Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) (26 page)

“You can have me killed, make me
disappear, but your son…he would still be out there tarnishing your reputation
and hurting women. You know what he does, right?”

“I don’t want to hear,” he said.

“He abducts them, drugs them, and
then he rapes the ones he wants before he sells them. I bet he keeps pictures
of all his victims. You’re a criminal, but your son…your son’s a monster. He
has no respect for honor or tradition. No regard for what you value.”

I was trying to get him to make the
leap, the leap that would betray his son.

“No respect,” he spit out the words
as his face contorted and he shook his head. “No respect.”

“I can’t help him or those women if
you don’t help me.”

“It’s been going on over two years.
There must be hundreds of women. You can’t help them,” he said.

I suspected the ring had evolved
over time, but I’d no idea it had gone undetected so long.

“Maybe I can’t help the first ones,
but for the women taken recently there’s still a chance,” I said.

I hoped appealing to his old school
sense of honor would give me the break I needed.

“When was your friend taken?”

“Saturday night from a parking lot
at Downtown Disney, I want her back. Alive.”

“Leave my son to me. I may be able
to tell you where to find your friend.”

When I rejoined my motley crew, it
was nearly ten forty-five. Roscoe was pacing the floor of my hotel room.

“It’s about time you got back. What
did he want?” Roscoe demanded as I came through the door. “Did he tell you
where she is?”

“Why’d he want you to come to his
place?” Ben asked.

“What
did
he say?” Marco
added.

“Did you guys find anything in his
room?” I asked. I rubbed my eyes and stretched my neck from side to side,
trying to get the kinks out. It wasn’t working.

Roscoe leaned forward and slammed
his fist on the coffee table. “Come off it, Mac. What the hell did he want?”

“Well, first I didn’t fool him,” I
said. “He saw right through the Ralph Lawless cover.”

“Told ‘ya,” Roscoe crowed.

“You did,” I replied with a sigh. I
hated it when Roscoe was like this. “You’re
always
right, Roscoe.”

“No, but…”

“No you’re always right. You never
a miss step. I’ll just let you run things,” I growled.

“Cut it out you two,” Ben said.

“What…did…he…say,” Marco pleaded.

“He knows Sergio is behind the
abductions, but doesn’t want to admit it,” I said.

“He told you that?” Ben asked.

“He beat around the bush, but he
knows,” I replied. “He’s been trying to prove to himself it isn’t his son. When
I told him, what Munoz said to Ian Todd about how Sergio got into this racket,
I thought I’d have to call 911 for the old guy. I ended up getting him a drink
instead. This is tearing him up. The man may be a smuggler and a killer, but
has an old-fashioned respect for women. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s common among older Hispanic
men,” Marco said. “They may chase whores when they’re young, but they want to
marry pure. Respect for la Madre is very traditional. It goes back to the
Virgin.”

“Like
the
virgin, you mean
the Virgin Mary?” Ben asked.

“Yes, it’s part of the Catholic
upbringing,” Marco replied.

“So fine, the head of the drug
cartel promotes respect for women,” Roscoe muttered. “Maybe he can get time off
for good behavior. All Colombians, hell all spics are scum-look at Pablo
Escobar and that guy
El Chappo
.”

“Roscoe you talk too much,” Marco
snapped. “The Colombians have an ancient culture. They hate it when foreigners
bring up Pablo Escobar and I don’t like it when you slam Hispanics. I’m Puerto
Rican remember. You watch your mouth.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean
anything by it.” Turning back to me he said, “Did he give you anything to go
on?”

“He gave me this,” I said, holding
up a sheet of paper.

“Are you going to tell us what
‘this’ is?” Roscoe snipped.

“It’s what I sent you to find, damn
it,” I shot back. “It’s a list of real estate he owns in Orlando. The problem is
the old man hasn’t bought any real estate in Orlando. It’s his son’s.”

The trio looked as surprised as I’d
been when Sebastian told me.

“Parker Summers told the old man
Sergio had bought two properties in the area. One of them is Summers’ home so
the other one has to be…”

“It has to be where he’s keeping
Lia,” Roscoe said.

I hadn’t realized how much the girl
meant to Roscoe.

“Marco, can you fire up your
laptop?” I asked. “I want to check out these addresses.”

Marco pulled his laptop from a case
next to the sofa and turned it on. He put it on the table so we could all see
it.

“Did you two find
anything
at Sebastian’s place? I asked while we waited.

“Naw, there weren’t anything
sittin’ around,” Roscoe said. “We looked in the drawers, the cabinets, hell I
even looked in the freezer. The guy’s a neat freak.”

“I told you, Roscoe, it’s an
exclusive resort. They have this quaint service called, you know,
housekeeping,” Marco sniped. He was exasperated with Roscoe too.

Roscoe fumed. He scowled and
crossed his arms as he flopped into a chair.

“Um…Mac, I did find one strange
thing,” Marco said tentatively. “I don’t know if it means anything but…”

“What? You found something and
didn’t tell me,” Roscoe exclaimed.

“You were talking too much for me
to tell you about it,” Marco said to Roscoe.

“What is it,” I said.

“I know if it means anything,”
Marco said. “It was just strange.”

“What the hell is it,” Ben blurted
out.

“Yeah, you’re killing us with
suspense,” I added. “What did you find?”

“It’s a matchbook for some church,”
Marco said sheepishly.

“A matchbook from a church…what
have you been smoking?” Ben chuckled.

“No, really,” he replied. “I
thought it was weird so I took a picture of it. I’ll show you.”

The computer was ready so I said to
Marco, “Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead,” Marco responded.

I opened Google and typed in one of
the addresses. The first search result a photo of an enormous house on Lake
Tibet.

“Is that the right address?” Ben
asked. “That place looks new.”

“Yeah, I think it is new,” I said.
I opened the property appraiser’s website on another tab, and plugged in the
address. The result was an eye opener. The property owners were Parker and
Maria Summers and the value was $3.7 million.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed, “Didn’t expect
that.”

“Look at the construction permit
date,” Marco said. “It is new. I should have looked at that. I’m losing my
touch. Sorry, Mac.”

“Who are Parker and Maria Summers?”
Ben asked.

“My clients,” I replied.

“Who have run up a lot of debt
recently,” Marco added. “My sources tell me the guy’s broke.”

“Well, he’s broke at a higher level
than I am,” I said.

“You don’t suppose…” Ben didn’t
finish his sentence.

“Do I suppose Summers traded his
daughter for a lake house?” I replied. “I have no idea, but I’d like to ask him.
Too bad I can’t.”

“Why not?” Ben asked.

“Diego said Parker was killed in
Colombia two days ago,” I replied. “He claimed he didn’t have anything to do
with it, but Sergio could have given the order.”

“Cleaning up loose ends?” Marco
asked.

“Looks like it to me,” I replied.

“Check the ownership of the other
address,” Marco suggested.

I typed in 14901 South Orange
Blossom trail and got another surprise. The address was a commercial property
owned by Ser-Seb Unlimited. “That looks like a shortened form of Sergio
Sebastian to me,” I said. “What do you guys think?”

“Not a very good cover name,”
Roscoe mumbled. “If he’s trying to hide his interest in the place, he should
try again.”

The three men huddled around the
laptop. No one had anything to say, not even Roscoe. Finally, Marco broke the
tense silence and said, “Look at a map. There isn’t much that far south on
Orange Blossom Trail.”

I typed the address into the search
bar. A Google map of South Orange Blossom Trail opened with a red triangle
marking the address. I opened the satellite view. The image popped open and we
saw an image of a small shopping plaza.

“Looks abandoned,” Ben said.

I had to agree. The cracked, weed
covered parking lot, and the dilapidated building didn’t look like it got much
use. Then it came to me, “I’ve been there,” I said.

My three friends turned toward me
and gave me the stink eye.

“Marco, what’s the name of the
church on your match box?” I asked.

“I don’t…just a minute,” Marco
said.

He opened the phone’s picture
gallery then handed the phone to me. The picture was clear making it easy to
read the words on the side of the box. The matchbox read Living Water
Tabernacle South OBT, Orlando, FL.

“You’ve been there?” Roscoe asked.
“When?”

“Stan and I met there Saturday
morning to meet Randi Massey,” I said. “I saw her talking to Sebastian
tonight.”

“What,” Roscoe said. “You saw her
here? We better get Stan on the phone.”

My cell phone rang just as I
reached for it. The caller ID surprised me. “I better take this,” I said.

“Everett,” I said.

“Mr. Everett, this is Special Agent
Phil Hilton.”

“What do you want Hilton,” I said.
“I’m busy.”

“I…I’m sorry about what happened
and…how my screw up…”

“Yeah fine. Thanks for calling,” I said.
I didn’t have time for this idiot’s regret. I had things to do.

“Wait, I have something for you,”
he said.

Now he had my attention. “What?
What do you have?” I asked.

“It didn’t come from me,
understand.”

“I get it,” I replied. “Why are you
helping?”

“Let’s say I’m trying to make
amends,” the Coast Guard investigator said, “so I’m going tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“Keep my name out of it. If they
find out...”

“Are you going to tell me what you
have or not?” I demanded.

He hesitated. A ‘good guy’ snitch
is a tricky animal. Their motivation is their own, but their dope was usually
first rate.

“You only have a few hours to find
your friend.”

“What?” I said. “What do you mean?”

“There’s going to be a raid on the
Eleuthera estate tonight. If your friend is there, I hope she’ll be all right.
If she’s not…well you know what that means.”

I knew what it meant and there
wasn’t a damn thing I could do. I’d shot my bolt with the Bahamian Police
Commissioner. I couldn’t ask him to delay his operation. With three of his
people dead, I doubted Adair would even take my call.

“When’s this supposed to happen?” I
asked.

“I don’t know for certain,” Hilton
replied. “I know it’s on for tonight though.”

“If you had to guess…?” I asked. I
needed a window.

“I’d say you have a few hours. The
Bahamians are traditional. You know-over the top on the whistle, dawn raids,
and all that.”

“What kind of place are they going
up against?” I asked.

“I hear it’s a huge compound. The
house is seventy-five hundred square feet and there are a dozen out buildings,”
Hilton replied. “They have as many as forty-five armed men there. It’ll be a
tough nut to crack.”

“Are the Bahamians up to it?” I
asked.

“I hope so…but…” he said. “Their
Critical Incident Response Team is good. They cross train with the military,
but they’re outnumbered. If they are able to surprise them…”

He didn’t need to say any more. I’d
been involved in enough raids in Iraq to know the score. The critical moments
were the first ones. If the initial blitz overwhelmed the bad guys, the assault
would succeed. If not…

“Thanks Hilton. I owe you,” I said.
“If you hear anything…”

“If I hear anything more, I’ll
call,” he said. “You have my word.”

I put the phone on the table next
to the computer. I zoomed in on the satellite image. I had to come up with a
plan and fast.

“Aren’t you going to call Stan,”
Roscoe asked.

I didn’t acknowledge him.

“I thought you were going to call…”

“No, I’m not calling him, damn it,”
I raged.

“Well, why the hell not?” he
demanded. “You think you’re the only one who…”

“Oh just shut up Roscoe,” I said. “
You’re
not
the only one who cares about her.”

The other guys just looked at us.
They knew we were both partially right and either way we went it was likely Lia
was going to die, if she wasn’t already dead.

“What’s wrong, Mac?” Marco said.
“You look pale as a ghost.”

“You know I trust you, but why
won’t you call Stan,” Roscoe said. “You have to call Stan.”

“There isn’t time,” I mumbled. “He
has to get authorization, warrants, brief SWAT, do recon, there are a thousand
things to do. There’s just not time.”

“Where’s the fire,” Ben asked. “We
turn this info over to Stan and the cops, then let…”

“Who was on the phone,” Marco
asked. He was calm, cool, and collected. I was glad he was in the room. I need
his strength. “What did they say?”

“It was the Coast Guard
Investigator I worked with in the Bahamas, Special Agent Hilton. Sebastian has
a compound on the island of Eleuthera. Ian Todd told us the buyers pick up the
abducted women there. They fly in to collect their new sex slaves.”

“What’s the catch?” Ben asked.

“The Bahamian police are going to
raid the place tonight,” I said.

“What?” Roscoe shouted as he shot
to his feet. “They’ll kill Lia. You have to…”

“When,” Ben asked. He was matter of
fact. I could tell he was slipping into military mode. I hoped I could too.

“Probably predawn, Hilton wasn’t
sure,” I replied. “They’re British trained so he’s probably right. The Brits
tend to take advantage of sentry fatigue by hitting targets just before first
light.”

“Let me see something,” Marco said.
He turned the laptop toward him and clicked away at the keys. He looked up at
us and said, “Sunrise is at 6:56 AM.

The room fell silent as we drifted
off into our own thoughts. I looked at my watch. It was eleven thirty. We had
six and a half hours.

“Marco, reach out to your
snitches,” I said. “See if they know this place.”

“Right Mac,” Marco said.

“What are we going to do?” Roscoe
asked.

“We’re going to war,” I replied.

By the time I got home, the Drunk Monk
had closed and Dave was gone.
Just as well
, I thought. Roscoe and Marco
pulled in as I was getting out of the car. Ben was the last one to turn up. By
2:45, everyone had reassembled in my second floor office and I laid out the
final plan.

“Ben, you’ll take my Honda,” I
said. “It won’t stand out as much as the Camaro.”

“Mac, you need to let us go in with
you,” Roscoe said for the hundredth time. “You don’t know what you’re gunna
find.”