Christel, where would I be without you?
I park the car, fifteen minutes past schedule. Shooters Bar & Grill is a gem, in a renovated building in old town Scottsdale. The exterior is like a Western movie set meets modern charm, with a congested intersection for the view. The buildings are close together with shared parking in the back. The parallel spaces are tempting to get into and almost impossible to get out of. Nearby is a family-owned Italian place, an upscale chic salon, and a boutique selling high-end kids’ clothes.
A hostess has her back against the heavy wooden front door, propping it open. I enter the dense crowd. Suits, dresses, and the occasional sport jacket are typical for this ambitious group. Noise level is consistent for a full lunch crowd, with easily three hundred people here. I search for Jamal among the pack.
“There you are. Where’ve you been?” Jamal says from behind me.
I turn around and embrace the man. “Work. Let’s get a table.”
Jamal holds up the black circular pager like an item of value. I take it from him and give it to the hostess standing behind a dark wood podium. She grins like she’s embarrassed and shows Jamal and me to a high top about twenty paces away, concealed behind a wall, with surprising effect on noise reduction. I do my best not to watch her slink away.
Jamal grins a little while he grabs the menus, and then slides one to me. “Beautiful girl. And yet you didn’t invite her to join us.”
“Yes, she is. And there was a day when I’d have kicked you out to have her join me.”
Jamal’s eyes narrow at me, and then he laughs. “Casanova, now how did you get this table? The pager never blinked. She told me not a second ago the wait would be fifteen minutes. At least.”
I sigh and take a drink of water. “It worked, so what’s to gripe about?”
“C’mon.”
“All right,” I say. “When I gave the pager back—”
His eyes shift to the crowd and his brow creases. “What did you say?”
I glance around the restaurant for her, but she is nowhere to be seen. “I told her she has beautiful eyes.”
He stares at me, processing, deciding whether I’m serious. When he figures it out, he grins. “Whatever. You didn’t say anything. That’s what I can’t figure out…this influence you have. You know her, right? An ex-girlfriend you’re still on speaking terms with?”
“I’m on speaking terms with all of them.”
“That’s news to me. I thought you and—”
“Resolved.”
“Oh, really?” Jamal says.
“That was resolved a couple months ago. Just a misunderstanding I had about her. She set it right and moved on.”
“But that was years ago. How long did you two date?”
“A year plus.”
“Who ended it?” he asks.
“Why does this matter now? Like you said, it was years ago.”
“Trying to fill in the blanks,” Jamal says.
“Are you writing a biography about me?”
“I should, since it’s already got a title.”
“I’m not that way anymore. I’m settling down, I’ve…”
“Do you and Marisa have a wedding date yet?”
“What is the issue with everyone wanting a date? We’ve been engaged a few months. Why the rush?”
“Man, don’t hold a grudge that people care. Everyone likes you and they want to be a part of it and knowing Marisa’s extravagance, it’s gonna be a heck of a party. Virgin Islands? Jamaica?”
“It will be a grand time.”
“Ya, man.”
A dark-haired female appears at the side of our table, with a tablet computer held in both hands. We place our order and she hurries off.
“Now, how is Marisa? I’ve not spoken with her in months it seems,” Jamal says.
“She’s been working more lately.” I add salt to the basket of chips and take one. “I get the feeling she wants to move up. She’s been in the same position for a while and probably bored.”
“Bet she’s excited to get married. Any idea where she’s at in the planning?”
I shake my head. What Jamal doesn’t understand about Marisa is she’s terrified of getting married—being tied up so to speak. And that detail is best left alone. “I’m staying out of it since I’ve been too busy. I told her to hire the best planner she can find and let that be it, but she won’t.” I shake my head. “Can’t release the reins.”
“It’s her big day; I understand. Joanna didn’t want to hand off anything either. The family gets along so much better that way.”
We laugh, knowing what he really means.
“So, you talked with Natalie recently?”
He nods and grabs a chip, loads on the guac and stuffs it in his face. “She’s about the same, I think.”
“You remember Jackson Mattocks?”
He pauses a moment, and then his brow creases. “Still searching?”
I give a short nod. “He sent me something that’s freaked me out and he seems to think I can help, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.”
He takes a slow drink from the diet Pepsi. “Go on.”
I give him the short version of what’s in the email and he listens intently. I offer to forward the email and he ignores the question.
“That was, what…fourteen years ago?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen…okay. Well, I’d ask first of all, why involve you in a case that’s a big secret? Why take that risk?” He shakes his head and continues attacking the chips. “And from what you’re describing, it’s like the case is dead anyway…who’s alive to testify? Sounds like a bunch of unsolved murders pooled into one, to me.”
“What about the tattoos?”
He stops eating. “Tattoos?”
“Yeah, a pentagram with wings and clouds, real colorful and detailed. It’s like a work of art and always on the underside of the right wrist. It’s on all the dead bodies—girls, employees, everyone. It’s like they were labeled.”
Jamal stares at me, blank faced for a long moment. “Could it be a gang, maybe?”
“That was discussed and that’s how some of the victims were first pegged—as gang violence, but Jackson thinks it’s not a gang, but an organized crime ring. I figure if you want to hide a crime, why do something that ties them together and draws attention? Why create a pattern to follow?”
“If it keeps the police chasing a ghost, then it worked,” Jamal says.
I watch him a moment. “Fitting you said that.”
His face screws up a little.
“Jackson thinks some…spiritual force of evil is behind these types of heinous crimes. I think he got the heebie-jeebies from talking with Arocha.”
“Aro…who?”
“Arocha. The kidnapper who survived,” I say.
“Oh, yeah. The nut who got out of prison after a few years. Insanity plea, right?”
“Sort of. Various mental issues…can’t remember how the court categorized it. But he said some things to Jackson, which coincided with what Natalie could remember and these tattoos gave him a trail to follow, which led to the file he sent me.”
“You know this is torture to the poor woman, right?”
“Sorry?”
“It’s torture to keep bringing it up to Natalie. She can’t change the past. She was abducted. Thankfully she remembers very little. But to keep asking questions after all these years…you’re not going to solve anything by doing this. The one man alive who did the crime served his time. There’s nothing to be gained.”
Lunch arrives, our plates piled high with steaming food. Jamal watches me, waiting for a response.
“There’s more to this than what I told you.”
TWENTY-THREE
Jamal shakes his head and starts eating the Reuben he ordered. “I’m not sure I want to know any more about this history…but go ahead if you must. It was torture for my family, yours, and Natalie’s, and now you’re pulling it out of the scrap
book like there’s some fond childhood feelings there.”
My face contorts on its own. “Dasher was killed by me, not the cops.”
He sets his sandwich down and acts like he’s curious. He suspects I’m only joking. His head tilts to the side and he eyes me a moment. “You’re saying that the reports were—”
“Make-believe, yes.”
“You can’t be serious.” He laughs and restarts eating. “You’re saying that you shot a guy the papers reported was killed by police…that right?”
I nod. “Just don’t talk about it, because it would cause major problems. And Natalie doesn’t need to know either.”
He lurches back on the chair. “Wow. After all these years of keeping a secret? You’re telling me now?”
“Because I think Jackson is right. This morning I didn’t believe it, but now, all of a sudden, I do. The tattoos are consistent and it’s widespread—way beyond Natalie. For years, I hoped to find some peaceful resolution to Natalie’s kidnapping; to know at last why she was taken, how she came to disappear from the boat, and why she can’t remember a damn thing. You know it’s been eating at me for years.” I take a long drink. “Natalie was lucky, I know that. But the women in that file—no happy ending. The more I think about it—this just might lead to justice for them.”
“There’s never a good reason for a beautiful young girl to be kidnapped. Least not that I know of. And I’ve no doubt that God protected Natalie from harm.” Jamal eats; I sit there staring at my food. “So how did you come to kill O’Riley then?”
“Riley Dasher.”
“Yeah, him.”
“I was on Mike’s boat with Mike and Mayra.”
He stares at me a long moment. “You’re making this up.”
I shake my head.
He says, “So the three of you have been keeping a secret from me all these years.”
“I had to, my friend. Police were very specific about silence on the matter, which includes friends and family. My father doesn’t even know. You’re the first person I’ve told since it happened, yet, for the last fifteen years, I keep thinking about it.”
“Why?”
Do not tell him.
I have to.
“Technically, I shouldn’t talk about it. But, because I need to figure this out and I know I can trust you, I’m telling you.” I take a long drink from the Pepsi. “Fifteen years ago, we couldn’t explain how we knew where the kidnappers were, since we really didn’t. Fate, if you ask me. The kidnappers were fishing on a boat and they pulled guns on us, and we weren’t even close to them, so…it was the path of least resistance to let the police make up the story of how they brought the bad guys down. Makes them look good and kept us out of it. No witnesses around, so it worked.”
“I’m confused. You, Mike, and Mayra found Natalie?”
I nod.
“On your own? No police around?”
I nod again.
“Why go alone?”
“Mike wanted to search and I suggested we bring out the boat and look on the water. These guys were on a boat, fishing, and they pulled guns, so we had to defend ourselves. No idea Natalie was there.”
He makes a puzzled look and smirks a little. Our server appears to replace our drinks. “So the dudes who had Natalie for days as a hostage…just took a shot at you because…you were close by?”
“No idea.”
He shrugs. “I’ve got a couple cop friends who like to tell stories…man. That one has ’em beat. Doesn’t make sense, unless these kidnappers thought you were coming for them…say, how did you kill this guy then? The kidnapper?”
“Mike travels armed, ready to take out a major city.”
His eyes widen. “But you suck with a gun.”
“I know.”
“Horrible. I can’t remember you even hitting a paper target from twenty feet.”
“Very unmanly, I know. I figure my gun has blanks and the joke’s on me.”
He manages a grin. “Fine, I’m curious now. Send me this email and I’ll take a look at it. And I hope I don’t regret it.”
“What’s to fear?”
Jamal snickers. “No matter how boring the party is, the devil doesn’t need to be invited. He always crashes.”
I laugh a little and start eating my blue cheese and mushroom burger. “I don’t know why anyone believes that.”
A stern look forms on Jamal’s face. “The email you’ve described sounds like a perfect match for the devil’s work. The evidence is there. Prostitution, sex slaves, death. Throw in a fortune teller and you’ve got Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“Just fucked-up people. That’s all. There doesn’t have to be an evil spirit…a devil with a pitchfork out there to make people crazy.”
Jamal shakes his head a little and picks at the salad he ordered in lieu of fries. He’s going to drop the topic and let me think what I want. Chips and guacamole are still left and he’d like to order a basket of chicken wings like it’s a dessert.
“Has it ever occurred to you that I might be right?” he asks.
“Well, that’s just crazy talking there.” I laugh a little and Jamal plays along.
He knows about the incident years ago in the church and how that affected me. Jamal has always been religious. A fanatic by some standards. He contemplated becoming a minister after high school, but never felt God leading him. He likes his job and is active in the church. He keeps trying to bring me along, just like the old days with his parents.
I ask about Joanna, his wife of four years, and Delana, their ten-month-old who has the sweetest smile and the cutest curls. We banter about sports and the latest tech gadgets. It’s like old times with Jamal—when we talked about what we wanted, instead of what we had to. There’s always been a need between Jamal and me to solve each other’s problems, and to listen when no one else would.
“Feel healthy getting the salad today?” I say.
He nods. “It’s like being on the treadmill compared to fries.”
“Can’t be. Fat people would just eat salads all the time and become skinny then.”
He makes a face. “Salads all the time would be so boring. But you can put just about anything on a salad, so it’s not always healthy.”
“Just keep telling yourself you got it figured out. I should start thinking about what I’ll say at the funeral…since you’ll be dead in a few years of heart failure.”
“Now, now. I’m not that bad. The doc says my cholesterol is much better and that the exercise I’m doing is helping. I just need to stick with it.”
“Should I go get you a pack of cigarettes?”
He laughs. “Stop. I’m agreeing to look at this email for you. It sounds like…chasing the wind.”
“Somebody has to figure out which way it’s blowing from.”
“Ha. Ha. Were you going to order a dessert?”
“Isn’t the server supposed to ask that?”
“In this case, no, because I’m asking.”
“Just order one, Jamal. Order two. I don’t care.”
He waves for the server to make her way over. She thinks he’s kidding and he takes a moment to persuade her that he really wants a slice of cherry cheesecake.
She leaves and Jamal eats the last of the chips. “Now, I’m a bit hazy on this gunfight that you and the Larisons got into…what gave you the idea to be on the lake after days of searching?”
He won’t accept the truth.
“We hadn’t a clue what to do. It was a hunch. A gut feeling.”
He pauses a moment, stroking his chin and contemplating. “So on a whim, you guys went out on the water, looking around, and you happened to run into the kidnappers and the boat holding Natalie hostage, got into a gunfight, killed one, tried to kill the other…wild. I’m going to have to…process all this.”
“The point is, the real kidnapper could still be out there. Sure, this could have been amateurs, but given the concoction of pills they gave her, I think they knew what they were doing.
Or very lucky. Jackson thinks it’s a ring that’s after girls like Natalie. And from that file, they are hard at work today and they tend to kill the former employees instead of paying out retirement.”
A grin from Jamal. “Not much of a pension plan for sex trafficking.”
I attack the fries, which are now cold, but still good. “This is the last thing I need right now. But I’ve never been settled about what happened and this file is making it much worse…to think that it’s happening again and again. Without a happy ending.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Jamal nods, somber, and says nothing more for a moment. Dessert arrives and Jamal and I eat and talk about Natalie and how we can’t believe she’s single.
“So…what are you going to do?” he asks me.
“Until now, I figured Natalie was held by a couple of amateur, pretend criminals, not some ring. Nothing organized, especially not of the magnitude Jackson is talking about. When things like this happen and you see it on TV, you figure that sort of thing is just pretend. I’m freaked out a bit and I’m sure I’ll be a different person when all this is over.”
“Now I’m afraid for you. That you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“I always thought it was a couple guys acting alone.” I shake my head. “It’s puzzling to me, why this is coming up now after fifteen years.”
“It’s living proof we’re not in control.” He shakes his head. “This must be driving you batty, not being in control.”
His comment garners a grin from me. Jamal pushes his clean plate aside. “What do you think the feds will do when they figure it out?”
“Jackson doesn’t know. My guess is…I don’t know. Would they charge me with a crime? No witnesses?”
I will protect you.
That’s reassuring. Comforting to know I can rest easy. Divine intervention helps me yet again.
Jamal raises his eyebrows. “Dangerous game there. You’d risk everything. I’d miss your Malibu place if you lost it. Seaton wouldn’t be favorable to an investigation, even if nothing came of it.”
I shrug. “Okay, I’m not in control. New concept for me.”
Jamal nods quickly. “Yeah, it is. Did you send me that email yet?”
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