The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 7-9

by Jonas Saul

  She picked the phone up and dialed Nafplio’s Hellenic Police station, the same number she had called earlier to let them in on the rapist immigrant living among them. When they answered in Greek, she asked for Police Captain Elias Kostas.

  A moment later he came on.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Kostas.”

  “Mrs. Violeta Payne, what a pleasure to be speaking with you again. I want to personally thank you for your kind donation to the Hellenic Police, and also your tip that your husband had overstayed his allotted time in our country.”

  “Kostas, who is listening in to this conversation?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am. No one is.”

  “Then let’s stop with the platitudes.”

  “Platitudes?”

  “I didn’t just give you the tip about my husband. I told you what he did to our daughter. But he can’t be tried in a court of law in Greece for that crime. He needs to come home.”

  “I understand you just discussed this with him.”

  “I did.”

  “I’m to assume he does not want to come willingly?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Well, ma’am, I can take him to the airport, but once there, I can only, by law, advise him to leave the Eurozone, effectively deporting him. This means he could fly to many different countries. Unless, of course, you or your authorities could supply us with extradition papers. I’m sure that would speed things up in getting Oliver back to the States.”

  “There’s no time for that.” Violeta looked out the sliding doors at the view of vineyards facing the eastern sun, trying to calm herself for what she was about to say.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  “I’m willing to make another contribution, another sizable contribution to your wonderful police services.”

  “Oh, you are too kind, Mrs. Payne.”

  “I would need assurances that Oliver is delivered to the Athens airport and put on a plane for Los Angeles.”

  “But Mrs. Payne, as I just said, that is beyond my control—”

  “I know what you just said,” she cut in. “But there is no other way. He has to be delivered back to the States.”

  “I’m sorry, but I think—”

  “Tell me your banking information.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Through the line, Violeta heard him clear his throat and then cough.

  “Your personal banking information. I want to donate half a million American dollars to you, personally.”

  The Captain was quiet a moment. Violeta waited. Whoever spoke first, lost. Violeta knew the rules of negotiation, which translated to Violeta’s rules of engagement. She wouldn’t accept a negative response, but she would say no until her tongue bled.

  Finally, Captain Elias Kostas found his voice.

  “That would be very kind of you, Mrs. Payne, but I’m not sure I could accept such a donation personally.”

  “Let me ask you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Have your colleagues ever taken you out for a beer?”

  “Oh, yes, all the time.”

  “What about a friend taking you out to dinner?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Am I your friend?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A good friend.”

  “Then let me buy you a drink. Let me buy you dinner. But since I’m not there, I have to transfer the money to you and since I won’t be there for a few decades, if ever, let me buy you hundreds of dinners over that time. Would that be okay?”

  There was another pause, shorter this time.

  “I guess, if you put it that way, then everything is okay with accepting a personal invitation for dinner from you. A few thousand dinners is unorthodox, but—”

  “Once you email me your banking information, wiring number and routing number, I will send you half a million dollars. But if you could do me, your friend, another favor, it would be worth another half a million dollars worth of dinners.”

  “What kind of favor would that be?” Kostas asked.

  “Make sure my husband makes it to Los Angeles in the next few days.”

  “But as I said a moment ago, it’s outside my legal borders—”

  “Then do it on your day off, in civilian clothes. One friend to another. You do favors for your friends, don’t you, Kostas?”

  “Well, of course, but he will protest. How do I assure he doesn’t walk off the plane at the layover in Amsterdam or Frankfurt? I couldn’t possibly fly with him the whole way.”

  “Break his legs.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, break both his legs so he doesn’t walk anywhere.”

  “Uhm, ma’am?”

  “If that’s not enough, break his spine. Paralyze him so he has to come home for proper care. Don’t worry, when he gets here, his loving family will take care of him.”

  Silence again from Kostas.

  “After what he did to my daughter,” Violeta started, not willing to wait for the Greek policeman to lose this battle of silence, “Captain, if you don’t break his legs, when he gets here, I will. But I’m willing to pay you one million dollars to do it. Make it an accident. I don’t care. Accidents happen all the time. Have another prisoner do it for a hundred bucks. Think of something.”

  A key slipped into the lock at the front door. Violeta turned in her chair as Tam entered the house.

  “You have two to three days to complete the job and get him on a plane.” She turned in her chair to avoid letting Tam hear the next part. “Once you have Oliver in a wheelchair, send me a picture and I will send the money. Make it happen, Captain Kostas. Don’t make me an enemy.”

  She clicked off the phone before he could reply.

  “Tam, you’re home. How was it?”

  Tam appeared forlorn, sad. Like the day when she was ten and her hamsters all died. Or when her first crush broke up with her at fourteen, only three years ago.

  “Well, you have a tongue,” Violeta said louder. “Use it to communicate. Tell me what happened in Toronto.”

  Tam kicked off her shoes and moved toward the couch. She sat with her legs up and rested her head on her forearm.

  “I screwed up,” Tam said.

  “You? How?”

  “I shot Sarah. I think I killed her.”

  “What?” Violeta flew out of her chair in anger. She slammed the phone table with both hands and gritted her teeth. Tam reared back, fear replacing the sad look on her face. “You had one task,” Violeta mumbled the words. “I gave you everything. The tools to track Parkman, the money to handle your one simple task. I even gave you Parkman’s own gun to use with his prints on it. All you had to do was use his weapon when he was in the vicinity, get him arrested for the worst crime you could come up with. No one instructed you to shoot Sarah.”

  “I know, Mom,” Tam pleaded. Her eyes already glazing over. “I tried. My plan was perfect.”

  “Explain to me what you tried.” The last word came out with as much disdain as she could muster.

  “I followed him to a warehouse in Toronto. I set up across the street and waited. Sarah showed up. I saw them talking. I wondered what to shoot at. How I could trap him? Then a car drove by and an idea formed.”

  Violeta crossed her arms to make Tam work for it. She closed herself off, making Tam convince her she did the right thing.

  “I fired a warning shot as the car passed going the other way. It made Parkman think the shooter was in the car. I thought it was perfect because Parkman shot at the fleeing car himself. There would be no need to use the gun to frame him. And the police even picked him up at the scene.”

  “Then what went wrong? How did you kill Sarah?”

  “The warning shot.” Tam got up from the sofa and retreated a couple of steps from her mother. “I don’t know how it hit her, but she took the bullet in the head. I saw Parkman pumping her chest.”

  “You little piece of shit,” Violeta shouted. “I have paid for your private school. I ha
ve paid for your training at the gun club. We are proud Americans and we have the right to bear arms. I will retire in Texas, mark my words.” She uncrossed her arms and advanced on Tam. “You passed all your tests and impressed the marksmen at the range with how good of a shot you are. So tell me, how the hell did you kill someone when you were firing a warning shot?” She raised her voice to a screech. “Tell me!”

  She stopped in front of Tam as the kitchen wall had arrested Tam’s retreat. Violeta’s hand tingled with the anticipation of slapping her insubordinate daughter.

  “Sarah jumped into it. Sarah dove toward the bullet. It wasn’t my fault.”

  Before Tam could break down sobbing, Violeta slapped her, the crack of skin on skin loud and biting. Tam’s face shot sideways, hair jerked with it. She placed a hand on her reddening cheek and slowly lifted her head back to face Violeta.

  “You have disgraced your family,” Violeta deepened her voice. “You have failed us. It is you and me against the world and you have potentially fucked all that up.”

  Tam shook her head. “No, Mom. Please, let me finish.”

  Violeta raised her hand again, but kept it suspended, palm open, waiting for her daughter to sink deeper into the hole she had created for herself.

  “I used Parkman’s Glock. When they check his gun and see it had been fired recently and the bullet in Sarah’s head matches his make and model, he will have more to explain.” Tam’s shoulders hitched with sobs as she started to cry. “I tried to serve you. I tried to do the best I could.”

  Violeta lowered her hand. “In the coming days, we will see just how much you have served me. Remember, you are either Tam Rood, my daughter, or turn your name around and it spells Door Mat. I walk with you or I walk on you. Understood?”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  “Yes, Momma what?”

  “Yes, Momma, I understand.”

  “Now get the fuck out of my sight before I slap you into a coma. I have to figure out what to do next.”

  Tam scurried past her mother, crying as she ran up the stairs. It made her smile. Her daughter had to learn the rules of life and there were only two. Work for Violeta, or work against her.

  Work against me and I will crush you.

  Her husband was about to learn that very lesson.

  Chapter 12

  Detective Joffrey had agreed to give Parkman a chance to explain before he took him downtown to process him. Parkman had to convince Joffrey of a conspiracy against him, or wait for Sarah’s recovery from behind bars.

  They tried to locate Doctor Jacob, but to no avail. A nurse found an empty room where the trio could talk.

  “Yes, I wrote the letter,” Parkman started. “But under duress.”

  Aaron stood by the window, leaning on the wall, watching the sun rise.

  Detective Joffrey sat on one of the two beds in the room while Parkman paced the floor.

  “What duress?” Joffrey asked.

  “Okay, understand, this will be very hard for me, but I’m going to be honest with you here.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Unless it comes up in the course of your investigation, or it ends up in court, I don’t want any of this repeated outside this room. Deal?”

  “Fine,” Joffrey said. “It’s your business unless it becomes mine.”

  “Aaron?”

  He turned from the window. “Parkman, you’ve known Sarah longer than I have. You’re a trusted member of her family. Whatever happened to you is going to bother me deeply. Once Sarah’s better, we’ll fix whatever’s going on. Just do what you have to do with the local cops and we’ll deal with this shit after. But don’t ask me about confidentiality because you never need to. You know I have your back. I always will.”

  It warmed Parkman’s heart to hear those words from the man he respected as Sarah’s choice. She would do fine with him.

  “Whoa, what’s this about fixing things after you’re done with the local cops?” Joffrey asked.

  “No disrespect, Joffrey,” Aaron said, “but I don’t have a lot of respect for the lengths law enforcement go to. You got your thing to do. I get it and I will stay out of your way. But I do my thing a little different.”

  Joffrey twisted on the bed to better face Aaron. “And what exactly is your thing?”

  “Okay, guys,” Parkman interrupted. “Aren’t we here to discuss what’s going on with Sarah?”

  “My thing is everything yours isn’t,” Aaron said.

  “That’s a lot of thing.”

  “Guys.” Parkman raised his voice.

  Aaron looked back out the window. Joffrey turned to Parkman. The morning sun cast an orange glow on the side of Joffrey’s face.

  He stared at Parkman as he spoke to Aaron. “Maybe one day I’ll get to see what it is you do, Aaron.”

  “Stick around long enough and you’ll see it.”

  “Got it. Now, Parkman, you have the floor.”

  “I was instructed to locate a man. I did that. Took pictures, went to the hotel, and sent them to the client. I was supposed to fly home the day after—”

  “Where were you? What city?”

  “Nafplio.”

  Joffrey frowned. “Where’s that?”

  “Greece,” Aaron said. “Been there. Bad experience, bad memories, but nice hospital.”

  “Was that an example of you doing your thing?”

  Aaron turned from the window. “Something like that.”

  “Okay, guys,” Parkman jumped in again. “Seriously. Fuck.”

  Joffrey raised a hand in capitulation.

  “Why didn’t you fly home?” Joffrey asked.

  “I did fly home.”

  “You said you were supposed to fly home.”

  “Yes, I was supposed to fly home as the job was complete, but the client asked me for another service.”

  “What was that?”

  “Bring the man I located with me. Willingly or unwillingly.”

  “And?”

  “I refused. Even if the man agreed to come. I’m a private investigator, not a human delivery man.” He brushed something off his shirt, straightened the bottom, then continued. “If I returned the woman’s husband, I would receive a bonus that amounted to about a quarter of a million dollars.”

  “Wow, this woman really wants her husband back,” Joffrey said.

  “She’s quite rich and very demanding. I’m assuming people do what she asks of them without question or she finds someone who will. That’s why her husband leaving her is not allowed.” He used air quotes on the last word. “Again, I refused. Then she asked if I wanted a cool half a million bucks.”

  “And you agreed, right?”

  “She wanted me to put her husband in a wheelchair to force him to come home for special care. He wouldn’t be able to run from her anymore. But his hands would still work for signing documents as she has a deal pending that won’t go through without him.”

  “Oh man, hell hath no fury, and on and on.”

  “I flat out refused. I was informed that I either work for her or I don’t. That sounded reasonable, so I told her I don’t. Then she tells me, now get this, that I was either a friend or an enemy and that I had to choose. Since I was not going to be doing her bidding, I was declared an enemy. She told me to expect what enemies get and hung up.”

  “What did you get?”

  “Harassed for a week before I was jumped, tossed in a van and taken to a warehouse where they stripped me and did things that I’d rather not say here and that have no value in furthering your investigation.”

  “Oh, shit, sorry to hear that,” Joffrey said, a look of concern on his face.

  In all his years as a cop, Parkman could determine a false look, a mask, when he saw one. In that moment, Joffrey seemed real, sincere.

  “I’m sorry, Parkman.” Aaron had turned from the window and now faced him. “You should’ve called Sarah and me. We could’ve helped.”

  Parkman shook his head. “You were missing Sarah. She onl
y showed back up a week ago.” He walked over to the other bed and sat down. Joffrey spun around to face him. “When I was held captive,” Parkman continued, “they made me write that letter in my own handwriting. The whole idea was to set me up to take the fall. I only kept the letter so I could show Sarah their intentions. They relieved me of my Glock 22 at that time.”