He’d made a small fortune on his drug patents, and he’d told her once that all drug companies changed things up just a little now and then to keep their patents in force. “After the money and effort we put into developing them? We don’t like to see the generic showing up two seconds later.”
As nice as he’d always been to her, though, she felt uneasy now, certain that she and Sonia—who was smiling and chatting, she noticed, completely oblivious to the undertone Lara had picked up on—had interrupted something they shouldn’t have.
“Who is that pretty young woman waiting for you?” Grant asked, slurring slightly. A glance at the table showed that it had probably been a three-martini lunch for him.
“My friend Meg,” Lara said. “She’s with the FBI, but she’s down here for a while.”
“Well, isn’t that too bad?” Blackwood said with a laugh. “Anyway, I think she’s getting impatient. You fillies oughta mosey along.”
“We’re not fillies, Grant,” Sonia said. “You show some respect.”
“Yes, ma’am!” he agreed, grinning.
Sonia rolled her eyes. “We’ll see you on Sunday—enjoy your lunch,” she said.
“See you Sunday,” Lara echoed. They rejoined Meg at the table, where she had waited.
“Meg, you didn’t join us,” Sonia said.
“I was afraid to make us any later. Lara has to be back at work,” Meg said, standing and tucking a receipt into her wallet, having apparently paid the check while they were talking to the men.
But Lara also knew exactly what her friend had really been doing.
Watching. She had realized that Lara felt disturbed.
“Just as well. Blackwood is a douche,” Sonia said, looking at Lara as if for confirmation.
“I’m not saying a word,” Lara said.
Sonia laughed. “Let’s go, then. I’ll call Henri and we’ll head back. This was delightful. I hope we can do it again.”
“That would be nice,” Lara assured her.
“Absolutely,” Meg agreed.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, back in Lara’s office, Meg closed the door and turned to her. “Okay, tell me about them—all of them.”
“You met Dr. Amory, and all the men he was with are big supporters of Sea Life. Grant Blackwood is a Texan pain in the ass who tries to pick up just about every woman he meets, even though he’s married. A lot of women are flattered and fall for his line, and they don’t care about his wife because he’s not just rich, he’s filthy rich. Ely Taggerly is the founder and CEO of Taggerly Pharmaceuticals. And the last guy was Mason Martinez, the health guru. You must have seen him on at least one of a dozen of his infomercials for vitamins or exercise equipment.”
“Yeah, I thought I recognized him. So they were with Amory because he was trying to hit them up for money?”
Lara shrugged. “So he claimed.”
“But you didn’t believe him?” Meg asked.
Lara shook her head. “He looked guilty. I think maybe one of them was trying to hire him away from Sea Life. He’s a brilliant man. He has doctorates in marine biology and veterinary medicine. He’s done all kinds of research. Before he came here he was with the military. They still use dolphins in some missions. The animal-rights activists aren’t happy about it, and I think maybe he came here precisely because we’re all about learning what the dolphins themselves need.” She frowned. “Why? Are you suspicious of him for some reason?”
“I’m always suspicious of everyone,” Meg said. “And pieces of Miguel Gomez’s body were found in this lagoon.”
“Dr. Amory would never be guilty of that. I can’t believe he could kill, and even if he was capable of murder, he wouldn’t want his dolphins in a lagoon that was contaminated in any way.”
“Still, it’s an interesting situation,” Meg said. “I think I should find out a little more about Dr. Amory and your sponsors.”
“I know Dr. Amory well, and the others I’m getting to know, and I don’t think any of them would—”
Meg cut her off. “I believe you. But remember what Brett said about an unwitting conspiracy.”
“But there’s no reason whatsoever to suspect anyone at Sea Life,” Lara protested. “Those body parts don’t mean anything. The ocean is huge!”
“Precisely,” Meg said.
CHAPTER 10
Arnold Wilhelm’s cause of death was no mystery. Three teens had seen him thrown in front of an oncoming train, which had knocked him to the ground below like a rag doll. As to Miguel Gomez, Dr. Phil Kinny was still inspecting slides and studying lab reports. He wasn’t quite sure what some of the chemical combinations he’d discovered were, but the end result was that while the cognitive section of the brain had been destroyed, the part that controlled rudimentary memory movement had apparently been fully functioning for some time between his first “death” in the warehouse and his actual death.
“If I only had another specimen to compare him to,” Kinny told Brett, before quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry. Miguel Gomez was a human being, and I’m not trying to take that away from him. I am trying to help solve his murder. To that end, if we were just able to find out what’s happened to Randy Nicholson, I believe I could make further strides. In the meantime, I have our best neuro experts conferring with me on this.”
Brett couldn’t help but feel as if he had burst into a twisted version of The Princess Bride. A man could be mostly dead but not completely dead. Then The Princess Bride segued into a horror version of The Wizard of Oz.
If I only had another brain…
He and Diego had spent the day at the funeral home with Matt, and then the three of them had gone to the cemetery. Brett was growing more and more certain that Randy Nicholson’s body had disappeared from the funeral parlor, and not on the way to the cemetery or after its arrival. They’d found too many witnesses to attest to the coffin being sealed before being encased in cement. Diaz and Douglas had lawyered up, but under the circumstances, until they found direct evidence rather than plausible theory, there were no charges they could bring against the mortuary anyway.
The only thing in their favor right now was the power of social media. Randy Nicholson’s family was more than happy to vent their grievances online, and it was bound to have an effect, which might force Diaz and Douglas to be more forthcoming. After all, who wanted to bury a loved one out of a funeral home that didn’t actually get the dead into the ground?
By the end of the afternoon he’d traipsed over more ground and spoken with more people than he could count, and that was even with dividing the question-and-answer sessions with Matt and Diego. And none of it had turned up anything useful. He was convinced that someone at the Diaz-Douglas Mortuary Chapel knew more than they were saying; however, unless someone cracked under the pressure and gave him a clue, there was nothing he could do except keep investigating.
At six o’clock Matt suggested that they call it quits, at least for dinner and a breather. Just as Brett was about to agree, he got a call from Lara.
“Brett, Papa Joe just called me. He wants to meet—with me, I mean, and I told him about you, so he wants you there, too. And Meg, of course. He asked us to meet him at a little place called La Petite Bar. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so he’s going to come with a selection of jewelry to make it look as if he’s trying to sell something to us.”
“Papa Joe, who owns the voodoo store?” Brett asked.
“Yes. He says he may have some pertinent information.”
Brett was thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll come get you and Meg, and I’ll ask Diego and Matt to follow at a distance, then pull surveillance from outside or even inside, whatever they think will work. Where are you? At Sea Life?”
“No, we’re at my house.”
“Okay, I’m on my way
.”
He filled the others in as they headed for their cars.
“This guy obviously feels he’s taking a chance,” Brett said quietly. “I don’t want to put a spotlight on him.”
“He could be guilty of something,” Diego commented.
“I don’t think so,” Brett told him. “He called Lara more or less out of the blue. We have absolutely nothing on the man, no reason to connect him to this case or anything else. I think he’s just trying to do the right thing.”
Diego shrugged. “I saw an article about him once. He’s a leader in the Haitian community, works with youth groups, that kind of thing. I’ll go with your faith in the man—with some careful reservations.”
“Careful reservations are always good,” Matt said.
They had two cars, Brett and Diego’s Bureau vehicle, which Brett took, and Matt’s rental. Diego and Matt would hang behind in the rental.
Brett called Lara back, and she and Meg were waiting by the gate when he arrived. He watched her as she walked to the car. She had dressed in jeans and a knit pullover. Casual wear, not designed to be provocative. And yet she moved with such natural elegance that not even a hazmat suit could be less than seductive on her. When she and Meg reached the car, he thought drily that there was no way he could be seen with these two women and not be noticed.
Meg stopped before getting into the car. “I was just thinking, I should ride in the backup car, too. There are people who might be watching you—just because of everything that’s going on—who know that I’m an agent. Thanks to Sonia Larson, some of those same people think Brett and Lara are a couple. It’s more natural for the two of them to be out together.”
“She’s got a point,” Diego said.
“All right,” Brett said. “We’ll make your apologies to Papa Joe.”
As Meg headed back to join Diego and Matt, Lara slid into the passenger seat.
She was wearing a light perfume, subtle rather than the overwhelming scents so many women chose. It immediately insinuated itself through his system and intoxicated his senses.
Yep, beyond a doubt, he was now totally infatuated with her. He felt a raw longing unlike anything he’d felt in a very long time.
If ever.
It wasn’t just her looks. Not just her eyes, her voice, her scent.
Maybe it was chemistry.
He couldn’t help but wonder if she could tell how he felt it or if she still thought he had a stick up his ass.
He forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. “Lara, you don’t have to do this. I could just take Meg with me to meet Papa Joe.”
Lara shook her head. “No, I have to go,” she said. “Miguel came to me for help.”
Whatever she felt about him, he could tell that Lara had been touched by this case just as he had. He’d been obsessed from the get-go, of course, because he’d known both Miguel and Maria. But now it seemed that she knew Miguel, too. And she probably felt that she would never sleep well again if she didn’t do everything she could to help bring a killer to justice.
He knew he could stop her, should stop her.
But knowing how she felt, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
He studied her wide eyes and determined features, and he nodded.
It wasn’t much of a drive to the small family-owned restaurant where they were due to meet up with Papa Joe. La Petite Bar was just between Biscayne Drive and 2nd Avenue, on the border between the Design District and an area of Little Haiti that had yet to be fully reclaimed from drugs and poverty. The place was busy, with clientele of all colors, and judging by the conversations he overheard, they were of all nationalities, as well. The sign out front had proclaimed the best Creole food this side of New Orleans, and as he looked around, Brett figured it had to be true.
A small woman had met them at the door, and seeing that Papa Joe had yet to arrive, Brett told her that they were being joined by a third person. As she led them to a vinyl-covered table in the back he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the others had scored a parking place right out front. Once he sat down he checked out the menu. The prices were reasonable, and the place smelled great. While they waited for Papa Joe they ordered sweet tea to drink.
He leaned in toward Lara once their server was gone and said softly, “I shouldn’t have let you come. In fact, my supervisors would probably ream me out for this. This is the most bizarre case I’ve ever been on, and I don’t know just how dangerous it may get. If Papa Joe were to come in here with a gun and start shooting, I’m not sure I could throw myself on you quickly enough to save you—or guarantee that the bullets wouldn’t go right through me.”
To his surprise, she smiled and set her fingers lightly on his hand. “Actually, I let you come to my meeting.”
He felt her touch, just as he felt her eyes. The restaurant grew warm. He smiled in return. “Well, then, thanks for inviting me.”
“You knew you had to let me come,” she said seriously. “I’m your connection.”
“Yes.”
“An acknowledgment,” she said quietly, and smiled. “I am helpful to you.”
He nodded, meeting her eyes.
She drew her hand back. “I really don’t think anyone is going to come in here with a gun, although…” Her smile deepened. “Now I can’t help thinking about what would happen if you did throw yourself across the table to protect me. I’ll bet you’re fast.”
“I can move pretty quickly, yes. Not as fast as a bullet, though.”
“I keep thinking about what you said about an unwitting conspiracy. This crime family—the Barillo crime family. Miguel worked for them because he’d been threatened? Is that how it happened?”
Brett nodded. “More or less. A couple of Barillo’s men approached his son at school. He knew what that meant. Barillo never would have touched his kid, but Miguel didn’t know that, so he gave in and did what Barillo asked him to.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then paused. “He’s here,” she said, and waved.
Brett turned as Papa Joe, dressed in a lightweight suit, approached the table. Brett recognized him, having seen him on the news a few times, representing the community.
Papa Joe evidently knew the hostess. He spoke with her for a minute and then approached the table, shaking hands with them as he sat and producing a small felt satchel from his pocket. He sat down, smiled and started to talk—the niceties before any business deal, except this time he wasn’t extolling the value of his merchandise.
“There is a man I know. He will be on the corner of 2nd Avenue when you leave here, carrying a looking-for-work sign. Pick him up and drive with him, and he will tell you a story that you need to hear,” Papa Joe said, his head bowed as he unwrapped several necklaces that he took from the satchel. He met Brett’s eyes for a moment. “You’re Cody, right?”
Brett nodded.
“Word on the street is that you care,” Papa Joe said. “This man has a story like those you’re investigating. Except that it happened to an immigrant. An illegal, probably. One of this city’s forgotten people. I’ll let my friend Pierre tell you the story. His English is good enough. I think you’ll find what he has to say illuminating—and, I pray, helpful.”
Brett thanked him, then, as their waitress appeared at the table, reached for one of the necklaces, a handcrafted rendering of St. Francis. “I think Lara would like this one, Papa Joe. She’s such an animal enthusiast.”
Papa Joe smiled, then ordered the Cajun-spiced fish and chips. Brett and Lara followed suit. The waitress left them.
“We can’t just walk away right now. Can you tell us anything else?” Lara asked. “And what do we owe you for the necklace?”
“Consider it my gift. You may feel free to pick up the dinner check,” he said. “Meanwhile, since we will be here a little while, I will tell y
ou my friend’s story after all. It will save time when you meet him. Pierre came here on a raft with a group of other Haitians, including his wife and several of his brothers. They were among the lucky ones who survived the journey. He was given work by a man who found him Dumpster diving at one of the hotels on Biscayne Boulevard. He went to work for the man he knew only as Mr. Z, dropping bags. Literally dropping paper bags where he was told to leave them. He never looked inside them. He felt lucky simply to have a job, because he was illegal, living off friends who had made it here before him. He got his older brother, Antoine, a job working for the same man. This goes on for a few months when suddenly Antoine has a heart attack and dies. The man promises to take care of his burial. There’s a funeral.”
“Where?” Brett asked.
“Pierre doesn’t remember. The man took care of everything for him. He drove Pierre and his family to the gravesite, he saw a coffin go into the ground.”
“And then?” Lara asked.
Then their food arrived and they started talking about jewelry again.
The waitress left. Brett continued to look through the necklaces while eating, and Papa Joe went on.
“Pierre was walking down the street one day when his brother came walking toward him. His dead brother. Pierre said he knew right away that something was wrong. He’d seen things like it as a child. He realized that Antoine had become a zombie, and worse, that his own brother was coming at him with a baseball bat in his hands. His brother had been a very good player, but he wasn’t looking to play now. Pierre could tell that his brother didn’t recognize him, that he meant to hurt him. But when he swung the bat, his swing went wild. And then he fell.
“When Pierre touched him, he was certain that Antoine was dead then. Really dead. He ran, ran to his wife. A man who was living with them went back with Pierre, but the police were there and the body was gone. He tried to follow the news, because he couldn’t go and identify his brother, since he is afraid of being deported. But as you can imagine, the death of an illegal immigrant was not important to the TV stations. There was a brief mention the day the body was found, then…nothing.” Papa Joe stopped speaking and stared at Brett. “You will get justice for Antoine, and you won’t let Pierre be deported. I swore for you that you will not let that happen.”
Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5 Page 46