"No. Whoever did that was a professional; there was no trace evidence. Lots of different fingerprints in his office, but nothing to match them to, except Murphy and Canaday. We're kind of stuck."
"Well, thanks for the update. We need to go ashore and clear in, so we'd best get on with it. If we can help with feet on the ground in Martinique, let us know," Paul said.
"I'll do that. Give Phillip my best when you see him."
"Sure will," Paul said.
"Goodbye, Cedric, and thanks," Connie said, as Paul disconnected the call.
"It's not great quality," Guillermo Montalba said, as he and his sister watched the video of O'Toole and Gator Jaw Ryan killing Dick Kilgore.
"Good enough," she said. "There's no problem identifying them."
"That's so," Guillermo said. "And no question that they were both involved. Too bad it was Ryan that stabbed him; it would have been better if O'Toole had been the one with the knife."
"That's okay; he was part of it. He was the one that chained the concrete blocks to his feet before they dumped him. My husband-to-be," she said, giggling. "When is Ryan going down?"
"I'm thinking about keeping him alive. Wait until you hear this." He put a microSD card into a small audio recorder and pressed the button, watching Graciella as she took in the conversation between O'Toole and Ryan over their breakfast in the diner.
She laughed when O'Toole told Ryan he was going to marry her, and paused the playback. "He's assuming I'll say yes," she said, smiling at Guillermo.
"I wondered," he said. "You hadn't mentioned that he'd actually committed himself. He hasn't asked you, then?"
"No. That's typical of the egotistical bastard. He's so sure of himself. Now I'm tempted to make him sweat when he finally does get around to it. Cocky son of a whore."
"You shouldn't insult whores like that," Guillermo said. "And don't mess around with him. It's taken too long to set this up for you to blow it now, just for the sake of teasing him."
"I know what I'm doing when it comes to teasing, 'mano. You of all people should know that." She pressed the 'play' button and listened to the rest of the recording.
"What do you think?" he asked, when it ended.
"About Ryan?" she asked.
He nodded.
"It could be useful to have a video of the attorney general and the president killing a drug dealer and dumping the body in the Everglades," she said.
He smiled. "And the rest of it? You're going to be the first lady of the United States. Ready for that? It's a big responsibility."
"I think I can handle it. Besides, my big brother's going to put the president's cojones right in the palm of my hand." She licked her full lips. "Not to mention his best friend's, too. I wonder if I could get the two of them to — "
"Basta, Gracie! I don't like it when you talk like that, even in jest."
"It would be fun," she said, giving him a sultry look. "Too bad you can't join in. There's just one thing that could be a problem, though." She pursed her lips and frowned.
"What's that?" Guillermo asked.
"What if he doesn't get elected?"
"It's taken care of," Guillermo said. "His opponent is on video doing unspeakable things. There will be leaks."
"His opponent?" she said. "But we don't know who that is, yet."
"It doesn't matter, does it?" Guillermo said. "There's plenty of time to make it happen."
30
“Listen, Paul," Connie said. They were at the outside counter of a patisserie in the marina at Le Marin, waiting to order espresso. "Do you hear that man's voice coming from the restaurant behind us?"
Paul cocked his head and started to turn to look over the waist-high wall into the restaurant. Connie put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from turning.
"Don't look," she said. "I think it's Canaday. I recognize the voice. You can see him in the reflection in that window." She inclined her head to the right. "He's talking with a woman sitting at the table with him."
"I see him," Paul said, "but he's not talking right now. With the dark glasses hiding his eyes, I can't say for sure. That guy's nose looks wrong, though."
"It looks bruised and swollen," Connie said, "but I'm sure about the voice."
"If you say so, I believe you," Paul said. "They just left. Come on." He grasped her elbow and led her toward the entrance to the restaurant.
"But — "
"Come on," he urged. "They left through the side door."
As he led her into the restaurant, she asked, "What are you doing?"
"Being a detective. Hurry up." He ushered her to the table where the couple had been sitting and held a chair for her.
She sat, and he took the chair in which the man had been sitting. When he wrapped a paper napkin around the empty juice glass by the man's dirty plate, she grinned. "Slick," she said.
He slipped the glass in the pocket of his cargo shorts. "Worth a try."
"Bonjour," a waitress said, approaching the table.
"Good morning," Paul said. "Two double espressos, please."
"Oui," the waitress said. "Anything else?"
"The man and woman who were here a few minutes ago," Paul said. "They looked familiar. I think we met them somewhere. Do you know them, by any chance?"
"They live on that yacht, the one called Bellefleur," she said, gesturing toward the docks. "The woman, she waits for some days before the man joins her. Two days, maybe."
"Okay," Paul said. "I guess I was mistaken. The couple we met were on a different yacht. Thanks, though."
"De rien," the waitress said. "You want only the espresso? Or something more?" She picked up the dirty dishes.
"Only the espressos, thanks," Paul said.
When the waitress left, Connie said, "Planning to send fingerprints to Cedric?"
"And Luke," Paul said. "May as well cover all the bases."
"We should have plenty of time before we meet Phillip and Sandrine for lunch," Connie said.
Paul looked at the clock on the wall behind the bar. "A couple of hours, anyway," he said. "Not long enough for a match, but I can at least get that started. We should drink up and hustle back to the boat."
"Should we call Sandrine and ask her to check on Bellefleur?" Connie asked.
"May as well wait until I get a yes or no on the fingerprints," Paul said, as the waitress brought their espressos.
"What caused your change of plans?" Phillip asked. "I thought you were headed for the Tobago Cays to hang out for a few days by yourselves."
"We were," Connie said, "But the trip seemed cursed. There were a couple of things. First, we found Windsong adrift in the aftermath of somebody's attack on Marian Canaday and her boyfriend."
"We heard about that from Cedric," Phillip said.
"He has had us on the lookout for the husband," Sandrine added, "but that man, he is the chameleon. We know he is here, but not what name he uses. Maybe he is disguising himself, too, because we try to match the picture Cedric sent with the video of the people who come from the flight he took. But no luck."
"You said a couple of things made you change your mind," Phillip said. "What was the other one?"
"Probably you want to visit us, yes?" Sandrine said, smiling at Connie. "I was so late coming to Miami, we didn't get much time besides Mario's party."
"Well, it's always nice to see you," Connie said, returning the smile, "but we got a warning that two different groups of people were planning to attack us between St. Lucia and Bequia, so we decided we should go somewhere else for a while."
"Wise choice," Phillip said. "Where did the warning come from? Luke?"
"No," Connie said, "my cousin, but that's another story."
"I do not know you have a cousin," Sandrine said.
"I'm not sure what to make of him," Connie said. "I should tell you about him another time, though. It's a long story, and I don't even know a lot about him. He's apparently some kind of undercover agent. Anyway, he warned us that two different groups we
re on Canaday's trail. They both thought we were helping him get away, so they wanted to question us. One bunch worked for some guy named Oscar Jefferson, who we've never heard of, and the other was SpecCorp. Remember them?"
"Of course," Phillip said. "They were after you once before. Any clue who keeps sending them?"
"My cousin sounded like he might know, but he couldn't tell me. He thought the Jefferson contingent planned to hit us off St. Vincent, but he didn't know much about SpecCorp's plans. So anyway, we decided to turn around."
"Right. This just makes good sense," Sandrine said. "And we are happy you are here. I will maybe take some time off and we can do the shopping, yes?"
"Sure," Connie said. "That would be nice."
"I'd be careful, though, even here," Phillip said. "I don't know about Jefferson, but I'm sure SpecCorp will manage to find you."
"They already did," Paul said. "Right after we decided to turn around, they attacked us. We were off the south end of St. Lucia."
"What happened?" Sandrine asked.
"Two men in a go-fast boat boarded us," Connie said. "They died in the attempt, and then their boat blew up."
Phillip smiled at that and Sandrine gave Connie a long look.
After a few seconds, Sandrine asked, "But you are all right, yes?"
"We're fine," Paul said. "What's new with you two in the last couple of weeks?"
"I've been taking it easy," Phillip said, "but Sandrine's been really busy. We had a double murder in the last couple of days. She's up to her eyeballs in the investigation."
"Why are you involved in a murder investigation? What's that got to do with customs?" Connie asked Sandrine.
"The victims, they worked in a clinique, not far from Marin. He is the chirurgien plastique, and the other victim, she is his assistant in making the surgeries. This clinique, it is thought to be popular with the criminals, and maybe terrorists, yes? Those who wish to change their appearance. My people have been going through all the customs and immigration records, looking for the high-profile someone who may be the suspect."
"You think they operated on someone who then killed them so that they couldn't identify him?" Paul asked.
"Yes. Exactly. This is what we think."
Paul and Connie traded glances. "How about Canaday?" Connie asked.
"Who is this?" Sandrine asked.
"The man Cedric is looking for," Phillip said. "Canaday is one of the names he has used."
"Oh, yes. I remember that now. You think he would do such an extreme thing?" Sandrine asked.
"Maybe," Paul said. "Rumor is he's stolen several hundred million dollars from a man who launders money for some drug lords."
"That's an incentive, all right," Phillip said.
"But already we are looking for him, and he is nowhere," Sandrine said.
"That could explain the dark glasses and the bruised and swollen nose," Connie said.
"Yes," Paul said. "You tell them about it; I'm going to call Luke and build a fire under him about those prints."
Paul came back to the table as Sandrine finished a call on her own cellphone.
"I called my office," Sandrine said. "Bellefleur, she belong to an American woman. She bring the boat here with the delivery crew last week. The crew was discharged and left Martinique by air the day after they arrive. There is no record of a man aboard. Of course, this would be normal, if he comes aboard here. She would be adding him to the ship's papers when she is clearing for departure. When does your friend think he can have the fingerprints?"
"The prints match," Paul said. "Luke followed up with the lab while I was on the phone. The man in the restaurant a little while ago was Canaday, or whatever he's calling himself now."
"Can you email the prints to me when we have finished lunch?" Sandrine asked.
"They're in my phone," Paul said, his thumbs flying over the screen. "You should have them when you get back to your computer."
Sandrine picked up her own cellphone and touched the screen.
"Is here," she said, continuing to tap at the device. "There," she said. "I have send to the detective inspector who handles the clinique murders. Now, I see our lunch comes."
They were half-finished with their main course when Sandrine's phone vibrated, making a buzzing sound against the tabletop. She glanced at the screen and said, "Excuse me, please."
Picking up the phone, she stepped away. She returned in less than two minutes. "The prints match the ones on the murder weapon. He is bringing a team to arrest this man. I must eat quickly; I think I must become very busy soon."
31
Contreras poured another cup of room-service coffee to wash down the doughnuts that Jorge and Miguel had brought. They were watching the morning news while they ate their breakfast. As the newscaster droned on about the apparent suicide of Oscar Jefferson, the financial advisor arrested the previous afternoon on charges of money laundering, Contreras hit the mute button on the remote control.
"Looks like Gator Jaw Ryan was right," he said.
Jorge nodded, his mouth full, and Miguel said, "Suicide, my ass. Wait 'til the medical examiner gets through. I got a hundred bucks says it was a hit."
"I'm not taking that bet," Contreras said.
"Me either," Jorge said, sipping his coffee. "Hey, look. That's O'Toole and some woman. She's a looker." He reached for the remote and they listened to the announcer drone on about the Senator's engagement to the Argentine socialite, Graciella Angelica Montalba.
"The happy couple announced their engagement last night, but no date has been set for the ceremony yet," the blonde anchorwoman with the fiberglass hair said, just before Contreras muted her again.
"Damn, that woman looks familiar," Miguel said.
"You been reading the society page?" Jorge said.
Miguel shook his head. "It'll come to me eventually. We gonna bust O'Toole?"
"Not yet," Contreras said.
"But Leon, we can't let that scum sucker run for president," Miguel said. "You heard 'em talking about that on the recording just now."
"There's running, and then there's running, Miguel. We've got a couple of years before that gets serious. We'll bust him before it gets that far."
"Come on, Leon," Jorge said. "We got him cold on two killings, now. We ain't even got to testify on Kilgore's. We got video of that one."
"Yeah, I know," Contreras said. "That'll keep. I want to let him run long enough for us to get an i.d. on the scar-faced asshole. He's got to be the one running the drug business."
"Wait a minute, Leon," Jorge said. "What about the guy in the limo with Kilgore the other night? His voiceprints matched."
Contreras put his coffee down and reached for another doughnut. "Yeah, I know, but — "
"That's it," Miguel interrupted.
"What?" Contreras asked.
"The woman. She could be the twin of that guy that was in the limo."
"Nah," Jorge said. "I don't see that, and I been running through all the mug shots, tryin' to match him. It's just your memory playing tricks. I mean, yeah, there's maybe a little resemblance, but I don't see her being kin to that guy. It's superficial, is all."
"Buy a newspaper later and clip her picture," Contreras said. "You'll both be able to tell better if they're side by side."
"Good idea, boss," Miguel said. "Sounds like Jefferson's out of the game, anyhow. You don't want us to keep the surveillance on his office and car, do you?"
"No, that's fine. We can end that. I should let my cousin know not to worry about him anymore."
"Before you call her, Leon, I pulled the latest SpecCorp recordings for O'Toole before we came over," Jorge said. "He told them to back off on Canaday and your cousin. Might want to let her know she's not on their radar any longer, either."
"Thanks, Jorge. I'll do that."
Montalba had just turned off the television news when his SpecCorp-provided cellphone rang. "Yes?" he answered.
"We had a problem with the interrogation of the Barr
era woman."
"Oh? What happened?"
"We don't know yet. Two agents went out to board her yacht south of St. Lucia yesterday afternoon. Their last check-in was as they were approaching the yacht. They haven't been heard from since."
"Could they still be aboard the yacht?"
"Possibly, but they should have called in by now. We're sending out another boat to scout the area where they made the intercept. Meanwhile, our other client has cancelled his requests for surveillance of Oscar Jefferson and the order he gave to interrogate Barrera. We thought you should know."
"Yes, thanks. I think both of those things have been overtaken by events."
"What do you mean by that, sir?"
"Whatever information might have been gained from Jefferson or Barrera is no longer relevant," Montalba said. "That situation has changed."
"Then you're done with us for now?"
"That's correct," Montalba said. "Send me an invoice."
"It will be delayed for a few days until we determine what happened to the two agents in St. Lucia. That will determine the final billing for this activity."
"Yes, I understand. I'll be in touch again, I'm sure."
"It's been an honor to serve you, sir."
Montalba disconnected the call and poured himself a cup of coffee. What might have been a smile stretched the skin around his mouth as he thought about Barrera. Someday, he would meet the woman and her husband.
Cedric Jones's voice came from the speakerphone on the umbrella table. Connie, Paul, Phillip, and Sandrine sat on the veranda of Phillip and Sandrine's house, watching the sun set over the anchorage off Ste. Anne, Martinique.
"What about the woman?" he asked. "Who is she?"
Sandrine had outlined what the police had learned so far after arresting Canaday and the woman on Bellefleur. "She is not telling them anything," Sandrine said. "They are waiting for information from the States; she has a U.S. passport. Her name is Sarah Devlin, and that's about all they know so far. The yacht is registered to a Delaware Corporation, and she's listed as an officer. The man you call Canaday is also saying nothing. He's using a Canadian passport in the name of Joseph Michael Addison, but it is forged."
Under Full Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 7th Novel in the Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 21