by Matt Lincoln
Just then, an officer with corporal insignias on his uniform came toward us waving a hand to get Peterson’s attention. “Hey, Detective, we got something weird—” he started to say, and then broke off with a glance at me. “When you have a minute,” he finished.
“It’s fine, Halsey. This is Special Agent Marston with MBLIS,” the detective said. “It seems we have a mutual interest in this one. What have you got?”
Halsey paused for a beat to process that, and then plunged ahead. “We found a second ID in the victim’s jacket,” he said. “Same name as the one on his license, Gordon Traynor. Only this one says he’s with a private security company out of D.C., something called VeriSafe. I had Babs look it up.” He frowned slightly. “They specialize in protecting high-end targets. People. Bodyguard type stuff.”
Well. Wasn’t that interesting.
Detective Peterson looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You said the victim was following your witness, but she apparently didn’t know him,” he said. “Is it possible she was his assignment?”
“No idea. If she was, she didn’t know about it.” And if this Gordon Traynor was supposed to be protecting Tessa somehow, he’d done a piss-poor job of casing his environment.
“Guess we’d better find out,” the detective said and turned to Halsey. “You and Babs find out whatever you can about this VeriSafe place and what Traynor was doing here, okay? Maybe the guy was just on vacation and in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I doubt it.”
The corporal nodded. “We’re on it.”
As the officer headed away, Detective Peterson looked back at me. “Where’s your witness? I’d like to have that talk with her now, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, you and me both,” I said. “Come on.”
I led the detective back down the street toward the bar and thought about my earlier conversation with Director Ramsey, and the orders that had come from above my clearance level to put me on this case.
Now I was starting to think that high clearance thing might have nothing to do with the Black Mambas, and everything to do with Tessa Bleu.
13
Mike Birch turned out to be not only knowledgeable, but very accommodating. By the time I returned to the bar with Detective Peterson in tow, he’d started to clear the place out by gently urging people to leave. Then he closed the place outright, showing the last of the patrons to the door and dismissing his staff out the back.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as he closed and locked the door after the last customer. “It’s Saturday night. Probably a big night for you, money-wise.”
Mike grinned. “Hey, you’re right. I’ll just open up again and call ’em all back inside,” he said, making no move to do so. “Don’t worry about it. Your girl there’s pretty shook up, and I’m not a real big fan of the Saturday night crowd anyway. Especially when there’s a violent crime right outside my door.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What usually happens when there’s a violent crime right outside?”
“Don’t know. First time there’s ever been one,” he said with a laugh. “You officers and agents go ahead and do your thing. I’ll be in the back cleaning up.”
“Thanks, Mike. I appreciate the help.” I held out a hand, and he shook it. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back.”
He nodded. “I could always use more regulars, if you’re looking for a watering hole to frequent. So come on back. Tell your friends.” He spread his hands out in front of him, like he was framing a picture. “Mike’s Tropical Tango Hut, favorite hangout of special agents and Miami detectives. Free mint juleps if you get shot at.”
“Nice slogan.” I tried not to laugh too loud. “We’ll take you up on that.”
“I’ll hold you to it. By the way, those doors are one-way locks,” he said with a nod toward the entrance. “Anybody can leave from inside, you just can’t come back inside once they shut.”
With that, Mike turned and headed for the back, and I made my way toward the booth where Holm had relocated Tessa in an attempt to make her more comfortable. The woman looked scared and exhausted at the same time, but exhaustion seemed to be winning. She had leaned her head against the back of the booth and closed her eyes. Holm sat protectively next to her, while Detective Peterson and the junior detective he’d grabbed outside on the way to the bar hung back looking awkward.
I stopped in front of the table. “Tessa,” I said gently. “You still with us?”
“Mmhmm.” Her eyes fluttered open, and she lifted her head and smiled at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so tired all of a sudden,” she said.
“Your adrenaline’s crashing,” I said, noticing that Holm had furnished a pitcher of ice water and a glass. It’d be good to keep her hydrated and prevent her from bottoming out. “I’d like to talk a little more about what happened, if you’re up for it.”
She gave a slow nod and reached for the filled glass. “I think I’d better be. If somebody tried to kill me, I’d rather you caught him as soon as possible.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I motioned the detectives over. “This is Detective Peterson, and…” I couldn’t quite recall the other guy’s name. He was younger than Peterson, dark-haired and olive-skinned with nervous eyes behind round, wire-framed glasses.
“Detective Rothchild,” the younger guy stammered.
Tessa looked from one to the other and tensed slightly. “Hello, Detectives.” She sipped her water. “I’m sorry. This is just a little overwhelming for me,” she said in a small voice. “I’ve been questioned by so many people today, it’s getting hard to keep track.”
“Tell you what. I’ll ask the questions, and the detectives can just observe,” I said with a glance at Peterson. “If that’s okay with you guys.”
He shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said agreeably. “She’s your witness.”
While I slid into the booth on the opposite side from Holm, the detectives snagged a couple of chairs from a nearby table and dragged them over, positioning themselves on the open side of the booth. “I’ve already told them everything you told me earlier, so we don’t have to go through all that again,” I said to Tessa, and watched the lines of her body relax. “What I want to ask you now has to do with a few things the detectives found out at the scene.”
“You mean where that man was shot,” she said flatly.
I nodded. “His name was Gordon Traynor. Does that mean anything to you?”
Her body language showed nothing but confusion in response to the name. Tiny frown lines appeared between her brows, and she leaned forward slightly with both hands wrapped around the water glass. “No. Should it?”
Holm perked up a little too. I hadn’t gotten the chance to brief him on what I’d found out in this increasingly strange case, so this would all be news to him.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “It turns out he worked for a private security firm that specializes in protecting important people.”
This time her reaction was shock. “He was following me,” she said slowly. “Do you think—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together. “No, that’s impossible. I’m not important. I’m just a journalist.”
“We still don’t know for sure that he was here specifically for you,” I said, though that chance was increasingly slim. “Maybe he wasn’t even working. He could’ve been on vacation, and maybe you just happened to catch his eye. Say, he wanted to ask you out, but he was shy and hanging back.” Even as I said it, I knew it was ridiculous. If he was date-stalking Tessa, he wouldn’t have thought about changing his clothes when she changed locations. But I pressed on, because I needed her to stay as relaxed and un-freaked out as possible. “For now, though, we have to consider the possibility that he was following you professionally.”
Holm caught my gaze and sent me a look that clearly said what is this happy horseshit, but he kept his mouth shut.
“I don’t understand,” Tessa said faintly. “Why would a private securit
y firm be protecting me?”
“You’ve never had this kind of protection before?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “I mean, why would I?”
I decided to consider the journalist angle, and the possibility that all this was unrelated to the murder here in Florida. “You write for a national magazine,” I said. “Assuming you don’t use a pseudonym, plenty of people have seen your name. Your picture, too, I’m guessing. Can you think of any pieces you’ve written that might have upset someone, either for the National EcoStar or one of your freelance jobs?”
“No! I take pictures of wildlife and geography, and I write about the environment,” she said, sounding flustered and freshly upset. “I mean, this piece on tidal pools wouldn’t have been flattering, but only to tourists who keep stepping in them. And I’ve barely started the groundwork, let alone actually writing the piece. It’s not even going to be published until the August edition.”
Okay, so that was a dead end. Some angry tourist who wanted the right to trample through tidal pools was damned thin, especially considering the hypothetical tourist would’ve needed to have inside knowledge of the EcoStar’s publishing schedule, and also just happen to be a sniper, or know how to hire one.
“Nothing inflammatory, then?” I asked. “Not at any point in your career.”
“Nothing.” Tessa let out a thin, watery sigh. “This is crazy,” she whispered. “Do you know who killed this private security guy, or why whoever it was took a shot at me, too?”
“We’re working on that, ma’am,” Detective Peterson said as he stood and motioned for the younger detective to do the same. “Rothchild and I need to get back to the crime scene, but we do appreciate your time. Agent Marston, if you don’t mind a quick word before we go?”
I nodded and slid from the booth, knowing why the detective had decided to cut the interview short at this point. It was obvious Tessa had no idea who Traynor had been, and even if the deceased private security guard had been hired to protect her, she’d had nothing to do with it and no knowledge of his contract. Plus, she was too shaken up to provide anything further.
After I let Holm know that I’d be right back, I followed the detectives to the doors.
“Looks like you’re going to have a fun night,” Peterson said, turning as we reached the entrance. “Me too, apparently.”
“Yeah, about that.” I glanced back at the booth, where Tessa was sipping at her water with trembling hands while Holm spoke in low tones. “I already asked Metro earlier to keep a low-profile watch on her hotel, but I changed my mind. I’d like high-profile, squad cars on the premises, officers at her door. Can you set that up for me?”
“No problem.” To his credit, Detective Peterson didn’t say a word about manpower or budget cuts. “What’s the location?”
“The Palm Bay Inn. Room 430.”
He scribbled the information in his notebook. “I’ll make the call as soon as I check back in at the scene,” he said. “You’ll let me know if you get any leads?”
“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,” I said.
Peterson smirked. “Way of the world, my friend. Good luck with your case.”
“Same to you.”
I pushed the door open to let Detective Peterson and his nervous underling out, and made sure it was closed and locked before I headed back to the booth. Holm and Tessa both watched me expectantly as I took a seat.
“Okay, Tessa,” I said. “We’re going to have a full police presence at your hotel tonight, from now until we catch this guy. Beyond that, Holm and I will be just outside, all night.”
My partner gave me the hairy eyeball. “We will?”
“Yup. We’re on stakeout detail,” I told him.
I could hear the groan he didn’t let out.
“Are you sure?” Tessa asked, the release evident in her voice as she looked between us. “Thank you so much. I just can’t believe… Maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight, knowing you’re there.”
She looked at me when she said that last part. The jealousy rolled off Holm in thick waves.
“Come on. We’ll drive you back there,” I said as I stood and pulled out my phone. “I’m just going to let Mike know that we’re heading out.”
As I walked back toward what I assumed was the kitchen, I opened a blank text and tapped out a message to Holm. I didn’t want to tell him exactly why I’d made the call, but I knew he was trying to figure out why the hell we were going to stake out the hotel in addition to the full police presence, which by itself would be enough to protect Tessa.
Pretty sure the shooter is Benta. He’ll try again. Want to catch him in the act, I typed and pressed Send.
His reply chimed before I reached the kitchen door.
No waiting for a warrant? I’m down for that.
Yeah, I figured he would be.
14
The Palm Bay Inn was a far cry from the Hiltons, Marriotts, and Regencies that sprinkled the greater Miami area. More resort than hotel, the place boasted an ocean view, both indoor and outdoor swimming pools with companion hot tubs, tennis courts, and a full onsite gym. The fourth floor, where Tessa’s room was located, was actually the top floor where they kept the furnished suites. Very nice digs for a journalist, even one who worked for a popular national magazine.
I had to wonder who was paying her expenses.
Tessa and I stepped into the elevator at the lobby level, heading up. I’d left Holm outside in the car to wait for me while I made sure Metro had their officers in place. I also wanted to do a quick sweep of her room for anything that might be in there. Listening devices, surveillance cameras, people with guns waiting to kill her. At this point, I couldn’t rule any of it out.
Of course, I wouldn’t tell her exactly what I was doing. She was already scared enough.
“All this and a free continental breakfast too,” I said in an attempt to lighten the mood while the elevator rose smoothly with just the two of us inside. “Must feel more like a vacation than work sometimes.”
She blushed slightly and looked at her feet. “Donald made the reservations. I would’ve been happy at the Holiday Inn, but he insisted.”
“Donald?”
“My editor,” she said almost dismissively, and then cleared her throat. “Ethan, I…”
“What is it?” I prompted her when she didn’t continue.
She shook her head and sighed. “Nothing.”
I didn’t think it was nothing, but I decided not to press her. For now.
The doors slid open on the fourth floor, and I stepped out in front of her, making sure there was no one around before I beckoned her out. “Stay behind me, okay? It’s just a standard precaution.”
It wasn’t, but again, I was trying to keep the freak-out level low.
We didn’t run into anyone in the corridors until we reached her hallway, where two cops in uniform stood outside her door. The sight of them made her come up next to me, shivering slightly.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. “It’s all so surreal.”
“Yeah.” I had to admit, this case was fast approaching the top of my list for most complicated. “Listen, I want to check your room before you go in. Can you stay out here with these officers for a minute?”
She slowed and stared at me. “Just another standard precaution?”
“Something like that.”
I could tell she didn’t quite believe me, but she’d let it pass.
The Metro police were Officer Gilliam and Officer Burks. After a brief round of introductions, I told them I wanted to sweep the room, and Burks used the key card the front desk had given him to unlock the door.
I got the sense that the officers were a little put out by my request since they’d probably already been through the place themselves, but it wouldn’t hurt to check twice.
The door opened onto a spacious main room with a plush cream carpet, buttery-soft leather couches, and a gleaming coffee table and e
nd tables. The wall-mounted flat screen was easily fifty inches, and there was a shelf beneath the television holding a cable box, a DVD player, and assorted remotes. French doors at the back of the suite led to a large, furnished balcony that looked out over the hotel courtyard, and the sandy beach leading to the ocean beyond.
For probably the first time in my entire career, I slipped my shoes off before I moved further into the room. That carpet was just too pretty to trample across.
I spent a minute or two listening for any noise that might indicate someone was in the suite, even though I was certain the officers’ search had been thorough enough to find a person if there was one in here. When I didn’t hear anything apart from the muffled conversation between Tessa and the officers outside the door, I moved further inside and pulled out the bug sniffer I’d grabbed from the car.
The device was a small black rectangle with an antenna, capable of detecting RF frequencies. I moved slowly through the main room and passed the sniffer over and under every surface, listening for the clicking sounds that would indicate an open frequency. Then I repeated the process in the bathroom, which was just as well-appointed as the main room and contained both a shower and a whirlpool tub.
I didn’t really expect to find anything in the way of surveillance. However, while I was scanning the luxurious bedroom, the bug sniffer started clicking like crazy when I passed the antenna beneath the nightstand, the green lights on the front flashing all the way up to full strength.
With a muttered curse, I grabbed a glove from my pocket where I kept a few emergency supplies, including evidence bags, pulled it on, and felt under the small table until I found a small protrusion wedged behind a leg and pried it out. It was a listening device about the size of a hearing aid, sophisticated and probably expensive. The smaller the electronics, the more it cost.
I slid the tiny black device into an evidence bag, tucked it in a pocket, and scanned the rest of the room. At least it was the only one, but the fact that there was a bug present at all had me convinced.