"Who?" Luke asked.
"Sorry," Paul said. "We got an i.d. on our castaway. Patrick Michael Boushel. I was going to call you in a bit to let you know. Interpol came up dry on the prints."
"Interesting," Luke said. "I'm not surprised at that. Patrick Michael Boushel, huh?"
"Yes. Canadian ex-pat, living in Cuba," Connie said. "A real estate developer, apparently."
"And how did you identify him?" Luke asked.
"It's kind of a long story. You got a few minutes?"
"Yeah, but let me give you what I got, first," Luke said.
"Sure," Paul said. "I figured you'd struck out."
"It wasn't straightforward, that's for damn sure, but we did finally get a match. Those prints belong to a guy named Joel Andersen."
"What?" Paul asked. "Who is he, then?"
"Nobody," Luke said. "Joel Andersen died in a fire 20 years ago. House trailer in the Arizona desert. It was abandoned, — used by bums, druggies, hitchhikers, like that."
"Any more on him?" Paul asked.
"Yeah. He was in the system. Orphaned at age nine, grew up in a string of foster homes, joined the Army instead of going to jail. Flunked a random drug test in basic training. Dishonorably discharged. The trail goes cold for a few months until his body was found."
"How could his fingerprints match Boushel's?" Connie asked.
"That's what's interesting. I waited until we got the old autopsy file to call, because things weren't adding up," Luke said. "The corpse was charred badly; the local sheriff suspected arson. They found his dog tags. That's the only i.d."
"What about dental records?" Paul asked.
"Inconclusive," Luke said.
"The dog tags survived the fire?" Connie asked.
"One did, at least well enough to make out the serial number. They were a little worse for wear, though."
"What do you think?" Paul asked.
"I think your boy's Joel Andersen. The prints are a solid match," Luke said.
"Thanks, Luke. Guess I'd better go," Paul said. "I need to get this info to the locals."
"Glad to help. Let me know and I'll send copies of everything to whoever you say."
20
“Yeah," Oscar Jefferson said, as he answered the prepaid cellphone.
"Oscar?"
"Yeah. What do you have? You find Canaday?"
"His wife reported him missing day before yesterday."
"Missing? In St. Lucia?"
"She called the Coast Guard. He fell overboard sometime during the night."
"Bullshit. You said they were in a marina. How the hell does he get lost overboard in a fuckin' marina?"
"He fell over while they were sailing. It was before they got to the marina, about a hundred miles out from St. Lucia."
"She and her boyfriend didn't pick him up?" Jefferson asked. "This isn't making sense."
"It was nighttime, Oscar. Canaday was sailing the boat; she and Holsclaw were asleep. She woke up to her alarm at 4 a.m. to take her turn at the helm and found him gone. According to the report, he could be anywhere in several hundred square miles of open ocean."
"Are they looking for him?"
"In theory, they are. They're — "
"What the hell does that mean?" Jefferson interrupted. "They are, or they aren't?"
"The Coast Guard had a chopper out all day and didn't find him, so they called off the search and they're asking all vessels in the area to watch for him."
"Son of a bitch. He set this up. He's somewhere, and he put her up to this. I'll guarantee it. You talk to her?"
"We're working on it."
"What's the holdup?"
"The boat's gone from the marina, but customs has no record of them leaving the country. Maybe they're still in St. Lucia, or maybe they skipped out without clearing with customs."
"How can they do that? Don't they have to have customs clearance paperwork to clear in somewhere else?"
"They're supposed to, but customs said the French are pretty lax about requiring that. A lot of people on bareboat charters don't know they're supposed to check out, so — "
"What do the French have to do with it?" Jefferson asked.
"It's 20 miles to Martinique; that's French. They could probably slip in there without the proper paperwork and then get their act together before they go somewhere else."
"Damn. You checking Martinique?"
"Yeah, but that's not quite as easy. The French aren't as casual about giving out that kind of information. But the guy in customs in St. Lucia says chances are good they're still there. There're a couple of places down the coast where people go. We expect to find them before the day's out."
"Good. When you do, put the heat on the wife and this Holsclaw."
"We can do that, but it'll run up the bill. We can't risk questioning them where anybody might overhear, if you get what I mean."
"Whatever it takes. That bastard's on the run with a couple hundred million dollars of my money, as best I can tell."
"Okay. We got this. If he's alive, we'll find him. Meanwhile, somebody else is looking for him. Thought you should know."
"Who?"
"Not sure, but it's coming out of Miami. Somebody that moves drugs from St. Lucia into south Florida. That's all we got, so far. They sent some local talent looking for him last night, but they went to the wrong boat and got busted."
"Wrong boat? Who decided it was the wrong boat?"
"The people on it had no idea who Canaday was, according to our source. That's coming from the local cops."
"Find out who they are — the people on the boat."
"Okay. We can do that. You want us to see what they know while we're at it?"
"Maybe. Find out who they are and get back to me first. I can't afford to screw this up; they may be some of my investors, if they've picked up word that Canaday's on the run with the money."
"Good enough. I'll be in touch."
"Yeah," Jefferson said, as he disconnected the call.
"Who was that, Bert?" Marian asked, as Bert disconnected the call on his cellphone.
His hand trembling, he fumbled the phone, dropping it on the cabin sole at his feet. He looked up at her and swallowed hard. "Him."
"Him? Who the hell was it?"
"The guy in M-Miami," he said.
"Well?" Marian asked. "Did they do it?"
He shook his head. "The two guys I met in the bar got arrested."
"Arrested?"
"Yeah. The people on the boat kicked their asses and called the cops."
"Can they identify you?"
"Uh-uh." Bert chewed on his lower lip.
"You sure?"
"They're dead."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"But you said they were arrested."
"They were. But the guy they work for here didn't want them talking to the police."
Marian's eyes went wide. "Who are these people, Bert?"
He shook his head again, looking away from her.
"Bert?"
"He's upset with me. He said if he had known it was Canaday, he wouldn't have agreed."
"You didn't tell him it was Steve?"
"No."
"Then how did he find out?"
"It had to come from them, the two guys in the bar. I told them."
"But you said they're dead."
"Yeah. I guess they told somebody before they were killed."
"Why was he upset about Steve? Did he say?"
"He said Steve was toxic. There are all kinds of people looking for him. He said Steve's cut and run with a lot of money that belongs to some dangerous people."
"There are other people who want him dead? We just have to find him and tell them where he is, then."
"Uh-uh. I said that, and he said stay out of it. They want to take Steve alive. That's why he's upset; he's in deep shit if they find out he put out a hit on Steve."
"They want him alive? So they can make him give back the money?"
"I imagine so," Bert said.
"What do you think we should do? Should we run for it?"
"Where would we go?"
"I don't know. Martinique?"
"Just because it's close?"
"Yes. That, and it's big. There are a lot of places we could get lost, lots of boats there."
"That's an idea, but I think we should hang out here in Marigot, give ourselves a little time to think this through. Is it time for you to call your lawyer yet?"
Marian looked at the clock on the bulkhead. "Another hour. The east coast is an hour behind us."
"Okay. I need a little quiet time, okay? To work things out."
"All right. I'm going up on the foredeck and get some sun before it gets too hot."
"Good afternoon, Cedric. It's Connie and Paul again. Do you have a moment?" Paul asked, putting his phone on the cockpit table.
"Certainly. What's new?" Cedric asked.
"A couple of things," Paul said. "First, we missed a call from Boushel just a few minutes ago. He left a message, but no callback number." Paul recounted the message.
"Hmm," Cedric said. "That seems a little quick, doesn't it? Maybe I'll give Victor Murphy a call about that. Did Boushel say when he was leaving?"
"No, he didn't. But the other news may be more important." Paul filled him in on Luke's report.
"You're right," Cedric said. "That changes everything. Let me put you on hold for a moment; I want to send someone to question Murphy. I'll be right back."
"He sounded shaken by that," Connie said.
"For a laid-back guy, he sure did," Paul said.
"Okay," Cedric said, returning. "I have someone following up with Murphy. Does one of you have another thought on this?"
"Maybe," Connie said. "We've been wondering about the Canaday connection."
"What about it?" Cedric asked, the inflection of his voice rising.
"Except for the mismatch in dates," Connie said, "there's a suspicious coincidence, now that we know Boushel's not who he claims to be."
"His amnesia aside, for the moment," Paul added.
"I agree with you, Connie," Cedric said. "Even without the identity question, it's suspicious. I've already sent someone to talk with Mrs. Canaday and her guest again. Why do you raise the amnesia question, Paul?"
"There were some other things about him that seemed a little off, even before we left Dominica with him. At the time, we put them down to his amnesia."
"Do you think he didn't really have amnesia?" Cedric asked.
"It's hard to tell, from what I know about it," Paul said, "but we accepted that it was real because we didn't see any motive for him to fake it."
"You feel differently now, I take it?" Cedric asked.
"I do," Connie said.
"Me, too," Paul said. "Any chance you could get somebody to dust Windsong for Canaday's prints? I can get them matched against the others in a hurry."
"Yes. Hold on again, please."
Cedric came back on the line after a full minute. "I've called the people who are looking for Windsong and put that on their list."
"Looking for Windsong?" Connie asked. "They aren't in the marina?"
"No. They left late yesterday, according to the marina office, but they haven't cleared out with customs, so they're presumably still on the island. We're scouting the usual anchorages for them."
"That seems inconsistent," Connie said. "I'd think they'd want to be easy to reach, in case somebody finds Canaday. He's only been missing for what? Like 36 hours, if they left yesterday?"
"That's correct. It does seem strange. You mentioned that there were some things that were off about Boushel, or whoever he really is. Tell me about that, please."
Connie and Paul gave Cedric a detailed description of Boushel's behavior from the time they picked him up until the time he claimed to remember having been in St. Lucia previously. Connie emphasized his reaction when they saw Windsong leaving as they were entering Prince Rupert Bay.
"It seemed strange at the time," she said, "but the whole situation was surreal. And as Paul pointed out earlier, we didn't see any reason for him to be feigning amnesia. We just put it down to his confused state of mind."
"That was reasonable, given the situation," Cedric said. "You're sure you thought back then that he said 'Windsong' when the yacht was approaching? That's not your memory playing tricks, is it?"
"No," Paul said. "She told me that at the time, specifically, and I responded that he must have seen the name as they passed us. But she said she heard him say it before the name would have been visible to him."
"Uh-huh," Cedric said. "Have you ever met the people on Windsong?"
"No," Connie said.
"Paul?" Cedric asked.
"No."
"Have you heard any of the broadcast reports about them, or read any of the bulletins?"
"No," Paul said. "Why?"
"You said you thought he muttered 'Marian,' or 'Mary Anne,' when he saw the woman, Connie. Is that right?"
"Yes," Connie said. "Why?"
"The woman's given name is Marian," Cedric said. "It appears you didn't misunderstand him. He recognized them. Tell me again how the three of you decided to come to St. Lucia, please."
21
“It's my lawyer," Marian said, glancing at her cellphone when it rang.
"Hello, David," she said, switching to speakerphone mode and gesturing for Bert to be quiet.
"Hi, Marian. I have some news for you."
"First, did you get the money taken care of?"
"No. There's a problem."
"What kind of problem? All the accounts are joint, right?"
"Yes, and that's part of the problem. You knew all Steve's properties were in both your names, right?"
"Yes, but I was talking about the brokerage accounts the other day."
"I understand that. It seems that Steve cleaned out all the brokerage and bank accounts before you left the country."
Marian's face went pale. "All of them? What about the trust my parents left me?"
"You don't remember?"
"Remember what?" she asked.
"The golf community Steve was working on?" David asked.
"What about it?"
"You liquidated your trust and put the proceeds into the development. I drew up all the papers for you, and you and Steve sat here in my office and signed everything."
"We did?"
"Yes. I have the documents right here in your file."
"Shit!" Marian said. "Is there a way to get some cash out of any of the projects?"
"I'm afraid not, Marian. I'm sorry to have to tell you this. The accountants are going over everything right now, but the next step for you is a bankruptcy filing, I'm afraid."
"But most of the properties are profitable, aren't they?"
"Yes, but the profits were all pledged against loans for the new project."
"You're telling me I'm broke?"
"I'm sorry, but yes," the lawyer said.
"What am I going to do?"
"I'll be better able to advise you in a few days when the accountants are through."
"Will you call me then?"
"Yes, of course. But wait; there's something else you should know."
"What?"
"The local newspaper picked up the preliminary filing I made with the probate court on Steve's presumed death."
"Okay. Does that mean anything in particular?"
"Possibly. After it hit the news, another local attorney came forward with a sealed package from Steve. It was marked with 'To be opened in the event of my death or disappearance' with Steve's signature, attested to by two witnesses. She filed it with the court, and produced the witnesses. The judge opened it. The contents included a report from a private investigator documenting an affair between you and a Herbert Holsclaw that spans several years."
"That's a lie!" Marian said. "There's no — "
"That's not all," the lawyer said, interrupting her. "There's also a polic
y insuring Steve's life. It's for $10 million, and you're the sole beneficiary. Attached to it is documentation showing that you alone purchased it shortly before you left on this voyage."
"Ten million dollars?" Marian asked.
"That's correct."
"How soon can I collect?"
"I don't know, Marian. Do you realize how this looks?"
"What are you getting at?" she asked.
"This whole set of circumstances casts Steve's disappearance in a suspicious light. The state's attorney is going to demand an investigation."
"They don't think I'm behind this, do they?"
"The only conclusion so far is that the whole situation looks suspicious."
"They think I killed him?"
"Nobody has suggested that yet, but it's a possible fit with the facts."
"It could be that Steve was going to cut and run, David. He was in trouble, obviously. Don't they see that?"
"That's also a possible fit, Marian. It's early, yet. They're going to want to talk to you, for sure, and you should have a lawyer present before you say anything. Also, don't talk to anyone about any of this. I'd be surprised if reporters don't come after you right away. Don't say a word to them. Understand?"
"Yes. What's going to happen?"
"We'll have to wait and see. Stay in touch with me. I'll call when I know more."
"Will you represent me, David?"
"Yes, for now. If it looks like they may charge you with a crime, I'll help you find a good criminal defense attorney. That's out of my area of expertise, okay?"
"Okay," she said.
"Hang tough, Marian. I need to get to work. We'll talk later. Bye for now."
"What do you have for me today?" Senator O'Toole asked. He was on what had become his regular morning walk, the SpecCorp encrypted cellphone pressed to his ear.
"There was a boarding on Barrera's yacht last night. Two enforcers for a local drug dealer were arrested."
"What?" O'Toole asked. "The cops have her boat staked out or something?"
"No. The intruders were looking for Steven Canaday."
"No shit," O'Toole said. "My hunch was right, then. Canaday's connected to Barrera. She's fronting for some Mexican cartel, remember?"
"We never confirmed that the last time you had us watching her. It was a possibility at most."
Under Full Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 7th Novel in the Series_Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean Page 14
