"Sounds like a real thug," I said, feeling sorry for the pain Mick had suffered.
"What else would you expect from the member of a gang of thieves hauling knockoffs in through the cove?"
"True, but it sounds like this one sure fits the part better than their well-dressed ringleader," I said, recalling the well-coiffured man who had held Willow and me at gunpoint Christmas Day. I had seen pictures of him before that, in suit and tie as a member of the resort management team.
"You're talking about that resort exec Mitchum arrested Christmas day, aren't you, Kim? I saw the diver with him, too, one day, only he wasn’t wearing a wettie. The diver, I mean. That was a few days after he and Owen had been out on that dive together. They were standing down there near the dock with some other big shot in a pricey suit. I don’t know who he was, but I’m pretty sure I saw him around here a few years ago when they were still building the resort.”
“Wait a second. Are you saying you saw Matthew Davis speaking to the man who kidnapped you and killed Goddard?”
“Yes, that's what I said. I didn’t know that was his name, but I saw him." Mitchum was back in agitated mode.
“Davis has been holding out on us.” Mitchum was tugging at his oversized mustache in earnest now. He jumped to his feet and paced around, muttering. “Davis’ sidekick told us he figured Owen made up that ‘I’ve got a secret treasure’ as a gambit to keep Davis from killing him on Christmas Eve. If you’re telling me the truth, Mick, Davis must have been mixed up in Owen’s scheme before that confrontation in the hotel room.” He sat back down.
“What do you mean? Of course, I’m telling you the truth. Why would I lie?” I jumped in before Mitchum could get too riled up about Mick’s indignant reply.
"You didn't think you were getting the whole story from Davis, did you, as fast as he lawyered up? His sidekick could be lying to you, or Owen could still have tried to use the location of the GPS device as a bargaining chip to get out of the trouble he was in with Davis. Once Davis knew its location—or thought he did—that was the end of ho-ho-ho for Owen. I told you Davis was still looking for that GPS thing Christmas day when he had Willow and me cornered. Davis must have been convinced Owen double-crossed him somehow because he suspected that Brien and I were his partners, too.”
"I been trying to tell you that’s what they were looking for when they had Goddard and me on that boat. They kept asking that old man about coordinates on it, too. He kept saying he didn't know anything about it. They kept looking for it, in between using that poor old guy as a punching bag. It was horrible when I was awake enough to hear what was going on. They had to be putting drugs in my food or water since I kept passing out.”
“Mick's story has me wondering about something else. The rich guy Mick saw talking to Davis, and the diver must be in on this, too, right? One of the only bits of information Owen shared with Willow was that he had partners with deep pockets. He could have been referring to Davis, but this other guy Mick spotted fits the bill. Maybe one of the real estate developers, if Mick’s right about seeing him during construction.”
“Whoa, that’s a good idea, Kim. Can you remember when you saw the three of them talking, Mick?”
“Around Halloween. Hotel staff down at the pool area tossing candy and fake gold coins to the kids all had on costumes. Not their usual pirate outfits, either.”
I explained that the resort staff would soon turn in their Santa suits for pirate garb. Mitchum grunted. I took that to mean he understood.
"My memory is clear about it because this tiny kid went whacko when a vampire tried to give him candy. That kid had a set of lungs on him. He let go a shriek you could hear in San Albinus. The diver and the bigwigs he was talking to all looked around when they heard it.”
“Well, it’s time for another chat with Matthew Davis. I doubt this is enough to get the district attorney to revoke his bail, but we can give it a try. We now have a witness to Davis' interactions with that diver, not only a member of his pirating operation, but involved in Goddard's kidnapping and murder. Cooling his heels in jail might get him talking again. There’s another dead body now, too, although making new charges for kidnapping or murder stick to Davis will be tough.” Twitch, twitch. Stamp, stamp.
“Are you kidding? Even though Bob Goddard happens to have been the former employer of the guy Davis is charged with murdering?” Brien was getting a bit agitated, now, too. He does not like it when the bad guys hide behind their wealth and privilege.
“That’s true, Brien, but Davis was under house arrest when those goons snatched Goddard and killed him. Mick’s story has me convinced Goddard’s killers were taking orders from someone, but Davis has been on a short leash when it comes to communications, too. The guy in the pricey suit is a definite possibility. Too bad we don't know who he is. A cheeky bunch to go at it with an active police investigation into Owen Taylor’s murder still underway, I’ll give you that.”
“And I'm convinced the game that's afoot has something to do with that missing GPS device and whatever can be found using the coordinates on it. Lots of people knew Owen worked for Goddard, and the news media has reported the Goddard family’s involvement with Owen Taylor’s illegal activities. It's not that hard to believe they'd go after Goddard at some point in their frenzy to find that thing.” I avoided raising the prospect that Brien and I had somehow led them to Goddard or piqued their interest in him when we banged on the back door of his bar the day after Christmas.
“Kim’s right. Here’s another thing, Detective. Owen might have been one humongous dope, but I don’t think Davis and his wealthy associate are, do you? Owen must have shown that diver something awesome for one or both of them to become his partners.” A little tingle ran through me. It wasn’t all due to the deliciously intent look on Brien’s face as that brain of his kicked into overdrive.
“I agree, Brien. Valuable enough to make it worth taking a lot of risks, including kidnapping and killing people.”
“I understand what you two are saying. It makes sense, but until that GPS device turns up what difference does it make? For now, I’ve got two murders to solve. Officially, we haven’t even established that the two deaths are related. One thing’s for certain. Davis is no longer doing the dirty work. That’s what got him into loads of trouble. His lawyer had to do some fast talking and pull some strings to get him out on bail.”
Now, I felt my hackles rise at the thought of that injustice. That slime ball sitting in the lap of luxury after what he had done to Owen, to Willow and me, too! Not to mention poor Goddard and Mick. Even if Davis wasn't holding the gun this time, he was mixed up in this—I just knew it!
“Davis is charged with murder and smuggling counterfeit goods into the country, and who knows what else? Still, he’s out on bail in a flash! How do you like that?” I registered more disgust than I should since I’m a legal assistant. That is what good defense attorneys do—make sure their clients don’t rot in jail until they go to trial, even when it comes to murder. “It must have cost him a chunk of change to get out of jail. Modern day piracy pays well I guess.”
“Not enough. Davis is up to his eyeballs in debt. The resort developers helped him raise the bond money he needed to post. It’s time to take another look at them, too.”
“Imagine that,” I sighed as a little tingle ran through me. “I wonder which resort developer was behind getting Davis out of police custody?” I had started to do a bit of toe-tapping myself.
“Anyone involved in shelling out tens of millions of dollars needed to build this place sure fits the bill as a mastermind in a pricey suit with deep pockets,” Brien added.
“More than a hundred million, from what I’ve heard," Mitchum said.
“Whoa! Talk about a chunk of change! That’s a lot of zeroes,” Mick said, his fingers moving as though he was using them to tally up the zeroes.
“You’ve got that right, Mick. Davis could be in bigger trouble than he knows, Mitchum. He's hanging with crooks t
hat are way above his pay grade. Getting him lawyered up and out on bail keeps Davis from saying any more about what’s going on. What if they decide the best thing to do is shut him up for good? Maybe you can point that out to him when you try to get him talking again.”
“Excellent suggestion, Kim,” Brien said enthusiastically. “I bet Davis can tell you which development guy came up with the idea to bail…” Mitchum interrupted Brien’s sentence and my train of thought with close to a bellow.
“Stop it! Managing Davis is my problem. With or without his help, we’ll figure this out. We still haven’t finished sifting through all the evidence collected from the investigation into Owen’s murder. Who knows what we already have that can help us answer that question you posed earlier, Kim, about the value of that junk in the cave?” I said nothing since I was still fuming about Mitchum’s sudden outburst. The man’s moods could turn on a dime! He wasn't waiting for me to answer him, anyway. Springing to his feet, he kept right on talking.
“Once we locate those two losers that kidnapped Goddard and Mick, we’ll figure this out. It’s only a matter of time before we catch up to them. I can’t believe they had that GPS device in their clutches for several days without realizing it. Not only that! They let a drunken Santa take off with it again.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m betting those losers left a trail of breadcrumbs at the bar or elsewhere that will help us identify them. Mick, here, can pick them out of a lineup once we’ve apprehended one or both of them.”
Mitchum was pacing now. I fought an urge to stretch out my legs, using a well-placed foot to trip him up. He didn’t need my help to do that. The bad guys were doing that already, and while running rings around the police force, as far as I could tell. Investigators had been working that crime scene at the bar for days now. The storage unit and Goddard's house, too. Whatever "bread crumbs" left behind by those losers must not be all that obvious.
“You’d better grab them quick, Mitchum. If you’re calling them losers, imagine what the rich guy with the deep pockets is saying about their performance. I wouldn’t be surprised if Larry and Curly both turned up dead.” Brien and Mick snorted at my reference to the tall bald and short curly-headed thugs as two of the three stooges—another of my favorite vintage series.
“Whoa, and Davis could be Moe. Kim’s got a point, Detective. Why not go on a stooge killing spree and take out all three?” My mind was whirling as Brien posed that question. Why not, indeed?
“Given where they found that new body, it could be that spree’s underway, and we’re down one stooge already,” I offered. Mitchum was not amused.
“If the guy with the deep pockets is killing stooges, why not send a new team after the three of you? They were following you two love birds for some reason when they snatched Mick, who let them get the drop on him in that alley, by the way. So who’s the stooge?” Mick was about to object. I jumped in.
“It’s no secret, thanks to the local press, that Brien and I were involved in that scene Christmas Day. I don’t doubt that was enough to put us on their radar as well as Goddard. Especially if they believed, like Davis, that we were in cahoots with Owen. Now that they know Mick retrieved it, I’m betting Brien and I are old news.” Mitchum shrugged, but couldn’t hide his irritation. The surfer dudes in our little coffee klatch apparently did not pick up on the fact that Mitchum was approaching his breaking point, and we were out of donuts. They had stooges on the brain. Mick spoke.
“Here’s what I don’t get, you guys. Why was the bald stooge called Curly?” Mitchum’s mustache twitched, and he even pawed the ground! Brien still didn’t get the message.
“That is such a good question! I don’t get it either,” Brien responded.
“Will you two please shut up? Here’s something else you don’t get, apparently. I’ll put it another way. If the mastermind behind the hunt for that GPS gizmo has an ax to grind with his minions, that goes double for you, Mick. You got away, and as far as they’re concerned you have the GPS device. Good luck convincing them otherwise if they catch up with you. As long as you’re wondering about things, how about this. They put the three of you together once, why not do that again? I wouldn’t put too much money on that bet that you two are old news.”
“I hear you,” I said, realizing he was right. Brien nodded solemnly in agreement. Mick gulped.
“That Davis is a lying little weasel. I’m going to have another talk with him. I will bring up several of the issues we’ve discussed here. I’m going to start by reminding him that he’s one of my nominees for the person ‘most likely to start the New Year as fish food.’ Right up there with the three of you.”
None of us said a word. Mitchum harrumphed into his mustache and sat back down on the edge of his seat. The moment he sat down, all hell broke loose.
7 an alarming discovery
“What the…?” Before Mitchum could finish that sentence, Brien dashed into the suite where an alarm was screeching. The ear-splitting sounds came from smoke alarms. After several blaring pulses, the alarms paused and a disembodied voice was broadcast over loudspeakers.
“Fire! Please exit the building. Fire!”
“Maybe it’s a test,” Mick said. As if on cue that voice picked up where it left off.
“This is not a test. Fire! Repeat, this is not a test. Fire! Please exit the building.”
The screeching alarms resumed. Mitchum and I were already on our feet when Brien dashed back out to the veranda.
“I don’t see any fire in our suite or smell smoke, but I think we should get out of here. Can you handle some stairs, Mick?”
“Sure,” as he said that he struggled to stand. He probably would have been okay except that the tie around his waist holding that robe closed had come loose. One end was tangled in the chaise lounge, and he almost toppled over when it gave way after yanking it.
Brien and Mitchum each grabbed an arm to steady Mick, and then almost picked him up as we all scurried out the door of our suite. The hallway was teeming with guests streaming toward the exit and down the stairs. Someone had already propped the door open. I led the way, down six flights of stairs, and out a door that exited into a courtyard.
“We should have grabbed a pair of shades for Mick,” I whispered to Brien. A few people were glancing his way. No one seemed too interested. I found that reassuring. When those alarms started, I had flashed on the possibility that someone might be trying to flush Mick out. That’s presuming his kidnappers had figured out he had fled to the resort when he reached dry land this morning, and found his way to our suite. Not a great thing for Brien and me, either, if that's what was going on. Mitchum’s latest warning had me feeling paranoid.
“Here! Put these on. I want them back when I leave,” Mitchum said, as he passed a pair of sunglasses to Mick. Mitchum stepped aside for a moment. He spoke to a woman dressed in hotel front desk garb, holding a tablet device. Taking attendance, and making sure everyone was accounted for was my guess. In less than a minute he was back.
“Follow me.” Mitchum strode off toward an exit that led out of the courtyard and into one of the arched corridors that gave the Sanctuary a monastic ambiance. Most monasteries aren’t crawling with Santas, however, like this one. As we left the courtyard, a Santa entered carrying a large, black bag. He began shouting “Season’s Greetings” and “Happy New Year” as he tossed fake doubloons to the kids in the crowd. Santa's cries posed an odd contrast to the voice still issuing warnings, more muted now that the fire exit doors were no longer being held open by fleeing guests. Santa set that bag down and began doling out small, gift-wrapped packages. Trying to steady nerves or make amends for the inconvenience, perhaps.
“Do you see smoke or smell it?”
“No, I don’t, Brien, do you?”
“Nope! Must be a false alarm.”
“That’s odd, don't you think?” I asked just as Mitchum turned left onto a paved pathway that led to a smaller garden area situated between hotel buildings.
&nbs
p; “Sit!” he commanded. We all did as we were told and sat on benches surrounding a fountain that was the centerpiece of this garden area. Blooms hung from a wrought iron trellis above us. Purple blossoms on climbing plants—Clematis, maybe.
“Tell me about the van and the boat.” Back to business, despite the barely controlled chaos underway at the moment. I had heard sirens as we dashed down those stairs. Escaping from the hotel into that enclosed courtyard, I hadn’t seen any members of the local fire brigade. No police, either, besides our brusque, fidgety detective. The alarms were no longer sounding warnings, but shouted commands reached us.
Mick did his best to recall what he could about both the van and the boat. Nothing he said seemed of much value, as far as I could tell. What did Mitchum expect? It was dark when they had dragged Mick to that van in the alley behind Corsario’s Hideaway. Knocked out after that, he had no idea where or when they boarded that boat.
Days later, when Mick made that desperate escape at the crack of dawn, it was still dark outside so that he couldn't see much then either. Not that he had time to do anything other than swim for it! How far he swam before reaching the rocky shoreline south of the resort, was a mystery, too.
Mick did give Mitchum an idea of the size of the boat—a thirty-footer, maybe. It could have been a sport-fishing boat, but he couldn't say for sure. They had held him in a cabin below, where he spent most of his time doped up and locked in that tiny bathroom. At one point during the ordeal, he had glimpsed a galley where they had prepared and served meager meals.
It was pretty much a miracle that Goddard didn’t die before the thugs shot him and shoved him overboard. Mick had called Goddard an “old guy,” but at fifty-eight, according to Mitchum, he wasn’t that old. Still, his captors had worked him over for days trying to get him to tell them where Owen had left that GPS device. How could he have told them what he didn’t know?
Gnarly New Year (Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #2) Page 5