stepped into the alley with the
care of a deer on the first day of hunting season. There was no one in sight so
I walked between the buildings allowing the door to slam behind me. With the
clang of that door, I finally heard the little voice in my head was saying, '
What
are you doing'
I recognized my idiocy as three men stepped out of the
shadows.
When two of them grabbed me by the arms, I knew I was in for a
good going over.

“Wait a minute guys,” I said.
“There’s no need for rough stuff. I’ll give you the wallet and the watch. You
can…”

“Shut up,” the tallest one hissed
as he wound up and landed a blow to my gut. I doubled over as the air hissed
out of me. The two goons stood me up. I was pissed, angry with myself for
stumbling blind into an ambush. My senses jumped into hyper drive ten seconds
too late. Cracked, peeling paint on the damp walls, the sour smell from
dumpsters, the clatter of dishes from the restaurant behind me all snapped into
focus along with the realization I was in deep trouble. Then I saw my
attacker’s face. No mask meant he didn’t care if I could ID him. This wasn’t a
mugging. It was a hit. The guy in charge leaned in close to my face and
croaked, “You ask too many questions. My friends no like that.”