"Troubled that he'd paid it off? Why?"
"Because Yates didn't tell him to, and he couldn't figure out where Beauregard would have gotten the money."
"$250,000, right?" Phillip asked.
"That's what Rodriguez's son said the other day, and Yates didn't deny it."
"That is a little strange. I'll see what Denardo makes of it in the morning. Anything else?"
"No, I don't think so," Dani said. "Liz?"
"Nothing from me."
"You going out tomorrow?" Phillip asked.
"No. Not unless something changes. We kicked it around with Marilyn and decided on a lay day. Yates is pretty rattled; she didn't figure he'd be up to it, and anyway, Thompson's the only one who knew how to work the instruments," Dani said.
"Guess that's it, then. Sandrine says hello."
"She working tonight?" Liz asked.
"Of course."
"Well, tell her hello for us," Dani said.
"Will do," Phillip agreed. "Good night."
Chapter 26
"Get a grip, Gerald," Beauregard said, as Yates stammered at him about the recent deaths of Jackson and Thompson.
"Get a grip?" Yates yelled through the telephone. "Five people dead, no sign of the gold, and you want me to get a grip?"
"You're not doing anybody any good right now. You need to calm down. What five people? You said this Rodriguez killed Jackson and Thompson?"
"Yeah, Dix, but that was because of Rigo and Chen."
"Who?" Dix asked.
"Jackson's muscle."
"I don't get it, Gerald. Who's Rodriguez? Where does he fit in? I'm missing something. You want to start over at the beginning?"
"Is this conversation privileged, Dix?"
"Yeah, sure, Gerald. I'm on retainer; I'm your lawyer. Now what's going on?"
Yates gave Beauregard an abbreviated version of the encounter with Rigo and Chen and the follow up visit by Rodriguez and Mickey Semmes.
"Wow. So this Rodriguez shot Jackson, then?"
"Yeah, that's what Mickey said."
"And Thompson?"
"Yeah. I saw that with my own eyes."
"And the women killed Rigo and Chen and Rodriguez? You helped? Sounds like self-defense, anyway. Where are the cops in all of this?"
"First, I want to know why you paid off my marker."
"What? P-paid off your marker? What're you talking about?"
"Mickey said you paid Jackson the $250,000 I owed him."
"Mickey? Semmes?"
"Yeah, that's right. I never told you to do that."
"I, um ... I don't know what he's talking about. Why did you owe Jackson $250,000?"
"So you didn't pay Jackson?"
"Gerald, there's a little money in your escrow account here, but nothing like $250,000."
"Well, why would Mickey say you paid it, then?"
"Gerald, none of this is making any sense. You been drinking, or something, buddy?"
"No, I ... Mickey said he came down to try to find Rigo and Chen. He said it was because they disappeared after I paid Jackson and him. I told him I never paid them off, and he said, 'Well, I should say Dix Beauregard paid us for you, I guess.' Or something like that."
"Gerald, I'm confused. We need to talk this through, but right now isn't a good time. I'm due in court shortly. I'll have to call you back."
Beauregard hung up the telephone and buzzed his secretary. "Hold my calls," he said, opening the bottom drawer of his desk and taking out a bottle of single malt scotch.
****
Joe Denardo took a sip of his sour, cold coffee and almost choked. He looked up at the schoolhouse clock on the wall of his office and realized that he had been lost in thought for thirty minutes, ever since hanging up the phone from his conversation with Phillip Davis. No wonder his coffee had gone cold.
He picked up the cup and walked out into the bullpen outside his office. He could smell the welcome aroma; someone had just made a fresh pot. He poured himself a cup and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. Glad he hadn't run into someone looking for conversation, he took the coffee back to his office and closed the door. He needed to sort out his thoughts.
Ever since Phillip had called last night, Joe had been thinking about Connie Barrera and Paul Russo. He hadn't been surprised that the two of them had hit it off; he had been charmed by Connie himself, but ... he reined himself in. This wasn't about Connie and Paul. Phillip had called last night looking for information; this morning, he had called again to pass some along in return.
Marc Jackson was dead; Savannah's gamblers would miss him, no doubt. Joe figured that Mickey Semmes would step into his shoes, and in some ways, that was a relief. Mickey was a new-age crook, more of a businessman than his flamboyant, old-fashioned partner. Things would be much more peaceful without Jackson, but much less colorful and exciting.
Nick Thompson was dead as well, both of them killed by Berto Rodriguez, Jackson's estranged brother-in-law. Joe didn't know Berto the way he knew the others; Berto wasn't from Savannah. While Joe hadn't been close to Jackson and the others, he had known them well enough. Savannah had still been a small town when they were growing up.
Joe remembered the buzz of gossip when Jackson's sister, Gail, had married Rodriguez. She had moved to Miami with him when they were married, returning without him a few years later with a child, two black eyes, and a classic, four-door Lincoln convertible. She had still been an attractive girl; she was soon surrounded by suitors until one of them vanished mysteriously. His mutilated body washed up at the beach after a few days, and the others had gotten the message. Since then, Gail and her son had lived quietly under her brother's protection. The boy, Rodrigo, had several scrapes with the law early in his teens. He had gone to work for his uncle after being expelled from high school as the result of a particularly bloody fight.
Joe called Jackson's office, leaving word for Mickey to give him a call when he got in. The secretary had indicated that he and Jackson were expected later in the day. Joe decided not to tell her that Jackson wouldn't be coming back. He had every reason to believe what Phillip had told him, but he had no official obligation to notify anyone. It would be interesting to watch things play out when Mickey came back.
Meanwhile, Phillip had asked him to see what he could find out about a Marilyn Muir, who supposedly lived in Atlanta. Joe's cursory check had turned up a driver's license and an address in a ritzy suburb of Atlanta. The woman's picture had set off his cop alarm. He recognized the face from somewhere, but it didn't go with the name. He had tasked a detective who had been idling in the bullpen with finding out more about her.
Phillip had also asked about Dix Beauregard. That didn't require any research; Beauregard was well known for defending crooks with deep pockets. While that didn't make him popular with the police, there had never been any indication that the man himself was shady. That is, until Phillip passed along Yates's story about Beauregard paying off Yates's debt to Jackson without Yates's knowledge. That was odd, especially when considered with the rest of the tale Phillip told him.
Except for the fact that Phillip and his friends had played a major part in the recent apprehension of a local mobster named Sam Alfano, Joe wouldn't have felt that he could devote any time to Phillip's requests. Without some connection to local criminal activity, it was hard to justify the time. As it stood, he owed a big favor to Phillip and the two women who ran Vengeance. They, along with Connie Barrera, had made it possible for him to close a high-profile local murder case and put Alfano away. He decided to visit Dix Beauregard this morning and see what the man had to say about Marc Jackson and the $250,000 payoff.
****
Jones had not been surprised when Beauregard had called asking for a meeting. He had decided that this would best be handled in a private spot. He wanted Beauregard to feel vulnerable — not that he intended to harm the man yet. It was too early in the game for that, although that might turn out to be necessary. At the moment, he just wanted Beauregard t
o be afraid of him; he hoped that would be sufficient to keep the fool in check for a while.
He had chosen the spot accordingly. His rental car was pulled off to the side of the oak alley that led into Wormsloe Plantation; he had stopped about halfway between the ornate gates and the visitors' parking area. He had visibility for several hundred yards in either direction along the broad, oak-shaded driveway. It was early enough in the day to avoid the out-of-season tourists, and anyway, most of them drove all the way to the visitor's center. They wouldn't pay much attention to a man with a camera and a tripod, photographing the long, straight, scenic driveway with its cathedral-like vista of ancient oaks.
At the sound of an approaching vehicle, he moved the tripod-mounted camera from the center of the road and leaned against his car, pretending to study the digital display on the back of the camera. Beauregard's black Mercedes S600 glided to a stop behind his car and Beauregard jumped out, his jerky movements betraying his agitation.
"Calm down, Mr. Beauregard," Jones said, with a smirk.
"Don't tell me to calm down. Before that cop came, Yates called to ask why I paid off his marker, and ... "
"Wait a second, here. Did you tell Yates about the payoff?"
"No, of course not. You think I'm ... "
"Then how did he find out? Did Jackson ... "
"He said Mickey Semmes told him. Rodriguez ... "
"Mickey Semmes?" Jones asked.
"He works for Jackson. He brought the ... "
"I know who he is, Beauregard. How did he come to tell Yates about the payoff?"
"Well, they'd just killed Rodriguez, and Mickey ... "
"Hold on. They, who, Mr. Beauregard?" Jones asked.
"The two women. They ... "
"Which two women?" Jones grabbed Beauregard's lapels and shook him. "Slow down, Dix. Take a deep breath and start from the beginning of Yates's call. Tell me everything he said, in order, okay?"
Brushing Jones's hands away from his jacket and smoothing the fabric over his chest, Beauregard stepped back and nodded. "Okay. From the top ... "
When Beauregard finished his recitation, Jones nodded, a grim look on his face. "So did he say who killed the first two men?"
"Rigo and Chen. Yes. The women ... "
"The women who run that boat?"
"Right. Rigo and Chen were about to abuse the women and make Yates watch, and one of the women beat Chen up and knocked him unconscious. He fell over the side and they left him floating face down."
Jones shook his head. "And why didn't Rigo stop her?"
"The other woman broke his arm and took his gun. They tortured him to make him talk."
"The women?"
"Yes."
"And then they killed him?"
"Well, they gave him a choice. They'd shoot him in the other kneecap, or ... "
"The other kneecap?" Jones asked.
"That's how they made him talk. One of them shot him in the kneecap."
"Jesus," Jones said. "So what was his choice?"
"To jump over the side and take his chances. That's what he did."
"With one leg and a broken arm." Jones shook his head. "Nice. So they killed Rodriguez and Jackson, too?"
"Just Rodriguez. He had already shot Jackson on their way to the boat."
"I see. And Rodriguez shot Thompson?"
"That's what Yates told me."
"Did Rodriguez talk to him first?"
"I don't know. Yates didn't say."
"Mm. What about Mickey?"
"What about him?"
"How come the women didn't kill him? Or how come he didn't stop them from killing Rodriguez?"
"He changed sides, from what Yates said. He left with the bodies; he had some plan to make it look like Rodriguez and Jackson killed each other."
"Okay, Dix. Good job. Now what's this about the cops?"
"After Yates hung up, I was trying to make sense of what he'd said, and this cop showed up. A guy named Joe Denardo. He's a detective lieutenant; I know him a little bit."
"What did he want?" Jones asked, watching a car with a man and a woman in it cruise slowly past on its way to the visitor's parking lot. He relaxed when he saw the South Carolina license plate.
"He asked if it was true that I'd paid off Yates's quarter-million-dollar gambling debt to Jackson."
Surprise lifting his eyebrows, Jones asked, "What did you tell him?"
"That I couldn't discuss my client's private business with him without the client's permission."
"Good answer. He say how he found out about that?" Jones asked.
"No. I couldn't really ask him without giving it away."
"Right. Good for you. What did he say to that?"
"He said he'd just wait and ask Mickey when he got back into the office from Antigua."
Jones frowned. "How the hell ... "
"Look, Jones, it's going to come apart if Mickey talks. What am I going to ... "
"Mickey won't talk."
"You can't guarantee that, and if he does, I'll have to ... "
"Actually, Dix, I can guarantee that he won't talk. Mickey and that boat full of bodies had a collision with a Javelin missile right after they left Yates. Mickey's as dead as the others."
"A Javelin missile?"
Jones nodded, smiling.
"How do you ... "
"Don't ask. You don't really want to know details, remember?"
Chapter 27
"Beauregard left his office and drove out to Wormsloe in that big, black Mercedes of his. He met this guy." The female detective slid a photograph across Denardo's desk.
"They didn't talk for long," her partner said. "We drove back out ten minutes later and they were gone."
"You run the plate?" Joe asked.
The woman nodded. "Rental. Uniforms should have his name in a few minutes."
"Let me know," Joe said.
"You bet, Lieutenant. Hey, you know that woman? You gave her picture to Fred yesterday? Muir?"
"Yeah. You got something?"
"I'm not sure, but I think I recognize her."
"I thought she looked familiar, but I couldn't put it together. Muir didn't sound right," Joe said.
"How about Rawlings?" the woman asked.
"Rawlings?" Joe responded, his brow furrowed.
"Like, Mrs. Harry Rawlings?"
"Bingo! Way to go, Sally. That's her all right."
"I think so, too. Fred's trying to check it out. The Muir identity is well put together, but Mary Lynn Rawlings just disappeared into thin air about the time Marilyn Muir moved to Atlanta."
"Can't say I blame her," Joe said.
"Me neither," Sally said.
"Think she did it?" her partner asked.
"It?" Joe said. "The M.E. didn't find any evidence of tampering with his medication, Al. Old Harry was way past his sell-by date. You think somebody killed him?"
"There was that business about the will ... "
"Al, you've been watching too much TV," Sally said, punching her partner's shoulder and grinning at him. "Those kids had nothing to do with the old man; nobody even knew they were around until after he died."
"But she was the number one suspect," her partner protested.
"Yeah, in the investigation carried out by the news media," Joe said. "The old buzzard was 95 years old, married to a 23-year-old beauty. Had one of those penile implants right before he got married. The M.E. figured after three years with her, his ticker just gave out. We should all be so lucky."
The ringing of the phone on Joe's desk interrupted the banter. He picked it up and barked, "Denardo."
He listened for a few seconds and picked up a pencil. "Okay, let me have it," he said. He scribbled a few lines in his notebook, said, "Thanks," and hung up the phone. Looking up at Sally and Al, he said, "The car was rented to a John M. Jones. Address is 24 Broken Arrow Trail, Falls Church, Virginia. See what you can get on him and let me know."
"No problem, Lieutenant, but can you tell us what's up?
I mean, some context might ... "
"Sure. Sorry, I got off and running too quick. Here's what I know." Joe gave a summary of the relevant parts of Phillip's information, focused on Yates, Thompson, Beauregard, and Jackson.
"Whoa!" Sally said. "Four guys from Savannah killed in Antigua over the course of a couple of days. What's the connection?"
"Beauregard, I think. I went to see him this morning and asked a few questions about that gambling debt. He was rattled when I got there; white as a sheet, and scotch on his breath. He clammed up, wouldn't answer any questions, but then he ran straight to this Jones character."
"You ask him about the killings?" Al asked.
"Not yet. I thought it might be interesting to just watch, since none of the bodies are on our turf. I'm going to talk to Mickey Semmes; he's due back later today. I want to hear what he's got to say about the $250,000. Then maybe I'll ask him about the other."
****
Jacob Meyers, the erstwhile Mr. Jones, was packing while he thought about what he'd learned from Beauregard. It was time to leave Savannah; he'd reached a conclusion with respect to the lawyer's future. He would give the order later, after the Jones trail was cold. The action was in Antigua, and he knew from experience that effective leaders had to be at the front line.
What Beauregard told him, coupled with what his people in Antigua had learned, indicated that Yates was working with Bond. Still, there were some things that didn't add up. For example, why had Yates and Thompson bothered to pretend to look for the treasure if Bond was going to look for it, too. There was something off about the situation. If Bond and Yates were working together, why were they going to such lengths to make it appear that they were competing? What did they gain by hiding their cooperation? Meyers was sure he was missing something.
The two women who ran Vengeance worried him, as well. If they had indeed taken out the three thugs, as Yates had told Beauregard, they had to be something more than two pretty young girls with a yacht for hire. He had initially considered them as incidental, but they had to be something besides what they appeared to be. They were working for Yates, but in what capacity? Bodyguards? If so, why did he need bodyguards?
He called his researcher on his encrypted cell phone. "Get me all the background you can find on Dani Berger and Liz Chirac," he ordered. He listened for a moment. "That's right. The women who run the yacht you checked out the other day." He listened again. "Everything. Place and date of birth, details on the parents, where they went to school, work history. All of it. And hurry. I'll be in Antigua in a few hours, and I want answers by then."
Bluewater Bullion: The Seventh Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 7) Page 17
