Under Full Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 7th Novel in the Series_Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean

by Charles Dougherty

  "I'm surprised you heard already," Paul said.

  "I expedited it," Jones said, "but it's often quicker if there are no potential matches."

  "No matches, huh?" Paul asked.

  "Correct. You said you had asked your replacement in Miami to run his prints as well, I believe."

  "I did yes," Paul said, "but I haven't heard from him yet. I was figuring it would be tomorrow."

  "I see," Jones said. "Well, as I said, it's a good thing Murphy identified him. The Interpol query was supposed to include an NCIS search, so I'll be surprised if your friend finds a match. If he does, though, let me know, please."

  "Sure," Paul said. I'll give you a call when I hear, either way."

  "What are your plans, now that you're clear of your unexpected guest? Will you be here for a while?"

  "We haven't discussed it yet," Connie said. "We've got charter guests to pick up in Grenada, but that's a couple of weeks out. We'll be here at least through tomorrow night, since Boushel invited us out to dinner. But we may stay a little longer and rest up. He was pleasant enough company, but it was a stressful situation. Besides, we'd been planning a sort of busman's holiday until we found him, and Rodney Bay's a favorite spot."

  "I'm glad to hear that. If you do stay, please let me know. I'd like to have a meal or two with you and catch up on the old crowd you were with in Miami."

  "Well, for that, we'll definitely stay," Paul said. "I'll give you a call tomorrow after I call Miami."

  "Excellent," Jones said. "Enjoy your evening."

  Connie was awakened by a thud. Flying fish, she thought, rolling over to see what time it was. Then she noticed Paul was not beside her. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the berth, she called, "Paul?"

  When he didn't answer, she got up and looked out into the main cabin, where she saw Paul struggling with two men in the dark. She could see well enough to tell that one man had Paul pinned against the edge of the chart table at the foot of the companionway ladder. The intruder's back was to her, and he was choking Paul. There was another man trying to shove his way past them to get into the main cabin.

  "I hear the woman," the man who was trying to get past said. "You got him?"

  "Yeah, mon, but watch out fo' Canaday; he the problem. Never mind the woman; we save her fo' later."

  Connie grabbed the heavy, three-cell flashlight from its holder by the cabin door. Stepping through the doorway, she took a full swing with the flashlight, connecting with the back of the first man's head. He collapsed between her and Paul, who shook his head once and lunged at the other man, knocking him to the cabin sole.

  The man scissored his legs around Paul's ankles and rolled, throwing Paul to the side. Paul caught himself on the chart table, and Connie brought her flashlight down on the man's exposed knee. He screamed a curse as Paul fell on him, driving a knee into the intruder's gut with his weight behind it. The man grunted and shoved himself to a sitting position with his left arm. As he clawed at Paul's face with his right hand, Connie smashed the flashlight down across the top of his head.

  Stunned, he shook his head and muttered something, reaching for a knife that was in a sheath on his belt. Connie hit him again, and he dropped back to the cabin sole. She took the knife and followed Paul up into the cockpit.

  "No sign of a boat," he said.

  "They didn't swim," Connie said. "Neither of them is wet."

  "Let's get them secured and call the police," Paul said. "But keep an eye out for their friends. There's gotta be a boat out here somewhere, waiting for them."

  Connie opened a small locker in the steering pedestal and took out a fistful of nylon cable ties, handing several to Paul as they went below. Within a few seconds, they had both men hog-tied, wrists and ankles bound together behind their backs.

  "I'll call the police," Paul said.

  "Let's hold off on that," Connie said.

  Paul turned to her and raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

  "I want to know what they were up to," she said.

  "Just clumsy sneak thieves," Paul said. "Don't you think?"

  "I'm not so sure. While you were struggling with that one," she nudged the man with her foot, "the other one said, 'I hear the woman.'"

  Paul frowned. "So?"

  "The way he said it sounded like he knew who to expect."

  Still frowning, Paul shook his head. "I'm missing something."

  "You were being choked out at that point. The one you were tussling with said, 'Save the woman for later. Get Canaday,' or something like that."

  "Canaday?" Paul asked. "What do you think he meant? Maybe they had the wrong boat."

  "Maybe. I thought we could ask them."

  "If we can rouse one of them, maybe. I think you may have done some serious damage to the second one."

  "I couldn't believe he had such a hard head," Connie said. "I put everything I had into the second blow."

  She turned to the galley sink and filled a glass with water. Rolling the man who had been choking Paul onto his side, she threw it in his face. He spluttered and rolled his head around. She dowsed him again, some of the water going up his nose this time. He gagged, choking, and gasped for breath. He opened his eyes and looked around, shaking his head again.

  She knelt next to him and grabbed his hair with her left hand, pulling his head back. "Who were you looking for?" she asked.

  "I don' have to say nothin'," he said.

  She took the knife that his companion had been carrying and held it where he could see it. Testing the point with her thumb, she said, "Not very sharp, but that'll just make it hurt worse."

  His eyes following the knife in her hand as she moved it closer to his face, he said, "You ain't gon' scare me that easy. I ain't gon' tell you nothin'. You might as well call the cops."

  "An eye?" she said, resting the point of the blade against his lower eyelid. "Or an ear?" The knife was flat against the side of his head now, the edge resting on his left ear. "I know what. Maybe I'll slit his nose to start with." She put the tip of the blade into his right nostril as he strained to pull his head back further. "What do you think, Paul?"

  "Oh, I don't know. You have more experience with this than I have. You choose."

  "The nose, I think," she said, increasing the pressure.

  "Okay, okay. Don't cut me. I tell you everyt'ing."

  "Start talking," she said, the knife motionless in his right nostril.

  "The mon, he say we come to this boat an' we kill the mon name Canaday. Tha's it. Tha's all we know."

  "What man?"

  "In the bar."

  "Who was the man in the bar?" Connie asked.

  "White mon, settin' in the dark, back in the corner. Don't know he name."

  "Was he going to pay you?"

  "No. The mon we work fo', he doin' a favor fo' some mon in Miami. Tha's all."

  "Who's the man you work for?"

  "Please, ma'am, he kill me an' my family. I cannot tell you. You cut me if you mus', but that I cannot tell."

  "Why did he want Canaday dead?"

  "I don't know this."

  "Would you recognize the man in the bar if you saw him again?" Paul asked.

  "Too dark. I don't see he face. Mebbe if he talk, I hear he voice an' know that way. You let us go now, please? We in bad trouble, now. Mebbe good as dead, 'cause we mess up. The mon, he have us killed, prob'ly. Please? We don't hurt you none."

  Connie took the knife away from his face and stood up. "I don't think so," she said.

  "I'll call the police," Paul said, picking up his cellphone.

  19

  “What are you doing, Bert?" Marian asked. Bert's rummaging in the galley had awakened her.

  "Making coffee."

  "Why are you up so early?"

  "I never got to sleep," he said. "I kept thinking they were going to call or something. Something's wrong; it didn't happen."

  "Is there some way for you to call them?"

  "No. I don't have any way to contac
t the local people. Just the guy I know in Miami; they insisted on keeping it that way."

  "Are you going to call him, then?" Marian asked. "Or just keep worrying?"

  Bert looked at the clock. "I'm waiting until normal working hours there — like nine o'clock, maybe."

  "Why?"

  "Because, I don't want to look like I'm too worried; that's like blood in the water with sharks."

  "He's like a shark? Who is this guy?"

  "You're better off not knowing. Honest, Marian. I know what I'm doing. You can't lose your cool with these people; it could be fatal."

  "Jesus. You're starting to scare me."

  "Scared is good. Believe me; these people think nothing of wasting somebody. That's why I called this guy to begin with."

  "How do you even know somebody like that, Bert? I've never pictured you hanging around with gangsters."

  "I don't hang around with him, exactly. It's just ... in my business, you can't help meeting people like him. The clubs kinda sell into the same market that he does. We appeal to the same customers."

  "What are you saying? I thought your clubs were clean. I mean for strip clubs. I understand there's some shady stuff that goes on with the girls, and Steve told me about the betting. But that sounds 'G-rated.' This mystery man sounds like triple X, hard core."

  "Yeah, that's about the size of it."

  "What's your relationship with him, then?"

  "Damn it, Marian! Why am I getting the third degree? You're the one that wanted me to put out a hit on Steve. I did it. So, lighten up, will you?"

  "Are you dealing drugs? Yes or no?"

  "No."

  "And this guy you called? What about him?"

  "I don't want to know, Marian, and I'm not going to speculate. I told you, I know him because we share customers. That's it. That kind of talk about dealing drugs can get you killed, okay?"

  "What do you think could have gone wrong? I mean, if these people are so dangerous, killing three people on a charter boat shouldn't have been much challenge."

  "Now you see why I'm upset," Bert said.

  "What makes you think they didn't do it? Were they really going to call you?"

  "No. I was monitoring channel 16 on the VHF. The explosion would have caused a bunch of emergency calls. That's how I was going to know."

  "Explosion? They were going to blow up the boat? With a bomb?"

  "With the propane that was aboard for cooking. That wouldn't have left any suspicious — " Bert stopped to answer his cellphone. His face blanched when he saw the calling number. He gestured for Marian to keep quiet and touched the green icon.

  "Here comes the police launch," Paul said, "Blue lights flashing and all." He and Connie sat in the cockpit over the remains of their breakfast.

  "What could they want?" she asked, taking a sip of coffee. "We told them everything last night."

  "We'll soon know," Paul said, getting up and moving to the side deck to take a line. To his surprise, Cedric Jones handed it to him.

  "Good morning, Paul," Cedric said, as Paul took a wrap around the midship cleat. "May I come aboard?"

  "Please do," Paul said, extending a hand.

  "Good morning, Connie," Cedric said, as he stepped aboard.

  Connie had joined Paul on the side deck. "Good morning," she said. "Join us for coffee in the cockpit?"

  "Yes, thank you," Cedric said, as she gestured for him to go ahead of her.

  The two men on the patrol boat retrieved the line from the cleat and moved a few yards away, allowing the patrol boat to drift.

  Cedric sat at the cockpit table on the side opposite the breakfast dishes, and Connie poured a mug of coffee for him.

  Paul paused before stepping into the cockpit and asked, "Would your men like to come aboard? I can make more coffee."

  "No, thank you. They'll be questioning your neighbors, in case they saw anything last night. But before I get into that, let me apologize for what happened. I'm vexed that I wasn't told until I found the report on my desk this morning; I should have been called earlier."

  "Thanks," Connie said, "but we're okay."

  "No apologies necessary," Paul said. "Your men did a fine job of handling it; you have a well-trained force."

  Jones smiled. "That's kind of you, and I thank you. Still, this kind of thing is an embarrassment to my country; it should never have happened."

  "There are criminals everywhere," Paul said. "Any more information on what they were up to?"

  Jones shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "No. I'm ashamed to say they escaped last night when they were being transferred from the patrol boat to the prison van."

  "I'm surprised," Paul said. "Your men left the zip ties on their wrists and ankles when they put them in the boat. They just clipped the ones that held their ankles up behind their backs. How could they have escaped?"

  "They had help. Three men. One held my men at gunpoint while another cut them loose. Then they all got into a car driven by a third man and drove away."

  "I wouldn't think they could get far on the island," Connie said.

  "Far enough," Cedric said. "The car was stolen, of course. It was found abandoned less than two miles from the marina, with the bodies of the two prisoners in it."

  "Bodies!" Connie said.

  "Yes. They were executed. One bullet each, in the head. We know them; they were small-time criminals, part-time drug dealers. What we can't understand is why they boarded your yacht. That's not consistent with their other crimes. And then there's the question of why they were killed, and by whom." Jones picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee, waiting, letting the silence hang for several seconds. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you mind repeating what you told my officers last night?"

  "Of course not," Paul said. "I was awakened by a bump on the side of the hull; probably a boat that dropped them off, but that's a guess. By the time I got to the companionway, one of them was below deck, and we were struggling when the other one tried to squeeze past us. Connie?"

  "I woke up — maybe from the same sound, but not as fast as Paul. I missed him and called out, but he didn't answer. I looked out our cabin door and saw them struggling and the second man said, 'I heard the woman.' The one that was choking Paul said something like, 'Save her for later; get Canaday first.'"

  "Stop, please," Jones said. "Are you quite sure about that name?"

  "Yes, but it didn't mean anything to us," Connie said. "Then I hit — "

  "Wait," Cedric interrupted. "You subdued the two men, and roughed them up a little until they told you about the man in the bar, is that correct?"

  "Uh, yes," Paul said.

  Connie nodded.

  "The name 'Canaday' didn't make it into the report, for some reason," Jones said.

  "That happens," Paul said, "but I thought we gave it to your men. Maybe not."

  Jones nodded. "I'm sure you did. It was an oversight. Do you recognize the name?"

  "No," Connie said, shaking her head. "Is it significant?"

  "I think it may be," Jones said. "You remember my telling you about the man lost overboard the other day?"

  "Yes," Paul said.

  "From Windsong?" Connie asked.

  "Exactly," Jones said. "His name was Steven Canaday."

  "Why would they be looking for him on our boat?" Connie asked.

  "Or at all?" Paul added.

  "Both good questions," Jones said. "I'd best go try to find some answers. Let me know what you hear from your old partner on the fingerprints, please."

  "I will," Paul said, as Jones hailed the patrol boat with a handheld radio.

  Connie and Paul sat in the cockpit finishing their coffee after Jones left.

  "You think they mistook Boushel for Canaday?" Connie asked.

  Paul shrugged. "It doesn't make sense to me, but that's about the only explanation I can see. We picked up Boushel days before Canaday was reported missing, so he can't be ... Wait!"

  "What?" Connie asked.

  "Days bef
ore Canaday was reported missing," Paul said. "Suppose those people on Windsong lost him days ago and waited to make the report."

  "Okay, but why would they have waited?"

  "Maybe it was deliberate. They could have been trying to get rid of him. Then they would have wanted to be a long way from where they dumped him."

  "Maybe, but that's a stretch," Connie said. "If they did that, that's probably how he got that knot on his head, but the delay doesn't add up to me."

  "They wanted to be sure he wasn't found," Paul said, "so they waited and reported it several days after it happened."

  "And you think they found out he was on our boat and sent two local thugs to finish him off?" Connie asked.

  He shook his head and said, "The connections are pretty tenuous, but still — "

  He stopped as one of their phones began ringing below deck.

  "I'll see who it is," Connie said, getting up just as the phone stopped ringing. "Oh well, they'll call back if it was important," she said. She dropped back into her seat and picked up her coffee.

  "I'll see if they left a voicemail," Paul said, getting up. "It might have been Luke."

  He returned a minute later with both cellphones.

  "Well?" Connie asked.

  "Boushel," Paul said. "He's on his way to Barbados to pick up his passport from the Canadian Embassy and can't make dinner tonight. He said thanks for everything and he'll be in touch."

  "Should we call him back?" Connie asked.

  "He didn't leave a number, and caller i.d. shows 'unknown caller,'" Paul said. "No matter, but I think we should let Cedric know. He might want to follow up with Victor Murphy, if he's not already planning to ask him about the Canaday thing."

  As Paul started to make the call, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. "Luke," he said, as he swiped to accept the call.

  "Hey, Luke," Paul said, setting the phone on the cockpit table. It was set to default to speaker mode when answered.

  "Hi, Paul. I got some information for you. You okay to talk?"

  "Yes. Connie's listening on the speaker, okay?"

  "Sure. You two alone?"

  "Yes. Boushel's not with us anymore."