by Linda Ladd
As usual, Claire had only one thing on her mind: the case. “Okay, tell me again exactly what happened out here on the beach?”
They’d already discussed it on the drive up, but Novak related details of the attempted drowning again, and everything else he could remember up to the point where Jake Osceola clubbed him in the head.
“Somebody should have warned those goons who you were before they accosted you. How many of them did you put down before they got you?”
“Not enough, but now we’re dealing with them all, so we’ll need to scope out their hangouts and history around the city. Maybe we can get a bead on how many there are and how tough they are, because they’re going to come at us sooner rather than later.”
“It sounds like they might be Kellen’s only muscle, but we don’t know that for sure,” Black said. “Could be that they’re the abductors. They seem the types.”
Claire nodded. “Eloise told me she believes somebody here hires street thugs in Guatemala City to take these children and bully the villagers down there. We need to get a look at Kellen’s files and phone records. See if we can’t nail down his contacts down there.”
“He’s not going to keep that stuff at his office in Fort Myers. That would be careless, and I don’t think he is. One search warrant from ICE or the FBI and he’d be in jail for the rest of his life.” Novak shook his head. “No, if they exist, he’s got them hidden somewhere else.”
“He could have a hidden safe at home,” Claire said. “Well, let’s go and find it. Right now. We’ve wasted enough time, and every minute we sit here, little Rosa suffers. Let’s take our rental and scope out Kellen’s office building. I’ve never been down here in Fort Myers or on Sanibel. It’s beautiful out here on the island, but I want to check things out on a Google map.”
“That Lincoln might be noticed.”
“Nobody here knows Black and me. In fact, he might be able to get us inside Kellen’s office as clients. How about a referral, Black? Have you had a look at his office yet, Novak?”
“No, I’ve been too busy saving Guatemalans, nursing a concussion, and sitting around waiting for you. Kept me sort of busy the last few days. Except for my size, I don’t think Alcina’s attackers will remember what I look like. It was dark on that beach, and it all was over in a matter of minutes.”
“They’ll remember the way you took them down,” Black said.
“Actually, I did have Harve do a little background check on Max Kellen the other day,” Novak told them. Harve was Claire’s old friend, and an internet researcher and headhunter. He was the best Novak had ever seen.
“Great. What did he find? I tried, but we were in the middle of court proceedings in Rome, so I didn’t get very far.”
“His real name is Maximilian Emilio Ramirez, but he changed his last name to Kellen when he was twenty-one. His family kept the Ramirez name. They emigrated from Cuba in 1981. The rest of his family appears to be good loyal American citizens, law-abiding but unexceptional. Max went to law school at U of Miami, worked as an accountant on the side during his school years. Harve found out a few things he did in Little Havana that got him in trouble with the police. Not bad enough to revoke his law license, but bad enough that he left town. Purportedly, he didn’t want to embarrass his parents.”
“Why Fort Myers?”
Novak shrugged. “No idea. He formed his own law firm here, a small one that didn’t amount to much at first. Then about five years ago, surprise, surprise, he suddenly had all the money in the world and a thriving law firm in one of the best office buildings in town. Anything about that sound suspicious to you guys?”
“Hell, yes,” Black said. “You think that’s when he got mobbed up?”
“That’s exactly what he did,” Claire answered.
“Let me put a call into Jose. See what he can tell me about this guy.” Black got up and moved out onto the screened porch. Once the door slid closed, Novak looked at Claire.
“You think Jose will help us?”
“You know he will. He’s Mr. Big over in Miami and loves Black like a son. Black loves him, too, but Rango can be brutal, believe it. My bet is that he’ll know what’s going on over here. He’ll know how connected Kellen is to the big guys and which ones. And he’ll be an ally to us if we need him.”
“All good. Black’s contacts do come in handy. They’ve saved my ass on occasion.”
“Yep, my hubby is a sweetie pie when it comes to sharing his underworld connections. Thank God, he’s not involved with any of that himself. You do understand that. It’s his big brother who is the Mafioso in New Orleans, not him. He’s as clean as new snow.”
“I know that. I’m glad we’ve got him on our side. He can hold his own.”
“I know, and he’s all mine.”
“So the baby’s a girl, I hear.”
She nodded. “Yes, Rico’s going to have a little sister.”
Claire was smiling, happy, and Novak detected something that had been niggling at his mind since he’d met up with Claire earlier that day. He sensed some kind of new softness in her, something he’d rarely seen in the past, at least not when she was working a job. She was and always had been a hard-nosed, dedicated detective and had faced her share of bad guys, including more than one serial killer. She seemed different somehow. He wasn’t sure if the cause was the baby she was carrying or Rico’s adoption, or getting married or all of it together, but it was as becoming as hell. “Hey, know what, Morgan? Having a baby looks good on you.”
“Black says the same thing.”
“He’s worried about you getting hurt.”
“I know.” She glanced over at the screened porch where Black was talking on his cell and then returned her gaze to Novak. “Hey, what about that Lori Garner girl of yours? Is she going to join up with us? We could use another investigator for the hard stuff until after I deliver this baby.”
“She’s thinking about it.”
Claire looked pleased. “I figured you could talk her into it since you spent weeks at sea with her. All alone. Just the two of you.”
Novak had to smile. Claire would love for him to have a girlfriend. He wasn’t sure where his relationship with Lori was going, but he did know she was one hell of a woman. Claire already knew he liked her or he wouldn’t have invited her aboard his boat. She just wanted him to admit it. He decided to keep her guessing. “She’s got a mind of her own. She reminds me of you in that regard.”
“I like her already. Better question: Do you?”
“Yeah. She’s okay.”
“That’s high praise coming from you. You really, really like her, don’t you?”
“Like I said, she’s okay. She uses internet slang that I don’t understand and spouts computer stuff that’s way over my head, but she’s hell on wheels at online research.”
“Even better. So are you two getting it on?”
“Stop with the questions, Claire. We’ve got bigger problems on our hands.”
“So you do like her a lot. Well, knock me down with a feather, Novak. You’ve finally got a girlfriend? You? No way. I must be dreaming.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a good friend, and I trust her.”
“Yeah, right. Did you or did you not invite her to go sailing the deep blue sea with you? Just the two of you? Alone? What’d you do out there? Play Yahtzee all day?”
Novak changed the subject. “Where are we headed first?”
“You got Kellen’s office address?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is it well guarded?”
“Don’t know. How about checking that out right now?”
“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
“I missed you, Morgan.”
“Hey, that’s Black now.”
“Promise you’ll take care and not get hurt or put yourself i
n the hospital again?”
“You and Black are worse than a couple of British nannies.” She looked out on the porch at her husband. “He’s so excited about the baby, Novak. You just would not believe it.”
“I can see that. More reason to be careful and hang back when the bullets start flying.”
“Trust me, Novak. No bullets are getting anywhere near this baby.”
“Okay, I’ll hold you to that.”
Black came back in a hurry. “Jose’s heard of him. Says he’s an upstart over on this coast and not connected to any major underworld syndicate, not that he’s heard about, anyway. He knows about the black market adoptions, though he’s not down with that kind of thing at all. You know what a family man he is. He’s going to look into it at his end and call me back.”
“Excellent,” said Claire. “Now let’s go check out a sleazy lawyer’s office, but first I want to stop at McDonald’s and get a Big Mac and french fries.”
“That’s not exactly nutritious,” Black told her. “A salad would be better for the baby.”
“I’ll drink milk with it and choke down some vegetables tonight. Let’s get out of here. I want to enjoy this balmy climate. It rained the whole time we were in Rome.”
Black looked at Novak and shook his head. Novak grinned, but he knew this was serious stuff. Luckily, they were all three well armed, and that made Novak feel better.
Chapter 5
The Kellen Law Office was not hard to find. It was located between McGregor Boulevard and the Caloosahatchee River among the high towers in the renovated River District. That was coveted real estate in the city of Fort Myers, and no doubt envied by his fellow members of the local Bar Association, including Mrs. Osceola. Home to restaurants, private condos, shops, and offices, the building was built out of some kind of dull red tile that looked closer to dirty pink. It rose up high into the sky with clean, sharp lines and about a million black mirrored windows, intersected with abstract black steel beams set in stylized chevron patterns. Novak thought it was hideous.
They parked a block down the street and walked up the sidewalk to the gold-fringed maroon canopy heralding the front entrance. A uniformed doorman smiled and pressed a button. Hell, Novak could have done that. He wondered how much they paid the guy—not a bad gig, that. Inside, the atrium’s giant skylight nearly blinded them with reflected sun, maybe because of all the mirrors hanging around everywhere. Below the giant glass ceiling, a silver-flecked black marble floor was actually moving on conveyor-belt walkways that traversed posh boutiques and pricey restaurants. Again, Novak hated everything about it. He put on his aviator sunglasses to fight the glare inside, which was bolstering a fresh headache.
Off to his right, a ritzy restaurant called the Cordon Bleu had six French doors, all standing wide to reveal the classy interior replete with crisp white tablecloths, French crystal, and chandeliers dripping with tinkling prisms. Apparently, it was the place for all the big spenders in the offices upstairs to wine and dine their rich clients. Conversation areas dotted the lobby, all with red leather and chrome couches and chairs sitting around low, glass-topped tables. At the moment, most of them were filled with the aforementioned wealthy enjoying cocktails and/or awaiting for dinner reservaions.
In Novak’s practical PI view, it represented a perfect place to lose oneself inside a milling crowd of people too self-centered to notice anyone else. He headed straight for an empty table that was half-hidden behind two potted palms. More important, the spot had an unimpeded view of the entrance and the elevator bank. Black and Claire followed him and sat down in two scarlet-cushioned velvet chairs across from him.
“God, I hate this place. It looks like some kind of tacky mausoleum tearoom that Queen Victoria would crook her little finger in,” Claire commented, staring up at the mirrors around the skylight. Then it was back to business. “I’m going to pull up a photo of Max Kellen so we’ll recognize him when he strolls by, if he’s not already sitting out here watching us.” She pulled her iPad out of her big leather purse. Firing it up, she waited and then typed for a moment. She looked over at Novak. “He probably doesn’t do much advertising, I figure, considering his proclivity for stealing babies. Still, he’s got to put up a front and look legit, and that means he’s probably got ads promoting his law practice.”
When Black’s phone vibrated, he pulled it out of his pocket. Frowning down at the screen, he stood up. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this. Looks like some kind of emergency in Miami.”
Novak watched him walk away and stand by himself in front of a Palladian window overlooking a walled garden. Worried about being recognized, Novak shifted his gaze back and scanned the crowd for anybody wearing black leather and sporting tattoos and a gun bulge. He didn’t see any. People like that probably had to use the service elevator at the rear of the building. The Cordon Bleu appeared to be worth the wait for the people sitting around. Nobody was getting up and leaving.
The elevators were busy, one inside and one made of glass that moved up and down the outside of the building. Novak watched the doors open and close, hoping to get a bead on Kellen before he confronted him. Their research hadn’t turned up much, other than basic facts about his business operations. Everything in his bio was attorney related with little personal information found. Kellen kept his private life buttoned up and for good reason. He was a criminal. Novak wanted to know where this guy really lived and with whom, if he had partners or business associates, all of which had been conveniently left out of public records. Kellen would have weaknesses they could exploit, just like everybody else. Novak felt a wave of utter disgust. This man was the worst kind of human being, while masquerading as a saint who brought needy children together with unsuspecting adoptive parents. They had to bring him down, and bring him down hard.
Claire was pulling up some of her initial research on Kellen. She was good with computers, better than he was, but maybe not as savvy as Lori Garner. He hoped she’d come up with something he could use to get under Max Kellen’s skin. Concentrating on the screen, Claire furrowed her brow as her fingers flew over the keys. She looked good, all suntanned and healthy, her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Okay, Novak, you want to lay eyes on the latest photo of a rotten, despicable excuse for a so-called human being?”
Claire swiveled around the iPad so he could see the screen. Novak stared at the photograph she’d pulled up and enlarged. He hadn’t seen this picture before. Max Kellen did not look particularly impressive. In fact, he looked nondescript other than the self-satisfied expression on his face. The sleazy attorney looked like a scrawny little guy, but the picture was a headshot, so it could be deceiving. He wore one of those 1980s Tom Selleck mustaches, and he had thick brown hair, rather long but styled and gelled up in front. His eyes were large and brown and looked halfway intelligent, but that was yet to be determined. Novak took the iPad and scanned the biographical information under the picture. He already knew most of it. Kellen had been graduated from Rutgers University ten years ago before he went to law school. That probably made him in his midthirties, but he looked closer to midtwenties. In fact, he looked to Novak like a sophomore in high school. Plastic surgery must run as rampant in south Florida as it did in Hollywood Hills.
The bio went on with a lengthy account of how utterly splendid he was, how generous of time and how philanthropic, how much he enjoyed helping countless poor childless couples adopt needy, starving little children who longed for safe and loving homes. According to that drivel, he was dedicated and showed up at work each and every day with the sole purpose of helping another family unite with the perfect child, thus bringing endless joy and happiness to all. After that, the article gushed embarrassingly and unapologetically with more saccharine accolades, ending with a quote from the man himself, revealing that his blessed work with children was Kellen’s only and most sincere mission in life.
That bucket of bullshit w
as followed by heartfelt testimonials from appreciative and adoring adoptive parents who spouted respect, gratitude, and love for their bighearted attorney. Other photographs showed ecstatic American couples clutching blanket-swaddled babies who looked suspiciously like Central American children. Everything he read about the guy backed up Alcina Castillo’s accusations. Novak believed her. This guy had criminal intentions written all over him. He had to be good, though, to pull this kind of scam off for this long.
“He’s certainly not shy about publicizing his crimes, is he?” Novak glanced at Claire. “If we could find a way to match the kids up with their biological parents in Guatemala or wherever, these pictures alone could nail him.”
“All of whom are probably too poor, too far away, and too scared to accuse him of squat. If they’re from the small towns or hill villages down there, they might use midwives instead of hospitals. If that’s the case, they probably don’t have birth certificates, either. Alcina doesn’t have one for Rosa; I asked. If not for Eloise, they wouldn’t have a chance to get up here, much less find that baby.” Claire’s expression hardened, and she tilted her chin up to an angry angle that he knew only too well. There was a dogged determination now inside her eyes that was revealed by her next words. “I cannot wait to nail this guy to the wall, Novak. I want him down on his knees begging, and then I want to throw the book at him, and then I want to locate and return every kid he took and take them back to their real parents. I don’t care how long it takes or how much it costs or what we run into. We’re going to smash up his entire operation and rescue those kids.”
Novak nodded. “I agree. It’s not gonna be easy, though. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course, I understand that. When is anything ever easy when it comes to us?”
“Good point.”
They had run into their fair share of ugly cases, all right, with a couple of sociopaths along the way. Still, they had managed to solve most of them and remain alive. That’s how Novak gauged success: one breath at a time.