by Chris Angus
Garrett nodded. “Let’s hope. If he ever finds out what really happened, I suspect that poor girl could face a real beating … or worse.”
“So what’s going on with Madame Liu? We going to turn that place upside down or what?”
Garrett drank some coffee. It was black and heavy and made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Several longshoremen came into the diner and took seats at the counter. They eyed Lonnie cautiously and spoke in low voices. Everyone in this part of town knew who Lonnie was.
Garrett filled him in on his current thinking about a possible prostitution ring. Lonnie listened intently. He hated pimps. It was part of his upbringing, and while his grandmother, if she were still alive, would not have been happy to know how her grandson made his living, Lonnie’s surprising moral streak was especially in evidence when it came to pimps.
When Garrett was through, Lonnie grunted. “So we’re just going to leave those sweethearts alone?”
“For a while. I want to pull on some loose ends. See what turns up. You want to help?”
“Sure. My boss loves it when I disappear for a week to spend time with pimps.”
“I didn’t know you had a boss. Thought you said you were some kind of freelancer.”
Lonnie tilted his massive head. “I use the term loosely. Most of my work is political. Guys who employ me don’t want to know what I really do. They just pay me to solve their problems.”
Garrett raised a hand. “Don’t tell me another word. I don’t want to know either. I’m going to look into this whole pile of dung some more. Why don’t you follow Lloyd around for a while? See what he does with his free time.”
“Okay.” Lonnie looked at his watch. “So when’s whatshisface gonna get here?”
Before Garrett could reply, the door opened and a man walked in looking about as out of place as one could in this part of town. He wore a thousand-dollar double-breasted suit, wing-tip shoes, and polarized lenses that he swept off before closing the door behind him, so he could see into the gloomy interior. His hair was flawless, his shave the same, and Garrett would have bet he had a hundred-dollar manicure.
The newcomer saw them and walked the length of the diner counter, glancing uneasily at the men there, and slipped into the booth next to Garrett. There was no room next to Lonnie.
Garrett shook his hand and said to Lonnie. “This is Louis Liotino. He works in the firm of Wanbolt, Hartless, and Noseworthy. Lou, say hello to my cousin, Lonnie.”
“Christ, Garrett, your cousin? You sure don’t look anything alike.”
“I’ve got a better personality too,” Garrett said. “You want coffee or anything?”
Liotino shook his head. “Had lunch already and it took me half an hour to find this … establishment. Look, I owe you, Garrett, I know that, and I pay my debts, but sitting in here just about evens the score.”
Lonnie’s face was expressionless. He disliked high-powered attorneys almost as much as pimps. Didn’t see much difference between the two.
Garrett nodded. To Lonnie he said, “Lou’s firm represents Global Resources, one of ExxonMobil’s partners in the Sable Offshore Energy Project. I asked him to meet us here to talk about one of Global’s rigs.”
“The one you visited,” Lonnie said.
“Don’t know what you’re into, Garrett,” said Liotino, “or how much I can tell you. But go ahead. Fire away.”
“Kind of curious,” Garrett said. “I spent the night on one of your rigs, the one closest to shore here off Lighthouse Point.”
Liotino raised an eyebrow. “They’re not my rigs. We just represent the company. But I wouldn’t mind knowing how the hell you pulled that off. I’ve never been allowed to visit. And I gather it’s a pretty popular place amongst company high-rollers.”
“I dropped by … uh … unexpectedly. Rig was closed down for the hurricane but the three guards pretty much had to let me stay. I saw maybe a dozen rooms that looked like something out of Club Med. Huge beds, mirrored ceilings, private bars and balconies. High-end stuff. Kind of wondered if you knew anything about it.”
Lou studied his hands. “Global’s our biggest client, Garrett. And they’re not in too good a mood right now. Yields for natural gas have been declining. The province has taken a hit too. Windfall royalties are off nearly 70 percent from two years ago. What you’re asking is privileged information.”
“Why I’m wining and dining you in this fine establishment. Give you a chance to even the score between us. You didn’t think I was going to ask for the name of your tailor, did you? I already sort of have an idea about this, Lou. I just want confirmation. Because the only reason I can think of for an offshore rig to have accommodations like that is for special customers. Very special customers.”
Lou sighed. “You’ve been in this business too long, Garrett. Thought you were going to retire.”
“I am. This is sort of my last hurrah, you might say. You know the sorts of things I investigate. Just tell me if I’m wasting my time.”
Liotino looked at the greasy counter where the other men sat. It seemed to remind him where he was and he eased his hands back so his suit cuffs wouldn’t touch the table surface. “Like I said, Garrett, I’ve never been invited. But you hear things … around the water cooler, you know?”
“What sort of things?”
“Shit. If I tell you this, you got to swear no one ever finds out where the information came from.”
“All right.”
Liotino looked at Lonnie. “Him too.”
Lonnie nodded once, said nothing.
“Okay. Global has a side business. A few of their oil rigs around the world have the special accommodations you mentioned. It’s a sweet deal. The rigs are outside territorial waters, so what goes on is pretty much out of bounds to legal authorities.”
“And what goes on?”
“They bring special clients in—usually from countries that are interested in purchasing one of their state-of-the-art oil rigs. Executives from Colombia, South Africa, Argentina, as well as from the Middle East. Part of the sales pitch involves a few nights’ stay at the high-end rigs, where they are treated to … well, you know what they are treated to.”
“All the freebies they want,” Lonnie said quietly. He put his hands on the table and levered himself out of the booth. Garrett noticed that the metal stretch band on his watch was stretched out almost to its maximum to accommodate his enormous forearms. “Gotta go. Job for one of the politicians. Then I’ll latch onto Mr. Exhibitionist. Let me know when you need me, Gar.”
He lumbered toward the door, filling the available space between the wall and the counter stools, and that was after the men on the stools all cringed away from him.
Lou shook his head, watching him go. “Not the sort of guy you want to meet late at night outside a bar,” he said.
“More than you know,” Garrett replied. “Any idea where the pimps who run Global Resources get their girls?”
“Christ, Garrett. You can’t call the CEO of one of the biggest oil franchises in the world a pimp.”
“Never heard a better word for it. You know anything about the ages of the girls involved?”
Liotino looked sick. “You’re not going to believe me if I tell you they’re all over twenty-one, are you?”
Garrett just stared at him.
Lou leaned in closer and said in a low voice, “It’s the young girls, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen-year-old virgins that these foreign guys like. They don’t want to have to worry about getting social diseases. Each girl is only used once. Then they ship them on to an escort service somewhere.” He sat back. “Pretty sweet deal. Unspoiled goods. Guaranteed fresh and clean.”
Garrett shook his head. “Good thing Lonnie didn’t hear that. What I’d like to know is how you can be aware something like this goes on and not want to do something about it?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Not my business. Besides, everyone thinks solicitors are nothing but pimps anyway. I just try to k
eep my own nose clean.”
“A moment ago you were complaining that you’d never been invited to one of the special rigs. Kind of sounded like you’d go if you got the opportunity.”
“What do you want from me, Garrett? I told you what you wanted to know. I have to go. I’ve got another appointment.”
Garrett put his hand on Lou’s arm. “All right, thanks for the information. But I’m not cool about your involvement.”
“Christ, Garrett! I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“Far as I’m concerned anyone who knows about this is complicit. One thing. I hear a whisper that you warned anyone at Global about this, you’ll be taking the fall along with everyone else.”
Liotino stared at Garrett like he was a crazy man. “The fall? Christ, Garrett, you have any idea how powerful these people are? Believe me, you go after them, I won’t have to worry about you at all. You’ll be spending the rest of eternity encased in cement in the footing of an oil rig in the middle of the ocean.”
He stood up, straightened his jacket, and looked at the men at the counter. “Been nice knowing you.” He walked quickly past the men and out the door, turning the doorknob with just two fingers to avoid any contaminants it might hold.
30
GARRETT’S CELL PHONE RANG WHILE he was still in the diner. He was careful about who he gave his number to, so there were only a handful of possibilities. Tuttle was at the top of the list, but it didn’t sound like him at all. It was Sarah.
“You had a kind of funny call from Kitty Wells,” she said.
“Funny as in hilarious?”
“No. As in worrisome.”
He was silent.
“She wanted to get a message to you, and I’d given her my number.”
“What’s the message?”
“She said she could only talk for a minute. That she was closing in on something substantial regarding Lloyd. Maybe a big break in what happened to those girls who were killed. She sounded pretty excited … wired, you know? She said she was going to meet some people and then she’d call again. That’s it.”
He swore. “She say anything at all about where she was going?”
“Nope. And it sounded like she was really in a hurry. She hung up very suddenly.”
Annoying as he found Kitty, Garrett felt a degree of responsibility. She was a reporter and followed where leads took her, but she had no idea what she was getting into by playing Lloyd. And he knew she was playing him. Using her sex as a lure, as she did with every man she met who wasn’t a relative or gay.
Only Lloyd wasn’t every man.
Still, there wasn’t much he could do with the information he had. Kitty had said they were going to meet someone, so they probably weren’t going to be at Ecum Secum’s Haven for Troubled Youth.
“I’m coming back tonight,” he said.
“You don’t think they could have gone to Halifax?”
“Anything’s possible, but the only place I can think to look is Ecum Secum. Maybe someone there knows something about Lloyd’s whereabouts. The kids I met didn’t seem to have any hesitation in squealing on Lloyd if they could.”
“I’ll meet you,” Sarah said. “Can you be there by seven-thirty?”
He hesitated, trying to think of some way to dissuade her, but knew it was hopeless. Besides, he wanted to see her. It seemed as though every time they got together, something interrupted them: Tom needing help, the girls’ disappearance, then their reappearance, the dead girl on the island. He was feeling in strong need of her company.
There was silence on her end of the line. Then she said, “I know. I miss you too. We better get some quality time together soon, Gar, or I’m going to have to jump the first man I see—oh my god!”
“What?”
“I just saw Roland turn onto the wharf. Listen. He doesn’t count, okay?”
Garrett smiled. He could think of some ways to spend quality time as well. “What’s he doing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s always moving fishing gear around or looking for tourists to gouge somehow.”
“All right. I’ll see you at seven-thirty. You get there before me, stay in your car till I show up. I don’t want you anywhere near Lloyd when I’m not around.”
He hung up, left the diner, and walked quickly to his car. His foot felt good. Marcia had always been a miracle worker with the thing. He crossed the Angus L. Macdonald Bridge, circled the rotary, and took 107 heading for the Eastern shore. After twenty miles, it turned into Route 7, the two-lane highway that went all the way to Antigonish. He wondered sometimes how the locals didn’t go bonkers traveling over this same road day after day.
The familiar landmarks swept past his window. The Gold Coast Restaurant, where he’d gone for lobster with his parents when he was a kid. The new mussel farm near Ship Harbor. They grew the mussels on lines sunk into the bay, and they were the best, biggest, and most succulent shellfish in the province, supplying all the restaurants in Halifax. Then the turnoff at Tangier for Willy Krauch’s smoked fish. Willy had a wall of newspaper clippings in the small outlet. He’d supplied smoked salmon to the Queen of England. Garrett loved stopping at Willy’s and smelling the wonderful combination of wood smoke and salmon. The old man had been dead for many years, and the business was now run by his offspring who zipped around, incongruously, on ATVs.
His thoughts never wandered far from Kitty. What the hell was she up to? Lloyd would never have bragged about anything to do with the girls who’d been killed, not unless he felt there was no need to worry about who Kitty was going to tell or what she might try to put on TV. And that meant Kitty was in deep shit.
He’d revised some of his feelings about the reporter. She was nosy, oversexed, and ambitious. But he’d experienced some of her persistence and thought she might actually be a pretty good reporter, in her own way. If she thought she had her teeth into something with Lloyd, she’d go after it. He had no doubt about that. And he had no doubt that Lloyd would be just fine with having the beautiful Miss Wells cozying up to him.
He drove with one hand on the wheel and dialed Lonnie with the other. His cousin answered on the first ring.
“I’m going to Ecum Secum to see if I can locate Lloyd. But I want you to look around for him in the city. Highest priority.”
“What’s going on?”
“I think Kitty Wells, the reporter, may be with him, trying to investigate him. If she is, she’s going to be in a world of trouble.”
Lonnie grunted. “The reporter on Channel 9?”
“That’s the one.”
“I can see where Lloyd might be attracted. Good-looking woman. I’ll pay a call on Big Margaret. Haven’t seen her in two days. She probably misses me.”
“Right. Listen, if you happen upon them and Kitty seems all right, don’t barrel in and spoil things for her, okay? She might be in control of the situation. Just keep me posted.”
He pulled in to Ecum Secum just as the evening light was fading and the deer were beginning their evening parade across the highway. He narrowly missed a doe and her fawn and was glad when he finally saw the sign for Troubled Youth. Sarah sat in her car waiting for him.
She kissed him hungrily and said, “There’s more where that came from, big boy.”
“Please,” Garrett said, “Not in front of the children.”
“What children? I’ve been here for thirty minutes and haven’t seen a soul.”
He looked around. The place certainly seemed deserted. But if Lloyd wasn’t here, then it figured the kids would be having a hootenanny somewhere.
“Let’s walk up back,” he said.
They passed the more showy buildings near the road and worked their way deeper into the compound. Most of the area around and between the buildings was cultivated with vegetables in long neat rows. Lloyd evidently was a stickler for neatness, so long as someone else was doing the work.
Garrett stopped in front of one small cabin and stared at it, remembering. Sarah gave him a puzzled
look.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I used to live here.”
“With the girlfriend?”
He nodded.
She made a show of bending over and checking the foundation. “Looks like it survived the pounding.”
He gave her a look. “My wild youth. Truth is, I could have been a customer for Lloyd’s Haven if Lon and I’d been caught doing some of the stuff we did back then.”
She nodded speculatively. “And if you’d been caught, no job in law enforcement, right? And we never would have met.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m kind of glad you survived your wild youth.”
“What’s that?” He was looking up behind the cabin where the woods grew thick. There was a flickering glow above the treeline.
“Looks like a fire,” Sarah said.
They began to climb higher. The evening light was fading, but the dirt path was still clear enough. As they neared the glow, they could hear music and then saw dark figures moving around a big fire.
They entered the circle of firelight where about twenty boys and girls were lying around. Most were paired off and making out on blankets. The music came from a boom box and there was a picnic table with food and drinks on it.
“I guess we can safely conclude Lloyd isn’t here tonight,” said Garrett, disappointed.
The kids gradually became aware of them. Most sat up and stared, but a few couples, pretty close to fully involved in sex, paid them no attention. Garrett recognized the boy who’d been playing the guitar at his earlier meeting.
“Looking for Lloyd,” Garrett said. “Guess he’s not here, huh?”
The boy waved a hand that took in the booze, food and make-out couples. “Gone for the weekend,” he said. He seemed to be the unofficial spokesman when Lloyd wasn’t around.
“Any idea where he is?”
The boy considered him for a moment, then looked around the group. “Anyone know where the asshole went?” he asked.