Dangerous Friends (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 4)

by Dallas Gorham

  Kevin looked unmoved.

  “We’re trying to catch a criminal here. We could use your help.”

  “Let me see your search warrant.”

  “We’re not cops; we don’t have a warrant. We’re asking for a little help from a fellow public-minded citizen.”

  Kevin’s eyebrows went up. He uncrossed his arms. “So you’re not cops.”

  “No, we’re private investigators.” I didn’t add like it says on my business card which you didn’t read. No point in being petty. “The insurance company hired us to recover the stolen boat.”

  Kevin’s attitude warmed a little. “So you’re not here to hassle us?”

  “We’re here tracking a stolen boat. That’s the only item on our agenda. Could you help us please, as one private citizen to another?” I spread my hands in a gesture of supplication. Give Kevin the power.

  Kevin stroked his chin. “I don’t see what it would hurt. But I don’t know how to operate the system. Somebody from the security company comes in once a week and does maintenance or something. Do you know how those things work?”

  “I’m familiar with a lot of security systems. If you’ll show us your monitors and keyboard, we’ll take it from there. Feel free to watch us work if you like. We only want to look at the time frame I told you about.”

  Kevin waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I thought you guys were cops.” He looked serious for a second. “We’ve had bad experiences with cops. You understand.”

  “I know the kind of cops you mean.” There weren’t many of them left in the Port City Police Department, but there were still a few who needed to be weeded out.

  Kevin showed us the small security office at the rear of the office suite. Snoop sat at the monitor and I pulled a chair over next to him.

  Kevin stepped toward the door. “I made a fresh pot of coffee. Would you guys like some?”

  Snoop said, “Sounds good. I drink mine black.”

  “And I like a little creamer, no sugar. Thanks very much,” I added.

  Snoop flicked switches from camera to camera, looking for the right view. “Something wrong here, Chuck. I see two cameras on the dock, but the rest are different exterior shots. Nothing covers the river.”

  “Show me.” The two cameras focused on the dock were mounted high on the wall and looked straight down on the dock and the boats moored there. The angle of vision did not include the river itself. “Show me the view at 3:08 a.m.”

  “Won’t do any good, Chuck. All you’ll see is the boats tied up at the dock and maybe a couple feet of river. The cameras are aimed wrong to see the rest.”

  “Just do it, Snoop. 3:08 a.m.”

  Snoop punched the keyboard. The monitor showed the eight-foot wide dock and two boats below. The only motion on the screen was the time indicator ticking over in the corner. The rest looked like a snapshot, unmoving.

  I watched for a while. “The boat on the right is twenty-five feet long; the one on the left is thirty-one.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Count the dock boards. Six inches per board. Notice the reflection of the boat on the right?”

  “What reflection?”

  “Its hull. You can see about a foot of the underneath side of the bow reflected in the surface of the river. See, it’s lit by the dock lights.”

  “Yeah, I see it. So?”

  “So watch the reflection. If I’m right, you’ll see something interesting soon.”

  We waited.

  “I see it, I see it,” Snoop said. “The reflection moved.”

  I jotted down the time. “That was the stolen boat’s wake as it passed in the middle of the river. Switch to the other camera and see when the wake hits the boats at the other end of the dock.”

  Snoop punched the keyboard and another unmoving image filled the screen. One boat moored at the dock was a sailboat, the other a sport fisherman. “Camera angle’s no good, Chuck. Can’t see the reflections of the hulls.”

  “We don’t need reflections, Snoop. Based on the length of the sailboat, I’d estimate the mast is forty feet tall. If the wake is the same size as the first one we saw, the mast will rock about two feet back and forth. The sport fisherman’s outriggers will move about a foot.” Sure enough, a minute later the sailboat mast moved. But it was only a few inches. The sport fisherman didn’t move at all.

  Snoop froze the picture. “That’s impossible. We had a good wake on the first boats, a small one for the sailboat and none on the sport fisherman. Can’t be.”

  I pulled up Google Earth. “There’s a canal across the river. Whiskers must have turned the boat up the canal. We’re getting closer.”

  Chapter 28

  Kelly answered on the first ring. “Hey, Chuck.”

  “Hello, Kel. When do you get off?”

  “In five minutes. Why?”

  “I need a favor. Then I’ll buy you dinner if you’re free.”

  Kelly paused before she answered. “Is this like a dinner… date?”

  I realized I’d said the wrong thing. “No, no, no. I want an update on the matter we were discussing.”

  “What’s the favor?”

  I pulled out the three driver’s licenses I’d collected from the gunmen in the Ford. “I need reports on three guys from Chicago.” I read her the names, Chicago addresses, and Illinois driver’s license numbers. “And I need a trace on a license plate. I think it’s a rental, so I need to know who rented it.” I read her the license plate.

  “Give me a half hour. Where you wanna meet?”

  “I’ll meet you at Barney’s.” That was a cop joint near the North Shore Precinct where Kelly worked.

  “How about the Rusty Pelican instead? If I’m gonna work for free, you ought to give me fringe benefits.” The Rusty Pelican was a swanky restaurant on an island in Seeti Bay with a million-dollar view of the Port City skyline and prices to match.

  “I’d love to, Kelly, but we’d never get a table on Friday afternoon at six o’clock without waiting in the bar for an hour. The lawyers, bankers, and hedge fund managers will have the good tables. Besides, this is a working dinner, not a social event. I’ll treat you to the Rusty Pelican when this is over. Maybe a few weeks.”

  “Okay, I’ll hold you to that. For today, should I bring Bigs if he’s free?”

  I almost said yes then changed my mind. “No. Just you.”

  After I hung up, I wondered why I’d wanted to see her alone.

  I spotted Kelly at a back booth. A pitcher of dark beer and two mugs sat on the table. She waved and poured me a beer as I crossed the crowded restaurant and bar. “You like Port City Amber, Chuck?” She shoved the mug across the table.

  “You better know it.” I slid into the bench across from her. I clinked my mug against hers. “Salud.”

  Barney walked over in his trademark long white apron over his khaki slacks and Port City Pelicans tee-shirt. “Welcome back. You folks want a menu?”

  “I know what I want.” I turned to Kelly. “You need a menu?”

  Kelly smiled at Barney. “I’d like a grilled chicken Caesar salad, no croutons, please.”

  Barney entered her order on a tablet computer. “You, Chuck?”

  “Chicken-fried steak, gravy on the side, coleslaw, and a sweet potato, naked. And corn bread.”

  “I’ll turn your order in. Sheryl will be your server. I’m just helping out during the rush. See you both later maybe. Enjoy.” He left.

  Kelly wore a cream-colored silk blouse with a dark gold silk neck scarf and a heavy gold chain necklace. Below the scarf, a couple of buttons were undone, showing the necklace between the twin swells of her breasts.

  “I’m glad you picked a back booth. More private.” This was where I should have asked for her report—correction, reports. But I didn’t. I looked at her eyes. She had brown eyes, the same shade as Miyo’s. And dark, dark brown hair like Miyo’s.

  Kelly studied my face. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the three thugs from Ch
icago and the rental car? And what about the train bomb investigation?”

  I cleared my throat. “To tell you the truth, Kelly, I find your, uh, cleavage distracting.”

  “Your honesty is refreshing—I guess.” She smiled and glanced down at her blouse. “If you’re going to be direct, I will too. It’s supposed to distract, Chuck. That’s why we women do it.” She grinned and her brown eyes sparkled. “When I’m on duty, I button it to the top. More businesslike.” She raised her gaze to my face. “I’m off duty.” A sly smile followed.

  “That’s for sure. I’ve never seen you off duty before. At least not this way.”

  “You’ve never seen me off duty before—period.” She put a hand on my forearm. “Would you like me to button up?”

  I grinned. “God, no. I like the view as long as you don’t mind if I leer.”

  “Like I said, that’s why we do it.”

  I dragged my gaze up to Kelly’s face. “Okay. Let’s get the business out of the way.” Out of the way of what? This is supposed to be a business dinner.

  Kelly flipped open a large leather purse sitting beside her on the bench seat. She pulled out several sheets of paper and unfolded them. “Rap sheets for the three thugs.” She shoved them across. “They’re muscle for Adam Wolenski, a mobster in Chicago. Gofers and strong-arm guys.”

  I took the sheets. “Any hired killers among them?”

  “Hard to say. Most of their arrests are for assault and battery, one had an attempted murder a few years ago, charges dropped. Murder wouldn’t surprise me, though. These are bad actors.”

  “Thanks.” I folded the papers and stuck them in a pocket. “How about the car?”

  She handed me another sheet. “Like you thought. They rented it at the airport last night. The driver’s license address was phony, and it was different from any of the driver’s licenses you read me.”

  “Did you trace the credit card?”

  “Dead end,” Kelly answered. “The card was issued by McKinley Travers Bank & Trust Company, chartered in Liechtenstein. Liechtenstein’ bank confidentiality laws are tighter than Switzerland’s.”

  I stuck the new sheet next to the other ones. “Thanks for the help. How goes the train bomb investigation?”

  “Not so fast, hotshot. When I ran the license plate, it turned up in another report. A driver on South River Drive called 9-1-1 this morning to report an altercation between persons in an Avanti, a Toyota, and a Ford. The helpful citizen watches cop shows on TV and gave us the license numbers for all three vehicles. He reported two shots fired. When our patrol car arrived, the only thing at the scene was the abandoned Ford with two tires shot out.”

  Kelly held her mug in both hands. She leaned toward me and her breasts thrust their way over the edge of the tabletop. She lowered her voice. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  I temporized. “Kelly, are you doing that because you want me to look down your blouse?”

  She glanced down at her chest, fingered her gold necklace, and leaned back. She smiled as if she was about to answer then changed her mind. “Don’t change the subject, Chuck. What’s going on with those three guys?”

  “It has to do with the project I cleared with Jorge. Trust me on that.”

  She studied my face for a moment. “Well… no one was hurt. I’ll let it pass… for now.” She sipped her beer.

  “These are the three guys’ phones.” I pulled them from my pocket and pushed them across the table.

  Kelly looked at the phones but didn’t touch them. “How’d you get those?”

  I pulled the three driver’s licenses from another pocket and set them on the table. “The same way I got these Illinois driver’s licenses.”

  Kelly stuffed the phones and licenses into her voluminous purse. “What do you want me to do with these?”

  “Each of the four phones lists three contacts: the names of the other two guys, plus a third contact named Redwood. I’d like you to ping all four of them and trace their calls for the last couple of weeks.”

  “And you want all this off the books?”

  “Check with Jorge if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “This’ll cost you dinner at the Rusty Pelican plus a brunch on Mango Island.”

  “I’m not a member of Mango Island.”

  Kelly scoffed. “Puh-leeze. Everyone on the force knows about your connection to Hank Hickham. He’ll get you a guest pass.”

  That was uncomfortably close to the truth about my history on Mango Island. I decided to quit while I was ahead. “Deal.”

  We clinked our beer mugs. “Now tell me about the bridge bombing investigation.”

  “That Gene Lopez can be a real prick sometimes, ya know?”

  I laughed and clinked my mug against hers. “Has the FBI found the boat?”

  “Yes and no. The boat’s in a million pieces, most of which floated away down the river. They found one piece with a partial on the FL number. But they did recover two outboard engines from the river bottom. The serial numbers belong to a Boston Whaler.”

  “What model?”

  “I think it was a 280 Outrage. Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just in the interest of completeness. Go on.”

  She flipped open the purse again and pulled out a small spiral notebook. When she leaned over, her blouse gaped open and flashed a glimpse of pink lace. “Yeah, it was a 280 Outrage. The boat was delivered to a dealer here in Port City six years ago. The dealer is out of business, so they don’t know who he sold it to. All the dealer’s records were lost.”

  “How will they find out who owns the boat?”

  “They’re checking the partial FL registration number against the state records. That will take a while.”

  “What about security videos from along the river?” I asked.

  “They checked them all. They confirm it was an Outrage, but the quality wasn’t good enough to get the FL number. Oh, on one video it looks like there was a fourth person in the boat.”

  “What do they know about the bomb?”

  She referred to the notebook again. “Ammonium nitrate, liquid nitromethane, set off by Tovex. Approximately fifteen hundred pounds.”

  “Umm. The first two are pretty easy to get; the Tovex is regulated.” I pulled out my notepad and wrote down the ingredients.

  Sheryl arrived with a serving tray balanced on one hand and a wooden stand hooked over her elbow. She flipped open the stand with a practiced move and set the tray on it. She checked the half dozen dishes crowded on the tray. “Who had the chicken fried steak, gravy on the side?”

  I refilled our beer mugs while Sheryl served us. “Anything else I can get you folks? No? Holler if you need anything.” She picked up the serving tray and rushed off to serve the next customers.

  I spooned a little gravy on my steak. “How far up the river did they trace the boat?”

  “How did you know the boat came from upriver? It could have come from downriver.”

  I shrugged. “Best case, it was fifty-fifty they came downriver. What’s your point?”

  “You know more than you’re telling me.” She pushed her salad to one side. “What aren’t you telling me, Chuck?”

  I spread my hands in a surrender gesture. “Kelly, it’s nothing. I figured they came downriver since it’s what I would have done. There are lots of places to hide a boat on the river. Not nearly as many on the bay shore. Remember, they had to construct a bomb onboard. That takes time. They had to plan things several days ahead. Plus, the perps would have to worry about bad weather if they came across the bay. And they would have been recorded on the coastal radar. There wouldn’t be many boats on the bay in the middle of the night. It would be easy to track them back to their point of origin. They would stand out like a skunk at a Persian cat convention. Why’d you make such a point of it? Did they come from downriver?”

  “No. They came from upriver,” she said.

  “So how far upriver did Gene trace the boat?”

  “About two mi
les. They lost the trail south of McKinley Park. You know where that is?”

  “On the east side, right? How could they lose them? I assume there would be security cameras all up and down the river.”

  “There are. But for a quarter mile below McKinley, there is a big development of new condos on each side of the river. The construction site videos only show the construction sites, not the river in front.”

  “What about the park? Surely it has security cameras.”

  Kelly scoffed. “Atlantic County budget cuts. Those cameras were vandalized two weeks ago. They’re supposed to be replaced or repaired in the next fiscal year.”

  I ate a bite of coleslaw, chased it with beer. “If I were you, I’d tell Gene Lopez to check the river cameras further upstream from McKinley Park, but in the daylight.”

  Kelly frowned. “I have that feeling again that you know more than you’re telling me.”

  “I do know a lot that I’m not telling you—just not about this case. I offered to consult with Gene on the bombing, and he basically told me to take a long walk on a short pier. Gene is so smart that he doesn’t need my help. But I’m thinking like the bad guys here. If I wanted to bomb a train, I’d put those park cameras out of commission and I’d use the park for a staging area. I would bring the boat to the park ahead of time in the daylight when there’s lots of boats launching and retrieving. I’d blend in the afternoon crowd and then wait until nighttime to load my crew.”

  I stabbed another bite of steak. “I presume the bomb was concealed by a tarp or somesuch?”

  “Yeah. They saw that in the videos.”

  “Did they check the cellphone records from the neighborhood around the bridge?”

  “There are over three thousand cellphone customers within a mile of the crime scene,” Kelly said. “Over two thousand of them were turned on at the time of the explosion. That’s a lot of data to review. Even with the importance of this case, there are limits to the manpower they can throw at it. Gene thinks it could take three or four weeks to run down two thousand phones.”

  “I don’t suppose the Feds have found the cellphone used to set off the bomb, have they?”