Trading Places

by Fern Michaels

  A light rain was falling an hour later when Nathan parked the rental car next to a Mercedes 560SL. The apartment complex looked just like any apartment complex. It was well maintained, with patches of close-cropped grass next to every door. Flower beds were colorful, and vibrant, and also well tended. He was surprised not to see bicycles and scooters or roller skates. Maybe this was an adult living complex, the kind Artie Bennigan lived in.

  Noreen Farrell lived on the first floor. He rang the bell and waited. When there was no response he rang it again and again. The door next door opened and a matronly-looking woman poked her head out. “If you’re looking for Noreen Farrell, she’s gone. I saw her leaving a few days ago with two huge suitcases. I can take a message if you want to leave one with me, and I’ll give it to her when she returns.”

  Nathan’s eyes took on a desperate glaze. “Do you know where she went, ma’am?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t know. The only reason I know she’s gone at all is, I was coming home from the dentist in the middle of the day. Root canal,” she said by way of explanation as to why she was home during the day. “We aren’t neighborly, if you know what I mean. Oh, we speak, say hello, that kind of thing. She works nights and sleeps days. I work days and sleep nights. I work in a bank, and our computers went down, so they sent everyone home. I guess that’s more than you wanted to know, huh?”

  It was, but Nathan didn’t care. “Did she leave in a taxi?”

  “No. One of her friends picked her up. I’ve seen them here a few times. They’re both showgirls. Really pretty women. The one named Candy was driving. Honey was sitting in the backseat. Noreen got in the front. The reason I know their names is because Noreen introduced them to me when she invited me for dinner one Thanksgiving because my husband was away on business. Is something wrong? You look worried.”

  “No, nothing is wrong. We just need to talk to her about a friend of ours who turned up missing.”

  “Oh.”

  Alex fished in his pocket for one of his cards. He walked across the small patch of grass to hand it to the loquacious neighbor.

  “Well, if I see her, I’ll tell her you were looking for her. The bags were huge. I suspect they were going away for at least three weeks. I take bags like that when I go on vacation for three weeks. I always take the full three weeks. The bank hates it when you do that, but I don’t care. Big bags. They didn’t match. I don’t know if that’s important or not.”

  Nathan sucked in his breath. He struggled for a casual tone. “What color were they? Do you remember?”

  Of course I remember. Hunter green. My husband calls it Dartmouth green. Is that important?”

  “No. I guess it was a silly question. We appreciate your help. Thanks.”

  In the car, Alex turned to face Nathan. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “The suitcases. Will Fargo’s money. I bet you ten bucks, Lizzie told them to take the money. We packed the money up in two suitcases, and one of them was Hunter green, and took it to a storage facility. Lizzie kept the key. I think Noreen and her friends went to the Caymans. You up for a little trip?”

  Alex nodded. “I’m your man.”

  Less than twenty-four hours later, Nathan and Alex stepped out of Brac Airport to head for the nearest car rental agency. They drove away in a Jeep, the islands’ most popular rental.

  “I’ve never been here before, have you, Nathan?”

  “Nope. Heard about it, though. I read the brochure on the plane. It’s 480 miles from Miami. Supposedly it’s peaceful. The Caymans are a self-governing British crown colony. There are three islands, Grand Cayman, Cayman Brac, and little Cayman. I have no clue about to which island the girls went to. I want to say Cayman Brac because that’s where the airport is. I would assume they’d head for the nearest, nicest hotel, then do their banking thing.” Nathan turned to his companion. “This could be a wild-goose chase.”

  Alex shrugged. “It’s not like I have something better to do. Let’s start with Cayman Brac since we’re already here. According to this list that came with the rental car, the best places to stay are the Brac Airport Inn, the Brac Caribbean Beach Village, Brac Haven Villas, or Brac Reef Beach Resort. Where are we going to stay?”

  “Whichever one is the closest. We can start making calls from there. I wish to hell I knew more about offshore banking. The truth is, I really don’t know anything about it. I don’t see how a showgirl could know either. This is going to be the blind following the blind unless you know something I don’t know.”

  “Sorry, I know nothing about stuff like that. Never had enough money to worry about hiding it. I’m not exactly poor, but I’m not rich either. Hey, pull over, there’s the Brac Airport Inn.”

  They parked, checked in, taking two rooms facing the ocean. The moment Nathan handed over his credit card, he said, “Can you tell me if my friend Noreen Farrell checked in yet? We were delayed in Miami.”

  “Let me check, sir,” the honey-complexioned girl said. “Yes, they checked in three days ago. Would you like me to ring their room for you?”

  Nathan grimaced. “No, not till we look a little more presentable. We’ll find them later.” He decided to take a wild gamble. “Just out of curiosity, did they get room 711? We’re all from Las Vegas, and it’s a lucky number.”

  The young girl laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. They’re in 802.”

  Nathan did his best to look impish. “Is 711 available?”

  “No, sir, it was booked yesterday. Sign here.”

  Nathan and Alex obliged.

  On the way up in the elevator, they clapped each other on the back. “It was pure dumb luck. Normally when you expect people to do the obvious, they fool you and do the direct opposite. I counted on Noreen and the girls wanting to do this deal as quickly as possibly with the least amount of effort. They’re also probably scared out of their wits. Let’s hit the shower, then visit room 802,” Nathan said happily.

  The first thing Nathan did when he hit the room was to turn on the television to CNN. He stared at the screen, his jaw dropping. He inched his way to the bed, where he sat down. The dark stuff had finally hit the fan. He didn’t know if he should be happy or worried. CNN’s headquarters were in Atlanta, so they would give full coverage to the police department. He waited through seven commercials. Since it was the top of the hour, he had to wait for the hourly rundown before the anchor got back to APD’s corrupt police department. He listened to the excitement ringing in the anchor’s voice. Three-quarters of the department had been suspended without pay pending an investigation. Whistle-blower, Detective Agnes Jade, who was also under suspicion, and missing, was given credit for turning the records over to Chief of Detectives Erwin Shay and the commissioner. Atlanta was working with a skeleton force until the National Guard arrived. It was unclear, the anchor said, whether Jade was in protective custody, hiding out for fear of retaliation, or had flown the proverbial coop.

  The commissioner was quoted as saying this was a black day for the Atlanta Police Department. Chief of Detectives Erwin Shay agreed with the commissioner. The mayor, his expression fierce, said they would leave no stone unturned, and those guilty would be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

  Nathan reared back when a full-screen picture of Aggie Jade appeared. The anchor went on to describe the shoot-out she’d been involved in, how she almost died, the extent of her injuries and the injuries of her canine partner. Another picture was substituted. This one was taken with the mayor, the commissioner, and the chief of detectives the day she’d been released from rehab.

  The voice continued to drone on, rehashing what he’d said minutes ago as Nathan headed for the bathroom. He shaved and showered, dressing in khaki shorts and a white Izod tee. He slipped his feet into Docksiders before he headed for the minibar, where he popped a bottle of Beck’s beer. His watch told him he had twenty minutes until it was time to head to Alex’s room. He liked his beer icy cold. This was tepid. He drank it anyway.

 
; A picture of Aggie’s house flashed across the screen, followed by a picture of Tom Madsen’s parents’ house. Then a picture of Detective Madsen’s bullet-riddled car appeared on the screen as the anchor explained that the car had been stolen from the detective’s parents’ garage. Detective Jade’s car was also missing.

  “And this man is Captain Darren Ramos of the Salvation Army. Captain Ramos is the one who brought the drugs to the police station twelve days ago. The same drugs that the police think Detective Jade put in the Salvation Army bin.” Captain Ramos nodded at his introduction and spoke softly, smiling a lot, as he enjoyed his fifteen minutes of fame.

  Nathan leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the round table that came with every hotel room. He continued to sip the lukewarm beer. His phone rang just as he finished the beer. It was Alex.

  “I hope you’re seeing what I’m seeing. Let’s go down to the bar. I’m sure they have a television set in there we can watch with better reception. The beer in the minibar is warm. By the way, I rang room 802, and there was no answer. Don’t panic, I was going to hang up if someone answered. They’re probably out taking care of business. We can watch the lobby from the outdoor bar. I’m kind of hungry, too.”

  In the bar, they ordered Philly steak sandwiches and cold Beck’s, their eyes glued to the television over the bar.

  Nathan looked around. Aside from three couples, one of whom was fighting, the bar area was empty. It was pleasant, though, with island flowers on all the tables and bamboo blinds to ward off the hot sun. It was easy to see out through the thin slats but not easy to see in, which meant they would see Lizzie’s friends before they spotted him and Alex.

  Nathan leaned back in his chair to listen to the fight going on behind him. He wondered if he and Lizzie would ever fight like that. It sounded rather silly to him. Didn’t they care? Didn’t they have anything better to do at a vacation resort than fight? So what if the wife bought too many souvenirs. So what? Was the world going to come to an end? Couldn’t the wife cut the husband a little slack because he didn’t know how to swim and was afraid to go out on the catamaran? Such earth-shattering problems.

  Nathan switched back to the television over the bar just as their sandwiches arrived.

  His mouth full, Alex pointed to the television. Nathan grimaced when he saw Dutch Davis, his arm still in the blue canvas sling, take aim at the reporter interviewing him. Behind him, six deep, stood his fellow officers. He was using words like scapegoat, witch-hunt, and then he mentioned Aggie’s and Tom Madsen’s names. As a spokesperson, Dutch Davis left a lot to be desired.

  Alex lost his appetite when Davis said, “Jade worked the evidence room when she returned to work. If there was sugar in the confiscated drug bags in the vault, she put it there. Then she must have gotten an attack of conscience and put the real drugs in the Salvation Army bin. It’s just too damn bad poor Will Fargo is dead. He was the one who ran the evidence room. Ask the chief. Everything balanced out perfectly. If you want to believe a mentally ill detective whose proof is a bunch of butterfly books, then be our guest. That’s all I have to say other than that all of us are going to fight this witch-hunt till hell freezes over.” The cops behind him hooted their approval. Davis stomped the ground like a wild bull to show their solidarity.

  “It’s a slow day for news, Alex. No one is going to believe that creep. Hell, he even looks guilty,” Nathan said.

  “I’m confused. Which bags of drugs are they talking about?” Alex asked as he poked at his sandwich with his index finger. Nathan wondered what he was looking for.

  Too much mustard, not enough mustard. What? Maybe there wasn’t enough cheese or maybe it was the wrong kind of cheese. Another earth-shattering question without an answer.

  “No, they are not one and the same. Lizzie told me there were lots and lots of bags of cocaine in the vault. I think she said there were two hundred. It stays in the vault until someone in authority gives the okay to burn it. It was Aggie’s and her theory that Will Fargo replaced the bags, slowly, one at a time, with sugar. The bags the newspeople are talking about from the Salvation Army are another batch of drugs they confiscated before Aggie’s shoot-out. Lizzie and the girls found it stuffed inside the seats of Tom Madsen’s car and Aggie’s car. There was a stakeout at Aggie’s house so the girls, Noreen, Candy, and Honey dumped it all in the bin. On Lizzie’s orders that I’m sure she got from Aggie. I’m the one who got rid of the cars. I drove them both to the Georgia border and ran them into a quarry that’s at least sixty feet deep. No one will ever find them.

  “As hard as it is for both of us to accept the results, it’s something we’re going to have to live with. Lizzie didn’t involve the girls or me. You’re in the clear, Rossiter. We’re all accessories. That’s jail time.”

  Alex leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “What do you think is going to happen, Nathan?”

  “There’s your answer. Take a look,” Nathan said, pointing to a face on the television screen. “Atlanta’s eight-hundred-pound gorilla. He’s representing Dutch Davis and a few of the others. He’s a seven-hundred-buck-an-hour attorney. We did a profile on him once for the paper. He never, that’s as in never, lost a case. His name is Socrates Maris. His friends, colleagues, and judges call him Sox. The cops call him Magic Maris. The answer to your question is, they’ll walk. Will they get back on the force? That, I don’t know.”

  “Then that means they’re on the loose. This is just like that damn movie, Serpico. I’d like to punch somebody right now. Here come your friends. Looks like they’re coming into the bar.”

  All three women stopped in their tracks when they saw Nathan and Alex sitting in the bar. The trio looked poised to run but appeared to think better of the idea. “How did you…what are you doing here?”

  Nathan looked around. The couple who had been fighting were now billing and cooing. The other two couples had left the bar by the side door. “Sit down, ladies. What can we offer you?” He made his voice friendly, chirpy-sounding. It wasn’t working.

  “White wine. Zinfandel for all of us,” Noreen snapped.

  Alex pointed to the television set. “Watch it and weep, ladies.”

  Nathan thought it was remarkable that Noreen’s face could turn white under her makeup. Candy and Honey were twitching in their seats, their eyes going from the television to Noreen. It was obvious they considered her their leader and spokesperson.

  “What are you doing here? How did you find us?” Noreen hissed.

  “Your neighbor told us she saw you leaving with my suitcases. I know what’s in those suitcases, and that’s one of the reasons why we’re here. We know why you’re here, too. Look, I don’t give a hoot about the money, it’s yours. All I want to know is where Lizzie and her sister went. Either you tell me, or I’m going to blow the whistle on you. You don’t get to wear high heels or makeup in jail.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Mister Hawk. You’re in this as deep as we are. Here,” she said, opening her purse and pulling out Lizzie’s notes. “Read them. I told you, we don’t know where she went. If she had told me, I still wouldn’t tell you. Lizzie is our friend. Friends help their friends. She didn’t do anything wrong. Well, she did, but with honest intentions. No one is going to believe her, me, or you. As far as I’m concerned, she did the right thing by leaving. Did you talk to Mr. P.?”

  “Yesterday, as a matter of fact. The strong, silent type. Like you, he knows nothing, but then he’s a liar. I’m not sure about you yet.” Nathan continued to read the notes Lizzie had left for the girls. He was convinced now that the women truly did not know where Lizzie and Aggie were. His last hope. Like Alex, he had the sudden urge to punch something.

  Noreen started to cry. “This is like a nightmare.” Candy and Honey started to blubber, too. Alex handed them wads of cocktail napkins from the bar.

  The wine in Noreen’s glass disappeared in one long gulp. She sat up straighter, her eyes watering. “Listen to me, you two. We aren’t keeping the mo
ney, even though Lizzie wanted us to. We don’t want dirty money. There were pounds of paperwork that had to be taken care of. Thank’s to Mr. P. and his connections and sources the account is down as belonging to the Atlanta, Georgia, Police Department. We put the commissioner’s, the mayor’s, and the chief’s names on everything. We did keep out enough to pay our airfare, our expenses here, to replace what we left behind when we left our suitcases at the storage facility, and that’s it. We’re staying on one extra day in case of any snafu, then we’re going home. Just so you know we aren’t lying, here are copies of the papers. Make it quick, Nathan.”

  Nathan’s gut rumbled as he perused the papers. She’d told him the truth. The urge to punch something rose up in him again. He nodded. “Okay. If you hear from Lizzie, will you let me know?”

  “No.” The single word was so brusque, Nathan cringed.

  Both men watched the women rush out of the bar like they couldn’t wait to get away from their prying eyes and offensive questions.

  “I guess we might as well go home, Nathan. We struck out all the way around. It’s obvious neither one of us are big-league players. I think I’ll spend the rest of the summer working on my house. Hell, maybe I’ll actually finish it.”