"Guys?"
"I guess it could have just been one person. He or they; take your pick."
"You think someone found out he was an informant?"
"Certainly. He had to have been following him when Douglas came to see me. They probably became suspicious after my visit to the FBI last night."
"How would they have found out about that, do you think?" DuPont said.
"That's a good question, isn't it. The only other person in Florida who knew why I was here was Paddy McGee, the owner of Paddy McGee's Irish Pub. The pub was the first place I went after flying in yesterday afternoon. I met with him for ten minutes or so. We talked about Douglas. He claimed to have only met him once, many years back, in Indiana, but otherwise didn't know him. When he went back to his grill he immediately made a phone call. I suspected at the time it had something to do with our conversation; too coincidental. I don't know who he called, but three things have happened since. First, the FBI picked me up to have a chat about my looking for Douglas. How would they have found out about me? Second, Douglas visited me this morning to find out why I was looking for him. He didn't already know about his daughter's death and he was surprised that I'd talked to the FBI. Where did he find out about me? Third, Douglas was killed right after he left the hotel."
"So, what are you thinking?"
"A couple of possibilities. Paddy called one person who then notified the FBI and the bad guys."
"Not highly likely," DuPont said.
"I agree. He either called the bad guys or the FBI or Douglas. If he called the FBI, his phone may be bugged. I have my doubts he called Douglas."
"Why's that?"
CJ looked at DuPont for a few seconds, trying to surmise whether the detective was humoring him or was seriously following his train of thought.
"Because when I told Douglas of his daughter's death, he looked genuinely shocked and devastated. There is no way a father could act that out. If Paddy had called him to tell him I was looking for him, he would have told him why, wouldn't you think? Douglas' daughter being murdered would certainly be worth mentioning."
"Murdered?" Dupont said.
"Yes. Murdered. A serial killer."
The detective pointed his finger at CJ. "You're not talking about the cop who went berserk in Arizona a month or two ago, are you?"
"Tommy Clark. Yes."
The detective leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "Washburn. I knew I recognized that name from somewhere. You were the subject of a nationwide manhunt."
"Glad to hear that my notoriety precedes me. I'm also the one who put Clark down."
"That's the story that's out there. Shit just kind of follows you around, doesn't it?"
CJ ignored the last comment. "The thing is, Douglas' murder is unrelated fallout. In Tommy Clark's twisted mind he started targeting me by going after people close to me. My attorney, who was also my biggest client and a good friend, had a niece attending school in Tucson. After failing in an attempt at my daughter, Clark targeted and killed her. She happened to be Douglas' daughter. As a favor to my attorney, Gianna Onassis, I took on the task of finding Douglas and informing him. He'd disappeared some five years ago; just walked away from his family."
"Douglas Rothbower," Dupont said. "You found him. Now he's dead, too."
CJ looked at him, a bit surprised. He hadn't yet mentioned Douglas' real name.
"Agent Taffer filled me in. He's considerably pissed. A lot of bureau effort and manpower on this IRA thing has gone out the window."
"I really didn't have anything to do with it. After Taffer told me to back off, I had no intention of doing otherwise. I was looking forward to playing tourist for a day and then flying home tomorrow and briefing my client on what I'd found. I didn't do anything so there's no need to be pissed at me."
"I think he sees it a little different. If you hadn't shown up asking questions, Douglas wouldn't have broken his cover to see you. He'd still be alive and the FBI's operation would still be intact."
CJ sat back. "Yeah, well, I had no way of knowing." When DuPont didn't say anything more, CJ said, "So... what now?"
DuPont leaned over and unlocked the cuffs that had been keeping CJ married to the table. "Get the hell out of here. Do like you said you were going to do. Play tourist and then be on the plane tomorrow back to Arizona."
"Thanks."
"Stay out of trouble."
"What about my wallet?"
"Oh yeah. Forgot about that." The detective opened the door. "Hang tight for a minute."
CJ stood and stretched in an attempt to soften some of the sore spots that resulted from sitting in a hard chair for so long.
The door opened again and DuPont came back in. He dropped a plastic bag on the table. "I left it in the evidence bag for you. It's a tad soggy."
CJ picked it up and looked at it. "Great. Just great."
Chapter 8
When the taxi driver looked at the soggy twenty dollar bill and then gave CJ a "You've got to be kidding me!" look, CJ told him to keep the change and headed into the hotel, his Tampa Bay-soaked wallet still sequestered in the evidence bag gripped tightly in his hand. He hoped that housekeeping had already taken care of his room because all he wanted to do was turn on the TV, use the blow dryer to dry what could be salvaged and then hibernate until it was time to go to the airport on Saturday. He'd had about as much of Florida as he could stand.
As he passed through the lobby he noted a family poring over a map, and a woman wearing sunglasses, sitting off to the side by herself paging through a newspaper. Dark glasses in a dark hotel interior; curious, CJ thought. She looked up and he smiled. She didn't smile back but did seem to study him longer than passing curiosity would normally entail. The thought left him as soon as he passed out of her view, down the corridor to the elevators. Entering one, after stepping aside for two people to exit, he punched the button for the 9th floor. He decided he'd put out the do not disturb sign whether housekeeping had been in or not. Shoes off and then getting horizontal on the bed was all he could think about.
Just as the elevator door started to close, the woman with the sunglasses slipped in.
"What floor?" CJ asked, prepared to punch another button.
"Are you Mister Washburn?" she said.
He looked down at her, a good ten inches shorter than him. "Yes."
"Then I'm going to your floor."
CJ stood back and considered the woman. She wore a black skirt, calf-length, and a black blouse buttoned high. A narrow black scarf sat atop her head, tied under her hair in the back. In her hands in front of her was a black clutch purse. Her shoes matched her ensemble. All that was missing were black gloves.
She was most certainly a woman in mourning. CJ took a wild stab. "How did you know Douglas?"
She looked at him, surprise in her eyes. "He was my husband. I am Rebecca O'Reilly."
CJ raised his eyebrows.
"I would rather not talk in here. Your hotel room, please."
CJ nodded and the elevator stopped. She followed him to his room and as he swiped his key card she opened her purse and pulled out a phone. She flipped it open and speed-dialed a number.
"He is here," she said into the phone. "Room 915.
"Yes. Of course." She closed the phone and put it away.
"Who did you just call?" CJ asked.
"My mother-in-law."
CJ raised his eyebrows again.
"We talk with you together. She won't be long."
Despite his almost overwhelming curiosity and the numerous questions forming in his mind, he agreed. He offered her the best chair and then busied himself spreading out the contents of his wallet, glad that housekeeping had been in. He retrieved a towel and started drying off credit cards and the receipts he'd been collecting. When he noticed her questioning look, he said, "My wallet found its way into the bay."
"Oh."
CJ noticed a slight up-turn at one corner of her mouth. Despite her dark mood, she found his situation amu
sing. He wondered what she looked like without the headdress and sunglasses. All he could really see were a pair of prominent cheek bones and a light colored mole on the left side of her jaw.
He was pushing hot air into the crevasses of his wallet when there came a knock. He shut off the hair dryer and opened the door. The woman who stood before him was maybe in her mid-sixties, though the grief she obviously carried added some years. Her ensemble was similar to the younger woman's, though, a full length dress, but without the sunglasses.
He stepped aside and let her pass into the room. Without waiting for him to do so for her, she pulled the only other chair over next to Rebecca and sat.
"What have you told him?" she asked of Rebecca.
"Only that I was Douglas' wife and that you were his mother."
"Am his mother. I will always be his mother, even when he is dead."
Rebecca dropped her head. Her cheekbones seemed to become even more pronounced.
The older woman looked up at CJ. "Sit down, Mister Washburn."
He sat on the bed.
She handed him a business card. "I am Eveleen Danohough, Douglas' mother. This is my daughter-in-law, Rebecca O'Reilly. We know that you are a private investigator. We want to hire you."
CJ glanced at the business card and then set it aside. "For what purpose?"
"We want you to find Douglas' killer."
"I am licensed only in Arizona, certainly not in Florida."
"I fail to see why that should be an issue. You don't have to have a license to ask questions."
"No, but the local police would frown upon my snooping around, especially when they are already investigating his murder, and especially since they've already told me to go home. I found the police here to be quite efficient. Let them find the answers you want."
"They won't find anything."
"How do you know that?
"I just know."
"I see." CJ looked up at the ceiling and then at the two women. "Are you aware that Douglas O'Reilly was a false name, that Douglas was actually someone else?"
The old woman's mouth tightened and it seemed for a few seconds that she ground her teeth. "Mister Washburn. The other name you're going to refer to is Rothbower. It was the false name, given to him illegally. O'Reilly was the name I gave him when he was born and the name he took back when he found out what happened. Douglas Edmond O'Reilly."
"Then you must also be aware that he had another family as Douglas Rothbower, a wife and daughter."
Rebecca looked up, surprise evident on what little of her face that was visible.
"Yes," Ms. Danohough said.
Rebecca's head swiveled to the older woman, her mouth dropping open. "How?" was all she managed to say.
Ms. Danohough closed her eyes for a few seconds as though gathering her thoughts, her patience. She turned to Rebecca and said, "Douglas wanted to tell you, but I convinced him not to. What was the point? You were married in Northern Ireland, both his and your motherland. That should hold precedence over an illegal marriage in a foreign country."
"Are you a member of the Irish Republican Army, Ms. Danohough?" CJ asked.
Her face went flat as she seemed to consider the question.
"It's not a complicated question. Either you are or are not."
"No. We are not members of the IRA."
"How about the Provisional IRA or the Irish National Liberation Army?"
"Why do you ask, Mister Washburn? I don't see the relevance."
"You want to know who killed your son. I have reason to believe it had something to do with one of these three groups I just mentioned. Which one were Douglas and yourselves associated with?"
Ms. Danohough looked at Mrs. O'Reilly, who was staring at her feet. Her mouth tightened and she turned back to CJ.
"The Provisional IRA, Mister Washburn. Have been a member since before Douglas was born."
"August 13, 1969 in Derry, Northern Ireland during the Battle of Bogside, is that right? You were also reported to have died shortly after childbirth, thus the reason Douglas wound up in a new home."
A little more teeth-grinding. "You're well-informed."
"Except about the dying in childbirth part. Apparently I was misinformed." Not waiting for a comment back he addressed the younger woman. "How about you, Rebecca? How long have you been a member of the Provisional Army?"
She brought her chin up, said, "Just since we've been married," then lowered her head again.
"When was that?"
"They were married a year ago, last month," the elder woman said.
"You do realize that there is a Mrs. Rothbower who would argue that she is the rightful widow. Seeing as her marriage took place in this country and both she and Douglas were residents at the time, she'd have a very legal leg to stand on. America frowns on a man having more than one wife."
"As does Ireland."
"Mrs. Rothbower trumps with longevity, twenty-plus years."
"She kicked him out."
"Is that what he told you?"
"Yes. And then they got divorced, so it makes no difference anyway."
CJ opened his mouth to argue and then realized he wasn't completely sure what the cover story was that they created. Did he abandon them like he said or did she kick him out? Douglas did say that the cover story was an extension of the truth, that it was years before he made contact again. Did she kick him out but let everyone, including her sister, believe that he packed up and left without telling her anything, that he just disappeared? There was no mention of a divorce.
"Never-the-less, Mister Washburn, we want to hire you to find his killer. You seem to know a lot more about my son than I expected. You believe it has something to do with PIRA?" She pronounced the group as one word.
"What is the mission of PIRA?" CJ asked.
"I haven't read the mission statement in some time, so I couldn't tell you. Something to do with putting the Irish back into Ireland I would imagine."
"Through armed or peaceful means?"
"Peaceful, of course." She seemed to raise her chin a bit when she said it. Then CJ remembered something Douglas had let slip in the hotel diner.
"Or is it UIRA?" He pronounced it as one word as had Douglas, and then spelled it out, a total guess on his part. The look on her face told him he'd hit pay dirt. "What does the U stand for?" he added.
She glared at him.
"United?"
She relaxed the glare. "Yes."
"We're not supposed to talk about it, Eveleen," Rebecca said, a little harsher than CJ would have thought her capable of against her mother-in-law.
"It appears that Mister Washburn just figures things out on his own," the older woman said. "Maybe it is a good thing that we hire him."
"What if you don't like what I come up with?"
Her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her feet. "My son is dead. What is there to like?"
"I'm suspecting that UIRA had something to do with Doug's death."
Her head came up. "How can you think that?"
"Are you aware that Douglas was an FBI informant; had been for a year or two?"
Eveleen Danohough opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before saying, "That's impossible."
"Not only is it possible, it's true. I had a long conversation with the FBI last night and with Douglas this morning, less than an hour before he was killed."
"I don't..." She closed her mouth and looked at Rebecca. "Did you know this?"
CJ had been watching the younger woman when he disclosed Douglas' secret. Her face went through at least three emotional changes. First was surprise and then her jaw set and her lips compressed into one solid line. Just before Eveleen turned to her, her face went slack and she dropped her chin to her chest.
She shook her head. "No." A small tear rolled from under her sunglasses.
"I still don't believe it," the elder woman said. "You've got it wrong or you're making it all up."
"What would be my motivation to conc
oct such a thing?"
"What would be the purpose of his being an informant?"
"That, I don't know. Douglas did tell me that whatever it was, it was almost over, that he'd be returning to his family... in Indiana." CJ watched for additional reaction from Rebecca, but saw no change from her interest in her little black purse in her lap. "In his words," he added, "it'd be soon." He did notice that Rebecca's knuckles were turning white from her grip on the purse. "He never mentioned he was divorced. Neither did Mrs. Rothbower when I spoke to her last week."
Suddenly the older woman stood up. "I do not believe we require your services after all, Mister Washburn. Sorry to have troubled you."
CJ and Rebecca rose together. She made no attempt to wipe at her single tear. As she followed her mother-in-law to the door she raised her chin and turned halfway back to face CJ. She said nothing, but the look she gave him was altogether different from the three she'd previously displayed. He wished he could have seen her eyes.
And then they were gone.
CJ put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window, thinking about the visit from the two women. After a time they appeared in the parking lot below, the wife two steps behind the mother. What exactly did he see in that final look? Was she trying to convey a message? Was it anger, concern, a warning, or was it, "Nice to have met you, Mister Washburn. Have a nice day?"
He doubted it was the later.
He also wondered how long the daughter-in-law, mother-in-law relationship would last now that it was obvious that the marriage was not legal, that there was no family relationship, that there was no reason for Rebecca to bow her head to Eveleen. Would Rebecca cower, or would she step up?
CJ had a feeling that that final look said, "I'm done with this bitch," and "I'll be back." She didn't impress him as one who would cower when set free. She'd want answers.
And then CJ thought about what else he noticed when she turned that last time to look at him, when she gave him her profile, a very interesting profile.
Yes, she'd be back, he thought. First, he needed to make a phone call.
Chapter 9
"Good morning, CJ," Gianna Onassis said after Eleanor transferred him over. "How are things in Florida this time of year?"
Sailing into Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 2) Page 5