Got the Look (38 page)

Um, yes, that may be so.

Jack glanced toward the grove. Pretty good place to dump a body, I suppose. These trees take a generation to mature. Nobody's going to dig around in there for a good twenty-five years. Plus you have years and years' worth of pesticides and fertilizers leaching into the soil and destroying physical evidence.

Assuming the body has been there that long, said Calhoun.

How old do you think these remains are?

Calhoun started to say something, but Andie interjected. We're not prepared to speculate on that matter just yet.

They looked a hundred years old to me, said Jack.

Looks can be deceiving, said Calhoun, especially in this environment.

Andie interrupted, reiterating the point more forcefully. Jack, we've gone around and around like this before. You're not part of the investigative team. There are things we can't share with outsiders.

Jack wondered what theory or information the FBI was hiding from him, but Agent Henning always seemed to have her reasons - or at least her orders from above. Then let me ask a slightly different question, he said. How long do you think those remains have been here?

I don't know yet, said Calhoun.

Days? Weeks?

He said he didn't know, said Andie.

The reason I ask is that the earth around the bag was loose, which suggests to me that this shallow grave was dug recently.

Yes, it does appear that way, said Calhoun.

How long would you say - hours, days, weeks?

I need to run a few tests. I've collected soil, vegetation, and insect samples that will help narrow that down.

Jack glanced at Andie. What's the FBI's bet?

Andie was silent, though Jack sensed that she wanted to tell him as much as she could without running afoul of strict orders from her superiors. He pushed a little. So, the three known kidnap victims are from Georgia, central Florida, and now south Florida. And depending on what the tests show, we may have another victim from south Florida.

Who said anything about another victim? said Andie.

Why else would he lead us to a shallow grave? It seems obvious that he's taunting us, showing us that he means business when he says he's going to kill Mia. Perhaps he wants us to know that Ashley Thornton isn't the only woman whose husband miscalculated her worth - with disastrous consequences.

I can't even begin to comment on that, said Andie.

I'll bet this body has been here for months, probably a kidnapping gone bad that was never reported to the authorities. Or one that was reported but that, for some reason, simply didn't show up in your VICAP search for kidnappings similar to the Thornton case.

If the body was here for months, then why would the dirt be freshly dug? said Andie.

Dr. Calhoun raised an index finger, as if to underscore his point. There's a better reason why your theory doesn't wash, Mr. Swyteck. It's the very same reason that I'm able to look you in the eye and tell you with one hundred percent confidence that these remains do not belong to Mia Salazar.

I'm all ears, said Jack.

The doctor glanced at Andie, as if seeking approval to share his findings with Jack. Andie considered it, then gave a nod. Calhoun said, The bag you found contains a pubis bone.

Meaning?

Again, the doctor checked with Andie, but she did nothing to silence him. A man's pubis bone, he said. Not a woman's.

It took a moment for his words to register. Jack's gaze shifted toward the dark grove of palm trees in the distance, his voice trailing off, as if it didn't matter if anyone heard him. Now there's a confusing turn of events, Doctor.

Amen to that, said Andie.

Chapter
56

The money hit on Saturday morning, right on schedule. Theo's deed and liquor license were the only collateral for the loan, so Bud the bondsman wired the funds from Atlanta to Theo's bank account in Miami. Just after ten o'clock, Theo arrived at Jack's house with the cash and the bad news.

Now I know why they call him the ball buster, said Theo as he breezed into the kitchen and set the metal suitcase on the countertop. He gave us only two hundred thousand.

Jack nearly choked on his coffee. What?

He changed his mind about a quarter-million-dollar loan with only partial collateral from me and a personal guaranty from you. My bar is worth two hundred grand, so that's all he's willing to loan us.

That wasn't our deal.

No shit. His wiring instructions said to send the money back if we don't like the new terms.

You should have sent it back.

And then what? Give the kidnapper an IOU?

Jack reached for the telephone, but Theo stopped him. Don't bother. I already talked to him. He won't budge.

Jack settled back into his chair. Nearly ten hours had passed since he and Theo left Whitmore Nursery, and Jack had hardly slept. He'd been relieved to hear the ME say that the body in the bag couldn't possibly be Mia's, but speculation over whose it might be kept his brain in high gear. He was wide awake and waiting on the pivotal phone call from Andie Henning - the definitive ID of the victim - which he needed in order to plan his next move. At this point, a curveball from Ball-Bustin' Bud was the last thing he needed. Now what are we supposed to do?

How much more cash can you scrape together?

I liquidated whatever I could yesterday, about seventy-five thousand. But twenty-five of that was wired to Bud for his fee.

So that leaves fifty. That's cool. We got a quarter million altogether.

Jack shook his head. I have to put enough cash on the table to make him want to take the risk of a simultaneous exchange. I don't think we're there.

We have to be more creative.

How? Find someone who prints money?

Theo said nothing. He simply arched an eyebrow.

Jack shot him a look of reproval. I was kidding.

Theo remained silent, but the expression on his face spoke volumes.

No. No way. Uh-uh. Jack was shaking his head and waving his hands as he spoke, lest Theo think it was actually open for discussion.

Why not? I know this Romanian guy up in Fort Liquordale who -

Stop right there, said Jack. Do you remember what happened the last time I heard you start a sentence with I know this guy who '?

Not really.

All I wanted was a quick flight out of the Ivory Coast. You hooked up with a guy who just barely made that stolen prop plane fly faster than the bullets that were chasing us.

The plane wasn't stolen. He was repossessing it.

A finer distinction that was apparently lost on the guards with the AK-forty-sevens.

If you want to argue with results, then why don't you find someone who can fork over seven figures before lunchtime?

He had a point, but Jack was still skeptical. All right. Just for the sake of amusement, how does it work?

We take the two hundred thousand from Bud. That should buy us two million in convincing counterfeits.

And about ten years in a federal penitentiary.

What's your alternative? We got a quarter million in our hands. Even a million wasn't enough for Ashley Thornton. Two million would tempt anyone enough to make a simultaneous exchange. And then you let the FBI snipers take him out.

Jack looked out the kitchen window, thinking. This is crazy. I'm a lawyer. I can't buy counterfeit bills.

You got a better idea?

Jack walked to the kitchen counter and popped open the metal suitcase. Bundles of crisp hundred-dollar bills lay side by side. He reached out with both hands and touched the money lightly, fingers dancing like a concert pianist's.

The telephone rang in the kitchen. Jack muted the morning news with the TV remote, then checked the caller ID display on the portable phone. It was another out-of-area call, and by this stage of the game, Jack knew what that meant. He hit the Speaker button so that Theo could hear the conversation, but he answered through the handheld receiver so that the caller couldn't tell that he was on speaker.

So much for our little secret, Swyteck. The voice was disguised, like before, but this time the anger was more evident. We had a deal to keep the cops out of this. Ten minutes after you dug up the bag of bones, the nursery was crawling with FBI agents.

What do you expect me to do when a body turns up? I was afraid it was Mia's.

Mia's? he said with a condescending chuckle. Apparently you aren't as smart as I thought you were.

Whose is it?

Why don't you let the FBI tell you? Now that they're in on our little secret.

Jack couldn't explain away the FBI. He simply had to shift the focus to Mia, no matter how abrupt the transition. I have your money. I want a simultaneous exchange.

Dream on.

That's the way it has to be. No cops. Just you and me.

How much are you paying?

Jack hesitated, but somehow he couldn't say a quarter million with a straight face. Two million.

There was silence on the line. Finally, he said, You got my interest.

No Mia, no money. Simple as that. It's simultaneous, or it doesn't happen.

I pick the spot, I pick the time.

Fine. Where do you want to do it?

You already know: the Devil's Ear.

The very words made Jack's heart sink.

Go to wilderness campsite number twenty-seven at two A. M., he said. And this time, leave the FBI at home.

You got it.

I mean it, Swyteck. This is the real deal. No cops. Or your girlfriend ends up exactly like Ashley Thornton. And then I'll find you.

There was something different about his tone - a chilling finality. The response caught in Jack's throat, and the call ended before he could say another word.

You okay? asked Theo. He walked to the refrigerator and opened it, as if watching Jack negotiate with a kidnapper had worked up an appetite.

I think so.

You done good, Jack. Theo found a leftover slice of pepperoni pizza behind the jar of mayonnaise, sniffed it, then put it back. Real good.

Jack took one last look at the suitcase filled with hundred-dollar bills. He knew it wasn't enough - that it wasn't anywhere near what Mia was worth. But what on earth had possessed him to offer two million dollars? Am I crazy? Or is this the right thing to do?

Theo dunked a pickle spear into a jar of mustard. Close your eyes.

What?

Just close them.

Jack complied. Theo said, Now open them.

It seemed like a silly game, but Jack did it.

What do you see? asked Theo.

You.

Exactly. He popped the mustard-coated pickle into his mouth, yellow goop all over his lips. Now, is this what you want to be lookin' at the rest of your life? Or do you want to see Mia again?

It struck Jack as funny at first, but Theo wasn't laughing. The big guy put down the pickle jar and looked Jack in the eye. Do you remember how happy you were the day you introduced me to Mia? Do you?

Yeah, he said quietly. I do.

How many fuckheads are lucky enough to find someone who makes them that happy? Seriously, dude. Do you think I'm ever gonna find a woman like that?

Theo's delivery was never the smoothest, but whenever their backs were up against the wall, it seemed that Jack couldn't argue with a word he was saying.

Jack closed up the suitcase full of cash. Okay. Let's do what we have to do.

Chapter
57

Andie Henning was in a holding pattern. The medical examiner's office was making no promises. They might identify the remains in the plastic bag by lunchtime, or they might never make an identification. The final answer depended on test results and, like any successful investigation, a healthy mix of good judgment and good luck.

Having been up all night, Andie wanted nothing more than to shower and catch a quick nap. First, however, she had to find her way out of the busy medical campus. The ME's office was in the Joseph H. Davis Center for Forensic Pathology, a three-building complex on the perimeter of the University of Miami Medical Center campus and Jackson Memorial Hospital. It had been dark and relatively quiet when Andie arrived, but at 10 A. M. the campus was bustling with activity, people headed to the spine institute, the eye institute, and other world-class specialists.

Andie stopped at the traffic light near the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center. A patient in a wheelchair crossed with the green WALK signal, a bit of sad irony. At first, Andie surmised that the handsome young man pushing the chair was the woman's son or grandson. As they passed before Andie's vehicle, however, it became apparent that she was actually quite young, disease having robbed her of her youth. Andie tried not to stare, but she was unable to look away. She wondered if the woman had just received good news or bad, if she was still hoping for recovery or clinging to what little life she had left. Andie herself knew those feelings all too well. Fear and hopelessness had driven her to utter desperation - and, ultimately, to the state penitentiary in Walla Walla, Washington, where she visited the man who had murdered her mother. It wasn't something she'd wanted to do. It wasn't mere idle curiosity about her genealogical roots. That pathetic excuse for a human being was the only living person who could tell her who her biological father was. In her entire life, Andie had never even considered searching him out. Suddenly, however, finding him became a matter of life and death, as the oncologist had made so clear on that cloudy gray morning in Seattle.