SAVANNAH GONE (9 page)

She gave me Wayne’s phone number, then glanced at her watch. “I need to run soon. I’ve got an afternoon appointment up in Beaufort.”

I asked, “Do you happen to know which bank provided funding for Chambers when he became a Liberty Island partner?”

“Not off hand,” she said, shaking her head. “Is it important?”

“I’m not sure, but it might be. I’d also like to know which bank funded his site near the port.”

“Let me see what I can do. I’ll check with my broker and send you a text as soon as I have an answer.”

“Thanks. How’s the market by the way?”

“Making a comeback.” She looked at me and asked, “Do you need to buy or sell a house?”

“I’m all set,” I replied. “But thanks.”

She handed me a card. “If you have any more questions—.”

“I do have one more. Claire’s ex, Bill Taylor mentioned she’d met someone new. Would you happen to know who that is?”

“Claire never said a word to me about a new man in her life. But I can tell you this, Bill Taylor’s an idiot.” A sad look flitted across her face. “Call me if you have any more questions. I’ll do anything I can to help you find Claire.”

“I will. And thanks again. You’ve been a big help.”

I grabbed lunch at The Crystal Beer Parlor on W. Jones, a hamburger topped with bleu cheese, a side of German potato salad, and an ice cold draft if you’re keeping score. When I finished eating I pulled up Wayne Kendall’s phone number and punched in the numbers. He picked up on the second ring. “This is Wayne.” I could hear pneumatic nail guns firing in the background.

“Wayne, my name’s Ray Fontaine. I’m a private investigator trying to locate Claire Robertson. I’d like to talk with you if you have some free time.”

“What happened to Claire?” he asked, sounding alarmed. He covered the phone, and I heard him yell something in Spanish. The nail guns stopped and he came back on the line. “Sorry about that, I’m at a job site. What do you mean you’re trying to locate Claire?”

“She’s missing. I’d like to drop by and talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, of course. Listen, I’m up on a roof. The address is 1323 E. 50th Street. It’s a couple of blocks behind Daffin Park.”

“I’ll see you in ten to fifteen minutes.”

I settled my tab and headed out. Midday traffic wasn’t bad, and I made it in just under ten minutes. I turned down E. 50th and pulled to the curb. The house was a modest wood-framed bungalow, with a small, well-kept front yard.

A sandy-haired guy in his mid-forties sat on the front stoop talking on the phone, and a couple of Hispanics were walking around scooping up old roof shingles, tossing them into a trash dumpster.

I climbed out of the car. The guy on the stoop hung up and met me on the sidewalk.

“Wayne?”

“How long has Claire been missing?” he asked in a strangled voice.

I glanced at the guys in the yard. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“I don’t have a key to the place.”

“Why don’t we take a walk?”

Wayne spoke some rapid Spanish to his workers, then said to me, “Let’s go.”

We started down the block. A malignant silence hung in the air. I turned my head and looked at him. “A friend of Claire’s father hired me to find her. She hasn’t shown up for work this week. No one has seen her since last Friday”

“Have you spoken with Bill Taylor? He and Claire were supposed to get married last month. When Claire called off the wedding, he belted her.”

“I spoke with Taylor this morning. I want to talk with you about Frank Chambers.”

“You think Frank had something to do with Claire’s disappearance?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“At this point, I don’t know what to think. For all I know, the pressure of calling off the wedding may have gotten to Claire, and she’s gone off for a few days to be alone and sort out her feelings.” I looked over at him and asked, “When was the last time you saw her?”

“I saw her a week ago Sunday. We had lunch at Vic’s.”

“How did she seem?”

“The same as always, happy, upbeat. I’ve known Claire a long time. I can usually tell when something’s bothering her.”

“I heard from Bill Taylor she met someone new.”

He nodded. “I knew about that. Claire told me about it a couple weeks ago, right after they met. He paused and glanced in my direction. “She wouldn’t tell me his name though. Said she didn’t want to jinx the relationship.”

“Tell me about Bill Taylor?”

“He’s a controlling son of a bitch. Always giving Claire a hard time, wanting to know where she went and what she did.”

“Fill me in on Liberty Island.”

“What’s there to tell?” he replied, staring at his shoes. “I thought it was going to be my legacy. But I got caught by the real estate recession and lost it to Frank Chambers.”

“What’s Chambers like?”

“He’s a thief,” he said, sounding angry and shaking his head. “Seduced me into thinking we’d be a great team. But from the moment Frank got involved, he schemed behind my back for a way to steal Liberty Island. And he did...it’s his baby now.” We walked in silence for a while, then Wayne added, “Lots of builders and developers have lost projects in the last couple of years. I’m not the only one. But in addition to screwing me, Frank ruined the lives of some good people. I’m talking about our subcontractors. After the recession hit, everyone was desperate for work. Frank knew this of course, so he’d get some of the guys to do work on spec, then refuse to pay. He also cut a bunch of safety corners so he could save a couple of bucks.” We stopped walking and Wayne looked at me. “One of my best subs, a guy named Hector Menendez, almost lost his life when a poorly designed retaining wall collapsed on him. He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Why didn’t the county shut him down after the accident?”

“One, they probably never heard about it. And two, even if they did, Frank has the county commission in his back pocket. He paid Hector off and sent him back to Mexico.”

I said, “I heard Claire’s been an outspoken critic of Chambers. Supposedly she spoke out against the rezoning of some land he owns near the port because silt seeped into the river at Liberty Island and fouled the water. Is that true”

“Claire never mentioned that to me, but I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a force when it comes to the environment.” He stayed silent for some time, then continued. “I hate to admit it, but a part of her grudge against Frank is because she’s pissed about what happened to me. Claire’s true blue.”

“Is there anything you can think of that can help me find her?”

“Keep your eye on Bill Taylor,” he replied. “If anything’s happened to Claire, he had something to do with it.”

“One other thing,” I said. “How the hell is Chambers keeping Liberty Island afloat? From what I’ve read, high-end second home developments still haven’t recovered from the recession. Even the Sea Island Company went down the drain.”

“Frank comes from money, and he’s had a very successful career. But you’re right; it costs a tremendous amount of money to keep Liberty Island going. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s hanging on by a thread.”

I gave him my card and asked him to call me if he thought of anything else, or if he heard from Claire.

I decided to drop in on Daddy Warbucks to bring him up to speed. While I drove, I placed a call to Caroline. I needed the police to track Bill Taylor’s movements. Now that I had his cell number, that shouldn’t be a problem.

In addition to Taylor, I wanted to ask Caroline if the cops had made any progress tracking Claire’s cell.

Cell phone tracking can be accomplished two different ways: triangulation, which covers all cell phones, and GPS, which is standard in almost every smart-phone.

With triangulation, three cell towers are used to approximate the location of the phone. Cell towers constantly ping cell phones to provide service. That makes a user’s location and path of travel easily traceable. The potential problem of using triangulation is the accuracy depends on the density of the tower’s population. This can be an issue in an urban setting like downtown Savannah, particularly when you factor in all the out of town visitors and their cell phones. The more phones that ping off cell towers, the harder it is to determine an exact location using triangulation.

GPS, on the other hand, is able to pinpoint a cell phone’s exact location, regardless of how many phones are in the area. Most smart-phones have a GPS device embedded in them. Location data for either tracking method resides with the wireless provider, and police departments can access it if they are able to show just cause.

Caroline answered her phone and said, “You must miss me...either that or you want something else. But I’ve gotta run so make it quick Fontaine. I’m half way out the door. We’ve got a floater.”

“I’ll be quick. One, any luck tracking Claire’s cell? And two, I need you to track someone else’s phone, Claire’s ex-fiancé. I like him as a suspect. His name’s Bill Taylor. She dumped him last month, two weeks before their wedding. He got rough with her, plus he was having dinner five minutes from her home last Friday night. You ready for the number?”

“Shoot me a text. I’ll call you later.” She hung up without giving me an update on tracking Claire’s cell. When I stopped for a red light at Drayton and Liberty, I sent her the text with Taylor’s information.

The traffic light turned green. I hit the gas and continued north along Drayton. Minutes later, I parked at the curb in front of Cavanaugh’s building.

When I stepped inside, the security guard looked up and smiled. I glanced at his copy of the New York Times. “Looks like you’re keeping that mind sharp.”

“Not as sharp as I’d like,” he said, frowning “I’m stumped. Stuck on a six letter word for gold Ends in a T.

“That’s an easy one,” I told him. “Nugget.”

“Shee-it. Two for two...what are you the puzzle whisperer?”

I shrugged. “Some days you got it.”

“Amen to that,” he said, sliding the registration sheet toward me.

When I exited the elevator on the fifteenth floor, Jennifer was planted behind her desk, gabbing away into the headset. She finished up on the phone, then looked at me and smiled. “Mr. Fontaine, how are you today?”

“If I were any better, I’d be twins. Is Mister Cavanaugh in?”

“Is he expecting you?”

I hate it when people answer my question with a question, but I let it slide. “He’s not, but if he is in, would you mind letting him know I’m here.”

“Let me see what I can do.” She punched a button on her phone, then spoke into the headset. “Leslie, Mr. Fontaine is here to see Mr. Cavanaugh.” She nodded her head. “I know, but would you mind letting him know anyway...thanks, Leslie.” Apparently, Cavanaugh didn’t have many drop-ins. Jennifer said to me, “Why don’t you have a seat. Mr. Cavanaugh’s assistant is checking to see if he’s available.” She punched a button on her phone and took another call.

I walked over to the window and checked out the river. The only activity I saw was a tug boat heading downstream.

I stood there watching the water until I heard a gruff voice behind me. “Mr. Fontaine?”

I turned and was accosted by Cavanaugh’s assistant. She was a woman of an indeterminate vintage, but definitely north of forty, and rather severe looking, which was putting it mildly. Pale skin, dour expression, somber Mortuary clothing. She had thin bloodless lips
and these weird unwavering eyes. The kicker, though, was the bolt of gray that ran through her coarse dark hair. Spooky. “My name’s Leslie,” she said in a chilly tone. “Mr. Cavanaugh will see you now.” I checked her feet to make sure she wasn’t levitating.

I followed the Bride of Frankenstein down the same corridor as yesterday, then back into the boardroom. Leslie turned and stared. “Mr. Cavanaugh will be with you shortly.”

Here’s one you can take to the bank. Mrs. Eddie sure didn’t have to worry about her husband popping the assistant. Leslie turned and shut the door. Maybe Caroline was right. Cavanaugh did want something from me...my blood.

Ten minutes later Cavanaugh joined me in the boardroom. I rose to greet him, and we shook. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.

“I apologize for dropping in on you without an appointment,” I replied.

With the perfunctory apologies out of the way, Cavanaugh looked at me and asked, “Have you uncovered any information about Claire’s whereabouts?”

I summarized my activities over the last day and a half for him. When I recounted what I’d learned about Bill Taylor striking Claire, his eyes clouded with anger, but he remained quiet. I concluded with what I’d learned from Olivia Anderson about Frank Chambers and John Thigpen.

When I finished speaking, Cavanaugh asked, “Where do you go from here?”

“I’m trying to get the Savannah police department to map Bill Taylor’s movement via his cell phone. I’ll check Congressman Thigpen’s schedule for last Friday to see if he was anywhere in the area. I want to interrogate...interview Frank Chambers. And I need to get out to Sapelo. I want to speak with Claire’s co-workers. I don’t want to be tied to the ferry schedule though. I need a boat for transport, and a car at my disposal while out on the island.”

He nodded. “I’ll take care of the boat, and a vehicle will be at the Sapelo dock waiting for you. My assistant Leslie will call you tomorrow with the details.” Great. More Leslie. Cavanaugh continued, “I followed up on Claire’s will. After she passes, her entire estate is to be bequeathed to Green Peace.”

I made note of that, then asked him, “Out of curiosity, where do you stand on the Savannah harbor expansion?”

He stared off into space and his face hardened. “Do you think our global competitors pit one region of their country against another when deciding where to locate vital infrastructure? Of course not. Their central government makes that call. Gouging thirty miles from the Savannah River, to allow gigantic container ships into our harbor, doesn’t make economic sense Mr. Fontaine. Our current trade policies guarantee that American jobs will continue to move overseas.” He paused and leaned forward, locking eyes with me. “Risking the pristine beauty of the Georgia coast, on the unproven assumption that this will boost our economy, is about the goddamn stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”