“What happened to you?”
Monica gave her a scared look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re not going to leave this room until you do.”
“Stop pressuring me, Mom. I’m having a difficult time right now.”
Peterson’s heart went out to her. She knew her daughter needed a friend more than anything else. “I’m sorry for being hard on you, honey. So, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“Oh, I thought he loved me, Mom. But … but things didn’t go well.”
“I’m listening.” Peterson laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m on your side.”
Monica’s eyes filled up. “Behind the school, uh, there’s a big grassy field.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Holding my hand, he took me back there. He said it was our special place.”
Peterson felt her heart skip a beat. She didn’t like were the conversation was headed. “You didn’t believe him, did you? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”
“He’d planned everything out in advance, the sheets, the blankets, the pillows.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
Monica burst into tears. “He said he loved me, that we’d be together forever.”
Peterson felt a shock go through her. She held her breath, almost not wanting to hear the rest of the story. “Guys like him lie all the time.”
“That’s, uh, when things really got bad. I mean, things got so much worse.”
“How could things get any worse?”
Overwhelmed with pain, Monica leaned back on the couch, shaking her head and screaming, no, no, no. Gasping for breath, barely able to get any air at all, she shot to her feet. She stormed out of the living room, raced up the steps to her bedroom, and slammed shut the door. Peterson barreled through the door and, moved with compassion, sat next to daughter on her Queen-size bed. She held her in her arms, trying to comfort her.
“Tell me everything,” Peterson said. “Tell me everything that happened right now.”
Monica’s eyes welled up. “This is really bad, Mom. I don’t even want to talk about it.”
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
“We walked back to the dance together, but he barely said two words to me.”
Peterson held her tighter. She wished her daughter didn’t have to go through this. “He’s not the guy he pretended to be.”
“Oh, I can’t believe it. I felt so used, dirty, and ugly.”
“It’s part of the learning process. You’ll get through this.”
“Once we were inside the school, he disappeared into the crowd.”
Peterson blinked back tears. She knew it was going to take her daughter a long time to get over this. “He’s a creep, honey. You’re too good for him.”
“Before I realized it, I saw him on the dance floor, making out with his ex-girlfriend.”
“Don’t think about him again. Put him out of your mind. He’s not worth it.”
Monica grabbed her stomach, her face bright red, her face screwed up in pain. She made a terrible sound—a loud screech of shame, loss, and fear. With tears pouring down her cheeks, she collapsed to her hands and knees and threw up.
Chapter 52
On his way to the Miami Police Department, Malone saw two suspicious looking characters behind a rundown strip mall. He pulled his unmarked police car around to the back of the building, drove down a long alley, and parked behind the two men. They both stood in front of a canal, looking down at a young girl. Battered and bruised, she lay on the grass, curled in a fetal position. She was young, about twenty-five years old, and blood was running from her nose. Her yellow blouse was torn open, exposing her white bra, and her blue jeans were covered with grass stains. On the ground, next to her, was her brown purse. Obviously, she had put up a fight, had managed to hold them off until this point. But with her energy spent, she was a sitting duck. Laughing, the taller man undid his top button and slid down his zipper. Grinning, the shorter man gave him two thumbs up.
“Hold it right there,” Malone said, flashing his gold badge. “Miami PD.”
“Shut up, pig,” the taller man said. “Don’t tell us what to do.”
“Step away from the girl.”
The taller man clenched his fists. “Do you think you can make me, pig?”
Malone didn’t care for his attitude. It was obvious he’d bulldozed his way through life, always threatening and intimidating people. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
“You’d better call for backup.”
“You’re going downtown, either the nice way or the hard way.”
The taller man gave him the finger. “You’ve got to make me, pig.”
“You have ten seconds to comply, that’s all. I’m not going to repeat myself.”
“I’m going to kick your ass.”
Malone clenched his jaw. He felt the adrenaline pumping through his system, giving him a heightened sense of awareness. “We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
“I hope so, pig.” The taller man grinned. “Bring it on.”
Malone walked closer to the two punks, keeping his hand on his gun. He stopped a few feet in front of them. He knew the taller man would be the first one to make a move. With every muscle in his body tense, he waited for any sign of aggression. When the taller punk drew his right fist back, Malone delivered a crushing blow to his windpipe. The suspect fell to the ground, his hands at his throat, gasping for air. Malone bent over, cuffed his hands behind his back, and approached the shorter man.
“Things didn’t go well for your friend, did they?” Malone asked.
The suspect’s eyes narrowed. “I can see that. That’s too bad.”
“If you don’t listen to me, you’re going to end up just like him.”
“I don’t want any trouble from you.”
Malone studied him. His senses told him he was lying through his teeth. “You’re under arrest. Get on the ground, face down. And put hands behind your back.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You have ten seconds to comply, that’s all. I’m not going to tell you again.”
The young girl stood up, brushing grass off her jeans. She picked up her brown purse and slipped it onto her shoulder. Not a second later, she took off, running alongside the canal. She came to a wood fence, about waist high, and climbed over it. She ran to the end of the strip mall and disappeared around the corner.
“You’ve ruined our plans,” he said. “We were going to have a good time with her.”
“Those days are over.”
The suspect’s voice was stern. “I’m going to kick your ass for this.”
Malone wasn’t impressed. Over the course of his career, he had heard this line a thousand times before. “Stop and think it over. You’re just going to end up like your friend. Only I’m going to have to hurt you much worse.”
“I grew up taking martial arts. And I’ve got the trophies at home to prove it.”
“Well, bring it on, tough-guy. Give me your best shot.”
The suspect gave him a big grin. “I’m looking forward to breaking your bones.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Malone stood still, every muscle in his body tense, prepared for a violent confrontation. He stared into the suspect’s cold, dark eyes. The punk lowered his head, charged full speed ahead, and grabbed him around the waist. He lifted him a few inches off the ground, trying to body slam him. Malone brought his elbow down on his back several times, each blow slamming into his spine. The suspect let him go, grunting, and stumbled backward. Malone spun around, delivering a spinning back fist to the suspect’s jaw. The hard blow knocked the punk to the ground, but he pulled a pistol from the small of his back. With catlike reflexes, Malone drew his Glock 17 and shot him once through the center of the forehead. It made a small, round hole. The suspect collapsed to the ground, face forward. Malone grabbed the other suspect on the ground, yanked him to
his feet, and shoved him into the back seat of his unmarked police car.
Chapter 53
Malone and Peterson rushed into Stillwater Cruises. The waiting room was small, with wood floors and painted blue walls. There were six visitor chairs, all occupied by customers. In the center of the room was a glass table, filled with an assortment of magazines and brochures. Soft music was playing in the background. Behind the counter with the sliding glass window was the reception area. Malone slid back the glass and stared at a woman. She had dark wavy hair, hazel eyes, and a gracious smile. She was sitting behind a spotless desk, punching data into her computer and sorting a thick stack of papers into two neat piles.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Malone,” he said, flashing his gold badge. “And this is Detective Peterson.”
“I’m the receptionist,” she said. Brenda. Brenda Marks.”
“We’re here to see Robert Freedman.”
The receptionist gave him a suspicious look. “Is this a business or personal call?”
Malone didn’t want to tip his hand. He didn’t want to scare her boss out of seeing them.
“We’ve got a few routine questions to ask him, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“No problem, Sergeant. Just give me a minute. And I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
Malone looked around the room. Against the far back wall, a middle-aged man sat next to his son. The kid leaned over the glass table, picked up a colorful brochure, and pointed at a large cruise ship. Smiling, the little boy’s father nodded his head. At once, the little kid shot to his feet and jumped up and down. Everyone else in the waiting room burst into laughter.
“He’ll see you now,” Brenda said, opening the door.
“That’s great. I’m glad it worked out.” Malone felt a sense of relief. Pressed to get a lead in the case, he didn’t want to have to come back at a later date. He was anxious to confront the boss and get some of his questions answered.
“He’s usually tied up in the afternoon. But a few of his appointments cancelled.”
“Lucky for us, I suppose.”
The receptionist smiled. “You thought I was going to blow you off, didn’t you?”
“No one likes the badge.”
“We run a clean operation here, Sergeant. So, we have nothing to hide.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“We’re in the public eye, Sergeant. So, our reputation means everything to us.”
Malone knew they were running a dirty business. He decided to put her on the spot. “Your boss doesn’t feel the same way, does he?”
“I can assure you he does, Sergeant. In fact, he’s one of the nicest men you’ll ever meet.”
Malone grinned. He couldn’t wait to meet her boss. “Show us the way.”
They followed the receptionist down a long corridor, lined on both sides with pictures of cruise ships. In the pictures, the cruise ships were arriving at some of most popular destinations in the world—Alaska, Africa, Europe. Rounding the bend, they headed down a short corridor. They passed by a few employees, who were drinking coffee and whispering to each other. At the end of the hallway, they stopped in front of a large office. Inside the room was a heavyset man, sitting behind a desk. He had greasy black hair, a double chin, and dark, sunken eyes. On most of his fingers were gold rings that were set with expensive diamonds. He waved them inside, pointed at a black leather couch, and smiled.
“Please come inside,” Freedman said. “Make yourself at home.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Malone. This is my partner, Detective Peterson.”
Freedman gave them cocky grin. “It’s nice to meet both of you.”
Malone met his gaze. The guy reminded him of a used car salesmen. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your business.”
“Listen, I book cruises all over the world. Let me book a fantastic cruise for you two.”
Malone didn’t like the guy’s pushy attitude. “We don’t get much time off work.”
“Listen, we have one local cruise ship. It goes out twice daily, only five hours at a time.”
“We’re still not interested.”
“It travels three miles out to sea, into international waters, where it’s legal to gamble.”
Malone moved closer to him. He intended to address this topic. “That’s how a lot of people wind up getting into debt, right?”
“That could happen, Sergeant. But that’s none of my business.”
Malone took in his surroundings. There were at least a half a dozen pictures of Freedman hanging on the walls, each with him standing in front of luxury cruise ships, all with him holding hands with beautiful women. Sitting behind his large desk, Freedman picked up a Cuban cigar, snipped off the end of it, and fired it up. He blew out a cloud of smoke.
“We’re here on official police business,” Malone said. “Not pleasure.”
Freedman waved an impatient hand. “Lighten up, will you?”
“We’re here to look at your business records.”
“That’s not going to happen. So, you might as well turn around and leave.”
“Get me a list of everyone who’s booked a cruise over the past six months.”
Freedman smirked. “Give me a break, Sergeant.”
Malone was losing his temper. He was going to continue to play this game with him. “Look, I’m only going to ask you one more time, that’s it.”
“You’re out of luck, Sergeant. Our computers are down. It’s the damn network again.”
“I’m going to check it out for myself.”
Freedman looked startled. “That’s against the law, Sergeant. That’s private information.”
“Read it and weep.” Malone tossed a set of papers onto his desk. He knew that Stillwater Cruises made most of its money by operating three luxury ships, each designed to slip into exotic ports off the beaten path. Earlier in the day, he had looked up the state corporate records online and found out that Stillwater Cruises was owned by Black Capital Investments. He believed that someone onboard one of the cruise ships knew about Officer Jones gambling addiction. Perhaps, they even witnessed Boris Basov or one of his dangerous associates confronting Officer Jones. He wasn’t going to waste his time telling this to Freedman. Malone knew the guy was rotten to the core. He was bought and paid for by Kemp.
Freedman read the search warrants. “I’m going to get you back for this.”
“Is that a threat?”
Freedman nodded. “You’re making a big mistake, Sergeant. You’re going to regret it.”
“I’m not worried about it. Now, get up and move away from your desk.”
“Our ships travel to Russia, so you’d better change your mind.”
Malone got the drift. They guy was trying to intimidate him. “You’re scare tactics aren’t working. I’m not the slightest bit worried.”
“Look at our customers.” He pointed at his desk. “We’re one big happy family here.”
Malone noticed a picture of Freedman and Basov—both of them standing on board one of the luxury cruise ships. Surrounded by people gambling in the casino, they stood side by side, raising their Champagne glasses in the air. On both sides of them, several men stood, their suit jackets open, displaying the butts of their guns. Malone grabbed Freedman by the shirt collar, yanked him to his feet, and shoved him against the wall.
“You’ve got guts,” Freedman said. “That’s not what I expected.”
“I’m so sorry to rain on your parade.”
Freedman sounded grave. “You’d better not go through with this, Sergeant.”
Malone threw him up against the wall again. He wanted to make sure the guy sent Basov a powerful message. “I’m going to nail everyone associated with Black Capital Investments.”
“You’re making enemies of very powerful people.”
“It won’t be the first time.”
Malone sat down behind the desk and accessed Freedman’
s personal computer. In a matter of seconds, he located the corporate records. He printed off an extensive list, showing every person and every corporation that had booked a trip with Stillwater Cruises over the past six months. Malone suspected Kemp of offering corporate executives free cruises to entice them to investing in his hedge fund. Some of them probably agreed to engage in insider trading with Kemp, either because they wanted to pay off their gambling debts, or because they were driven from an excess form of corporate greed. He grabbed the thick stack of papers, got to his feet, and winked at Freedman. Anxious to review the list, Malone and Peterson left the office and headed back to police headquarters.
Chapter 54
Malone sat in his living room, staring at the glass of Jack Daniel’s in his right hand. He held it up to the light, rotating it slowly in his grip, admiring how the ice cubes floated in the silky brown liquid. He preferred his whiskey cold, always so much smoother going down the hatch. He took a long drink and began to feel the tension leave his body. Leaning back against the couch, he crossed his legs. Day in and day out, he investigated criminals in Miami. It took its toll on him, both mentally and physically. Half the time, he couldn’t sleep at night. Sometimes, he thought about resigning from the police force, but he wanted to keep the crooks off the streets. It was in his blood, he guessed. There was no use in trying to do something else. His cell phone rang. It was his boss, Lieutenant Harper.
“This isn’t a good time, Lieutenant.” Malone was sick of his boss calling him on his cell phone. It was bad enough that he had to interact with him while he was at the office. “It’s not even six o’clock in the damn morning.”
“You don’t sound good.”
Malone took a sip of his drink. He was having a hard time coping with everything that was transpiring in his life. “I have a lot on my mind, Lieutenant. I’ll get back in touch with you.”
“Hold on a second, Sergeant.” Harper sounded serious. “This isn’t a social call.”
Malone polished off his drink. “Oh?”
“I’m calling about your partner. You need to get over to her father’s house.”
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