Misery Bay: A Mystery (25 page)

Garrett pulled out his ID and let the man look at it. He nodded. “I’d say we’re both on the same side.”

“Question is,” said Garrett, “same side of what?”

The man shook his head. “I’m not authorized to say anything.” He took out a card and handed it to Garrett. “You can contact this number if you want. Maybe they’ll tell you something. Maybe not. Depends, really, on how much influence you have.” He turned away.

Garrett stared at the card for a moment. The only influence he had was through Tuttle and usually the Deputy Commissioner wouldn’t tell him how to influence the Mr. Coffee machine. He stuck the card in his pocket.

DeMaio was beginning to slip out of the room, so Garrett moved quickly through the crowd and out to where Lonnie was waiting.

His cousin looked at his empty hands. “No food?” he asked in an aggrieved voice.

“Sorry, didn’t think about it and if I had, I would have needed a trolley car to bring enough to satisfy you.”

Lonnie grunted. “They also serve who only stand and wait,” he said.

“And a good job you did too. Keep an eye on the parking garage exit. Unless I miss my guess, DeMaio will be coming out any moment in a couple of Global Resources SUVs.”

It took longer than a moment, but eventually three SUVs with the company logo on the side came out of the underground and sped away toward the waterfront.

“Don’t lose them,” said Garrett.

“Huh,” Lonnie grunted. “SUVs? I couldn’t lose them if I was driving a tank.”

39

L
ONNIE KEPT A PRECISE DISTANCE
behind the three SUVs. He was an expert at blending in with traffic, and it was soon clear that the men in the cars ahead had no expectations of being followed.

“Beats me,” said Garrett, “how you manage to be so good at tailing people. Your head must disappear up into the roof for anyone checking his rearview mirror. Ought to be a dead giveaway.”

“Least I’m better at tailing than you are at chasing down suspects.”

“Hire the handicapped,” Garrett said. “You ever actually held down a regular job?”

“Always had trouble getting past the interview stage. Bosses seemed intimidated for some reason.”

Garrett just shook his head.

The cars drove through the heart of downtown Halifax to Global’s headquarters, a large, mausoleum-like structure on the waterfront. Lonnie pulled over to the curb, and they watched as the three vehicles disappeared into an underground parking garage.

“Now what?” he said.

“What? You expect me to have a plan?”

Lonnie snorted, put the car in park and settled back in his seat, as much as was possible.

“Let’s watch for a while,” said Garrett. “Any thoughts on Kitty Wells’s whereabouts?”

“Nope. But I’d be willing to bet a plate of canapes that if we find Lloyd, we’ll find Kitty, or at least can get him to tell us where she is.”

“Will you give the canapes a rest?” said Garrett. “Anyway, I haven’t had a lot of luck getting information out of Lloyd. He practically kicked me off his property the last time we interacted.”

“My interactions sometimes get better results,” said Lonnie.

“Don’t remind me.”

“I just think if you really believe Kitty is in trouble, the longer we fuss around, the worse off she’s going to be.”

Garrett said nothing. He’d been thinking the same thing. He looked out the window and watched the boat traffic along the harbor. The tiny, nearly round ferries that crossed over to Dartmouth and back chugged along, their wakes the only evidence of direction. An expensive yacht under full sail headed past George’s Island, sails snapping in the wind. The
Silva
, a Swedish fishing trawler built in 1947, made her several-times-daily run out around the island and back again with a load of tourists who seemed more interested in the bar constructed in the former wheelhouse than in the impressive sights of the harbor. He could see kids running around on deck. Murphy’s Restaurant, with its open terrace on the water, was busy. He wished he were there right now having a schooner of ale and a plate of oysters.

Lonnie’s stomach growled. “You keep looking at Murphy’s,” he said, “I’m gonna have to give this up and go get something to eat.”

“Diet would do you no harm,” Garrett said, snippily. His cousin had not an ounce of fat on his huge frame. “Let’s give it an hour. If they don’t come out by then, I’ll buy you a beer and we’ll call it a day.”

Before Lonnie could reply, Garrett suddenly said, “Shit. I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“Over there.” Garrett pointed. “It’s Lloyd.”

They stared as the Eastern shore’s premier naturist crossed a thoroughfare and made his way into a small public garden.

Garrett started to get out of the car, but Lonnie put one of his mitts on his arm.

“Let me do it,” he said.

Garrett hesitated. “All right, maybe you’ll have better luck. But don’t kill the guy until we find out where Kitty is.”

Lonnie gave him a look. “Killing is never helpful,” he said. “You’d be surprised how many guys refuse to talk to me once they’re dead.”

Garrett watched his cousin lumber like a Humvee in need of a tune-up across the road and into the garden. Lloyd had paused to sit on a bench in a small cul-de-sac created by a stand of young maple trees. He unfolded a newspaper and looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Lonnie sat heavily on the bench, nearly pushing Lloyd off with his bulk. Garrett could see Lloyd’s startled look even from where he was. He watched as Lonnie began to talk to him. In a moment, Lloyd tried to get up and leave, but Lonnie put one hand on his arm and fastened him to the bench as effectively as if he’d used a nail gun.

Garrett watched Lloyd look all around, desperate to find a way out. But they were alone in the little park. Lonnie leaned forward and spoke, staring straight into Lloyd’s eyes.

Lloyd shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Garrett could almost imagine the dialogue. Lonnie pressed him harder and then the big hand squeezed so tightly on Lloyd’s arm that he grimaced and nearly fell off the bench. Then Lloyd began to talk in earnest. He nodded at Global headquarters several times. All at once, he seemed quite interested in telling Lonnie anything he wanted to know.

Suddenly Lloyd pointed to the sky and Lonnie looked up. Garrett leaned out of the window and looked up too. A helicopter was taking off from the top of the building.

Lonnie stood up, looking at the sky and still with one hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. He said something to Lloyd, who looked completely cowed, then walked away. The instant Lonnie let him go, Lloyd scampered out of the park and disappeared down the street.

A moment later, Lonnie got back in the car.

“Okay,” he said. “He started out saying he didn’t know anything about Kitty Wells. But I … pressed … him and he finally admitted he’d spent time being interviewed by her but then she left. He said she might have decided to go interview a Madame Liu for a story on prostitution. He said he warned her it was dangerous but couldn’t dissuade her. I don’t believe that part. If that’s all that happened, there would have been no reason for him to deny spending any time with her in the first place. He would have told me straight off. If I had to guess, I’d bet old Lloyd delivered Kitty to Madame Liu himself. I asked him, hypothetically speaking, what Madame Liu would do with Kitty. He said if the woman liked what she saw, she might try to sell her, probably to someone at the oil company.”

“Global Resources?” said Garrett. “What for?”

“I don’t think that is open to a whole lot of interpretation, Gar.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Lloyd sold Kitty to Madame Liu and she turns around and sells her to some guy in the oil business … well … what do you think?”

Garrett stared at him. “I don’t believe it. You’re saying they kidnapped a television anchorwoman and sold her into prostitution? Are they nuts?”

“Not prostitution. Sexual slavery. From what Lloyd said, it’s common enough with young girls. He actually began talking like he’d done research on the subject, all in the interests of helping his young charges, of course. He suggested the anchorwoman thing would be icing on the cake, that the titillation factor would make Kitty extra valuable. He said Liu would get a fortune for her—
if
his assumptions were correct.”

“What about the helicopter?”

“He didn’t know who was on it, but he said if Kitty were actually a prisoner, she might be taken out to the oil rig. Evidently, Global has a nice little sideline with girls brought in to entertain potential foreign investors. That was how Lloyd put it. All stuff he said he found out through his research.”

“I can’t believe you got him to tell you all this just by squeezing his arm,” said Garrett.

“There was a lot more to it than that. He knew who I was. I told him if I found out he was holding back on me, I’d find him. Evidently, he believed me.” He drummed his enormous fingers on the side of the car and stared up at the distant speck of the chopper now disappearing out past George’s Island. “So. You think DeMaio’s on that aircraft?”

“Be my guess.”

“What are we going to do?”

Garrett shook his head. “I’m not sure. Tuttle would probably get me a helicopter if I asked for it, but outside of Canadian waters, we have no authority.”

“Another midnight kayak ride?”

“I don’t know. I need to talk to some people about this. About the law on the high seas. The people at Global are going to have influence at very high levels. Sure as hell, more than I have.”

“You can waste a lot of time looking into the legality of all this, Garrett. Time Kitty may not have.”

“You know how much trouble Tom and I had sneaking up on the bad guys’ boats? It can only be that much harder to sneak up on an oil rig. I don’t want Kitty shipped out by chopper as soon as we appear on the horizon. We might never get another shot at her. She’s been in their hands for several days and it’s probably already too late to save her from some pretty nasty stuff. I just hope I can figure something out in time to save her life.”

Garrett pulled out the card he’d been given by the two government men at the press briefing. He took out his cell phone and dialed the number. A neutral voice answered and asked his business.

“I’d like to speak to …” he read the name on the card. “A Mr. Alfred Nichols.”

“One moment, please.”

Another secretary answered. No more expansive budget than the intelligence services. This woman was more cautious, however, asking the reason for his call and who he was.

“I’m an RCMP officer,” Said Garrett. “Special Constable Garrett Barkhouse, out of Halifax. You can verify that through the Deputy Commissioner if you wish, but this is a matter of some urgency and I would appreciate being able to speak with Mr. Nichols immediately.”

Evidently calls like Garrett’s were not uncommon in the fluid and rapidly changing world of intelligence. After a series of clicks during a pause of almost two minutes, probably while Nichols was told the situation, a voice came on the line.

“This is Alfred Nichols,” said the man. “I’m speaking to an RCMP officer?”

“Yes, sir. I got your number from one of your agents attending the press briefing given by Global Resources just an hour ago. We appear to have a mutual interest in a man named DeMaio. We’re following up a missing person, a prominent one; a television reporter who we believe may have been kidnapped by DeMaio.”

There was a moment of silence, then Nichols swore. “I don’t mean to be obstructionist, Officer Barkhouse, but we’ve been watching DeMaio’s movements, taping his conversations, and investigating him three ways from Sunday for the last six months.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“Let’s just say we have reason to believe he’s connected to some pretty big organized crime elements.”

“Does this have anything to do with international sex trafficking?” Garrett asked.

Nichols hesitated. “You appear to be well informed, officer. We believe there may be an international trafficking operation that is run through Global Resources, but it’s a tricky situation. I can’t tell you all the details.”

“I may know more of those details than you imagine,” said Garrett. “I think we’re on the same side here. The woman we’re trying to rescue may be in immediate danger. And as I said, she’s high profile. We have reason to believe she may have been transported to one of Global Resources’ offshore oil rigs for the purposes of sexual slavery.”

Nichols said, “I want to help you, officer. I really do. But we’ve been trying to build a case against DeMaio for almost a year. We can’t compromise that work on the chance you know where your girl is. If you’ve been involved in prostitution then you should know how difficult it is to build a case for trafficking. Hell, human trafficking wasn’t even a Criminal Code offense until 2005. There have only been a couple dozen people charged with trafficking in all of Canada to date and only a handful of convictions.”

Garrett knew the statistics. Gang members and pimps had figured out that they could make more money with less risk dealing in girls instead of drugs. The average trafficked woman could make her pimp hundreds of thousands of dollars before he used her up. Some girls had even been sold for sex through Craigslist.

“And I might add,” Nichols said, “if she’s outside the twelve-mile limit, we have real constrictions on what we can do. That’s one reason we’ve been slowly building up a file on DeMaio. He travels all over the world and most of the time is outside our jurisdiction. His public press briefing today was the first time we’ve been able to get close to him in months.”

Garrett thought quickly. “So you’re saying that if she’s being held outside the twelve-mile limit, there’s nothing we can do to save her?”

“No. If you had some sort of real proof of what was happening on that rig, we might be able to take action. Legally, there’s an exclusive economic zone that extends from the outer limit of the territorial sea … that’s the twelve-mile limit … to a maximum of two hundred nautical miles from the territorial sea baseline. A coastal nation has control of all economic resources within its exclusive economic zone, including fishing, mining, oil exploration and any pollution of those resources.”