"Yeah, well, this ought to confirm it," O'Toole said. "Did the cops get Canaday, too? And Barrera and that bent cop husband of hers?"
"You're making assumptions unsupported by facts, and — "
"Those are alternative facts, son." O'Toole said. "Don't try to tell me they don't fit the situation."
"That's not clear to us. First, there's no independent evidence that connects Barrera to Canaday."
"He was there, wasn't he? You said — "
"Negative. I said two men were arrested. Neither of them was Canaday, and Barrera and her husband told the police that they'd never heard of Canaday until the intruders mentioned his name."
"Well, sure. That's what they'd say. You think they'd admit that they were gonna start selling drugs to Canaday?"
"Probably not. Can I tell you what we know for sure? Then we can consider your alternative facts if you wish."
"Yeah, okay. Tell me what you know."
"We got this about third hand, through a source in the police. The two men boarded the boat. One was struggling with Russo, the husband. That one told the other one to save the woman for later and get Canaday. With me so far?"
"Yeah, sure. Then what?"
"Then Barrera brained the one that had grabbed Russo. Knocked him cold with one of those big flashlights. She and Russo ganged up on the other one and took him out. They tied up the two intruders and called the police. One of the guys regained consciousness and they asked him some questions while they were waiting for the police to show up. Okay?"
"Yeah. What else?"
"The guy who was conscious told them he and the other one had been sent to kill Canaday."
"Okay," O'Toole said. "Who sent them?"
"A white man in a bar. They had no idea who he was; it was too dark to get a good look at him."
"But he paid them?" O'Toole asked.
"No. The man they work for told them to do it. He was paying them, and it was a favor for somebody in Miami. That's all they got out of them."
"Any chance you could interrogate them? Or are they still in jail?"
"They're dead. Somebody jumped the police and took the two prisoners off in a stolen car. The car was found close by with both bodies in it — single shot to the head, both of them. The cops don't know who they were working for, but somebody didn't want them to talk."
"I guess not," O'Toole said. "Is Canaday's boat still there?"
"Yes, but they moved it out of the marina. They're still in St. Lucia, according to the customs records."
"And did you find out more about Holsclaw?"
"No, sir. You said you'd get back to us on that."
"Oh, right," O'Toole said. "I remember now."
"Do you want us to do a background on him?"
"No, that's okay. Just find the boat. I got a feeling the wife and Holsclaw know where Canaday is."
"You want us to ask them?"
"Yes. Find out everything they know."
"Very well, sir. Anything else?"
"No, that's it for now," O'Toole said. "Call me tomorrow. Sooner if you find them."
"Yes, sir."
"You took out a life insurance policy on Steve. You planned this all along, didn't you, Marian?" Bert asked. "And then you told Steve something to make him angry with me, hoping I'd kill him."
"You're delusional, Bert. I never bought that insurance policy."
"Oh yeah?" Bert's eyes were wide. "Then why'd you ask how soon you could collect?"
"Because, you dumb shit, we need the money."
Bert frowned. "Why didn't you tell him you didn't buy the policy, then?"
"I will, at some point, but let's see where this is going."
"I don't believe you," Bert said.
"Think about it, Bert. If I bought the policy, why did Steve have it? Why would I have told him about it, even? Don't you think I would have kept it myself?"
Bert looked at her, his lips compressed into a straight line.
After a few seconds, she said, "Steve set us up, the bastard."
"That might make sense," Bert said. "Why didn't you say something like that to the lawyer?"
"There's time. He's on my side, remember? I wanted to think this through."
"What do you — "
Bert's question was interrupted by the blast of a siren from outside, followed by an amplified voice. "Hello, Windsong. Police boarding. Everyone on deck, please."
When Marian and Bert were in the cockpit, a police launch carrying five uniformed men came alongside.
"Good morning," the man in charge said. "Are you the only two aboard?"
"Yes," Bert said.
The leader and two men vaulted the lifelines and landed on the side deck. The launch backed away a few yards and began to drift.
"Mrs. Canaday and Mr. Holsclaw, correct?" the leader asked.
Bert and Marian nodded. "What do you need?" Marian asked.
"We have a few questions, Mrs. Canaday. I'll sit in the cockpit with you and we can talk while my men are below dusting for fingerprints." He motioned for them to return to the cockpit and followed them.
"Why fingerprints?" Marian asked, before they were seated.
"We need Mr. Canaday's prints. It's a routine matter. We must send them along to your embassy."
"But how can you tell which ones are his?" Bert asked. "We've all been all over the boat."
"Yes, I'm sure. Then you will understand why we must fingerprint both of you while we are here, so that we can eliminate yours. We understand there may still be others, but those can be eliminated by various means. It's a mere formality, but we must take all possible steps to be sure of the identity of the missing Mr. Canaday."
Bert started to speak, but Marian put a hand on his arm to silence him. "You said you had a few questions."
"Yes, ma'am. Does the name Patrick Michael Boushel mean anything to either of you?"
Marian and Bert traded glances, and both shook their heads.
"No. I don't know anyone by that name," Marian said.
The policeman looked at Bert and raised his eyebrows.
"Doesn't ring a bell," Bert said.
"That means no?" the policeman asked.
"That's right," Bert said.
"Thank you, Mr. Holsclaw. And how about Victor Murphy? Do you know him, or did you ever hear Mr. Canaday mention his name?"
"No, never," Marian said.
"No," Bert said.
"Thank you both. I'll ask you to stay here in sight of the boat crew while I join my men below. We should be finished in a few minutes, and then my technician can get a fingerprint sample from each of you and we'll leave you to enjoy the rest of the day."
22
“Good morning, Cedric," Paul said, answering his cellphone. He and Connie were in the cockpit, the remains of their breakfast on the table.
"Good morning. I wanted to tell you where we stand on our investigation of your former guest, and I wondered if you had any news yet from your old partner about the prints we sent you yesterday."
"Not yet, but he thought he'd hear late this morning. I'll call you as soon as I hear from him. Mind if I put you on the speaker so Connie can hear?"
"Please do," Cedric said, pausing for a few seconds to give Paul time. "We couldn't reach Victor Murphy by telephone yesterday. We finally called his wife, who was distressed because she hadn't heard from him since the day before. He didn't come home night before last, either, so we got a key to his office from her, and a warrant to enter. He was found dead in his office, I'm afraid. I would have called last night, except that it was very late by the time I got the word."
"What happened to him?" Connie asked.
"He was severely beaten, and there were signs that he was tortured. The crime scene is still under investigation, and the coroner has yet to do his autopsy. We did discover several forged and stolen passports in his office safe, however, which may explain the Boushel identity."
"You did say that Canaday's wife and their guest didn't recognize eithe
r Boushel's or Murphy's names, right?" Paul asked.
"That's correct," Cedric said. "I know what you're thinking, Paul. I've sent investigators back to Marigot to question them further about Canaday's alleged accident. When you talk to your partner again, would you ask him if he's ever heard of Canaday?"
"Sure, I'll do that. Do you think Canaday may have staged his disappearance, with the collusion of his wife and this other guy?"
"That would be one explanation. After we found the passports, we called the Canadian Embassy in Barbados."
"Were all of the passports you found Canadian?" Connie asked.
"No. There were a couple that were, but the rest were a mix, including a couple from the U.S. We're backtracking all of those now."
"Is there any evidence that Murphy was the forger?" Paul asked.
"No, not yet. We think he was a go-between for whoever was forging them. We're waiting on a court order that will allow us to review his client records, in hopes that we'll spot a connection to the supplier. But before you ask any more questions, I need to tell you about the rest of what we got from the Canadian Embassy."
"Oh," Connie said. "Sorry to get you off the track."
"That's all right. It's no surprise that they've had no contact with Victor Murphy, is it?"
"Not really," Paul said. "Had they ever heard of Patrick Michael Boushel?"
"No, and they didn't provide that temporary travel document, either. It was forged. We found another one in Murphy's files with the name blank."
"Does anything jump out about the names on the forged and stolen documents?" Paul asked.
"Not so far, but we're still checking. I've also had people checking all the hotels and guest houses on the island for Boushel. There's no sign of him."
"So, he didn't spend the night in a hotel," Connie said. "Do you think he had already left the island when he called us?"
"Or he used a different name. Since the Boushel identity was false, there's no reason to think it was the only one he had. Given what we found at Murphy's, we're assuming he had a passport, but it may not have been in the Boushel name."
"If he was serious about disappearing, it almost surely wasn't," Paul said. "He would have figured you'd smoke out the Boushel scam. You think he killed Murphy to cover his tracks?"
"We can't rule that out," Cedric said, "but it doesn't explain the torture."
"Unless he thought Murphy had something else that he wanted," Paul said. "What about the $250,000 of his that Murphy claimed to have in his escrow account?"
"We're working on a second warrant to look at his client accounts. That's as hard to get as the one for client records; our judges are just as sensitive as yours when it comes to client confidentiality. We'll end up with some disinterested magistrate as a middleman, and it'll take some time."
"Meanwhile, Boushel has a head start, I guess," Connie said.
"Yes," Cedric said. "We've circulated his picture at the airports and all the customs and immigration offices, plus the charter operations and the water taxi operators. I've requested copies of the airport security videos from yesterday afternoon through this morning, too."
"Sounds like you've covered everything," Paul said. "You know, though, we just assumed he was still on the island when he called us yesterday. He could have been anywhere."
"Yes," Cedric said. "We've asked the telephone company to check the calls to your two cellphones yesterday. I know you told me that the caller i.d. wasn't available, but they may be able to at least tell whether the call originated locally. If you could check the incoming call log and tell me what time he called and which of your numbers he used, that will speed things along."
"It was my phone," Connie said. "That's the other Florida number you have for us. The sat phone's the one with the Puerto Rico area code; he didn't call it. I looked while I was talking just now. The call came in at 10:15 a.m., right after you left."
"Great," Cedric said. "Thanks. I'd best get back to work."
"Thanks for the update," Paul said. "I'll call Luke and ask about Canaday as soon as we hang up. I'll call you back as soon as I have anything."
"Oscar?"
"Yeah. Have you found Canaday?"
"Not yet; still looking, but — "
"How about his wife?" Jefferson interrupted.
"We just got a tip from our source with the local cops in St. Lucia. We know where they are; we're keeping an eye on them for the moment. As soon as we get a clear shot at them, we'll take them offshore and question them."
"Okay, but I'm running out of patience. I need Canaday."
"There's some indication that the cops think something's fishy about his disappearance."
"What indication?"
"A couple of things, actually. The cops in St. Lucia sent people to Canaday's yacht to try to get a set of fingerprints for him."
"Why would they do that?" Jefferson asked.
"Our source isn't sure, but the deputy commissioner of police has taken over the investigation."
"What does that mean? Why did he do that?"
"It's not routine any longer; they suspect something, but nobody knows what."
"You said a couple of things," Jefferson said. "What else?"
"The wife's lawyer filed with the probate court in Broward County; she's asking them to declare him dead."
"Could be just part of his smokescreen," Jefferson said.
"Yeah, it could be, but if it is, he really went to some trouble." Jefferson's contact told him about the lawyer in Fort Lauderdale who came forward with the package from Canaday.
"Nice touch," Jefferson said. "The son of a bitch set up the wife and her boyfriend. I'm not sure that helps me, but it sure creates a smokescreen."
"Hard to say, Oscar. But it might explain why the locals in St. Lucia turned up the heat."
"Maybe," Jefferson said. "I can't get too excited about that until your people question Marian Canaday. You got anything else?"
"Yeah, on whoever else is looking for him. We still don't know who sent the two guys to that boat, but we got some background on the people who own it."
"Give me the quick version; I'm running late for a meeting."
"Okay. It's a charter yacht called Diamantista II. It's owned and run by a woman named Connie Barrera and her husband, Paul Russo. Rumor has it the woman's connected to one of the cartels, and Russo is retired from MPD. He ran homicide there. Also, they showed up in St. Lucia with a guy they claim to have found shipwrecked on some deserted island. He had amnesia, didn't know who he was, or how he ended up on the island. A local lawyer in St. Lucia identified him as a client, a Canadian developer working out of Cuba, named Patrick Boushel."
"Get to the point," Jefferson said.
"Boushel's disappeared, and the lawyer was found dead in his office last night, tortured to death. He was dealing in forged passports."
"Are you thinking that Boushel might be Canaday?" Jefferson asked.
"Yeah, maybe, and if Canaday was hooked up with the people on Diamantista II, he could have been trying to set up some kind of drug deal. That would explain the two guys boarding the boat looking for him."
"You're giving me a headache. Find out what Canaday's wife and her boyfriend know. See if they know those people on the other boat. And get me the details on this cartel woman. Don't lose her and the ex-cop. You may need to question them, too. But not just yet. Find out for sure who they are. I gotta go." Jefferson disconnected the call and hustled out of his office.
"Hey, Luke," Paul said, answering his cellphone and switching on the speaker.
"I gotta hand it to you, partner. You really know how to pick 'em," Luke Pantene said. "Connie with you?"
"Yes, why?"
"Just curious. Hi, Connie."
"Good morning, Luke. You okay with me listening in?"
"Sure. Somebody's gotta keep Russo straight. I got the word back from the lab; the prints match. Boushel and Canaday are Joel Andersen, or at least, Andersen's prints were on Canaday's boat."
"I had a hunch they'd match," Paul said. "You have some reason to think Canaday isn't Andersen?"
"No, not really. Why?"
"I was about to call you with some more questions, anyway."
"Before you get me off the track," Luke said, "I need to tell you about Canaday. I got a feeling the Broward County State's Attorney's gonna be going after the wife and the boyfriend."
"Oh?" Paul said. "Funny, our local police contact wanted me to see what you could find out about Canaday. That's what I was going to ask you about."
"Well, fasten your seat belt and hang on. I picked up a newscast this morning about Canaday being missing from his boat under suspicious circumstances, so I called my counterpart up in Fort Lauderdale." Luke filled Paul and Connie in on the Canaday situation as it was known to the authorities in Broward County.
"They think the wife and the boyfriend tried to do him in?" Connie asked.
"My contact up there's dubious about that," Luke said. "He thinks it could just as easily be a setup by Canaday to cover his disappearance."
"And is there a reason why he might want to disappear?" Paul asked.
"More like two hundred million reasons," Luke said. "Canaday's a real estate developer, a high-roller. He's been working on a big golf course, a gated community project. Seems like most of the money's missing, spirited away out of the country. If his wife did kill him for his money, she's gonna be disappointed; they're dead broke."
"Sounds like a typical Florida deal to me," Connie said, "except where are the drug dealers? There have to be drugs involved, right?"
"Oh, don't you worry. There's a drug tie-in. Ever hear of a guy named Oscar Jefferson?"
"No," Connie said.
"How about you, Paul?"
"The name's vaguely familiar. Why?"
"We've been watching him for a while. He calls himself an investment advisor. His clients are wealthy South Americans. They're the same ones who spend most of their time in those multimillion dollar condos in South Beach. You know, the ones that come furnished with live-in, twenty-year-old models."
"Not the kind of people who'd just write the loss off on their taxes, huh?" Paul asked.
"Not likely, no. So, he had reasons for wanting to disappear. Could be he set the wife and her boyfriend up as a diversion, or they could have decided to kill him. It's hard to say. The investigators already discovered that she didn't know they were broke. She tried to move some money into the boyfriend's account even before she started the ball rolling on having Canaday declared deceased. That means her motive's intact. The insurance policy she took out on him is damning, too. But who knows?"
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