by D P Lyle
One of the staff appeared. The same young man who had earlier served them breakfast. He carried a coffee mug, which he sat on the table next to Grace’s sunglasses, and filled it from a silver coffeepot.
“Thanks, Robbie,” Grace said.
“The usual, ma’am?”
She smiled. “That would be great.”
He gave a short bow and left.
“So you’re the boss’s girlfriend?” Darrell asked.
She laughed. An easy laugh. “Seems so.”
“You’re very pretty.”
She lowered her eyes slightly. “Thanks.”
Darrell fidgeted, rubbed his nose again. Darnell wasn’t sure what he feared most—that his brother would offer her some meth or say something incredibly stupid. Turned out to be the latter.
“I guess if I could afford a boat like this, I could get a girl like you.”
She frowned. “I didn’t come with the boat.”
“But you sure add to it.”
Whatever insult she might have felt seemed to evaporate in another laugh. “Well, thank you.”
Darrell was the only person Darnell had ever known who could say stupid stuff and get away with it. That golden umbrella preventing the shit from raining down. Hadn’t he basically called her a whore? Like she could be bought like a yacht? But then again, wasn’t that the case? Probably, but only Darrell could get away with saying it.
The young man returned, bowl in hand, and passed it and a spoon to Grace. “Anything else, ma’am?”
“Not right now. Thanks.”
Again he nodded and disappeared.
“What’s that?” Darrell asked.
“Yogurt, flax, granola, and strawberries.” She took a spoonful, speaking around it. “And it’s very good. I can have them bring you some if you want.”
“We had breakfast,” Darnell said.
She pointed her spoon at him. “Frittata? Right?”
“Yeah.”
“I smelled it.” Another spoonful of the yogurt mixture. “I can’t eat that heavy stuff. Puts the weight on.” She patted her belly. “And Victor doesn’t like it if I gain weight.”
“You don’t look like you could gain an ounce if you wanted to,” Darrell said.
“I wish that was true. Eat the stuff they make around here and you will definitely pack on the pounds.”
“Where is Mr. Borkov?” Darrell asked.
“In our stateroom. He’s got some business to deal with. He’ll be up shortly.”
Shortly turned out to be a half hour, most of the time Darrell peppering Grace with questions:
How old was she? Twenty-two.
Where did she grow up? Naples.
Go to school? Naples High.
College? No.
How did she meet Borkov? She was a waitress and met Victor at a restaurant.
On and on. Darnell couldn’t take it so he strolled to the stern of the ship and sat in the sun, watching the Gulf ’s gentle rise and fall and the foamy wake that churned behind the vessel. No land in sight.
Finally, Darnell saw who could only be Victor Borkov walk onto the deck. He was tall, fit, tanned, with short dark hair and wore white slacks, pink shirt, and sandals. Darnell returned to the shade and sat next to his brother again.
“Welcome to the Sea Witch,” Borkov said as he dropped onto a lounge chair next to Grace.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Darrell said. “We’ve wanted to meet you for some time.”
“And I you.”
“That’s my cue,” Grace said. “You guys want to talk business. Boring business.” She settled her sunglasses in place, stood, and gave Victor a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going up top to get some sun.” She left.
“So tell me,” Borkov said. “How’d it all go down the other night?”
“Smooth,” Darrell said. “Easy. Piece of cake.”
“Raul set it all up well, then?”
“He sure did,” Darrell said. He rubbed his nose again, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Of course, it turned out there wasn’t much for him to do.”
“That right?”
“I mean, he was going to jack the alarm system for us, but when he flipped open the box, it wasn’t even on. And the back door was unlocked. So he took off and left us to do our thing.”
“Your thing?”
Darrell smiled and shrugged. “You know. Take care of it for you.”
Victor nodded. “The woman give you any problems?”
“Never saw us. She was out when we got there. Sound asleep. Pop. Done deal.”
“Good. See anyone around?”
Darrell shook his head. “Nope.”
“There was a couple,” Darnell said. “On the beach.”
“That’s right,” Darrell said. “I forgot about them.”
Victor nodded. “What about them?”
“I think they were screwing,” Darrell said. “Had a blanket and a small cooler or something like that.”
“They see you?”
“No way. We were up on the slope, looking down. They never knew we were there. I thought they might screw everything up, but after a few minutes they packed up their stuff and walked up the beach.”
“See anyone else?”
“No. It was very quiet that night.”
“Good. Good.”
“Mr. Borkov,” Darrell said, “we really appreciate you hiring us. Letting us work with you.”
“I didn’t hire you. Raul did.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure he wouldn’t’ve come to us without your okay.”
Borkov shrugged but said nothing.
“Where is Raul? Will he be here?”
Borkov smiled. “No. He’s a bit detained.”
“So, do we get our money from him later? Maybe tomorrow after we get back?”
“I have your money here. I’ll take care of it.”
“You already paid Raul his cut? Or do we have to?”
“Relax. All is taken care of. Raul will get his share, and you’ll get yours.”
“That’s great.” Darrell looked at Darnell. “Ain’t it, brother?”
Darnell nodded but said nothing, keeping his gaze down. Something wasn’t right here. Why would Borkov bring them out here just to give them some cash? Why wouldn’t he have Raul pay them? Or Zuma or Boyd? Why expose himself to the hired help? Darnell felt a tightness gather in his scalp. When he looked up, Borkov was staring at him.
“You’re probably wondering why I brought you here.” Borkov waved a hand. “I do much of my business on the yacht. Away from prying eyes and ears.”
“That’s smart,” Darrell said.
“I’m glad you approve,” Borkov said.
“Mr. Borkov. He didn’t mean . . .” Darnell began.
Borkov cut him off with a wave. “Just pimping you.” He smiled. “Truth is, I wanted to meet you both. Thank you properly for your work.”
Darrell punched his brother’s leg. “See, little brother. I told you we did good.”
Borkov folded his hands before him on the table. “And your work will not go unrewarded.”
“We’re glad to be on board,” Darrell said. He giggled, rubbed his nose again. “That was funny. No pun intended.”
Borkov didn’t smile. He lifted the lid of a burled cigar box, selecting a large Cohiba Maduro. He clipped the end, lit it, and took a few puffs, the smoke swirling skyward.
Darrell wasn’t finished. “We want to tell you that’s it’s an honor to work for you. And if you need anything from us, just ask. We’ll do it. No questions.”
Borkov nodded. “That’s good to know.”
Darrell rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun. The kind of thing we’ve been looking for.”
Another pair of puffs, Borkov waving away the smoke with one hand. “Today is for fun. Enjoy yourselves. Go fishing if you want. The boys will take the boat out later. Who knows, you might even catch dinner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HENRY PLUMMER’S H
IGH-DOLLAR home had a high-dollar view from a high-dollar deck. Twenty feet deep, forty wide, and nothing but sand and water between it and the Yucatan. Detective Bob Morgan stood near the deck’s railing, facing the water. It was eleven, the day already heating up. To his left an undulating sandy slope, pocked with clusters of sea oats, angled down toward the Gulf. He knew that somewhere among those sandy bumps was where Jake Longly and his latest squeeze Nicole had camped while filming Walter.
The Gulf was flat today. Almost no wind. A smattering of people gathered on towels soaking up the sun. A few strollers hugged the lapping water, leaving faint footprints in the water-firmed sand. Two kids on Boogie boards splashed in the shore break, a foot high at most, their giggles rising up to him. He knew the beaches of The Point didn’t get much traffic, most people hanging near the resorts that lined the sand to the east.
Henry stepped out, two cups of fresh coffee in hand. They sat at a round teak table shaded by a yellow umbrella.
“Sorry for your loss,” Morgan said.
Henry sighed. “It’s hard. Not something you expect to happen.” He looked out toward the beach. “Especially here in this neighborhood.”
“Unfortunately, no one’s immune to these things.”
Henry dragged his gaze back to Morgan. “Anything new?”
“Not really.”
“Have you talked with Walter?” Henry asked.
Morgan nodded.
“Did he have anything to do with it?”
“He was here. He was, as far as we know, the last person to see Barbara alive.”
Henry shook his head. “I don’t see any way Walter would do something like this.”
“You’re probably right, but I’ve seen less likely candidates up to their ears in murder. In my experience, people do what people do and often there are no clues ahead of time. Least not any that anyone sees.”
Henry nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”
“And you weren’t aware of the affair? No clues at all?”
“None. Not with Walter, anyway.” He hesitated. “Look, Barbara had had affairs before. Last time a couple of years ago. In the past few months I saw some of the same signs. That’s why I suspected something and why I hired Ray Longly.”
“What signs?”
“Withdrawn. Less sex. A few phone calls quickly ending when I came in the room. That sort of thing.”
Morgan took a sip of coffee, and then cradling the cup in both hands, looked at Henry over the rim. “Did you suspect anyone in particular?”
“No. That’s what I was hoping Longly would find out.”
“Let’s put Walter aside for a minute,” Morgan said. “Any business competitors that might have had a grudge against you?”
“Nothing they’d do this over.”
“But something?”
“Look, I’m into software and real estate. Both are very competitive. Both can make you an enemy or two. But this?” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”
“How’d you get from software to real estate development?”
“Business software has about had its run. For us smaller players, anyway. Can’t keep up with the Apples, Microsofts, and Googles of the world. They each seem to have unending capital. Hard to level the playing field. Also, much of the software business is now devoted to the gaming world, and I have no interest in that. So back eight or so years ago, I decided it might be prudent to diversify. Here along the Gulf, real estate is a big-dollar game. So I used some of the capital I had accumulated and jumped in.”
“Quite successfully, I understand.”
Henry gave a half shrug. “I do all right.”
Morgan guessed his all right and Henry’s all right were birds of different species. He knew Henry’s property portfolio included two golf courses, a resort hotel in Panama City, a pair of high-rises, one in Mobile, the other in Pensacola, and a handful of strip malls. That’s about as all right as it gets.
“So, back to the original question,” Morgan said, “you can’t think of anyone who might want to do you harm?”
“Not really.”
“Not really? That’s a qualified no.”
“There were a couple of guys I had legal problems with. One stealing materials from my software company. Another sued, saying we stole his concepts.” He told Morgan about Ely Thompson and Jason Hughes.
“You think either of them could be involved?”
Henry shook his head. “That would be a stretch.”
“Anyone else? Maybe in the real estate world?”
Henry shook his head, then hesitated, his gaze out toward the water. “Maybe one. Guy named Victor Borkov. You know him?”
“Heard of him.”
Truth was everyone in law enforcement knew that name. Victor Borkov. Ukrainian. Suspected to be into drugs. Meth, cocaine, marijuana. Believed to be hooked up with the cartels, but nothing that could ever be proven.
“I think he’s some criminal type,” Henry said. “Drugs, I think. But lately he’s been trying to go more legit. Buying up property and things like that.” He drained his coffee cup and placed it on the table. “I’d bet it’s a scam to launder dirty money. At least that’s what it smells like to me.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He’s got the bucks but he’s not really a real estate guy. Doesn’t seem to know much about it. Buys some risky stuff. I understand he loses as much as he makes. Hard to be successful if the bottom line isn’t positive.”
Now Morgan drank the last of his coffee, settling the empty cup on the table. “Unless it’s free money?”
“Maybe not free, but easy.”
“What’s your connection with Borkov?” Morgan asked.
“For the last year we’ve been bidding on a prime piece of land in Panama City. Adjacent to the resort I own down there. My group had it pretty well locked up until he entered the picture. He’s been a major headache since then. He started a bidding war, and I believe he’s contaminated a couple of my investors.”
“Contaminated?”
“Run off. Threatened. It’s what folks like Borkov do.”
“You have proof of that or is it merely a hunch?”
Henry opened his hands, palms up. “More a hunch. But I’d say it’s a good hunch.”
Morgan nodded. He understood that. His entire life was following a series of hunches. It’s what homicide detectives do. Of course, hunches more often than not turned into facts once you dug around.
“I take it you’ve met him?” Morgan asked.
“Our paths crossed a couple of times.”
“And?”
“Victor Borkov is a scary guy. The kind you don’t cross. Comes on nice, smiles a lot, says little. But you know, you just know, there’s a lot going on beneath the surface. Like he might cut your liver out and smile while doing it.”
That’s more or less what Morgan had heard about Borkov. Fact was, many felt he was moving into competing with the cartels. Something you didn’t do unless you had a lot of muscle in the wings.
“Scary enough to engineer this?”
Henry’s brow furrowed. “Maybe. I’ve heard he might’ve ordered a couple of murders in the past.”
Morgan believed that was true. A judge in Coral Gables for one. He was presiding over a criminal case that involved one of Borkov’s people. The judge suddenly disappeared, and the case miraculously evaporated. Rumor was he grabbed the judge and dumped him in the Atlantic. No body was found and nothing was ever proven, but there had been a lot of smoke surrounding Borkov.
“Those are the rumors,” Morgan said.
“But why Barbara? If he had a beef with me?”
“Maybe he thought you were home?”
Henry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If that’s the case, do you think he’ll send them back? For me?”
Morgan shrugged. “We’ve got to at least consider that.”
Henry leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”
; “I’ll make sure a couple of extra patrols hang around here, but maybe you should consider staying somewhere else for a while.”
Henry looked up. “Where?”
“Another city. Another state.”
“No.” Henry shook his head emphatically. “I’m not leaving my home. I’ve never shied from anything in my life.”
“But—”
“But nothing. If I run now I’ll be running forever. If Borkov had anything to do with this, that is.”
“I understand.” Morgan sighed. “This is a bit convoluted, but what if the target was Walter?”
“You mean the killers might’ve followed him here?” Henry’s brow furrowed. “Why here? Why not at his place?”
“Maybe he knew about Walter and Barbara. Wanted to frame him for her murder?”
Henry took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled loudly. “Oh, Jesus.”
“What?”
“Walter was involved in this deal. He was doing all the legal work for me on the Panama City property.”
“Are you kidding?”
Henry stood, walked to the railing, braced stiff arms on it, and stared out at the water. His breath came deep and raspy. He turned back to Morgan. “If this was Borkov and he planned to kill Barbara and me, and blame Walter, he’d clear the decks. The property would go to him by default.”
“This puts an entirely different spin on things.”
“I can’t believe it. A piece of sand? Barbara dead over a real estate dispute?” His eyes glistened.
“Money makes folks do some pretty nasty things,” Morgan said. “Particularly big money. Like this. But that might not be it. Could be something else entirely. I mean, Walter does have some pretty sordid clients.”
“That’s true. I’ve even talked to him about that before. Asked him why he does that criminal defense stuff. He surely doesn’t have to.”
“What did Walter say to that?”
“He agreed. In fact, just a few months ago he said he was considering giving up that part of his practice. I think that guy that fire bombed his car got his attention.”
“That was a divorce case, though.”
“True. Still it knocked him off-balance for a while.” Henry wiped his moist eyes.
“I need to ask you about your alarm system,” Morgan began. “Do you use it?”
“Sure. All the time.”