Running Under Sail - a Connie Barrera Thriller (Connie Barrera Thrillers Book 5)

by Charles Dougherty

  "No. The accounts just vanished into thin air. There's no trace. No evidence that they ever existed. No account applications, no signature cards, nothing."

  "How can that be?" Paul asked. "What about the statements they found at Maddy's?"

  "Anybody with a laser printer and a little skill at cutting and pasting could produce those. Sounds like you're right about the frame-up, but they sure did an amateurish job."

  "I'll say. Can you get copies of the paper statements?"

  "Got 'em already. Her lawyer messengered them to me yesterday. Why?"

  "Scan them and email them to me, please. I'd like to look 'em over and see if anything jumps out at me. You know — timing, amounts, anything that might trigger a thought."

  "Sure, I'll do that. Let me know if you see anything."

  "Definitely. What's the next move with Maddy?"

  "Unless they've got something they haven't shared yet, I think you've probably heard the last of it. If I don't miss my guess, her lawyer's probably wondering how she's gonna get paid for her work so far. She was probably working on a contingent fee."

  "Okay, Larry. Thanks. I'll be in touch."

  Paul disconnected the call and turned to Connie. "Okay, skipper. Tell me about this lawyer in Nassau."

  ****

  The Dominica Marine Police patrol boat was in the picnic boat's wake as Semmes returned from customs. The patrol boat carried three armed officers and a crew of two men besides the helmsman. Semmes brought the picnic boat to a gentle stop along the port side of the swim platform at the stern of Morning Mist and stepped out onto the platform. Two uniformed crew members made the boat fast as Semmes stood and waited while the patrol boat came along the starboard side.

  "Where will we find Mr. Thompson, captain?" the senior man asked.

  "He was still asleep when I left, but I don't — "

  "Does he have an assigned cabin?"

  "Yes. I — "

  "Lead the way, please, captain. Do not say anything or attempt to warn anyone of our presence."

  Semmes cast a nervous glance at the two men with assault rifles at the ready who flanked the man giving the orders. He nodded. "Follow me."

  Semmes led them through the garage area where the two-man submarine and several jet skis sat next to the empty cradle for the 40-foot picnic boat. The three men followed him up the stairs to the second deck, where several cabins opened onto a central corridor. He stopped at one door and gestured. The man in charge nodded and motioned for Semmes to step aside.

  The men with the assault rifles took up positions across the corridor, their weapons pointed at the door as their leader hammered on it with his knuckles. After several seconds they heard a muffled yell from inside the cabin. The door swung open and Freddy, a scowl on his face, bellowed, "What the fuck!"

  The man in charge grasped Freddy's wrist and jerked him into the corridor, spinning him around and slamming him into the bulkhead next to the door. With one smooth motion, he cuffed Freddy's right wrist and pulled his arm behind him, leaning into him as he grabbed Freddy's left wrist and pulled it back, handcuffing him securely.

  "Mr. Thompson, I'm Deputy Chief Inspector Case of the Commonwealth of Dominica Police Force. I have a warrant for your arrest, for immediate extradition to Antigua and Barbuda, where you will be formally charged for the murder of one Thomas Connolly. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

  "Fuck you, asshole. I want a lawyer."

  "In the fullness of time, Mr. Thompson." The man in charge spoke over his shoulder. "Smith, search his cabin. Gather up his belongings and bring them out."

  One of the men lowered his assault rifle and went into the cabin, emerging in a couple of minutes with a small duffle bag. "This is it, Inspector."

  "Very well. Let's go." The inspector and one of the men frog-marched Freddy back out the way they had come while the other man held his assault rifle at the ready.

  Semmes trailed behind them, a deep frown on his face. He watched as they prodded Freddy Thompson into the waiting patrol boat. Two men shackled his ankles to a hard-point in the bow of the boat, and the inspector turned to face Semmes.

  "Thank you captain. We will, of course, retain his passport, and immigration has been notified that he is no longer a guest aboard Morning Mist. You should have been given a receipt for the passport, and a memorandum of explanation, should you need it for amending your passenger list elsewhere."

  Semmes nodded. "Yes, that's right."

  "Do you have any questions, captain?"

  "How long will he be in Dominica? Mr. Pratt may have a local lawyer — "

  "Sorry, captain." The inspector shook his head. "There is no access to the prisoner here. The rest of the process will be handled in Antigua. As we speak, there is an escort en route by air to pick him up. You should get in touch with the authorities there in Antigua." With that, he stepped into the patrol boat. The two crewmen who were holding the boat alongside pushed it away, and the twin outboards roared as the boat sped away toward Portsmouth.

  Chapter 20

  "His name is Crosley," Connie said. "Jeffrey Crosley, and he specializes in what he calls 'private international wealth management.'"

  "That sounds suspicious already," Paul said. "How did you find him?"

  "The lawyer I had in Miami managed to track him down. You know, when I was negotiating with the police on that whole mess after Alfano had the scumbag doctor killed." She saw the sad cast come over Paul's features.

  "Please, Paul. I'm not proud of any of that, but it happened. Let's focus on now and the future — please?"

  He nodded, forcing a smile. "Sure. I don't want to go back there any more than you do. Sorry. You said this guy got your equity out of the clinic?"

  "Yes. It was a similar situation, in some ways. There was money hidden in a bunch of accounts, and it wasn't exactly clear what was going to happen to it. The lawyer in Miami said the Feds were thinking asset forfeiture, and it was likely to just disappear. I put everything I had into that place, and I'd stumbled across all the bank records when I discovered they were laundering money through the clinic. I wasn't part of that, and the Feds knew it, but it looked like I wasn't going to see a nickel of my own money. So I hired this guy in Nassau to retrieve it."

  "And did he?"

  "Yes. After his fees, I got back most of what I'd put into it."

  "And what about the Feds?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. He said — "

  "Who said?" Paul interrupted.

  "Crosley. He said they'd hush it up, rather than looking stupid and slow. He made the accounts vanish when he emptied them. I guess he was right about the Feds keeping it quiet."

  "How does he do it? I mean it's got to be illegal for him to take money like that."

  "Maybe, technically." She held up a hand to keep him from interrupting. "But he won't touch money that's in what he calls a real bank account."

  "A real bank account? What's that mean?"

  "Well, he's got a bunch of geeks that know the ins and outs of the whole international banking system from a technical, information technology perspective. Nothing to do with laws or regulations, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "I only got an overview from him, obviously. I don't know how much he knows about the mechanics of what they do. They have a bunch of things they look at inside the bank's computer system — the bank where the account is. They can tell if it's bogus. When I talked to him yesterday, he wanted as much background as we had. He said in a case like this, they'd be able to tell when the deposits were actually made. Something about transaction metadata? The statements showed that the deposits had been going on for years, but he said they could have all been done at once and then the visible transaction dates altered. Does that make any sense?"

  "Yeah, I think so. And if his people spot that, they're pretty sure the account's not
real?"

  "Uh-huh. And I told him you hadn't done any paperwork and they were supposedly your accounts, and he said that was another indicator. If they found this metadata stuff, they could be pretty sure that somebody like them just made these accounts up and parked them in the bank's computer, without the bank knowing anything about it."

  "This sounds so bizarre," Paul said. "I can't believe we're sitting here talking about it. So once they decide the accounts aren't real what happens?"

  "They move the money out in small amounts to banks all over the world and shuffle it around until it eventually ends up in his client escrow account."

  "Jesus. How long does this take?"

  "Overnight, usually. I'll probably get an email from him at this blind drop he set up. I'll check tonight. The fact that the banks have no record of those accounts in their systems as of this morning means somebody did this last night — either Crosley or the bad guys."

  "How do you know we can trust this guy?"

  "Well, he delivered for me before. The worst that can happen is that he takes the money for himself, but so what if he does? It wasn't ours anyway."

  "You have a point, I guess. But he knows who we are."

  "No, actually he doesn't. That's part of the deal, too. I'm not even sure who he is, really — I never met him in person. I'd bet there's no such person as Jeffrey Crosley."

  "This gets stranger and stranger, Connie. You said you told him I never signed anything, but the accounts were in my name, so he knows that, and he knows who you are, because he got your money to you before, right?"

  "Wrong, both times. I didn't give him your name; I just told him your story."

  "But he would have seen it on the accounts."

  "He doesn't personally do any of this. He feeds the account numbers to a blind drop. Some hackers in a dark room on the other side of the world might have seen your name in the banks' computers, but they would have had zero interest in it, since they were in effect stealing your money. The less they know, the better. I asked him all this before; I understand your concern, but it's pretty bulletproof."

  "Okay, but what about you?"

  "Remember our friend Maria?"

  Paul frowned for a second. "Your alter ego from way back? Velasquez, was it?"

  "Right. His client's Maria Velasquez, this time, and last time."

  "You still have that identity?"

  "Under the false bottom in our hidden lockbox, but I won't need it. He remembers that our last deal was satisfactory."

  "How does this imaginary lawyer get paid?"

  "Well, he refers to this as private asset forfeiture. He has different rates for different things. For this, he takes a percentage. It's on a sliding scale, depending on how much money's involved. It's 30 percent for between $100 thousand and $250 thousand. Between $250 thousand and half a million, it drops to 15 percent."

  Paul was silent for a minute. "What are we going to do with the money? I feel like ... "

  "Whatever makes you comfortable. We did this to mess up your pal Delgado and whoever else was trying to frame you. We could give it to charity if you want. You're okay with this, aren't you?"

  "I'm in shock. But yeah, I guess I am. I thought he was just going to, you know, investigate, or something, and then we could make a decision."

  "We couldn't risk the time. Think what would have happened if they'd served those warrants this morning and found the money."

  "Yeah, I see that."

  "I told him if they were bogus accounts, to do it. If you'd feel better, we can put it back. It'll cost us, but we can afford it."

  "Now, that's nuts, Connie."

  "I'm sorry, Paul. I wasn't going to sit back and let them frame you, whoever they are."

  "I know. This is just over my head — I'm lost."

  "Stick with me. I'll — "

  The ringing of the satellite phone interrupted her. She looked down at the display. "Sharktooth. Shall we take it?"

  Paul nodded.

  ****

  "I need to speak to Xavier Rojas, please," Pratt told the woman who answered the telephone at the Colombian consulate in Miami.

  "May I tell Señor Rojas who is calling, please?"

  "Jonas Pratt."

  "Thank you, Mr. Pratt. I'll connect you."

  "Good morning, Jonas. How are you?"

  "Angry, Xavier. I need your help. I'm on Morning Mist in Dominica, and Thompson's just been arrested for a murder in Antigua. They're flying him back there."

  "I see. Let me make a few calls; I should be able to find out what is happening."

  "I don't really give a shit what's happening; I need you to spring the dumb son of a bitch."

  "Of course, Jonas. I understand. We will need to know the situation there before we can determine the proper course."

  "Yeah, yeah. Just get him back here."

  "To Dominica?"

  "Yeah. Hey, wait. I just thought of somethin'."

  "Yes?"

  "You got any contacts in Martinique?"

  "What kind of contacts, Jonas? What do you need?"

  "I'm lookin' for a boat named Diamantista II."

  "This is a private yacht?"

  "Yeah, a charter boat. You know my problem with Guadeloupe and Martinique."

  "Yes. What flag does the vessel fly?"

  "U.S."

  "All right, my friend. I can make some discreet inquiries. Let me get to work on the Thompson thing. Then I'll call my contact in Fort-de-France. You think the yacht may be there now?"

  "Possibly. I heard they hang out in a place called Ste. Anne a lot."

  "Very well, then. I'll be back in touch. You are staying in Dominica?"

  "No, probably not. I think I'm goin' on to St. Lucia and wait for Freddy there. Why?"

  "You would wish us to get him on a flight to St. Lucia, then? Assuming we will get him released?"

  "Yeah. That would be great, Xavier. Muchas gracias."

  "De nada, señor."

  Pratt disconnected the call and went up the outside stairs to the bridge deck, where he found Semmes studying the charts.

  "How long to get to Rodney Bay?" he asked the captain.

  "It's about 115 miles, boss. How big a hurry you in?"

  "Why?"

  "Sea's pretty flat. If money's no object, around five hours. At cruising speed, about eight hours."

  "Cruising speed's okay. We can anchor out in the bay tonight and clear in tomorrow, right?"

  "Yes, sir. But if it's all right, that's a good place to take on fuel. We could stand a few thousand gallons. I can clear in while we're at the fuel dock."

  "Yeah, sure. You gotta clear outta this place?"

  "No, sir. I figured we weren't going to be here long, so I opted for a two week in-and-out clearance."

  "I didn't know you could do that. You gotta tell 'em where we're goin' or anything?"

  "No, sir. I made a guess and told them Rodney Bay when I did the paperwork. You want to get underway?"

  "May as well, I guess."

  ****

  "I thought you'd want to know Morning Mist anchored here las' night," Sharktooth said.

  "Okay," Connie said. "Thanks."

  "Do they look like they're staying, or just passing through?" Paul asked, leaning toward the cockpit table where Connie had put the phone. She had answered in speakerphone mode.

  "The captain went in to the customs dock, so I t'ink they stay. But the p'lice follow him back and arrest one mon. I 'spect it's prob'ly that fella you told 'em 'bout in Antigua."

  "That's a safe bet," Paul said. "Any idea how long they'll hold him?"

  "They not gon' hold him here. I call my frien', an' he say they take him straight to the airport. P'lice from Antigua comin' to get him."

  "I wonder if that's going to slow Pratt down," Connie said.

  "I doubt it," Paul said. "He doesn't sound like the kind of guy who'd lose much sleep over one of his flunkies getting locked up. Thompson's probably down for the count."

  "I
'spect so," Sharktooth said. "You said they had a witness?"

  "Yes," Paul said. "Unfortunately, all he can swear to is that Thompson was asking about the victim the afternoon of the day he was attacked."

  "That's prob'ly good enough," Sharktooth said. "When a touris' get killed, always bes' if another touris' kill him. That way, Antigua still look like a safe place to visit, 'cause no locals involved in the crime. I 'spect Thompson gon' be there in Antigua for a long, long time. This Pratt fella, he ain't gon' wait."

  "I hope you're right about Thompson going away for a long while," Paul said.

  "Well, well," Sharktooth said, chuckling. "Morning Mist is pulling up their anchor. Look like they not gon' spend any money here after all."

  "Can you check on their next port of call for us?" Paul asked.

  "Rodney Bay. My frien' told me already."

  "Unless they change their destination en route," Paul said.

  "No matter," Sharktooth said.

  "Why's that?" Connie asked.

  "I slip out there las' night an' put a GPS tracker on the swim platform. I thought we might get to wonderin' where they were one of these days."

  "That's a good idea," Paul said. "Maybe we can get somebody in Rodney Bay to — "

  "I t'ink mebbe I come down that way tomorrow."

  "You don't have to, Sharktooth, but thanks," Connie said.

  "My choice. Maureen, she goin' to stay wit' she mother for a few days. She mother doin' poorly. Gon' be lonely 'roun' here. Business slow, too. I t'ink I need me some of Sandrine's French cookin'. Meet this guest you got, too."

  "Well, you'll be welcome," Paul said. "Want us to tell Phillip to expect you?"

  "No, I'll call him once I make my plans."

  "See you sometime tomorrow, then," Connie said.

  "Yes, I t'ink so. I let you know for sure after I talk wit' Maureen. Stay safe."

  "You, too. Thanks, Sharktooth," Phillip said, as he disconnected the call.

  Chapter 21

  "I just got a call back," Pratt told Semmes. They were standing on the bridge, watching as the helmsman avoided a cluster of small boats that were fishing off Dominica's west coast.

  "About Freddy?" Semmes asked.