No Good Deed

by Matthews, Susanne

  “I guess he didn’t make the impression he thought he had,” reminded of his own first impression on Lex. “Maybe he should send flowers and try again.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Henri said, pacing the room, getting more and more agitated. “They were getting along well, really well, if you know what I mean.”

  “I get it.” Mike finished his coffee. “Sex isn’t everything. I still don’t see—”

  “He went up to see her. She didn’t recognize him. She’d slept with him half a dozen times and looked at him as if she’d never laid eyes on him before. He couldn’t believe it, thought she was pulling his leg, so he played along. He gave her his name, claimed they’d met before. She apologized for not recognizing him and offered to tell Doucet he’d dropped by. More confused than anything else, he left and came to see me. He wanted to know if Florence had a twin. I had nothing for him, so he told me what happened. If that was a brush-off, it was one I’d never heard of before.”

  Mike frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Is your brain on ‘stop’ this morning?” Henri asked, rubbing his brow. “Mine’s slow, but what if Florence isn’t really Florence but someone who was made to look like her? You said this magician is good. Would he be good enough for something like that?”

  Mike smacked himself in the forehead. “I’m an idiot. To answer your question, absolutely. In fact, Phoenix is checking into that possibility. If Florence isn’t Florence, she’s the mole. It makes sense. What better place to dissemble information than from the chief inspector’s office? She would have access to all the databases, and since she inputs most of the official records to begin with, no one would be the wiser if she changed a few. That sounds more plausible than anything I can come up with. Do you think Doucet’s in on it?”

  “That fool doesn’t know dick. Everything he gets goes through her. Yesterday, I heard Nick Junior, Zabat’s youngest, got picked up in a drug bust at an afterhours place on Peel. He was out by noon. The order came from the chief inspector’s office. I’ll bet my pension he doesn’t know anything about it.”

  “So how do we prove it? We can’t take the word of a jilted boyfriend. What about family?”

  “I don’t know, but I can check into it right now. I have a cousin in personnel.”

  “Do it.”

  Mike paced the room while Henri used one of the burner phones.

  “She has no family,” he said, ending the call. “Her father died about ten years ago, and her mother passed last spring, just before Flo got promoted. No siblings either.”

  Mike frowned. “Isn’t that convenient? I think we need to bait a trap for Florence just to see if your theory is right.”

  Henri nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

  “How about a visit from the grave?”

  “That should do it, but we wait for Phoenix first. He’ll be here in a few hours.”

  Mike nodded. “Definitely. I’m not going off half-cocked again.” He opened his tablet. “Richard Fields has Alexa. I’m sure of that. A man in his position has to have a social footprint, and I intend to find it. Once I do, maybe I’ll know where to look for her.”

  The sooner he learned everything he possibly could about Alexa’s abuser and his past, the better he’d like it. Andy could find the behind-the-scenes information, but if Richard was as cocky a bastard as he thought he was, he’d want to brag about his accomplishments. What better place to do that than on social media?

  • • •

  Alexa stretched on the chaise, set her tablet down on the table, and reached for the glass of ice water beside her. She’d been here for more than a week and was going stir crazy. Of course, her limited mobility and the fact that she had little to do and was once more in solitary confinement didn’t help. She’d asked for her knitting, but apparently, the metal needles were considered weapons. As well, her medication was now under lock and key. Did Richard really think she would kill herself?

  There were other people here, primarily women, although she’d heard a male voice or two in the hallway, but her own contact with humanity was limited to three: Mary, who cleaned her room and brought her meals, Karen, who looked after her physiotherapy, and the ever-vigilant Nancy who checked on her twice a day. Anything she wanted had to go through her. Yesterday, the woman had brought her drawing materials—no pencil, of course—but she’d used charcoal sticks before.

  “Mrs. Fields,” Mary stood beside her chaise. “Karen is ready for you.”

  Wonderful.

  She’d asked the girl to call her Alexa or Lex, but her own personal Gestapo had vetoed it.

  “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

  Using the axilla crutches she’d been given, Alexa entered the building. Her prison, located on the top floor of what must once have been a hospital—and might still be for all she knew—consisted of four rooms: a bathroom with a double shower, a bedroom, a sitting room where she took her meals, and an exercise room. There was a terrace off the sitting room that faced west. She could watch the spectacular sunsets, but since the only part of her above the wall was her head, and the entire area was screened in with metal screens cemented into the rock, she wasn’t going anywhere from there.

  Talk about the perfect prison. According to Nancy, the only way on or off the island was by helicopter. Because of a treacherous coral reef, boats couldn’t get close enough to the island to land, and since the area was known for its large shark and barracuda population, divers avoided its waters, too.

  Anything she’d had with her at Montebello, other than Benji and the e-reader, were gone. She missed her wheelchair and her other crutches. These made her armpits and hands ache, so she sat more than she liked.

  Until she’d gotten the drawing material, the e-reader was her constant companion, but the doll that had been her pride and joy now sat on a chair in the corner of the room. The “man” who’d never let her down had done so after all. How Richard must love having destroyed her last link to the past. She’d tossed Benji into the bottom of the closet, but Mary had taken him out and placed him back in his chair where he could survey the room like some damn Eastern potentate. No doubt Nancy had ordered her to do so.

  Richard might be spying on her, but Alexa wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered her. At least he hadn’t spoken to her through the doll again, and for that she was grateful. She was tempted to rip the damn thing apart and remove the eavesdropping equipment, but that would destroy the doll. It was probably what he expected her to do, if only to tell her he’d disabled the equipment before she’d left the country.

  Alexa stripped down to her underwear, put on her brace, and covered it with sweatpants and a tank top.

  Twice a day, Karen put her through her paces—exercises similar to, but far more strenuous than those she’d done on her own at the chalet—before allowing her to lie down on the silk sheet and massaging her back with oils that seemed to ease the pain she’d created. Alexa would gladly forgo both. At the chalet, she’d wanted to get better; now, she didn’t care.

  “I’m ready,” she said as the cappuccino-skinned therapist turned from the medical file she was examining.

  An hour later, dressed in clean crop pants and a sleeveless blouse, Alexa stood by the wall, looking out at the sea. She should be enjoying this time of peace and quiet before Richard returned and destroyed her forever, but she couldn’t get Mike out of her mind. While she wanted to draw his picture, she contented herself with sketches of the places they’d gone and the things they’d done together. But at night, in the terrifying darkness, she dreamt of him riding to her rescue and saving her. The longer she stayed here, the less likely it would ever happen.

  Once Richard arrived, the only thing she could hope for was to die young like the original Camilla had. Turning away from the view of the azure water, she went back inside where lunch waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the nine days since Alexa’s kidnapping, Andy and his
team worked relentlessly to find her, but the lack of progress was eating away at Mike like acid through metal. Not only was there no footage of her arriving or departing Montebello, the doorman, the desk clerk, and Phillipe had vanished.

  Each night, he dreamed of Alexa. She would beg him to save her, and then, her face would disappear, but she would continue to grasp for him. He awoke in a cold sweat, unable to sleep again, and would lie there counting the minutes until dawn. He’d failed to protect her, and that failure would haunt him the rest of his life.

  The most frustrating aspect was Richard Fields himself. The bastard went about his business as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The son of a bitch was gloating. Mike knew it, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Alexa had vanished. He wanted to go to Toronto to confront the bastard, demand to know what he’d done with her, but without a shred of evidence pointing to the man’s involvement, and every record stating Alexa O’Brien was dead and buried, he was powerless to do anything. Andy had told him firmly to butt out and wait. If Fields was in Toronto and Alexa wasn’t, then she was probably safe.

  Mike walked into the other room where Jean-Louis and Andy were. Staying alone, thinking about his mistakes, and not doing anything to rectify them was driving him crazy.

  “Do you want more coffee?” Andy asked, looking up. “They just delivered a fresh pot.”

  “Yeah, that would be great,” he said, “but realistically, I should be drinking scotch and getting ready for my grand performance.”

  Andy chuckled. “You want to act like a drunk, not be one.” He touched Mike on the shoulder. “I know this has been hard on you. Patience was never your strong suit and yet, in my business, it’s a necessity. You know as well as I do these things take time. I have ten of Canada’s best agents working with us. We’ll find her.”

  “I have to believe that,” Mike said, running his hand through his hair. “If I’d listened, if I’d been patient in the first place, she would be safe.”

  “You don’t know that. You could well be dead, and then no one would have any idea where to even look for her. We still don’t know how he found her, and until we do, that’s a huge hole in this puzzle. You need to stop focusing on the past and start concentrating on the future. Are you ready for your part?”

  “More than ready. Knowing I’m going to knock Doucet on his ass is the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

  Andy smiled. “Who ever said you were sane?”

  Suite 713 was now the hub. Colette and Andy occupied the adjoining room on the left, while Al shared the one on the right with Jean-Louis. Henri slept in the suite’s bedroom with Mike, although to be fair, no one had done much sleeping since they’d arrived. The Interpol agents were across the hall. Mike wasn’t sure exactly what this place was, but it certainly wasn’t a regular tourist venue. Meals arrived like clockwork, and Colette insisted he eat, but in many ways, he felt as if he were trapped in a spy movie with everyone holding a script except him.

  Jean-Louis, the computer guru, had a dozen monitors up on the system in what was the suite’s living area. Cameras were installed outside Richard Fields’s clinic, his office, and the entrance to his loft. His phones were electronically monitored. The man couldn’t take a piss without someone knowing about it, and yet he seemed oblivious to it all.

  More cameras showed Zabat’s home, his office where he was supposed to be a reputable contractor, and his favorite hangout where the mafia really conducted business.

  On another table, Jean-Louis had all the cameras and the laptop Mike had recovered from the chalet. He’d removed the tracking gear from the various devices and reattached them. Andy had assured him they wouldn’t intrude on Alexa’s private moments, although they watched everything else on the tapes. Right now, the computer genius seemed to be stumped. Not that he was likely to be much help, but because he couldn’t sit with his thumb up his ass and wait anymore, Mike walked over to him.

  “How’s it going?”

  Jean-Louis looked up and smiled. “I was just about to go looking for you. I’ve accounted for all of these cameras and recording devices, but I’m one short.”

  “What do you mean? They were the only ones in the attic.”

  “That may be, but I found another file. It was encrypted and buried in all that false accounting software. According to the data I’ve recovered, it’s a sophisticated tracking system with audio and video capability that can go both ways. It’s highly portable and downloads through a satellite feed. Here, let me show you some of the data I’ve recovered. You probably burned the damn thing when you torched the place. Too bad. I would’ve loved to get my hands on it.”

  Mike’s heart leapt into his throat. Alexa sat there looking straight at the camera, and then the screen went dark and her voice filled the room.

  “Damn it,” she said aloud. “It would be nice to have someone else to talk to for a day or so, but the last thing I need is a guy with a hero complex who insists on being in charge of everything. ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’” she mimicked his words. “Sorry, my ass. If he thinks I’ll put up with that, he has another think coming, not me.”

  His heart ached more than ever as he listened to her voice. Was she still alive?

  There was a knock.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you call me?”

  “My God,” Mike exclaimed loudly. “That’s me. This must’ve been recorded just after I arrived.”

  “No. You must be imagining things; I haven’t said a word. Maybe it was the wind. It can sound almost human at times. My Irish grandmother would’ve said you’ve heard the banshees calling.”

  Jean-Louis clicked the icon once more and the room was quiet.

  “Does it tell you where the camera was?”

  Mike clenched his fists. If he could get his hands on Richard Fields right now, he would rip him limb from limb.

  “It certainly does. That bastard used the one thing he knew she would never leave behind to spy on her.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jean-Louis said.

  “It’s the doll. It has to be. The goddamn thing recorded everything she said.”

  “What doll?” Andy asked.

  “A baby doll her father gave her just before he was killed. “Cloth body, rubber head. It wore a baseball uniform with a fancy crest on it.”

  “I saw that doll,” Colette exclaimed, entering the room, her hands holding wires and a miniature microphone. “She had it with her at the house. I was going to take it with me to Florida, but she insisted it had to go with her.”

  “Son of a bitch. That’s how he knew where she was.” The truth struck Mike like a two by four in the gut. “Every step we took, each plan we made. He was right there with us. I made it so easy for him. I left for Saint Sauveur and delivered her right into his goddamn hands.”

  “Do you think she would still have it?” Jean-Louis asked, almost giddy with excitement.

  “I was so damn careful checking for bugs and tracking devices, and the damn thing was right under my nose,” Mike continued berating himself.

  “Mike,” Andy grabbed his arm. “Answer Jean-Louis. Would Alexa still have the doll with her?”

  “Probably. The bastard would use what he’d done to torture her.”

  “Then I may be able to find her,” Jean-Louis said, his face-splitting grin offering a glimmer of hope.

  What the computer genius had in mind was so far above Mike’s head as to be gibberish.

  “And that will work?” Andy asked.

  “Yes. Think of the doll as a cell phone on a satellite network. If I can trace the network, and that’s still a pretty big if, and the doll is with her—”

  “Then you’ll find Alexa,” Mike finished for him. “This is the best news I’ve heard since Colette confirmed the prints in the rest stop bathroom.”

  “Let him get on with what he has to do,” Colette said to Mike, coming over to him. “You have your own work. Henri’s on his way, and I need to wire you.”

/>   “I’d rather be going after Fields, but if this works, we’ll get Zabat, and he’ll be next.”

  “Remember, you need to get her prints,” Colette reminded him. “If this isn’t the real Florence, we need to know who she is. It’s possible Roy’s wrong, and she did brush him off as Henri said.” She attached a microscopic microphone to his chest. “When we’re done, Al wants to show you something.”

  Once Colette finished checking the equipment, Mike entered room 711 where Al sat sifting through photographs. Seeing him again after all these years had been easier than he’d expected it to be. The man hadn’t changed much. Heavier, balder, but he was still the man who’d given his hand to save his life.

  “Colette said you wanted to see me,” Mike said. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a positive ID on the man Alexa knew as Callaghan.” He grinned from ear to ear. “This is the footage from Pearson Airport on Saturday evening. It takes a while to go through it all, but we hit pay dirt.” He held up a picture.

  Mike recognized the man standing in a custom line waiting to validate his passport and declaration form.

  “Who is he?”

  “His passport identifies him as Rufus Jones from Toronto.”

  “It’s him. There’s no question about it,” Mike said, tamping down his excitement. “Where is he going?”

  “Not going, coming. That plane boarded in Belize.”

  “Belize? What the hell was he doing in Belize?”

  “I believe he might’ve been working as a delivery man. I pulled all flights out of Eastern Canada on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Everything fits except one flight out of Buttonville at nine Saturday morning. A private plane whose destination was Belize City.”

  Mike frowned. “If this Jones took Alexa there, how is that a good thing?”

  “It gives Jean-Louis a place to start looking for that signal,” Andy said, coming into the room.

  “That’s some comfort, but we need to be right. Is there any connection between Rufus Jones and Richard Fields?”