Bluewater Jailbird: The Tenth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 10)

by Charles Dougherty

  "I see. I — "

  Marie held up her hand and pulled her vibrating phone from her pocket. She put it on the table as she swiped the screen and switched to speakerphone mode. "Bonjour, Phillipe."

  "Hello, Marie. Are you both there?"

  "Yes. Good afternoon," Liz said.

  "Good afternoon, Sylvia. I have some news."

  "Good news?" Liz asked.

  "Perhaps. The passports and the phone will be delivered tonight, so one of you should be aboard."

  "That's good," Liz said. "So they didn't have to damage them?"

  "No, but before I forget, they now show up in all of the systems as stolen, just in case they fall into the wrong hands. You don't have to worry about hanging onto them, if you get in a bind."

  "Okay. Marie and I haven't had a chance yet to discuss it, but I had in mind provoking Lanjwani, but not setting up a meeting with him. I thought I'd scare him and see what he does."

  "Makes sense, but you and Marie have to make the judgment on that. I wanted to tell you what the lab found."

  "Yes, please," Marie said.

  "They were modified by an expert. The photographs have been changed, and the chips have been cloned, presumably to match the biometrics of the men in the photographs."

  "Okay," Liz said. "Interesting."

  "Yes. In the absence of the new flags Sandrine put in the databases, they would have gotten these people past almost any border."

  "Even into the U.S.?"

  "It depends on where they were entering, and where they were coming from, but probably so. The lab recognized the little tracks left by the forger. They've seen this person's work before. They think he's in Brazil — or she — there was no trace evidence to give a clue as to the forger's identity. They based their guess on the way the work was done."

  "Do you think these men are terrorists?" Liz asked.

  "There's strong suspicion. The lab's still working to see if they can get any identification on the men from anywhere. Meanwhile, the working assumption is that they are."

  "Have you spoken with Clarence?" Marie asked.

  "Yes. He's negotiating with the Department of Homeland Security. You know Clarence; he's holding out for more freedom to act, but you're probably on the job, for what that's worth."

  "What does that mean?" Liz asked.

  "Later," Marie said. "Not on the phone."

  "Good night, ladies. Call if I can help."

  "Good night, Philip," they said in chorus. Marie put the phone away.

  "Should I fix dinner?" Liz asked.

  "Yes. I will help, and we can talk after we eat. I will tell what I know about this terrorism business."

  Chapter 14

  Detective Constable Lucas was caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic that backed up from the Castries area when his cellphone rang. At least he had it with him; the thief didn't get his phone. He glanced at the caller i.d., surprised to see that the call was from the office phone of Mary Jordan, the warden for the women's section at Bordelais prison. A frown on his face, he swiped the screen.

  "Yes, Mary?"

  "Zach?"

  "Yes. What is it?"

  "My purse was just stolen."

  "You should call the local precinct to report this. Why — "

  "I did that; I am not stupid. You need to listen. This concerns a recent detainee of yours."

  "Okay. Sorry."

  "My cellphone was stolen along with my purse, so I must call on this official line. You follow my meaning?"

  He thought for a moment. She must be worried about being overheard, or perhaps the call was being recorded. "Yes, I see."

  "I had some important papers related to your case in my purse; they could fall into the wrong hands."

  She could only be referring to the Berger woman's passport and personal belongings. "Why were they in your ... never mind, I see. Do the local police have any suspects?"

  "No, but the hairdresser saw her."

  "What?" Lucas frowned and stepped on the brake pedal as the car in front of him stopped.

  "Sorry. I was having my hair done, and getting a facial. My purse was on the chair across from where I was sitting. There was a towel over my eyes, so I saw nothing. But the hairdresser said she came in and sat down in the chair next my purse. I heard her ask how long the wait would be. The hairdresser told her about half an hour, and she said she'd come back. She got up and walked out, and took my purse with her."

  "Could the hairdresser describe her?"

  "Yes. She looked Hispanic. Straight, short black hair, very dark skin, but fine features, wearing stylish dark glasses. Tall, wearing a red tank top and knock-off designer jeans with red stiletto heels."

  "That's a good description. Don't usually get that lucky with eyewitnesses myself."

  "She's a hairdresser; she pays attention to looks."

  "Yeah, okay. Anything else?"

  "Spanish accent, but she spoke good English."

  "All right. Thanks for letting me know. Call me if you hear from the precinct."

  "Yeah."

  Lucas heard a crash as she smashed the phone into its cradle. There was no way to disconnect a cellphone and convey that kind of emotion. Old technology had its advantages. He shook his head. She was still angry that he'd gotten her involved in this Berger fiasco, but Mary was the one who had come up with the idea of asking Theodore Barron to hold Berger.

  Now that he was passing Castries, the traffic was thinning.

  ****

  "You haven't made any comment on my plan," Liz said. She and Marie sat in Kayak Spirit's main saloon, sipping tea and waiting for the delivery of the passports.

  Marie nodded. "I have been playing through the possibilities in my mind. Until I have considered all of the variables, I do not like to make the conclusion. It is better to not commit myself before I have to; it keeps me from making mistakes."

  "You think I've left something out?"

  "No, that isn't what I mean; once I accept a plan, I may not keep what is called the 'big picture.' This means that I may misread later signals. I'm not saying this well; it is not that I think you are wrong."

  "You like to stay flexible in your perception of the situation until you have to act? Is that it?"

  "Yes. Things change up until the last second; it is too easy to discount changes if you have already decided the way things are."

  "When will you feel like you must agree or object to my plan?"

  "I think I am ready. We can't act until you have this Samir's cellphone, but this will be in the next few minutes, probably."

  "Yes?" Liz prompted.

  "I think so. I think your idea is good, to provoke him, this time. Unlike the last time you upset these people, now they don't know where you are. That is one thing that is good."

  "Any more thoughts on pushing him about Dani?"

  "I think we cannot do harm with this. We may not learn anything, though. I cannot come up with the explanation for why they would take Dani."

  "And the other?"

  "Clearly, they have some involvement in the killing. Otherwise, there is nothing that brings them to you in the first place, because you are only asking about Dani — not about the men or the girls that they smuggle."

  There was a soft, tapping sound on the port side of the hull. Liz sprang to her feet and peered out the portlight to see a shadowy figure walking away up the dock. Glancing down, she saw a backpack on the side deck.

  "This is it," she said. When she looked back, her eyebrows rose at the sight of the silenced pistol in Marie's hand. "Where did that come from?"

  "It is best to be always ready, when you are me. What do you see out there?"

  "A person leaving, moving fast. But not appearing to hurry. And a dark backpack on deck."

  "I will go up first," Marie said, "and when I cough, you come up and get the package."

  "Okay."

  Marie climbed the companionway ladder and stepped out into the cockpit. Seconds later, Liz heard her cough. She scramb
led up into the cockpit to see Marie standing on the cockpit seat, her head swiveling as she scanned their surroundings, the pistol held out of sight against her leg.

  Liz grabbed the backpack and went back below deck, Marie on her heels. Placing the backpack on the saloon table, Liz said, "It's the one that Samir had; I recognize it."

  "Let's be careful," Marie said, turning on a tiny, bright, LED flashlight.

  Liz stood aside as Marie bent down and played the beam of light over the bag's zippers, intent on her inch-by-inch examination. She nodded. "Okay."

  Liz picked up the bag and unzipped the main compartment. "What were you looking for?" she asked.

  "Threads," Marie said. "Any threads caught in the zippers could be used to trigger an explosive when they are freed by opening the zipper."

  "What about a motion sensor," Liz asked. "How did you know there wasn't one?"

  "The boathook."

  "The boathook?"

  "Before I cough, I use the boathook to move the bag before I come all the way outside."

  "I never saw that," Liz said.

  "I move fast. What do you have there?"

  "Everything that I found when I first looked. Six passports and the cellphone."

  "You are still ready to make the call?" Marie asked.

  "Yes," Liz said, scrolling through the directory on the phone. She paused when she saw the entry for Hamid L., took a deep breath, and pressed the green send key.

  ****

  Hamid Lanjwani sat at his desk, entering the day's receipts into his ledger. He was startled when his cellphone rang; he knew that Rashid was upstairs with their guests, and no one else would be calling him this time of night. He looked at the caller i.d. and snatched the phone off his desk, punching the connect icon before the call could go to voicemail.

  "Where have you been, Samir? The woman is still alive. What happened?"

  A peal of high-pitched laughter was the only response. He pictured Samir with one of his whores and snarled, "Answer me, Samir, or your sister will pay."

  "Samir's gone away," a woman's voice said.

  "Where is he?"

  "Was he a Muslim? A follower of the prophet?" the woman asked.

  "Who are you to ask such questions?"

  "You asked where he was; if he was a Muslim, he's not in a good place."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He died at the hands of an infidel."

  "Then he is a martyr."

  "I don't think so," she said.

  "What do you know of this?"

  "I am the infidel who killed him — he died in battle, by my hand. So if he was a true believer, he can only be in hell, now. Isn't that what you believe? Death at the hand of a woman in battle means damnation, doesn't it?"

  "I do not believe you. Where is he?"

  "I'm calling on his phone, am I not?"

  "Where is he, you bitch whore of Satan?"

  "Oooh! I like it when you talk dirty to me, scumbag. Keep it up and you'll never see those passports."

  "I don't know what you mean." Hamid's pulse began racing at the mention of the passports, his anger and confusion giving way to fear.

  "Six of them," Liz said, "Greek."

  "What are you playing at, woman? I'll have you killed without blinking an eye."

  "You tried that, remember? It didn't work, did it? And this time, I'll be expecting it. Maybe I'll just put the passports where I put Samir's body. Or should I give them to the police?"

  "What is it that you want?"

  "Danielle Berger."

  "Who?"

  "You have until tomorrow to find her and have her call me. Do not make me come looking for you."

  "I don't — "

  "This time tomorrow, sweetheart." Liz pressed the disconnect button.

  ****

  "How did I do?" Liz asked, looking at Marie, whose face split into a wide grin as she raised her hand, palm out, toward Liz.

  "The high five, yes? C'est très magnifique!"

  "Merci. You don't think I overdid it?"

  "Not at all. You should be on the stage."

  "I have been, when I was at university. Should we call Phillip?"

  "If you wish, but it is not necessary. They will have monitored the call; they had both numbers."

  "How could they? I mean, from Martinique?"

  "With time to prepare, it is not difficult. The equipment, it is portable, and Clarence has people here on other jobs, you see. Probably, this is why they delayed the delivery until now, so that they can get ready."

  "Will they monitor Lanjwani's phone going forward?"

  "But of course. We will know soon if he ... you say, 'takes the bait,' yes?"

  "Yes. How about a glass of that chilled Sancerre?"

  "Yes! But one, only. We may have work to do tonight."

  "You think so?" Liz asked. "That soon?"

  "Probably not, but we must be ready."

  ****

  Detective Constable Zachary Lucas was feeling overworked. Nominally the senior of three detectives in St. Lucia's violent crimes unit, he was the country's de facto homicide detective. While violent crime among the country's citizens was not uncommon, homicides were rare. Lucas was frustrated by his lack of progress on the Watson case and puzzled by the disappearances of his prime suspect, Berger, and his eyewitness, Derek Mitchum.

  He had been driving to Marigot for a second interview with Mitchum's wife when he'd gotten the call.

  "Lucas?" he heard, as he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

  "Yes, sergeant. What is it?"

  "Where are you, Lucas?"

  "On my way to Marigot. I just passed Castries. I'm going to — "

  "Never mind that. I need you in Castries. Two uniformed patrolmen found a body a few minutes ago. They're in an alley behind the market, just south of the bus station. Get over there, right now."

  "Yes, sergeant." Lucas pulled off onto the side of the road. Twisting in the seat to look over his shoulder, he was watching for a break in the traffic. "You have a cellphone number for either of the patrolmen?"

  The sergeant rattled off a telephone number. Lucas scribbled it on the back of a receipt that he found on the floor of the car. Angry again that his notebook had been in his stolen briefcase, he said, "I'm on it," and hung up. He had to remember to get another notepad.

  Holding the phone in one hand, he spun the steering wheel and made a U-turn across traffic with his tires squealing. Then he entered the number with his thumb and pressed the green connect icon.

  When he heard the officer answer, he said, "This is D.C. Lucas. I'll be about five minutes. Coroner there yet?"

  "No, detective. He's on the way, too."

  "Good. Is the scene secured?"

  "Yes. We got it under control. We back in this alley, ain't nobody come back here much, anyway. No problem."

  "Any idea who the victim is?"

  "Mm-hmm. He name Tommy Dennison. Work fo' Theodore Barron."

  "Shit," Lucas muttered. Theodore Barron owned a rough nightclub on the edge of Castries. Barron hung out in the club most of the time and managed his criminal empire from there. Drugs, women, gambling: Theodore Barron did it all. He had almost as many police officers on his payroll as the government. "What did he do for Barron?"

  "Driver, mos'ly. He run errands. Wrecked the car a couple of days ago, though, so he been jus' hangin' out."

  "Wrecked a car?"

  "Yes. Had two more of Barron's men wit' he. They hurt bad, from what the word is. One of 'em blind, other one bust he head, lose he ear."

  "Lost an ear? In a car wreck? How ... never mind." Lucas made the connection to Berger's escape.

  "Can you tell what happened to this man you found?"

  "Throat cut."

  "Any witnesses?"

  "The old lady sellin' mangos on the corner say she saw a man go in the alley wit' Tommy a while ago."

  "Did she describe him?"

  "Average sized, medium-dark complexion, short hair."r />
  "That's helpful," Lucas said, sarcasm in his voice. "Nothing else?"

  "Dressed like he work in the hospital."

  "How's that?"

  "Those pale green pajama lookin' clothes. Tha's what she say."

  "All right. I'm almost there. I've got another call. Gotta go."

  Lucas pulled into the lot at the bus station, careful to avoid blocking the buses, and took the incoming call.

  "Lucas."

  He heard the sergeant's voice. "Lucas?"

  "Yes, sergeant. I just got — "

  "When you finish there, you need to go by the hospital."

  "Okay, let me get a look at this scene; I'll leave it with the patrolmen who found him."

  "There's no huge rush. We've got two more victims — killed in the room they shared there. But hospital security's cordoned it off."

  "Let me guess, sergeant. They worked for Theodore Barron. Right?"

  "Yes. Muscle. They were both bouncers at his club, but rumor has it they did collections work for him, too."

  "Uh-huh. And they were in a car accident? Is that why they were in the hospital?"

  "Yes. How did you — "

  "Were their throats cut?"

  "Yes. Did somebody already call you?"

  "No, sergeant. I'm a detective, remember. It's what you pay me for. Would you please call hospital security back and tell them to ask around about an average size man, medium dark skin, short hair, wearing pale green scrubs?"

  "Yes, but that could be a lot of their staff."

  "Right. But this would be a man that nobody recognized. If you can get them started on that, I'll finish up here and get right over there."

  Chapter 15

  Theodore Barron sat behind his ping-pong-table-sized, polished mahogany desk. He was cleaning the manicured fingernails of his left hand with a stiletto that he used as a letter opener. The handle, a gold serpent with two emeralds set in place of eyes, protruded from his right hand. He studied the photograph on the screen of the iPhone that Selwyn Graves held for him to see.

  "That's Tommy," Barron said, and nodded.

  The man swiped the screen, bringing up another grisly picture.

  Barron stared at it for a moment, his brow furrowed. He shook his head.

  "Brian Thompson," the man holding the phone said.