“Yes, sir,” Dean said with an unexpected spurt of sympathy. If the man had been wrongly convicted, he’d missed a lot of changes while locked up. The internet, social media, texting, half of the nonsense that drove modern life and communication. So Kublin definitely hadn’t tracked June via her cell phone, although the sniper certainly could have.
“I’m sorry about that homeless man,” Kublin said. “But I was being followed. Doctors tried to tell me I was paranoid, but I knew better.”
“So you used him as a decoy?”
“Because I need to get to June before I die, and that’s proving harder than I imagined. I don’t want June in danger, but someone is after me. Two people are dead.” Kublin coughed again, and Dean waited him out.
Two minutes and counting.
“That’s why I called you. I want you to tell her the truth. She deserves to know her parents were not guilty.”
“Why don’t you call her? Tell her yourself?”
“Won’t work. That kind of information shouldn’t happen in a phone call from a stranger. Either she won’t believe it or I’ll frighten her. Maybe she’ll believe you. You’re with her a lot.”
Dean paused his scribbling. “You’re watching her?”
“Looking for another opportunity to safely approach her, but—well, I guess it’s obvious I’ve totally bungled this. Now she’ll be terrified, and frankly I’m not doing so good myself. I don’t have much time left.”
“Meet me, Mr. Kublin. Let the police protect you. I can arrange for medical care.”
“It’s too late for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
The man sighed softly. “Yes, I do. Is June in any trouble with the police?”
“Someone is trying to kill her.”
Kublin released a long, shaky breath. “And that’s because of me. No question.”
“Why does this sniper want her dead?”
“I’m not sure. I think to tie up loose ends. Whoever set the fire, whoever used Latham Imports, felt safe as long as I was locked away. When I busted out, he got worried. I misjudged what I could do, but I had to try. I thought it was the right thing.”
“I think it was the right thing, too, Mr. Kublin,” Dean said. “Your actions are going to finally right a very old wrong.”
“Thank you for that,” Kublin said in a tired voice. “It’s up to you now to prove the Lathams were innocent. I’m not going to be able to do it.”
“Help me. What proof do you have?”
“Proof?” Kublin’s coughing began again. Dean frowned at the hacking. This guy probably didn’t have long to live.
“Mr. Kublin?”
“I wish I had evidence, but all I can tell you is I’m certain there’s a crooked cop. I’ve been through it in my head a million times, and no one else would have the ability to manipulate the records.” Kublin sucked in a ragged breath. “Please, Detective Hammer. I’m begging you. Please prove to June her parents were not guilty of anything but loving her.”
“Meet me,” Dean urged again. “I can make sure you’re protected. You can tell June yourself.”
“I would like to talk with Junie,” he said in a wistful tone.
“The truth would mean more to her if it came from you.”
“Yeah, maybe. Let me think about that.”
The phone went dead.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, waiting for Sanchez to arrive for his shift, Dean listened at his desk as Officer Baker reported nothing had popped at the Taylor home following the memorial for Sandy Taylor the night before.
“No strange cars drove by. No one stayed too late. No one got too drunk. Pretty depressed group from what I could see,” Baker said.
Sanchez joined them. “Well, it was a funeral.”
“Thanks,” Dean said to Baker. “Good work.”
When Baker moved away, Sanchez asked, “What’s next, Hawk?”
“I got a phone call from Al Kublin last night,” Dean said.
The rookie’s eyes widened. “Kublin? No shit.”
Dean relayed the content of the phone call.
“So we should be looking for a crooked cop,” Sanchez stated. “Could that be why Betty Daniels hasn’t called back? Is she hiding something?”
“I don’t think so. This stink had to start long before Daniels got involved with her investigation. No telling how long the Lathams’ company was being used to transport contraband.”
“What if the Lathams had a client who was also involved in law enforcement?” Sanchez suggested. “Maybe that’s our rogue cop.”
“And all the records were destroyed in the fire,” Dean said.
“The perfect crime,” Sanchez said.
Dean shook his head as his cell phone chirped. “There’s no such thing. We just need to find the right angle.”
“Hammer,” he barked into his phone.
“Detective Hammer, this is Betty Daniels. You’ve been trying to reach me?”
Finally. Dean mouthed Betty to Sanchez. “Yes, Mrs. Davis. I need to ask you a few questions about an old case.”
“The Latham case, I know. I just listened to your messages. I’ve been on a cruise with my family.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m waiting in the customs line at the Port of Miami. We’re driving back to Stuart as soon as we’re through here.”
“Can you take time to meet with me before you go home?”
There was a long sigh from the retired officer. “I guess. I wouldn’t do it if it were any other case. But you owe me, Hammer. My husband is in a fine mood from our vacation and you’re fixing to spoil it.”
They made plans to meet at the food court at Bayside Marketplace, a food and entertainment complex adjacent to the port, at ten o’clock.
“Get ready to roll,” he told Sanchez when he ended the call. “We’re meeting her at Bayside.”
* * *
AT 9:00 A.M. June exited the lobby of the Enclave and stepped toward a long black limousine. The windows were so heavily tinted that she couldn’t see anything inside the vehicle. A tall, serious-faced man in his thirties, whom she assumed was one of her bodyguards for the day, opened the rear door and said “Bluebird,” the prearranged password Uncle Mike had given her when he told her two operatives from the Protection Alliance would pick her up this morning.
She started to speak, but the man said “Get inside first, Ms. Latham” in a low, urgent voice. His hair was light brown, but she couldn’t see his eyes, as they were covered by reflective sunglasses.
June entered the limo and settled into leather seats as soft and smooth as butter. A second darker-haired man sat behind the wheel. This one’s eyes were also shielded.
The first man slid into the passenger seat and turned to face her. “I’m Brad from the Protection Alliance.” He opened his wallet to show her an official-looking license featuring the familiar seal of the state of Florida. “This is Tony,” Brad said with a nod at the driver. “Just so you know, this vehicle is bulletproof. That’s why I asked you to get in first.”
“Okay,” June said with a glance at Tony, the driver, who hadn’t yet spoken.
“Your uncle hired us to escort you wherever you want to go today and make sure you stay alive. It’s our understanding a sniper is hunting you,” Brad said.
“That’s what the police believe.”
“Do you have doubts?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
Brad nodded. “So I’m assuming the authorities don’t want you to go anywhere.”
“Right.”
Brad and Tony exchanged glances.
“Okay. For us to do our job,” Brad said, “we’re going to need you to follow a few simple rules. Number one is to list
en to us. Don’t do anything unless we tell you it’s safe.”
“I’ll do whatever you tell me,” June said.
“Good,” Brad said with a nod. “I’d like you to give me your cell phone, which can be a huge distraction at the worst time, something a shooter can take advantage of. Also, while unlikely, you could be tracked with the GPS. I’m going to put the device inside a box that blocks the signal.”
When June hesitated, Brad said, “It’s just for one day, Ms. Latham. We need you to stay focused on your surroundings, not on a conversation with your friends or a game.”
June reached inside her purse. No one was likely to call her. Her friends were all confused or annoyed that she’d skipped the gathering after Sandy’s memorial service last night. Uncle Mike knew what she was doing. Dean didn’t, but she didn’t care if he did. He wasn’t speaking to her anyway.
“Here,” she said, handing him her phone.
“Thank you,” Brad said. “There’s a protective vest on the seat beside you. You don’t have to put it on now, but don’t get out of this vehicle without it.”
June glanced at the bulky garment and nodded. Dean had worn one yesterday at the funeral. “Okay.”
“The entrance of this building blocks a scope, so it will be almost impossible to pick up a tail. However, Tony will make sure we aren’t followed when we leave, so don’t worry about the circuitous route we take.”
“Makes sense,” she said. Sounded as though these guys knew what they were doing. “Anything else?”
“Probably. We’ll play the day as it comes,” Brad said. “So, what’s your plan?”
She leaned forward. “I don’t really have a plan exactly. I’m looking for a man and there’s a chance he’s in Key Largo at the Windjammer Marina. At least that’s what I’m hoping.”
“A marina?” Tony said, speaking for the first time. “Out in the open. You’re making it easy for a sniper.”
“But I can talk to management first,” June protested. “Find out if he’s there. I’ve got a photo.”
“We’ll do the legwork,” Brad said. “Please don’t get out of the vehicle until one of us gives the all clear. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” June said, feeling like a kid watched over by two strict babysitters. Maybe this bodyguard idea hadn’t been such a great plan after all.
“Why are you looking for this guy?” Tony asked.
June sat back with a sigh. Where to start? Should she tell her babysitters the whole story? Why not? They had a long ride south, and that information might help protect her.
“Do the police consider him a threat?” Brad prompted.
“He’s an escaped mental patient,” June said.
“A whack job,” Brad said with a nod. “At least that’s better than armed and dangerous.”
“He was sent away for murdering my parents,” June added, taking grim satisfaction from the way Tony’s jaw tightened.
“Why would you want to find a murdering psychopath?” Brad demanded.
“Because he might be innocent. I need to talk to him, find out what he knows.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
INSIDE THE NOISY, crowded food court at Bayside, balancing three cups of coffee, Dean approached the table where Sanchez sat across from Betty Daniels. Betty was in her midsixties, an attractive African-American woman of average weight. She had sent her husband and grandkids off on a shopping expedition to gain some privacy while answering questions. If looks could kill, Dean suspected he’d be mortally wounded by the glare her husband had sliced his way.
Dean slid a foam cup across the table toward Betty. “Cream and no sugar,” he reported.
“Thanks,” she said and pried off the lid. Steam billowed into the air, releasing a strong aroma.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” Sanchez asked as he opened his own coffee.
“Oh, God, no,” Betty said, with a grimace. “All I did for the last week was eat. Just ask me your questions and let me go home and start my diet.”
“I’m sorry we interrupted your vacation,” Dean said.
“No, you’re not,” Betty said. “I know that look in your eye, Hammer. You’ve got the scent of a killer and you won’t let anything stand in your way until you bring him down.”
Sanchez snickered.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean replied.
“So, why are you taking another look at the case against the Lathams?” Betty demanded. “My investigation ended when they died in the fire at their warehouse.”
Dean explained about Al Kublin and how the Lathams’ daughter, June, was connected to two recent murders.
Betty listened intently, nodding when he’d finished. “So your theory is the Lathams were set up and murdered before they went to trial—not by Kublin—and that perp is now after the daughter. The country club hit was an error.”
“Right,” Dean said.
“You’re operating on the idea that the arsonist is your current shooter.”
“And he wants June dead to tie up loose ends. He thinks either that she knows something or that she could force the police to reopen the old investigation at some point.”
Betty sat back, thinking.
“How solid was your case against the Lathams ten years ago?” Dean asked.
“I had my doubts about some of the evidence,” she said. “Some of it seemed to fall into my lap too easy.”
“I’ve read your reports.” Dean shoved a slip of paper across the table. “I need you to explain this note.”
“What? You can’t read my writing, Hammer?” Smiling, Betty retrieved the report, but grimaced as she read it. “Shit.”
“You drew a bent arrow pointing to a stick-figure cat. The cat was for LEO, law enforcement officer, right?”
She swallowed and murmured, “Yeah.”
“You suspected a crooked cop, didn’t you?” Dean demanded.
Betty shook her head. “Man, oh, man. I don’t want to ruin anybody’s career without proof, but this case has bothered me since the fire.”
“How did it go down?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to push Betty too hard. She had to give up the name on her own. “Who gave the order to pull the plug?”
“With the Lathams toast and no one to put in jail, of course the state’s attorney dropped the prosecution against them. Why go to the expense? That part of the case, the smuggling, ended. Al Kublin was arrested and convicted of the arson. I wasn’t the primary, but the evidence against him was strong, although yeah, I do remember him yelling long and loud about his innocence and that of the Lathams.”
“Go on. Your note predated the fire.”
“By a day or two,” Betty agreed. “My doubts centered on an affidavit signed by a witness in Peru. The signature didn’t match previous receipts signed by the same witness. Close examination of one document made me think it had been altered. I was thinking, Betty, what’s going on here?”
“What were the receipts for?”
“Supposed to be shipments of artisanal handcrafts made by Quechua Indians, baskets, pottery, shawls. But the shipments actually contained a certain white powder and illegally trapped birds. Before I could follow up, the warehouse burned to the ground and none of it mattered anymore.”
“I can tell that bothered you.”
“A lot.” She shrugged. “But I had no case. The defendants were killed in the fire and the arsonist was apprehended. My lieutenant told me to concentrate on investigations where I could actually take a bad guy off the streets.”
“Why did it bother you so much?”
Betty hesitated and took a sip of her coffee. Dean knew he was getting close to something important. He took a swallow of his own to give her time to think it through.
“Did you look at the case against Kublin fo
r the arson?” Betty asked.
“Of course, since even Kublin’s shrink thinks he’s innocent. But that evidence looked righteous to me.”
Betty nodded. “It was a solid case. But did you notice who the primary witness was against Kublin?”
“No. I didn’t see a trial transcript in the file box.”
“Too bad. The same witness who testified to seeing Kublin set the fire allegedly made the trip to Peru to obtain what I thought was a forged affidavit. Did I want to check all that out? You bet I did, but I received firm instructions from my lieutenant to spend my time on cases that weren’t already solved.”
Dean nodded. Betty was telling him where to look, but didn’t want to give him the name. Maybe that had to be good enough. “It had to be one of the investigating officers.”
“That was a huge case,” Sanchez said. “There are a lot of cops mentioned in the files.”
Wearing a sad expression, Betty looked out the windows. Dean followed her gaze to the masts of hundreds of sailboats bobbing at anchor in the marina.
“I was a good cop,” she said, “but learned the hard way you have to make choices. I’m making one right now. I’ve been out of the game for a while, and maybe I was wrong about that evidence.”
“Considering your record, Betty, I doubt it,” Dean said.
That made her smile. “You follow it up, Hammer. You’re working an active investigation. Find out what really happened in that fire and then let me know.”
* * *
IN THE BACKSEAT of the limo, June reached for one of the plastic bottles of chilled water courteously provided by her security team. She needed to hydrate, moisten her mouth. She’d just talked nonstop for an hour telling two complete strangers the sad story of her life and why she was on a journey to Key Largo.
“So your theory is this Kublin, the arsonist who killed your parents, is holed up at a marina he lived in a decade ago?” Tony asked.
Noting the skepticism in the driver’s voice, June took a long swallow of cool water. He obviously didn’t think much of her theory. She gazed outside. An endless expanse of calm water, partially blocked by low-lying mangroves next to the shore, streamed by the car windows as they drove south.
Her Cop Protector Page 25
