Acting on the corrupt cop’s information, three members of the Los Diablos drug gang kidnapped Detective Lopez, drove him to the Everglades, and were preparing to hack him into pieces with machetes. Fortunately for Julio, two gang members began arguing and one shot the other dead. Panic ensued, giving Julio enough time to free his tied hands and slip out of the car. He then ran like hell into the Glades and hid out until the other two gang members gave up looking for him. After that experience, Detective Lopez transferred to Homicide.
During a conference call from New York, Tommy and Jackson had briefed Julio on the Shannon Michaels case. Lopez was brought up to speed on the situation—except for the appearance of the beguiling Ashley Van Buren. When Tommy told him that she was a newspaper reporter, Julio’s expression demanded an explanation. “It’s a long and boring story,” Tommy said.
Accepting Tommy’s dodge, the Lauderdale detective took the three New Yorkers to the Pier 66 Hotel, across the Intracoastal Waterway from the Marriott Marina. During the drive from the airport, Julio explained that although Michaels had tried to slip surveillance, they still had him under eyes at a sleazy motel. He could spare one two-man team for a few days and he himself would be available to help out if necessary.
While Ashley listened silently beside Tommy in the backseat of Julio’s Lincoln Town Car, Jackson and Lopez caught up with each other’s lives in the front. This was one hell of a story and Ashley was taking it all in. She was also feeling very guilty for doubting Tommy O’Malley. How could she have been so wrong about Shannon Michaels? All the pieces fit. He was going after the man who had arranged his humiliating dismissal: Lance Worthington. Yet, Ashley, believing all of Shannon’s denials, had trusted him. Now, she felt foolish and used. She knew she would have to apologize profusely to Tommy O’Malley as soon as they could have a private word together.
Following hotel check-in, Tommy, Jackson, and Julio went out to the outdoor bar to map strategy—Ashley went to her room after Tommy promised to call her once a plan of operation had been agreed on. Julio gave the New Yorkers two small portable phones so communications could be constant. Julio himself was in radio contact with his surveillance team, which continued to watch Shannon Michaels from a station wagon across the street from his motel.
All three detectives agreed that Shannon Michaels had to be taken down only after attempting some kind of illegal act. To stop him prematurely would create a legal mess. They could probably arrest him for suspicion of murder, and might even be able to make a case. But it would be a weak one. Michaels had money and could hire the best attorneys available. In order to ensure a conviction, the cops knew they had to catch Shannon Michaels just prior to an act of violence. Because Michaels, or whoever the GNN killer was, operated without the use of a deadly weapon, the timing of the arrest would be all the more crucial.
This meant two things. Ethically, Lance Worthington would have to be alerted that Michaels could be targeting him at the convention. But doing so might jeopardize the stakeout—any unusual activity could, in turn, spook Michaels. Under the detectives’ plan, Julio Lopez would call Worthington and tell him that his life could be in danger, that two police officers would be stationed in the room next to his, and that he would be watched closely but surreptitiously while out in public. If Worthington requested visible protection, it would have to be provided.
Julio Lopez then sprang a surprise on Tommy O’Malley and Jackson Davis. Smiling broadly, Julio asked the detectives to follow him into the hotel parking lot where, parked side by side, two identical highly polished Mercedes-Benz sedans gleamed in the sunlight. “Thought you guys would like to do the town in style,” Julio said. “These are courtesy of a local car dealer who also moved cocaine. We busted him and seized his whole inventory. Now we got cars you wouldn’t believe.”
Tommy and Jackson looked at the black and gold cars and smiled. If you have to sit around staking out somebody in a car, a big Mercedes is the place to be. The three men then walked back into the lobby of the Pier 66. The hotel, a Lauderdale landmark, is a high-rise, cylinder-shaped structure affording wonderful water views. The detectives talked for a while in the lobby lounge and decided that they would divide the stakeout on Michaels into six four-hour shifts. That way the cops could stay fresh in case quick action had to be taken. Jackson would take shift number one, beginning at seven that evening.
As Julio Lopez got up to leave, the three detectives agreed that they would talk by phone every couple of hours. Julio promised to keep his team on the suspect until Jackson arrived. As Lopez drove away, Jackson turned to Tommy and said, “That guy is tremendous. Can you believe the wheels?”
“We owe him, big. That’s for sure,” Tommy said. “I’ve got to check in with Ashley, Jack. Where you gonna be?”
“At the pool, getting ready for my role in Baywatch, of course.”
Tommy laughed. “I can’t wait to hear about you and Pamela.”
That afternoon, Ashley Van Buren met Tommy O’Malley in the revolving bar atop the hotel. She was wearing white shorts, a blue New York Globe T-shirt, and sandals. Tommy was already seated at a window table when Ashley walked over and plopped herself down in an overstuffed chair.
“Whatcha doin’, big boy?”
Tommy turned away from his view of the Atlantic. It was nothing compared to the view of Ashley, he thought. “Doesn’t take you long to get tropical, does it?” he said.
“Just call me Annette Funicello.”
“Wasn’t she before your time?” Tommy asked.
“Ever heard of cable, Detective?” Ashley answered.
“You’re such a little wiseass, Van Buren. You know that?”
“I know that. It’s a large part of my charm. So, what’s the plan now that we’re having fun in Florida?”
“Well, we’re gonna stake him out. He took some precautions at the airport but I don’t think he knows we’re onto him. We’ve gotta catch him doin’ a crime, or else all we have is circumstantial. Four-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyers raisin’ reasonable doubt can beat that any day.”
“When do you think he’ll make his move?” Ashley asked.
“Tuesday,” Tommy answered. “He’ll probably nose around tomorrow. See what he’s up against at the hotel. See where Worthington goes and who goes with him. He’s a deliberate guy, this Michaels. He’ll plan this out very carefully.”
“What about Worthington?” Ashley asked. “Does he know what’s going on?”
“Jack and I already talked with him in New York. Julio’s gonna call him tomorrow. Worthington’s an arrogant bastard, but we’ll tell him what’s up. Course, we can’t tell him that we suspect Michaels, because that would wind up in the scandal sheets in a heartbeat and we’d be liable for civil action if we can’t catch the guy. We’re walkin’ a thin wire here.”
“Will Worthington help you?”
“Probably not. Guy’s a pain in the ass. Knows it all. Thinks we’re overreacting. Guys like that always think nothing bad can happen to them. We know what he did to Michaels, and it was pretty damn ruthless. That’s what makes this such a tough case. The people Michaels has killed were all morally bankrupt. The dregs of the earth. But no matter how bad the victims were, nobody’s entitled to kill them. Nobody has the right to this kind of revenge. If we allowed it, we’d all be doomed.”
Tommy was speaking so rapidly he didn’t notice Ashley’s reaction. When he finally paused, a tear was running down her smooth cheek. Tommy was caught completely by surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see Shannon Michaels for what he is. It’s just so humiliating. I . . . I . . .” Ashley buried her face in her hands and began to sob quietly.
Tommy O’Malley leaned forward in his chair, reached across with both hands, and gently rubbed Ashley’s shoulders. He felt very sorry for her. He remained silent until she finally looked up at him, her face red, her eyes moist. “Ash, it could have happened to anyone. The guy is really smooth. Don’t beat y
ourself up about it. You followed your heart and that’s all you can ever do.”
Then Tommy O’Malley moved close to Ashley Van Buren and kissed her.
At 5:30 in the afternoon, just two weeks before the official first day of winter, it was already dark in South Florida. Shannon Michaels flipped off the TV and left his hotel room, walking briskly south on Route One toward a Waffle House restaurant. Shannon had no idea that, from their parked car across the street, two policemen were alertly watching his every move.
Shannon entered the small restaurant, got some change, and was directed to the wall phone outside the men’s room around the corner. It took him just a few seconds to dial up Sweeney’s Irish Pub on Broadway in South Boston.
The unmarked station wagon had started up when Shannon entered the Waffle House and stopped directly opposite the restaurant. The two homicide detectives peered into the place through the glass window. They did not see Shannon Michaels.
“Holy shit, he’s not in there,” said the older of the two cops.
“I’ll check it out,” the younger man said, quickly getting out of the car and walking across the street.
The bartender who answered Shannon’s call gave him a number with instructions to call it in thirty minutes. There was a good chance, the bartender said, that Sean would pick up. If he didn’t, Shannon was told, he should call the bartender back tomorrow.
Shannon thanked the man and hung up the phone. Fine, I’ll grab some food and call from here, he thought. Rounding the corner, Shannon saw a young, casually dressed man standing in front of the cash register looking intently around the restaurant. When the man saw Shannon, a tiny hint of recognition registered in his face. It was a twitch, nothing more. But Shannon caught it.
The man nonchalantly ordered a coffee to go and left the restaurant, walking north. As Shannon sat in a corner booth perusing the menu, he knew two things: The man who had just departed was following him, and he was a cop. Shannon figured the guy had temporarily lost sight of him when he went to make his call. Now Shannon was confused. How could they have known? he wondered. How the hell could they have known?
The fried chicken was undercooked and the potatoes were greasy, but Shannon would not have eaten much no matter what had been put in front of him. He was anxious and his mind raced with theories. How had Tommy O’Malley figured out he was going to Lauderdale? An educated guess was all Shannon could come up with. O’Malley had probably tied him into Lance Worthington, and once he found out that Worthington would be attending the convention, and that Shannon had skipped the surveillance, he figured Shannon would head to Lauderdale. Good detective work, Shannon thought. That thought angered him.
For about ten minutes, he sat in the booth staring out the window. Then he paid the check and returned to the phone booth around the corner. He had Sean on the line within seconds.
“You’ll be needin’ somethin’ then,” the Irishman said before Shannon could say anything.
“A new license. Name, state, doesn’t matter. Height 6930, eyes brown. And I need it by tomorrow.”
“Aye. It’ll cost ya, lad. Five hundred.”
“Done.”
“So where are ya, then?”
“Fort Lauderdale.”
“You’re in luck, man. We have a branch office just to the north. Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Call the Dingle Pub. Ask for Max. I’ll ring him now, let him know what a good lad ya are. And bring a nice color picture of yerself.”
“Yeah, a picture. Listen, Sean. Can you get me a false set of whiskers? Salt and pepper, closely trimmed, top notch. I’ll get the beard from your guys and then have the picture taken. Great. Thanks. If I can ever repay you . . .”
“Don’t worry, lad,” the Irishman said. “You’ll be the first ta know.” The line went dead. Shannon smiled.
At precisely seven that Sunday evening, Jackson Davis turned his Mercedes into the hardware store parking lot, waved at the cops he was relieving, and took up his post. Over the phone, the older cop told Jackson that Shannon was in his motel room, that there was no back door, and that all was quiet.
Shannon was watching 60 Minutes and thinking. His plan depended on some luck, but was fairly straightforward. But should he go through with it now that O’Malley was on to him? It was a tough call. His adrenaline was surging, but, for the first time, serious doubts entered his mind.
Tommy O’Malley sat at the table and counted the forks. There were five of them. Why? With her Boston Brahmin background, Ashley Van Buren would certainly know the answer to that one, Tommy thought.
“Now, Ash, about these forks?”
Ashley laughed. She knew Tommy was mocking the restaurant, Le Soufflé, situated on the Intracoastal Waterway. “It’s on the Globe, Detective. So make sure you make good use of every one of those forks.”
An absolutely stunning yacht passed by the restaurant—The Monique, with Delaware tags. The ship must be more than a hundred and fifty feet long, Tommy thought. And it has its own little helicopter on deck. Isn’t that cute?
“You know, Ash, that could all be yours if you hung out down here,” Tommy said. “Marry some export guy or something, and you could be floating around on that. Of course, we’d have to dump Monique. Change the name to ‘The Ashley.’ ”
Ashley emitted a little laugh. She was beginning to relax, but still felt embarrassed over misjudging Shannon Michaels. She had always felt comfortable with Tommy O’Malley, but now her feelings toward him were changing. She wasn’t exactly sure how and, in her current emotional state, she didn’t think she was capable of thinking clearly. But she knew that something was happening inside her. She met Tommy’s eyes for a few quick seconds and then dropped her gaze.
“You know, Detective, you can be a very intimidating man.”
“But charmingly intimidating, or so I’ve been told.”
“Oh, yeah? By whom?” Ashley was smiling.
“By the buffs.”
“Buffs? Who are they?” Ashley looked quizzical.
“They are the ladies who pursue cops, who are attracted to intimidating guys like me. They’re groupies, only we call them buffs.” Tommy was smiling wickedly. Ashley thought he looked like an overgrown teenager.
“I see,” Ashley said. “Do you know many of these buffs?”
“Hundreds.”
“You must have an extraordinary amount of energy, Detective.”
“Oh, I do. And if I wasn’t so shy, I could really put it to good use.” Tommy grinned. Ashley just shook her head.
“I wish I were a lesbian,” she said.
While Tommy and Ashley dined, Shannon Michaels fitfully reached the most important decision of his life. For a full two hours, he lay on the motel room bed debating whether or not to abort his mission. The cops knew his target. That much was obvious. But no one in Florida had seen his face undisguised. No one could place him at the scene of a crime. If he could get Worthington and return to New York before the body was discovered, he would be untouchable.
But Shannon also knew the police would be closely watching Lance Worthington. The man might even be provided with a bodyguard. So he decided that if he had no clean shot at the news director, he would not take a chance. He’d get the hell out. Shannon’s rational side kept repeating, Forget this one, you’ll get another chance down the road.
It was the thought of Tommy O’Malley, however, that caused rationality to lose out. Shannon Michaels believed that if he outwitted O’Malley and killed Lance Worthington, he could ruin the detective’s career and eliminate his last big TV nemesis. The story of O’Malley’s slipups would get out—Shannon would see to that through anonymous calls to journalists. This is the ultimate chess game, Shannon thought. I’ve already taken O’Malley’s queen—Ashley Van Buren. Now it’s time to checkmate the detective right off the board. Shannon Michaels’ heart began to beat quickly. He was getting pumped up. He could do this. He could take Worthington and O’Malley down together.
His decision made, Shannon walked into t
he bathroom and checked his disguise in the scratched up mirror. Then he stood on a chair and pried open the small back window, jamming his canvas carrying bag into the open space. It was a tight fit but, using all his strength, Shannon eventually pushed the bag through and let it drop to the alleyway behind his room.
Picking up the cheap plastic ice container sitting next to the paper drinking cups in his room, Shannon walked to the front door. This is it, he thought. Controlling his breathing to assure that it was measured and normal, Shannon opened the door and began a slow stroll toward the ice and soda machines located in the breezeway separating the motel office from the main building’s guest rooms.
Watching from across the street, Jackson Davis immediately spotted Shannon Michaels. Even though Shannon wore a hat and phony mustache, his height and bearing caught Jackson’s eye. He watched carefully as Michaels walked down the narrow corridor in front of the motel. Despite the dim lighting, Jackson could see Shannon holding something and heading for the illuminated soft drink machine. “Probably getting a drink and some ice,” Jackson thought, leaning forward toward the steering wheel.
Shannon stopped at the soda machine, reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. Jackson saw the motion and relaxed. Then, suddenly, the change dropped from Shannon’s hand onto the concrete floor. Jackson watched carefully as Shannon bent down to pick the money up. It was darker in the breezeway and Jackson momentarily lost sight of Shannon as the tall man rooted around, seemingly looking for the dropped coins.
As soon as Shannon lowered himself from view, he began running in a crouch. Bent at the waist and staying low to the ground, he was out of the breezeway and into the back alley within seconds. He scooped up his bag, which was lying right where he had dropped it, and sprinted the length of the motel. But to his horror, there was no exit. The fence that separated the Sinbad from the houses built directly behind it was at least twelve feet tall. There was no way Shannon could get over it.
Those Who Trespass: A Novel of Television and Murder Page 28