Trevar's Team 3

by Kieran York

  “Which one said something about Simon,” I interrogated.

  “Mickey said Simon dying should have been a lesson to Boyd Trevar. Then Dimitri says how he’d like to get his hands on you. He says how he hates you.”

  Shrugging, I grinned. “Just because I almost emasculated him doesn’t mean he knows me well enough to hate me.”

  “These guys are both nuts. I’m tellin’ you that you should watch your back. Beryl, you been square with me, and I don’t want to see you hurt. They will hurt you. I’m sure they don’t trust me because I fight ‘em on bringing the young ones into Sheeran’s Club. I know they’re underage. But they’re like kids to me, terrified. I don’t like runnin’ a place like that. Underage, clearly, they’re girls in serious trouble. Probably picked up, groomed, and now they’re hooking.”

  “Do you ever get raided?”

  “Naw. Mickey knows people. And he has safeguards.”

  “What safeguards?”

  “Nothin’ I’m talking about.”

  “Ravyn, isn’t there a way you can move. Leave and relocate? Go to another area?”

  “And where would I work?”

  “There must be more reputable places in other areas. I’ll talk with my friend about getting you something.”

  “Mickey’s got ways to find anyone. When Simon was alive, he always settled Mickey down. He once told me he had enough on all three of ‘em. But he’s dead now.”

  “If you help me, I promise, I’ll see that you’re taken care of. Have you ever heard of Treasure Lust?”

  “No. If it was anything to do with Mickey Coleman, Simon would know. He would have had that kinda information.”

  “Mickey trusted Simon with information?”

  “When Mickey did time, Simon would smuggle information about him outside. He said he kept copies of stuff. I seen it. It was in a two-inch thick folder. Simon held on to it so he’d have things on Mickey, just in case. Simon always said it was his insurance.”

  “Do you know where he’d put papers like that?”

  “Nope. Mickey took all Simon’s things out of the office. He’s probably got the copies. And destroyed them.” She grimaced. “Look, I just wanted to meet up with you to make sure you stay out of their way.”

  “I’ll stay safe. And you, too. If you hear anything else, please let me know.” I paused, “Ravyn, thank you for the information. Please keep trusting me.”

  I drove a couple miles then turned into a vacant lot. I called Mandy, requesting to talk with Boyd. She passed the phone off to my cousin. Immediately I asked him, “Boyd, did Simon ever mention that he had a file? Papers?”

  “A file?” There was bewilderment in his voice.

  “The file was two inches thick. Filled with copies?”

  Boyd laughed loudly, “He wasn’t a nineteen-eighties filing secretary type.”

  Chuckling, I shook my head. “Did he ever say anything about having a safety deposit box, or a place he might have kept a file?”

  “We were divers. His personal records never came up.”

  “This is really important. Just think of any hiding place, or any where he might have mentioned.”

  “Will do, Cuz.”

  “And stay put. No roaming. Stay in the apartment. Things are getting a little more dangerous.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I’d wanted to say that I’m fine, and add on, for now. But I answered, “Fine. Just do as I say.”

  “I’m taking orders from Mandy. I’m safe.”

  I continued prodding, “Banking. Do you know of any bank Simon might have used? Or someone he knew casually even. Someone that would have held things for him.”

  “Only that woman he dated. Ravyn.”

  “Keep thinking, anything you can give me.”

  “Beryl, he was a diver. I know the mindset of most seamen. The treasure hunters are out to get rich. Simon was just out to get enough to make it through the month. I love deep-sea treasure hunting. Seeing the shipwreck underneath. The patina on scuttled ships. Exciting. Antiquity. Coins people touched centuries ago. And the artifacts excite me. I wasn’t diving to fill up a treasure chest. I love to rescue significant finds. Excavate for people to study what artifacts I might bring up.”

  I felt he’d shared something important of himself with me. “Boyd, what happens to unclaimed property?”

  “If it hasn’t been claimed, declared, then it’s finders keepers.” He hesitated. “Why?”

  “I just wanted to understand.”

  “Where a ship is found, if it hasn’t been claimed, possession is the law. Maritime laws say if the find lies within a country’s territorial twelve nautical miles from its coastline, it is under that country’s regulations. Hiding a shipwreck or cargo is an offense. And dishonest conduct forfeits the taking. But that only applies to bounty within that jurisdiction.”

  I found out two things about my cousin. He loved the relevance of antiques. And he would have made a terrific attorney.

  “Thanks Boyd, could I please speak with Mandy a moment.”

  He handed the phone over and I explained Ravyn’s dilemma. She immediately offered to help, if Ravyn broke free of the hold that Mickey Coleman, et al, had on her.

  Before my next call, I considered how difficult it would be for Ravyn to trust me. And to warn me. It obviously took fortitude. I was at least as suspicious as Ravyn, yet I was surrounded by people I could trust. And had trusted for years. The Team.

  My mind also skimmed the memory of the lush touches of last night. Of course. I would be able to trust Clarissa. She already trusted me.

  I called Summer, and she said she had nothing to report. I could save my trip to the breakfast restaurant in an attempt to find anything out about their former busboy. Nobody knew a thing about him. He was manufactured out of fairy dust, and the flipping dust disintegrated.

  However, Summer noticed, Gary was buying enough snack foods and drinks for an army. Or for two hungry men. She wondered if Mark Novak hadn’t sublet Gary’s one-bedroom apartment. Roommates, I thought. Two morons hook up and who knows the possibilities.

  I would spend the remainder of the afternoon walking along the ocean. The wavelets would swarm my bare feet. Taking out my small notebook, I would make diagrams. I sketched out boxes – squares of corners touching, overlapping. Of course, it didn’t make sense. That rarely stopped me.

  One thought I had was scuba diving with Boyd. Together, we could browse the ocean floor. Explore the sediments, the aquatic crustaceans, and have schools of fish swarming around us. I now knew he was my kind of friend. A fine brother-substitute. We could see the wildly colorful fish swooping in choreographed ruffles.

  Participating in our family ties sounded better and better all the time.

  When I’d finished computing the murder cases on paper, I washed my feet, and returned to my car. I called Clarissa at the books shop to ask if I could bring dinner in for us. She reported that the book trade was slow, and she wasn’t needed downstairs in the shop. She was up in the loft kitchenette making us a crab salad. She divulged that salads were her specialty.

  I could vouch for the fact it was not her only specialty.

  For a couple years, I hadn’t bought flowers for a woman. I stopped by the florist and had a bouquet designed. Then I headed to Pages. I loved seeing Clarissa’s smile.

  Chapter 15

  I faced morning with thoughts of the sweet evening, and loving night. Not only did I awake with the woman I adored, but also with a soft, purring cat that had sidled his way into my waking. Patch also offered comfort. There was a sense of belonging when I stayed over at Pages Book Shop. Cozy, was how I would describe Clarissa’s loft.

  A hurried telephone conference call with the Team, was abbreviated. No one was surprised that Mona admitted keeping us on payroll to ease her conscience, and to glean any information on the case she could. Her personality made it easy to spot. She had a bad case of wanting to be the first to know. And to know everything.

 
Mona Ross had been groomed by her parents to be detailed. To gather facts. To be an architect like both her parents were. She’d preferred being boss, so she added a business degree, and in order to take over a billion-dollar company. She liked controlling.

  Forensics had reported back to Rachel concerning the trace blood evidence that I’d discovered on the trail. The blood samples were old and deteriorated DNA. Since Donald was hacked to death more recently, Jill had joked that it was probably the blood of pirates. Summer roared at the joke, and that thrilled me. The Jill and Summer feud could possibly be mending. Rachel believed that Chief Tom Powers probably hadn’t instructed forensics to put the DNA through the hopper until they found a match. From day one he called the sample useless. He was correct the sample could well have been from anything. Or anyone. A flipping pirate.

  I’d liked Tom for years, so I would eventually tell him about the pirate blood theory. I admired his work. He had, in fact, solved the drive-by murder. I congratulated him on that.

  Tom’s detective work was solid. He usually opened the world up, peering inside, and saw everything and anything. When I’d called him on it, he said it could have been a biker, or runner that fell, a nosebleed where a couple drops of blood were lost. Or blood splatter brushed against the greenery. The Chief just wasn’t up to speed on pirate theories.

  He’d just told me not to worry my pretty little head about the evidence. Forensics was keeping it under lock and key. Sometimes he made me laugh. Other times, not so much. I certainly wouldn’t mention my little crime-meter inside my brain. He didn’t buy that I had feelings, suspicions. At times an alarm system would blare out danger. I would suspect a perp, on sight. Who did I suspect on the Donald Ogden case? I couldn’t make up my mind. Throughout the investigation, I’d suspected Mona one minute, Gary the next, and a minute later, Johnny.

  Mona hated her husband, believed he was cheating on her and/or stealing company secrets, and an assortment of other charges. Johnny knew Gary was bogus. He blamed Donald for bringing Gary into his world. They fought. Johnny didn’t like his own sterling reputation besmudged. He liked besmudging himself by having a playboy/alcoholic persona. So, to have a duplicitous fake hero was too much for him. His buddies made him look foolish. Donald had his pretenses. A different person to appease each of the people he knew. He’d bragged about being able to change conversational tracks. Lead people by confusing them. Finally, Gary was assuredly riding coattails. The big shot ex-military was a fragile pretender, and undercover rapist. How did the threesome intersect in such a bizarre grouping? And who was the perpetrator?

  My first phone call was to Mona’s office. She wasn’t there. I joked around that she just didn’t want to talk with me. Her secretary must not have been made aware that Trevar Investigators were no longer in Mona’s employment. She’d divulged that Mona got an important phone call. She’d rushed out a half hour ago. She was at her apartment complex if it was an emergency.

  It was time for another conference call. I asked Rachel to let me know when she found out about the burner phone, and her attempt to contact Johnny Groversen. See if he was still in Washington. Jill asked what was going down. I replied that I didn’t know, but something was amiss in this weird mix. Summer said that she hadn’t seen Gary in over a day. Maybe he was off and running. Doing a runner would fit his M.O.

  “It’s important, let me know everything on this case as it happens,” I stated. “Jill, I’ll be sending the security guard I like, Pablo, to stay with Clarissa. Why don’t you meet Summer somewhere outside Gary’s apartment? Inspect everything closely. Check out the place carefully.”

  “Will do,” they replied in unison. That was a good omen. Jill and Summer were vocally together.

  “What’s going down?” Rachel question.

  “We shall see. Just be ready to roll. Everyone equipped with security cams and armed. Rach, we need you to pull everyone to where they’re needed.”

  Rachel’s voice suddenly reflected amazement, “Wait, hold on. I just got the text from Washington. Johnny is not in Washington, he has returned to Florida. Palm Beach.”

  “Everyone in place. We’ve got work to do,” I said.

  I slid my phone back into my pocket. After setting it up with Security Guard Pablo, I rushed to my vehicle and drove to Gary’s apartment building. There I met with Jill.

  “Where’s Summer?”

  “She’s inside, checking around.”

  We saw Summer bolt through the entrance doors. She ran to us. Breathlessly, she said, “I was on the ground floor. Pushed the service elevator button. Elevator stopped, doors opened, and there was the busboy, Mark Novak. He was going down, presumably to the garden level floor.”

  “Do you know what’s on the garden floor?”

  “A couple apartments,” Jill answered. “I checked it out. And there’s the building maintenance room in the center. It’s where the renter’s storage units are.”

  “Did you see the units?”

  Jill said, “I did. Ten units. Maybe twelve. They’re spacey. Actually, one of the renters had his open and was getting his bike out. They’re big enough for a couple of bikes, and assorted boxes. Maybe four feet wide and eight feet deep.”

  “Were names, or numbers on the units?”

  “Absolutely. Gary Dodge’s apartment number is 3B. And that’s how the numbers were on the door of the units. I noticed his was toward the end of the room.”

  “Summer, watch Gary’s apartment. Tail him if he moves. Let us know his movement. Jill, let’s go find out what’s going on with the storage unit. And cams on.” I tapped my wristwatch.

  We entered, took the service elevator down, then we exited quietly. There was someone inside Gary’s storage unit. The unit had not been locked. The door was ajar. I pulled my gun. I hand-motion for Jill to open the unit on a three count. I mouthed the words. On three, the door flew open.

  Tarps were covering several boxes. In front of them stood Mark Novak. He couldn’t help seeing my gun aimed at him. “Novak, I want you to shut your mouth. Hands behind your back.” Jill approached him with zip ties. She bound his wrists.

  “You can’t do this,” he argued as I pushed him down to the floor.

  “Citizen’s arrest, pal.” I replied. I picked up a dirty rag and stuffed it into his mouth. “You’ve got an outstanding warrant. And let’s see what else you’ve got.” I pulled one of the tarps away. Guns, numerous varieties of handguns and rifles. Assault rifles. And, to my amazement, there were boxes of explosive haplessly stacked. “Oh, my God,” I gasped.

  I heard Summer whisper, “Gary’s on his way down.” Jill moved back across the room and behind a large air conditioning unit. Summer had raced the elevator by using stairsteps, and she won. She entered the room. Then quickly moved behind the door.

  I put my Berretta to his Novak’s temple. It was understood that he should be quiet as a mouse. He had surrendered into our custody. And he was wisely silent and shaking.

  Gary’s steps were plodding toward the unit. When he opened it, he began to run. His stop was as if he’d put on the brakes. He was met with Summer holding her gun in front of him. And Jill directly behind him. His arms wildly lifted. “What the hell is this?” he hoarsely questioned.

  “First question is mine,” I said as I pulled him around so that Jill could zip cord his hands together behind his back. She then shoved him down on the concrete floor. “Are you and busboy, here, planning a little fireworks celebration?”

  “Who the hell are you three?”

  “Gary, we’re women with firepower.” I waved my gun in his face. “You’ve got some firepower in there. But you haven’t got your finger on the trigger. You’ve got a terrorist delight going on. No doubt the cops will have a search warrant and they’ll check out the agenda datebook in your apartment. All good terrorists have a plan book, diary, or some documentation. And while we wait for the enforcers to come ask you questions, I have a few.”

  “I don’t need to answer your questions,�
� he said angrily.

  “Tell me why you and Donald were doing so much yacking before he died. He had a burner phone.”

  “I got no idea.” His eyes were shifting around like he was umpiring a Ping-Pong match.

  “Gary, we’re going to have a little chat, and you’re going to tell me what you’ve been up to. One thing is for sure, you’ve made some fresh cash lately. This artillery is expensive. Someone hatched a few golden eggs. Was Donald bankrolling you? Funding your ammo drive?”

  My phone vibrated. “Rach, what’s happening?”

  “The information you wanted came in. The phone calls made from the other burner phone were to made to Gary’s phone, and get this to Johnny’s Washington number.”

  “Donald was calling his pals?”

  “Probably not.” Rachel sighed. “The time of Donald’s death was approximately an hour before his body was found. The calls were back and forth after the murder. Calls through the night and into the next day. All made after Donald died.”

  “Okay, don’t contact the police before I talk with Mona. Right now, we could lose our trump card if we show our hand too soon. Rach, meet me at Mona’s penthouse in the Ross Luxury Apartments. Wear a body cam and strap on your gun. We need to get a confession now.”

  “Just hold these two?” Summer questioned.

  I instructed Summer and Jill, “Hold them until the badges arrive. Go ahead and see if they want to get their stories on record now. First. Maybe they can define the conspiracy.”

  My dash over to Ross was a speedway record.

  In the vestibule, at the counter, I dialed her number. I finally got through to a nervous Mona. I told her we had apprehended the killer of Donald. Reluctantly, she told us to come up. When Mona flung back the door, I stepped in quickly.

  Her stare was cold, and yet still conniving. “You call with this emergency, and claim you’ve captured Donald’s killer. Are you going to tell me, or not?”