Twisted Justice (37 page)

“So the motherfucker finally came up for air. Let me get right on it, Greg. I've got some calls to make, including Detective Lopez.”

“Lopez?”

“Yah, he asked me to keep him in the loop. Funny, he's become a fan of Laura's. Don't forget El creepo Santiago iced Lopez's former partner way back when, so he wants this collar in the worst way. See you later, boss.”

Manny Gonzolas lived comfortably but quietly on Clearwater Beach in a Spanish-style villa surrounded by an extravagant tropical garden. Gardening was his passion and he spent most days puttering about his prize azaleas, gardenias, hibiscus, and stately palms. From time to time, he would drop a flower arrangement off at a neighbors, always in a shy manner and never accepting invitations to come in for coffee or whatever they offered. He purchased Girl Scout cookies and contributed to the various police and ambulance causes. He dressed conservatively, always neat and trim, and attracted little attention. Never married, he lived alone and assiduously isolated his personal life from his business concerns. All business was conducted in Tampa, specifically Ybor City, in a back room of his uncle's club. All mail went to a P.O. Box in Clearwater, where he kept a façade of an office. He always worked alone and preferred to cluster his cases, take care of business, then leave the mainland for several weeks in the islands.

As for his profession, he'd been in it fifteen years. Very successful. Never'd been in peril. This he attributed to careful case selection. He was a pure professional. A hit man simply did his job. No emotion. No moral rectitude. He worked only with clients who paid up front, and who came with the appropriate references. He, not immodestly, considered himself smart and resourceful, priding himself on jobs that involved some strategy, not just simple point and shoots.

When Frank Santiago approached him about this job he'd
hesitated. He'd done a hit for Frank — personal, not mob related — once before and it had gone smoothly. But now with Frank himself the target of a manhunt, he felt leery. But the money was good, and he was a business man. So the “yes” won over the “no” debate. When he found that the mark was a kid, a deaf kid at that, and not only did he have to find this kid, he had to do the job in just one day, he figured he should double the fucking price. He was planning to do just that until Frank began to backpedal about it being a kid. If Frank walked, Manny'd be out fifty grand.

But now, as he followed the Diamond's car, he felt confident. He'd spooked the woman lawyer, and she was leading him directly to his target. Right now they were only two cars ahead of him heading north on I-95. Everything was cool. That was, if his hunch paid off and the two deaf kids really were together.

It was eleven thirty, an hour after Carrie Diamond had left, and Celeste could not shake an ominous foreboding as she paced back and forth in front of the large picture window that overlooked the street in Carrollwood. Had she done the right thing, telling Carrie about the condo? Should she call Greg, admit what she'd done? No, he'd just be upset. Besides, Carrie certainly had the right to know where they'd taken her daughter.

She put down her coffee cup and began to feel queasy — it was the image of that car that had pulled out after Carrie.

Impulsively, Celeste ran upstairs and jumped into the shower. Slipping into jeans and a tee shirt and securing her long dark hair in a wet ponytail, she grabbed her purse and started for the door. Then, stopping abruptly, she retraced her steps to the bedroom, unlocked a drawer in the nightstand by her bed and withdrew a metallic object. It was stupid, she told herself, but she'd already done something stupid by sending Carrie to the condo, hadn't she? Tonight, when she got there, she'd call Greg. Once she knew everything was okay. Tomorrow she'd call her office and resign, just one day later than she'd planned. After all these years, one day could not possibly make such a difference.

Greg had barely reached the Northwest gate at Detroit Metropolitan Airport when Laura deplaned, carrying only a small, canvas shoulder bag. She wore baggy white slacks and sandals, a pale pink pullover shirt with short sleeves, and carried a matching sweater. Looking tired and thin, she tried to pass other passengers in search of Greg.

“You are traveling light, aren't you?” He caught the flicker of relief in her eyes when she turned toward him.

“Thanks for doing this, Greg,” she said without breaking her stride.

“No problem.” Greg glanced at his watch: 6:11. Chuck should be here soon, and so would Steve and the kids, if they were not already.

“Listen, let's sit down for a moment.” Greg took her arm and maneuvered her over to a row of empty chairs near a deserted baggage carousel, where they sat down.

Laura stiffened. “Bad news?”

Greg nodded. “We did everything we could both here and in Tampa to try to get a restraining order, but it didn't happen. That means it's really going to be up to you to convince the boys to go with you. Chuck's already got tickets for them, just in case.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no.”

“I'm sorry, but it turns out Steve is legally able to take the boys with him anywhere in the U.S. As you know, he's chosen Alaska.”

“But how can he do that? They're my sons too!”

“It's too complicated to go over right now, and remember, no matter what happens today, you can go back to court and we'll get them back.”

“I don't want to go to court,” she said, slamming one hand into the other. “I want them now. Both of them, now. Steve's poisoned their minds against me. I can't believe this is happening. I'll convince them to go with me.”

“Just use your instinct and intuition when we approach them. Chuck and I will be there to back you up. If necessary, we'll try to
whisk them away, out of Steve's reach. We can face whatever consequences in court later, but at least we'll have the boys.”

“Okay, Greg. What would I do without you?” She squeezed his hand. “Anything else I should know?”

Should he mention that call from Carmen Williams? No, too vague. “It'll wait,” he replied as he took her arm and led her toward the escalator.

Don Diamond followed the signs toward the bridge leading to Amelia Island. An intelligent, affable man, he and Carrie had met as students at the University of Miami and had married one week after graduation. Then, he'd taken a job with an accounting firm while she went on to law school. Because congenital deafness ran in his family, he and Carrie had gone for genetic counseling before deciding to have a child and when Elizabeth was born deaf, they were deeply disappointed but not devastated. They had known the risk in advance and had taken it. They decided to have no more children.

Carrie now directed Don with the help of an old Florida map they kept in the glove compartment, along with Celeste's scribbled directions. They had taken the last exit in Florida at the Florida-Georgia border off I-95 and driven the ten miles to the bridge connecting Florida's mainland to the charming barrier island of white sandy beaches. It was nearly five and they were now on SR-200, looking for the turnoff to Celeste's cluster of condos. Carrie glanced at the street address and the unit number. Celeste had written that it was on the third floor overlooking the ocean. There was a private elevator off the lobby that opened directly into her foyer. Carrie was to take elevator bank 8.

“Wow, this is really posh,” Don remarked as they located the luxury complex, not fully sharing his wife's panic that their daughter was in danger. “I'll bet Elizabeth is having a great time here.”

“Well, we're taking her anyway.”

“Carrie, honey, let's just hope you're overreacting. How could that man who called you know where the girls are staying? You said that Chuck Dimer promised us —”

“I'm not overreacting,” she insisted. “He knew that Elizabeth is with Molly. He said for us to get her out of there.”

“But Chuck has security stationed here.”

She glanced around as the car turned into a parking area near the high-rise facing the beach. “I don't see any security. Do you?”

They locked the car and began walking toward the condo.

“I think that's the idea. You're not supposed to see security people. They sort of blend in.”

“Remember, he said to come alone,” Carrie said, her eyes darting all over. “You're sure he didn't mean just me?”

Don shook his head. “If all this is real, he means don't bring the police, etcetera.”

“I just know it's real. Let's go in.”

“I still think we should have called ahead. Celeste gave you the number, didn't she?”

“But it might have scared them into leaving before we got here. I just want to see Elizabeth, then we'll warn the Palmers.”

“Honey, I hope we're not making a big mistake,” Don said, reaching for her arm and slowing her pace. “Chuck knows his job. Don't you think we should at least have called him? It's not too late.”

“No,” she insisted. “That guy said to come alone, and Chuck would just hold things up. Besides, he's in Michigan.”

“What about Greg? Maybe we should put a call in.”

“He's in Michigan too. I'm scared too, Don, but I know we're doing the right thing.”

The dark sedan pulled into a parking space two rows away, nicely obscured from view by two sprawling coconut palms. Manny Gonzolas was sure that the Diamond couple had no suspicions that they'd been followed. Nonchalantly, he left his car and sauntered toward the lobby of the opulent condominium. He was wearing jeans, a black polo shirt, a black baseball cap, and dark glasses. He looked casual, easily passing for a resort guest or a service contractor. Through the large, glass picture window in the front of the
building, Manny could see the elevator the Diamonds had just used without even stepping inside. It was clearly marked “8,” and he could see that once they stepped inside its mirrored interior, they had pushed the button to the third floor. Good, he thought, now to check out all the entrances and exits, assess the traffic patterns, building layout, and most importantly, as best he could, the security system. Checking his pockets as if he'd forgotten something, he returned to his car, ducking into the backseat, and when he was sure that no one was close by, he slipped into the oversized gardener's garb he had ready. Pruning shears in hand, he sauntered out again, hoping to blend in with the tall hibiscus surrounding the building.

Under cover of the lush landscaping, Manny eventually found a spot where he could see the unit's windows. As he studied the four-story building it made sense that the bank of 8 elevators led to the end units on the south side, facing the ocean. Using his small, powerful binoculars, he could see two young girls sitting at a table on a screened-in balcony. They were playing some kind of board game, gesturing with their hands. Bingo — sign language. Yep, he'd found his target. He congratulated himself as he watched the Diamond woman come out onto the balcony and give one of the girls a big hug, the one with the same dark hair as hers. His target was the red-haired one with pigtails, he knew that much. The question was, how was he gonna get to her?

Manny had figured that each unit would have its own key to an elevator that opened directly into the individual unit. He also figured that the concierge had to have a panic button that would bring security, even the cops, if there were any kind of trouble. Rich people who lived in these buildings expected tight security. Methodically, he reviewed his options. There was no way he was going up in the elevator, and it wasn't likely that they'd let the kid play outside anytime soon. He'd have to create a diversion, cause an evacuation, wait for a clear shot at the target. Using his silencer, of course. Do it execution-style. He'd have to act quickly before the local cops — or anyone else — showed. He'd already seen that the condo's on-site security guards were older with no sign of a firearm,
which meant they didn't pose any real threat. So far, no sign of private security for the kid, but he'd have to watch for that. Once he flushed the condo occupants out into the open, he'd just pick the kid off. He'd decided on a fire, aided by a couple of loud blasts to speed up the panic. Create terror and confusion, make the hit quick, and get the hell out.

Staying close to the tall hibiscus, Manny slowly made his way back to the parking lot to organize the cache of flammables stored in his trunk. He stopped abruptly at the corner of the building near the lobby as he caught sight of the Diamond couple emerging. They seemed to be trying to shield their daughter as they darted for their car, and he strained to pick up any conversation when he saw the girl signing excitedly to her mother.

“Hurry,” was all he could hear Diamond say as she hustled the kid into the backseat of the silver Oldsmobile, climbing in beside her.

Manny knew he had to act fast. The lady was a lawyer, and now that she'd got her kid out, she'd probably try to get more security if she was this nervous. He watched impatiently as the Diamond car headed toward the parking lot exit and then, backing into a clump of palmettos, he slipped out of the gardener overalls, folded them into a small bundle, and strode toward his car. What had Diamond told the Palmers? If she'd scared them into leaving, maybe he could just wait and isolate the target out here, but he couldn't count on that. What if they planned to stay put instead and wait for either the cops or private security? No, he couldn't take that chance.