Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) (23 page)

I unloaded on Ben Tracy, telling
him crap my shrink hadn’t heard. I told him about the IEDs in Iraq, the
enhanced interrogations, and the nightmares. I told him about losing a woman I
had feelings for, about how aggressive Randi had been and why I’d avoided her.
Finally, I told him about the abduction ring, about not having a clue how to
find Lia or Jennifer Summers. I was partly ashamed and partly relieved for
having told him. He didn’t say a word. He nodded a few times, but other than
getting up to get my eggs and ham and pouring himself a cup of coffee, he
didn’t move or react until I didn’t have any more to say.

“You finished?” he said when I
finally shut up. “You’ve done all the talking now, eat, and listen. You’ve told
me all your whiny ass problems. You want me to hold your hand now?”

He pissed me off. I’d unburdened
myself and he was going to be a smart ass.

“Hell no, you don’t want that,” he
said. “You got to get all that shit out of your head. Get rid of it like dirt
running down a drain. Watch it swirl around and disappear. Get rid of it. You
have to if you’re going to find those girls.”

“I don’t…”

“Shut up. I’m talkin’ now,” he said
calmly. “Roscoe’s told me how you saved his ass and that cop Stan’s over there.
He says he owes you and you won’t let him help. Well, that’s your problem, only
hurts you. This thing with Lia-that’s another story. Get your head out of your
ass and find that girl. You’ve got a better handle on this than the cops. Do
you care about that girl?”

“Well…”

“Well, shit. Do you care about
Lia?”

“Of course I do, but...”

“But nothin’, get off your ass and
find that girl,” he said. “Remember, we don’t leave no one behind.”

“I know you’re right.”

“Don’t you add but to that or I’ll
give you a shiner on the other eye. You got a plan?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan. I guess
it’s time to kick it off. I just need to catch a break.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” Ben said.
“Want some more coffee?”

I tossed my keys on the kitchen
table as I stumbled to the bathroom. I started a hot shower. Ben had said to
wash off the memories-to let them run down a drain like so much dirt. He was
right. If was going to find Lia I needed to be on my game.

When I wiped the fog off the mirror
and hardly recognized the face staring back at me. My sharp features and strong
jaw hadn’t changed, but the scruffy stubble on my face hid red, purple, and
yellow bruises. The swelling had gone down on my right eye and cheek. A purple shiner
covered my left eye. I looked about like how I felt.
Well, that explains a
lot.
I decided it was safer to skip the shave and that a trip to the drug
store cosmetic counter was in order. After I slipped on a clean pair of
jockeys, I headed back to the kitchen. I poured another cup of coffee and
flopped down at the kitchen table to map out a plan.

The sound of the phone jolted me
awake.

“Yeah, Mac Everett,” I said when I
finally fished the phone off the floor.

“Glad you’re back safe, my friend,”
Marco said. “I’m hearing interesting things about your Caribbean vacation. Did
you know the woman well?”

“Do you have anything for me?”

“They say it wasn’t your fault,” he
said.

“It’s never my fault. What do you
want?”

“Does Ralph Lawless, still want
that meeting with Diego Sebastian?”

My head snapped up and tried to
figure out how long I’d been asleep. I glance at the clock on the microwave.
Only
noon. Damn, I’m tired.
You’ve got my undivided attention, Marco,” I said.

“Sebastian has been at the Gaylord
Palms since last Wednesday. I can get Mr. Lawless booked there starting
tonight. Can you make it?”

“I can leave right away. How do I
hook up with him?”

“The maître d’ at the resort
steakhouse is your contact,” Marco said. “He’ll seat you next to Sebastian
tonight and create a situation where you will meet. The rest is up to you.”

“How much for the introduction,” I
asked.

“He wants five K and not a cent
less. He’ll help any way he can, for an additional fee of course.”

“Of course, what’s his name and how
do I meet him?”

I fumbled for a piece of paper and
a pen.

“His name is Martin St. John,”
Marco said. “When you’ve checked in, call him at extension 3243.”

“Extension 3243 got it,” I said as
I wrote the number down. Does he know what this is about?”

“He only knows Mr. Lawless wants to
meet Sebastian. I didn’t tell him anymore.”

“Good,” I said. “Do you know why
Sebastian’s in town?”

“He’s meeting with his street
captains.”

“Do you have anything on the other
thing?” I asked.

“You mean the abductions? There’s a
lot of talk in ‘certain circles’.”

I knew Macro was referring to the
local gangs and hustlers.

“Extra police on the street is bad
for business, but I haven’t found anyone who knows what’s going on,” Marco
said. “Rumor has it Sebastian is asking his street captains if they know about
it.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “I’d
like to know what Sebastian is saying. Could you get one of those guys to meet
me or give me a call?”

“No names, right?” he asked.

Of course not,” I said.

“Maybe…I’ll reach out to the most
likely candidate.”

“Payment through you all right?” I
asked.

“I guess, I’ll put it on your
bill,” Macro replied.

“Anything more?” I asked.

“Just one thing,” he said, “I’m not
sure how he knows, but Sebastian’s asking questions about Mr. Lawless. The word
is out.”

“I love it when a plan comes
together.”

“Be careful Mac. This guy is an old
time hood,” he replied.

“Got it. Check on locations
Sebastian might use, will ‘ya,” I asked. “Maybe homes, warehouses-any place he
might store product…”

“…or hold abducted women. I get it.
I’ll see what I can find out,” Marco replied.

“See what you can do and keep your
ears open,” I said.

“Don’t I always?”

It was Tuesday. Lia had been
missing since Saturday night. The Bahamians had kept me from going to
Eleuthera. Time was running out.

I promised to call Marco if I
learned anything new. Next, I called Morrie Jacobs. Mo ran a print shop and
copy center in Pine Hills. He could dummy up a fake ID and business cards in no
time. I asked him for a dozen Ralph Lawless cards from the Bermuda Financial
Intelligence Agency and an appropriate ID card, nothing fancy, just enough to
get by. He said he’d have them ready in two hours.

I sat down at the computer and
while it booted up I hauled out my notes. I’d gotten a lot of information from
Ian Todd, but nothing that lead to Lia. Sergio Sebastian was the key. I did a
Google search on his name. In addition to the handful of mentions of his
disappearance I already had, I found another dozen articles about parties he
attended or socialites he was hanging out with him. The Kardashians had nothing
on this guy.

When I’d been in Iraq, I’d used a
lot of link analysis. Lines on a whiteboard showed connections between people,
places, and cars, to see how the pieces intersected. I continued to use it in
my PI work, only now I used a software package instead of whiteboards. I didn’t
have a lot of information on this case, but I hoped the ‘A picture is worth a
thousand words’ idea would help.

I had copies of Ian Todd’s bank and
phone records on disc. The bank records wouldn’t tell me much but the phone
records would. I’d be able to see who Ian was calling and how often. I figured
I’d start there. I didn’t know who belonged to the numbers he called, but it
was directional data and I’d be able to see frequency and time of calls. Many
of his calls had location data too.

I set the analysis program to read
imported phone data and hit enter. The screen image looked like a wad of string
representing thousands of telephone calls. Odd shapes connected by colored
lines showed the direction of the calls and the relationships between them. Red
lines represented incoming calls and outgoing calls appeared in green. I needed
to find a place to start.

I sorted the calls by location and
volume. The vast majority of Todd’s telephone activity was within The Bahamas,
but he made some international calls too. I sorted the international calls by
volume and found something interesting. The most frequently called number
belonged to Parker Summers. I saved the calls between Summers and Todd to a new
chart and turned on the software’s timeline feature. All the calls represented
on the screen on the screen fell into place on a line by time and date. There
had been a steady stream of calls between the two men. They spiked around the
time Jennifer Summers disappeared, but curiously, they spike began ten day
before the girl went to the Bahamas.

I went back to the first chart. I
selected all the remaining telephone calls, and sorted them by number and
volume. I searched on a couple of the most frequently called numbers and got
nowhere. I eliminated each phone number from the chart as I investigated it.
One by one, I eliminated calls to or from Ian Todd from the chart until about
thirty numbers remained. None of them were high volume and I thought I’d run
out of luck until I recognized one number. There were about two dozen calls
between Todd and the number over the year represented in the phone data but
those calls hit me like a runaway Mack truck. I turned on the software’s
timeline feature again. Again, all the calls on the screen fell into
chronological order. Six of the calls happened while I’d been in the Bahamas. I
stroked and massaged the back of my neck. I was suddenly very tired. I follow
the evidence and don’t give a rat’s ass where it leads, but this time it hurt.

I sat back trying to understand
what I was seeing.
Could there be another explanation?

I picked up my phone and dialed the
number. Randi answered on the third ring.

“Mac, it’s great to hear from you,”
Randi gushed. Her words spilled out.

Was she excited to hear from me or
was it nerves?

“I was wondering when I’d hear from
you again,” she said.

“Sorry about not calling,” I said.
“I…”

“When you went to Nassau without me
I was pissed, but I understood,” she interrupted. “I got worried when you
didn’t call.”

“Like I told you before, I was
working,” I said. She didn’t need to know I’d had some fun with her friend
Madison
and
managed to get her killed. I’d keep what happened under
wraps for a bit. I might find out what she knew. “It was a pretty rough.”

“I want to see you, Mac. When can I
see you?” she asked. “We were just getting started and…”

I ignored her and continued.

“I’m going to close the Summers
case,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “I didn't find any evidence
Jennifer Summers is alive.”

She hesitated. Her silence screamed
volumes.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said,
finally. “The lead about the speedboat didn’t go anywhere?”

“That was a dead end. It’s that kid’s
fantasy,” I said.

“Was Madison any help to you?” she
asked.

“She was willing, but you can’t
make something out of nothing,” I said.

I had to find out what she knew.

“I’m going to wrap up this case,” I
said.

“It’s early and I don’t have much
to do today. I can be at your place in an hour,” she said. “We can…”

“I have a report to write, do an
expense report, and meet with the family,” I said.

“We could go to dinner when you’re
done,” she said. “Tonight works for me even if it’s late. I know just
who
you can have for desert.”

“It won’t be tonight,” I said. “I
have too much to do
and
I have to meet with Summers.”

“Oh he’s…” she stumbled over her
words. “That’s too bad. You better call soon though.”

“I know, or you’ll call me,” I
replied.

“How did you get on with Madison,”
she asked.

I got on just fine with
Madison-until I got her killed. Did she know?

“Tomorrow,” I replied. “I’ll fill
you in tomorrow. Have you talked to her?”

“No, but she texted me this morning
to let me know you were coming home,” she said.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“Nothing much, just that you were
headed home,” she said.

Madison was dead. There was no way
she could have texted Randi this morning. How deeply was Randi involved? Could
she be Sergio's spotter?

“I took an early flight,” I
replied.

“Did you find anything useful for
your case?” she asked.

I played dumb and at this point, it
wasn’t an act. “I didn’t learn a thing,” I said. “It was a wasted trip. I’ve
got to write a report before I meet with Summers. I’ll give you the blow by
blow of this caper when I see you.”

She hesitated. She wanted to ask me
more but didn’t want to give herself away. To bad she’d already done that.

“That sounds fine,” she said. “I’ll
see you tomorrow.”

I could hear the uncertainty in her
voice or maybe it was disappointment. I couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,”
I said.

When she was gone, I looked at the
phone. Did she set up Madison? Had she set me up? I needed to know a lot more
before I confronted her.
I need a drink.

Two hours later, I was behind the
wheel of the Camaro headed west on I-4 toward Kissimmee. I had my dummied up ID
and some business cards in the name of Ralph Lawless in my pocket. I was
thinking about how I’d set things in motion when my phone rang.

“Everett,” I said.

“Yo, man. Marco say I to call you.
He say you want the 411 on the old Columbian dude. You’re not a narc, is you?”

I knew better than to ask who he
was and I didn’t mind his being careful.

“Hell no,” I said. “I just want a
little information. I’m willing to pay.”

“I ain’t squealing on the boss
man…”

“I only want one thing,” I said.

“I ain’t no stoolie,” he said.

“Shut up, that’s a crock,” I said.
“You called me. Do you want to earn the scratch or not?”

The guy was about to piss me off.

“Naw, we cool, man. Whada ya’ want
to know?”

“I want to know what he said about
the kidnappings.”

“Shit, man, what’s it to you?”

“You wanna make a fast Benjamin or
not?” I asked.

“Fo’ sho’,” he said.

“Then it doesn’t matter why. What
did he say?” I said.

“He say he want to know who dunn
‘em. Then said he’d slit the throat of any one of us that dunn it or even
helped. That’s what he said.”

“He doesn’t know who’s…”

“I dunn told ya what he said. Now,
where’s my scratch?”

“See our mutual friend. He’ll pay
you,” I said. I hung up on him before he could piss me off any more.

It wasn’t much, but it put a whole
new spin on things. Diego Sebastian wasn’t running the show. If he wasn’t,
there was only one other guy who could be, his son.

It was going on four in the afternoon
when I gunned the Camaro up to the Gaylord Palms’ entrance court. My mind was a
muddle of planning, over thinking, and worry. An eager young valet hailed me as
he jogged toward the car.

“Hot Camaro, it’s new, isn’t it?”

His nametag said Steve, Rochester,
NY.

“Good call, Steve-yeah, it’s new,”
I said. “Try not to play bumper cars with it.”

He gave me a hurt look then turned
earnest and solemn.

“I’ll take care of it like it was
my own. Checking in, sir?” he said, getting back to business.

“Yep,” I said as I tossed him the
keys. “Keep it close. I may have to leave in a hurry. Watch where you park it
too will ‘ya. The doors don’t have any dings-yet.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll take good care of
her. Do you need help with luggage?”

“I have it,” I said as I traded him
a five-spot for a valet receipt. I reached across the driver’s seat to grab my
overnight bag from the passenger side.

“Enjoy your stay,” the valet called
to me as I headed inside. I heard the tires screech as Steve peeled out in my
ride.
I’ll take care of it like it was my own, right. Hope I get it back in
one piece.

The huge resort, located east of
Disney and south of Orlando, used to be the sleepy village of Kissimmee. Now,
the damn hotel has more staff than the original town did. There are restaurants,
half a dozen pools, a world-class spa, and something like five acres of
multi-story atriums. The resort is all under glass. That’s my gripe with the
place, besides the astronomical rates. All the rooms face onto one of the
atriums. You can’t tell if its day or night, raining or sunny, but I wasn’t
here for a Florida stay-action.

My native guide, a bellman named
Ernesto, led me to my room. What a place!

“I need to leave bread crumbs to
find my way back,” I said.

“A guest did that once,” he s aid,
“but the birds ate them. Sometimes working here is like being in a zoo,” he
replied.

I could relate.

“This is you,” he said as we
reached my room. I tipped him and entered.

The room was spacious, way nicer
than your average Motel 6.
At these prices, it should be Louis XIV’s
bedroom.
There was a sitting room, a modest bedroom and a huge bathroom
with marble counter tops with gold fixtures a shower and a soaking tub.

I dropped my bag next to the bed
and went to the window. My balcony overlooked palm trees and a two-mastered
schooner in the Key West atrium.
Yep, rich people under glass.

I picked up the phone, and dialed
3243. A perky girl answered, “Old Hickory Steakhouse, This is Liz. How may I
help you?”

“Mr. St. John, please,” I said.

“Who shall I say is calling?” Liz
asked.

“Ralph Lawless,” I replied.

“Just a moment, Mr. Lawless,” she
replied.

A few moments later my guy came on
the line, “This is Martin,” he said.

“Martin, my name is Ralph Lawless.
A mutual friend recommended you and said you could help me out with a special
reservation.”

“Yes, Mr. Lawless, I received that
message,” Martin said. “
Your
reservation is for seven fifteen. I’ll be pleased
to seat you myself if you arrive fifteen minutes early. I’m sure we can
accommodate your special request.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you about seven,”
I said. “Can I get a little information from you?”

He hesitated. “Such as what?” he
said at last.

“Where’s Diego Sebastian’s room,
how many people does he have with him, and maybe a copy of his room key, that
sort of thing?” I replied.

There was a long pause, and then he
said, “That’ll be another five grand,” he said.

“One,” I replied.

“Five or the whole deal is off,” he
said.

“Three-final offer,” I said.

There was another long pause. He
caved.

“Meet me in the coffee shop on the
mezzanine level in thirty minutes.”

I had time to worry about Lia and
decide how I was going to worm my way into Diego Sebastian’s company, so I
kicked back on the bed. My plan was simple. Meet Diego Sebastian, talk my way
into his confidence with an offer to help him launder his money and find out
where they kept the abducted women. I knew my plan was a long shot, but it was
all I had.

I’d been sitting on the bed about
ten minutes when there was a knock at the door. I looked toward it tying to
decide if I’d answer.
Who knows I’m here?

My Beretta was on the dresser so I
pulled my .380 from my ankle holster and held the compact Bersa Thunder behind
my back as I looked through the peephole.

“Crap,” I said under my breath.

I opened the door and snapped, “Get
in here.”

Marco, Roscoe, and Ben filed into
the room. I peaked down the hall and seeing no one, closed the door.

“What are Larry, Moe, and Curly
doing here,” I demanded.

“It’s my fault,” Marco asserted.

“It was my idea,” Ben said.

“Both of you shut up,” Roscoe said
to Ben and Marco. Turning to me he said, “We’re here and we’re stayin’.”

“Roscoe…” I said.

“Don’t give us that bunk about the
risk or how you don’t want to lose no more friends. Figure out how we can
help.” He scrunched up his face and said, “What the hell happened to you? You
look like shit.”

“I told ya’,” Ben said.

“Too much sun,” I replied. “Did
Stan send you?” I asked.

Ben noticed the gun in my hand and
said, “Got another one of those?” he said.

I just gave him a sour scowl.

“Stan don’t know nothin’ about us
comin’ here, besides we’re in Osceola County now,” Roscoe said. “We’re here to
find Lia so just get used to it.”

I looked into each of their faces
as they tried to stare me down. “I can’t fight you all,” I said at last.

“What’s the plan,” Ben said rubbing
his hands together.

“The plan,” I replied, “the plan is
to get Lia back and everyone one of us comes home in one piece.”

“Damn straight,” Roscoe said.
“Let’s get to work.”

Ben and Roscoe settled into chairs,
but Marco was still by the door. The usually gregarious Marco had been standing
apart from the others studying his shoes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ve never broken a confidence
like this before,” he replied. “I…”

“It’s my fault,” Roscoe said. “I
forced it out of him. I made him tell me where you were.”

“No, I wanted to tell you. I want
to help,” Marco said. “My business is selling information-to be above it all. I
don’t get involved. How can anyone ever trust me now?”

“Only the four of us know,” Ben
said, “and we ain’t telling.”

Roscoe said, “When it’s someone you
know…”

“He’s right, Marco,” I said.
“Sometimes you have to pick a side.”

“…and sometimes you have to accept
help,” Roscoe added looking straight at me.

My three visitors were suddenly
sullen. The euphoria of being on an operation had worn thin already.

“Marco,” Roscoe said, “you’re a
good man. When we find Lia, it will be because of you. Thanks, man.”

Marco looked me in the eye for the
first time since his arrival. I sensed his determination and anger. He would be
all right.

“I can feel sorry for myself
tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight we get Lia back.”

“Damn straight,” Roscoe said. “What
do we do?”

I gave my aging crew a thumbnail
sketch of what I’d learned over the last few days. Marco filled in a couple
blanks here and there. Sebastian’s organization was the logical source of the
abduction ring, but if the headman was asking his Capos about it, there was a
problem. My guess was Sebastian’s son Sergio was behind it and the old man
wasn’t happy. I left out the connection between Ian Todd and my client. I had
some professional ethics left. I also ‘forgot’ to mention Randi had been in
touch with the crooked Bahamian cop. When I was done, I faced three hangdog
expressions.

“One more thing,” I said. These
guys won’t hesitate to kill. The cop I was working with in Nassau-she was shot
and killed last night along with two dirty cops.”

“Sorry to hear that, Mac, but we
can take care of ourselves,” Roscoe said as he patted the bulge under his
shirt. “How do we get started?”

“Are you packing Roscoe?” I said.

“Just a little personal
protection,” Roscoe said. “I’ve got a permit. I asked you, what’s first?”

I scowled at him.

“You lock that in your car,” I
said.

“But Mac…”

“We’re vigilantes, no two ways
about it. If we get busted, that,” I pointed to the gun under his shirt, “will
just be another felony charge. Get it?”

“I think you’re wrong,” Roscoe
said.