Coaxing his large frame off the couch, he moved toward the stairs. As he passed the wall, he ran his hand across the indentations in the paneling, lingering on the last ripple. Excited, he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly with a slight whistle.
“Another time, my darlings, another time.” He walked up the stairs one at a time, the old wood creaking.
CHAPTER SIX
JANIE WOKE UP DISORIENTED. Sighing in relief, she recognized her own bedroom. Alone. Good. The taste of stale cigarettes and fruity drinks lingered in her mouth. Rather than sitting up, she rolled out of bed, stumbling slightly to gain her feet.
“You’ve got to stop doing this, Janie Callaghan,” she said. An important meeting lay ahead of her this morning, yet she’d let some cowboy she met at Sneaky Pete’s buy her a bunch of fancy drinks and, worse, feed her half a pack of Marlboros. If there could be any consolation, she remained in her clothes, and the cowboy was gone. She doubted she’d recognize him without the leather cowboy hat.
She made a backhanded oath to be a bit more discerning in the future.
She’d sworn off cigarettes after being shot in the Everglades five years ago; her time in the hospital weaned her off the nicotine. Lately, she’d been having the odd one. She felt madder at the fact she’d smoked her head off last night than anything else. Whether she screwed the guy seemed irrelevant. Those things happened. There’d been many one-night stands over the years. Janie had to draw the line. Forty-nine seemed a bit too old for that kind of behavior. Well, unless the guy is gorgeous… and rich.
Janie wandered into the kitchen, filled a large glass with water, and downed it in one long, slow draft. She popped a couple extra-strength Motrin, hoping they might ease the pain in her head. A bagel and cream cheese would have to do for breakfast.
The hot water of the shower ran freely over her head, face, and body for several minutes before she even thought about washing. It definitely seemed harder to pull herself together as the years passed. If she wasn’t careful, one day there might not be much to work with. By the time she’d toweled off and dressed for the meeting, she felt marginally better.
Peter had given her some work over the past few years, which allowed her to get by. He indicated this case might require all of her finesse and might yield a better paycheck. She would be working with Jackson Walker. She smiled. They’d crossed paths a few times since the Everglades but had never taken the time to actually get together and talk about things, life, whatever. It could prove to be very interesting. She liked the young man.
Moving from Lehigh a couple of years ago, she now lived in Bonita Springs. The small house wasn’t anything special, but it was closer to the beach. She fired up the old BMW Peter gave her and headed to his office only ten minutes away.
She pulled into the parking lot of the taupe, stucco building. Navigating into a parking space, she felt a bit of déjà vu. Five years ago, almost to the day, she’d met with Jackson’s aunt, who hired her and Peter Robertson to determine Jackson Walker’s innocence. The woman paid a lot of money to clear her nephew’s name.
Janie was ushered into Peter Robertson’s office by a new secretary. Peter possessed an eye for large-breasted ancillary staff, and Steff didn’t disappoint. Janie chuckled to herself. Peter sat behind his desk in the wood-paneled office. Across from him sat Jackson Walker. She smiled.
The first time she met him, they were in the middle of the Everglades, where he’d been holed up with his Seminole family. He looked much more confident now—not like a caged pigeon. The deep blue eyes were the same, and the athletic build, and a smile that could disarm man or woman within seconds.
Jack, as he liked to call himself, stood to greet her. “Janie”—he gave her the onceover— “you are a sight for sore eyes.” She’d saved his life and he appeared more than grateful and truly pleased to see her again. He gave her a quick hug.
Peter grinned. “The two of you will be spending some time together, so let’s save the niceties for later.” Peter’s Southern drawl smoothed out his latent sarcasm. “Please sit down. There’s lots to discuss.”
Once they were settled, Peter began. “The case we’ve been asked to interview for will have to be treated with kid gloves. What do either of you know about pedophilia?”
Janie’s hangover suddenly worsened. “Pete, you kidding me?”
Peter pushed a dossier across his desk to them. “It’s all in there. The defendant’s name is Robert Lopez. He’s of Mexican decent and lives here in Bonita.”
Jack said, “I know what a pedophile is. Who doesn’t? This guy diddling little kids?”
“No. It’s not that cut and dry. Lee County Sheriff’s Department arrested the guy two weeks ago. As I told you the other day, Jack, they caught him with ten gigs of kiddie porn on his home computer. I’m told it’s the kind of stuff that makes you want to kill the bastards who film it, box it and sell it.”
Jack picked up the folder. “So, what do you want us to do?”
“The guy’s got money, evidently, and I will add that you never know where these things go, so let’s keep an open mind. Like 99 percent of those we meet, Lopez claims he’s not guilty. We’ll offer to handle the case if he’ll have us, and we’ll take a retainer. I want the two of you to see what you can find out about Mr. Robert Lopez. I want to know if we have the potential for a case. If not, I don’t want to be wrapped up in something dirty. Let’s see what we can find in a week. If he turns out to be a scumbag . . . we’ll cut him loose.”
Jack nodded. “You’re the boss.”
Janie couldn’t restrain herself. “Never seen you drop a case if there’s good money, Pete. Jack, honey, you’re looking at the cheapest defense lawyer in Southwest Florida. He’d try to defend Jimmy McFadden if he were still alive.”
Peter scowled. “Janie, that’s not nice.”
Jack raised his brows at Peter. He would have chuckled at Janie’s comment if the deranged killer hadn’t popped into his head. The wounds were still deep as far as the McFaddens were concerned.
Pete shook his head in mock anger. “I’ll take the lead. The two of you speak only when asked. Can you manage that?” His eyes probed Janie’s face, but she wouldn’t give him the benefit of a response.
****
Roberto Lopez was ushered into the room by Steff. He appeared to look after himself—a tall, lean man, well dressed, with short-cropped hair. In his mid-forties, Roberto looked more like a Hispanic movie star than a pornographer.
Peter stood and greeted him. “Mr. Lopez, welcome to Robertson and Robertson. We’re glad you think well enough of us to give us the chance to represent you. Let me introduce you to Jackson Walker. He’ll be assisting me with your case.” After Jack gave Roberto a professional smile, Peter gestured toward Janie. “This is Janie Callaghan; she’ll be our head investigator.”
Lopez smiled coolly and nodded, looking directly at Jackson. “That’s why I came here, Mr. Robertson.” He spoke with very little accent. “Jackson Walker, you’re my man. No offense, Mr. Robertson. Jackson beat the odds. Now I want him to do the same for me.”
The back of his neck tingling, Jack stood to shake the man’s hand. He felt the urge to leave the room and wash his. Instead, he stated, “We’ll try our best, Mr. Lopez. Please have a seat.” He gestured to one of the green leather chairs, which ringed the front of Peter’s desk.
Peter looked at his notes. “Mr. Lopez, during our phone conversation you mentioned that you were not responsible for the files that were seized on your home computer.”
“Please call me Robert.”
“Okay, Robert.”
Robert looked at each of them, possibly scrutinizing anything that could be gleaned through simple expression, looking for any weaknesses. “The computer in question is actually my work computer. I work from home.”
Peter made an accepting gesture with his hand and a slight nod.
“You see, I’m no angel, I’ll admit. I sell pornography. Did I mention that on the phone?”
“I’ve been set up. I get over four gigs of material a day, sometimes more. No doubt I’m being observed by the police. It’s common in this biz. I sort through the shit and rate it, then format it for internet porn sites, name the scenes; you know, ‘Skinny girl blasted by big dick.’ The sites look different, but most of them are owned by a few large conglomerates. It’s big business. I get paid by one of the biggest, City Star Productions. They’re based in the Czech Republic.”
Janie interrupted, followed by a stern look from Peter. “So how did the child pornography get on your computer and why didn’t you purge it when you discovered it?”
When Robert looked her up and down, she squirmed under his scrutiny. “The stuff comes as e-files. Sometimes it takes me a while to get to new product.”
Jack said, “We should be able to track when you opened the file, if you opened it.”
“Unfortunately, I opened it right away, thinking it to be something else.”
Peter drawled, “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Robert.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a pedophile, Mr. Robertson. I watched it for maybe two minutes, then shut it down. I don’t like that kind of stuff, and that’s the honest truth.”
“Why’d you hold onto the material?”
“Mr. Robertson, I don’t know. I remember being shocked and I guess I planned on forwarding it to City to let them deal with it. Next thing you know, I’m in cuffs and waiting to get out on bail. All of my computers have been seized and I’m unable to work. In this business, if you’re not working it, you’re out of it. The accusations could be pretty damning if I’m found guilty.”
“Pedophilia is not a good thing to be sentenced with. You’re looking at a minimum of five years. Also, I hear pedophiles are not looked upon favorably inside the walls of any prison, if you follow.”
Robert looked at his feet. “Believe me, I follow.”
Peter cleared his throat. “So where did the files come from?”
“A lot of the sources are anonymous, but these came from an address based in Tampa: Russians. I think they control the biz north of the city, all the way through the Panhandle and on up to New Orleans.”
“Do you have a contact for them?”
“No. Not really. Like I say, I get the mail and that’s it. I did hear, though, they’re connected with strip clubs.”
“How do they get paid?”
“From City, direct.”
“You have their email address?”
“I do, as well as previous statements.”
Peter looked around the table. “Robertson and Robertson will not take on a case unless we have a tangible chance of winning it and if the fees are worth our while. We are not cheap, Mr. Lopez. I would be willing to take your case on a preliminary basis. I’d have you pay a retainer of $20,000. I’ll then have Jack and Janie look into it for a week. If we’re satisfied you’re telling us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, we will agree to represent you. We don’t want to be associated with pedophilia, unless we know you are not. You follow?”
Robert looked at Peter, taking a few moments to ponder his words. “Twenty grand seems a bit steep, and I still have to talk to another lawyer.”
“As my father used to say, pay peanuts, get monkeys. We’ll keep a close accounting of the hours. We bill out at $110 per. The balance will be returned, of course, if we decide not to take you on.”
“I’ll cut a check for ten Gs and want your answer in four days. I need some resolution.”
Peter looked to Jack, raising his brows. Jack nodded.
“Okay, Robert, I’ll agree to that. You can see Steff on the way out. She’ll take care of your payment.”
They all stood and shook Lopez’s hand. Jack escorted him out of the room. As he was about to shut the door, Robert met Jack’s eyes. “I was referred to you by friends, Jackson. Don’t let me down.”
“Friends?”
He nodded and turned to leave.
Jack didn’t like the way he said friends and felt a slight chill run down his spine. Jack stepped out of the office. “Hey, wait a moment. You can’t drop a bomb like that without some kind of explanation.” It couldn’t be the Satanists. Why would they recommend me? It doesn’t make sense.
Robert turned. “Let’s just leave it at that for the time being. If we agree to work together,” he smiled, “I might tell you who they are.” He walked down the hall, exiting to the front lobby.
Jack hated when anyone did that sort of thing to him. He shouldn’t have asked; now he felt at a disadvantage. Robert held something over him before the case had even begun. He would have to be a bit cooler in the future. He returned to Peter’s office and sat down.
Peter chuckled at his sour expression. “So, what do you think, rookie? You looked like a jack-in-the-box.”
“I’ll admit, I felt a bit uptight.”
Peter nodded and Janie shook her head, the tiniest of grins crooking her mouth.
“I don’t want to appear naive, but his story seems plausible,” Peter said.
Janie cut in, “He’s a scumbag.”
Peter continued, “Point taken, Janie. I don’t like the looks of him either, but, by the way, we are criminal lawyers and many of our clients do look and act like scumbags. I’m going to check into City Productions and see what the story is there. I have some connections in California—shady bastards, but they helped me with a similar case a number of years ago. Jack, I want you and Janie to drive to Tampa and talk to the Russians.”
“On it, boss.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELI ROMANOV WATCHED as his right-hand man, Boris, rolled the body of one of his “actors” onto a white sheet. The young black man, very well endowed, died accidentally of asphyxiation—not a total accident, however. His female counterparts, in the heat of the moment, tipped the chair in which he’d been tied. The noose around his neck attached to a bar several feet above him didn’t help.
Erotic asphyxiation was the newest craze in underground pornography. The orgasm achieved when the brain was deprived of oxygen could be very intense and, in Eli’s mind, it made for a great scene. Unfortunately, the actor’s neck snapped, and he died instantly, simultaneously ejaculating, which was not uncommon among males who’d been executed by strangulation.
Having caught everything on tape, Eli Romanov felt tempted to send the film off to a small group in Charleston that traded in snuff films. He debated whether the risk would be worth the payoff. As much as he seemed up to making a dollar, snuff somehow crossed the line, accident or no accident; there were obvious risks involved.
He’d have to watch the girls. They’d been . . . very upset, but Eli had pacified them by promising a weekend in Vegas. He blamed them for the accident and threatened to turn them in to the authorities if they revealed anything. Truth be known, that was the last thing he’d do. If they squealed, the girls would both find themselves in the same state as his actor. He’d throw them in the cages, then have them dropped thirty miles out into the gulf wearing cement shoes. He’d stolen the idea from the television series Dexter. Dexter, however, erred by dropping too many bodies in the same locale. Eli would be more discrete, placing them randomly. In the past, he’d relied upon a family of cleaners down in Ft. Myers to do his dirty work, but, unfortunately, they met an untimely end five years ago.
Eli looked over Boris’s shoulder and spoke to him in Russian. “Make sure there are no traces. Did you clean the mess he’s made on the floor? Chlorine bleach, Boris.”
Boris turned to his boss. He’d been friends with Eli since childhood, following him to America from St. Petersburg, Russia. The scowl was all Eli needed to see. “You know I do anything for you, Eli, but don’t make piss with me when I’m doing the dirty work. I know very well how to do this.”
“Of course.” Eli knew the man didn’t like this part of the business, but he’d become good at it. Eli should know better and give Boris his space. Let a killer do what he did
best.
Boris turned back to his work, making sure the ropes were tight around the man’s ankles. The knots would have to last a few days—long enough for the ocean’s bottom dwellers to do their work. Catfish, crabs and pinfish would have the corpse cleaned in no time.
****
Back in his office Eli booted up his desktop computer. The device was a source of pride, one of the most powerful machines available on the market, made by Taihu. Eli, an expert cinematographer, needed the power and memory to compile, save and remaster the thousands of videos that were to be distributed to wholesalers.
He hovered the cursor over the file containing the death scene. What a shame. A prick that size could have earned him some good coin. He watched the clip one last time, aroused by what he saw on the screen. Eli found it difficult to get aroused lately. He’d become desensitized by watching so much porn. “Fuck it!” he said, and made a silent promise. This will be the only time. The scene looked brilliant, nothing put-on or fake-looking. He wouldn’t send this to City . . . no. The Chinese would be all over it and he could remain anonymous. He’d send it to his man in Shanghai, a sick bastard who would pay good money for this kind of shit. The Chinese loved anything with big dicks: the sicker, the bigger, the better!
Once he’d sent the file, he stood and walked through the armor-plated door protecting his office. Pressing the access code, he entered the nightclub. Aversions was one of several strip clubs Eli owned from Tampa to southern Louisiana. The business for the most part could be lucrative, but more importantly it supplied a steady stream of down-and-out women looking for a few extra bucks above what could be earned stripping. It wasn’t one of the high-class peeler joints found downtown; he preferred the outskirts and he liked things on the seedier side. The finer establishments attracted clientele from parts of society with important connections, who might be missed if they were to suddenly disappear. The women were more difficult than the men to recruit. It wasn’t hard to entice some poor schmuck from the front row with a big dick to perform on camera. Eli contemplated charging for the job, sure the lineup would be long. He chuckled. How would I even advertise?
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