Running Under Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  "Yeah, okay. Lemme make a few calls. But I gotta wait until people wake up. It'll be later today, maybe tonight."

  Chapter 17

  "What did Larry say?" Connie asked, as Paul joined her in the cockpit. Sadie was in her cabin, asleep, and Connie had relieved Paul about a half-hour earlier so that he could call his lawyer.

  He sat on the cockpit seat beside her, his eyes downcast, a frown on his face. "Her lawyer's sent a bunch of interrogatories; I have to answer them and get it all notarized. I guess it's just as well we're going to Ste. Anne. Sandrine and Phillip have the contacts to help me get that done."

  "Did he say what the questions were?" Connie asked.

  "Yes, sort of. The interrogatories reference several bank accounts that are in my name."

  "What?"

  "My reaction, exactly. The details aren't in the paperwork, but her lawyer talked to Larry about it. They assumed I knew."

  "I'm lost, Paul. What bank accounts? I thought we put everything in joint accounts the last time we were back in the States."

  "Me, too. These accounts supposedly go back to when Maddy and I were still married. Apparently, there's a lot of money there. She didn't tell Larry how much — just that the amounts were large, hundreds of thousands, and the deposits were always under the reporting limits. She said Maddy found the statements in some old files."

  "She?"

  "Maddy's lawyer."

  "Oh. What do you think's going on?"

  "I don't know, but I didn't have any accounts like they're talking about — ever. They're in different banks all over the state, with my name and social security number on them. Larry's going to get the bank records. She told him the deposits are still happening. I smell a frame job."

  "A frame job?"

  "Remember, I told you about what Luke said? Internal Affairs?"

  "Yes. Anything new on that?"

  "I left Luke a message; he's in the middle of something, but he should call back in the next hour or so."

  "How would it work? The frame?" Connie pursed her lips.

  "Somebody decided to set me up, but they must have done it years ago. I can't figure out how they would have gotten the banks to back-date stuff — not several banks, anyway. I mean there's always a way to get one crooked employee to rig something, but Larry said there are seven different accounts, all with different banks. So this must have been done some time ago."

  "Any withdrawals?" Connie asked.

  "I don't know. Why?"

  "Just curious. I'm trying to figure out how this kind of scam could play out."

  "What are you thinking, Connie?"

  "I'm thinking like a con artist, here. This is the kind of setup that would only work with an honest victim."

  "I don't get it."

  "Okay, forget about the frame for a minute. You didn't open the accounts, right?"

  "Right."

  "So your name can't be on the signature cards, can it?"

  "Not unless it was forged."

  "That's a possibility, but I don't think it makes any difference."

  "Any difference?"

  "To my plan."

  "What's your plan?"

  "You know the first three words in the Bible?"

  "What?"

  "Well, do you?"

  Paul thought for a second and nodded his head. "In the beginning ... "

  "See, that's what I mean about only working with an honest victim. If we're going to turn this on whoever's behind it, we need to play by their rules, their Bible."

  "I don't know — "

  "No, but I do. The first three words in their Bible are, 'Get the money.' Everything else follows from that."

  "Where are you going with this?"

  "I'm thinking of a way to force the hand of whoever's behind this, to flush them out, but we'll need the account numbers. When's Larry going to have them?"

  "Later today."

  "Is he going to call you?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay. Tell him to make sure Maddy's lawyer doesn't do anything to freeze those accounts in the meantime. Now you go get some rest and let me think this through."

  ****

  "Yeah, Louie. Whaddaya got?" Pratt asked, having seen Louie Delgado's name on the caller i.d. screen when his encrypted satellite phone rang.

  "There's two places where your boy and his wife spend a lot of time when they ain't got guests aboard — Portsmouth, Dominica, and Ste. Anne, Martinique."

  "Shit," Pratt said.

  "Whatsa matter?"

  "You know I can't go to Martinique without starting a damn turf war."

  "Yeah, but Dominica's easy. You got shit comin' in and outta there all the time, right?"

  "That's true, but that don't seem like the kinda place she'd wanna hang, you know?"

  "Yeah, well, you asked, and I answered. What else you want?"

  "Any clue what they do in them places? Who they know?"

  "Well, they got married in Martinique. His old partner went down there for it. I can't ask him no direct questions, but the grapevine says it was a big bash, and they got a friend with a big villa on the water in Ste. Anne. Some kinda retired Army guy, married to a local woman."

  "American guy?"

  "Yeah, hang on a second." There was the sound of paper being shuffled, and then Delgado said, "Guy's name is Phillip Davis. They usually take their charters in there for a few days, too. Davis and his wife party with them when they bring guests in."

  "Where'd a retired Army guy get the bread to buy a big villa on the water?"

  "I dunno. I ran him — didn't find nothin' much. Retired as a Lt. Colonel with 20 years in. Last assignment on his records was some kinda military attaché in one of them banana republics in Central America, but that's been some years ago. There's some time unaccounted for between that and when he retired, like maybe he was inactive or somethin'. Maybe he married a rich broad and she bought the villa."

  "How about in Dominica? What do they do there?"

  "I didn't get nothin' on that, but the guy that performed their wedding ceremony was from there. Some kinda giant Voodoo dude. They called him somethin' stupid, like Fish Head, maybe. Hold on." More sounds of pages turning. "Sharktooth." Delgado laughed. "They take people to Dominica a lot, too."

  "Uh-huh. Boring damn place. Sharktooth?" Pratt asked. "The hell kinda name is Sharktooth?"

  "You're askin' the wrong man, Pratt. This is all gossip, from what his partner passed on to the guys that used to work for Russo."

  "Who's his partner?"

  "Prick named Luke Pantene. He replaced Russo in homicide when he retired."

  "I guess he ain't on the pad, huh?"

  "You guess right. Fuckin' straight arrow. Them homicide guys, they're different, ya know?"

  "I'll take your word for it." Pratt disconnected the call and turned to Freddy and Semmes. "You get all that?"

  "Yeah, boss," Freddy said. "Sharktooth?" He chuckled and shook his head. "Asshole got married by a Voodoo dude? Gimme a break."

  "It sounds like the most likely spot to find them is Ste. Anne," Semmes said.

  "Dominica's on the way, though," Pratt said, "and we can go there without causin' a ruckus. From what you said, they'll probably stop in there. If not, how far is Portsmouth from Ste. Anne?"

  "A hundred nautical miles, roughly," Semmes said.

  "Too far to depend on the picnic boat or the chopper," Pratt said. "Portsmouth's at the north end of Dominica, though, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Anywhere farther south we could use for a base?"

  "Well, there's Roseau, but that's not a great place to hang out. It's the capital, and we'd stick out like a sore thumb there if you start flying the chopper. Besides, it's still a long haul. Ste. Anne's clear down on the southeast corner of Martinique, and Martinique's a big island."

  "Shit," Pratt said.

  "But there's always Rodney Bay."

  "St. Lucia?" Pratt asked.

  "Yes, sir. That's maybe an hour, hour a
nd a half from Ste. Anne in the picnic boat, or a few minutes in the chopper."

  "Think we'd attract attention there?" Pratt asked.

  "Not nearly as much as in Dominica. The marina there in Rodney Bay caters to megayachts, so one like this isn't too unusual. Besides, we could anchor well out in the bay and still have good access ashore."

  "How about the fix, boss?" Freddy asked.

  "Yeah, we got the fix in there. No problem gettin' somebody to hook us up with the local cops, if we need to get things smoothed over."

  "Should we head on down to the Saintes so I can clear the picnic boat out?" Semmes asked.

  "Yeah. Time it so we get to Dominica after customs and immigration are closed. I'll get somebody to call ahead and make sure we get treated right; we don't need no customs inspection, right?"

  "Right, sir. The stuff's all stowed, but dogs might still find it. Better to avoid a boarding, if we can. So we'll get in this evening and handle the formalities in the morning?" Semmes asked.

  "Yeah, that'll give 'em time to grease things." Pratt said. "You gonna check the Saintes again, just in case, right?"

  "Yes, sir, when I take the picnic boat in. No problem."

  ****

  "Does he have a name?" Paul asked. "This guy she's been seeing?"

  He was on the telephone with Sandra Edwards, the private investigator recommended by his lawyer.

  "Yes; he's a cop named Louis Delgado. He — "

  "Louie Delgado," Paul interrupted. "I'll be damned."

  "You know him?" Edwards asked. "All I got was the name when I ran his plates, and then an i.d. from his drivers' license photo."

  "I know him. He runs the vice squad — real scumbag. I always figured he was on the take. Any idea how long she's been seeing him?"

  "Months, from what the neighbor lady said. She's in her 90s, but sharp. Lives across the street, nothing to do but peep through the curtains. He comes by several times a week; stays the night pretty regularly. They go out together sometimes, too. Do you want pictures?"

  "Can't hurt," Paul said. "No need to try for anything damning; just to establish the frequent contact."

  "Okay. That's simple enough. Larry said I should check out her employment and her spending habits. You okay with that? It'll cost a bit more if you want me to be thorough, but I think it might be worth your while; she's living large."

  "Is she?" Paul's tone conveyed his surprise.

  "Yeah. The clothes, that 600SL ... she's definitely burning through some bucks."

  "It's for sure Delgado's not footing the bill for that — not on an MPD lieutenant's salary."

  "No argument from me on that, but he's not exactly impoverished. He's not flashing bling like she is, but he's got two pretty pricey apartments. One of them, he lives in. There's a 19-year-old stripper living in the other one, but she's just the current occupant. He's had a string of them through there over the last several years."

  "Boy, if Maddy gets wind of that, there'll be hell to pay," Paul said, with a chuckle.

  "You want some pictures on that end?"

  "Yeah. Let's do it," Paul said. "But be careful. I always suspected that Delgado was bent; he might be dangerous if he spots the surveillance."

  "I'd say your suspicions are well founded. How far do you want me to take it? With him, I mean."

  "What are you thinking?"

  "I'm going to have someone digging into your ex's finances. Might as well take a quick look at his. It's not quite two for one, but I'll give you a break. I don't like dirty cops, or scumbags in general."

  "Go for it. Can I ask you something?"

  "You're paying me. Ask anything. I won't answer if it doesn't suit me, though."

  "Were you ever on the job?"

  "Me? No. My father? Yeah. His father? Yeah. Both of 'em were NYPD. Grandpa got shot by a partner who was on the pad. Killed him, left my dad to take care of his mother and little brothers and sisters. Like I said, I got a thing about crooked cops."

  "Me, too. Your dad still around?"

  "Retired. He plays golf every day. He thinks I'm a traitor because I'm private."

  "Okay. Thanks. I just sensed a personal vibe of some kind when we were talking about Delgado."

  "Yeah. You sensed right. I don't like dirty cops much, but there's a special place in hell for the ones who mess up young girls, and I aim to send as many as I can there. If there's nothing else, I'd better get cracking. I'll be in touch."

  "Goodbye," Paul said, and disconnected the call. He made two cups of coffee, careful not to wake Sadie, still asleep in the aft cabin. Putting the coffees on a tray, he climbed back into the cockpit to tell Connie what he had learned.

  ****

  Jonas Pratt was sprawled on a chaise longue on the forward sundeck, lost in thought. Semmes had taken the picnic boat into the Saintes to clear out, and Freddy, looking for a diversion, had gone along for the ride. The first mate was on watch on the bridge, making sure that Morning Mist didn't drift into harm's way. They were idling into the current in the channel between Guadeloupe and the Saintes, holding their position and making little headway.

  Pratt was considering what to do about Sadie. He had no doubt that he would catch her soon. The fail-safe option was to do away with her, but unless she voluntarily parted with Russo and his wife, he couldn't leave them to ask questions. Killing Sadie most likely meant killing them, too, and that was a riskier proposition. He didn't know how much the little bitch might have told them, and he didn't know who they might have passed the information to.

  Russo wasn't just a straight cop; he also had some ties to a politically powerful Cuban-American businessman. Messing with those people could bring on a shitstorm that was way beyond anything that he could keep a lid on. His partners in the drug trade wouldn't like that. Pratt was powerful and important to their business, but he knew well that he wasn't indispensable. If he set off an open war in south Florida, he'd be one of the early casualties; his erstwhile allies would make a peace offering of him in a heartbeat.

  He had to find a way to take the girl without the Russo couple's knowing it. That was his first problem. His second problem was what to do with her once he had her. He'd been attracted to her at first because she was fresh and clean, someone that he could control. She had no options; he could make her do anything. He didn't kid himself; it wasn't just the kinky sex. That was easy to come by. He got his thrills from making her do things that he knew disgusted her, and watching her pretend that she was okay with debasing herself. At this stage, there wasn't much left that she could offer him.

  Oh, he'd toy with her for a bit, once he got her back, let her think that maybe she could save her sweet little ass, but that wouldn't last long. She was no good as a bribe for Delgado, either. Not at this stage, and certainly not after he and Freddy finished with her. But still, he hated the thought of her going to waste.

  He'd been stunned by the success of her singing. Shit, she'd made millions of dollars in a few months, once that spic dyke got hold of her. He didn't see it, himself; music was just noise to him. But damned if there weren't people who'd pay money to hear her sing. If he could break her, bring her to heel somehow, he could cash in on that. Not that he needed more money, but that kind of money from a legitimate business like music would enable him to hide a lot of dirty money. If he could get her away from the Russos, he could break her, one way or another. There was always coke, or heroin. Yeah, either one would keep her on a short leash. Sure, that would kill her, sooner or later, but in the meantime, he could launder hundreds of millions through her income from singing.

  The challenge was to snatch her. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, impatient for Semmes and Freddy to get back so that he could set things in motion.

  Chapter 18

  "Is Sadie still in her cabin?" Connie asked, when Paul came up into the cockpit.

  "Yes. Guess she must be zonked."

  "She said she was feeling drained," Connie said. "That's no surprise, given what she's been
through. What did you learn from the investigator?"

  "A couple of pretty interesting things. Maddy's living big — expensive clothes, a 600SL to ride around in. She's gonna see what she can dig up on Maddy's finances."

  "Hmm," Connie said. "That is interesting, for a woman who's claiming you hid money from her. You'd think she'd be trying to keep a lower profile, financially, wouldn't you?"

  "If she had good sense, she would, but logic was never her strong point. I'm surprised her lawyer didn't coach her on that, though."

  "Me, too. What else? You look worried."

  "Yeah, a little. She's got herself a boyfriend."

  "And that bothers you?" Connie's eyebrows rose and wrinkles spread across her forehead.

  "Only because it's Louie Delgado."

  "The vice guy? The one that Sadie was talking about being in St. Barth?"

  "Yes, that one."

  "Tell me about him, then. Why does that bother you?"

  "He's a ladies' man, for one thing. Always had that reputation. The P.I. said he's got a 19-year-old stripper on the side in a fancy apartment while he's keeping company with my ex. What the hell would he want with an old bat like her?"

  "Maybe he sees something there that you didn't? How old is Maddy, anyway?"

  Paul thought for a minute. "Between your age and mine; I can't remember exactly."

  "Some men find women my age attractive — even think we might have a few good years left." Connie glared at him.

  "That's not what I meant. You're just giving me a hard time."

  "Sorry. I couldn't resist. But if she can't compete with a 19-year-old stripper, why do you think this Delgado's hanging around with her?"

  "I'm betting he's the one that's sending Internal Affairs my way. A lot of us always thought he was crooked, and Sandra says he's living way beyond what his MPD salary would support."

  "Sandra's the P.I.?"

  "Right. Sandra Edwards; I like her, so far. Anyhow, she's going to do financial workups on Maddy and Louie."

  "Good. Did you get the information on those bank accounts from Larry?"