Deep Blue Trouble Page 8

  It was obvious Mia had been expecting to meet someone at the cabin on Pier 61, and it was no big leap that got me to thinking that person was Gibson Fletcher. I figured if I could find out what Mia had written on that note I might be able to prove my theory. So I waited until she’d got back into her SUV and driven off, then made my way along Pier 61 to the furthest cabin.

  The little boy and his momma were still on the walkway, the child wobbling on the bike, his training wheels stopping him from falling. I smiled to his mom as we passed. Acted like I was meant to be on the pier, like I was staying or visiting with a friend. Kept my stride real easy and relaxed.

  I let myself in through the whitewashed gate and stepped up to the cabin. The door was half wood, half glass – giving a clear view of the room. It looked as clean and pretty inside as it did on the outside – the same whitewashed weatherboards with pale-blue shutters at the windows, rattan furniture with blue cushions and a blue rag rug laid over the varnished floorboards. I saw no one inside, but there were signs that someone had been there recently – a plate by the sink, a half-drunk bottle of red wine sitting on the counter. I wondered if that person was Gibson Fletcher.

  To my right was the mailbox. Kneeling down, I glanced around quickly to check I wasn’t being watched, then opened the box. Inside it was empty aside from the folded note I’d watched Mia put there. I took it out, unfolded it and read the three words: ‘Where are you? Xox’

  Could be for Fletcher, could have been for someone else. For all I knew, Mia had another lover that she was due to meet with, or a girlfriend of hers was holidaying in the cabin. But my gut told me my original assumption was correct – her upset at not finding the person home seemed too raw for him or her to be a regular friend. If Fletcher was staying in the cabin I was getting closer to catching him. It meant Mia was a valuable asset in the hunt; but, as he’d not been there to meet her, it also meant something could have gone wrong. I needed to find out what.

  As I walked back along the pier I spotted a sign for the office and headed towards it. Inside the room was a desk, various filing cabinets and a small bookcase filled with books about San Diego, all colour coordinated in white and blue, just like the furniture in the cabin. The woman sitting at the desk smiled as I entered. She wore a yellow sundress that showed off her tan and had flawlessly applied make-up.

  ‘How can I help you today?’ she asked.

  ‘I wanted to ask about cabin twenty,’ I said, the lie coming easy. ‘My family’s coming out for the summer. Do you have any availability in the next week or so?’

  She tapped a few keys on her keyboard and peered at one of the two computer screens in front of her. Shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, that cabin’s booked up as a permanent let. All the cabins are rentals, but occupied at the moment. Some of the vacation lets end second week of September. I have a few short breaks coming in right after that, but could give you a week at the end of that month. How would that be?’

  I moved closer. Stepped a little more to the right so I could get a clearer view of the screens. ‘Darn. That’ll be too late. It’s such a beautiful place you have here.’

  The woman gestured to a poster on the wall showing a row of wooden cabins above the dunes. ‘They’re a little further out of town, but you could try one of our beach properties perhaps? Everything’s all booked for the next two weeks, but number sixteen is free after that.’

  I kept my face towards her, but behind the cover of my shades I was reading the computer screen. ‘I kind of had my heart set on the pier.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help. Maybe another time?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, maybe.’

  I wanted to find out who’d taken a permanent rental on cabin twenty, but the cool efficiency of the woman made me think she’d not disclose such details. In my experience it’s only those who don’t care about their position, and take no pride in their work, who’ll compromise confidentiality in that way. Sure, if I could have mentioned the FBI’s name it would have been a whole lot easier, but as Monroe had made clear, I was operating off the books on this job, so I had no formal credentials to persuade the woman I was for real. Without them, I figured I’d not get far.

  It was easier to keep her talking while I looked at the double-screen display. On the right-hand screen the booking system still showed the record for number twenty. The cabin had been let out for the past two years just as the woman had told me. It also showed the name of the person it was booked out to: Mrs M. Searle. Whoever Mia had left the note for was staying in the cabin as her guest.

  *

  Lunch was a takeout burger and coffee in a go-cup eaten back in my hotel room. A functional meal, basic fuel was all. As soon as I was done eating, I picked up my cell and called Camp Gilyhinde. Sasha answered the phone and told me Dakota had gone swimming in the creek, but she’d left a message to tell me she’d had a fun time horseback riding. Usually no cell phones were allowed at camp, but in view of what had happened to Dakota in the previous couple of weeks, I’d been allowed to leave one for her to use in their office, so long as she did it under supervision. Sasha told me she’d have Dakota call me at five-thirty. I said that I’d be waiting.

  I was starting to think on my next move with Mia, when the burner started ringing. Monroe was calling early, hours before checkin. I snatched up the handset and answered the call.

  ‘Lori, we need to talk.’ His tone was real serious.

  My heart started racing. ‘Is it JT? Is he okay?’

  ‘His medical condition is the same – stable – if that’s what you mean. But I’ve got a problem.’

  Relief gave way to wariness. I felt the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end. ‘What kind of a problem?’

  ‘Firstly, a protection detail for JT in prison – that’s not going to happen.’

  I felt sick. Swallowed down the nausea. Without protection, JT was an easy target for anyone with an eye on collecting the price the Miami Mob had put on his head. ‘You promised me you’d arrange it.’

  ‘I said I’d do what I could. And believe me, Lori, I’ve done everything I can, but my hands are tied here. My boss has vetoed it, therefore it’s a no.’

  I clenched my fists. ‘And what am I supposed to do with that?’

  ‘You’re supposed to get on with the job you’ve got.’

  ‘Why would I when JT is at risk? The reason I’m out here is to get him safe. You’ve just taken that reason away.’

  Monroe sighed. ‘No, Lori, I haven’t. He might be in the infirmary, but he’s still breathing. I’ve impressed upon the prison authorities the importance of him staying that way. I’m confident they’ll make sure he—’

  ‘Why? Because they’ve done such a great job so far?’ I felt heat flush across my skin as the emotions jolted through me: anger, frustration, fear.

  ‘Sarcasm. Nice. I’ve done what I can. You still have a job to do.’

  ‘That’s not the way I’m seeing it.’

  ‘Well you should be, because, assuming he survives just fine, if you don’t finish your job for me, the thing that’ll be waiting for him once he’s all patched up is a one-way trip to old sparky.’

  ‘Bastard,’ I hissed.

  Monroe didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’ve been called worse, but for now you have to work with me.’

  I hated feeling as if I had no choice. Putting my faith in Monroe had been hard enough before, but now, without him or his boss willing to get additional protection, I knew the next attempt on JT’s life could come at any time. I also hated that Monroe was right: without his help, JT was more than certainly looking at death row and a visit to the electric chair. Monroe knew that, too, and would play on it to keep me right were I was. Didn’t mean I had to be civil though. ‘You said “firstly”; what else is going on?’

  Monroe sighed. ‘My boss isn’t happy with our progress – there’s a lot of public outrage that Fletcher is still on the loose – badmouthing of the department on social media, questioning our competence a
nd the rest. It’s the usual, really, but my boss is getting restless, wants it done.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘He’s drafting in more manpower, increasing the size of my official team, so he can convince the media we’re doing all we can. It’s not my choice, but I can’t turn down the resource, it’d look bad.’ His voice became more strained. ‘You have to find Gibson Fletcher before the official team, Lori. They can’t get to him first.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t ask me that again. All you need to know is that if the team find Fletcher first, our deal’s off and your friend JT goes to death row.’

  I clenched my fists. ‘Does your boss know what you’re up to?’

  Monroe stayed silent a moment. Exhaled hard. ‘Everyone answers to someone.’

  Yeah, and right then he had me over a barrel. Shaking my head, I hung up without responding. The clock on the job had just started ticking faster. I had to find a way to accelerate my progress.

  I dialled Red’s number from my own cell. I needed to hear a friendly voice – it felt like I was fighting for the survival of my family, and in that moment I wanted to feel like I wasn’t doing it alone.

  There was no answer. The call disconnected and left me staring at a blank screen.

  When the landline rang I almost jumped clean out of my skin. I snatched it up, expecting it to be Monroe, pissed at me having put the phone down on him.

  I could not have been more wrong.

  16

  Mia calling me at the hotel must have taken a whole lot of courage. That she wanted to meet, to talk, clearly took a whole lot more, especially given how nervous she’d been the previous day. I wondered if her aborted rendezvous at Pier 61 had something to do with it, and what she thought she was gaining from speaking with me.

  But I didn’t ask her any of those questions when we met thirty minutes later at Hayley’s Diner – a brightly lit, fifties retro place close to the beach and buzzing with lunch trade. I joined her in a booth in the far corner of the room, slid onto the red bench opposite her, and waited for her to tell me why she’d called.

  ‘The iced tea is for you,’ she said, nodding towards the glass on my side of the white tabletop.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She was wearing the big shades again, so although she was looking right at me I couldn’t really read her expression when she said, ‘I wasn’t always unfaithful, you know.’

  I hadn’t figured I’d be taking her confession, so her statement took me by surprise. I tried real hard not to show it. ‘Doesn’t matter to me either way, I’m not here to judge.’

  ‘But you will anyway. Everybody does.’

  I fought the urge to ask her straight up about Gibson. I sensed she needed careful handling and that coming to the point her own way was key to her trusting me. So I tried not to think on the ticking clock and the need to find Gibson before the FBI team, and said, ‘I’m more interested in why you’ve changed your mind about talking to me.’

  She stared at me a moment, then lifted the oval shades from her eyes, pushing them up onto her head. Fresh bruising shaded the area around her right eye. She held my gaze. ‘My husband didn’t enjoy his meal last night.’

  I nodded, waiting for her to tell me more. She put her shades back in place and took a sip of her iced tea. Didn’t seem in any hurry to talk. I glanced away, looked at the four teens in cut-off jeans and strappy tops sipping milkshakes at the round table in the middle of the room, then the pair of young moms having club sandwiches while their babies snoozed in their prams. Tried to hide my frustration.

  It must have been near on a minute before Mia started to talk. Her voice was quiet and hesitant at first. Then the bitterness crept in as she continued. ‘The first time he hit me I was in shock. He said it would never happen again. He was this big shot, an important man, and he liked to have money. The business was having a few problems; he said he lost his temper because of the stress. Young fool that I was, I believed him.’

  I looked at Mia. I knew how that kind of scene played out. I’d been there. Heard all the I’m so sorry’s. Believed all the empty promises.

  ‘But he did do it again…’ I said.

  ‘Yes. But by then I was his wife.’

  ‘So you stayed.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I did.’

  ‘And he carried on hitting you?’

  ‘You must think I’m so weak. Of course you do; I think I’m weak.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘You know, I wasn’t always so pathetic. When I was pregnant I actually bought a gun. Imagine how ridiculous I must have looked walking into a gun store, the bump of my second trimester clearly showing.’ She sighed. ‘But I couldn’t risk him hurting my baby…’

  I stared at her. Till that moment I’d made the assumption Mia Searle was a mother in name only, that she was a woman who preferred others to raise her kid in boarding school miles away from her. I realised now that I’d been wrong, and I felt bad for the disservice. She was a mother protecting her child, even if the best way she could do that was for them to be split apart.

  ‘And did he?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No, at least not physically. But he can be so cruel.’ She stared into the distance a moment, lost in a memory, then looked back at me. ‘You know, I learned how to shoot my gun. The instructor at the range said I had a real eye. Sometimes I wish I’d had the gumption to use it…’

  I remembered how my best friend Sal had died: shot dead at point-blank range in my kitchen by my husband, Thomas Ford. Killed because she stood up for me when he’d gotten violent. I leaned forwards, put my hand on Mia’s arm. ‘Trust me, taking the law into your own hands doesn’t end well. Call the police and let them handle it, that’s my advice.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s too late. This is my life now.’

  ‘And Gibson?’

  A smile briefly flicked up the corner of her lips, then died just as fast. ‘He was just this sweet guy.’

  The sweet-guy description didn’t fit right with the images I’d seen of the inside of Patrick Walkers’ blood-splattered yacht, or with the pictures of the three guards shot dead in the hospital when Gibson Fletcher escaped. Still, I didn’t say anything. Wanted to see where this was going.

  ‘He was kind and funny and I needed some of that.’ She looked at me all intense, like she needed me to understand. ‘With Marco I felt like I was being … caged.’

  My husband Tommy had had a real bad temper. I shuddered at the memory. I knew all about how claustrophobic a marriage could be, and how those first few slaps could escalate – moving all the way along the line and ending in murder.

  ‘And Gibson made you feel free?’ I asked.

  ‘In the snatched moments we had together, yes.’

  ‘So why’d you stay with Marco? Neither of you had kids back then. You could have left – had more than a few snatched moments. What held you back?’

  She looked down at the iced tea. ‘Marco would never have let me leave.’

  ‘Did you try?’

  Mia shook her head. ‘I was too weak. At first I didn’t have the money to support myself. I threw myself into my work – my art: making life-size sculptures in wire of animals and birds. But nothing ever came of it. Marco didn’t want me to pursue art as a career, he preferred for me not to work…’

  ‘And you did as he said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about when you knew you were pregnant? You said you were worried he’d hurt the baby – why didn’t you leave then?’

  ‘Gibson begged me to.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘I ask myself that every day.’

  ‘Get any answers?’

  She dropped her gaze. ‘Yes.’

  I waited.

  ‘If I’d have left, Marco would have killed Gibson. Probably me and the baby, too.’

  I thought of the dead bodies Fletcher was responsible for. ‘It seems Gibson can handle himself.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t kill those people. The guy I know … he’s just not like that.’

  I narrowed my eyes. Didn’t doubt Mia believed what she said, but that didn’t make it true. Love puts blinkers on you. It stops you seeing the things you won’t like about a man. It makes fools of us all that way. ‘How can you be sure?’

  She looked down. Snatched up the paper napkin and started fretting the edge of it. ‘This is all my fault.’

  I felt my cell buzzing in my pocket. Glancing at the clock on the wall I realised it was two-thirty. Damn. I knew the call would be from Dakota, ringing me from her cell phone in the camp office at five-thirty Florida time. I wanted to answer real bad but had to keep questioning Mia. She was the best lead I had on Gibson, so I couldn’t let this go, not now the clock was counting down in double time.

  ‘How so?’ I said.

  Mia didn’t answer. She clutched her iced tea and took a sip. As she set it down on the table I saw that her hands were shaking.

  ‘Where do you think Gibson is now, Mia?’

  She met my gaze. Didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate as she said, ‘Mexico.’

  My cell stopped buzzing. I tried not to think of Dakota sitting in the camp office, wondering why I didn’t pick up. I pushed away the thought, the guilt. Had to keep my mind on the job.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Her lower lip trembled. ‘Because he told me that’s where he was heading – he pleaded with me to go with him.’

  ‘And you refused?’

  She nodded. ‘How could I leave my son?’

  ‘You could have taken him with you.’

  Mia sighed. Didn’t speak.

  My cell buzzed twice in my pocket. A voicemail. I fought the urge to listen to it right away. Instead I asked, ‘You’re sure he’s not hiding out some place around San Diego?’

  ‘He was, but he’s gone now.’ Her voice broke as she said the word ‘gone’.

  ‘Where in Mexico is he headed?’