by William Cook
“Jesus, Charley. We gotta get this stuff to the District Attorney pronto. Get her to start building the case for the Grand Jury. Get these sonsofbitches indicted for Trafficking in Persons, Aggravated Murder, Kidnapping. Throw the book at ’em.”
“First things first.” He turned to Chiara. “Please put out an APB on Paul Drake, wanted on suspicion of murder. Call Newport, Salem, and Portland with a complete heads-up. We’re not sure where he’s going.”
“How about we start with the bugs you planted at his house?” suggested Chiara. “Maybe Paul went back there right after the fire to get some stuff. The comics you told me about?”
Whitehorse switched channels to Paul Drake’s residence.
“No, Vas. That was not us. You know we do not torch buildings unless you tell us to.” Oleg was walking around the room with the phone to his ear, while Pavel remained seated on the couch. “We do not know where he is. We have been here more than an hour and there is no sign of him.” He grimaced. “Perhaps they have run off?” The expression on his face told his partner that that was the wrong question to ask. “Of course, we will find them. I will call as soon as we have something.” He returned the phone to his pocket and looked at Pavel. “Vas is not happy. There was a news bulletin. The crabbers’ warehouse in Depoe Bay is burning down as we speak. Exploded.”
“Dermo! Were they in it?”
Oleg shrugged his shoulders. “We can only hope. Let us go find out.”
“Shall we take the comic book?” An impish grin spread across his face.
The Russian patted his partner’s cheek. “We are not thieves, Pavel. We are professionals. Now come.”
“As you say, Oleg.”
“Vas?” Chiara asked.
“Vasily Valkov. Just as we suspected.”
“Who’re these other guys—Oleg and Pavel? Anybody we know?” Esperanza looked toward his partner for answers.
“Last year, after Sokolov and the Chaos debacle, I looked up what’s known about Volkov and his operations. I’ve kept a file on my computer. Let’s take a look.” He entered some keystrokes and sighed. “Here they are. Model citizens.”
Esperanza read the text below the pictures. “Oleg Kusnetsov and Pavel Morozov. Lots of indictments—murder, extortion, bribery, arson. No friggin’ convictions.” He shook his head back and forth. “Witnesses recant their testimony. Some disappear. Evidence vanishes. And they look like bankers, for Chrissakes.”
“Big names on the hit parade—not just a little Portland muscle.” Whitehorse pursed his lips. “Something’s so important down here that Volkov sent two of his finest. And it sounded like they’re headed to Depoe Bay. If we’re not too late, let’s go join ’em.”
He was out of his chair, reaching for his coat. Esperanza followed suit.
“The pots were full, Chiara. Check the receiver every twenty minutes or so to make sure we don’t miss anything. And keep us posted.”
“Watch yourselves, guys. I don’t like this at all. You’re up against real badasses now.”
Esperanza smiled back at her. “Don’t we know it, HD. But we can be pretty badass ourselves.”
They took two cars in case one of them had to respond to another call. The rain had resumed in earnest, and Esperanza increased the speed of the wipers. He spoke to his partner over the radio. “Good news. This weather should help Ted get that fire out in a hurry. Suppose they’ll find anything?”
“Nope. Paul’s on the run somewhere, disposing of his brother’s body. No pings on his phone, so he’s out in the woods somewhere. Lots of dead zones.”
“Speaking of which, nobody’s ever found Carmody’s car, and we know she had one. Where do you suppose they dumped it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. There’s a lot of country in Oregon.”
They were silent after that for the remainder of the drive. As they entered the small town, thick clouds of smoke rolled like noisome waves down the main street. Smells of burnt wood and plastic and charred metal soon filled their cars. Fire engines and emergency vehicles, blue and red lights flashing, blocked the intersection, and the policemen were forced to park more than two blocks away. Whitehorse pulled his coat collar up and stepped out into the “Oregon sunshine” to greet his partner, emerging from the other car.
“At least we won’t get thirsty,” groused Esperanza as he pushed his cap over his head.
“If you do, just tilt your head up and open your mouth.”
“Well, thanks, I’ll remember that.” He shook his head. “Jesus, this place stinks. And where’s Ted?”
“I’m guessing he’s around the corner at what’s left of our crime scene. Let’s go.”
They hurried down the sidewalk, passing firemen covered with ash and grime, leaning against their trucks, one raising a bottled water to his lips, another making small talk as he rested from the ordeal. One waved at the policemen.
They spotted the Fire Chief standing before a smoldering pile of rubble, gesturing with his arms like a general ordering his troops, orchestrating the battle. “Hey, Tony. Charley. I think we’ve got it.” He motioned them over. “This rain has been a blessing. We’re just finishing off the hotspots with our hoses.”
Whitehorse moved toward him. “You think it was set?”
“Sure do. Accelerants. And one of our guys found a piece of a propane tank down the street. You know, like they use for barbeque grills. That’s probably what exploded. Probably more than one.”
“Any chance you could find any blood in there?”
“Not likely. It burned real hot. Whose blood, if I can ask?”
“I put a bug in there, and we have a recording of what we’re pretty sure was the murder of Gideon Drake, one of the local crab fishermen.”
“Good God! Any idea who did it?”
“His brother, Paul. But keep a lid on it, if you would. We think he’s out somewhere right now disposing of the body. Just put an APB on him.”
The fireman shook his head in disbelief. Then he began whistling.
Esperanza touched his shoulder. “I recognize that song. What is it? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
Ames smiled. “Monty Python. ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.’”
The big policeman guffawed and patted the Chief on the back. “Even in this, you keep a sense of humor, black as it is.”
“It’s all we’ve got, Tony. Keeps us human.” He took a deep breath, then shivered as the rain kept pouring from the sky. “I meant to tell you. Couple well-dressed dudes were walking around here, asking questions. Thought at first they might be insurance agents, but I don’t know. Not sure where they went.”
“Russian?” Whitehorse said.
“Yeah, I think. Spoke the King’s English, but both had accents so thick you could cut them with a knife. Somebody you know?”
“Afraid so.” He sighed. “Remember at the Chaos fire last year when I asked you not to let it get out that Sokolov was shot, for fear of a turf war with Portland? Well, these guys are from Portland.”
Ames grimaced. “What the hell are they doing here now, in No Name, USA?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. And Paul Drake just burned down our crime scene.”
“Goddamn.”
Just then, another fireman came rushing over. “Hey, Boss. Looks like we found a valve to another propane tank. And some gas cans.”
“Thanks, Richard.” Turning to the policemen, he said, “Just like I told you. Always look on the bright side of life.”
The men shook hands and wished each other well. On the way back to their cruisers, Whitehorse turned to Esperanza. “We can check local stores and gas stations to see if he bought the propane and gas recently. Get him on arson, too.” He opened his car door. “I need a hot coffee. Take the chill off. You?”
“You buying?”
“Sure. I’ll spring for it.”
“Then lead the way.”
A few minutes later, they were shaking the rain from their coats and hats a
s they slid into a booth at Casey’s Coffee.
A young waitress in a short black skirt and a white blouse whisked to their table. “What can I get you guys started with?”
“Two coffees, black.” Whitehorse was looking past her to the display case. “Those cheese Danish fresh?”
“Yep. About an hour ago.”
“OK. Two of those, too.” He looked absently out the rear window at the surf crashing over a shelf of rock, then turned back to his partner. “I’m feeling kind of underwater with this case,” he confessed. “So many details. My head is spinning.”
“Well, it’s only a matter of time before we catch Drake. They’ll spot his SUV and nail his ass.”
“Speaking of which, where’s his brother’s truck?”
“Good question. It wasn’t at the warehouse. Let’s check Gideon’s place before we leave town.”
“Yeah, but I bet we won’t find it there. I still think Paul wants us to believe he and his brother fled together. He’s hidden the truck somewhere.”
“Well, he hasn’t had a helluva lot of time to do it. Things have been happening real fast. Let’s have Chiara put the word out on the truck, too.”
“Works for me.”
The waitress arrived with their steaming mugs of coffee and two warm cheese Danish. “Thank you,” Whitehorse said as he took a sip. He smiled at Esperanza. “I don’t imagine Paul will want to give up Volkov when we catch him.”
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Unless, of course, we tell him that Volkov sent two of his henchmen here to make him and his brother disappear.”
“Offer him Witness Protection?”
“That’s the ticket. ’Course I hate to see the little weasel skate.”
“It’d be worth it if we could take down Volkov.”
Esperanza nodded as he took another bite of Danish. “That would be a homerun. Hell, a final touchdown in Sudden Death Overtime. Let’s make it happen.”
“What do you make of the missing kids?”
“Sex toys for our bad guy?”
“Except everything we know about Volkov gives no hint of perversions. The sonofabitch is a family man. Trophy wife of many years. Two grown and very successful kids. Hell, except for a little murder, bribery, extortion, and drug-running, he’s an all-around Citizen of the Year.”
Esperanza chuckled and took another sip of coffee. “So, who gets the toys?”
“That’s the multi-million-dollar question. The missing kids are so important that the Dragon Brothers killed Carl and his crew to keep it secret. Volkov’s suits say that what’s happening with Elysium is too crucial to leave any loose ends like Paul and Gideon. What’s bigger than anything else Volkov has been into?”
“Got me, bro. I just work here.”
“Didn’t the Russians say they were going to lure the brothers with talk of another boat in Newport? A new job and a different boat? Which sounds like maybe they’ve been using Smaug for some kind of action off Driftwood.” His eyes went wide and he leaped to his feet. “Ferrying sex toys out to Elysium every three months!”
“Christ, Charley! Don’t give yourself a coronary!”
He sat back down. “That’s gotta be it. Disposable sex toys every quarter.”
“OK. So Elysium is a boat. But if Volkov is such an upstanding gentleman, and he isn’t on Elysium, who is?”
“Exactly, my friend. Exactly.”
32. Fog Lifting
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 2019. It was getting harder to remember things consistently. She knew she was on a boat, but at times couldn’t recall how she got there. And the boat was so big it felt more like a hotel. Her stateroom was a suite unlike any she had ever been in before. It sported a four-poster canopied bed, exquisite lace curtains over the enormous windows, marble bath with gold fixtures, and a shower stall that seemed half the size of her apartment in Neskowin. Some days she would lose herself in the abstract expressionist paintings that hung from the teak-paneled walls. Other days, she would find herself staring at the figured koa tabletop in front of the sofa, mesmerized by its chatoyancy. There. She recalled that word. The cat’s eye effect of certain gems and woods, according to Ethan. The sheen of the koa seemed almost three-dimensional, as though she might fall into it if she weren’t careful. Ethan knew so many things.
He taught her how to inject herself between her toes so she wouldn’t have any unsightly tracks on her arms. He taught her to manage her dose of the pills he supplied so she wasn’t always falling asleep at inopportune times. Ethan even showed her a more efficient way of rolling a joint, with, of course, the best weed she had ever smoked.
So why was she unhappy, living in the lap of luxury, dining on the most exotic food and drink? Simply put—the cost of all this pleasure was more than she could have imagined, more than she could afford. She was every bit the prisoner she had been before, except this wasn’t a closet. She had no life of her own. No family, no friends, no leisure pursuits but the drugs. Gone were her dreams of returning to art and painting a masterpiece, of listening to her mother criticize the choices she had made, of falling in love with a man who loved her in return. She existed solely to satisfy Ethan’s every whim. She lived at his discretion. After a particularly rough bout of sex with him one night, she had made the mistake of asking where the others were. His answer, “They were no longer necessary,” still made her shudder.
That’s when she had begun to cut back on the drugs. She hadn’t wanted to go cold turkey and plunge into the abyss of withdrawal. Instead, she opted for weaning herself off her “medicine,” as Ethan called it. Slowly. Gradually. Not painfully, if possible. She needed to emerge from the fog, to think clearly again. As before, she used her anger to focus and intensify her will to survive—rage at Paul and Gideon and Carl—men who had thrown her away as though she were so much garbage.
Patricia Carmody was determined to escape one last time.
Ethan joined her for dinner that night. He followed the black-suited server into the suite, as she rolled the meal tray in.
“Hello, bitch,” he said. “How was your day?”
She looked at him as he entered, remarking again at his dark, curly hair and his smooth complexion. He looked as though he might pose for GQ. Her voice betrayed no emotion. “Just like yesterday. How was yours?”
“Great. Did a little shopping in the hotel.”
“What hotel?”
“Hotel de Haro.”
“Never heard of it. Where are we?”
“Roche Harbor on San Juan Island. I thought you knew.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t get out much, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“You got a problem with that? Are you turning into an ungrateful cunt after all I’ve given you?”
“No, no, Ethan. I just look forward to the time when I can get outside again. See some of this for myself. Breathe some fresh air.”
“You’ll get outside when you’ve been…better trained.” She heard an ominous edge in his voice. She struggled not to anger him for fear of what the sex would be like later that evening.
“Will that be all, sir?” The server was still standing there.
“Yeah, get lost.” To Patricia he said, “We got a pretty good Cab to go with our lamb chops tonight. I’ll pour.”
“Please.”
She found it hard to fall asleep. Although Ethan was careful never to leave a mark, his ministrations tonight had been painful. She reached for the pills at her bedside—an easy end to pain and a blissful fall into dreamless sleep—but then she hurled the bottle across the room. “No!” she said aloud. In a softer voice, she whispered, “I will escape. Or die trying to.” I need a plan, she thought. And reconnaissance has to come first.
The next morning, she arose early and took extra time with her face and hair. What did her mother used to say? You get more flies with honey than vinegar? She wasn’t sure that was true, but she knew she might be more persuasive with Ethan if she looked her best. The irony that she might be “auditioning” afte
r all was not lost on her. She chose an airy blue silk dress that made the most of her body’s natural curves while still remaining fairly modest. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders in a shimmering cascade. Dark eye liner, brilliant red lipstick and gloss concentrated the effect. A last look in the mirror assured her she was ready.
Ethan entered without knocking at nine o’clock. “Breakfast is almost here. I’ve ordered…” He stopped in mid-sentence. “Damn you look hot.”
“I did it for you. After last night.” She smiled and looked away.
“To hell with breakfast. Let’s get it on.”
She interrupted him by touching a perfumed finger to his lips and flashing a coquettish grin. “Think of how much fun it will be tonight if you deny yourself now and dream about it all day.”
His eyes narrowed and she feared he might strike her, but then he relaxed and smiled. “OK. OK. But you better really put out for me tonight.”
The server appeared at the door with several covered dishes on a rolling tray. When Ethan motioned her in, she entered the suite and uncovered the plates, revealing Eggs Benedict with crab, fingerling potatoes, and sourdough toast. She carried the plates to the table and poured two cups of coffee. Looking toward her master, she received a dismissive nod and left without speaking a word.
“It looks wonderful, Ethan. Thank you.”
“I’m gonna be gone most of the day. Tell me you’ll miss me.”
“Of course. But may I ask a favor after we’ve finished breakfast?”
Again, his eyes narrowed and a frown turned the corners of his lips. “What do you want?”
“Would you take me on a walk outside this room? Even just a short one. I’d love to see a little more of your marvelous ship and have you tell me about it as we go. I’ll hold your hand the whole way.” She paused, then added, “I think it’s amazing that someone as young as you owns something as grand as this. You must be very successful in what you do.”
He smiled at the flattery. “I’ll think about it. For now, let’s eat.”
After their final cup of coffee, Ethan replaced his napkin on the table and arose. He extended his hand to her. “C’mon. I’ll give you a tour of this deck.”