Royal Pains (Watchdogs, Inc. Book 2)

by Mia Dymond

  “Magnus Brandt, the chef.” Bailey told him before she laid a hand on the man’s forearm. “Magnus, are you okay?”

  “No.” The man shook his head vehemently several times. “I am not.”

  “Has there been an accident?”

  “Yes, yes, I’d say there has been a terrible accident.”

  “Do we need an ambulance?”

  The chef shook his head again and then looked at Bailey square in the eyes. “The body hanging in my walk-in freezer is beyond help.”

  Amazingly, Bailey kept her cool. “There’s a body in the freezer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “Paul Bickel.”

  Diesel headed for the kitchen with Harvard right behind him. Ice reached to pull his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I called Mr. Santana from the house phone. He should arrive shortly.”

  “You called Santana before the police?”

  “Protocol,” Bailey mumbled.

  He crammed his phone back into place while he glanced at her. “Wait with him. Don’t leave the room without me.”

  He left Bailey with the traumatized chef and entered the kitchen. Diesel and Harvard stood in the open doorway of the freezer, their attention focused on the body of Paul Bickel hanging from the ceiling by a rope.

  “How long has he been there?”

  Diesel approached the body and poked an arm with a cooking utensil. “He’s stiff. I’d say overnight, at least.”

  “Since everything was quiet at dinner, I’m assuming that whatever happened did so somewhere between dinner and breakfast.”

  “Suicide?”

  “We won’t know until someone cuts him down.”

  Ice voiced the one opinion he knew his teammates shared. “This wasn’t suicide.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Daniel Santana and Francois Gerard. The General Manager was visibly concerned.

  “Not again,” he groaned. “Can we get him down?”

  “Not until the police authorize it.” Diesel crossed both arms over his chest. “You did notify them, right?”

  “Of course. They should arrive at any time.”

  Gerard uttered several words in French under his breath.

  Harvard nodded. “I agree, Gerard. I’m beginning to think the place is cursed, as well.”

  Santana released a hard breath and turned to him. “Do you suggest I evacuate the guests? Obviously, there’s a murderer among us.”

  “We don’t know this was murder yet.” But he was ninety-nine percent sure. “I’m more concerned for your staff at the moment. Besides, the dining room is packed this morning and I’d expect quite a few guests to check out here in the next few hours anyway.”

  Santana waved a hand at Gerard. “He is correct, Francois. You’d better make arrangements at the front desk.”

  Gerard left the kitchen without hesitation, obviously relieved to leave the area.

  Santana pinched the bridge of his nose. “What about the dining room? We can’t take him out on display.”

  “Isn’t there a back door?” Ice frowned.

  “Yes, but there isn’t direct access to the front of the building. The path leads to the trash receptacles and the beach.”

  Ice shrugged. “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The detectives will want to interview everyone anyway.”

  “It’s time for us to tear this case apart, piece by piece. We’re missing something.” Diesel’s impatience was clear.

  “Agreed, but who’s going to stay with the girls while we do that?”

  “There’s a spa on the top floor – problem solved.” Ice glanced at Diesel. “Do you want to give orders?”

  “Why?”

  “They’re more apt to listen to you,” Harvard mumbled.

  “I’ll do it.” Diesel shook his head. “But you two really need a crash course in authority.”

  Trista stood with Bailey and Grace, more than a little concerned about the morning’s events. In fact, since she and Diesel were functioning on a little more than three hours of sleep, it was logical to believe the whole thing had been a horrible dream. And although she didn’t have all of the details, she knew that the chef had discovered Paul Bickel’s lifeless body in the freezer. Her stomach tilted. She, Bailey, and Grace had just spoken to him on the beach the previous day.

  She inhaled a deep breath and then slowly released it as she moved her gaze over the dining room. The chef now sat at a nearby table with his arms folded and his head resting on top, consoled by two staff members. Tianna and Gus Olander, Bailey had told her, the Entertainment Director and Food Service Manager. The majority of resort guests remained in the room, huddled and quietly talking among themselves. She frowned. Why did everyone appear so calm? Not that she knew from experience, but common sense told her that murder usually caused a riot. That thought caused her to jump when she felt slight pressure on her elbow.

  She turned to find that Diesel now stood beside her. Relief overrode fear. “Do these people have experience with murder?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “Nobody’s screaming in panic. I don’t have experience either but I am clearly concerned.”

  “Would it make you feel better to scream?”

  “I don’t scream.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  “They have no reason to panic. Most of them travel with private security and so far, the victims have all been staff members.”

  “I guess,” she mumbled.

  “Diesel.” Bailey lowered her voice. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Not yet. We’ll know more once law enforcement gets here.”

  “He’s still …. up in the air?”

  “Yes. We can’t touch him until they get here.”

  “Pool Paul,” Grace mumbled. “We just saw him yesterday.”

  “Looking for a boat, right?”

  Grace nodded. “I wonder if he found it.”

  “As soon as each of you finish answering questions, head for the spa and stay put.”

  “Of course.” Grace didn’t hesitate to voice her agreement and she knew that Diesel expected she and Bailey to follow suit.

  Bailey shrugged. “I could use a good massage.”

  Trista moved her gaze around the room one more time and then refocused on the conversation when Diesel nudged her elbow again.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you going to stay put in the spa or do I need to put a tail on you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He really didn’t know her very well. She smirked. He honestly didn’t, but that was no excuse. “You think I can’t get around a tail?”

  “So, the answer is no.”

  “No, I don’t need a shadow, Diesel.” She pointed at her friends. “I’m with them. Besides, we’re on an island. Where would I go?”

  Ice felt like they were finally getting somewhere in the investigation when Diesel re-entered the kitchen with two men dressed in blue suits who wore badges and two men in black suits who rolled a gurney. One additional man, again dressed in a suit but wearing what appeared to be blue latex gloves, headed straight for the freezer. He shook his head. Things weren’t good when there was a room full of suits.

  “Dr. Ed Rutledge,” Diesel said as he stopped next to him. “We’re about to find out if our theory about the lack of evidence makes any sense.”

  “What about the audience in the dining room?”

  “Three uniforms are taking statements now. I don’t think it will take long to clear the place.”

  Diesel gestured at Harvard with a slight nod of his head for him to join the conversation. As soon as Harvard stood next to them, the captain lowered his voice.

  “Contact David Green and copy all activity, twenty-four/seven, of each security camera from the date of Overton’s death until Bickel’s.”

 
; Harvard nodded and left the kitchen.

  Ice moved his attention back to the freezer where the coroner now stood on a three-rung ladder and wielded what appeared to be a butcher’s knife.

  “I’ll need some assistance please.”

  The men who rolled the gurney, now gloved as well, stepped into the freezer, one in front of and one behind Bickel. In one smooth move, Dr. Rutledge took a solid, confident swipe at the rope. Ice flinched at the following snap.

  “Position him on his back on the kitchen floor.”

  With Bickel’s body now out of the way, Ice glanced closer at the freezer’s interior floor. No blood, frozen or not.

  “I would venture to say that the deceased succumbed elsewhere.” The coroner squatted next to the victim’s head. “I won’t know for sure until I get him back to the morgue, but preliminary observation suggests head trauma.” He moved a gloved finger over the wound. “Most likely fatal.”

  “How long do you think he’s been on ice?”

  “Judging by the temperature, I’d say approximately eight to ten hours.” He stood and nodded at his assistants to load the body on the gurney while he peeled off his gloves. “He’s stiff on the outside but I won’t know internal temperature until autopsy.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Diesel extended a hand. “We’ll be in touch about the results.”

  Santana crossed the room to join the conversation. “I’ll wait here with them until the dining room is empty.”

  Diesel nodded. “We’ll need a room to set up a nerve center.”

  “Of course. I’ll have Francois provide access to the meeting room on the top floor.”

  Ice frowned. “I didn’t realize there was anything other than the spa up there.” There wasn’t - not according to the building’s schematics.

  “It is Mr. Russo’s personal meeting area. He instructed me to allow access to your team.”

  “You might as well close the dining room,” Harvard told him. “This investigation will take the remainder of the day. Do you have somewhere else to prepare and serve meals?”

  Santana nodded. “We have a smaller kitchen just off the banquet room. It should accommodate those guests who choose to stay as long as Magnus feels up to preparing lunch and dinner. If not, Gus can step in.”

  “You have an impressive back-up plan.”

  “Our clientele dictates it. We want to keep our guests happy and inconvenienced.” The manager ran a hand across his forehead. “We’ve just not had a previous situation such as this.”

  “We’ll spend the rest of the day with the investigators so we won’t need the room until tomorrow a.m.” Harvard directed the conversation back to the plan. “You concentrate on the resort and we’ll give you an update when we have one.”

  ***

  The walls began to close in on him as he nearly sprinted to a secure area where he could make a phone call without interference. Recent activities had caused things to spiral out of control and now he wasn’t convinced anyone could reel them in. And with the shipment on its way, something or someone would have to act quickly.

  Normally, he would take the time to gather his thoughts to assure he proceeded with caution, but this time that was not the case. No, he knew exactly what to say and there was no way to put it delicately. And, there was only a short time left to do it.

  His hand trembled as he lifted the cursed device and pressed numbers to relay the dreaded information.

  “You must stop the boat,” he said as the call connected.

  The refusal was swift. “That is not an option.”

  “It has to be,” he insisted. “It is much too dangerous to continue.”

  “Dangerous for you or for me?”

  “For both of us.”

  “I do not understand your concern. Nothing has changed since we began the operation.”

  “Are you mad?” he shrieked. “Everything has changed!”

  He took a deep breath to calm himself, lowered his voice, and then continued. “I apologize for my outburst but the operation cannot continue without being compromised. Things have changed, mainly the security of the resort.”

  “You took care of that problem.”

  “Well yes, but Mr. Russo replaced what I eliminated. I can’t just keep eliminating obstacles. Sooner or later, someone will catch on.”

  “Your dilemma does not concern me. I am in no way associated with these eliminations.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said patiently, “but if I get caught, how will you continue utilizing our resources? Mr. Russo has been known to call in the National Guard to protect his assets.”

  “Everyone can be bought.”

  “Or blackmailed,” he mumbled.

  “You participate by your own free will and you are amply compensated.”

  He swallowed his argument. He only participated because he was scared to death of the consequences if he refused. Beside the point, he reminded himself, he was too far in to leave now.

  “Then we need to find a new delivery point. Would you be willing to stall the operation until we have secured one?”

  Silence fell over the line and he held his breath in hopes that the other man would agree. If not, he might as well bite the bullet, he was as good as dead.

  “I will give you twenty-four hours to notify me,” his associate said finally. “As far as your reluctance to eliminate targets, I suggest you reconsider. If we are confronted, it is you that will be eliminated.”

  He opened his mouth to issue a very relieved thank you, but then suddenly closed it when he realized he was the only one who remained on the line. His courtesy would’ve gone ignored anyway; his associate was only concerned about the delivery.

  He slumped back against the wall, cautious about the reprieve. He had limited resources to devise a new plan of action.

  And time was something he could not waste.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Early afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows as Ice stood in the meeting suite on the top floor of the Regency. The plan had originally been to arrive earlier in the morning, but by the time he attempted to coax Bailey out of bed and she successfully convinced him to stay in, time had gotten lost in the shuffle. And strangely, neither of his teammates goaded him about it.

  He moved his gaze around the room, not surprised by the elegance. Like the rest of the resort, the furnishings were large and flashy, validated by the long, rectangular, mahogany conference table and matching fourteen chairs that occupied the middle of the room. Two black leather sofas with square tables in front that matched the conference table rested along two walls of the area behind. A large white projection screen covered most of the wall directly in front of the table, with a shelf beneath that held a disc player. Several other paintings of beachscapes hung on the other walls.

  From his vantage point, he caught sight of a kitchen in a room to the left and a bathroom to the right. If the sofas folded out into beds, meetings could go on for days in this place.

  “Nice digs.” Harvard approached the disc player, slid a silver disc inside, and then took a seat on one side of the table.

  Diesel sat at the head of the table and Ice took the seat opposite Harvard. He began the discussion at square one. Although monotonous, reviewing facts several times opened doors.

  “Three victims, all male, all employees of the resort. Our perp appears to slide in and out of the shadows because none of the guests have reported trouble except Jane Decker who discovered Jack Overton’s body.”

  Harvard opened the questioning. “Did any of these men have anything in common?”

  “Only that each of them were employed as senior staff.”

  “That means they were all in positions to recognize unusual activity at the resort.”

  “Overton would’ve been the first notified of anything criminal or suspicious, Knight would’ve had to deal with any maintenance issues, and Bickel would’ve been responsible for problems with transportation.”

  “There’s no similarity in t
he manner of death,” Diesel pointed out. “Overton was shot, Knight was electrocuted, and Bickel was bludgeoned.”

  Ice shrugged. “Opportunity. Our suspect most likely took advantage of what was available.”

  “If that’s the case, I would venture to say the murders weren’t premeditated.”

  “Wrong place, wrong time?”

  “Maybe. Motive?”

  “So far, none. Do we know what each of them were doing prior to death?”

  Diesel shook his head. “No, but according to forensics, Overton was the only one killed where he was found. Knight was definitely transported from the hot tub, and we won’t know the official ruling until the coroner reports, but lack of evidence makes me positive Bickel wasn’t killed inside that freezer.”

  “The recordings should give us some sort of timeline.” Harvard palmed a pocket-sized remote from the table. “I’m not banking on the fact that the footage will provide evidence of the crimes, but maybe we can get a sense of what happened just prior.”

  “Did you get them directly from Green?”

  “Yep. Hot off the press. Green hasn’t even seen the recording of Bickel’s activity.”

  “Let’s see what we have.” Diesel sat back in his chair.

  Their teammate pressed a button and soon a photo appeared on the screen. “This is the recording of Overton. I’ve fast-forwarded it to approximately four hours prior to the time Jane Decker reported finding him. This is the view from outside the front entrance of the resort.”

  Harvard cued the disc and Ice zeroed in on the activity. Overton sat behind the wheel of a golf cart while Daniel Green stood beside. After a few seconds of conversation, Overton left the cart and entered the building alone. Green took his place in the cart and drove out of range.

  Harvard paused the recording. “The next shot is from the camera inside the front lobby.”

  As soon as the recording resumed, Overton spoke to two valets on duty and then approached the Concierge podium behind which Gerard stood. After a brief conversation with the Concierge, he left the area.