Cruise Control

by A. J. Stewart

  “The ship lives in America.”

  “You’re right about that. Jurisdiction on the ship is kind of fuzzy, I agree. But not on the island. The island is The Bahamas, one hundred percent.”

  “You’ve got nothing.”

  I looked at Lucas. I really was getting nowhere.

  Lucas said, “You’re not being very helpful.” He pulled Martelli up out of his seat and dragged him to the side of the boat and sat him on the edge. Martelli gave Lucas a smug look. So Lucas pushed him overboard.

  But not all the way overboard. As Martelli’s back hit the water, Lucas grabbed his legs as they flipped up. Martelli’s knees bent and he hung upside down, and flapped and spluttered to pull his head up out of the ocean. It wasn’t easy to do. It takes a lot of core strength to do an upside-down ab crunch like that. And Frankie Martelli wasn’t built for ab crunches. He flailed like a fish out of water. Lucas held him there for longer than was necessary and then offered him a hand and dragged him back into the boat.

  He dumped Martelli on the floor.

  “Now, you want to answer my friend’s questions, or you wanna go swimming again?”

  Martelli spat water onto the floor.

  “Go to hell.”

  Lucas nodded. “Tough guy.”

  “Help yourself out,” I said. I figured I’d start with something softer. “Tell me about Ana.”

  Martelli spat more saltwater. “Who?”

  “Come on, Frankie. Anastasia Connors. Who cooked up the scheme? You or her? Or did you come up with it together, since you were having an affair?”

  “An affair?”

  “Yes, Frankie. We have photos. You and Anastasia.”

  “You think I’m having an affair with the old lady?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Come on, bro. You think I’m gonna sleep with that?”

  “You’re not?”

  “I’d rather eat my own arm.”

  I took this in. I believed him. So he wasn’t having an affair with Anastasia Connors. I doubted the news would come as any kind of comfort to my client.

  “So you’re just in it for the money?”

  Martelli said nothing, but he gave me his best defiant face.

  “Whose idea was it? Yours or hers?”

  Still nothing.

  Lucas dunked him all over again, and Martelli spat more seawater on the floor. Then I repeated my questions. The defiant face got more defiant.

  “You’re gonna do time,” I said. “Unless you help us out.”

  “You the district attorney?” he said smugly.

  “No. But he’s a personal friend. And he’s gonna love you.”

  The truth was the state attorney in West Palm wasn’t a personal friend. He was Danielle’s ex-husband, and he didn’t think much of me. But that didn’t feel like the kind of information that was going to help. As it was, nothing did.

  Lucas sat on the gunwale between the two boats and twisted around so he was back in the boat with me.

  “I really don’t think he going to fess up,” he whispered.

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “He’s more afraid of whoever he’s working for than anything I’ll do to him. Even jail time.”

  I nodded. Martelli was a proving a tough nut to crack. So I thought about my options. In the end, I had done my job. I had the information my client had asked for. Although I didn’t have conclusive photos, I was sure enough that Frederick’s wife was not having an affair. Of course, it wasn’t all good news. The rub was that she was working with some kind of gangster to steal her own jewels. I suspected an insurance scam, but the involvement of Francis Martelli suggested there was a plan to fence the rings.

  My friend Sal Mondavi ran a pawnshop that occasionally saw such items. And he knew a lot of people like Frankie from his native New York. He probably even knew Frankie’s people. And Sal had told me many times that such organizations preferred the path of least resistance. They didn’t go looking for problems. They knew that what they did was hard enough. So moving such famous rings, even genuine fakes, was going to be tough. They were too well known. But Sal would have said there’s still one way to on-sell a well-known stolen car: in pieces.

  The fact that the fakes were genuine fakes made all the difference. If you couldn’t move the rings, then you could certainly sell the gemstones in them. And these things were covered in gems. Diamonds were a favorite. And Anastasia had told me herself she had used the real things. If the rings were worth around three million dollars, then the gemstones alone, plus the gold and whatever else the rings were made from, had to be worth half that. One and a half million in parts, plus three million in insurance.

  A worthwhile payday.

  What Frederick Connors had stumbled onto wasn’t an affair but the planning of a heist. And his decision to come on the cruise at the last moment had probably caused last minute consternation. I couldn’t see how, though. So I did what I asked clients to do. I started at the end.

  Frankie had the rings. He hired Ridley to get him off the island. He got the rings from a bag drop at the tiki bar. He hadn’t brought them through the metal detector because he knew he couldn’t. They had come off via someone who didn’t go through the metal detector.

  The barman. He had swapped the bags. And up until that point, Frankie hadn’t taken possession. Which meant someone else took the rings initially. Maybe that was Anastasia’s role. But I still couldn’t see how.

  Then I got an idea.

  “We need to get back to the ship.”

  “You sure?” asked Lucas.

  “I’m sure.”

  “All righty.” Lucas picked up Martelli and sat him between the two boats. Martelli wasn’t talking but he wasn’t stupid. He scrambled around to put both feet firmly in the boat with me, and then with a nod Lucas directed him to sit on the floor.

  “Keep your eye on him,” Lucas said, so I did.

  Then Lucas sent Ridley on his way.

  “You get home now. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. And if I hear of you doing something this stupid again, not only will I tell your father, I’ll hold you down while he tears you a new one. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Lucas. I’m sorry, man. I’m really sorry.”

  “Get home.”

  Lucas untied the two boats and Ridley motored away at a circumspect speed. I wasn’t so sure about sending a teenager away into the darkness in the middle of the ocean, but Lucas seemed to think Ridley knew his way home.

  I sat with my chair turned toward the rear, watching Martelli, aka Guy X. He said nothing and I said nothing.

  Lucas fired up the engine and headed off fast, but not quite so fast as before. I assumed he knew where he was going, so I grabbed the comms device from the cubby and typed a message to Army. Then I sat back and watched Frankie Martelli say nothing at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Coming up on them now,” Lucas called.

  I didn’t glance around. I wasn’t taking my eyes off Frankie Martelli. He didn’t look like he was going to try anything. He looked wet and tired and resigned. But I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Lucas pulled the speedboat up over the wake of the ship so we could get in close, and moved in alongside. The hull towered above us, and the decks further above that. It struck me again how truly remarkable it was that this thing floated at all.

  As we crept along, I saw the open hatch, a rectangle of light in the dark hull. Army was standing on one side of it. He wasn’t permitted to assist someone jumping off, but I figured it was certainly in his job description to help them back on.

  Danielle stood on the other side of the hatch. She looked serious. They had dropped a net made of orange nylon ribbon, and Lucas got in close. Too close for my liking. The curve of the hull meant I couldn’t see even the lowest deck anymore. It felt like we were poking a dinosaur with a stick.

  Lucas didn’t seem too fussed by it all. He angled alongside so the net fell right by the
side of the boat.

  “All right, let’s get that donkey off this boat.”

  I directed Martelli to get up. At first he didn’t move, so I got down near him.

  “It’s up the net or in the water. And we’re not coming back. You won’t be missed.”

  He growled and pushed himself up. I think his knees were stiff, because he edged around the side of the speedboat to where the net hung.

  “Don’t jump,” said Lucas. “Grab ahold with your hands, then step your feet over.”

  Martelli nodded. He was a low-level gangster, so he knew how to take orders. He leaned out and grabbed the net with both hands. Fortunately, the sea wasn’t too rough, because Martelli was a bonafide landlubber. He tried to step out with one foot just as the speedboat dipped, and he found himself hanging in midair. He kicked with both feet, looking for a toehold. I’d seen four-year-olds make a better job of it down at the local playground.

  Eventually he got lucky and one of his feet looped into the net. Then bit by bit, he laboriously climbed the five feet to the hatch. Once his arms got to the bottom of the hatch, Army and another officer grabbed him and dragged him in.

  I was next. I’m no ballerina. Grace has never been a word associated with me. But I hoped to get up the damned net in better style than Martelli. I looped the travel bag around my arm and then moved into position.

  “I owe you one,” I told Lucas. It wasn’t true. I owed him many.

  “No sweat. I got enough fish for a month.” He grinned and his eyes shone in the light from the hatch.

  “Where you going now?” I asked.

  “I’ll stop in at Chub Cay Marina, cook up some wahoo.”

  I nodded and turned back to the net. I reached out and grabbed it with both hands. Then I did as Lucas had said and I picked a spot to land my foot. I hit the wide net first try and then pushed away from the speedboat with my other foot. I confirmed my grip and then climbed up. When I got to the hatch I gripped the side of the opening and used the net to step up rather than being dragged in by my arms.

  I turned around on my backside to see the running lights from the speedboat heading off into the distant darkness. Then I dropped the bag and stood.

  Army, Porter and another male officer I didn’t know were watching me. I looked to Danielle.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Good now. You?”

  “Good now.”

  I hugged her before asking Army, “Where’s Martelli?”

  “Who?”

  “Guy X.”

  “Right. He’s in the brig.”

  “I thought you didn’t have a brig?”

  “We don’t. We just call it that. Sounds better than being in crew quarters behind a locked door.”

  I nodded. It did sound better.

  Porter and the other officer moved me out of the way so they could close the hatch, and then they went through a little cross-check process to make sure everything was squared away.

  “What did you find,” said Army. “Other than a missing passenger?”

  I picked up the blue travel bag.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  I smiled.

  “No way,” said Danielle.

  “Yep,” I said.

  Porter said, “The rings?”

  “Three millions bucks worth. Assuming they’re the real ones.”

  “What did he say?” asked Danielle. “Martelli?”

  “Not a lot. He’s answering to someone back home who values silence and knows how to get it.”

  “You know, jurisdiction can be problematic in these things. Technically this is probably a Bahamas crime,” said Army.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And as soon as we get back to Palm Beach, they’ll have to extradite him, which they probably won’t do, since the problem has gone away.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So he’s going to get away with it?” asked Danielle. She didn’t look happy. She really didn’t like the bad guys getting away with it.

  “Oh, I didn’t say that.”

  Army said, “What do you need?”

  “A shopkeeper, a barman and a favor or two.”

  Army nodded. “What first?”

  “Is Martelli secure?”

  “We’ll hand him to the FBI when we get back in. They’ll have to let him go, but he won’t see daylight until then.”

  “Okay, so the fact that he’s on board and in the brig, that stays between us.”

  “The captain will have to be informed,” Army said.

  “Is he at dinner now?”

  “Yes. The captain’s dinner.”

  “Don’t go disturbing him,” I said. “Tell him later.”

  “I will. What now?”

  “Let’s go to your control room. We need to find someone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The security control room was quieter than I’d thought it would be.

  “We’ve got a lot of people out on the floor. It’s a busy night,” said Army. “Who are we looking for?”

  “You got a jewelry store on board, right?” I asked Porter. She was the one who seemed to know her way around the system.

  “Of course.”

  “Is it run by sales staff or is there an actual jeweler?”

  “Both. We have a jeweler, because we get a lot marriage proposals.”

  I nodded and thought of Ron and Cassandra, though they'd gotten their ring back in Palm Beach.

  “Can you track the jeweler down?”

  “He’s probably at dinner.”

  “The captain’s dinner?”

  “No, in the staff cafeteria. But I would expect him to be at the auction. He knows about those sorts of things.”

  “Find him. Get him here.”

  “Can I ask why?” said Army.

  “I want to make sure the rings I got from Martelli are the real deal. And I don’t want to use the auctioneer. He’s not in the clear yet, and he’s too close to Anastasia.”

  “You’re not planning on telling her you found them?”

  “Oh, I’m planning on telling her all right. But I want to be sure of what I have first.”

  Porter had taken a seat at the computer console and she put out a call for the jeweler. Within thirty seconds she got a reply. He was at dinner. She asked him to come to the security control office immediately.

  “Second, we need to find another crew member. Guy X—Martelli—got a bag drop on the island. He didn’t take these rings off the ship. They came off with a crew member.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Army.

  “I’m sure. And with some help, we can prove it. The drop was done at the tiki bar on the beach. Who worked there today?”

  Porter tapped away and then leaned back in her chair so I could see the screen. “Two staff. Martin Perkins and Shelley Roebuck.”

  “The guy, not the woman.”

  “How do you know it’s not the woman?” asked Porter. She said it like she was a little ticked off, like I had made an assumption that a woman could not be party to such a crime. Clearly she was forgetting that I was looking to link Martelli with Anastasia Connors. When it came to crime, I was equal opportunity. Women were capable of as much scumbaggery as men. Sometimes.

  “Because we couldn’t figure out how Martelli got back onto the ship from the island,” I said.

  “He didn’t,” said Danielle. “You just nailed him now.”

  “I did. But when I followed him, Ron ran back to the dock. The security guy there reported that the system said Martelli was already back on board.” I looked at Army. “How could that happen?”

  “It couldn’t,” he said.

  “It did.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The system just records what?”

  Porter said, “The passenger’s ship pass is scanned as they embark.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you’re saying his pass was scanned but he didn’t get on?” asked Army. “You think one of m
y security team is in on this?”

  “No, I don’t. I think someone was wearing Martelli’s ship pass, pretending to be him.”

  “Doesn’t work,” said Porter. “The passenger count would be out.”

  “If it was a passenger.”

  Porter frowned and then said, “You think it’s the bartender, Perkins.”

  “I do.”

  “But the security at embarkation would check the ID of the passenger against the photo the scan puts on the screen. Plus, he would be missed at his station. They had to close up the bar, do inventory, all that.”

  “It’s only a theory, but how’s this? Perkins does the drop. Martelli is at the bar wearing a horrible shirt and a ball cap. He has black hair. Then Perkins goes on a break. He puts on a horrible shirt and a ball cap. He has dark hair. He takes Martelli’s ship pass off the bar. He uses it to get on board. Remember, your guys aren’t passport control. They know they’re on a private island. All they’re really concerned with, as Porter just said, is that the numbers add up. If a thousand people got off, a thousand have to get back on. They’ll scan the ID, look at the photo and see a guy in a loud shirt with a ball cap on over dark hair. Close enough, move on.”

  “But now you’re saying Perkins is on board. He would have been missed during clean up at the tiki bar,” said Army.

  “How hard is it to return to his cabin, dump the shirt and the hat and then cut back out the supply hatch? It would be open to allow for the on boarding of stock. He’s in uniform, he has his crew ID. He’s packing up, putting away. He skips off and returns to the bar.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Army.

  “You don’t have to like it for it to be true,” I said.

  He frowned. We all knew there was a breach in security, and that was his house of cards. He’d have to learn from it and deal with it. In my experience that took proud guys like him a little while to process.

  “Where does this Perkins work, Porter?” he asked.

  She didn’t tap her keyboard. She was way ahead of him, so she just pointed to the screen.

  “Sporting lounge. He’s on dinner break and then he’s rostered on tonight.”