“Nearly all Borys’s clients were Eastern Europeans,” I argued. “We both know how tight-knit the Russian community is.” I folded my arms. “I’m taking this account. It’s only representing the drivers on traffic violations, not the end of the world.”
“No, but it is the end of our relationship. I can’t watch you get killed for good this time.”
“Jared—”
I’d reached for him, but he had stalked out of my home, out of my life.
Jared’s admonition had served a reverse purpose. I’d decided to find out if Grigori was connected to Borys’s death. I’d managed to land the account but somewhere along the line I’d lost my focus on investigating Rocket. A year later I was nowhere closer to having an answer.
Face it. I’d let the shooter win. I’d been unable to get on with my life. Maybe Jared was right. I had given up.
“Carling?” Greg’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Are you all right? I heard about your car accident.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” I pulled myself together. “Mike’s been released without being charged.”
Greg smacked the palm of his hand against the desk. “Excellent! Good job!”
“I really had nothing to do with it. They had detained him only for questioning.”
“You’re too modest.” Greg’s eyes narrowed. “What did Mike have to say to the police?”
I gave the CEO a smile. “We’ve been over this before. You know that I can’t divulge the actual conversations. Attorney-client privilege.”
As Greg’s expression hardened, I added on a bright note. “However, I can tell you that the police found a kilo of cocaine in the back of Mr. Staminski’s truck. If he had been charged, I would have pled ‘not guilty’ as my client had no knowledge of how the cocaine got in the back of his truck.”
Relaxing marginally, Greg leaned back in his black leather executive chair. “Good, good.”
“Not so good. The police are hardly going to accept a kilo got into one of your trucks by accident. They’ll launch an investigation.”
My comment didn’t even faze him, but then again little did. Certainly, Jared didn’t have concrete evidence to indict either Greg or Rocket. For that matter I’d never discovered anything incriminating. Instead of allowing me to visit the plant, Rocket sent the drivers to my office. I hadn’t been able to get close enough to the operations here to learn more about Borys’s activities. My initial resolve had sputtered. It had been easier to take the money. Mortification burned in my stomach.
“Let them.” Greg shrugged, swiveling to face the bank of windows. I knew his office overlooked the shipping yard, rather than a postcard pretty manmade lake so common in southern Florida. Greg was a man who liked to keep close tabs on his business. “They’ll find nothing.”
As a public defender, I’d learned that there were shades of confidence in a person’s voice. Greg’s had undertones of smugness and yes, arrogance.
I went on alert. How easy would it be to hide drugs in shipments of fertilizer? Would all the chemical and other more putrid odors mask the scent for police dogs? Unless officers making a traffic stop had the entire van unloaded, how simple would it be to discretely tuck a bag here and there among the fertilizer? Someone must have been very careless in loading Mike’s truck…or framed him deliberately.
My heart pounding, I said in an off-hand manner, “The police could be obtaining a search warrant even as we sit here.”
Greg swung back to face me. “Don’t worry. Everything’s taken care of. This place is—how do you say?—squeaky clean.”
His bland expression revealed nothing but spoke volumes to me. Somehow Rocket was involved with drugs. I didn’t mind representing a first timer caught buying or selling on the streets. Normally that person’s life had gotten all screwed up, and I could hope she or he would be scared enough to get help and stay clean.
But this wasn’t the sad case of an individual. It smacked of an organized drug ring.
Here was where I could draw a line.
I gathered my briefcase and purse. “That’s good, Greg. I can now deliver my bad news with a clear conscience.”
“What bad news?”
“I’m afraid I can no longer continue working on retainer. My trial schedule is so heavy now that I can’t devote the time needed for traffic court.”
Greg arched his eyebrow. “Is this a way of negotiating a higher rate for retainer? Okay.” He then named a figure that made my stomach twist. Oh yeah. This was a buy off.
I rose, grateful to find my knees held. “Thank you. Your offer’s quite generous and flattering. But my clientele’s taking me in a different direction and I can’t give Rocket the kind of representation it needs. I know there are plenty of good attorneys who would love a chance at this business.”
Attorneys more willing to sell their souls and turn a blind eye to the drug business.
I extended my free hand, trying to look and act normally. “I’ll send you a check for the remaining two months of the retainer.”
Greg clasped my hand and held on to it. “That’s not necessary. I am grateful for the work you’ve done.”
“Thank you, but I insist.” I managed to extract my hand. “A deal’s a deal.” The gesture meant I would be living on peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches for the next few months, but I didn’t want to keep any more of the retainer than I had to.
“I know you’re busy so I’ll just show myself out.”
Although I felt like breaking into a run to put as much distance between myself and this place, I walked with a non-hurried pace out of the office into the hallway. I heard the creak of leather and knew Greg had risen to stand in his door. I could feel his gaze boring into my back. Talk about wearing a bull’s-eye.
Careful not to glance inside, I passed Borys’s former office and gave the waiting secretary a brilliant smile as I passed her into the reception room.
I breezed through the factory level and made my escape from the building. Welcoming the blast of sun on my face, I dragged in a gulp of humidity-laden summer air. Man, it was good to be outside again. I hurried to my car, parked in the meager shade offered by a strand of palms lining one side of the parking lot. A table and bench placed on a patch of grass indicated this functioned as the employees’ break area.
Before I could open the car door, I heard a low call. “Miss Dent.”
Looking over the hood, I spotted Drew Powell standing inside the break area, the palms concealing him from the factory. I started to go toward him, but he held up his palm. “Please, stay where you are. Pretend you’re on your cell phone.”
Since he had shot to the top of my list of people to question, I made a show of putting on my sunglasses and digging through my purse. I held the cell phone to my ear.
“Okay, Drew. What’s going on? What’s with the secrecy?”
“The police didn’t seem to want to waste a lot of resources on investigating the death of a dirty accountant. Borys deserved better. I’m trying to come up with new evidence so they’ll reopen the case.”
“What?” My pulse kicked up a notch as I studied Drew closely.
Borys’s lover had aged significantly since I’d last seen him. Graying blond hair had frosted to white and was considerably thinner. His deeply tanned face bore the ravages of too much sun, looking like old, cracked leather. His once kind brown eyes wore the look of indelible resignation shadowed with grief.
My client had been such a sad, lost man that I drew comfort from knowing someone had truly loved him. “I haven’t had a chance to say this before. I’m so sorry about Borys.”
“Thank you. You were the last person to see him alive.” Accusation mingled with hurt in his voice. “Yet you still have amnesia?”
“Bullet versus skull. Who knew my hard head would lose.” I resisted the urge to touch the tender skin where the stitches had been removed this morning.
“Didn’t you visit him that night as well?” After tugging at my jacket, which now clung to my damp s
kin, I dug out a small notepad from my bag. Might as well take notes.
“Yes.” Drew glanced around. Was he more nervous of being caught with me or the topic being discussed?
“I had some harsh words with him. To put our business in jeopardy like that, my reputation…I was hurt. Furious. I’d broken off our relationship.” He swallowed. “But I kept thinking of how lost he looked in jail. So I went to see him, to tell him he could come home when he got out and we would work things out.”
Drew brought out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and lighter and lit a cigarette with a trembling hand. “I’m so glad I did. I couldn’t have lived with myself, knowing our last words together had been in anger.”
The man gave all appearances of being sincere. But it was also possible that Borys’s criminal activities had pushed Drew over the edge. I wasn’t about to strike anyone off the suspect list.
“What time did you see him?” I already knew from the register but needed to see if the man would tell the truth. A poor liar would perjure himself on the dumbest details, but a clever one would weave in the truth, making a tighter fabric of lies to unravel.
“About four-thirty. I had a late afternoon meeting and then went straight to the prison.”
That time squared with his sign-in. I had arrived at five-thirty, having gotten hung up in a hearing.
“Did Borys ever talk about his clients?”
Drew blew out a puff of smoke. “Specifically? No. Like attorneys, an accountant’s confidentiality about his clients’ affairs is vital.”
“Was he afraid of anyone at Rocket?” Had Borys known if Rocket smuggled drugs? Was that why he was murdered?
Drew’s brow furrowed. “Greg for starters. That’s why I took over the account. Anytime he received a call on his cell, Borys would drop everything and rush off. I thought he might have left some information in his office there but…”
He dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it beneath his heel. “I haven’t found anything yet on the computer.”
“Did Rocket know you two were partners?”
“No. Our relationship was—” Drew paused, “—private.”
In other words, secret. I sought for a politically correct way to ask the next question. “Did all the news concerning Borys’s arrest affect your business?”
The man’s lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Do you mean did my clients mind that I had a gay lover who was also a crook?”
So much for being PC. I shrugged. “Yes.”
“I went through a rough period, but the impending tax season managed to overcome anyone’s reservations.”
The accountant had lost clientele over the scandal. Chalk up another motive for murder. Drew could have killed his lover in passion, but Borys’s murder had been cold and calculated. However, I wasn’t about to push any buttons to find out.
“Where did Borys keep his business records?”
Drew shrugged. “In his office at home. Would you like to see his room?”
“You bet.” I gave a slight nod toward the fertilizer plant. “Have you found any reason why Borys may have been afraid of working here?” I could feel sweat trickling along my temple and ran my fingers through my hair.
Drew watched my movement. “He called you Natasha after his favorite Bullwinkle character because of your dark hair.”
My neck muscles were protesting my holding the phone to my ear for so long. “Yeah, I never quite got that as I’ve always worn my hair short.” The better to ignore its baby fine straightness. “The cartoon character wore hers long.”
Drew shrugged a shoulder. “I think it had more to do with the tilt of your eyes. It gives your face a rather exotic touch.”
I looked so exotic that I would run right out and became a belly dancer. Not.
“I was jealous of you, you know.”
That statement got my attention. “Huh?”
“I thought Borys had a crush on you. He gave you his most prized DVD collection of the Rocky and Bullwinkle show for safekeeping. It hurt that he didn’t trust me with his damn collection.”
He glanced at his watch. “I must go back inside. Can you meet me in an hour at the house?”
I glanced at my watch. Enough time to check in at the office and tell my partners about the lost account. Fun.
“I’ll be there.”
“Do you remember the address?”
Without thinking, I rattled off a street address in Delray Beach.
“That’s it.”
Of course it was. It had numbers in it. Whatever changes were happening to me, my photographic memory for figures remained intact.
“Thank you, Miss Dent.” Drew hesitated. “Be careful. I think Borys was into something way over his head.”
Like drug smugglers. “You need to be careful as well.”
“Everything that mattered to me died a year ago, Miss Dent. I have little left to fear.” He began to step back and then paused, looking embarrassed.
“I’m sorry. All this time I’ve never contacted you, didn’t want any reminders of his death. But Borys gave me a message for you in case you didn’t drop by the jail that day. The message made no sense, and then with his death…” Drew shrugged. “But he made me promise and I’d like not to fail him again.”
“What was the message?” I asked quietly.
“He said, ‘Tell Natasha that I’m sorry. I’m trying to fix things but that she may have to go to the ride after all.’”
“Have to go to the ride? Did he mean ‘take a ride’?” Had my client messed up the American expression? His English had been impeccable, but colloquiums gave him pause.
“I asked him but he insisted that I give you this exact message. He said you would know the ride when you saw it.”
How strange. I’d certainly been on a ride since the shooting, but how did Borys’s message relate to money laundering?
“I have to go.” Drew disappeared into the coverage of the palms.
I gingerly slid onto the fabric-covered front seat. Although one rental car had enticed me with a leather interior, all it took was sun-baked leather searing the back of your thighs one time to learn a valuable lesson. I fitted the key into the starter, cranked the AC to full blast and sped out, hopefully leaving the fertilizer plant for the last time.
My pit stop at the office lasted longer than I anticipated, so I was running late for my meeting with Drew by the time I left. Fortunately, both Kate and Nicole had been in court, and I’d been able to postpone telling them the bad news about Rocket. I wound through the warren of streets, making my way toward the entrance to I-95. I noticed a dark sedan, one of those interchangeable Japanese models, doing the same maneuvers. Once on the interstate, I pressed the accelerator and unleashed the car’s power. I zipped south toward Delray Beach and glanced in my rearview mirror. The black sedan was one car behind me.
Unease prickled along my spine. I was probably imagining things but just in case…
I changed lanes. Moments later the sedan followed suit. I swallowed, hard. Okay, don’t panic. This wasn’t the movies. Just because someone might be following me didn’t mean they were out to harm me. With rush-hour traffic beginning to flood the lanes, it would be a tough job to pull off anyway.
However, losing the tail in this traffic wouldn’t be easy. I was going to have to lose him with maneuverability as opposed to speed. Still, I would lay odds with the Mustang over the foreign model any day.
I switched back to the left lane. Sure enough, the sedan followed.
I checked my mirrors, waiting for the pattern in the lanes to clear. Deliberately, I passed the exit I had meant to take. Then, just before the Linton exit, opportunity happened. I accelerated, roaring across one lane after another to my right. I hit the exit ramp and grinned as I saw the other car, trapped in the middle lane, hurtle past the exit.
Sucker.
I tooled along the overpass and got back onto I-95, heading north this time. I took the next exit at Atlantic Avenue and headed east. All the w
hile my thoughts raced as to why someone would be tailing me.
Granted, I’d just been involved in a car accident. The insurance company for the other driver could be doing a preemptive strike with surveillance. If so, I would have to shrug it off. While I wasn’t planning on bringing a personal injury action, I couldn’t rule it out if I kept having problems with my head. I was self-supporting and had a law practice to maintain. I needed to leave the option open for the time being, even if I had to put up with any personal invasion. I wondered if our investigator, Gabe Chavez, could dig around and find out whether it was an insurance surveillance or not.
My gut told me there was a more sinister reason someone would be following me. Perhaps my renewed interest in Borys’s murder had reached the killer. What was it he or she thought I might remember? I didn’t know the answer but I sure wanted to find out.
I turned off bustling Atlantic, lined with restaurants and shops, and drove through the older residential areas, which contained homes ranging from ratty to well-maintained. Poised almost midpoint between Boca Raton and West Palm Beach and an easy commute to their concentrated commercial areas, Delray Beach continued to fight for its own identity of old Florida with emphasis on tourist business.
Turning onto the narrow lane of Hibiscus Place, which boasted a number of early 1900s houses, I grabbed the first parking place. After locking my car, I walked along the street and then up pavers to the front stoop of the Florida-style bungalow with pristine white siding and marine blue shutters. A dark blue mini-SUV was parked in the driveway. Talk about color coordination. I pressed the doorbell. From inside I thought I heard a floorboard creak, but no one came to the door.
I opened the screen door and knocked on the inner wood one. “Drew?” I called out. “It’s Carling.”
One of the double-hung windows was open, but the only movement I spotted was the sheer curtains fluttering. Maybe he was around back. Then I heard the noise again. Not the sound of floorboards, something else.
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