by D P Lyle
“So tell us,” Ray said.
“Tell you what?”
Ray leaned his elbows on the table and looked directly at her. “Grace, don’t play coy. You know what I want to know. The Wilbanks brothers. What happened?”
“And if I tell you, what happens to me?”
“Depends on what you have to say.”
She hesitated and then said, “What if it’s something that could land Victor in jail? And make my life more or less worthless.”
“What do you mean worthless?”
“Look, I’m not stupid. I know Victor is involved in a bunch of shady things. I always tried to stay away from it.” Her gaze swept the room. “I didn’t really want to know.”
“But?”
“The other night. Something happened that changed everything.”
“The Wilbanks brothers?”
She nodded. Tears collected in her eyes. She pulled a napkin from the table dispenser and dabbed them away.
“Take a breath,” Ray said. “Relax. Tell me what happened.”
She told them of Darrell and Darnell coming on board. Of how Victor treated them well. Went fishing. Ate and drank. All very casual. How she had drunk too much and even dipped into Darrell’s meth stash. “Not something I’ve done very often.”
“And something happened?” I asked.
She told of going to bed but becoming dizzy. A trip to the galley for ginger ale. How she saw Darrell and Darnell wrapped in duct tape and chains and attached to a large iron ring.
“Zuma and Boyd simply tossed the ring overboard,” she said. “Took Darrell and Darnell with it. In the middle of nowhere.”
“They were alive?” Nicole asked.
Grace nodded. “Yes.” She covered her face with her hands. “It was horrible.”
“Did anyone know you saw anything?” Ray asked.
“No. Not really.”
“What does that mean?” Pancake asked.
Grace sniffed and again dabbed her eyes. “I was pretty messed up. Alcohol and the meth. And when I saw that I became ill and vomited in the sink. Tried to control it, but out everything came.” She massaged her temples. “Victor heard the commotion and came downstairs. Asked what was wrong. I told him I had had too much to drink.”
“And he believed you?”
“I think so.”
“Was Victor there?” Ray asked. “On deck when all this happened?”
She nodded again. “Victor gave the order.”
This was much worse than I thought. Not Victor killing the brothers. I figured that was a given. But tossing them overboard alive? Weighted down? How does someone do that?
“Okay,” Ray said. “Here’s the plan. We’ll take you to see Detective Morgan. He’s looking into the Wilbanks brothers’ disappearance and a couple of likely related homicides.”
“That woman who was murdered out on The Point?” Grace asked.
“That’s one of them.”
“And you think Victor was involved in that?”
“I do. As well as the murder of a guy named Raul Gomez.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “Raul? He’s been murdered?”
“I take it you know him?” Ray asked.
“He’s been on the boat a few times. Hangs out with Carlos Fernandez.”
“Who’s that?”
“Some guy who does work for Victor at times. I don’t know him well. Just met him a couple of times.”
“What kind of work?”
“I don’t know. Every time they had something to discuss—Carlos, Raul, and Victor—Victor would always ask me to leave them alone.”
“Did that seem odd?”
“Not really. Victor has a lot of private conversations.”
“Planning a hit would probably fit that category,” I said.
Tears reappeared. Grace dabbed them away again. “My mother warned me about Victor. She said he was no good. Even said he was dangerous. I figured she was upset because he was so much older than me.” She sniffed. “I guess she saw something I didn’t.”
“Mothers can be very intuitive,” I said.
Grace hung her head, staring at the tabletop. I could only imagine the crap spinning inside her head about now. Second guessing her decision to hook up with Borkov. Putting herself in this situation. Probably second guessing being here. Afraid Victor would get to her regardless of any assurances we might make. Probably trying to figure some way to extricate herself from all of this.
Finally, she looked up, her gaze on Ray. “I have to tell the police what I saw?”
“Of course,” Ray said. “They’re the ones that’ll have to arrest Victor and his crew.”
“And then what? Testify against him in court?”
Ray nodded.
Grace shook her head and her lips trembled as she spoke. “I’ll never get the chance. Victor is very capable if nothing else.”
“He’ll be in jail,” Nicole said.
Grace let out a short, harsh laugh. “Like that would stop him. He has connections all over. Even the governor has been on the Sea Witch.”
“You’ll be safe,” Ray said.
“I wish I could believe that.” She sighed and straightened her back, her unfocused gaze moving around the food court. Then her shoulders sagged and she looked at her hands, clasped on the table before her. “Guess it’s too late to back out now.”
Ray stood. “I’ll call Morgan and arrange a meet.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
GRACE LOOKED UP at the man who walked out on the deck. He looked tough. No nonsense. Must be the detective Ray had called. What was his name? Martin? Morgan? Something like that.
She sat on the deck of a beach house. Apparently it was the headquarters of Longly Investigations. Ray’s company. It didn’t seem all that professional to her. Instead, it looked more like an afterthought. Who puts a PI firm in a vacation home? Were these guys real? Had she made an incredibly stupid mistake signing on with them? Going against Victor? If Victor was anything, he was professional, not to mention focused and relentless. Nothing was ever an afterthought to him.
The man introduced himself as Detective Bob Morgan. He sat across from her, his forced smile meant to relax her. It didn’t. Not that anything could right now. The tightness in her throat and the sweat that slicked her palms spoke to the fear that bumped around inside her.
“Tell me,” Morgan said. No hello or how are you. Right to it.
“I don’t know,” Grace said. “Maybe this is a mistake.”
Morgan glanced at Ray, hesitated, and then propped his elbows on the edge of the table, leaning forward. “I know you’re scared, and fear gives everyone second thoughts. But I need to hear what you witnessed directly from you.”
She forked her fingers through her hair, looked up at the few clouds that hovered in the otherwise clear blue sky, and sighed. Too late to back out now. She told Morgan what had happened. He listened, thankfully not interrupting with questions, and let her get it all out. It came out much easier than she thought it would. Sort of like exhaling a long-held breath.
Morgan seemed to let the story lay there, brow furrowed as if digesting everything she had said. Then he asked, “And Borkov gave the order? You’re sure of that?”
She nodded. “He was right there. He gave a signal to Zuma and Boyd.”
“What kind of signal?”
“Victor’s usual. A slight nod and brief wave of his hand. He’s good at that. Giving orders.”
“Did Borkov say anything?”
“Not that I heard. But he wouldn’t have to. Those two do anything Victor says, and they do nothing without his approval.”
“Anyone else witness this? Any of the crew?”
“I don’t think so.”
Morgan nodded, the creases in his brow deepening.
“Is that a problem?” Grace asked.
“Maybe.” Morgan scratched an ear. “It’ll be your word against the three of them.”
“I saw what I saw.”
�
��I know. But you were drinking and had used some meth. Am I right?”
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring Morgan’s face. “I knew this was a bad idea.” She looked around. “I should go back. Pretend nothing happened.”
“Not an option, I don’t think,” Jake said.
She looked his way. “Why not?”
“First off, it’s after five. Zuma and Boyd will have come to the mall. Looked for us, and called Borkov. He’ll know something’s up.”
“I can just say that we lost track of time. That I looked for them but couldn’t find them. I could say I got a ride back to the Sea Witch.”
“And not call Victor?” Jake asked. “Not ask him where Zuma and Boyd were?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push back her tears.
“Do you honestly believe Borkov would buy that?” Jake continued.
He was right and she knew it. Victor would see right through it. She had somehow miraculously pulled off deceiving him about what she had seen on deck that night, but this would definitely be pushing her luck. God, how did she get in this mess? She knew what her mother would say, could even hear her voice: Our troubles are of our own making. That seemed so true right now. Why didn’t life have a rewind button?
“Obviously, you can do what you want,” Morgan said. “But I’d advise against going back.”
She stared at him, but said nothing.
“For one thing, we can’t protect you if you’re on the Sea Witch.”
“Can you, anyway?”
Morgan shrugged. “If you let us.”
There it was. Frying pan to fire. How had she gotten here? Stuck between Victor and this cop who she didn’t know? Didn’t know if she could trust. Didn’t know if he could do what he said or was just blowing smoke so he could nab a big fish. Make a name for himself.
Victor’s reach had no limits. She had no doubts about that. He had said as much. Just a couple of months ago, she had shared lunch with Victor and some guy she’d never seen before. A very bad-looking dude. Tall, thin, acne-scarred face, and eyes so dark they looked black. Like a shark’s eyes. Eyes that seemed to stab at her, seemed to rip away the bikini and thin cover she wore. Victor acted as if he hadn’t noticed, but he had. He always did. But he said nothing. Why would he? That was her role. The eye candy, the distraction, the shiny thing that divided the attention of whoever Victor happened to be manipulating at the moment. She’d played that part dozens of times.
After the dishes were cleared and the two men fired up cigars, Victor waved her away. A simple flick of his wrist. She knew what that meant. Time for business. Time for her to leave.
She had excused herself, climbed the stairs one level to the sun-deck, feeling those black eyes on her. She then shed her cover jacket and stretched out on a lounge chair. The sea was calm without a breath of breeze. Victor obviously hadn’t known their voices would carry up the stairs. She couldn’t make out everything that was said, especially from the visitor who had a low, raspy voice, but it was clear the guy was nervous. In some kind of trouble. Victor reassured him that all was okay, that an indictment would never happen, that he had friends in the attorney general’s office, even the governor’s office, and, if need be, he could intervene.
And if Victor could do that, finding her, regardless of how deep a hole she crawled into, would be a snap.
Morgan pulled her back to the present, saying, “Look, Grace, we’re going to start digging deep into Borkov. We’ll try to keep it on the down low, but I suspect he’ll get wind of that fact. Victor Borkov’s a slippery guy. He has fingers everywhere. He’ll know he’s the target of a police inquiry. Two plus two. He dumps two guys in the Gulf, you were on board, now you’re gone—or at least behaving a bit odd.” He shrugged. “I suspect Borkov keeps fairly close tabs on you and ditching his muscle would raise his antennae. Don’t you think?”
“I am so screwed,” Grace said.
“Or saved,” Jake said.
“Yeah, right. You don’t know Victor.”
“We’ll set up a safe house for you,” Morgan said. “Police protection.”
“That won’t stop him.”
“We’re pretty good at this,” Morgan said.
“Not good enough.” Grace shook her head. “And what about my mother?”
“We’ll arrange the same protection for her if need be.”
Grace leaned forward, her face in her hands, and let the tears out.
Jake laid a hand on her shoulder, causing a momentary flinch.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
She straightened her shoulders. “I don’t think so. Neither will you and Nicole.” She looked at Nicole and then Jake. “Victor always cleans up messes. He never leaves anything to chance.”
“Trust me,” Morgan said. “It’ll all work out.”
Was he insane? Did he really understand who he was dealing with? He seemed tough and competent, but was he? Or was he just another dumb ass cop who thought he could fix any problem?
“But if it’s three against one, what use is my testimony?” Grace asked.
“We have other witnesses,” Morgan said.
“Who? One of the crew?”
Morgan shook his head. “No. Not that lucky. But Darrell’s girlfriend took them to the beach that morning. She heard the boat that came for them. She didn’t see who was on board but a jogger saw the brothers and two other guys, who, by her description, were Zuma and Boyd, leave in a small boat that went out to a very large yacht.”
“And we know the Sea Witch was in that area at that time,” Ray said.
“How do you know that?”
Ray shrugged. “Let’s just say, I know.”
“So you see,” Morgan said, “we have a few witnesses that can put Darrell and Darnell on the Sea Witch and that helps corroborate your story.”
“So go arrest Victor,” Grace said. “And Zuma and Boyd.”
“All in due time. We need to dig up a little more if we want the charges to stick.”
“Like what?” Grace asked.
Morgan offered a thin smile. “Won’t know until we snoop around. But there is always evidence waiting to be uncovered.”
“So what do I do?” Grace asked. “Hide out in a witness protection program?” She shook her head. “Just great.”
“Doubt it’ll come to that,” Morgan said. “But if so, that can also be arranged.”
“Just dump my life? My friends and family?”
Truth was she didn’t have any friends. Not really. She had walked away from all that when she hooked up with Victor. She hadn’t talked to any of her high school buddies in over a year. Would she even be missed if she disappeared? And her only family was her mother. Would she go into protection with her? Was that even fair? This was all her doing. Her choices. Was it right to ruin her mother’s life over her mistake? Did she have a choice?
“Like I said,” Morgan responded, “I doubt it’ll come to that.”
“Why not?”
“Borkov is a bad dude, but he isn’t the mafia. He can’t reach that far.”
“Really? I can’t prove this but I think Victor is involved with drugs out of Mexico. With one of the cartels.”
“That’s true,” Ray said. “But by their standards, he’s small potatoes. Not big enough for them to expose themselves.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my sources.”
“And if they’re wrong?” Grace asked.
“They aren’t.” Ray shrugged. “Truth is that if the cartels thought Borkov was a problem they’d take care of him. Borkovs are a dime a dozen for them.”
“Maybe that’s the best answer,” Grace said. “Let one group of criminals kill another group.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Morgan said. “Meantime, I’ll get a place set up for you. Maybe you can stay here until it’s ready?” He looked at Ray.
“No problem,” Ray said.
Grace sighed. “This is too much. I still think the best thing is
for me to go back. Pretend all is okay.”
Ray nodded toward Pancake who flipped open a folder and shuffled through the pages inside. He then slid an eight-by-ten photo across the table toward Grace. She picked it up and looked at the face of a very pretty blond with a nice smile and bright blue eyes.
“Know her?” Pancake asked.
“No. Never seen her. Who is she?”
“The old you.”
“What?”
“Her name was Marianne Butler. A grad student at Florida Central until she hooked up with Borkov. Dropped out of school and took off with him. Two years ago. Six months later she disappeared. Never seen again.”
“What happened to her?”
“Don’t know,” Pancake said. “My guess is she’s swimming with Darrell and Darnell.”
She shook her head and tears again gathered in her eyes. “That was only six months before I left my job for Victor.”
“You see a pattern here?” Pancake asked.
Was this true? Did Victor really kill his previous girlfriend? Or were they making this up to cement her cooperation? But she remembered seeing a photo. In a small frame in the bedside drawer at Victor’s place in Naples. It was few weeks after she had moved in. She had asked him about it. He’d said it was photo that came with the frame and had removed it and torn it into pieces. Was this the girl in that picture? She remembered blond hair but little else.
Morgan’s phone chirped and he answered. He listened for a beat and disconnected the call. He stood. “Looks like we have one less witness.”
“Oh?” Jake asked.
“That was Starks. Looks like someone clipped Heather Macomb. And her parents.”
“Who’s that?” Grace asked.
“She was Darrell’s girlfriend. The one that drove them to the beach.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
MORGAN PULLED TO the curb near where Starks stood, cell phone clapped to his ear. Ray and I slid in just behind him. We had left Grace at Ray’s with Pancake and Nicole. Pancake for protection; Nicole for comfort. Besides I didn’t want Nicole to see what I knew we’d find.
The upper middle class neighborhood appeared quiet, well tended, orderly. By contrast, the Macomb house, a white stucco, ranch style, with slightly sloped gray tile roof, was a hive of activity. Several uniforms stood in the front doorway and looked at us as we climbed from the vehicles.
