by Eric Beetner
Cooper’s shoulders rose and fell an inch. He still didn’t turn towards her. ‘His body was never found. I know that you filed to have him recognised as deceased, and your petition was granted, but that’s not the same as us discovering his corpse.’
Images flashed across Billie’s vision of a vehicle plummeting from a bridge, with her daughter Nicola inside, screaming in terror all the way down to the shocking collision. It was easy to imagine the terrific impact of the car as it slammed hood first into the river: from the height it had fallen, it would have been akin to striking concrete. She saw the structure of the car collapse, roof and doors bursting open like a rotted fruit, the windshield smashing to glittering atoms as frothing water cascaded inside to force Nicola from her seat. She thought of her unconscious daughter expelled by the displacement of pressure, to tumble and turn in the dark, freezing water, until finally she’d been caught by the clinging tree roots a quarter-mile downstream, to perish from her injuries and hypothermia. Nicola had not drowned, but it was easy for the investigators to assume that had been Richard’s fate. They thought that the freezing waters had claimed him, sucked him down to some deep, dark place beneath the boulders from which the subsequent police dive team had failed to discover him.
‘You suspect that Richard’s still alive somewhere?’ she said, her voice a raspy whisper. ‘How could he have survived the fall, or being swept along by the freezing water? Our daughter Nicola died. He did too.’
‘That’s assuming that he was still in the car when it went off the bridge.’ Cooper finally turned and faced her. His features had taken on a hangdog expression. ‘I know it’s not something you wish to contemplate, but he could have jumped clear before the car went through the balustrade.’
‘That isn’t what the police investigation concluded. They said that the car was moving at speed when it hit, it had to be to smash through the barriers, and that—even if Richard had jumped clear and survived—he’d have been severely injured. There would have been signs to show where he struck the ground: blood, clothing fibres, scuff marks, those kinds of things.’
Cooper gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘It sounds as if they took the lazy approach to me. Just because they didn’t see the obvious doesn’t mean that more subtle indicators weren’t there. I dug into the police report, and also others on file concerning the same bridge. The fact that the safety barrier had been damaged by a previous collision seems to have escaped the investigating officers, or they simply discarded it as being unimportant. It suited them to believe that both Richard and Nicola were in the car when it crashed. But it’s easy to conclude that the car wouldn’t have needed to be travelling as fast as they assumed. In fact, a car driving at as little as twenty miles per hour would have had enough force behind it to break through the previously damaged barrier. Your husband could quite easily have jumped clear at the last moment, without leaving any trace on the asphalt.’
‘If that was the case, wouldn’t Nicola have jumped as well?’
‘Not if she was incapacitated in some way. There were bruises on her face, as you may recall from the County Coroner’s report, sustained before she died. Now the lazy thing is to assume that your daughter suffered her injuries when the car struck the river, or while she was being carried along by the floodwaters...’ Cooper allowed the suggestion that Nicola’s bruises had been delivered at the hands of her father to hang, urging Billie to come to her own conclusion.
She shook her head angrily.
‘It’s something you have to consider,’ Cooper said. ‘Your belief was that your estranged husband snatched Nicola, after you refused him access to her during the divorce proceedings. You also believed that he drove the two of them to their deaths out of some bitter sense of revenge. In other words, if he couldn’t have his daughter, then neither could you. But what if his reason for taking her was for an entirely different reason?’
Tears stung Billie’s eyes, but she refused to allow her emotions to overwhelm her. ‘That’s ridiculous. Despite everything, Richard loved our daughter. I can accept that out of torment and irrationality he might—on the spur of the moment—drive them off the bridge in some misguided act of desperation. But no, I’d never believe that he’d set out to purposefully murder Nicola so that he could...what? Disappear? Why would he do that? Where was the gain? Our divorce was acrimonious, and he was contesting ownership of my family home, but disappearing like that would simply mean he’d end up with nothing. In fact, if anything, without having to split everything, not to mention the payout from his life insurance policy, it made me a relatively wealthy person. Isn’t that the exact opposite to what you’d expect from him?’
‘Not if he was attempting to disappear completely, without fear of ever being hunted down. Believe me, Billie, he stood to be far wealthier that way than taking half of your combined assets.’
‘How? What in God’s name are you talking about?’
‘You didn’t know about the cash Richard stashed away in offshore accounts then? Hmm, I can tell by the look on your face that this is all news to you.’
‘I hadn’t the faintest clue,’ Billie said. ‘How much are we talking about here?’
Cooper pulled a notebook out of his coat pocket and opened it to a page marked by a blue ribbon. Billie doubted that he needed to refresh his memory; Cooper’s actions were designed to add gravitas to the announcement. He turned the notebook towards her. ‘Count the zeros, Mrs Womack. And, before you ask, no I haven’t forgotten to add the decimal point.’
Staring at the open page, Billie totted up the zeros as instructed. Before she’d even finished she was shaking her head. ‘No. This can’t be right. There’s simply no way possible. My ex-husband didn’t have access to that kind of money.’
Cooper merely raised his eyebrows.
Billie shook her head.
‘It’s true, Billie,’ Cooper said. ‘Your husband disappeared with more than eighty million dollars.’
Chapter 3
It was evening in Tampa. Most Brits—as I once did—tend to think that it’s always hot in Florida, but not so. There’d been a bit of a cold spell, and for the first time in ages I’d dressed in blue jeans, a navy sweatshirt and black leather jacket. I could still feel the nip in the air, and shivered involuntarily as I walked towards where Rink had parked his Porsche Boxster. It was out of sight of the main strip in an otherwise deserted parking lot.
‘Any movement?’ Rink had wound down the window and leaned out with one elbow dangling over the door. He too had foregone his usual bright attire to pull on a dark-coloured jacket that he’d zipped up to his throat.
‘Not a thing,’ I said. ‘I’m beginning to think that Redmond’s worrying over nothing.’ What were the chances of a repeat of the two previous weekends’ burglaries tonight? Pretty slim, I thought.
‘Who knows? But chances are they see his place as a soft target and will try again.’
‘Hope they come soon,’ I said. ‘Don’t know about you, Rink, but I don’t fancy hanging around all night. It’s bloody freezing out here.’
‘Lovely and warm in here.’ Rink offered a grin.
‘Don’t rub it in.’ I scrubbed my palms vigorously on my opposite upper arms.
‘I thought you Brits were supposed to be used to the cold?’
‘Been a while since I was home,’ I reminded him. ‘I’m turning into a snowbird like you, Rink. We’re growing soft in our old age.’
‘Speak for yourself, brother. I’m toasty.’
‘Care to swap places?’
‘Nope. I’m claiming executive privileges. My car, my warm spot. Don’t forget you’re just the hired help.’
He was kidding. He was the owner of Rington Investigations, but as far as the day-to-day business went we were full partners. He just enjoyed taking the mickey at my discomfort, the way I would have if our roles were reversed.
‘I’m going to take another walk around the block,’ I said, ‘check on the back lot whi
le I’m there.’
‘Gimme a shout if you need me.’ Rink scrunched down in the heated seat, getting comfortable as he buzzed up the window. He gave me a shit-eating grin all the while. I shook my head in disbelief and his grin only broadened.
I walked away, feeding my hands into my jacket pockets. It wasn’t cold enough for ice, but it was as near as damn it. Putting a bit of energy into my walk warmed me up, and also gave me a little cover as I headed around the block. Who’d think I was on a stakeout when it looked like I was in a hurry to be elsewhere?
Jerry Redmond had sought our services after thieves had targeted his business premises two weekends in a row. The Tampa PD had reassured him that they’d send a squad car by his warehouse to keep an eye on things, but they’d also made the same promise last week and had missed the second burglary. Through two nights and the four hours this evening that Rink and I had been in the area we’d never seen a patrol car. Didn’t surprise me; there were more important things for the cops to concentrate on than protecting fridges, freezers and washing machines. To be honest, there were probably better things for us to be getting on with but a job was a job. The economic downturn meant that you had to take whatever work came your way. Redmond’s cash would help keep Rington Investigations in the black as much as payment from any other job.
It was mundane employment, but employment all the same.
I didn’t look like a night watchman. I could pass as a worker on his way home from a late shift, so if the burglars happened to notice me wandering around the streets it wouldn’t concern them too much. They’d only need wait for me—a potential witness—to leave the immediate area and they could be in and out of Redmond’s Electrical Supplies as quickly as they had on those two previous occasions. That’s if they ever turned up, but it looked like another no show was on the cards. I was starting to think that Redmond’s fears were unwarranted, and the thieves knew that three times was the charm that would get them captured and had moved on to robbing someplace else.
So I was a little surprised when my cell phone vibrated in my breast pocket.
‘They’re here?’ I asked without checking that it was Rink on the other end.
‘Nope,’ Rink said. ‘These guys are on foot, and I doubt they intend carrying away the appliances on their shoulders.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ It wasn’t unknown for small groups of guys to wander through the neighbourhood on their way home from the bars across town.
‘They’re stalking a couple of old folks,’ Rink said. He didn’t elaborate and didn’t need to.
‘Where?’
‘Comin’ your way, brother.’
‘How many?’
‘Four. I’m out of my car and on their tails.’
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I’m heading back to you.’
‘Best be quick, they’re making a move now.’
Rink cut the call.
I started running.
This was more the kind of service to law enforcement I preferred.
My walk had taken me around two corners of the block, and though it would take me no more than thirty seconds to run back, it was plenty of time for a group of muggers to pounce. If it weren’t for the fact that Rink was closer, I would have been more concerned.
I slowed at the final corner, approaching it at a quick walk. At the last moment I actually came to a full stop, hidden from view. I could hear muffled voices. Some were harsh and commanding, others meek and pleading. Obviously Rink hadn’t arrived on the scene yet. Probably waiting for me to show. I rounded the corner, keeping my head down and my hands in my pockets: just an ordinary guy on his way home. I pretended not to notice the tableau playing out twenty feet away, but was taking in the details in a quick sweep.
There were four men, as Rink had said. Three of them stood in a semi-circle, hemming in the fourth man, who had cornered an elderly couple in the recessed doorway of a building. The three were actively intimidating the old couple while the other man took their possessions from them. No hint of a weapon. Perhaps the quartet hadn’t deemed it necessary to show one when the threat of violence was enough.
The thug nearest me noticed my approach.
He was a tall guy with a spray of acne across his chin, maybe in his mid-twenties and by the look of things the eldest in the group of muggers. I wondered if he was the leader. Not that it mattered. He would be the first to go down if I had my way. The tall guy knocked elbows with the man nearest him, and both turned to me. The second man gave me a hard look, flicking his head and ordering me to cross the road. I played dumb and continued towards them.
‘Hey, dickweed,’ the skinny one said, ‘keep fucking moving.’
I only then lifted my head and feigned noticing them for the first time. I took my hands out of my pockets quickly, showing them my empty palms. By then I was barely ten feet from them.
I caught a beseeching look from the old man trapped in the doorway. He had a protective arm across his wife’s body, trying to stop the gang from taking a ring off her finger. I couldn’t spare him a look of support for fear those blocking me noticed. Instead I forced a fearful expression on my face, made a garbled apology and began to divert away from the group.
Just then I noticed Rink loom into view as if he’d materialised out of nowhere.
He gave no warning as he shot a stiffened palm into the ear of the third man in the semi-circle. His strike was blindingly fast, and the mugger was already on the way to the floor before he had time to groan. The man who’d flicked his head at me heard his pal go down and turned towards Rink with a look of surprise, just in time to catch Rink’s head-butt on the bridge of his nose. He too began a graceless fall to the sidewalk.
In the meantime I wasn’t standing idle.
I adjusted direction with a subtle pivot of my feet and was within the tall guy’s reach before he thought to ward me off. I snapped the ‘V’ of my thumb and index finger into his throat with enough force to make him gag then, before he could suck in his next inhalation, closed my fist around his windpipe. I felt the cartilage popping. I gave him a brief squeeze, and it was all it took to drop him on his arse, thinking he was dying.
The man trying to take the old woman’s wedding ring was so intent on his task he was unaware that people other than his gang now surrounded him. Rink glanced at me, and I shrugged, allowed him to go for it.
Rink grasped the collar of the man’s jacket and yanked backwards, where a foot sweep took him entirely off balance. The mugger fell on his back, becoming entangled with the limbs of his pals. Rink stood over them all, his features a mask of disdain while I turned to check on the elderly couple.
‘Let’s get you out of the way,’ I said to them.
‘They’ve got my wallet and watch,’ the old man croaked, ‘and my wife’s necklace.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll get them back for you,’ I promised, as I steered the couple out of the doorway and towards the corner. ‘Are you okay, did they hurt you?’
‘We’re okay, just shaken up. I thought they were going to...’ The old man looked horrified at the prospect of what might have been. Then his look was aimed at his wife, ashamed that he hadn’t done more to protect her.
‘The important thing is that you’re both all right. You don’t have to worry about these young punks anymore.’ I quickly checked what was going on. The four muggers had rearranged their positions so that they were in an orderly line on the ground. One of them was unconscious—the first guy to be hit—and was blissfully unaware of his friends sitting alongside him. One of them was trying to staunch the blood flowing from his nostrils, the next attempting to straighten out the kink in his trachea, while the uninjured man was the only one capable of showing any defiance. His ballsy attitude lasted only until Rink stepped in and slapped his mouth shut. Even from the corner, and under dim street lighting, I could see a bruise pop out on his jaw. The tough guy mugger was suddenly a weeping overgrown brat. Rink barely gave him any notice
as he brought out his cell phone and hit 911.
I kept an eye on the group, but also reassured the old couple that they were safe.
‘Thank you,’ the old woman said. She was a short, wide-hipped lady, with grey curly hair. Reminded me of my mother, albeit she’d have easily been ten years older.
‘No problem,’ I said.
‘Really, son,’ the old man said. ‘You have my gratitude. If you and your friend hadn’t come along I don’t know what I’d have done.’
‘You did the best thing possible in not giving them any problems. If you’d tried to fight they’d have hurt you. All’s well that ends well, right?’ I gave him a surreptitious wink.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said and wanted to shake my hand. It was unwise to compromise myself by accepting his handshake, but Rink had everything under control. He’d finished his phone call, summoned the cops to clear things up, and was now standing over the group, willing them to make a false move. None of them took up the challenge, and little wonder. Rink’s big, built like a pro fighter. He’s also mean-looking when he sets his jaw so tightly that an old knife scar on his chin practically glows against his tawny skin.
I approached. ‘Cops on their way?’
‘Yup.’ Rink wasn’t amused. ‘We’re going to be tied up giving statements because of these assholes.’
‘At least it gets us out of this bloody cold,’ I said. ‘And with the police activity there’s no way the thieves will try their luck at Redmond’s tonight.’
‘Then it’ll only mean we’ll be back here again next week.’ Rink made sure that the muggers—the conscious ones—heard him. By the way they hung their heads they wouldn’t be plying their trade around this neighbourhood again.
My run, followed by the brief scuffle, had done me a world of good. I was feeling much warmer. And, unless the warehouse thieves were more reckless than I gave them credit for, our work was probably done. Not a bad result in my estimation. But still, I was ready for a job that I couldn’t complete in first gear. The slight buzz of adrenalin I’d experienced from kicking the muggers’ arses only made me crave it all the more. Who knew that things would grow more exciting within the next few days?