The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan

by Peter J Robinson

  It felt good being back, plus Whitland seemed genuinely pleased to see him. Royle had never been sure of his former boss’s age, but seeing him now, sitting behind his big desk beneath the twin flags of the United States and Florida, he surely could not be far off retirement. Without doubt the man’s face showed more lines than he remembered, plus the grey hairs had now taken over completely. He was also carrying extra pounds and seemed more than a little short of breath, perhaps already looking forward to chasing a golf ball around as his daily source of excitement. But then Whitland’s next words made him feel guilty for entertaining such thoughts.

  “Have to say you look in pretty good shape, Phillip, considering what you’ve been through overnight. I’ll arrange us something to drink.”

  He disappeared into Paula’s adjoining office and Royle used the time to reacquaint himself with his surroundings, though nothing appeared to have changed much. Whitland’s huge polished leather-topped desk still dominated the room, its sole adornments being the computer screen and keyboard, plus two green wire-mesh filing trays marked ‘In’ and ‘Out’. In addition to Whitland’s own leather-seated swivel chair, two identical versions faced the front of the desk, one of which Royle now occupied. And as it always had done, a large upholstered leather couch occupied one entire wall.

  The pictures, too, greeted him like old friends, particularly the enlarged colour photograph of Whitland singlehandedly sailing his yacht into Miami’s Bayfront Marina, whilst on the opposite wall hung one of Whitland and Royle with the marlin they had managed to get on board during a fishing trip down the Keys one summer.

  Whitland reappeared clutching a pile of papers Paula had asked him to sign.

  “You been buying my secretary flowers again? Won’t get you anywhere; she’s still married to that man of hers. How was the conference?”

  “The conference was good, but never mind me, what’s Dan Morgan been up to?”

  Whitland appeared uneasy. “To be honest we’re not sure what he’s working on. Couple of months back he mentioned people smuggling parrots in from Australia, but I heard nothing more. Right at this moment I’ve no idea what he’s doing. Or where he is.”

  “That bad?”

  “That bad,” repeated Whitland, rising to open the door for Paula.

  She placed the tray on the corner of the desk.

  “No biscuits, I’m afraid, the doctor’s put Doug on a diet so we all suffer.” Then she reached back onto the tray, handing Royle a brown envelope.

  He extracted his pictures of the airport photographer, checking them briefly before passing them to his temporary boss.

  “Any idea who that is?”

  “None whatsoever, though I’m guessing it’s important?” Whitland suggested, dropping his gaze to sign one of Paula’s letters.

  “We perhaps need to find out, then,” Royle confirmed. “I’m assuming only you, Paula and various airline and immigration staff knew I was arriving at Miami this morning, yet that person placed a public announcement for me. If you hear of a baggage porter named Diego found dead at the airport, then let me know. They took his picture not mine.”

  Whitland took a long thoughtful sip from his mug.

  “We seriously need to get our backsides into gear on this one, Phillip. Start searching for Dan as a matter of priority, without getting sidetracked.”

  But then he paused, Royle guessing his former boss was considering whether or not to mention something.

  “There’s already one possible line of enquiry; Paula thinks Dan may have been getting information from out near your place. I took the liberty of telling them you’re back. We could drive out there tomorrow, while you collect some clothes and things?”

  Royle nodded his approval, realising something needed clarifying. He pointed a finger at his own chest.

  “Am I right in thinking I’m back on the payroll? As a badge-carrying member of the Department?”

  “You damned better believe it. We’re counting on your experience to both help track down Dan and get to grips with whatever he’s working on.”

  Royle watched Whitland add his signature to another of Paula’s letters, before looking back up at him.

  “I’m allocating you a partner on this job,” Whitland said, picking up the phone and dialling a number.

  “Have you got a minute?” Royle heard him ask, before seconds later in walked a young woman he had met briefly over breakfast at last week’s conference. Perhaps in her mid-thirties, Charlie Lacey had that imperceptible something, hinting at what, back in the UK, might be referred to as a ‘respectable middle-class upbringing’. A conclusion doubtless supported by the Cartier watch she wore, though with a noticeable lack of any accompanying jewellery – including the absence of any rings.

  “You never made it back to London, then, Phillip?”

  Royle smiled. “I got hijacked, Charlie.”

  “Charlie’s been partnering Dan since she joined us a few months back,” explained Whitland.

  Largely for the benefit of his new partner, Royle outlined how they needed to establish whether the mystery airport photographer was related to Dan’s disappearance and, if so, how? But then something else occurred to Royle, something that needed addressing as a matter of urgency. He turned to Whitland.

  “You’ve paired Charlie and me, but is either one of us taking the lead role? Or do we play this by ear?”

  * * *

  Whitland leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the leather-covered desk, hands together, fingers interlocked. Experience already told him that Royle was not going to be overly impressed with the partnership arrangement, but he was prepared to stand his ground. He prided himself on knowing pretty much all that went on amongst his staff, admittedly with the benefit of whatever Paula could add. Consequently, he was aware of Charlie’s ambitions within the Department. It therefore followed that she had a personal interest in any answer he gave to Royle’s question. But he also knew that in terms of overall experience Royle was on a different planet to her, so as tactfully as he felt able, and looking particularly in Charlie’s direction, Whitland addressed the pair.

  “I already considered that. I would prefer you to work side by side,” he explained from his seat under the twin flags of authority. “However, given Phillip’s experience in what Dan seems to have been working on, if there is any disagreement then I suggest he gets the casting vote.”

  From the expression on the young woman’s face Whitland got the clear impression that this arrangement might not run as smoothly as he hoped. However, he also prided himself on knowing the weaknesses of his agents, in which case Royle was not without his faults – he and Dan Morgan both. Nevertheless, he realised the futility of pursuing the discussion for the time being.

  However, Whitland also knew Royle’s own investigative style involved him sometimes withholding important information, at least until he decided there was a need to make it public. He had spoken to Royle about this whilst he still worked for the Department, though it seemed unlikely that several subsequent years of operating independently for various governments around the world would have made him any more forthcoming. Whitland knew, too, that Royle’s personal style of criminal investigation relied substantially upon his individual, but nonetheless proven, ability – to the point where he often appeared reluctant to spend long hours, as Royle described it, ‘wasting time searching departmental or national databases’. According to him, people-based enquiries called for a people-based approach. Similarly, Whitland had more than once spoken to Royle about his unhealthy tendency to get himself, and others, involved in dangerous situations without first ensuring adequate backup.

  All things considered, then, Whitland realised he needed to watch this new pairing closely – particularly as it seemed likely Charlie might be the main casualty. Though, knowing what he did about her background, he had every confidence in her ability to look aft
er herself. For the time being, though, he could do little more than be aware of the potential for disunity within this new pairing. He just needed to sit back now and see who emerged as the winner of this little battle.

  Whitland was also intrigued that Charlie had not asked him how come he was employing the temporary services of some special agent from England, deciding she had probably meant to but had perhaps overlooked the point in the general discussion. In which case she was doubtless still keen to know the answer. Though, interestingly, it now seemed likely that the task of offering an explanation fell to Royle himself.

  Having advanced the partnership issue as far as possible, Whitland commenced clearing his desk, starting by tossing an envelope in Royle’s direction.

  “That’s everything Paula pulled off Dan’s workspace she thought might be relevant. Have a go through it, Phillip. We three will meet here around eight-thirty in the morning, before heading on out for the day. Phillip will fill you in on that, Charlie.”

  Royle turned to Paula as he opened the envelope. “I need you to extend the car rental for me until there’s a spare departmental vehicle, while I get across to the bank.”

  “Which reminds me,” interrupted Whitland, “you should also speak with those bureaucrats upstairs about money, and a contract.”

  “Will do, but one more question.”

  “If you must,” the older man muttered, beginning to move papers in the direction of his ‘Out’ tray.

  “When did anyone last see Dan?”

  “Don’t think I saw him the whole week before I went off to Mexico,” Charlie responded.

  Whitland’s brow was badly furrowed. “Could have seen him early that same week, but I can’t swear to it.”

  “Then at the risk of asking the obvious, have we searched his apartment?”

  “Got our security people to break in last Friday. There’s a new lock; Paula has the key.”

  Paula, meanwhile, was in the process of clearing away the mugs and heading for her office, before pausing at the doorway. “I’d just like to say how nice it is having Phil back with us again. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”

  * * *

  Their meeting now over, Royle too headed for Paula’s office, leaving Whitland to continue purging his desk of paperwork. Charlie, though, exited directly into the main corridor, leaving little room for doubt she was unhappy with the new arrangement. Plus of course it meant Royle was unable to do as Whitland instructed and update her on arrangements for the following day. Focusing upon more immediate matters for the moment, he handed Paula the rental agreement.

  She stood looking at him. “You don’t look a day older, damn it. How is it men can do that, whilst we poor women don’t just get older, we also look older?”

  Royle grinned. “I’ve heard that suggested, but I don’t buy it. Or certainly not in your case – you’re still just as stunning. Anyway, there are two attractive ladies in the office now, though I already appear to be out of favour with one of them.”

  The ‘power behind the throne’ placed a hand lightly on his arm. “Give her time. She’s a great girl but she’s ambitious. She also has this idea of higher enforcement standards here in America than in Europe. And as you’re always telling me, understanding the problem is half the solution.”

  “In a short while I’ll be out of here again, so it’s in Charlie’s interests to stick with it and hope any credit lands in her direction. Though I suspect she’s not seeing it that way. What I’m not sure of, though, is does she know what to pack for tomorrow? Could be a long day.”

  Paula dialled a number on her desk phone before passing him the receiver.

  “Special Agent Lacey.”

  “Charlie, it’s Phillip. Regarding tomorrow, I suggest bringing something for overnight, just in case. See you in the morning.” He replaced the handset, his expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

  “She’s upset, Phil. She’ll come around.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the situation with Dan’s wife, Sharon. She presumably knows he’s missing?”

  “Dan and Sharon separated months back; there’s another man in her life now. Doug explained how Dan seems to have gone off the reservation, that we’re trying to find out where he is and what he’s up to. As for Charlie, give her time to see things Doug’s way. She really doesn’t have any choice.”

  “One more thing, then I really must get to the bank. Has Dan got a new woman?”

  “What on earth made you think of that one?”

  “Easy. Here we are trying to trace Dan’s movements and all we’re coming up with is what we don’t know. If he has hooked up with someone new, then she could have some answers.”

  Paula made her way back around to her chair. “Nothing I’ve heard suggests Dan’s involved with another woman. And if you believe what Sharon says about his mental condition then no woman would probably want him.”

  Royle looked puzzled.

  “Talk to Sharon. He’s not the Dan you remember.”

  Three

  Whitland was surprised to find Royle already in the building when he arrived next morning. Agreeing it looked like being a long day they decided to go with Royle’s suggestion and take the rental Chevy, for no other reason than that it kept the mileage down on Department vehicles.

  Royle raised the matter of Dan’s now estranged wife, Sharon.

  “I told her Dan’s gone missing. Not that she seemed too concerned,” Whitland responded.

  Royle was about to mention his new partner when Whitland raised the subject himself.

  “Charlie somehow gained the idea that enforcement standards are higher in America than in Europe. Hopefully you’re going to enlighten her on that one.”

  Then he hesitated, obviously choosing his words carefully. “She’s a likeable and intelligent young woman, Master’s in Behavioural Psychology, but as a criminal investigator she’s still a beginner. If necessary, she’ll have to find out the hard way just how inexperienced she is.”

  Royle was surprised to hear Whitland had so much to say about a fellow staff member, deciding it must be down to the pressure the older man was under. Whatever the reason, the day ahead beckoned and the pair of them made their way down to the basement car park, collecting Charlie on the way.

  Royle headed west out of Fort Lauderdale on Interstate 75, then north up Route 27 towards the west end of Lake Okeechobee, roughly two hours away. Traffic was light, the sun was bright, and the local radio station was predicting high temperatures.

  As Royle had anticipated, the morning’s drive was a rather tense affair, both men making a conscious effort to keep any conversation on neutral ground. He realised Charlie must be wondering what his previous connection with the Department might be, but given her unfavourable reaction to their enforced partnership he was unsure how to approach the subject.

  * * *

  Charlie also decided to play the whole thing down, realising that at some point soon all would hopefully be revealed. She had been through a tough few days. As at all such conferences she had experienced late nights and early lecture sessions, plus she had slept badly last night. For some inexplicable reason she could not get the events of the past few days out of her mind, plus she felt offended by Royle’s unexplained appearance on the scene. Neither could she help noticing how relaxed he and Whitland appeared with each other.

  She had met Royle by chance over breakfast the morning following his conference talk. He had introduced himself and asked the usual questions regarding where she was from and what her interests were. He had also explained how he worked mainly on freelance government contracts in matters of wildlife law enforcement.

  “You must travel a lot, then?” she had suggested.

  He had nodded in response. “Guess I do.”

  “And you work for yourself?”

  “For whoev
er asks me, but mostly that’s governments.”

  She had found Royle’s conference paper particularly interesting. Briefly he had outlined the difficulties posed for international wildlife enforcement by so-called ‘lookalike species’ – relatively common birds and other animals that nevertheless resemble endangered ones. Persuasively he had argued against imposing an endangered status upon these lookalikes solely to prevent their use to cover illegal imports of rarer kinds, instead suggesting the employment of customs officers skilled in species identification.

  “The UK’s Environment Minister seemed quite upset by your talk,” she had suggested, recalling how he had shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

  “You don’t get any prizes for upsetting Giles Bamfield. We’ve known each other for years; he always was an idiot.”

  “We could tell you’re not on his Christmas list.”

  She remembered how carefully he had considered his response. “I naturally get suspicious when politicians urge me not to worry over their proposals to allow trade in wildlife they previously said was threatened by that same trade.”

  “Was that what Bamfield was getting his knickers in a twist over?”

  Royle had leaned across, refilling both their coffee cups. “The UK government proposes removing endangered status from a small bird confined to an equally small Caribbean island. A UK protectorate.” He had paused, apparently ensuring he had her attention. “The bird’s entire world population amounts to a couple of hundred individuals, all on that one island. What do you think the UK government’s up to?”

  “You tell me.”

  “A big multinational company discovered important mineral deposits on the island. It wants to mine them, and the UK government’s worried about possible objections over any threat to the bird, so they’re proposing to downgrade its protection status.”

  “I guess that’s governments for you,” Charlie had joked, immediately realising he was not in the least amused.

  “What if I tell you Bamfield’s father is company chairman?”