“Sure. Thanks.” I started towards the sofa, stopped and turned back towards the young receptionist. “Hey, I noticed you have quite a fleet of company cars. Are they assigned to staff or do you have something like a motor pool where folks just sign one out when they need one?”
She looked up at me in surprise. I don’t think she had expected conversation and I’m sure she thought my question was odd.
“Uh, yes. Staff can request one when needed but we assign executives their own vehicles. Are you here about vehicle leasing? The Chief doesn’t handle that. Maybe you want to speak with the Director of Resource Management?”
“Perhaps another time.” I don’t know why, but I winked at her. “I’ve also got some Security business with the Chief today.”
She smiled and nodded knowingly. I guess if you wink when you say “Security”, it means something. I didn’t know what but I decided to press on for more information. Maybe she’d take my questions as idle chatter to kill time while waiting. “Has the Chief been working here long?”
“Gee, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been here about six months myself. Besides, even if I knew, I probably shouldn’t say.” She winked at me and said, “Security.”
“You know. I’m impressed. If I ever need a discreet receptionist, I’m going keep you in mind.”
She laughed and looked down at her telephone console. I looked too. The previously lit light was dim. “The Chief will see you now. He has a busy schedule today but he’s all ready for you. This way please.”
I followed her through a double door behind her desk to the inner office where a man sat behind a large, uncluttered desk with one piece of paper in his hand. He was tall, trim and fit and sat rigidly upright in his chair, as if at attention. He carried himself with a quiet strength like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. The office was big and sparsely furnished with only a desk, a sideboard and two guest chairs in a room capable of holding much more. The result was that the room looked even bigger than it was.
He had closely cropped white hair and wore a traditional, navy blue, two-button business suit, a white shirt and a blue and white striped tie. The man put down the paper and looked up as the receptionist left. After she closed the door behind her, he said, “Ah, Mr. Fried. I’m Clive Howard. How may I be of assistance?” He had a raspy but loud and clear voice. I could hear a trace of a slight foreign accent, possibly English or South African.
Mr. Howard looked familiar. He sat there with his hands flat on his desk, palms down, making no effort to lift them to shake one of mine. He looked composed and alert, like he was accustomed to always being in control.
I looked down at my new temporary photo ID. Then I took it off and looked at it again. “You know, I don’t think this photo looks all that much like me. I thought I must be better looking than this.” I held it out to him. “Do you think this is an accurate likeness or do you do this simply to amuse yourselves?”
He hesitated, then smirked and took the photo ID from my hand. He held it, looked at the photo and said, “Mr. Fried, I am afraid this is a very accurate likeness. Now, how can I help you?” He returned my ID. Holding it by the edges, I clipped it back onto my collar.
“I’m a private investigator and I’m working a case that seems to have drawn the attention of A. V. Designs. Boy, you look familiar. Do I know you?”
“What do you mean, “…drawn the attention of A. V. Designs”? I don’t think so. Having a familiar face has served me well in my work. Folks either don’t notice me or they think I’m someone they already know.”
“A man in a blue four door Taurus sedan was surveilling my home. The plates trace back to A. V. Designs.” I took a small leap here. “The man looked a lot like you.”
He laughed. “Well, Mr. Fried, there is no intrigue here. As one professional to another, I can tell you, yes, we have been watching you.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“We’re looking for something. We thought you might lead us to it.”
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”
“Why do you think I can lead you to it?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that either.”
“Thank you for being so forthcoming.”
He laughed again. “I really am sorry, Mr. Fried. At A. V. Designs, we do a lot of leading edge design work in electronics. Knowledge and information are valuable commodities here. We must be very careful about what we tell whom and when we tell them. Please, take comfort we are following the law here. We’re conducting a confidential investigation necessary to protect the interests of our shareholders. If we were up to no good, I wouldn’t have been using a company car. I would not have met with you and I certainly would not have acknowledged we were watching you.”
“Well then, if you believe I might be of assistance to you in finding what you seek, why not enlist my services?
“We might, Mr. Fried. While I cannot tell you what we seek, it is possible you will discover what it is on your own. Should you do so, we would appreciate it; I would appreciate it if you would contact me. If you knew on your own what it was, I would not need to reveal any confidential information and it might be fruitful for us to work together. That’s why I agreed to meet with you today. If I’m correct, your investigation will eventually lead you to me again.” He paused for a beat and then said. “I have a tight schedule today and I need to be elsewhere for my next meeting. Would you excuse me? It’s been nice meeting you.”
He rose but kept his hands palms down on his desk so that he was leaning forward over his desk.
“Sure, thank you, Mr. Howard.” As I walked out, I realized he never asked me about the case I was working. I was disappointed I didn’t get to throw that confidentiality speech back at him, but maybe that’s why he didn’t ask. On the other hand, maybe he didn’t ask because he already knew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I left Clive Howard’s office and headed down to the lobby. When I got there, a guard stopped me and asked for my green “BLDG 2” sticker. I peeled it off and gave it to him. As I suspected, he didn’t want my temporary photo ID so when I got into my car, I placed it in my pocket. When I approached the guard booth on my way out, there was a gate barring the exit lane. I stopped and the same guard I saw before stepped out. “Good Afternoon, sir. May I have your temporary ID please?”
I glanced down at my shirt collar, looked at my lap and then back up at the guard. “Gee, I’m sorry; it must have slipped off my collar. I didn’t even notice.”
The guard frowned at me. “Visitors must safeguard their IDs sir. Failure to do so may lead to you being barred from the A. V. Designs campus in the future.”
“I’m very sorry. Next time, I’ll be more careful.”
“Please do sir,” he said and then returned to the booth where he took his time writing something in a book before pressing a button to raise the gate.
When I got home, I went to my office to secure my purloined A. V. Designs photo ID. When I pulled an envelope out of my desk drawer, I noticed the blinking number two on my answering machine display. I put my photo ID in the envelope and then pressed the button to hear the first message.
“Hello, Mr. Fried. This is Amanda Finch from Ms. Eastwood’s office. I’ve completed looking into that matter for you and I’m calling to report my results. Please call me at your convenience.” She left me both her office and cell numbers.
The second message was from Ed. “Max. Call me immediately.”
If it was so important, I wondered why he didn’t call my cell. Then I remembered I turned it off when I met with Clive Howard and forgot about it. I turned it back on and there was a voice mail from Ed with the same urgent message. I called him back and he answered on the first ring.
“Max. Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Someone tried to kill Corky.”
“What? How? How is she?”
“She’s fine. After I drove her hom
e from the police station she called Amanda to retrieve her car from the EFH lot. Amanda had one of the guards follow her in his pick up so she could get a ride back to the office. After she breezed through a red light without slowing down, the guard realized something was wrong with her brakes. He pulled in front of her, went bumper to bumper and used his truck to stop her car.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, shook up, but all right.”
“What about Corky’s car?”
“Front end damage. The police looked it over and found a perforated brake fluid line and a slice in the seat belt. The guard also said that when Corky’s car first made contact with his truck, they were going fast enough that he was surprised the air bag didn’t deploy.”
“Corky and Horton are the only people alive who have seen the Skipper.”
“Yeah, and there was no reason to expect that she wouldn’t be driving her own car home at the end of the day.”
“…but Torres took her to the police station and saved her life.”
“Luckily for Amanda, she had a smart guard with a big truck.”
“About an hour before your call, I got a message to call Amanda. Think she can talk?”
“Considering what happened, it may be important. I’d call her back.”
I hung up with Ed and looked at the time display on the telephone. Not only was it past business hours, it was dinnertime. Even a dedicated personal assistant like Amanda Finch probably wouldn’t be at the office this late – especially after surviving attempted murder. I wondered if I should call her cell phone. Then I decided that if she didn’t want to talk, she could simply turn it off. She could, but I didn’t think it likely she would. I imagined Corky Eastwood’s reaction should she be unable to reach her personal assistant 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
I dialed Amanda Finch’s cell phone number. Ahh, perhaps now, I’ll be able to put a name to Skipper. When she answered, she didn’t sound like someone who almost died in a car. I offered my sympathy for her ordeal. She thanked me and got to the reason for her call. She was all business.
“Mr. Fried. I’ve researched our personnel and payroll records for 1984 for staff that may have worked on Mr. Eastwood’s yacht. I found none, so I searched 1983 and 1985. Again, there were no records of any staff employed on Mr. Eastwood’s yacht. I believe these men may have been ah, independent contractors, paid directly by Mr. Eastwood. I am sorry. I know that doesn’t help you to identify Skipper.”
“Thank you, Ms. Finch. I really appreciate your efforts. I was a little surprised to get your message so soon after I spoke with Corky.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, right after I asked Corky for the information, the police took her and I didn’t think she was too happy with me.”
“The police were a bit of a shock, but that’s why Corky is who she is. She says she’ll do something, she does it. Besides, she’s not annoyed. Since she spoke with you and the police, she’s anxious to find Skipper.”
“Why’s that?”
“She spent part of the summer of 1984 on a sailboat with three men. One is dead. Someone tried to kill another, someone tried to kill her, and the third man, Skipper is missing. She wants to know what’s going on. She thinks Skipper may be the clue. I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything. We’re hoping you can.”
She seemed disappointed she could not find out his name. She didn’t sound like she was accustomed to failure.
I hung up the phone and thought about this. I also wanted to identify this third man in the photo beyond him being “Skipper” but I really didn’t know where to look next. In desperation, I went to my computer and Googled “Captain’s license”. In return, I found information about the types of captain’s licenses, the requirements for getting one and schools where I could study for one. However, I could not find anywhere to look up who had one. Even if I had found a license directory of some sort, I had no information to feed it besides a year and a style of moustache. I doubted any existing database would respond favorably to 1984 and Fu Manchu.
Google searches sometimes provide what I want if I can guess some of the words likely to have appeared in a document that I need. Since there was a connection here involving three locations, I thought I’d see what documents contained the words New Smyrna Beach, Miami and Key West. What I got back was mainly a listing of Beach cams and tourism web sites, nothing useful.
Maybe I could find out more about the Miami incident that Corky mentioned. The first place I looked was at the online edition of the Miami Herald. I really didn’t expect them to have anything back as far as 1984 but it didn’t hurt to look. My pessimism was unwarranted. Their archives boasted “Miami Herald (archives from 1982 - Current)”. The search page even let me specify the year.
Several articles about smuggling appeared, but one caught my eye, so I got out my debit card and paid the $2.95 to see the full article.
1437. Miami Herald - July 11, 1984 - 27A FRONT
POLICE SEEK MAN IN SMUGGLING RELATED DEATH
According to U.S. government sources, State and Federal Law Enforcement Officers have broken a profitable people-smuggling operation based in Miami that was illegally ferrying Cuban refugees to the United States. Authorities arrested seven people who are awaiting trial. Police are still seeking one man wanted in connection with the death of a smuggled Cuban national killed when smugglers and law officers exchanged gunshots during the arrest.
Government sources say the network involved local sailors, Miami Cubans and some key contacts in Cuba who accepted bribes. Rafael Domingo, a deputy director of the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) in Miami, confirmed a well-organized group had been operating in the area for the last year and congratulated all of those involved in the arrest. He also expressed his sorrow about the loss of life. In a statement to the press, he said, “We congratulate the brave Law Enforcement Officers who have brought this case to completion and we will continue to track the killer until we bring him to justice.”
Corky told me that when the police boarded the Leviathan, they were looking for Skipper in connection with another case. This looked like it could be the other case. Reading the article made me realize I might have a way to identify Skipper but I would have to see her dad’s boat first.
I printed out the article and phoned Ed. He was Zorky’s lawyer, his friend and he knew boats. I told him about the article and that I wanted to see the Leviathan.
“What for?” He asked.
“A handle on Skipper. We know he’s connected with Ray and Horton and Corky but we don’t know who or where he is. But, he left his things behind when he ran and the ship went into storage right after he escaped. Maybe he left something we can use to identify him.”
“Where’s the boat?”
“Corky says it’s in an EFH warehouse in New Smyrna Beach.”
“Still there, huh? I know where that is. I handled the property acquisition for Zorky. When do you want to do this?”
“How soon can you get here?”
“Let me make a call first… arrange access. Say… about an hour? Oh, and I’ve got that Police inventory list you wanted of Ray’s personal effects.”
We disconnected. I took the print out of the Miami Herald article, folded it and put it in the envelope that held my photo ID from A. V. Designs. I was putting the envelope in my pocket when my cell phone rang. I looked at the display. It was Mariel.
“Ahlo”, I said, using a goofy accent making the “lo” a ridiculously lower pitch than the “Ah”.
She paused and then said “Ahlo”, mimicking my greeting, so I guessed she might have calmed down a bit.
“How’s your sister?” I figured maybe if I ignored her leaving all upset about the break-in, she might too.
“She’s good. Did they catch the bad guys yet?”
Well, I thought, so much for that strategy. “No. Not yet, but I’ve got a plan.”
I imagined her giving me that look; the one long-suffering wives give
their husbands when she said. “I’m sure you do, but maybe you should leave this to the professionals. Maybe, you should come and stay here with us for a while.”
“We’ve already discussed this. You know how I feel. Let’s not go over it again. Besides, calling the Police is part of my plan.”
“It’s just that I love you and I worry about you.”
“That’s the same reason I’m glad you’re there and why I’m staying here. We’ve got to bring this thing to an end as quickly as possible.”
“You’re glad I’m here?”
I was going to say, “Yes, you were right. It’s not safe here.” Then I realized doing so would only make her worry about me and upset her more. So, I lied and said, “I mean, I’m glad you’re there because, I love you and I know you’re more comfortable there.”
“Oh. OK, but if you won’t come here, be careful. I worry about you.”
“And me you.”
“Well, Goodbye. I’ll tell my sister ‘Hello’ for you. Te amo.”
“Te.”
After hanging up the phone, I sat there a moment. Was Mariel right? Should I back off? I didn’t see how I could. Sometimes, you just have to see things through and this time was one of them.
Rummaging through my desk, I located Detective Torres’ business card and gave him a call on his cell. I had lingering business and it was time to handle it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Detective Torres.”
“Hello, Detective, this is Max Fried.” I said, pausing to allow him to say how glad he was to hear from me. When he didn’t, I continued, “Anything new on the break-in at my home?”
“No, Mr. Fried. I told you I’d call you if anything came up. How did you get this number?”
“It’s on the card you gave me. I didn’t expect you to have anything new, but I did want to tell you about something I found here.”
“I’ve got a new batch of cards. Is my cell number really on them? I gotta pull over and look.” He paused. “Damn, I have to be more careful about who I give these.”
Falafel Jones - Max Fried 01 - Life's a Beach Then You Die Page 14