by Owen Parr
Minutes later, I heard Max’s tiny paws on the teak surface of the lower deck. “Jack, somebody really wants to talk to you. I would say your phone is ringing off the hook, but that saying is no longer valid.”
“Who is it?” he asked as he made his way to the top deck.
“I don’t know, brother. I didn’t answer it. Maybe one of your unexpired ladies.” I threw him a cheeky grin.
“I’ll check it in a minute. Tell me about these suspects, we don’t know when Logan will be here.”
“You don’t want to see who called?” I asked curiously.
He sat down in the seat next to me. “Let me relax a bit, I haven’t woken up this early in a while. Go on, tell me.”
“Ed told us, but I’ll recap. We have James Roth, right? Then, there’s a neighbor across the street from the Wellses who some girls falsely accused of exposing himself to them. Anyway, Gene went over and gave the guy some shit, even threatening to call the police on him. The rumor spread like a wildfire around Miami Shores. This guy, Hernandez is his name, was really pissed at Gene, thinking he spread the rumor.”
“You think he’s the type of person who would want to get even?”
I shrugged. “Pretty bad temper, of course. We would be too if that happened to us.”
“Who’s the other?”
“Some hot-tempered slick rich lawyer who had a fight with Gene at a South Beach club the week before.”
“Huh." He paused, mulling that over. "And they all had the opportunity?”
“James did, he left the club moments before Gene was hit. Hernandez, we think so. He was at home with his wife. But they sleep in different rooms. The lawyer—” I stopped as his phone rang again.
Jack went down to the salon to pick his phone. As he came back up to the deck, he said, “Shit, I missed the call. It's Robert Logan.”
“Maybe he can’t make it.”
He nodded as the call connected. “Logan, what’s up?”
Jack went silent, listening. All he said twice, lowering his head, was, “Yes…yes.”
My immediate thought was that someone died. I mean, his face told me all I needed to know. “Who died?” I asked.
He raised his gaze toward me with eyes wide opened. “Logan got a call from the Miami-Dade sheriff’s office. They found James Roth dead in a ditch on a road leading to the Everglades.”
I sat up a little straighter, my stomach churning. “Do they know the COD?”
Jack looked a little green himself. “A shot to the head. One leg is been chewed off, likely from an alligator.”
“How about TOD?”
“Between six and seven. Just an hour ago.”
I was about to get sick from the news. A million questions came to mind. What could have possibly happened? Did I put him in harm's way? “Who found him?”
“A Miccosukee Indian guide on his way back from taking tourists on an airboat ride. The scene is still active.”
I hesitated. “Should we go?”
He shook his head. “By the time we get there, they’ll be gone. It’s a good two hours from here. But I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you tomorrow.”
“My God, I hope he’s got other family. He lives with his mother who’s in a wheelchair. Shit…” My voice trailed off as the reality of the situation set in.
14
Joey Mancuso ~
I was in the galley, brewing coffee, when I heard Jack’s alarm go off. Max was with me since I had let him out of Jack’s stateroom about thirty minutes before. Either that, or he was going to wake up Jack to see what I was doing in the galley.
“Coffee is ready, captain,” I said as Jack walked up from his stateroom.
“Morning. How long have you been up?”
“Oh, about thirty minutes. I didn’t sleep much from thinking about this new murder. I’m headed out there to look at the murder scene. Join me?”
“How are you going to find it?” Jack asked, serving himself some coffee.
I leaned a hip against the counter and crossed my arms. “A year or so ago, I worked a case down here and met two homicide detectives from the sheriff’s department. I spoke to one of them this morning. They’re not on the case, but he’s going to send me a text with directions of how to find it. Somewhere on the Trail or State Road 41, going west, he said.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Jack said, reaching for some orange juice from the fridge. “I'd like to go, but I have to show up to work. Bobal has a feeling about me as it is.”
I frowned. “What’d you mean?”
“I may have been the last person James talked to before meeting his killer," Jack explained grimly, filling his glass. "At the office, he said Bobal thought he recognized my face and that he was concerned because I hadn't turned in my fingerprints and licensing paperwork.”
“Our guy at the SEC was taking care of your fake profile, wasn’t he?”
“I know, but I held it back to make sure it was done.” He put the orange juice container back in the fridge.
“You were worried about someone recognizing your face from your book covers. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about, you don’t look anything like the guy in your books.”
“I agree, but what if he’s seen me in Miami Beach? At a restaurant or other place? If this guy is connected to what we discussed last night, they’re not without resources.”
I sat down at the table in the galley next to Jack. “That’s my biggest concern. If that’s the case, we’re dealing with some very well-organized crime people. And from the looks of things, they don’t waste any time eliminating possible threats.”
“I have to go. Otherwise, he’ll know for sure I’m not the real thing. Have you spoken to Marcy?”
“I gave her a heads-up last night. But I’ll call her on my way to the scene. As you said, I have a long drive this morning.”
“I better get started and head over. I wonder how Bobal will play the fact James was murdered last night.”
“Just keep in mind you don’t know what happened. Play it safe for now.”
Jack was quiet for a moment. “I need to get in that private office today. After today, I may not be going back.”
I was shaking my head even before he finished. “Not a good idea, buddy. They may have cameras or tripwires. I have a feeling that’s how Gene Wells got caught. He was a smart and curious kid. I’m sure he wanted to inspect that office with the so-called program, too. My advice is to go in there and sniff out Bobal for any clues. But stay the hell out of the office.”
The last thing we needed was another death on our hands. I'd feel terrible if Jack were murdered because I'd involved him in the first place.
“I’ll play it by ear. Call me after you examine the scene.”
“You want some eggs?”
“Ah…no. How about some toast? You mind doing that while I shit, shower, and don’t shave?”
I mock saluted him. “As you said, I’m the mate. But I have a small request. Can you deal with Max’s walk and his own shit? I didn’t handle that very well yesterday.”
At the sound of his name and "walk," Max began wagging his tail and sat by his leach.
Smiling as he walked down to his stateroom, Jack looked back at me. “Got it. Do me another favor, go outside and do a quick recon. See if anyone looks as if they’re waiting for me.”
***
Thirty minutes later, with the coast clear, Jack was on his way to the office. Max was back onboard, and I was on my way to the everglades and the scene of the murder.
According to the lady from the Waze app, I was about sixty miles and ninety-four minutes from the scene, very near to the Miccosukee Tribe official government offices on some side street called West Boundary Road.
Comfortably sitting back with a large, hot, cream-no-sugar coffee from Dunkin Donuts in the cupholder, I dialed Marcy.
“Morning, love,” she answered on the second ring.
Hearing her voice sent a jolt of warmth through me. “M
orning, how did you and little Mancuso sleep?”
I could hear the smile in her voice. “She and I slept well. Thank you. You?”
We didn’t want to know the sex of our child yet, but of course, she was cheering for a girl, while my bets were on a boy.
“Good enough in the small stateroom. But I spent the night thinking about the murder. I’m headed to the scene now. It’s way the hell out west of Miami, on the way to Naples, Florida. Did you get Agnes’ file on the case?”
“I briefed Victoria earlier this morning about what your case may be turning into. I kept the file to myself. Don’t need to explain Agnes’ ways. Victoria is going to drill deeper, see if any other office is working it. But so far, no one has any knowledge of any connection with Czech organized crime and stock manipulation in the US. You may have uncovered a new nuance to their crimes.”
Special Agent in Charge Victoria Stewart was Marcy's boss and longtime friend.
“Interesting. So, is the Bureau going to investigate?”
“They’ll be calling the SEC this morning to see what they have and go from there. Anything else on your end?”
“We also added three suspects to Gene’s case. Possible perps if he was murdered,” I said and went on to give her a quick rundown.
My Waze lady interrupted, "Stay right on 836 West."
“Who’s in the car?’ Marcy inquired.
“Gohere,” I replied.
“Who’s Gohere?”
“The lady from Waze. She keeps telling me, ‘Go here.’ No need to get jealous,” I replied with a smile.
“Bobo. Did you hear me, the SEC is being called this morning?”
“Yes. In that case, I better call John Landers and brief him. I don’t think he knows the potential scope of this. Are you going to work the case if they open one?”
“You know the drill. DOJ must be brought in, then there’s international consequences, so State Department would want to know, and in a matter of minutes, we'll have the whole alphabet of agencies wanting a piece. We’ll see.”
“But, there’s a New York office for Peníze and that should be your responsibility.”
“Let the bureaucracy take its course. If it's meant to be, then I’m sure I’ll get it. Do I detect an interest in me getting it ‘cause you want to work it?” she teased.
“I’m your partner, no?”
“Not at the Bureau, Mancuso. You’ve already had your run-ins with them.”
“They love me because they know I get things done.”
“Right." Her tone said she didn't believe that for a second. "I’ll call as things developed. Bye, Mancuso.”
I was going to say, "Love you," but before I had a chance, Gohere said, "In one mile, turn left unto 826 South."
Dark, menacing clouds were forming to my west, which was exactly where I was going. It resembled a layered cake, menacing black on top, grey fury in the middle, and soft puffy light grey at the bottom. Brilliant lightning exploded from behind, but I couldn't hear the thunder yet. Still far out, I deducted. But I was going to get drenched, and more problematic, the murder scene would be washed out.
***
The rain was slowly building up momentum. Looking west from where it was approaching, all I could see was a wall of grey rain headed our way. The cordoned-off scene was intact for the moment. Sheriff's department personnel were all over. A tent covered the murder scene. James’ body still lay there, wet and facing up with a shot to the forehead. Both hands were tied behind his back. His left leg was gone, chewed up to his knee. Blood was everywhere. There was a rope tied to his neck that extended out about ten feet onto the bank.
I hoped the sons of bitches that did this shot James dead before the alligator feasted on his leg. Otherwise, the horror and pain he went through would have been unbearable. The more I looked at the scene, the more the rage grew in me.
A middle-aged deputy approached me. “Mr. Mancuso, I’m Deputy Wayne.”
“Please, call me Joey. Are you in charge of the investigation?”
“No, Detective JC Moreno is. He’s on his way. His ID said James Roth. Can you confirm he is Roth?”
“Yes, that’s him.” Unfortunately. Poor bastard.
Deputy Wayne sized me up. “I understand you were a detective with the NYPD?”
“Yes, homicide division.”
“Horrific scene, isn’t it?" He glanced back at the body. "I’m sure you’ve seen your share of murder scenes.”
I didn’t reply. I kept looking at the rope tied to his neck.
Wayne noticed my focus on the rope and added, “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that also. Any clues?”
I raised my gaze to look at Wayne. “Unfortunately, yes. I think they beat him up, then tied the rope to his neck and threw him alive into the canal as bait.”
Shock flittered across his face. “Oh, my God. Why?”
“They were questioning him. Wanting to know what he knew. When the alligator showed up, they probably pulled him back from the water… until the gator grabbed his leg.” I swallowed the bile in my throat. Yes, I'd seen a lot of gruesome things in my time, but it still got to me.
Deputy Wayne wiped the rainwater from his face and adjusted his hat. “That’s just sick. What did they want to know?”
Again, I ignored his question. “Any casings found?”
“Yes, five at least so far.”
“How many shots to the body?”
“From initial inspection, just the one to the forehead. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“So, they shot the gator at least four times, keeping him from dragging the body into the canal. When they got their answers from James, they shot him once in the head.”
“How do you now they shot the gator?”
Turning around and pointing to the bank where the perp’s tire tracks were, I replied, “Your deputies marked off five casings there. There may be more they didn’t find. But at least these guys fired five shots.”
“I see. I’m getting sick just thinking about that.”
I glanced at him. “I’m sure this isn't the first body you guys find in the Everglades, right?”
“You’re correct, but I haven’t been down here long enough to see any. This is my first.”
Normally, I would ask him where he’s been before, but I wasn't in the mood for bullshit small talk right now. My thought was on Jack. Could James have implicated him? Was he in danger of some kind?
I began walking back to my car. Outside the cordoned-off area, I found a small brown crumbled piece of wet paper. Using my handkerchief, I grabbed it and uncrumpled it. I looked around to see if any of the deputies was looking. None were. A Snickers bar wrapper. The wind was strong, so it could have easily blown away from the immediate scene. Without touching it, I wrapped it in my handkerchief and put it in my pants pocket. Maybe I had a clue of some kind. Maybe prints.
15
Jack Ryder ~
I had to play this right. Give no clues that I knew anything about James. Just another day at the office. Walking in, I spotted the other two traders I had met but had had very little interaction with.
“Hey, Art, good morning,” said Tony. “Have you heard from James?”
“No, I haven't. He should be here momentarily,” I replied lightly as I sat at my desk.
“I’ve called him, and he doesn’t answer. Did you get a text from Jan?” Tony inquired.
“A text? No, why?” Why would Jan text me?
Tony stretched his arms overhead. “He flew to New York yesterday. I think they’re closing this office and moving everything there.”
Closing the office, but why? “Did Bobal say so in his text?”
“No, but open your drawers.”
I did as Tony suggested. Empty. No files, nothing. Immediately, I turned to look at the private office.
Tony, seeing my expression and reaction, said, “Yeah, that’s empty, too.”
I got up and walked in. A desk and chair, empty file cabinet, and a garba
ge can. I looked in the garbage can and the only thing there was a small wrapped brown piece of paper. I picked it up and unwrapped it. A Snickers bar wrapper. I threw it back in the can. “Did you ever see Newton eat a Snickers bar?”
“Doubt it, Art. He's a diabetic,” Tony responded.
“How about Bobal?”
Tony shrugged. “No, never.”
“I see. Did anyone ever walk in here before or today?” I asked.
Tony looked at Mel, the other trader. “Never, man, that was out of bounds.”
“Right," I said slowly, trying to piece everything together. "Do you think Gene Wells might have at some point?”
Tony and Mel exchanged glances again. Shaking his head, Tony replied, “He was always curious. We told him to stay the hell away, but we don’t know if he ever did.”
Still standing in the doorway of the private office, I looked around and up toward the ceiling. There it was, a dome structure for a ceiling camera. I looked outside the office into the open area where we all worked. No dome structure, no visible cameras. But somehow, I had the feeling there was a camera or two, as well as hidden microphones listening and taping all our conversations. I thought back. Had I said anything that may have put James in danger?
Tony asked, “Art, you think James went to New York with Jan?”
“I doubt it. Remember he takes care of his mother who’s in a wheelchair. Do you know what time Bobal flew out?”
“He has his own plane, a G IV. So, pretty much anytime he wants,” Mel replied.
“Show me the text Jan sent,” I asked.
Tony walked toward me, and pulling out his phone, he tapped on the message app and showed me.
Take a few days off. Handling everything from New York momentarily.
“That’s it?” I asked. What the hell was going on? In the most active period of the trading, he gives us days off?
