Deep Harbor

by Fern Michaels

  The phone rang around two thirty. It was her auto mechanic with the report about her brakes.

  “Ms. Jansen? Ernie here. Somethin’ funny about them brake lines. Both for the regular brakes and the emergency brake.” Ernie had a bit of a southern drawl.

  “What do you mean?” CJ sat up in her chair as if the Sunday school teacher were about to enter the room.

  “Well, I’m seeing a few little holes. Teeny puncture marks. Can’t say how that coulda happened. Not regula’ wear ’n’ tear.”

  “Huh? What are you saying?” CJ’s forehead crinkled.

  “I’m saying that I ain’t seen nothin’ like this before, Ms. Jansen. It looks like someone or somethin’ took an awl to the lines.”

  “An awl?”

  “Yeah, one of them things you use to punch holes. Looks like a screwdriver, but it’s pointy on the end. Kinda like an ice pick.”

  “What? Are you saying someone tampered with my brakes?” CJ bolted upright and was now standing.

  “Yes, ma’am. That ain’t all, Ms. Jansen. If the brakes hadn’t failed, it woulda only been a matter o’ time before the steering went, too.” Ernie might not have sounded like an expert, but he was a crackerjack mechanic.

  “Wait. What are you saying?” CJ was getting impatient—something that was starting to become the norm.

  “I’m sayin’ that the steering fluid was almost down to a trickle. If you hadn’t crashed into that car in fron’ o’ you when you did, you wouldn’ta been able to steer it, either. That woulda happened within a few blocks from where the accident happened. I don’t want to scare the bejesus outta ya, but puttin’ two ’n’ two together, I’m thinkin’ someone messed with your car and tried to kill you.”

  CJ’s hand flew to her mouth. Why would someone do this? That was the first thought that came to her mind. Her second sent a chill down her spine—Mr. Crappy Cologne. But why?

  “Ms. Jansen? You still there?” Ernie had kept on talking, but CJ had stopped paying attention at “someone messed with your car and tried to kill you.”

  “Oh yes, Ernie. Sorry. I’m just a little stunned. Can you take some photos for me? Maybe write something up? This is a little unnerving.” CJ was remaining as calm as she could given the news Ernie had just delivered. Her adrenal glands were working overtime. She needed to call someone. Who? Colin? Harris? Matt? She didn’t even have his number.

  “Ya darn tootin’. Would set my one last nerve on edge, too.” Ernie was prattling away. “And fer sure I can snap a few pictures. I got me one of them smartphones. Sometimes I think it’s smarter than me! It’s got so many gizmos on it, I don’t know what to make of them.”

  “Yes, I know the feeling. I prefer something simple, but that’s not the way of the world now. I’ll be over later today if that works for you.” CJ’s mind was racing. What to do first?

  “Sure thing, Miss Jansen. I’ll be here all day. Working on one of them fancy Porsche sports cars. Them things take a lot of time, and it still ain’t easy gettin’ parts.”

  CJ was mimicking a wheel with her finger to try to telepathically get Ernie to speed it up and get off the phone.

  “Thanks, Ernie. I’ll see you in a bit.” She hung up without waiting for him to say good-bye and put the phone down.

  After drumming her fingers on her desk for a few minutes, she started making a list of the incidents of the past few weeks: Snapper has altercation with Mr. Crappy Cologne. Mr. Crappy Cologne is in Dillard’s office. Snapper allegedly commits suicide. She smells the odor of stinky cologne in Snapper’s car. She and Colin discover that Snapper has a secret condo, secret files, and a secret bank account. Throw in a secret brother. Mr. Crappy Cologne is back at the Rayburn Building. He sees her face when they collide. Her brakes don’t work because her car had been tampered with.

  That ought to get someone’s attention. But whose? Who would be most likely to believe me? She punched in Colin’s number on speed dial.

  “Yo, CJ. What’s up?” Colin sounded cheerful.

  “A lot is what’s up.”

  Colin cringed on the other end of the call. “Uh-oh, Nancy Drew.”

  “No. This is a lot more serious than playing detective.” And she sounded like it was. CJ wasn’t about to fall apart now. Her voice was steady. “Remember I said that I thought something was wrong with my brakes? Well, there was. Plenty. As a matter of fact, someone tried to kill me by tampering with them. . . .” After waiting a beat for Colin to digest what she had said, she added, “And whoever messed with the brakes rigged the power steering. Unless, of course, there are two people trying to kill me.” Another beat. “Colin? Are you listening?”

  “Did Ernie call you?”

  “Of course he called me. I wasn’t about to crawl under my car.” Now annoyance was in the tone of her voice. “Colin, this is serious. And I think I know who’s behind it.”

  “That stink-o dude from the office?” Colin was wary of drawing conclusions but attentive.

  “Yes. Mr. Crappy Cologne. I made a list of the series of events—the way we did at home. But this time I added the tampering with my car and the accident. We need to tell someone.”

  “Jeez. Okay. Take it easy.” Colin was the one who was getting rattled now.

  “I am taking it easy. I want to roast that son of a bitch. Whom should we talk to? Maybe Matt? I’d go to Harris, but the investigation into Snapper’s death is officially closed, and he’s got other things to work on. Not that Matt doesn’t, but at least you know him and trust him, right? You do trust him?” CJ wanted to be absolutely certain before she moved forward and disclosed what they knew.

  “Of course I trust him. He helped us at Snapper’s, didn’t he?” Colin was trying not to be defensive.

  “And that’s why I think we should go to him first. At least he’d be able to tell us what to do next. Can you call him? Please?”

  “Of course. Let me give him a buzz now, and I’ll call you right back.” Colin hung up, immediately dialed Matt’s number, and made arrangements for all of them to meet at CJ’s later that evening.

  He called CJ back right away. “Okay. He’s going to meet us at the house around seven. You okay to drive?”

  “I’m fine. I’m on a mission now. See you later.” Just as she was about to click off the phone, she added in a much softer voice, “Thanks, pal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Get yourself into a lot more trouble, I imagine!”

  CJ glanced at the digital clock on her desk. It read 3:30. She still had at least an hour of work left, so she dug into the pile on her desk. When she looked up again, it was almost six. She jumped out of her chair and tidied up her desk. Lights off. Door locked. Crappy cologne smell. “What the hell?” CJ peered out the side door to see if that creep was lurking in the hall. For someone who was very sneaky, he certainly left a trail of stench. She shook her head at the thought. Then she saw a shadow move in the distance. Quietly, she closed her door and sat back in her chair. How was she going to get out of her office without being seen? That is, assuming he was waiting for her and intending to finish what he had begun. She picked up the house phone and called the night security desk.

  “Yes, Ms. Jansen? How can I help you?” came a comforting voice on the other end.

  “Hi. I had a slight car accident yesterday, and I’m a little stiff and have some boxes to carry. Would you be able to send someone up here to give me a hand?”

  “Sure. Do you need a hand truck or something?”

  “No. Nothing heavy-duty. Just another pair of hands would be helpful. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “No problem, Ms. Jansen. I’ll have someone come up shortly.” The guard hung up the phone. CJ looked around the office to see what she could put in the banker’s box to support her faked call for assistance. She spotted some heavy bookends and an almanac. That ought to do it. Then she thought she should put something in front of the main door. Trash can. It wouldn’t stop him, but at least she’d know when she came back
if someone had been in the office. The cleaning people wouldn’t bother coming in since there would be a major sweep once a new member of the House arrived.

  Satisfied she could continue her ruse, she packed up the rest of her personal items and waited for her escort.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door that made her leap from her seat. Easy girl.

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Jansen? It’s me, Larry. I’m here to help you with your stuff.”

  CJ heaved a big sigh of relief, opened the door, and pointed to the box.

  “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but I totaled my car, and I’m a little sore.”

  “No problem. Just show me where to go.” Larry picked up the box as if it weighed no more than a feather and followed her out.

  The stench of Mr. Crappy Cologne had evaporated somewhat, so he must have left the floor. CJ hadn’t realized how tense and sore she really was until she got into her rental, sat comfortably in the seat, and headed home. On the way, she stopped at Ernie’s to pick up the photos and the report. Thankfully, he wasn’t there and had just left everything in a brown envelope with her name on it. She simply wasn’t in the mood for small talk. She would have to save all her wind for later, when she would walk through the events with Matt.

  Colin was already at the house when she arrived, and he had opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.

  “You’re the best!” She gave him a peck on the cheek and took the goblet he was holding from his hand.

  “Hey! That was mine. I can pour one for you,” Colin chided her in a teasing way.

  “No time.” CJ took a huge swig of the wine.

  “Take it easy. We have a heavy-duty night ahead.”

  “No kidding.” CJ walked over to the sofa and practically threw herself on it.

  “Wow. Wow. Wow. Just when I thought things could not get more bizarre. Maybe this is all a dream, like in Dallas, when what’s her name woke up from a dream. That was pretty lame, by the way . . . and then she woke up. Seriously? The entire season turned out to be a dream? I hate when writers cop out like that.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be talking about shows from the eighties?” Colin eyed her from the kitchen.

  “Ah, but I watched Dallas: The Next Generation. That was really lame if you ask me.”

  “Well, now I know where you get your cynicism from. Kick hated those shows, too.” Colin remembered the times when he and Kick would have one of those rare relaxing evenings and wrestle over the remote.

  “Yeah. He tortured me with PBS. Wanted me to be sophisticated.” CJ swirled the wine in her glass, avoiding the real subject at hand.

  “Okay, sister.” Colin eyed the brown envelope, which contained a flash drive and a sheet of paper. “The envelope, please.”

  CJ nudged it with her foot as if it were something she wanted to scrape off the bottom of her shoe.

  Colin opened the envelope and read the brief report:

  Damage to brake lines, regular and emergency. Appear to have several punctures.

  Seal on power steering pump also damaged.

  Damages do not appear to be normal wear and tear in spite of mileage, make, and model.

  He reread the last line out loud in a soft voice, concern mounting on his face and in his stance.

  “Nice, eh? Now someone is trying to kill me, too!” CJ pulled one of the toss pillows and hugged it to her chest. “Why, Colin, why? I don’t understand. What the hell is going on here?” She held back the tears that were welling up.

  “I wish I knew. Maybe you’re really onto something about Snapper’s death. Maybe someone really did kill him. Cripes. Well, Matt should be here shortly. Let’s see what he has to offer and what steps we need to take.”

  He poured them each another glass of wine and sat down next to CJ. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed mightily. “And you guys thought I was bonkers. But ya know something? My inner self kept nagging at me, and it’s never been wrong. Not a single time.”

  “I know, sweetie. We’ll sort this out.” Colin put his arm around her and gave her a hug.

  A few moments later, the sound of the intercom buzzer alongside the security gate broke the silence. Colin got up to answer the in-house phone. “Hello?”

  “It’s Matt.”

  Colin released the security gate, and Matt pulled into the driveway. He parked his car and headed to the front door, where Colin was waiting for him.

  “Thanks for coming over.”

  “No problem. Nice place.” Matt was taking in the enormity of the house and its fine furnishings.

  “Yeah. Kick had a knack for decorating. Big surprise. Although I don’t want to sound like I’m stereotyping!” Colin was being as upbeat as he could in light of the situation.

  “He certainly had good taste.” Matt kept admiring the statues and artwork as he followed Colin to the great room off the kitchen, where CJ was half slumped on the sofa.

  She rallied and stood, almost spilling the wine in her glass. “Sorry. I’m a little shaky.”

  “So I’ve heard. And for good reason I am sure.” Matt was calm and even tempered. One had to be in his line of work. Logic. Reasoning. Patience. Yes, patience. That was always the tough one, especially when they were trying to crack a case.

  “Please sit. Can I get you something to drink?” Colin was being the polite host to his friend.

  “Since I’m off duty, and this is not official business, I would love a vodka on the rocks.”

  “Tito’s? Chopin? Ketel One? Belvedere?” Colin rattled off the various spirits.

  “Tito’s, please. It’s gluten free!” Matt chuckled.

  “Coming right up!” Colin moved toward the marble-topped bar and pulled the bottle out from the freezer drawer.

  “Tell me, do you really have a freezer just for vodka?” Matt was impressed.

  “It’s better that way,” CJ chimed in. “When I really need a stiff drink, I throw a nipple on one!” She was trying to elevate her mood with her wit.

  “I doubt that. You don’t look like the type.” Matt was still trying to keep the mood more upbeat. He knew this was going to be a difficult conversation.

  “No, I’m more the type that someone wants dead.” CJ’s comment cut through the room like the ice pick or awl that had punctured her brake lines.

  Matt pulled out a pad and pen. “Let’s start at the beginning. Try to remember as many details as possible. Maybe we can put some of the pieces of this puzzle together.”

  CJ, with Colin’s help, recounted all the peculiar circumstances, starting with the night of Snapper’s and Mr. Crappy Cologne’s quarrel. When it came to discovering the computer and the financial transactions, she hesitated. When she looked at Colin, he nodded for her to continue.

  “When we were at Snapper’s, and you helped us with the lock, we came across . . . this is off the record, right?” She needed reassurance.

  “I’m here as a friend. Look. Evidence.” Matt held up his glass of vodka. “I’m imbibing an alcoholic beverage. That definitely makes this off the record.”

  “Okay. Well, we found a computer that had a lot of financial information on it. There is a trust fund that Snapper was using to pay for his brother George’s expenses. Colin knows more about the transactions, but Snapper has—had—a brother who is in an institution owing to a massive stroke suffered, get this, thirteen years ago. Money was being transferred every month to a place called Sun Valley Institute, in California. Colin and I went out there Friday to check it out and notify George. He’s in really bad shape—a vegetative state. But they say there is still some brain activity. Very sad. Anyway, there was a lot of money transferred over the past thirteen years. I know some of it came from selling the family estate and some from insurance, but there’s a whole lot of money that we can’t figure out where it came from. Some kind of dark Web thing. As I said, Colin can fill you in on that.”

  Matt was writing as fast as he could. “How muc
h money was being transferred every month?”

  “Twenty-five thousand for housing, but sometimes there were other expenses for equipment, et cetera. It looks like Snapper spent well over three million in the past thirteen years.”

  “That is a lot of money,” Matt concurred. “But you mentioned the dark Web? What’s that all about?”

  Colin glanced at CJ this time, looking for approval. She nodded.

  “We found a lot of transactions for a fund that releases monthly automatic payments to a health facility. But I am having trouble finding the source of the funds. And it appears that the trading has been done on the dark Web.”

  “Most people have never even heard of the dark Web,” Matt said. “It’s the back room of the Internet. From buying drugs, guns, to hiding money, human trafficking. Throw in gathering the personal details of millions of unsuspecting people. Everything is off the grid. People have no idea how massive this underworld trading is. We have established an entire division dedicated to finding and tracking illegal sites. It’s hard to fight enemies if you don’t even know they exist.” Matt kept writing.

  “That’s how I found the initial trust and the transfers. But I could not find the source of the money. But that’s not what concerns us now. At least not as far as the latest developments.” Colin continued the time line. “When CJ went to get Snapper’s personal effects from his car, she noticed the same rancid smell of cologne. She’s spotted him and smelled him in the halls of the Rayburn House Office Building. And Monday, she actually ran into him. Literally.”

  Matt turned to CJ. “Then what happened?”

  “I got a look at his face. Ugly dude. The next day, I was driving to the police station to take another look at the security-tape footage when my brakes would not work, and I hit the car in front of me at an intersection. My mechanic said someone had tampered with the brake lines and the seal on the power steering pump.”

  The room went quiet for a moment as Matt digested this new information.