by Russell Fee
Amanda handed Callahan the binoculars. “We’re about ten minutes from where the coordinates placed the phone. See what you can find out there,” she shouted over the thunder of the engines.
Callahan scanned the water, holding the binoculars in one hand. Nothing. The strong wind would discourage leisure boaters, both sail and motor, from venturing far from shore, and as Amanda charged closer to the point of the coordinates, he saw nothing but empty lake.
“We just passed through the phone’s last location,” yelled Amanda. She pointed ahead of her to Eagle Island, the closest outer island to them. “I’m going to circle the island and see if anyone’s there. It’s about three miles away.”
Callahan nodded, and Dempsey gave a thumbs-up.
As they approached the lee of the island, the wind calmed; and Amanda slowed the boat. She stayed well off shore to avoid a forested point that projected from the center of the island into the water almost a half mile. When the Vigilant cleared the point, the Odyssey came into view. It was anchored off a pristine beach where open tents had been erected, tables set, and a buffet banquet spread for the two dozen guests who swam, sunned, and dined along the salt-white sand. On the Odyssey, Bland stepped away from the taffrail and crossed the deck, entering a cabin.
Chapter 76
At home, Callahan leaned against the kitchen sink and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it into the trashcan by the dishwasher. It was blood-splattered, and he didn’t want Julie to see it. He would burn it with other waste in the barrel behind the cabin before she returned with Max from her cousin’s.
He filled a glass with water from the tap and drank without pause until it was empty. He placed the glass in the sink and then walked to the bathroom where he turned on the shower full blast and waited for the water to heat. He couldn’t avoid the large wall mirror, so succumbed and looked at himself full on. His mask was cracked and chipped, and an ugly bruise spread across his forehead. He had deep scratches on his neck, and blood flecked his hair. His eyes looked haunted.
Julie had asked if this would ever end. The visage in the mirror that stared back at him answered her question. He could no longer meet the toll demanded by this case. It was all too much: the lives lost and taken, the blood spilled, the psychological devastation, its reach encircling those closest to him. And still Susan Gibbons’ and Jackson’s killers eluded him. He wanted it over. He wanted it to end, now.
The mirror began to fog, and as the room filled with steam from the shower, the fog grew thicker until his image receded far into the mist.
Chapter 77
Until now, Gallagher’s hoped-for career as a muckraker had faltered. His forays into investigative journalism involved skimming the thin layer of scum on the surface of small ponds of corruption. The filth he discovered was microscopic and rarely newsworthy. The real dirt lurked deep under the surface, buried under layers of mud, out of his reach. But not anymore, thanks to Callahan. Callahan’s landing on the island had been a godsend to the Ledger. To Gallagher, Callahan was like a whirlpool churning the water and spinning faster and deeper until it roiled the mud, releasing all it had concealed. What rose to the surface and washed ashore was sometimes journalistic treasure. And Gallagher had just salvaged one such prize.
As part of his exposé on Deep Sea Gas and Petroleum and its secret drilling on the lake, he had written background on Infinity Cyber and Bland, which included a description and picture of Bland’s mega yacht. Apparently, someone had read it. He had received a call from a crew member of the barge tug that had ferried the components of the oil rig to Tom Egan’s property. The tug had been on a night run when the crew member spotted a large boat on the radar screen.
As the tug got closer, a yacht loomed out of the darkness of the lake. The two ships passed within a half mile of each other, and the crew member had observed the yacht through binoculars. He saw something thrown or fall overboard from an upper deck. The yacht had immediately slowed and conducted a 180 degree turn. Two powerful search lights swept the water until the beams converged on the surface ahead of the yacht. It had then increased its speed and passed over the spot. It sailed away without stopping.
The scene had been so unusual that it stuck in the crew member’s memory, and when he had read Gallagher’s article in the Ledger, he recognized the Odyssey. He also heard about the body of the girl being found on the beach and its condition. He put two and two together and called Gallagher. When Gallagher asked why he hadn’t called the police, he answered that the police knew him, and he wanted to stay clear of law enforcement. He also did not want to get into any trouble with his employer, Superior Tow and Salvage. He demanded to be an anonymous source and did not ask for money before giving Gallagher the details of his story. He just thought he should come forward with what he knew.
A reclusive billionaire tied to the gruesome death of a young woman was big news, and Gallagher was determined to pursue it. He called Bland with the story to get his response. Bland had said that nothing of the sort had ever happened and threatened to sue Gallagher and the Ledger for libel if he reported such garbage or implied that his yacht had killed the girl found on the beach. Gallagher then contacted Callahan to see what he knew about any connection between Bland’s yacht and the death of Susan Gibbons.
Chapter 78
“There isn’t any connection, and even if there was, you know damn well I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
Callahan and Gallagher stood shoulder to shoulder on the dock watching the sheriff’s cruiser being loaded onto the ferry. It was being sent to the mainland for repair.
“C’mon Callahan. You have screwed the lid down so tight on the investigation of Gibbons’ death that it has to mean something big is up. Shit, the body count on this island is higher than Beirut; the FBI is swarming all over the place; and you’re making it seem like a liquor store robbery. It all must be connected,” said Gallagher.
“No comment,” said Callahan.
“Bullshit. Don’t give me that. You’re protecting Bland. That’s it, isn’t it? He’s involved in this, and he’s got enough money and influence to shut everybody up.”
Callahan turned so quickly toward Gallagher that he jerked back and raised both hands in front of him.
“You’d better be damned careful what you say, write, or even think unless you can substantiate it,” said Callahan.
Gallagher dropped his hands but kept his distance from Callahan. “It’s not just me. It’s what everyone is going to think,” he said.
“What do you mean going to think? What have you got on Bland?” said Callahan.
“You know how this works,” said Gallagher. “Tit for tat. You scratch my back; I’ll scratch yours. Quid pro quo. Need I go on?”
Gallagher had seen the look Callahan gave him often enough to fathom what was behind the veneer of disgust. “You first,” he said.
Callahan weighed the options and decided it was worth giving Gallagher the bones of his investigation to find out what he knew. He took a deep breath. “Susan Gibbons was hired as a nanny for the children of guests on the Odyssey. She would have been on the yacht around the time of her death. A later examination of her body showed a pattern of abrasions on her legs that matched the safety netting on one of the yacht’s decks. That’s all I’ve got.”
A slow smile boosted Gallagher’s satisfied expression. “You’re going to love what I’m about to tell you,” he said.
Chapter 79
Callahan lay on the narrow beach along Mystic Point with his head propped on a towel and his cell phone resting on his chest. Dempsey had called earlier and requested that he leave the office and find a place to call back. He had something important to tell him and was still leery that the station was bugged. Callahan used the opportunity to go to a secluded beach and have a quick, refreshing swim before he got back to Dempsey. Gusts off the lake chilled him when he first got out of the water but had lost their effect as he reclined on
the beach and his body absorbed the warmth of the sand. He watched clouds spilling over the horizon as Dempsey spoke.
“The two women who hijacked you were Cynthia Vaughn and Elizabeth Spacek, both convicted felons who freelanced together doing smash-and-grab jobs for different crime syndicates. We’re doing a deep check on them, but so far, no leads on who hired them to grab you. That’s the bad news. The good news is we’ve identified the computer they communicated with and pinpointed its geolocation.”
“When you say pinpoint, how accurate do you mean?” asked Callahan.
“The accuracy is classified, but I can tell you that it was good enough to get permission to capture and examine the records of the financial institutions and individuals, foreign and domestic, necessary to follow the money. We’re now getting the evidence to prove some heavy-duty financial crimes including bank fraud and money laundering. It also looks like a lot of the money wound up in the political coffers of seven state legislators plus the governor. Maybe even in their personal pockets. We’re exploring that too. This is strictly confidential, but if the evidence shows that Abdullah and Bland colluded in a scheme to conceal the flow of foreign money into the U.S. to influence the outcome of a state’s legislative process, then they both could wind up in prison. We owe you big time, Matt. That was a gutsy move, but it paid off handsomely,” said Dempsey.
“Payback could be larger and come sooner than you think,” said Callahan.
“What do you mean, Matt?” said Dempsey.
“Gibbons’ and Jackson’s murders are my top priority, not Bland’s financial crimes. I may . . .” Just then a male swan emerged from behind a thick stand of bulrush along the shore and glided over to where Callahan lay. It began clacking its beak and emitting a stuttering hiss, demanding a handout. “Listen, send me what you’ve got on the women. I’ve got to go now. I’ll be in touch,” he said.
Chapter 80
Nick sat across from Callahan in a booth at O’Malley’s trying to hide his nervousness behind what he hoped was a casual smile and a laid-back posture. Instead, the smile felt like a satanic grin, and his posture had crumpled into a slump so low that his head floated just above the edge of the table. He was certain he looked like something out of a Stephen King novel. Callahan eyed him strangely, but he felt paralyzed. Amanda had tipped him off that Callahan wanted to meet with him about something important, but Callahan had been vague about what it was. They both hoped it involved a job offer down the line when he had passed his exams and qualified as a sheriff’s deputy. That was months away, but, in the meantime, they figured he could find a temporary job on the mainland to hold things together until then. He crossed his fingers and peered over the edge of the table as Callahan spoke.
“Are you okay?” asked Callahan.
“What? I mean yes, sure, I’m fine,” said Nick.
“Shall we order and eat first? You look like you might need some food, or are you good with getting down to business?” said Callahan. “This won’t take long.”
“No, no. Business is good. Let’s go for it. I mean, I’m good with that. I mean, whatever you prefer I’m good with. I mean, it’s all good,” stammered Nick.
“Good,” said Callahan, not without irony. “Okay then. As sheriff, Michigan law gives me the authority to appoint any person a deputy for a special purpose. That person is called a special deputy. The appointment must be in writing and specific.” Callahan removed a sheet of paper from a manila folder beside him on the booth’s bench. “I’m appointing you a special deputy for technology.”
Nick suddenly sat bolt upright. He was stunned. This, he did not expect.
“Your training and experience with the NSA are invaluable to me,” Callahan continued. “That being said, I can only pay you the starting salary of a deputy during the term of your appointment.” Callahan shrugged and smiled. “Your first task is to debug the station. Your second but simultaneous task is to find out everything you can about the two women who hijacked me and, particularly, who hired them. Their names and what the FBI knows about them already are on this paper.” Callahan handed the sheet to Nick. “You’ll also have access to all law enforcement data bases such as the National Crime Information Center, the FBI’s Combined DNA Index System, Homeland Security’s Automated Targeting System, and so on. What do you say?”
“I . . . I . . . I . . . ,” Nick sputtered.
“Great. That’s settled. Time is of the essence, so I want you to get started immediately. I’m advancing you a month’s pay. And you’ll have a desk at the station if you need it. Here’s a key.” Callahan handed Nick a key on a ring. “Special deputies don’t get a badge. Sorry. Now, what are you having to eat?” asked Callahan. “I’m starved.”
Chapter 81
Gallagher had decided on another exposé. If Bland wanted to duck his inquiries into Susan Gibbons’ death, then he would turn up the heat until the pot boiled. He’d get the big boys interested in Bland. The headline he just typed read:
RECLUSIVE ISLAND BILLIONAIRE MUM ON DEATH OF EMPLOYEE
The article below it began with a slap at both Callahan and Bland:
The investigation into the suspicious death of young island resident and female employee of Anthony Bland, Susan Gibbons, goes nowhere as billionaire Bland shelters in his luxury bunker avoiding the press.
The rest of the article recounted what was known about Susan Gibbons’ connections to Bland, her presence on his yacht, and local sightings of the yacht around the time of her death, including one from an anonymous source. It referenced the impotence of local law enforcement before it ended with a list of questions and a public plea for answers.
Gallagher radiated the smugness of a self-satisfied scoundrel. He would either get sued or get answers. Either way, the Ledger would profit from the publicity. Or so he thought. He wasn’t prepared for Bland’s comeback.
Chapter 82
O’Donnell had been over the moon with gratitude when Bland left his office. His eyes glazed with amazement while he shook Bland’s hand, pumping his arm wildly until Bland jerked free of his grip. Philanthropy (or purchased prestige as Bland preferred to call it) had that effect on people. And he was going to need all the prestige he could get. He sensed a shit storm of bad press coming, thanks to Gallagher, and he was working to head it off.
Bland donated the funds for a new playground and gym for the island’s school and promised additional funds for a new library wing. He’d contacted his corporate media officer and ordered a media blitz touting his good deeds and portraying him as a benefactor of the island. He wanted Gallagher’s stories washed away by a tsunami of shining press releases, planted news briefs, and public interest broadcasts. But his real strategy was to make Gallagher the story, to turn the tables on him.
Bland had some digging done and had struck a vein of gold. The Ledger and Gallagher had struggled financially for years. Gallagher owed a bundle in back real estate taxes and had a mountain of credit card debt. But the gold was that he had used money from his advertisers to pay his personal expenses. Gallagher covered it well but not well enough.
The first whiff that Gallagher cooked his books came when he applied for a business loan. He’d been honest about the Ledger’s income and expenses on all the forms, but the bank had demanded that the loan be secured by Gallagher personally. That’s where Gallagher had played with his income from the business. His finagling was minor but enough to put the bank on guard and cause the loan to be denied.
After that, Gallagher panicked. He needed money fast, and his misadventure with high finance grew darker. Gallagher was an amateur, and the scent was easy for Bland’s bloodhounds to follow. Embezzlement and bank fraud were always big news.
* * *
Bland stretched out on the leather couch in the master suite of his yacht. The suite encompassed an entire upper deck, and the sweep of glass that surrounded the suite, plus its high vantage point created a cyclorama of the lake. The yacht cruised north, passing on the windward side of the oute
r islands known as the Three Sisters. Formed of rock sculpted by glacial erosion, they had risen close together above the meltwater. Wind and current extended their beaches so that they appeared to be reaching out to hold hands to keep one another from drifting apart. The main island floated behind them like a sheltering mother. Few would ever experience this perspective, but its drama was lost on Bland.
He had ended his call to Dubai, and as usual, his consultation with Abdullah proved informative. Abdullah counseled a lighter touch with Gallagher—a carrot and stick approach. Perhaps it was time that Bland’s company acquired a media outlet or two. The Ledger could be a perfect acquisition considering Bland’s investment in the island. The offer would be enticing enough to create visions of a quick and secure retirement for Gallagher that would not include prison time. Bland was sure it would work.
He dialed the number of his corporate finance officer. As he waited for the connection, he wondered if exorcizing Callahan from his life would be as easy.
Chapter 83
It hadn’t taken Amanda long to find Danny Ayres. The manager of Superior Tow and Salvage’s small office in Charlevoix immediately named the Raggedy Anne’s three crew members and then checked her records to make sure the tug transported a barge to the island on the night the crew member sighted the Odyssey. It had. The Raggedy Anne’s captain, Ed Bagley, had been on night duty for two weeks and was now home asleep. The engineer, Tom Sizemore, worked on another push boat currently out on the lake. Ayres, the deck hand that night, could be found in the dockyard.