Twisted

by Steve Cavanagh

  Dole didn’t respond.

  ‘How are we going to catch this guy?’ said Bloch, changing the subject.

  Dole sighed. When Bloch first raised the question, ten minutes ago, he already had a bad feeling that he knew the answer. Now, there was no way to avoid it.

  ‘The money is our best shot. He’ll make a play for the twenty million,’ he said.

  ‘But we got the court order, he can’t touch it,’ said Bloch.

  ‘Doesn’t mean he won’t try. I’ll check in, see if there’s been any requests for transfer of funds.’

  Dole looked at his watch, found the direct line number for the bank in Grand Cayman and dialed it on his cell. The receptionist connected him to Mr. Alleyne.

  ‘Is there a problem, Sheriff Dole?’ said Mr. Alleyne.

  ‘I hope not, sir. Just wanted to check in and see if you’ve had any requests for the money in Paul Cooper’s account to be transferred?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Sheriff.’

  ‘The court order we sent you. You remember? We discussed this. I know it’s not exactly in your legal jurisdiction, but I thought the bank were going to honor the order to freeze the account.’

  After five long seconds of dead air on the line, Mr. Alleyne said, ‘Is this Sheriff Dole?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. I thought you already knew that. Is there a problem?’ said Dole, who was feeling a tightening in his stomach.

  ‘I think there must be some kind of misunderstanding, Sheriff. Please tell me again how I can help you?’

  ‘I want to know if there have been any requests to transfer the money in Paul Cooper’s account.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, since the account is closed we wouldn’t keep a record of any requests relating to the account. It would not register on our system.’

  ‘Closed? You mean frozen, right?’

  ‘No, closed. Mr. Cooper closed the account once he made the withdrawal.’

  Dole’s stomach hit the floor. Bloch was staring at him. She’d picked up on the vibe from Dole’s side of the conversation.

  ‘Paul Cooper withdrew the money from his account? All twenty million?’ said Dole.

  Bloch’s chair screeched on the tile floor, she stood up, closed her eyes and put her hands on top of her head like she was watching a car wreck.

  ‘Yes, sir. It was under twenty million by the time he’d paid the bank’s fee and we’d collected local taxes.’

  His blood was up now, and Dole didn’t hold back. ‘Mr. Alleyne, tell me why I shouldn’t fly over there and arrest you right now?’

  Mr. Alleyne wasn’t in the least concerned.

  ‘Because, Sheriff, I was authorized to release the money.’

  ‘Who authorized this?’

  ‘You did, of course,’ said Mr. Alleyne, with some considerable satisfaction.

  ‘I authorized you?’ said Dole.

  ‘Yes, you came in with Mr. Cooper, showed us your ID, explained that the freezing order was all just a misunderstanding, and that as a show of goodwill you were there to escort Mr. Cooper and make sure he got home safely with the cash.’

  Dole spoke for another twenty minutes, then hung up the call.

  ‘Please tell me he’s sending over security camera footage from the bank,’ said Bloch, taking her seat again, opposite Dole.

  ‘There is no security camera footage. The bank doesn’t have security cameras covering customer areas,’ he said.

  ‘Shit,’ said Bloch.

  ‘And before you ask, no, they didn’t keep a photocopy of my ID. Some prick waltzed in there pretending to be me. It must have been a good fake. Goddamn it.’

  ‘Then he’s gone. We’re never going to see this guy again, are we?’

  They ate their cold cheeseburgers in silence. Dole went over the case in his mind. Step by step. There was nowhere to go from here. He watched Bloch do the same.

  ‘Unless we can make him come to us,’ said Bloch.

  The Port Lonely Sheriff’s Department vehicles were maintained to an exemplary standard. No expense spared. The cruiser that Bloch parked in the lot had had four new tires fitted two weeks previously. She’d burned through Bay City, the freeway and the narrow streets of Port Lonely, back to the department, and parked up to the smell of burning brake disks and two bald rear tires. She’d left a lot of rubber on the streets of Bay City.

  Dole and Bloch entered the department office and found Sue typing furiously on her laptop. There were no phones ringing, no one in the cells and Deputy Shanks was still working on Cooper’s laptop.

  ‘You got that draft ready, Sue?’ said Dole.

  ‘Go get coffee and I’ll bring it right in. I couldn’t make out every word you dictated in the car. Engine was too loud,’ said Sue, firing a disapproving look at Bloch.

  Bloch shrugged, said nothing and followed Dole to the coffee machine. They filled up from the bun flask and Dole led Bloch to his office.

  They sat in silence, both of them working the coffee. Dole felt revived. He needed the caffeine. He opened his desk drawer, took out a bottle of Advil and dry-swallowed three pills. Sue came in with her notebook and three letter-sized pages. She handed one page to Dole, one to Bloch, then sat down with her copy. She put her notebook on the edge of the desk and took out a pen, ready to make corrections to what she had typed.

  They read in silence. Bloch made a few notes in the margins of her page and swept her pen through the odd word.

  When they were done, all three of them sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘Send it to New York,’ said Dole.

  Sue got up, left. Dole got on the phone to Fullerton, gave him a heads up about the draft press release he’d just sent. He wanted to break the news to Fullerton on the phone.

  It’s not every day a publisher hears that their golden boy is dead.

  They waited for a half hour, Dole and Bloch discussing the finer details, then the phone rang. Fullerton. He was on board.

  Sue came back into Dole’s office with three pages of copy stapled together. She handed them to Dole and said, ‘Mr. Fullerton emailed through these changes.’

  Dole read the pages, handed them to Bloch. She read them and nodded, said, ‘We’re good to go.’

  Sue scratched her head, said, ‘Why are you putting out this press statement, Abraham?’

  ‘We don’t want to let this guy get away with it. That’s why we’re doing this press release,’ said Dole.

  ‘But it ain’t the truth, Abraham. I have issues with misleading the press,’ said Sue.

  ‘Look, far as Fullerton in New York thinks, we’re telling the truth. He thinks LeBeau is dead. This isn’t about lying to the press, Sue. It’s about catching a potential murderer,’ said Bloch.

  He took the pages back from Bloch.

  The Port Lonely Sheriff’s Department in conjunction with the World Publishing Group regrets to announce that one of America’s finest mystery writers has died. J. T. LeBeau is believed to have died in an accident at sea. To mark his passing, the world’s most popular authors will be invited to attend a memorial service in Los Angeles to honor the life and work of J. T. LeBeau. There will be readings of his work, speeches honoring his contribution to popular fiction and the press will be invited to report on the ceremony for his millions of fans across the globe …

  ‘I still don’t see how telling a pack of lies is any help,’ said Sue.

  ‘Pride,’ said Dole. ‘If Fullerton is right about that, then LeBeau will be there in the crowd. There’s no way he would miss this. Fullerton came through with the memorial, and that should be enough to draw him in. There ain’t no one on this earth who would pass up the chance to be at their own funeral. He’ll be there, I know it.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Bloch. ‘Plus it gives us some time to get to know this guy better.’

  ‘You mean we should read his books?’ said Dole.

  Bloch nodded. Dole sighed. He never did care for thrillers. He always saw the twist coming.

  Before Do
le left for the night, he and Bloch sat down and finished going through the text messages and calls. Some calls were made to the burner the day of the attack. With no way to trace the owner, it was impossible to interpret. They decided to put out an alert on the burner, so that when it was used it would ping a location alert straight to the Port Lonely Sheriff’s office. It was likely the burner would never be used again, but at least they were covering their bases.

  One thing that they did need to interpret were the two text messages Maria had sent to Paul on the day of the attack. Bloch found them in the print-outs.

  A picture of his passport, and then a text message.

  Forget something?

  What was she playing at? thought Dole. He had to find out.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Paul was eating shrimp salad cocktail in a seafood shack in South Florida when he heard it on the news.

  The local news anchor said a man believed to be the mysterious author J. T. LeBeau had died in a freak boating accident.

  He finished the bowl, running his fork around the edge to gather the last of the sauce. Paul ordered another beer, drank it slow and watched the news, waiting for the news cycle to run through and replay the story.

  Fifteen minutes later he saw the news item again. He thought about Maria, and the article he’d read earlier that morning. She was making a recovery, and police said she had identified her attacker. The news channel focused on the LeBeau story this time, and he saw a couple of talking heads with a panel discussion. The volume was low, but he followed the debate alright. He knew somewhere Maria would probably be watching too.

  She never understood Paul’s need for absolute privacy. For protection.

  He paid in cash, left and walked to the bus station. Paul bought a ticket for the first bus headed west. The memorial would be in Los Angeles, hoping to attract not just authors but movie stars and directors. It was all about the publicity.

  He checked his wallet, and counted out what he had left. Paul wondered what the hell he would’ve done if it hadn’t been for Josephine. She’d wired enough cash to see him through the next month or two, if he lived frugally, even after he paid five hundred dollars to Luis, the fishing boat captain who got him from Grand Cayman to Miami with no passport checks and no questions asked. And an extra five hundred to Luis had bought him a gun.

  Paul had some time. He need to plan this out carefully. If he was right, he would get one more shot at Daryl. A chance to end this.

  Before he left, he had one last thing to do.

  Bus stations were one of the few remaining places where you could be pretty much guaranteed a pay phone. And a working one at that.

  Paul filled up the phone with quarters, dialed Maria’s cell phone number from memory. Before the phone finished dialing, he slammed the receiver down and listened while his change tumbled into the coin reservoir at the bottom of the pay phone. He fed the phone again, and this time he dialed the house number. Chances were the cops had Maria’s cell. He didn’t want them to hear what he had to say. Maria might tell anyway, but he wanted to give her that chance. He had wronged her. Lied to her. And he hadn’t loved her enough.

  The phone began to ring.

  Paul pictured Maria’s face. The softness in her gaze. The gentle spark that came alive in her eyes before he kissed her.

  The ancient answer service kicked in. Paul imagined he could hear the tape turning in the deck. He started talking. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he needed to say. And it all came out in a glut of guilt, tears and anger.

  ‘I’ve lied to you. I kept things from you. Things I should never have kept secret. I was afraid, at first. Afraid that if I told you who I really was he would come for you, too. Stupid. I’ve been so stupid. I’m not J. T. LeBeau. It’s Daryl, the guy from the country club. Do you hear me? If you get this message, it’s Paul. I’m so sorry, Maria. I love you. And I’m sorry. I blackmailed Daryl. Got him to pay me to keep quiet about who he was, and what he had done. After I got to know you I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t tell you the truth because I was ashamed of what I’d done, and I didn’t want to lose you. In the end, when Daryl found me, I had to run to save you. I got it all wrong. I fucked up everything. It’s all my fault. I’ve lost the money. Daryl took it. Do not trust him. Don’t go near him. He’s a killer. I’m going to try to end this. For both of us.’ He paused. ‘I love you.’

  Paul hung up the phone, wiped the tears from his face and walked toward the stands. He boarded the bus, sat at the back on his own. No other passengers around him. He checked the revolver in his pocket. A full load. He put it away. Sank into the seat for the long ride.

  Soon, it would all be over for good. One way or the other, Paul had to finish it this time. There was no going back now.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Maria stared at the screen of her cell phone. It displayed the photograph she’d taken of Paul’s passport sitting on the kitchen counter.

  ‘Do you remember taking this photograph? It was taken with the camera on your cell. You sent it to Paul with a message,’ said Dole.

  She looked at the photo again. Looked away, closed her eyes and concentrated. Her mind felt like a picture puzzle with lines that didn’t quite fit together. There were spaces in her memory where there should be none. And yet Maria knew those memories were in there, somewhere. Nothing had been erased, but it wasn’t visible right at that moment. It was as if some memories and feelings were sitting just out of reach, shrouded in a dark veil.

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘At this moment I can’t bring this to mind. I don’t know why I sent that message.’

  Dole nodded.

  He flicked his finger across the screen, brought up the text message. Showed it to Maria.

  ‘Does this help?’ he said.

  Bloch put her pen down.

  ‘I don’t remember the text message to Paul, no. I’m sorry. I remember an argument. I don’t know what it was about,’ said Maria.

  It was at this point, Maria knew she would recover. She would get better, and return to her old self again. A welcome relief. She knew it when she had found herself able to lie about the photograph and the text message. No way did she want to let the cops know she had been planning to confront Paul with her lover, demand her share of the money and if he refused – blackmail him. And the passport was the lure for that trap.

  That kind of information the police didn’t need to know. All they needed to know was Maria’s memory of that hammer falling on her head. Every time that image came to mind, she felt a shooting pain in her skull – sharp and violent. She had her back turned, the hammer hit her from behind. It must have been Paul. It could only have been Paul. Daryl couldn’t do that – he loved her – he wasn’t capable. She didn’t understand why the police were asking these questions. Hadn’t she already told them everything she knew?

  Dole nodded, said, ‘Maria, we don’t want to put you under any pressure when it comes to these questions. It’s just us for now. We just want to know if you remember anything important. If not, that’s fine. Do you think maybe your husband was going to leave you? And you found he’d left a passport behind? Something like that?’

  Maria closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again. It was her way of signaling agreement. She was conscious of not moving her head. The pain was bad that morning. She was due her next set of painkillers when Dole and Bloch arrived. The drugs made her drowsy. Maria wanted to have whatever wits she had left to be on full power and she’d told the nurse to wait until after the police had left.

  ‘Maybe, I’m not sure. I don’t know.’

  ‘Maria, do you know a man named Daryl Oakes?’ said Bloch.

  ‘The name is familiar,’ said Maria. It was as non-committal an answer as she could think of.

  Bloch took the phone, swiped backward a couple of times and brought up the text messages to and from a number which wasn’t listed under a name in her contacts. It was just a number.

  ‘Is this his number?�
�� asked Bloch.

  Maria drew her fingers across her brow, her eyelids fluttering.

  ‘I-I’m not feeling too good, today. The pain. Can we do this some other time? I just can’t think straight,’ said Maria.

  She watched the cops exchange glances through her fingers. She couldn’t swear to it, but she thought she saw Dole’s lip quiver – his mustache twitching.

  ‘Sure, some other time,’ said Dole.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Dole followed Bloch down the hospital corridor. She took long, elegant strides. He had to up his pace just to keep in time with her. She was taller than him. And with each step his knees sent a little shot of acidic pain through his system.

  They made it to the parking lot and the patrol car. Bloch opened the driver’s door, stood there for a second then slammed it shut without getting in. Dole stood on the other side and they looked at each other over the roof of the car.

  ‘Damn it,’ said Bloch.

  ‘Look, I don’t see how it changes much,’ said Dole.

  Placing her elbows on the roof of the car, Bloch took her head in her hands and said, ‘It changes everything.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. So maybe Maria was having an affair with Daryl. So what? She learned that her husband was going to leave her, she texts him and says he forgot his passport. Paul hadn’t booked any trips, he was out on his boat. There was sass in that text message she sent him. She wasn’t reminding him he’d left his passport behind in order to be helpful.’

  Bloch nodded.

  ‘She is still adamant that it was Paul who attacked her. Maybe now that makes a little more sense. She discovers his secret life as an author – confronts him, he tries to leave her but forgets his passport, he returns to the house, there’s an argument, probably over the millions in his account and then he hits her on the head with a hammer. That’s our story for the moment.’

  ‘I think Daryl was the one who slapped her,’ said Bloch.

  Dole looked up at the blue sky. It was hot, and he was tired.