Bermuda Heat (25 page)

David wished he could see Abrahms, his L.A. doctor. He rubbed his lip where the doctor had put in a couple of stitches.

He still ached, even when he was lying down, but he was too enervated to ask for more pain meds. Exhaustion overcame him and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He woke up late in the morning when Aidan returned. This time he wasn’t shackled when he was led to the meeting. He sat across from Aidan.

“Well, you look a whole lot better,” Aidan said.

“Yeah, thanks to you. Now if you can only get me out of here things would be perfect.”

“I spoke to the judge and the prosecution and both claim not to know anything about your treatment. They professed great horror, but the bottom line is you are being released on another bond. I’ll speak to Chris about this. But this time I can assure you the police will not be taking matters into their own hands.”

Saturday, 12:35pm Aunt Nea’s, Nea’s Alley, St. George’s Parish,
Bermuda

Chris returned from Hamilton with his new IBM laptop and the information he needed to get his Internet connection up and
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running. Within twenty minutes he was online and connected to his home server where, as part of his work arsenal, he kept a software library of every tool available to test and crack most online systems.

At first he just checked out the recent headlines and police bulletins about David’s arrest and subsequent legal fights. Aidan had successfully argued for his release and Chris was surprised.

Given the so-called
evidence
they had he would have thought the cops would be more successful keeping David in jail. But it looked like he had finagled another stay for David. He’d be out soon.

Chris had to be ready for him.

This time he delved deeper into the police Intranet. He pulled up Jay’s records, even finding a couple of charges that had eventually been dropped for lack of evidence. A name he hadn’t expected to see came up in one report.

“Daryl,” he whispered. What the hell was he doing getting mixed up with Jay’s criminal activities? It didn’t make any sense.

Then he remembered Joel’s antipathy for the young man. At the time they had all thought it was just an overprotective father not wanting his little girl to grow up.

Maybe there was more to it.

This time he dove back into the depths of the police servers, sifting through bytes of data on a furtive hunt for Daryl’s name.

To his dismay he found it.

Daryl made himself out to be quite the ladies man. And there was enough scandal attached to him to besmirch a lesser man’s reputation. One high school classmate accused him of rape. The charge was dropped, a case of “she said, he said” with no clear cut crime beyond bad judgment. Then another accusation, but by now Daryl had left the country and was presumably in Florida, pursuing an education.

When had Daryl returned?

Things got tricky then. He found and teased access to the BeRMudA heAt
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inner workings of the Bermuda government’s portals. There he found a database of Bermudian personal data. A treasure trove of knowledge: birth dates, school records, including off shore travel. Daryl had left Bermuda fourteen months ago to attend the University of Florida at Miami. He had enrolled in the bachelor’s program.

But he didn’t even complete the first semester. His grades, as far as Chris could see, were exemplary. So what had made a young man, apparently on his way up, give it all up and run home?

Saturday, 12:10pm Aunt Nea’s, Nea’s Alley, St. George’s Parish,
Bermuda

Aidan was as good as his word. David was back on the street shortly after noon. This time Chris picked him up and they headed home, where he was able to get out of his dirty, torn clothes. Dinner was the salmon steaks Chris had picked up earlier in the week. David relaxed on the veranda with his feet up, a Bud in his hands.

“I hope your lawyer saw you before you were released,” Chris said.

“Otherwise they’re going to say you got it outside.”

“Oh, he saw it. It’s not all bad. It was instrumental in getting me out.

And he swears there won’t be any more harassment from MacClellan or his goons.”

“That’s good, but are they going to be punished or is it just one of those good old boy things? A slip of judgment?”

“Don’t count on anything but a wrist slap. But personally I’m happy they’re out of the picture, at least until my court date.”

“That’s a fucking farce. What about Mosby and Josie? Have the cops done anything about even looking for them?”

“What do you mean “What about Mosby and Josie?” Where did you get those names?”

Chris realized he’d blundered mentioning those two. But one look at David’s face and he knew he couldn’t lie. “I knew the police weren’t going to do anything so I had to.”

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“Had to what? What did you do, Chris?”

“I went down to Court Street.”

“You did what?”

“I talked to some people down there and they gave me those names.

I think they either know something, or they’re directly involved.”

“Chris...” David stopped and took a deep breath. “I really wish you hadn’t done that. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

“I know. If it makes you any happier, I already got reamed a new one by Aidan. He does a much better job than you do.”

“How so?”

“He’s not sleeping with me.”

“Not funny. Promise you will not do anything that stupid again.”

“Can I do something more stupid?”

David shook his head and stared up at the brilliant blue sky. “Des is right. You do need a keeper. And a cage with locks.”

“But I got some names. That has to be worth something. Doesn’t it?”

“Nothing is worth your life.”

Desperate to change the subject Chris said, “You really think the cops will do anything.”

David shrugged, sipping his beer. “Aidan says he’ll insist on it. If they refuse he can use it as proof of their sloppy police work. They’re damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Assuming they’re more interested in nailing me than finding the truth.”

Chris suddenly got up and went back inside. When he came out he was carrying his laptop.

David did a double take. “I thought the police confiscated that thing. Aidan must have worked fast to get it back to you—”

“It’s a new one,” Chris popped it open and fired it up. “I want you to see this.”

After a few minutes he swung the laptop around so David could see the screen. David had no idea how the Bermuda police handled their data, but this looked suspiciously like an official Bermudian police document. He even caught sight of the name MacClellan before he raised stormy eyes to Chris.

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“What are you doing with that?”

“Saving your ass.”

“Chris—”

“So sue me,” Chris snapped, without an ounce of regret. “Just check it out first. Then tell me you don’t want to know.”

David started to object again. Chris could get into some serious trouble hacking a police force database, but then again if he’d found something…

He bent over and read the small print of the report. He squinted, wishing Chris had brought his reading glasses out with him. Then a name caught his eye.

“What the hell?”

“That was my reaction. Think it means anything?”

David rubbed his thick hair with stiff fingers. “I don’t know. Daryl?

I thought he was some kind of golden boy.”

“Remember Joel’s reaction when he showed so much interest in Imani?”

“Sure, but I figured it was just Daddy protecting his daughter. That’s how Imani took it.”

“Well, what if it was more?”

“Damn,” David said. “You tell anyone about this?”

“Not yet. I wanted to run it by you,” Chris said. “Besides, how do I explain how I got it?”

“Oh, right. Have you talked to Imani yet?”

“She won’t talk to me,” Chris’s voice was full of pain. “When Jay ended up dead, she fell off the deep end. I can hardly blame her.”

“Doesn’t help us much right now. We have to talk to her,” David said with more calmness than he was feeling. One of the repercussions of being a cop was that he had learned to compartmentalize his feelings a long time ago. Sometimes it was necessary to do a distasteful job no matter who it hurt. He knew it was the one side of his job Chris hated the most.

Chris snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Chris took his empty bottle and brought back another Bud. He sat down, stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. He raised his eyes
204 P.A. Brown

to meet David’s.

“I want you to come with me to Court Street. Then we can go talk to Imani and you can use your not inconsiderable cop charm to make her talk to us.”

David’s feet came down. “Didn’t Aidan tell you to stay away from there?”

“Well, you might have faith in Aidan, but I’m not counting on that.

We know we can’t trust the cops. You’re a boil on their collective butt and they aren’t likely to forget the humiliation anytime soon.”

“You have a charming way with words.”

Chris flashed his teeth in a massive grin that held little real humor.

“If the metaphor fits…”

The sun was veiled by the thickening clouds. A blue heron flew overhead, the fading light glinting off its broad wings. The loud voices of the party-goers in King’s Square were muted.

They finished their drinks and Chris went in to get changed. David trailed after him reluctantly. He followed Chris’s suit and chose his oldest jeans and an ancient leather jacket that he’d brought in case it rained or got cool, even if he hadn’t expected much bad weather.

Chris called a cab while David finished dressing. They had the cabbie drop them on Front Street near the docks. The harbor was still empty, though the streets were as busy as always.

Saturday 6:50pm, Court Street, Hamilton, Pembroke Parish,
Bermuda

Chris led the way toward the Outer Bank. He saw the buxom hooker he had spotted the twenty to for information. She saw him and tottered over on her six-inch heels. She’d changed her fishnets for something shimmery, which only seemed to emphasize the thinness of her skeletal legs.

“Sugar, you back? Still looking for your killer?” Her eyes skated over David. “Who are you, sugar?”

David opened his mouth, but Chris didn’t give him time to answer. “He’s with me.” He guided David north, leaving the all too friendly hooker behind.

“Friend of yours?”

“Funny.”

The Outer Bank was more crowded than it had been the previous night. Chris was glad to see the same tattooed bartender manning the taps. David looked around in bemusement.

“Not exactly your typical hangout,” he whispered in Chris’s ear. His breath was warm on Chris’s skin. David grinned. “I like it.”

Chris shot him a poisonous look, but David’s grin never faltered. “Oh, you are in so much trouble,” he said.

Chris strode up to the bar and signaled the tatted bartender.

He extended his hand. “We met the other night. I’m Chris. This is my friend, David.”

The bartender nodded. “Moe,” he said. “You were looking for Mosby.”

“And Josie.”

206 P.A. Brown

Moe grunted. He raised a glass. “Beer?”

“Two,” Chris said.

Moe delivered two Buds. David ignored the glass and tipped the bottle to his mouth. Moe studied David and his eyes narrowed. “You a cop? I know your buddy here isn’t, but don’t try to tell me you ain’t.”

“Don’t worry,” David said. “I’ve got no jurisdiction here. I’m an American.”

“But you guys all work together, right?”

“Not hardly,” Chris snipped. He ignored David’s look.

Knowing he was lying, he said, “Whatever you tell us stays here.

We’ve got no reason to tell anyone, especially not the cops.”

“So why you looking for these guys?” he asked shrewdly.

Chris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the gummy bar.

He ignored the sensation of his denim jacket sleeve sticking.

“Mosby owes us money.”

Moe threw his head back and laughed. Chris didn’t let his confusion show.

“You are fucking crazy,” Moe said. “You’re insane if you think you can collect anything but pain from that one.”

Chris traded looks with David. “Why? Is he violent?”

“He’s damn near as crazy as you.” Moe looked David up and down. “You’re a real bruiser, ain’t you? Bet you know how to take care of yourself, too.”

“He can,” Chris said. Again he pulled out a wad of cash.

“Well, I still think you’re both crazy.” Moe looked around the bar as though making sure no one was listening. He palmed the first twenty Chris slid his way. “I’ll give you this—you won’t find either of them around here tonight, but I practically guarantee they will be here tomorrow—less this storm shuts us down.”

“What’s Mosby’s real name?” Chris asked. A second twenty appeared in his hand, half extended toward Moe.

“You don’t know?”

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“He never said.” David caught on quick.

“I’m sure.” Moe grinned, showing a gap between his teeth.

“Daryl.”

Chris felt goose bumps crowd his arms. His scalp prickled.

He traded an alarmed look with David. “We were right. Imani,”

he whispered. Chris threw the twenty back on the bar. “And Baker. He might be in danger, too.”

They were both on their feet. They flew outside and began searching for a cab. David spotted one turning down Victoria Street. He ran after it, waving his arms frantically. They piled into the van so fast the cabbie stared at them askance.

“What you want?”

“The Rose Grotto, College Hill Road,” Chris snapped. The cabbie opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it and took off down Court Street. Chris and David couldn’t look at each other. A silence lay between them in the stuffy interior.

“College Hill Road, Devonshire. It’s important.”

“Sure, sure.” The cabbie studied them in the rear view.