by Al Boudreau
“That’s a very long time,” I said. “Maybe he felt uncomfortable. I should tell you, Mrs. Taylor, that Bones reached an agreement with Moray, stipulating he wouldn’t speak of the incident that cost him his job … in exchange for his freedom.”
“Oh, dear. Well, it makes more sense to me, now. But, you said you’re not sure it was him who sent the video?”
“That’s right, ma’am, we’re not sure---as of yet. But, with your blessing, I’d like to spend a little more time trying to find out.”
No sooner had the words left my lips when I became the instant recipient of Sarah’s glare. She left the room to go get our coffee.
“Like I told you before, Mr. Peterson, I’m paying for this with my own money. I want answers. That said, I’d like you to keep going.”
“Fair enough.”
“Here you go, Mrs. Taylor,” Sarah said. She handed her the coffee, then handed me my mug, avoiding eye contact.
I was in trouble.
I’d deal with Sarah’s displeasure after the meeting. I needed to stay on point with Carol Taylor right now. She hadn’t mentioned her discussion with son Jason yet, so I figured it was time to broach the subject. “Mrs. Taylor, are you aware that Jason came to our house yesterday?”
“What?”
“Yes. He did his best to talk us out of moving forward with this investigation.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, looking completely dumbstruck. “How did he know?”
“He insinuated that you two had a discussion concerning our involvement.”
Carol shook her head. “We did no such thing.” She remained silent for a moment, then said, “Jason has always been sharp. I don’t know how he found out, but I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I apologize to both of you. I hope he wasn’t rude.”
“No, nothing like that. In fact, it’s not really an issue from our point of view. I just wanted to touch base about it.”
“I’m glad you did,” she said. “Best that I know that he’s aware of your involvement. Now I can brace for the coming storm. He’s going to tell Don, if he hasn’t already.”
“Not to change the subject, Mrs. Taylor, but I have a question. If this is none of my business, please say so. Does Mr. Taylor gamble often?”
“You could say that. He only goes once a month, but usually stays for days.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Honestly. You can’t imagine how fast that man can lose money. Of course, they let him win just enough to keep on gambling, but he never comes home with anything but empty pockets.”
“I’ve been thinking about visiting one of those resort casinos. When does he usually go? Is there an ideal time of the week, or month?”
“He goes on the second Sunday of every month. I don’t think there’s a specific reason. It’s just what he’s always done. He usually spends the Saturday night before with me. Just not this time.”
I smiled and nodded then took a few sips of my coffee. I had a theory brewing and was anxious to do some quick research to see if I was right. “Well, we don’t have much else to offer, in terms of information, but I feel as though we’re moving in the right direction.”
Carol was sharp and recognized the cue. “That’s all I ask,” she said as she leaned forward, placed her coffee cup on the table, and stood up. “Feel free to contact me whenever you see fit.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch,” I said and gave her a wave.
Sarah helped Carol with her coat then began walking toward the door.
I made a beeline for my office, hoping to dazzle Sarah with some fresh information---before she could start in on me about encouraging our client to continue with the case. I turned on my laptop and brought up the ship tracking software we’d used to keep tabs on the Sandakan Sun. I scrolled to the archive page, entered Sandakan Sun in the search bar, and clicked on the magnifying glass icon.
Just like magic, the days, dates, and times of every voyage the Sandakan Sun had made over the past 12 months popped up on my screen.
“I’m not too happy with you right now,” Sarah said as she came through my office door.
I grabbed my note book and began jotting down every date the Sandakan Sun had delivered cargo to Bridgeport over the past 12 months. “I’ll make a deal with you. If I’m right about the hunch I’m working on, you have to apologize to me for the dirty looks and harsh tone. If I’m wrong, you can have at me with all you’ve got.”
“How long?”
“Before I know? Thirty seconds.”
Sarah took a seat, arms crossed, and waited to hear the outcome.
I now had the dates I was looking for. I grabbed the 3 year paper calendar from the pile at the corner of my desk and made a check mark on each of the corresponding dates.
I spun my chair around and handed Sarah the calendar. “Guess I’ll take that apology now.”
“Not so fast. You need to explain what it is I’m looking at, first.”
“Each one of those dates corresponds with the Sandakan Sun coming here.”
“Uh … OK?”
“Take a closer look,” I said. “What does each visit have in common?”
Sarah stared at the calendar for a few seconds. “They all fall on the second Sunday of each month.”
“Yep. Every single visit, 12 months running.”
Sarah stared at me. I could tell by the look on her face she still hadn’t made the connection. “I don’t get---oh! Donald Taylor, right? He’s been telling Carol he’s going to the casino when he disappears on the second Sunday of every month. You called it, too. You warned me not to mention seeing Don on the tugboat Sunday morning. How? How did you know?”
“I didn’t, really. It was an educated guess.”
“Poor Carol,” I said. “This doesn’t look good at all.”
“Like I said before, we can’t make assumptions. If we’ve stumbled upon a smuggling operation, Don Taylor might be neck deep in it, with full knowledge of what Moray is up to. Or, he may know very little, and just does what he’s told.”
“What about Jason? Do you think Homeland might be involved, too?”
I laughed. “The government? Involved in something illegal?” I paused for effect. “Nah.”
Sarah swatted my arm. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How do you stay so even-keeled through all of this? I mean, let’s face it, Carter, we spend most of our time playing with fire. I do my best to put on a brave face, but all this screwing around with organizations like Homeland Security kinda makes me want to run and hide.”
“Pretty simple, actually. I don’t overthink it. And, I’m jaded. The key is knowing when to push, and knowing when to hang back. It’s instinct.”
“Yeah, guess after being a Boston beat cop for a decade, not much bothers you. I’m convinced you’ve got brass ones.”
“I don’t know. Being a private investigator is related to police work, but the two disciplines aren’t as similar as people think. I’ll tell you one thing. I’m much happier doing what we do now than I was in Boston, constantly putting myself in harm’s way.”
“I’m glad,” Sarah said. “Getting back to Carol’s case, what’s our next move?”
“Feeding our faces.”
“I like that idea. I’m hungry, too. Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“Not necessarily, but I’m thinking along the lines of substantial.”
“It’s not quite four o’clock. Guess whatever we choose, it’ll end up being lunch and dinner.”
“Let’s get take-out,” I said. “How about Thai?”
“Mmm. Yellow curry chicken with brown rice.”
“Drunken noodles with shrimp for me.”
“You buy, I’ll fly?”
I reached for my wallet and handed Sarah my debit card. “Deal.”
Chapter 26
It had been a hectic week, chasing down clues for Carol Taylor. I figured it would take Sarah twenty minutes to return with our food---a perfect amo
unt of time to do nothing but relax. I kicked off my boots, took a seat on the couch, and put my feet up.
It dawned on me, as I sat back and rested my eyes, how far we’d come in six days. Though we hadn’t found hard evidence to back up our suspicions, we were reasonably sure Carol Taylor’s son had lost his life as a result of a major corporation’s negligence. This, in and of itself, was serious enough, and grounds for a major lawsuit.
If we were able to prove---with a sworn affidavit from an insider---that the death had occurred while conducting illegal activities, it upped the stakes: Carol Taylor and her family would be in a position to drop a wrongful death lawsuit of epic proportion down upon an empire started more than a century and a half ago.
What made this case compelling, and why I wanted to see it through, was that the woman who hired us seemed to care very little about the money. Unlike most, it wasn’t an enormous payday that mattered: Carol Taylor was driven by a deep, maternal need to find the truth.
I still didn’t know where her husband and son fit into this puzzle, but Don Taylor’s words and actions seemed more suspicious with each passing day. It created an emotional and moral dilemma for me. If I did my job, and found one or more members of Carol’s family guilty of knowledge and/or involvement in the crime, or cover-up, she’d learn the truth, but suffer emotionally. Conversely, if I chose to hold back information, and failed to deliver on what I’d been hired to do, I might spare her a broken heart, but not without compromising my integrity.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, wondering what it would be like to have a regular nine-to-five job. Go to some building every day. Do a job. Come back home---leaving all the headaches and responsibilities behind until the next day. It might feel really good.
For about a week.
I needed to stop thinking about all of it for a few minutes, so I did something I rarely do: I turned on the television.
Cooking show. Nope. Talk show. Nope. World news. Definitely not. I fiddled with the buttons until a menu popped up on the screen. I chose and scrolled through the channel guide, selected a classic rock music station, then closed my eyes and let my mind go blank.
* * *
A series of loud bangs on the front door let me know I’d drifted off. Sarah was due back with our take-out order, so I figured the noise was from her kicking the door, hands too full to turn the knob.
I walked a crooked path across the room, still groggy from my unplanned nap. I swung the door wide then stepped back so Sarah could squeeze past with the goods…
…only, it wasn’t Sarah at the door.
“You Carter Peterson?” the burly man with the rotten scowl on his face inquired.
“That’s right,” I said, recognizing him as Donald Taylor shortly after my stocking-clad feet left the tile floor.
Before I could process what was happening, I found myself in a painful heap out on our front walkway. I saw him pivot and start down the steps toward me, but the sharp pain in my chest told me that jumping to my feet was not an option. Instead, I did my best to gather my limbs into the fetal position and braced for abuse.
What happened next confused me for what seemed like an eternity, though I’m sure it was no more than five of six seconds. The blows I’d anticipated never came, but a confusing medley of odors filled the air around me; my brain indicated capsaicin, curry, and basil. It wasn’t until I heard Sarah spouting a stream of expletives that I opened my eyes and saw the pepper spray canister in her hands, and a combo-platter of yellow curry chicken and drunken noodles strewn across our front steps.
I fought through the pain in order to get myself upright, then used the arm that hurt least to lock Taylor up in a quasi-strangle hold. “Call the police,” I said to Sarah.
“Here. Take my pepper spray in case this animal decides he wants more,” she said then dialed 911.
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind, Taylor?” I asked as he hissed and moaned. “This little stunt is going to cost you, big-time.”
There must have been a police unit close by, as I heard the wail of sirens no more than thirty seconds after Sarah had placed the call.
Taylor made a move to get hostile again, so I turned my head away and gave him a liberal dose of pepper spray directly in the face. Anyone trying to sleep within a three block radius of our location had their slumber interrupted as Taylor let loose a howl that I was convinced could have woken the dead.
I held my breath for as long as I could, not all that excited about adding to my current state of discomfort with the addition of pepper spray.
I heard the screech of tires at the end of our driveway, then Sarah’s voice barking out commands as multiple footfalls echoed off the side of our house. A pair of Bridgeport’s finest relieved me of my belligerent burden.
It was a welcome rescue. I was hurting.
“Are you OK,” Sarah asked, panic present in her voice. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“Nope. Not necessary. I just need to sit down.” I gently lowered myself onto the front steps, feeling like I’d been hit by a bus.
Sarah sat down next to me as I watched the police drag Taylor off to their cruiser, reading him his rights as they went. One of the officers came back to take a quick statement then returned to the unit.
Off they went, Taylor slumped in the back, headed downtown to booking. Just like that, it was over---except for the pain.
“C’mon,” Sarah said. “Let’s get you inside.”
Chapter 27
I awoke feeling confused---until I tried to move. Then it all came back to me.
“Hold on,” I heard Sarah say. “Let me help you up.”
I hadn’t noticed her sitting there in the armchair we kept in our bedroom. Probably because we never used it for anything but a catch-all. “Have I been out since dinner?”
Sarah smiled and helped me slide up into a sitting position, resting my back against the headboard. “What dinner?” she asked. “I gave you a couple strong pain killers and helped you into bed as soon as the cops left. You slept straight through the night.”
“Whoa. That’s unsettling.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know the half of it.”
“Not sure I understand.”
“Best we get some food and coffee inside of you before we get into it.”
I nodded, and together we made our slow, steady descent to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if the drugs were wholly responsible, but I felt better than expected after getting thrown off the front step less than 24 hours prior. I looked over at the wall clock. “What? That can’t be right.”
Sarah nodded. “It’s ten-thirty. You slept nearly seventeen hours.”
“Thought you said you only gave me a couple pain killers. Fess-up. You gave me half the bottle, right?”
“Carter, they were the ones that help you sleep,” she said while pouring me some coffee. “Now, what would you like me to make you for brunch?”
“We have any more eggs? Bacon?”
“Coming up,” Sarah said.
I took a few sips of my coffee. “What is it you were waiting to tell me?”
“I got a call from Carol Taylor this morning. I didn’t talk to her. She left a message. Give me a minute to get this stuff on the stove, then I’ll go get my phone and play the recording for you.”
I sat back, let go a yawn, and began massaging my temples, overwhelmed by Don Taylor’s actions. It hadn’t taken him long to react, once he’d found out about our involvement in his family’s affairs.
Sarah left the kitchen as the bacon began sizzling, the smell reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything for a full day.
Sarah returned with her phone and placed it on the table in front of me. Sarah, this is Carol Taylor. I’m so sorry. I feel terrible about what Donald did to Mr. Peterson. I hope he wasn’t hurt too badly. I had no idea my husband would react that way. I left him in lockup. No sense bailing him out until he calms down. Please give me a call when you get this message. I have Bones Robie here at
my house. We just had a long discussion about Moray, and what happened to my Frenchie. I’ll tell you all about it when we speak.
Sarah looked over her shoulder at me once the message ended. “She didn’t waste any time getting in touch with Robie, did she?”
“Nope, but under the circumstances, I’m glad she did. It saves us time and aggravation.”
“Good point. I don’t know the guy, but I’m sure he was much more forthcoming with her than he would have been with us.”
“Let’s call her back after brunch. Set up a meeting for early this afternoon. I want to hear what Robie had to say.”
“Carter, are you sure you’re up to it?”
“I’m not going to let a little thing like getting thrown off the front steps get in the way of progress,” I said. “Have ibuprofen, will travel.”
My comment made Sarah giggle. “You’re a machine,” she said. “Unbelievable.” She plated our food and brought it over.
“Come here,” I said. She bent down and I gave her a kiss. “Thanks for taking good care of me.”
“Someone has to.”
* * *
“After you,” I said to Carol Taylor as I held the door open to Sarah’s downtown Bridgeport office. We’d decided to use the small space for our meeting with Carol as a safety consideration; very few people knew about it.
The three of us got settled in, then Carol spoke. “I hope you’re not upset with me for reaching out to Bones Robie. Under the circumstances, it seemed like the right decision … and it was. For me, and for him.”
“I take it he was the one who sent the video and the note.”
Carol shook her head. “No. I asked him several times. Trust me. If he had, he would have owned up to it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Sarah asked.
“Because he’s dying.”
I heard Sarah choke back a gasp as I tried to wrap my head around the unsettling news. “Very sorry to hear that, Mrs. Taylor,” I said.
“So was I. He has an aggressive form of lung cancer, with about six months to live. But, there’s a silver lining. He’s agreed to give us every single piece of dirt on Moray he has. Said he’s got nothing to lose, but everything to gain, in helping me find closure. He’ll testify, under oath, against Moray if the need arises.”