Dead Cold Mystery Box Set 1

by Blake Banner

  “Yes, I see…”

  “But it is never going to come to that, because I am the investigating officer, and I am going to pin the whole thing on dos Santos.”

  “You are?”

  “You bet.”

  “Oh, John, how can I ever thank you? All I want is to get away and put this whole nightmare behind me.”

  “I know, baby. It’s almost over.”

  “What about you?”

  “Before you do your disappearing act, we need to talk about the box.”

  “Keep it. I’ll put you in touch with a discreet buyer. You can open an account in Belize and have the money paid in there. Then you can live like a king for the rest of your life.”

  “When can I see you?”

  “May I come over this afternoon? I’d like to collect Tammy’s birthday present and say… not au revoir, but olive oil. I hope, when this is over…”

  “Don’t say it, Emma. If it’s real, we’ll do it.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right.”

  “I’ll see you at four. Will you bring Tammy? I’ve heard so much about her, I’d like to meet her at least once before you do your vanishing act.”

  “Of course. We’ll be there at four.”

  I hung up and sat looking at Dehan. She stared back at me. After a moment I said, “Come on, let’s go and see Geronimo.”

  We got to the plaza at shortly after nine thirty. My car was still there, so Dehan dropped me off and headed back to the station to talk to the captain, who was in the midst of an acute anxiety attack. I checked at the desk and Geronimo dos Santos was still in the Royal Suite. I took the elevator and made my way up.

  This time, he opened the door himself. He stood staring at me for a long moment, then turned and walked back toward the drawing room. I stepped in and closed the door behind me. I found him in a large armchair sulking among his chins. On the coffee table in front of him, he had a bottle of vodka and an empty shot glass.

  “You planning on stopping anytime soon, Geronimo?”

  He glowered at me sullenly.

  “What?”

  “Acting like an asshole. How many people do you plan to get killed before you stop? Is this how you do God’s work, dos Santos? By going around getting people killed? Because let me tell you something, I am going to make it my business to ensure that the next person who gets killed is you.” I stuck out my finger and pointed at him. “You are alive this morning because I jumped on Emma when she was going to pop you. You owe me your life.”

  His expression changed to one of calculating cunning. It was an effort to control the urge to smack him.

  “We are alone right now, dos Santos. You know? I ought to give you a taste of what you gave me last night.”

  He swallowed and looked sick.

  “You forced me.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “You and Emma… I can’t trust either of you…”

  “Bullshit!”

  He swallowed again. He looked scared.

  “Between the two of you, you have fucked up a sweet deal—for no good reason! You because of your stupid obsession with Tamara, and her because she wanted to play it smart. If you had both listened to me, you would have your precious goddamn box by now, and she would have her money and her damned sister.” I approached the table and sat opposite him. “Now I am going to ask you one more time. Are you planning to stop?”

  “What are you proposing?”

  I’d been in the room thirty seconds and he was already making me mad.

  “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Next time you try to screw me over, I am going to blow that sick little head of yours clean of your multiple chins. Now I am going to ask you one. Last. Time. And if I don’t get a clear answer, first, I am going to go over there and beat you to a sobbing pulp. Then, I am going to walk out of here and sell that box on the open market. Then I am going to put out a contract on you. So, Geronimo, are you ready to quit?”

  He closed his eyes and seemed to shudder all over. Maybe it was the effort of having to make a commitment to not being stupid.

  “Yes.”

  “We get one last shot at this. We do it my way and everybody wins. You step out of line by one inch, and I will kill you, personally.”

  “You have made yourself very clear.”

  “You do not get Tamara.”

  He opened his eyes and glared at me. His fat, white cheeks flushed red. I reached under my arm, pulled out my revolver, and cocked it. I took aim at his head. I am not honestly sure if I was planning to shoot him or not. His eyes bulged and all the pinkness drained from his face.

  “All right! All right!”

  “Forget Tamara!”

  He nodded.

  For good measure, I added, “It is the only way you get to stay alive.” He nodded again.

  I put my piece back under my arm and continued.

  “I want ten million bucks, in a numbered account in Belize. Make no mistake, dos Santos. I know I can get a lot more. But I want this over with. Start pushing, try to get smart, and this deal disappears off the table faster than you can say, ‘please don’t shoot.’”

  “I can do that, no problem.”

  I threw my card on the table. He picked it up and looked at it. I pulled out my pen like I wanted to add something and gestured for him to give it back to me. He handed it over. I took an evidence bag from my pocket and slipped the card in.

  “I take it your prints are not in the system.”

  He went crimson to the top of his scalp. “You are bluffing. You can’t take prints from paper…”

  “On the contrary. They are one of the best surfaces for taking prints. Though banisters, cell phones, guns, garden chairs, and tables are all pretty good, too. Your prints are all over Emma’s beach house, Geronimo, and all over my phone and my other gun. And even as we speak, there is a CSI team going over that house with a fine-toothed comb.” I held up the card. “This is insurance. I am as implicated as you are. If you go down, the best I can hope for is to make a deal, but I go down too. However, my friend, if I go down, there are no deals for you. You go away for life.” I stood. “Do yourself a favor. Be at my house today at three. I want to see my money in the account, then you get your box. And then you get the hell out of my city. I will make arrangements. Anything happens to Emma or Tammy, or me, you go down.”

  He sneered. “A regular Galahad.”

  “Don’t bank on that, dos Santos. I’m an ugly son of a bitch. You don’t want to see the dark side.”

  I left, wondering how much of what I had said was truth, and how much was an act.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I stepped out into the glare and the heat and made my way to my car. I sat for ten minutes staring at nothing, seeing only my thoughts. I replayed for the thousandth time the scene from last night. Emma, exquisite, sobbing, pleading for my life. Dos Santos, grotesque, sneering, talking about using pliers to remove my fingers. Ronaldo, his mindless face vaguely surprised as he looked at the gun. And then all hell breaking loose. I saw her scrambling to her feet, racing frantically after him, her legs straddled in the doorway, taking aim.

  I fired up the Jag and headed back to the station.

  I dropped into my chair and stared at Dehan, who was staring back at me across the desk. She was good to stare at right then. “You have humanity, haven’t you, Dehan?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I try to avoid it, but it’s there. What can you do?”

  “Did you talk to the captain?”

  “He wants to see you. He wants to see us both.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you come in.”

  I looked at my watch. “That would be in about five minutes.”

  “You want a coffee?”

  “More than anything in the world, apart from sleep.”

  She went away to get me some coffee. She had humanity.

  Ten minutes later, we sat in front of the captain. He was looking at my face and seemed distressed.

  “Y
ou look like hell, Stone.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t have time to put my makeup on this morning.”

  “This is no joking matter.”

  “No, sir.”

  “I understand you and Detective Dehan have your own methods, but I can’t help feeling this thing has gotten a little out of hand.”

  “I have to take full responsibility for that, sir. I did not anticipate that dos Santos would drug me and kidnap me. I had never encountered that before.”

  His frown deepened. “It’s like something out of a Sam Spade novel.”

  Dehan coughed. “Dashiell Hammett, sir. Same Spade was the character… sir…”

  “Thank you, Detective Dehan. I’ll try to remember that.” His voice could have etched metal. He looked back at me. “I don’t know what to say, John. Have you got a grip on this case? Do you need time to convalesce?”

  “No, sir. I am confident I can wrap it up today.”

  He looked surprised. “Today?”

  “Yes, sir. Detective Dehan and I discussed it at length this morning, and I have made most of the arrangements.”

  He nodded and looked at Dehan. “You feel equally confident, Dehan?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You need backup?”

  “Just one unmarked car, Captain, outside my house. I’d like to explain my plan…”

  He sat back and gave a smile that hovered between admiration and irony. It is not an easy smile to pull off.

  At two fifty, I was ready in my house. I felt like I needed to lie down and die for a week, preferably on a beach in the Caribbean. I took a fortifying slug of Irish and sat down to wait. I had set myself up in my armchair, with a coffee table in front of me. I had my laptop on the breakfast bar playing Mozart softly in the background. I was ready.

  The doorbell rang at three on the dot. I let him ring three times before I opened. He had an attaché case with him.

  “You said at three. I am not accustomed to being kept waiting.”

  “Then get accustomed. Sit down.”

  He glanced at me resentfully, like I was being unkind, and sat on the sofa. Then he offered me an ingratiating smile. “Mozart. The number one Flute Concerto. G Major.”

  I offered him a sour look back. “It eases me. I need easing.” I sat.

  “Well, Stone—John, if I may—shall we get down to business? You have the box?”

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “My hurry? There is surely no need to prolong things. In view of what has happened, I am naturally eager to leave the country…”

  I smiled. “I bet you are. Just answer me a few questions.”

  He sighed. “Is this necessary? I have not time to waste.”

  “It’s necessary. There are things I don’t understand. Last night you were going to take my fingers off with a pair of pliers. Today you can indulge me. Have a drink with me and answer my questions. Alternatively, you can get the fuck out of my house.”

  I put the bottle and a glass on the table. He looked at it with distaste.

  “Whiskey…”

  “I have no vodka. Drink.”

  He poured himself a shot, sipped, winced, and put the glass down.

  “You work for the Vatican.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “In what manner of speaking?”

  He shifted his ass and looked uncomfortable. “It is a semi-official office, based near Santiago de Compostela, in Spain, in the castle of Soto Maior. I am the personal assistant of Cardinal Guzman, and our mission is to acquire unique treasures for the Holy Mother Church.”

  “At whatever cost… to the people letting those treasures go.”

  He made a ‘who gives a shit?’ face and said, “When an item belongs properly to the Church, I feel any means are justified.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d said that, and I thought about it for a moment.

  “So Hugh Duffy had this… box. And in your opinion, it belonged properly to the Church. So you set about looking for a sexy young woman…”

  He expostulated, “Please! Give me credit for being a little more subtle than a mule!”

  “Of course. You did your homework, you found out about his fiancée…”

  “And I set about seeking the perfect actress to play the part of his fiancée.” He looked pleased with himself. “And I have to say, she was brilliant. Quite captivating. She could have been a star, Detective. She had a quality about her that just made you love her.”

  “So that’s what you hired her for. To make Duffy fall in love with her.”

  “And when she had won his trust, then to take the box.”

  “Did she know what was in the box?”

  The complacent smile slipped from his face. “Not to begin with, but that fool Duffy told her what it was.”

  I snarled, “Isn’t that what you wanted, for him to trust her? And once she knew what it was, she realized you were paying her a fraction of a fraction of what it was worth. She realized she could get several thousand times what you were paying her on a specialized market.”

  He studied my face a moment. “So, I have answered your questions. Shall we do business?”

  I nodded, reached in my pocket, and tossed him over a sheet of paper with the details of a numbered account Dehan and I had opened that morning in Belize. On a sudden impulse, I said, “But the price went up.”

  He glared at me, then surprised me by asking, “How much?” As I had suspected, I was still well within his budget.

  “Fifteen.”

  He wrenched open his attaché case, and I saw it had a laptop built into it. He tapped furiously while muttering, “Do not push me too far, Stone. This far and no further.” He turned the computer toward me, like he was trying to wrench it off his lap, and showed me the screen. There were fifteen million dollars poised to be transferred into my account. “Now,” he said, “Show me the box.”

  I smiled at him. “I wonder just how far I could push you.”

  “No further!”

  I reached down beside my chair and pulled up the wooden box that Emma had given me. I placed it on the table.

  He narrowed his eyes at it. “Let me see. I don’t trust you.” Then he shifted his gaze to me. “You haven’t looked inside? I find that hard to believe…”

  I shrugged. “What difference does it make? I am not an expert. As far as I know, it could be anything. I’ve got my money. That’s all I care about. At a cool fifteen percent, I am in clover, dos Santos.”

  “Let me see it,” he grunted.

  “What is that, two and a quarter million a year? I figure I could be happy living on that.”

  I was playing for time, and he was beginning to sense it. He sat forward. “Why won’t you let me see it?”

  “I am not stopping you, dos Santos. I am just wondering if you really do want to see what’s in this box.”

  His face flushed. “Of course I do! Stop playing games, Stone! I am warning you! I have not transferred the money yet!”

  “I am aware of that. But you will, don’t worry. Wait, I think I hear somebody coming…”

  He turned and stared at the door. There were footsteps approaching from the sidewalk; they sounded like a woman’s high heels. They climbed the steps to the door, and the doorbell rang. He turned back and glared at me.

  “What is this, Stone? You are going too far! I am warning you!”

  I smiled, picked up the box, and rose to open the door.

  TWENTY-SIX

  She stepped through the doorway and immediately put her arms around my neck and kissed me. Maybe she sensed I was not really responsive. She pulled back and held my face in her hands, frowning, examining the swelling and the bruising.

  “Oh, you poor darling. What did they do to you?”

  “I’ll survive, which is more than can be said for Ronaldo.”

  She frowned. “Are you very cross with me?” As she spoke, she noticed the box in my hand. “What are you doing?”

  I smiled. “Come on i
n.” I closed the door behind her and said, “Take a seat, Emma. We have some things to discuss.”

  As I said it, dos Santos stood up. He had a face that would have made a Carolina reaper wince. When he spoke, his voice was a rasp. “This is intolerable, Stone. My patience is not limitless.”

  “Neither is mine, dos Santos. Shut up and sit down. We have business to transact. You don’t get the box and I don’t get the money until Emma and Tammy are safe.”

  Emma stared at dos Santos, then at me, and made several false starts in trying to say something. “John, you should have… This is not… What are you…?”

  “Sit down, Emma. Have a drink.”

  I sat her in the chair opposite mine, put a glass in front of her, and nudged the whiskey bottle her way. “Help yourself.”

  I sat and looked at them both, one after the other and back again.

  “Where were we, Geronimo? Oh yes.” I turned to Emma. “Geronimo is about to transfer fifteen million bucks into a numbered account for me. Naturally, as you are my partner in crime, Emma, part of that money should go to you. Also quite naturally, Geronimo was saying that, before he makes the transfer, he wants to see the box and its contents for himself.”

  She was shaking her head as I was speaking. “John, really, I want no part of this. I am not cut out for this kind of thing. I am not a criminal…”

  “You saying I am?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You going to say no to half of fifteen million bucks, Emma? Seven and a half million is nothing to be sneezed at.”

  “Please, John, this is not what we agreed. Just give me Tammy’s birthday present and let me go.”

  I snapped my fingers. “You know what it is, dos Santos. Emma is English. Seven and a half million bucks, in pounds sterling, is chicken feed. I’ll tell you what we’ll do—you make that fifteen million pounds sterling, and then I think Emma will be happy, and I can let you see the box.”

  He was shaking visibly. “I swear to God, Stone…”

  “Do it.”

  He tapped at his keyboard, then savagely turned it for me to look at. Over twenty million dollars. And he still hadn’t reached his limit. I smiled at Emma. Her hands were trembling.