by Russell Fee
Callahan expanded on his phone’s screen one of the images that Remy had texted him. The lesions on Susan’s arm and leg were so faint that he wouldn’t have discerned them unless Remy had described their exact location and pattern for him.
“There. You see them? They’re right there. Remy just discovered them,” said Callahan, tracing their shape with his finger.
Amanda took the phone from him and peered at the screen. She turned her back to the sun and with the phone in her shadow, she examined the image again. “Yes, barely,” she said.
“He thinks they’re from a fishing net that Susan may have been caught in,” said Callahan. “The pattern formed by the marks does look like netting,” he added.
Amanda handed the phone back to Callahan. “It looks like netting, but I’m not so sure it’s fishing netting,” she said. “I’ve seen lots of fishing nets, and these patterns look different. They’re diamond mesh, and that pattern is mostly seen on lifeline or safety netting between railings on boats, especially on family sailboats. It protects children from falling overboard and is very common. The mesh is also too open for net fishing in the lake.”
“You think she somehow got these from being on a sailboat?” said Callahan.
Amanda shrugged. “Could be, but a thousand sailboats with safety netting are probably on the lake right now. So far this season, maybe a thousand more have came in and out of our harbor and sailed off to marinas all along the coast of Lake Michigan. I don’t see how this helps us,” said Amanda, exasperated.
Callahan looked out over the marina. At least a third of the sailboats moored at the docks had lifeline netting. He shook his head. “I’ve seen weaker leads pay off. We’ll make one stab at following it and see where it takes us. When we’re done here, I’ve got to get to a meeting with O’Donnell. I’m trying to wring some more money out of the county for equipment. You go talk to the harbormaster and ask if he ever saw Susan on any sailboats and, if so, which ones.”
Amanda skewered Callahan with a look that said You’ve got to be kidding. “Okay, but I doubt if the harbormaster knew Susan well enough to recognize her,” she said. “I doubt if he even knew her at all. I’ll try to describe her for him, but she looked like a million girls that sail on boats around here.”
“People have won the lottery against greater odds. Who knows, you might get lucky,” said Callahan smiling and reaching for his bag of chips. “It’s either that or you can face Mrs. Grant about Mrs. Delaney’s incessant complaints that she won’t keep her dogs on leashes in the park.”
“Those dogs are pugs, and Mrs. Grant carries them around all the time in that huge purse of hers, including on her jaunts in the park. Those complaints are just part of some other feud that’s going on between those two biddies,” Amanda complained.
“Still gotta respond,” said Callahan.
“Fine, I’ll go see the harbormaster,” said Amanda and pointed to her tray. “But first, I’m going to get another hot dog when I finish these.”
* * *
“Have a seat, Matt. This is your lucky day.” O’Donnell sat behind his desk, smiling and looking like a man with a secret he could hardly contain.
Callahan chose to sit on the couch facing the window rather than in one of the two chairs in front of O’Donnell’s desk. He settled into it, stretched his arms along the top of the sofa’s back, and crossed his legs. “Okay, out with it. What bonanza awaits me?”
“I was going to tell you that the county doesn’t have the money for new equipment for your department. But that’s not true anymore.” O’Donnell held up an envelope. “Because in here is a $150,000 donation to the county with the stipulation that a good portion of it goes to the Sheriff’s Department.”
“You’re kidding,” said Callahan.
“Absolutely not,” responded O’Donnell. “Don’t you want to know who it’s from?”
“I do,” said Callahan.
“It comes with the grateful thanks of our visiting prince for Amanda’s heroic—heroic is the word he used—prevention of the assault on his person at the music festival.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. How much do I get?” asked Callahan, bending forward.
“That is, as yet, to be determined. We must consider the needs of the entire county first,” said O’Donnell.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Callahan, leaning back. Apparently, luck was liberally apportioned in Nicolet County.
Chapter 48
Amanda had been right about the harbormaster: He didn’t know Susan Gibbons; her description fit a hundred young women in marina boats; and, in any case, he didn’t keep track of the guests or temporary crew that sailed on the boats. But he did show her the bulletin board in the marina’s common area with its ads for crew members and suggested she might ask the boat owners if a Susan Gibbons had responded to any of them. There was a dozen or more, but one caught her eye. The Odyssey had advertised for a nanny with teaching experience to care for the young children of guests during a nine-day summer cruise. The Odyssey was Bland’s yacht. Susan would have been uniquely qualified for the job, and if the ad had been posted at the school, she might have seen it.
Amanda pulled the ad off the board and ran out of the common area. The school was just a short walk from the marina, but she couldn’t get there fast enough. When she and Nick were on the Odyssey, she had seen a play area at the rear of an upper deck. She remembered that the railings surrounding that area had been fitted with safety netting.
* * *
Although it was summer vacation, the school’s full parking lot and stream of people entering its doors signaled the building bustled with activity. Inside, Amanda passed classrooms bulging with adult education students and a gym hosting aerobic classes for seniors. She had to wait in line to meet with a frantic principal and secretary. She waited again until the secretary stole the time to print out the school’s newsletters covering the dates of the Odyssey’s marina ad. It took her only a moment to find the same ad in one of the newsletters. Amanda then pressed the secretary for the phone number of Anne Meara, the teacher she had interviewed who was Susan’s friend. She called her in the hallway, and Anne verified what Amanda suspected: Susan had responded to the ad and been given the job.
Amanda’s next call was to Callahan. When he answered, she skipped the preliminaries and said, “Susan was on the Odyssey just before she died.”
Chapter 49
Gallagher researched Roundtree Security and discovered that domestic security services formed only one of the many divisions within the organization. Roundtree’s services stretched around the world and included elite body guards, armed civilian contractors in Iraq and Afghanistan, and combat training for paramilitary forces in such places as Africa and Indonesia—all for big bucks. It mostly employed former military and CIA. In short, Rountree provided skilled mercenaries to the highest bidder. And it also guarded eleven other drilling sites along the coast of Lake Michigan.
Gallagher leaned back in his desk chair and smiled. His reportorial instincts had paid off once again. All organizations, especially sprawling ones, had disgruntled employees eager to slam their employer: those pissed off at a low raise, a lack of promotion, a demotion, a shitty job assignment, or firing. The list was long, and the candidates were legion. Gallagher knew he just needed to find one such employee to discover who hired Roundtree for the Eagan site. He had done just that.
Gallagher had contacted two reporters he knew from news outlets in Kalamazoo and Traverse City. He told them what he needed, and the reporter in Kalamazoo met a former Rountree drill-site guard at a bar who had been fired for drinking on the job—unjustly, or so the guy said. He’d dated a girl who worked in the head office and knew where Roundtree got its money—or some of it. After a few drinks, he loosened up and told the reporter enough so that Gallagher found out who was paying Rountree to guard the wells. It was Deep Sea Gas and Petroleum.
But that wasn’t the big news. Gallagher scanned the list on his comp
uter screen again until his eyes stopped at Infinity Cyber. Infinity Cyber held major stock in Deep Sea. And its owner was Anthony Bland. He had contacted Infinity Cyber about its connection with Deep Sea but had gotten nowhere with his inquires, nor had Bland responded to efforts to contact him about the story. Gallagher had done his part. He’d given them both a chance to refute or clarify his findings. Now, he slid to the edge of his chair and began typing on his computer’s keyboard. He wanted to get the story out as quickly as possible.
Chapter 50
“I don’t want to be an alarmist, but I think it best if we’re hyperalert and take certain precautions.” Callahan had gathered Nick, Amanda, and Julie in his office. He didn’t want to frighten them but was troubled by Jackson’s disclosures. “Jackson believed that someone murdered Susan because of something she knew, and that her murderer tried to kill him because they thought he knew what she knew. Before he died, he warned me that we might be in danger, that the killer or killers were eliminating those with knowledge of that information. Because of our association with Jackson and because of our investigation into Susan’s death, we may be on a hit list.”
Callahan paused and checked each of them for their reaction. Julie and Nick looked concerned. Amanda just seemed curious. “There’s no evidence of a connection between Susan’s death and Jackson’s. Jackson was speculating. Nonetheless, I want us all to be careful. Try not to go anywhere alone; keep your doors and windows locked; make sure you have your cell phones with you at all times; and contact me if you suspect you may be threatened.”
Callahan turned his attention to Nick. “Collect the old hard drive parts, and all the data you retrieved and stored from its platters. I’ll add it all to the drive with the platters that’s in the safe.” Callahan pointed to the massive steel safe on the floor in the corner of his office. Nick nodded. “Good,” said Callahan. “Now Amanda and I are going to pay a visit to Bland and Abdullah.”
* * *
Amanda swiped the screen of her cell phone for the third time and then said, “Here it is. I’ve got to read you this article in the electronic edition of the Ledger. It’s about those secret drilling rigs and Bland’s connection to them, or possible connection to them. The Ledger has uncovered the identity of the company that’s doing the drilling, and it appears that Bland is a major stockholder in that company. You want to hear the article?”
“I’m listening,” said Callahan.
Callahan drove as Amanda read, and when she finished reading, they had reached the turnoff onto the road that led to Bland’s bunker. Callahan slowed the cruiser and then stopped, letting the engine idle. “That article gives the islanders a target for their fears about drilling in the lake, and he’s right on their doorstep. Bland’s going to have hell to pay here for that investment,” said Callahan.
‘I think his hell has already begun,” said Amanda. She pointed down the road to a line of cars and trucks and a crowd gathered along Bland’s property.
“Great,” said Callahan.
As they approached the crowd, they saw that it was blocked at the wire surrounding the property by two uniformed guards. Several people in front were arguing with the guards.
Callahan parked the cruiser several yards behind the crowd and got out. He and Amanda shouldered their way to the front of the assembly and wedged themselves between it and the guards. Callahan held his arms above his head, and everyone quieted down.
“Glad you’re here, Sheriff,” said one of the guards. “We can’t seem to make these people understand that no one’s here. The place is empty.”
“Do you know when they’re coming back?” asked Callahan.
“No idea. We weren’t told, and that’s the truth,” said the guard.
Callahan turned to the crowd and raised his voice. “Everyone, the place is empty. No one’s there.”
“So they say,” said someone in the crowd.
“Yeah, and we have a right to be here anyway,” said someone else.
“You do. And that’s fine, but you don’t have a right to harass these guards or trespass on this property. If you want to demonstrate or protest you can, but not on private property. These guys are just doing their jobs,” said Callahan. “If you want to meet with Bland, you’ll have to wait until he returns.”
“When will that be?” someone yelled.
Callahan shrugged and started to speak, but Amanda grabbed his arm. “Julie called. We should get back to the station,” she said.
Chapter 51
For an FBI agent who had witnessed some of the more brutal inflictions of human butchery, Peter Dempsey was laid-back and had a gentle sense of humor. But no one would have guessed it by his appearance. He had closed-cropped black hair, a full beard, and blue eyes that pierced like needles. When you added to these physical traits the body of a gold-medal weight lifter, you got one hell of an intimidating guy. As Callahan and Amanda arrived, he was waiting in the foyer of the station sipping a cup of coffee Julie made for him. He stood and opened his arms in greeting. “Matt, Amanda, it’s good to see you two again,” he said.
Amanda gave him a big grin and a hug, and Callahan said, “Great to see you too, Pete. Thanks for getting here so fast.”
“A federal marshal is shot on your island and is now dead; a protected witness in a major investigation washes up decapitated on your beach. Man, but you two stir up mayhem like hungry bears at a beehive. This level of chaos called for a personal appearance. Reports from the field don’t cut it.” said Dempsey.
“Come in and we’ll catch you up on everything,” said Callahan. He raised the hatch separating the station’s work area from the foyer and motioned Dempsey through. Amanda followed.
When they had settled in Callahan’s office, Julie brought them all coffee, which included a second refill for Dempsey. Callahan and Amanda spent the next hour reviewing with Dempsey everything they knew about Susan Gibbons’ history on the island, the circumstances of her death, her relationship with Jackson, their plan to disappear together, her communications with Volkov, Volkov’s brief presence on the island, the break-in at Susan’s cottage, the discovery of the hard drive and recovery of its data, and Jackson’s shooting along with Callahan’s belief that it and Susan’s death were connected. Callahan admitted this mix included suspicion, coincidence, and even some paranoia.
Dempsey listened and let Callahan and Amanda speak without interruption until they finished. Although Jackson’s relationship with Susan Gibbons surprised him, he did not telegraph his reaction. He didn’t want either of them to filter what they told him. He kept his assumptions to himself. Later, he might share some and some he might not. When they’d finished, he got up from his chair and stood behind it, both hands on the backrest. He thought best on his feet.
“In spite of Jackson’s fears, the facts surrounding Gibbons’ death make it difficult to determine if she was murdered or not. The facts surrounding Jackson’s death—not so much. Someone wanted him dead. We need to find out who and if his death was related to Gibbons’.
“I’ll instruct the three agents working on Jackson’s death to keep you informed of the progress of their investigation. The FBI has jurisdiction of that case. He was a federal marshal. You’ll have jurisdiction over Gibbons’ death unless either investigation turns up a connection between her death and Jackson’s. Then we take over from there. If it turns out she may have been murdered for being a major witness in a federal criminal investigation, then that would be our bailiwick. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” said Callahan. “And thanks, Pete.”
“Finally, I’m interested in what’s on that hard drive. I want to get the authority to send it to our Cryptanalysis and Racketeering Records Unit in Quantico. Our people there are pure geniuses at breaking codes. I’ll set that in motion when I get back to Detroit. Until then, keep it locked up in your safe.”
“Will do,” said Callahan.
“Great,” said Dempsey with a clap of his hands. “Now let’s get some lun
ch. My treat. Where should we go?”
Chapter 52
Dempsey scanned the wall of historical photographs of the island in the terminal waiting room of Island Air. He needed to kill the twenty minutes before his flight’s departure to the mainland. He hoped it would give him a brief respite from thinking about his work. At first, the collage of the island’s commercial history captivated him. He followed the temporal sweep of fishing, logging, farming, homebuilding, and finally tourism pictures for a time; but eventually his mind turned back to the investigation.
The doctors were puzzled. Jackson died of a morphine overdose. The auto-injector was working properly and contained the proper amount of drug compared to the machine’s data output, making it impossible for Jackson to override the injector’s timed and measured doses. Yet, somehow, excess morphine had killed him.
The deputies outside Jackson’s room the twenty-four hours before his death swore that only medical personnel had entered the room. The hospital’s security camera appeared to confirm their assertions until further scrutiny of the recordings didn’t positively identify a male nurse who entered the room. He wore loose-fitting scrubs and kept his head down and turned away from the camera while checking a clipboard. The deputy on duty outside the room glanced up from the book he was reading for only a second when the figure passed him. No nurse’s notes appeared in the patient’s chart for this call, and it was confirmed that the male nurses who worked at the hospital were all on duty elsewhere at this time. Jackson died a short while later amid the wailing of alarms for blood pressure, heart rate, and oxygen levels. And all this happened before Dempsey got to Charlevoix to question him.
Damn.
Dempsey chastised himself. Jackson’s death upset him and not only by its timing. From everything he learned, Jackson was one of the best in the marshal’s service; and his murder shocked all in federal law enforcement who knew him. That’s why it had been almost as shocking to hear that Jackson had entered into a prohibited relationship with a protected witness with whom he had planned on running away. The more he discovered about people and what drove them to do the things they did, the less he understood. Their motives were never pure or clearly understood even to themselves. And because of that, he found that no one’s actions were predictable. It all seemed to be a crap shoot.