Deep Blue Trouble

by Steph Broadribb

  I shook my head. Didn’t know how anyone could come back from that.

  ‘He cut himself off from the team, hit the drink, and hit rock bottom pretty soon after. The rest of us kept the show on the road. After about six months he started talking again; a few months after that he quit the drink. The day after the anniversary of Talisha’s death, he showed up for work and focused like a maniac on the business.’

  ‘But he never hired a woman again?’

  Bobby nodded. ‘Something like that. Rosas is different – she’s Jorge’s contact. Otherwise McGregor doesn’t work with women – it brings back memories he wants to keep buried.’

  I understood now. Shit. The man’s wife and unborn child had been murdered, and I’d called him a sexist asshole. I felt like a total bitch. ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘You couldn’t have known. It was a while back now.’

  But Bobby was wrong. I could have done my homework on McGregor better, I could have checked out his background more thoroughly. Instead I’d only glanced at his credentials, keeping my focus on Gibson Fletcher and the job. That lack of preparation had cost me dear.

  ‘I need to make this right,’ I said.

  Bobby shook his head. ‘No, momma, you don’t. You go in talking about McGregor’s personal shit and he’ll kick you to the kerb faster than you’ll be able to apologise.’

  ‘Then what the hell do I do? Monroe will be here tomorrow. I’m as good as fired.’

  ‘Find Gibson Fletcher.’

  I laughed. Shook my head. ‘Yeah, if only I’d thought of that.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  I looked at Bobby; he did look serious. ‘I’ve got a whole bunch of questions and not so many answers right now. Why did he come to San Diego rather than heading straight over the border? He picked up a package from a storage place near the airport: what was in it? There’s so many—’

  ‘Then focus on the question that’ll get you closer to Fletcher right now – what’s keeping him here?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Thought you believed he was in Mexico?’

  Bobby looked down at his battered body. ‘Changed my view on that a little bit.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The man I went after – who jumped me? He wasn’t Gibson Fletcher. He was similar-looking for sure, a close-enough lookalike from a distance, but like that man in the shack we raided, it wasn’t our guy.’

  ‘Rosas and Ortiz made another mistake?’

  Bobby frowned. ‘Thing is, those spotters haven’t made any mistakes before. And now there’s been two in a row as we hunt for the same guy? Doesn’t stack up right to me.’

  I leaned in closer to him. ‘You think they set us up?’

  He considered it a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, Rosas and Ortiz are good people. I think someone’s been playing them.’

  I caught his meaning. ‘Decoys?’

  ‘That’s my thinking.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because someone with a hell of a lot of power doesn’t want us to find Gibson Fletcher.’

  I thought about what Bobby was saying. Monroe had more clout; was he deliberately sabotaging our hunt? ‘Monroe?’

  ‘Wouldn’t make no sense.’

  True. But then I knew a whole lot more about Monroe and the things he’d done that didn’t add up. I kept that to myself though, and asked Bobby, ‘Who, then?’

  ‘Don’t know, momma. Who has the most to gain from Gibson staying free?’

  The answer was easy. ‘Mia Searle. She’s got a child with Gibson; she wants them to be together.’

  ‘You think she’s behind the decoys?’

  It was possible. Mia wanted her family together and I knew she’d been in contact with Gibson since he’d come to San Diego. I also knew that she’d lied to me before. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Tell McGregor then. I’ll call him and tell him my suspicions about the decoys. Then you tell him about Mia.’

  I hesitated. Something Mia had said back when we first met in the diner came into mind. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think it’s her. But she did say her husband, Marco Searle, is after Gibson; that he wants him dead and has friends in Mexico that’ll help that happen. She’s really afraid, and I believe her. I reckon Searle’s behind the decoys. He wants Gibson Fletcher for himself.’

  ‘You need to tell McGregor about Searle, then.’

  Tell McGregor? I wasn’t there yet. I was sorry about what happened to his wife, for his loss, the pain and the heartbreak and all, but I was still a long way from trusting him. ‘He’ll cut me out. I can’t risk that. I need to do this myself.’

  ‘He won’t. Take him proof and you’ll get him on your side.’ Bobby looked at me real serious. ‘McGregor’s a good man. When shit goes down you’ll want him in your corner.’

  Get proof? Bobby was right, I needed to be sure Searle was responsible for the decoys before I busted him. I’d only get one chance with Monroe, so I had to be sure I had the right person, and a lead on Gibson, before I took this to him.

  I had until midday tomorrow. I needed to move fast.

  43

  When I called Mia back in my hotel room, she wasn’t convinced. Searle was home, in his study, she told me. She couldn’t see a way of getting what I needed anytime soon.

  I took a deep breath and asked again. ‘It’s important, Mia. I think Marco is deliberately sabotaging our search for Gibson so that he can find him first. We talked about this before; you told me what will happen when Marco gets to him…’

  ‘I know, but I can’t just barge in there. I never go in his study – it’s off limits. I have to wait.’

  ‘We don’t have long.’ I drummed my nails against the nightstand. ‘If I can’t get proof of who’s behind the sabotage I’ll get thrown off the job. That means my leverage with the FBI will be gone, and that retrial you want for Gibson? Any hope of that’ll be gone, too.’

  She inhaled sharply. ‘I want to help, okay. It’s just he could be in there all night.’

  I could tell from her tone she wasn’t going to budge on this. She was too afraid to go in the study while Marco was home. ‘But you’ll do it?’

  ‘As soon as I can.’

  ‘I need emails, messages – anything that links to the decoys in Mexico. Print them or take a photo – I need evidence.’

  ‘Yes, okay.’ Mia’s voice sounded harder. ‘I heard you the first time.’

  It was a long shot that he’d have left the details on his devices, but if he didn’t expect anyone to go looking, maybe he wasn’t too careful. ‘And you think you can get into the study on your own?’

  ‘I watched how you picked the lock, and I remember the password for his computer.’ She sounded determined. ‘If it helps Gibson, I can do this.’

  ‘I appreciate you taking the risk.’

  She was quiet a moment. ‘I’m doing it for Gibson, and for Jacob.’

  ‘I understand that. Thank you.’

  ‘Just talk to the FBI and get Gibson another chance, then we’ll be even.’

  I was in no position to promise Mia anything and I hadn’t agreed to talk to Monroe. But I didn’t tell her that, even though I knew I was giving her false hope. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ I felt bad as I said it.

  ‘So will I.’

  *

  I was too wired to sleep. Instead I flicked through the recent pictures Dakota had messaged me; one taken by a counsellor of her grooming her favourite horse – a chestnut mare called Widget – and more pictures of her artwork. The happiness of the first picture seemed eclipsed by the darkness that inhabited the final few. But I couldn’t think on that right then. I missed my baby. Knew there were things we’d need to talk about, work through, once this job was done. For the moment though, I was just thankful that she was safe.

  My cell buzzed in my hand. The caller wasn’t Mia but Red.

  I answered. ‘It must be real late for you?’

  ‘It is, but I think you’re going to want to hear this.’ Red’s tone was bu
sinesslike, not his usual laid-back drawl. He sounded like he was walking. ‘I’ve been trying to put together the missing data from the Walker homicides. I just met with the retired detective who worked the case. Found something real interesting.’

  I sat up a little straighter. ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Seems Gibson wasn’t the only visitor to the Walkers’ yacht that night.’

  I’d not anticipated that. ‘He didn’t act alone – he had an accomplice?’

  ‘I’m not sure if they were in it together. The timings are a little hazy – the kids were confused, apparently. They couldn’t agree on how many people had visited with their parents that night. One said two men, the other was adamant there was only one. The cops had a good description of Gibson from both kids and his prints were all over the murder scene. Seems they figured it’d be easier to pin it on him alone.’

  ‘That’s why they “lost” the girls’ initial statements?’

  ‘That’s what the retired detective said. He didn’t like it, but the order came from higher up the chain of command.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yep. Especially if you’re Gibson.’

  ‘So what do you think? Was Gibson acting alone?’

  ‘Hard to say without seeing those statements, but from what the detective said, the kid was convinced she’d seen a second man. Way she told it, her sister was back in their bunk sleeping, but she’d wanted a glass of water so she got out of bed and headed to the living area. The door had been ajar, and through the gap she saw a stranger – a different man to the one who’d arrived earlier, before the kids went to bed, and who’d introduced himself as Gibson.’

  ‘Did she describe him?’

  ‘Apparently, yes, but the detective couldn’t recall the details. He did remember one thing though: the kid heard the man introduce himself to her mom. He called himself Fletcher.’

  I frowned. ‘But it wasn’t Gibson?’

  ‘That’s what the kid said.’

  Shit. ‘You think it was Donald?’

  ‘Impossible to say, but that was my thinking off the bat.’

  My mind flooded with questions. Was that why Donald Fletcher had changed so dramatically in the past couple of years? Had the strain and guilt of murdering the Walkers and leaving their two daughters orphaned eaten away at him until he was a shadow of his former self? Was he waiting to be found out? Was that why he needed so much security around his property?

  ‘We need a description of the man.’

  ‘That’s what I said. Luckily the detective liked to keep records. He’s digging out his old notebooks for me, said he might have more details written down.’

  ‘I didn’t think cops were allowed to take things home relating to—’

  ‘True. He shouldn’t have kept them, but he did; and for that we might be thankful.’

  ‘You said the timings were hazy – what did you mean by that?’

  ‘Gibson was at the yacht that night, no doubt about it, but the time he arrived and left was a matter of dispute. The kids initially said he came just after dinner – they’d been doing the dishes – and left a half hour later. But the medical report put the Walkers’ time of death at gone eleven o’clock, a good three hours later.’

  ‘Did your detective friend have a theory on that?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He always thought Gibson Fletcher was innocent of the homicide. He said a man like that, skilled at burglary and getting away with it, wouldn’t have made the mistake of leaving his prints at the scene.’

  ‘If he’d not killed before, the stress of the situation could have…’

  ‘It could have, but the detective didn’t think that’s what happened to Gibson. He said he interviewed him as part of the investigation – several interviews over many hours. They deprived him of sleep, they tag-teamed him – the good cop, bad cop routine; they even offered to cut him a deal. Nothing changed Gibson’s stance – he said he was innocent, that the Walkers had been alive when he left, and that he had nothing to add aside from his deepest sympathies to the two girls who’d lost their parents. The detective, real experienced, with over twenty-five years on the job, believed him.’

  I thought back to the first time I’d hunted and caught Gibson Fletcher. He’d seemed like a stand-up guy for a career criminal: polite, respectful. He didn’t fight when I found him, just put his hands up and said he’d come easy. Yet, if the timeline was to be believed, he’d have killed the Walkers just a couple of days before I picked him up. I shook my head.

  ‘Honestly, I didn’t figure Gibson for a killer either,’ I said.

  ‘So what’s your next move?’

  ‘Same as before: find him and bring him in. He’s a wanted man. Us thinking he is or isn’t guilty doesn’t change that.’

  ‘True. But if the man was framed…’

  ‘Then he needs a retrial. If he runs, he’ll always be running. That’s no kind of a life.’

  ‘And your job is to bring him back.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  Red paused a beat. Then said, ‘Alright then.’

  I didn’t like the judgement in his tone. ‘You got something you want to say about that?’

  Red whistled. ‘I’m dog-tired and I’m aching bad, Miss Lori. I don’t want a fight. All I’m thinking is that being a PI is a whole lot easier than your job. Sometimes I just choose not to say I found someone.’

  I thought about what I had riding on this job – JT’s freedom, Dakota’s health. ‘That’s not an option for me.’

  ‘I know. One man’s freedom in exchange for another.’

  I clenched my cell phone tighter. Didn’t like the truth of Red’s words. ‘Gibson shot those guards when he escaped at the hospital. If he wasn’t a killer before, he is now.’

  ‘It’s not me you have to convince.’ He paused. ‘I know you. This thing’s going to eat at you till you know the truth, isn’t it?’

  He was right. I had to take Gibson in, but I wouldn’t let him rot in jail if he was an innocent man. ‘For sure.’

  ‘Then I’ll keep digging. I’ll call as soon as I know more.’

  I was silent a moment. Thought about how Donald had convinced me it wasn’t his signature on the parcel docket and the prison visitor logs, and wondered just how good a liar he was. Had he been involved all along? Was he playing me?

  And what about Gibson? Maybe Mia was right about him. The evidence stacking up pointed to him being innocent. The Walkers’ homicides could have been a wrongful conviction; he could have been framed. If that was right I had to make good on my word to Mia – I needed to do what I could to get Monroe to see the cops had got the wrong guy and to get Gibson a retrial. But first, I had to catch him.

  I cleared my throat. Felt the weight of the undertaking heavy in my chest as I said, ‘Red. Thank you.’

  *

  And then I waited. I hated the waiting. It made me feel powerless. I fetched a sausage biscuit from the hot vending machine along the corridor, made herbal tea to calm me, and tried to think on what I’d say to Monroe the next day. The clock was counting down to his arrival and all I could do was wait for Mia.

  My reliance on her made me restless. Sure, she was helping me find the information about Marco, but I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t hiding Gibson’s location from me. I’d followed her, challenged her, and asked her to trust me, but I could sense she was still holding back; holding out on the hope that Gibson would come back for her and they’d ride off into the sunset together, looking for a happy ending.

  But this wasn’t a fairy tale, and Gibson was no kind of prince; he was a thief and a killer with multiple homicides to his name – maybe the Walkers and definitely the cops at the hospital. The irony that these were the exact same charges JT had been arrested for back in Florida wasn’t lost on me. I got that me and Mia weren’t all that different – both wanting our messed-up families back together; both doing what we could to try and get the men we loved off the charges agains
t them. The thing was, though, I knew exactly what JT was guilty of. I’d seen what he’d done on the ride from West Virginia to Florida, because we’d faced the criminal gangs side-by-side. I knew that if he hadn’t have been there, I’d never have gotten my Dakota back safe, and if he hadn’t taken the blame for my husband, Tommy’s disappearance, the Miami Mob would have killed me. I owed both our lives to him, and now he needed me to save his.

  I sure as hell was going to deliver.

  44

  He woke knowing he wasn’t alone. The lights were out, which was normal for the infirmary during sleeping hours. But the presence he detected wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. Medics didn’t press their sweaty palm across your mouth and pinch your nostrils shut. They tried to save you, not end you.

  He struggled against the man’s grip. Knew he’d tire quickly. Slammed the heel of his right hand into the side of his attacker’s head.

  A grunt. The hand released. JT inhaled hard. Got a proper look at the man.

  Black uniform. Taser. Cuffs.

  Not a medic. A guard.

  He was leaning over the bed, blond and pale, more fat than muscle – no match for JT on a good day. Hell, no kind of match on an average day, but right then, not long after being shot, and stabbed, and having a cardiac arrest, this guard was enough to cause him some trouble.

  His doughy face was inches from JT’s. He had the bloodshot eyes of a drinker. Bad breath and bad body odour. ‘The Old Man doesn’t want the patsy,’ he hissed. ‘He wants vengeance for Tommy’s death and he’s waited a long time. An eye for an eye and all that Bible shit.’

  ‘I killed Thomas Ford.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Real sure.’

  The guard shook his head. Smiled cruelly. ‘But you see, that gives us a problem, because we know you didn’t. We heard your conversation on the phone with her. Heard her say she killed Thomas Ford – her own husband. Confirmed what we’d suspected.’

  JT’s chest tightened. His breath came quicker, shallower. ‘No.’

  ‘’Fraid so. And the Old Man, well, he can’t let that go. Justice needs to be served. An eye for an—’