Crane pulled on his tracksuit pants and his boots, not bothering with the laces. Then he opened the door a crack. “Let me check the coast is clear.” It was bright outside, too bright to be safe. He glanced up. Not a cloud in sight. Damn.
“I’ll have to take you back through the woods. This path is too exposed.” He glanced at his watch and did a calculation. “Peter will be on his way back too, and you don’t want to meet him half way.”
Sarah nodded, distracted. She was probably still thinking about Chris. Crane pulled on a T-shirt and put the door on the latch, then he ushered her out and closed it behind him. Keeping his eyes peeled, he led her past Sergio’s bungalow, ducking beneath the windows, and into the relative safety of the trees. The earth beneath their feet was soft, made soggy by the recent rain and the groundwater rising up from the lake. They edged around the dark, shimmering body of water, keeping to the shadows. Sarah had her hood up again, and Crane had to admit she was pretty invisible when out of the direct moonlight.
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I don’t know why your husband hired Aneez to ram their boat but I will find out. I promise. He’ll be brought to justice one way or another.”
“I know you will,” she whispered, squeezing his hand back before letting it go. He could see the mist on her breath. “I can get back from here.”
Peter appeared from the opposite side of the house and made his way down the path towards the bungalows. “Okay,” he whispered. “But you’d better take your shoes off before you go inside. They’re pretty muddy.”
She gave a small nod and ran from the shelter of the trees to the shadows of the garage. The SUV was still noticeably absent. She’d be safe now. He waited until the coast was clear and Peter was back in his room before he went back to his bungalow.
Sleep didn’t come easily. Crane regretted dropping the bombshell on her. He could see she was shocked, but he didn’t want to lie to her more than he already was. How would she feel if she knew about Copeland, and that Crane had been the one sent to kill him? It would destroy her trust in him, for sure. One thing he was certain of was she must never find out the truth.
It was five in the morning when he heard the SUV return. Where the hell had Kaz gone? He must have dropped off after that, because when he awoke it was eight o’clock and the sun was streaming in between the curtains in his bedroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Parklands Private Hospital was a demure, neat little block situated on the outskirts of town in an affluent neighbourhood. Rick Copeland had been transferred there after his initial assessment at Portland General. It had been necessary to get him off the grid and away from probing eyes and so far it had worked.
After spending the last week in a coma, Copeland was now awake and in a stable condition. Crane had received the good news from Doug that afternoon. The fisherman wasn’t fully with it, but was alert enough to answer some questions. They’d spoken to him already, but without much success. It appeared he didn’t know anything.
The elevator took Crane up to the top floor where a section nurse told him she’d never heard of a Mr. Copeland. Crane sighed. He thought Doug had cleared him.
“Do you mind if I make a call?”
She shrugged, but he could tell she was nervous. Probably under strict instructions to deny all knowledge and to report anyone who came looking for Copeland.
He’d already pressed ‘call’ on his phone when a lithe, well-dressed security guard who reeked of FBI appeared accompanied by a middle-aged man in a white coat with intelligent eyes and a wary expression. Copeland’s physician, no doubt.
“Can I help you?” the white coat asked.
“Yes, I’m working with the FBI. My name is Munro Crane. I believe Mr. Copeland is awake. I’ve been cleared to question him.”
The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken. Mr. Copeland isn’t a patient here.”
Doug answered the phone, perfectly on cue. Crane put him on speaker. “Doug, I’m here at Parkside. They won’t let me speak to Copeland.”
“Sorry, Crane. I didn’t expect you till tomorrow. Put Dr Markovich on the line.”
“Dr Markovich here,” the doctor cut in.
“Doug Keeting, Section Chief of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Mr. Crane is cleared to see the patient.”
“Understood,” the doctor replied, with a curt nod.
“Thanks Doug.” Crane hung up, then he turned to the doctor. “Sorry about the confusion, I thought he’d mentioned me.”
“No problem. We have to follow instructions, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.”
Dr Markovich beckoned for Crane to follow him. “Copeland is down here. He’s still quite groggy and tires easily, so don’t be too hard on him.”
“I understand.”
He followed the doctor down the hall. Copeland’s room was the last door on the left. Crane was pleased to see a security guard sitting outside. They weren’t taking any chances.
The doctor opened the door and let Crane into the room. “Please, only ten minutes.”
Crane studied Copeland from just inside the doorway. He looked okay, a bit thinner perhaps, and there was a bandage around his head where the bullet had grazed him. The concussion would have worn off by now, but as Crane knew only too well, it was the internal scars that took much longer to heal.
“Mr. Copeland? I’m Munro Crane. I’m with the FBI. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“I’ve already told the FBI I don’t know anything.” He grimaced as he struggled into a sitting position.
“I’m sorry about the head,” Crane said, thinking he’d better get that out the way first. “The bullet went through both of us.” He pulled up his sleeve to show the bandage on his own arm.
“That was you?” Copeland’s eyes narrowed, then he grimaced again. “I suppose I’ve got you to thank for saving my life.”
And burning down your house.
“I was undercover and it was either that or leave you to burn. I think you’ll agree the former was the preferable option.”
Copeland shrugged. “When you put it like that…”
“Do you mind if I sit down?”
Copeland nodded. There was a standard hospital-style armchair next to the bed. Crane sat down but leant forward eager to get some answers.”
“Do you know Kaz Erkel?”
Copeland shook his head. “Not personally. I know of him, of course.”
“How do you know of him?”
“Because of what he did to my friend, Chris. He’s Sarah’s husband. A real piece of work. I’ve no idea why she stays with him.”
“Don’t you? Really?” Crane gave him a pointed look. Copeland didn’t meet his gaze.
“I suppose she’s scared,” was all he said.
“Tell me what happened to Chris?”
Copeland glanced up, surprised. “I thought you knew?”
“I want to hear it from your perspective.”
Copeland sighed and fiddled with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. “Chris and Sarah, they were living together but Sarah was still married to that bastard. He wasn’t around, off fighting in Afghanistan, I believe, although we didn’t know that at the time. All we knew was he’d disappeared and hadn’t told his wife where he was or when he’d be back. No contact whatsoever – for two years, I think it was.” He shook his head at the injustice of it.
“Then one day, out of the blue, he comes back and finds his wife shacked up with another guy. I suppose I can understand his anger to some extent, but instead of acting like a normal person, the man went insane. He drove to Astoria with one of his thugs and they beat the crap out of Chris. Left him bleeding out on his living room floor.”
Colour was seeping back into his pallid cheeks. “Then he hauled Sarah back to Portland with him. God knows what he did to her.” He shook his head again.
Crane dread to think.
Copeland continued, his eyes fixed on Cra
ne’s face, “Chris called us to help him. You should have seen the state of him. Black and blue, broken ribs, fractured collarbone, internal bleeding. It was so bad he had to be hospitalised.”
“I didn’t realise,” muttered Crane, although knowing Kaz the way he did, it wasn’t much of a stretch. He bet the guy hadn’t even broken a sweat. He’d probably got Aneez to do the dirty work while he watched. Kaz wasn’t one for temper tantrums. His cold, controlled demeanour was a ruthlessness of a more dangerous kind.
“Chris didn’t see Sarah again after that. She went back to her husband and that was the end of it.”
“And you haven’t seen her since then?”
Copeland gave a sad little sigh. “No, not until the other day when she came to visit. She wanted to talk about the accident. I was surprised to see her, especially since she didn’t come to Chris’s memorial service.”
“I believe you were rammed by another boat.” Crane changed tack. It had the desired effect.
Copeland raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”
“We have proof. They found the boat that caused you to capsize. It was abandoned down the coast.” He paused before he delivered the bombshell. “Did you know it was rented by one of Kaz Erkel’s henchmen?”
Crane studied Copeland. His eyebrows went up and his face drained of colour. The news had shocked him, but Crane got the feeling it was tinged with fear, rather than the complete surprise one might expect.
“Why would Kaz Erkel want to kill you?” pressed Crane.
Copeland shook his head, flustered. “I’ve already told your colleagues. I don’t know. I’ve never even met the man.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s been four years since Sarah’s affair with your buddy. I can’t imagine he’d still harbour a grudge… Not unless Sarah was seeing Chris again.”
“She wasn’t,” murmured Copeland blinking slowly. His eyes closed, his head lolled back on the pillow.
“Hmm…” Crane made a mental note to ask Sarah but he didn’t think she’d seen Chris since Kaz had beaten him up.
The doctor opened the door, his gaze rested on his patient. “I’m afraid that’s it for now.” His voice was firm. Crane got up. He didn’t want to push Copeland any more today. The man had just regained consciousness, after all.
“Thanks, and I’m sorry about the bump.” Crane motioned to his head.
Copeland nodded through barely opened slits.
Crane got to the door, then poked his head back in. “One more thing. Did you know Sarah was pregnant when she left Chris?”
Copeland’s head lifted off the pillow and his eyes shot open. “Pregnant? No, I… Christ, really? No, we didn’t know.” He frowned and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Sarah didn’t say anything when she came over the other day.”
“Do you think Chris knew?”
Copeland shook his head, struggling to assimilate the new information. He glanced up. “If he did, he never said anything to us, and we were his closest friends.”
Crane pursed his lips and nodded. That was not the kind of thing one kept from one’s best buddies. So Chris didn’t know he’d fathered a child. Interesting.
“Right, well that’s it. Please let me know if you think of anything else which might be important.” Crane reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. He put it on Copeland’s bedside table before he left, earning himself a stern look from Dr Markovich on the way out.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kaz was worried. His face was carved into a permanent scowl and lines wrinkled his forehead.
“Is something wrong?” asked Crane as he checked his weapon, a routine he did every morning before they went out.
Sergio was waiting outside in the SUV to drive them into the city. Whenever Kaz had meetings Crane spent most of his day hovering around lobbies in corporate office blocks drinking bad coffee and getting chatted up by receptionists.
“No,” he snapped, then added, “Just some work-related problems. Nothing important.”
Nothing important my ass, thought Crane, and he studied his adversary from beneath his lashes. Kaz was rattled. That much was obvious. He wondered what had got into him. Something to do with the late night rendezvous the night before last, maybe?
“Well, let me know if I can help,” was all he said.
Sarah chose that moment to walk into the kitchen. She wore sexy lycra leggings and a tight tank-top, all black. Crane thought she looked paler than usual but that could be attributed to the black clothing. The only flash of colour were her pink sneakers.
“I’ll be at the gym,” she told her husband, who nodded distractedly. Sarah raised an eyebrow at Crane as if to say, what’s with him? Crane shrugged imperceptibly. He had no idea, but he wanted to find out.
“I’ll see you later.” Although she was talking to Kaz, her gaze rested on Crane. He winked at her, which made her smile.
Kaz, staring at his phone, didn’t look up.
“Maybe you can help me,” remarked Kaz a bit later. They’d just pulled up outside an auto-repair shop. Crane knew the owner was a friend of Kaz’s. He’d been at the house a couple of times and was one of the people the DEA suspected were peddling the heroin Kaz bought into the country, thanks to the telephone numbers Sarah had managed to steal off her husband’s phone. “What do you know about cell phones?”
Crane froze, but forced his shoulders to relax. “Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted with a shrug. “I was more reconnaissance on the ground than communications. What’s up?”
Kaz paused, as if he were debating something, then exhaled, made a decision and said, “One of my friends has got some unwanted attention. He thinks his phone is being traced. Do you know much about that sort of thing?”
“Only that the authorities can track cellular phones pretty easily these days. Every phone updates its location constantly when it’s turned on, so they can see where you are at any given time.”
“So they’re not listening to conversations, just tracking movements?”
Crane answered honestly. “Yeah, it’s not as easy to listen in on mobile calls as they make out in the movies. Don’t get me wrong, it is possible, it’s just unlikely they’d be doing that. Not to mention they’d need official authorisation which is hard to get without a good reason.”
Kaz nodded, his brow furrowed. “Good, I thought as much.”
Crane couldn’t believe he was saying this. “The best advice I can give you is to tell your friend to turn his phone off or change phones. If they don’t know the number, they can’t track it.” The problem was, if Kaz and his network of distributors thought they were under surveillance they might change plans, or worse still, call the whole thing off. Doug needed to tell the DEA to back off. It was vital they didn’t jeopardise the shipment.
“Burner phones are best if he doesn’t want to be traced. Unfortunately, it won’t stop anyone from staking out the auto shop and following him from there.”
Kaz raised his eyebrows. “True, thanks anyway.”
They climbed out of the car. Sergio pulled around the block to find parking. He’d stay with the car.
Crane followed Kaz into the garage where half a dozen men were flitting around, some working on vehicles, others hovering around talking or drinking coffee. Inside, to the right was a glass fronted office. Inside sat Kaz’s friend. Gary? Greg? Crane couldn’t quite remember.
The man stood up as he saw Kaz.
“Wait here,” ordered Kaz, as he entered the office. Crane stood outside the door, close enough to hear if it was left open. No such luck. Kaz shut it behind him but not before he’d heard him say, “Gary, how are you holding up?”
That was it. Gary Tobin. Crane recognised him from the party. Tobin was a well-built guy in his fifties, probably used to work out regularly when he was younger, but now his muscle was turning to fat. He wore a smart leather jacket over jeans and shiny cowboy boots. Looking around, Crane noticed the garage was clean and well equipped. The lifts, ramps
and stands seemed shiny and new, and there were lots of colour coordinated accessories dotted around. This garage had recently had an expensive facelift. They weren’t short of money, that’s for sure. There was even a circular bay that rotated to turn cars around in the confined space.
The type of vehicle in for repair was impressive too. Crane spotted two SUV’s, a vintage sports car, and a jag. They were in good condition externally, no bumps or scratches that he could see, but then he was no expert. He wondered if Kaz brought his vehicles here for servicing. In the corner of his vision, he could see his boss and Tobin deep in conversation. Heads together across the desk, thick as thieves. He figured they were discussing the cell phone tracking, or the shipment due in a few weeks’ time. Perhaps both.
“It blasted his arm clean off,” a man leaning into a SUV uttered loud enough for Crane to hear.
“Must have been a mess,” said the mechanic on the other side. Both front doors of the vehicle were open. The men appeared to be fiddling with the dashboard.
“Yeah, the whole road was cordoned off. The boss reckons it was meant for him.”
“Do you think?”
Crane strained to overhear the rest of their conversation, but it became muffled as they bent further into the car. He shifted position. Moved a little closer. A short, beefy guy in dirty overalls with a coffee cup in his hand looked up.
“Any chance of some water?” asked Crane, nodding at the water cooler he’d seen in the far corner. He’d have to pass the men in the SUV to get to it.
The dirty overalls nodded, and turned away. Crane strolled to the machine and poured himself a cup of water. On his way back he managed a good look inside the car. The men appeared to be removing part of the dashboard on the passenger side. Were they kitting it out to hold drugs? Installing false compartments? Hmm… Perhaps he’d run that one past Doug? This could be how they distributed the heroin around the country.
Crane resumed his position by the door. Half an hour later, Kaz re-emerged. He appeared calmer than before. They left, but not before Kaz had stopped to shake hands with a few of the men working in the garage. They all knew him.
Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller Page 20