Eye for Eye

by J K Franko

  * * *

  Senator Harlan’s intercom buzzed. It was Meg.

  “Mr. Senator?”

  “Yes, darlin’?”

  “A Mr. Roy Cruise for you on line one.”

  “Got it.”

  The senator picked up the receiver. “This is Senator Harlan, Mr. Cruise. Hello.”

  “Hello, Mr. Senator. How are you?”

  “Well, I’m a bit worried if I’m to be totally honest with you.”

  “I understand completely. I’m calling because I spoke to my partner David Kim about your son, Joe. I was very concerned when I heard about the situation and wanted to see if we could help in any way. I’m assuming you haven’t heard from him yet?”

  “No. Nothing yet. It is concerning because it’s not like him to miss meetings—or flights, for that matter.”

  “I appreciate that. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “At this point, no. I’m having his travel looked into. I suspect he’ll turn up sometime soon. He’s a good boy, but he’s young if you get my meanin’. You know. Wild oats and all... ”

  “I sure do. Well, if there’s anything I or my firm can do, Senator, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m out of the country right now, but let me give you my mobile number—direct. That way you can reach me if you need to.”

  “Sure appreciate that, Mr. Cruise.”

  “Please, call me Roy.”

  Roy gave the senator his mobile number and hung up.

  * * *

  Tom Wise stepped out into the lobby of Highland Commercial Real Estate to find Detective Travers waiting for him.

  “Art,” he said with a smile, shaking the man’s proffered hand.

  “Tom, how have you been?”

  “I’m good. Come in,” Tom said, leading the detective into a small conference room with a round table for four. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?”

  “No, thanks.”

  They sat.

  “So, how’s it going? How’s business?” Travers asked with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

  Tom paused, eyeing his visitor with a skeptical grin. “Art. Come on. This obviously isn’t a social call. Tell me what’s the matter. Or what you need. We can get a beer some other time.”

  Travers laughed. He had always admired the man’s directness. And he was going to afford him the same. “Well, Tom, I’m just wondering if you might have taken any trips lately.”

  “Trips?” Wise echoed, suspiciously. “Not really. Wait. What’s this about? Should I call my lawyer, Art?” he asked slowly.

  “Tom, you only need a lawyer if you’ve done something wrong,” chuckled Travers. Then, more seriously, he added, “Look, it’s nothing. Probably nothing. I’m just looking into something and, you know, it’s just a formality. I just need to confirm that you weren’t out of town in the last few days. That’s all.”

  “That’s all? Well, I can’t see why you’d be asking me, unless this has something to do with that that... ” Wise paused. He wanted to measure his words. He’d already gotten himself into enough trouble by not controlling himself. He couldn’t afford, literally, any more trouble. “Harlan kid?” he finished, finally.

  “As I said, just checking a box, Tom. So…” Travers waited, and then prompted the now stone-faced man, “have you taken any trips in the past week?”

  “Just box-checking, huh?” He took a deep breath. “Art, I haven’t been out of town since Christmas—not counting a weekend in Fredericksburg. This week, I was here all week. Worked every day. You can ask around the office. I know they’ve seen enough of me. Had a dentist appointment yesterday. Mid-afternoon. Then I took Deb to Fleming’s for dinner. And, unfortunately or fortunately, depending on which way you want to look at it, there’ll be a credit card transaction somewhere. You need more?”

  “No. No. That’s all right. So, Mrs. Wise was in Austin, too?”

  “Like I said, we had dinner last night. She had a tennis tournament at the club early this week. Plays doubles. So, there’ll be plenty of ladies that can vouch for where she was.”

  Travers sighed, seemingly with relief. “Okay then,” he said simply, and then stood.

  “So, are you going to tell me what this is about?” Tom asked, rising to show the detective out. “Should I be concerned?”

  “Why should you be concerned? You haven’t been anywhere or done anything,” Travers answered before making for the door. Tom Wise watched him go, a thoughtful frown on his face.

  * * *

  The four-star Intercontinental Hotel is situated in downtown Miami. It is the kind of place where attention to detail is standard operating procedure and not just a staff-room poster. Many of the rooms feature enviable views across the bay, and for the hardened lounge lizards, the Bluewater Bar is adjacent to the rooftop pool, overlooking an oasis of palm trees and fountains that stretch out to Biscayne Bay.

  Detective Rosa Pérez was standing behind the manager at the door to Room 576. It was the manager’s understanding that the room was still occupied since the guest had missed his 12:00 check-out.

  A swipe of the master key card made the door lock snick open and the light panel flash green. The manager pushed it open and stood aside.

  “Please wait here, if you don’t mind and hold the door open,” Rosa requested.

  “This is the Miami Police, is there anyone in here?” she called out to the room, but there was no response. “Hello? Anyone in here?” she tried again, stepping inside.

  Nothing.

  She sniffed the air.

  Nothing.

  No odd smells. The room temperature seemed normal. The shades were open.

  She checked the floor around the entry for anything that might be out of place or that could constitute evidence.

  Nothing.

  She looked around. It was a standard hotel room. Two double beds. On one was a carry-on sized suitcase that lay open. Next to it lay a pair of blue pants and a white shirt.

  One of the chairs had a few crumpled clothes items on it. Maybe dirty clothes. It was hard to tell. A green t-shirt. A beige denim jacket was draped over the back of the chair. Travel clothes?

  There was a Dopp kit laying open in the bathroom. A toothbrush and toothpaste were on the counter. From the drip of the shower head and the collection of water in the pan, she surmised that the shower had been used, although the bathroom was neat. Towels folded. There was a washcloth hanging to dry inside the shower, and one of the large bath towels was folded, but not like the others.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  Rosa checked the closet, which was half-open. Empty. She looked under the beds.

  Nothing.

  “Any charges to the room?” she asked the manager.

  “We can look,” he said, “but when I charged the extra night after he didn’t check out, I don’t remember seeing any charges other than the room.”

  Rosa continued looking around the room and only when she was satisfied that there was nothing else to see did she speak without turning. “I’d like to take a look at your security footage?”

  Five minutes later, they were all squished into a small box of a room in the basement of the building.

  Rosa asked an overweight man in a security uniform to cue up footage beginning fifteen minutes before Harlan’s check-in time—which the computer check-in system indicated as being 2:28 p.m.

  They spotted Harlan entering the building at 2:19 p.m. There was footage from the camera behind the front desk showing him checking in. Finding footage of Harlan leaving would be more complicated. He had changed clothes, and the hotel had over twenty security cameras in common areas and entrances.

  She asked the security guard to preserve all security footage from Harlan’s check-in time forward and then got to work.

  * * *

 
“Art Travers on line one,” Meg said.

  “Art.”

  “Hello, Mr. Senator. I guess you haven’t heard anything?”

  “No. I’ve called repeatedly. Still getting voicemail.”

  “Right. So... ” Travers explained that he had paid a visit to the Wises. While the alibis had to be validated, and could be if necessary, he felt reasonably sure that both husband and wife had been in town.

  “No nervousness. No curiosity. No long-winded, convoluted explanations. He was working. Saw the dentist. Wife played in a tennis tournament. Easily verifiable stuff.”

  “And the girl?”

  Shit.

  He hadn’t thought of checking on her. Travers had followed the Harlan-Wise situation closely, and he’d developed a sense for who Kristy Wise was. He did not see her as capable of malice, much less murder, and hadn’t even thought to verify her whereabouts.

  “We’re verifying her whereabouts, as well,” he lied, “but we have every reason to believe that she was in Austin. As far as the hotel, Joe definitely checked in. Miami PD is conducting a full, detailed review of all security footage. Normally, we wouldn’t do that so early, but... ” He trailed off there, unsure how to word the rest of the sentence for fear of tormenting the senator more than necessary.

  “I appreciate that, Detective. Thank you.”

  Travers had not requested the review as a favor to Harlan Sr., but more because of the son’s history. The chances of something happening to the guy were much higher than in normal circumstances. But he wasn’t going to tell the senator that.

  “Does Joe carry a credit card?” he asked. “One that you have access to, I mean. Like a second card on your account?”

  “That’s a good point. Hold on.” The line went quiet, then he heard the muffled voice of the senator shouting, “Meg!” followed by muffled discussion. After about a minute, the senator was back on the line.

  “Um, okay, let’s see here… right… We have an AMEX we share for the points. The account here shows that Joe took an Uber.”

  “Can you read me what it says?”

  “UBER *US MAYXX HYFJM – HELP.UBER.COM, CA”

  “Okay. Is there any more information? A reference number?”

  Travers heard Harlan repeat the question. Shortly after, he said, “Yes, in the drop-down. Here it is: Reference: 320172740930961136.”

  Travers wrote down the number. “Okay. This is helpful. Let me chase this down. Oh, and while we’re at it, are there any other charges in Miami?”

  “Actually, yes. There are. There’s a charge at Saks Fifth Avenue. $102.23. Doesn’t say what for. And there’s also another Uber charge. Shall I read it to you?”

  “Hold on a second. Can you just have Meg email me the information on all of those charges? Along with the AMEX card number? That might be more efficient.”

  “Yes, of course. It’ll be with you shortly, Detective…”

  “Try not to worry,” Travers said, reading the man’s thoughts. “We’re going to use this information to construct a timeline of Joe’s whereabouts. Two Uber pick-up and drop-off points and a shopping receipt is a very good start.”

  DAY EIGHT

  Saturday, May 5, 2018

  Saturday morning at sunup, Susie and Roy headed back across the Straits to Miami. The weather was as forecast, with waves roughly the same height as they were two days before when Roy made the crossing to Bimini. Although now, sitting up on the flybridge, it felt as though they were gliding across glass, but for the occasional rogue wave that kicked spray up into the helm.

  Roy set the autopilot on the Sunseeker to the waypoint: Entry to Biscayne Channel. Then, he sat back at the helm with Susie cuddled up next to him, wrapped in a blanket against the early morning chill.

  They were cruising at twenty-six knots. Though it wasn’t horribly loud on the flybridge, between the wind and the sound of the boat running through the water, and the thrum of the engines, it was too loud for comfortable conversation. So, they both simply enjoyed the view, each wrapped in their own thoughts until Susie dozed off.

  They reached the house at 9:30, docked the boat, and began to organize and unload their things.

  Since they’d been gone for a week, Susie told Roy that she needed to go to the store to get supplies.

  While Susie was gone, Roy performed a detailed inspection of the Yellowfin to see if they had missed anything of importance. He paid particularly close attention to the coffin box and surrounding deck area. It was immaculate. No stains. Nothing.

  Nevertheless, Roy went over the boat one more time from top to bottom. He knew the crew would be by later in the week to clean, but he still ran a hose all over, from bow to stern, just in case. Running the water also helped eliminate any stray hairs that they might have missed.

  Susie was gone about an hour and a half, and returned with milk, fresh fruit, vegetables, a couple of steaks, and some smoked salmon.

  Roy took a quick shower and then joined her for lunch on the terrace, where he cooked the steaks on the grill.

  * * *

  Detective Rosa Pérez was working from her apartment in Wynwood, an artsy, up-and-coming Miami neighborhood. She was sitting in front of her laptop playing catch-up with the aid of a glass of pinot.

  Her Friday had run long, and she’d spent most of the day Saturday with friends.

  And now she had another case on her to-do list: the disappearance of Joe Harlan Jr., for which she had reluctantly opened a case file.

  She typed up a summary of her visit to the Intercontinental Hotel, then she ran three entries through the MDPD database—Joe Harlan Jr., David Kim, and Cruise Capital.

  Joe Harlan Jr. came up blank.

  David Kim, on the other hand, had been the victim of a homicide in 2003. Clearly not the David Kim she was looking for.

  Cruise Capital also returned a hit.

  Several years back, a file had been opened in the case of Liam Bareto. There wasn’t much information available as the case hadn’t gone far, but one of Cruise Capital’s directors, a certain Roy Cruise, had been questioned in connection with the matter.

  Rosa picked up her mobile phone and dialed the cell number for the detective listed on the file, Eddie Garza. She was feeling lucky.

  “Go for Eddie.”

  “Eddie! It’s Rosa Pérez, here. How are you?” she asked with a big smile.

  Rosa and Eddie had crossed paths a few years back. They’d never worked together, but knew each other well, which was one reason why she hadn’t hesitated to call so late.

  After some chitchat, Rosa finally brought he conversation around to her reason for the call.

  “Listen, Eddie, I need a favor. I see that you worked a file a while back that popped up in connection with something that’s just landed on my desk. Liam Bareto. Does that ring any bells?”

  “Holy shit! Bareto, again?”

  “What do you mean, again?”

  Eddie told Rosa about the call he’d received from Veronica Rios a few weeks back.

  “Your search have anything to do with my friend Veronica?” Eddie asked.

  “I don’t think so. Liam Bareto came up when I did a search on Cruise Capital, owned by a Roy Cruise. Sound familiar?”

  “Sure. I questioned him and his wife in connection with the case. You read the file? Sad case. He was in the hospital for a while after being involved in a head-on with their daughter. She was pronounced dead at the scene. Bareto was in a coma for a while. Died later. His mom thought there was foul play.”

  “What do you think?”

  Eddie sighed. “Fuck. There were some odd circumstances around the case, for sure. But nothing to do with Cruise and his wife. They were out of town when it happened.”

  Rosa nodded as if the man was in the room with her. “What’re they like?”

  “Rich. She used to be o
n TV—Susie Font, hardcore reporter type turned anchor.”

  “Oh yeah! I’ve heard of her.”

  “Yep. Him… Professional. Smart. Likeable guy. They lawyered up for the interview, but then, they’re both lawyers themselves, so... you know.”

  Rosa harrumphed.

  Many people believe that hiring a lawyer for a police interview is a sign of guilt, and opt to show up alone and “cooperate.” Lawyers, on the other hand, know that having a lawyer at an interview makes no difference as far as guilt or innocence is concerned, and might save you from a wrongful prosecution, and possibly even a wrongful conviction. Lawyers know from experience and education what most could learn from watching videos on YouTube such as “Don’t Talk to the Police.”

  “File’s closed though. What’s the favor?” Eddie asked.

  “Honestly, I’m swamped. You know how it is. And then I get this call from Texas?”

  Rosa told Eddie about her call with Travers and her visit to the hotel.

  “To be perfectly honest, I’m up to my neck in it and really don’t think there’s much there. But I was wondering… if I could hand this off to you, since you already know this Cruise guy and there’s this connection, I’d owe you…” she said, wrinkling her face and holding her breath as she waited for answer. When the line went quiet, she quickly added, “I mean, I don’t mind helping out, but if you could run point, you know I’d be eternally grateful, Eddie.” She batted her eyelids, pointlessly.

  “Ay, Rosita, Rosita, Rosita,” Eddie groaned. “You young cops, always trying to shirk responsibility.”

  Rosa laughed. She wasn’t much more than two years his junior.

  “Fine. Give me the gringo’s number. I’ll call your cowboy and take lead. But you owe me. You owe me big time.”

  “Sure, Eddie,” she said as calmly as she could when what she really wanted was to get up and do a little victory dance.

  Eddie hung up and called Travers. He introduced himself and shared that Detective Rosa Pérez had brought him up to speed.

  Travers didn’t have much more to add other than that he’d now ascertained that Kristy Wise had an alibi—she’d been at a martial arts class. He was having someone verify her alibi as well as that of her parents, but had no reason to believe any of them were in Miami at the time of Harlan’s disappearance.