Lowe, Tom - Sean O'Brien 08

by A Murder of Crows

  “You’re a master.”

  “I won’t argue that point. A point well taken, by the way.” Dave grinned, removing his bifocals and pushing back from the table. “The dialysis clinic is in Orlando. Are you driving down there now?”

  “I’m taking Max to the cabin. She can be a pleasant distraction for Joe. And then I’m heading south to Orlando. The whole loop shouldn’t take me more than ninety minutes.”

  “If the clinic, by the luck of the draw, was the last place Lawrence Barton visited before his ill-fated final trip, maybe we’ll hit gold. I doubt if the Citrus County detectives pulled the video from the clinic because the assistant manager didn’t mention it.”

  “Well, let’s lift the shell and see what’s under there.” O’Brien watched a sixty-two foot Viking sports-fishing yacht enter the marina, the diesels rumbling, the captain slowing to a no wake speed, Gibraltar gently swaying in her slip. Max’s head turned, following the yacht moving to M dock where a marina employee waited to catch and tie the rope.

  O’Brien turned back toward Dave. “Keep an eye on Nick. I went to the range with him once. He’s good with a gun. He shot my .44 that day. I doubt Dino Scarpa would send anyone here. It’s me that he wants. Anything else becomes way too messy, especially considering the precarious tightrope he’s walking trying to swing a deal with the tribe. But it’s wise to be cautious.”

  Dave nodded. “We have our guards up, more than they usually are. I’ll have the motion sensors activated on Gibraltar before I call it a day. Nick’s locking his boat at night. He doesn’t stand in front of open windows and doors, and he sits in the corner at the Tiki Bar so he can see who’s arriving.”

  “I’m sorry you guys were threatened.”

  “Hey, no pain no gain.”

  “Well, if Andy Lewis is expecting me at the dialysis clinic, I better get going. Thanks for the prep work.”

  “Where will you go after the clinic?”

  “It depends on what I find. I planned to head back to the Hawkins’ ranch. If I see someone on video kidnapping Lawrence Barton, it’ll give me more to talk about with Lloyd and Bobby Hawkins.”

  NINETY-SIX

  Kimi Tiger felt her chest tighten. She looked out her bedroom window and saw ashen storm clouds in the distance over the reservation.

  She saw something else.

  A man was moving quickly through her backyard, running toward the chickee. A second man followed. Both were large men. Like football players. Dressed in dark pants and dark T-shirts. She saw them approach her father, Charlie sitting in his plastic Adirondack chair, carving a wooden duck, a decoy, out of a piece of cypress wood.

  Her father looked up. Surprised. He said something to the man, just as the second man arrived, both entering the chickee. Her father tried to stand. The larger of the two men pushed him back in the chair, beating him. Charlie held up his hands, trying to shield his face. But the men and their large fists were merciless. Blood squirting, her father’s head jerking back with each blow. Kimi heard herself scream, her voice sounding alien, as if it did not come through her vocal cords.

  And then she heard her mother scream in the kitchen. Someone was in the house. She heard her mother’s voice abruptly go silent. Kimi stared at her cell phone lying on her bed. She reached for it. Her hands were shaking so badly that she was having difficulty tapping out 9-1-1. She managed to dial the first two digits before they entered her room.

  Two more men. One grabbed her arms, pinning her against her bed. The second man unwrapped something hidden in a cloth the size of a handkerchief.

  A needle.

  She kicked. He held her legs. A bloodcurdling scream came from somewhere inside her. She felt the sting of the needle in her thigh, the warm flow of something entering her body.

  The big man holding her arms now placed his hand over her mouth. I’m going to die! His hand was hard, calloused. It smelled of cigarette smoke. He looked down at her, grinning. His eyes cruel, enjoying what he was doing. Kimi breathed through her nose. Her chest hurting. Can’t get air! Breathe! Need air! Help!

  She felt her body soaring, rising up from the bed toward the ceiling. She looked down. Her teddy bear had somehow returned. Somehow bigger. It’s face was twisted in a crude, droopy smile from the fire. But the eyes were still intact, staring up at her, as if to say, ‘please take me back and don’t leave me here alone.’

  NINETY-SEVEN

  Max knew where she was going before she got there. Just as O’Brien was slowing to turn off the county road onto his driveway leading to the cabin, Max sat up in the passenger side of the Jeep. She stuck her head out the window, nose quivering, tail thumping. O’Brien drove down the shell drive under the canopies of live oaks. An acorn fell from one of the trees, hitting the hood of the Jeep. “We’re home, kiddo.”

  She looked at O’Brien as if to say, no kidding.

  “Joe’s waiting for us. He’s going to take you fishing. See if you can find a bass bigger than you.” He slowed his Jeep, looking beyond the limbs heavy with hanging Spanish moss.

  Something was wrong.

  Joe’s truck was gone. Not where he’d parked it. Not good. O’Brien sped up, driving faster than he wanted down the last thirty yards of crushed shell and fallen acorns. He stopped in a cloud of dust, parking under the largest oak tree on the property—the same spot where Joe had left his truck.

  O’Brien got out of the Jeep, letting Max out her side. She made zigzags across the back yard, sniffing animal tracks, watching wading birds take flight. O’Brien looked at the ground near the tree. He could see where the tire tracks crisscrossed; indicating Joe had backed out of the spot.

  Had he been alone? Was he taken at gunpoint?

  O’Brien’s heart hammered. He ran up the steps, Max following. He looked for a sign of forced entry. There was none—the door locked. He opened the door leading from the screen porch into the cabin. The cabin felt uninhabited. Alone. The only sound coming from the whisper of the paddle fans.

  He knew there was no use to call Joe’s name. There would be no answer. Joe was gone. O’Brien looked in the gun case.

  And the pistol was gone too.

  O’Brien tried Joe’s cell phone. After five rings it stopped. No voice message prompt. Nothing. He called Dave and told him what he found. “I’m worried. Joe has an aversion to firearms. It’s not that he doesn’t like them; it’s just that he never uses them unless he has to. He’s great with a bow. Knows how to handle a knife, but refrains from guns as a last resort.”

  “Well, a .357 is forgiving, at least for the shooter. Not so much for the recipient. If Joe can manage to point and pull, he can do heavy damage with the weapon.”

  “The only reason he’d take it with him is to defend or protect someone. And in this case, it’s probably one of his family members. So has something changed? Where’d Joe go and why?”

  “Maybe he simply decided to go back to his trailer at the old fish camp. That place is almost as hard to find as your cabin. With the handgun, he might feel safer there.”

  “Something tells me that’s not where he went. But if he’s provoked … if he starts brandishing a weapon, he’ll be thrown back in the county jail until his trial.”

  “What can you do?”

  “Find him. I’ll make some calls, start heading south toward Orlando and the dialysis clinic. Maybe I’ll have an answer before I get there. Possibly someone has seen Joe.” O’Brien glanced down at Max. She walked to her feeding area and lapped water from a bowl. “I can’t take Max with me.”

  “I’ll run out to your cabin and get her.”

  “Thank you. But I need to go now. A spare key to my cabin is on Jupiter. It’s in the bottom right hand drawer of my computer desk. The key has a tag marked ‘storage unit.’ Not house or cabin key.”

  “I can be there in an hour.”

  “I’ll feed Max and leave her inside. It’s best to enter through the back screened porch area.”

  “Go on, Sean. You have to find Joe. And y
ou have to see if that video can keep Joe off death row before he does something he’ll regret.” Dave disconnected.

  O’Brien turned to Max, knelt down and held her head in has large hands. “I have to go find Joe. Dave’s coming to get you. Maybe you can lead him down to the dock. Show him the best place to catch a sunset, okay?”

  Max cocked her head and jumped up onto O’Brien’s favorite recliner.

  He locked the door on the way out.

  * * *

  O’Brien thought Andy Lewis was a cross between an assistant manager at an Apple store and a rent-a-cop. Tall, narrow at the waist, dishwater blond hair parted neatly on the left, the cuffs of his khaki pants ending two inches above his ankles. He kept a wad of keys at the end of a chain that bounced on his hip as he walked. He greeted O’Brien in the lobby of the dialysis clinic with the handshake of a politician up for reelection. He said, “Your senior partner was very specific with dates and what you guys are looking for.”

  “He’s all about attention to detail. You have to be if you want a conviction.”

  “He said you have more than a dozen years of detective work under your belt.”

  “Somehow it feels even longer. If you don’t mind, can we walk and talk? I’m on a rather tight deadline.”

  “Absolutely. I understand. Police stuff. I almost went into criminal justice in college. But my mother freaked. I became a business major instead.”

  “Where’s the video?”

  “In my office. We can take a quick short cut through the area where patients are getting blood cleansings done. Some actually can fall asleep in their chairs. Others read books or play games on their phones. It’s like waiting to get your oil changed.” He made a nervous smile. “Follow me.”

  He led O’Brien down the side of a large room filled with reclining chairs and patients going through dialysis treatments. The walls were covered with inspirational and motivational posters depicting the benefits of a positive attitude. Sunrises. Waterfalls. Seagulls flying off cliffs.

  Andy Lewis sat at his desk, motioning for O’Brien to come around and look at the computer screen. “Okay, I’ve scanned surveillance video for the days your partner said you were looking to see. Good news. We don’t seem to get a lot of patients with Range Rovers, white or any color, for that matter. I found some video of a Range Rover.” He played the video. It showed a man walking a short distance toward the Range Rover.

  O’Brien recognized the vehicle from the images he’d seen on the trail camera. It was the same Range Rover. And the man walking toward it was the same man that O’Brien had seen driving it—Lawrence Barton. Silver gray hair, rounded shoulders, walking to his SUV, carrying a book in one hand. To O’Brien, he looked like a tenured college professor.

  Another man made an appearance from the right side of the parking lot. He seemed to have come from between a parked car and a parked black van. The man walked quickly up to Barton, approaching him from behind. The images were black and white, but sharp. O’Brien could see the man reach under his loose shirt and then press something against Barton’s ribs.

  “Is that guy holding a gun on him?” Andy asked, pointing to the monitor.

  O’Brien leaned closer. “Keep rolling.”

  The perpetrator spoke briefly to Barton. The man’s body language was animated, fast paced. Demanding. He backed up. Barton was apparently told to stand by the open driver’s side door. The man stepped to the passenger side, his hand holding what was now plain to see—a pistol. O’Brien could see the attacker's lips moving, his free hand gesturing, ordering Barton inside the vehicle. And O’Brien could see something else—the kidnapper was Carlos Bertoni.

  NINETY-EIGHT

  O’Brien’s cell phone vibrated, an incoming text. He stared at the images on Andy Lewis’s computer screen, watching the white Range Rover leave the parking lot. Lawrence Barton a captive in his own car. “Freeze it a second.”

  “Sure. Didn’t we just see a guy being a crime victim? Held up?”

  “No. He was kidnapped.”

  Andy’s face flushed a shade darker. O’Brien could see Andy’s wrinkled blue dress shirt pulsate with the rapid beats of his heart, sweat stains darkening near his armpits. He took off his glasses and used a tissue to clean them.

  O’Brien looked at his phone screen. The text was from Wynona Osceola. Sean, please call. It’s URGENT. He slipped his phone back in his pocket and lifted out a flash drive. “Andy, here’s what we need to do. Take the video from the point where the man walks up to his Range Rover until the moment the vehicle leaves the frame. Drop it on this flash drive. Got it?”

  “Absolutely. It’ll just take a second. You want the time stamp left on the bottom of the frame?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “You got it. Man, I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’m not sure if the guy driving is a patient here. He looks a little familiar so he might be. But we have more than fifteen hundred people needing dialysis. I can’t remember them all.”

  “Of course not, but remember this: the person you saw with the gun in that security video has not yet been apprehended. The man driving the Range Rover was murdered. You must keep this confidential if this crime is to be solved and the criminal brought to justice. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do not share that video with anyone. If you do, you could jeopardize the chain of evidence and cause problems later in court. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give me your business card and write down your mobile number. I will call you with further instructions. Make sure that video is not deleted.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Where’s the back door to the parking lot?”

  “Out my office, to the right. You can’t miss the exit.”

  He nodded, leaving Andy Lewis and his secret, O’Brien almost running down the hall to the exit. In the parking lot, he placed a call to Wynona Osceola. The call went to her voice-mail. “Wynona, it’s Sean. Got your text. Is it about Joe? He was staying at my cabin, but left. And he left with one of my guns and a lot of ammo. He may have gone to the rez. We have to keep him from doing something he’ll regret. Another thing, I found surveillance video of Carlos Bertoni kidnapping Lawrence Barton at gunpoint from a dialysis clinic.” O’Brien disconnected.

  He got in his Jeep, closed the door and called Dave. “We got lucky. There was surveillance video of Lawrence Barton walking to his Range Rover as he was kidnapped and forced out of the parking lot with the kidnapper riding in the SUV with him.”

  “Can you ID the kidnapper?”

  “One of Dino Scarpa’s hit men. The guy’s name was Carlos Bertoni.”

  “Was … ah yes, the gent who broke the mob’s code of silence, Omertà, and was subsequently dumped in an Everglades canal.”

  “The same.”

  “Well, he’ll be difficult for the constables to find.”

  “They didn’t find the kidnapping video of Barton because they haven’t looked yet. Once they grabbed Joe, they lost their sense of urgency. It was the exact opposite for me.”

  “What do you do next?”

  “I’m sending you the video. Can you send it to the local media around the state? Send it to Joe’s attorney, Lana Halley. Make sure news media can’t trace it back to your computer.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Send a quick message with the images, something to the effect that the video was found on a security camera’s hard drive at the Chamberlain Clinic. Police are investigating. That’ll give the county detectives a graceful out. And I hope it gives them back a sense of urgency.”

  “News media will be calling them.”

  “That’s the idea. The greater idea is that Scarpa will back off the push to muscle into the tribe’s businesses because he knows Carlos Bertoni can be connected to his organization as one of the mob’s soldiers.”

  “But without a body, Bertoni’s body, Dino Scarpa might bluff his way out of any culpability
. However, Sean the trump card is you ... because you know what Scarpa did with the body. And that little fact could be the target on your back.”

  “But it’ll take them off Joe. And that’s okay. I have to go. I need to make an unscheduled stop at the Hawkins’ ranch. And hopefully before they see or hear about the video you’re about to release to the news media. How’s Max?”

  “Sitting on a deck chair next to me watching pelicans diving for fish. Stay safe, Sean.” He hung up.

  O’Brien called Detective Robert Edwards, got his voice-mail and said, “Detective, it’s O’Brien. I’m uploading another short video to you. This one clearly shows Lawrence Barton becoming a kidnap victim in the parking lot of Chamberlain Medical Clinic in Orlando. The guy who kidnapped Barton stuck a gun to his ribs and forced him to drive out to the Hawkins ranch where he was killed. The original video is on the clinic’s security camera hard drives. Management was kind enough to share them with the media and me. Later.”

  O’Brien thought about Joe. Where the hell was he? He thought about Wynona’s text message. She wasn’t the type to say something was urgent unless all hell was breaking loose. At this point, maybe it was. But whatever she was texting about, would have to wait until he made another visit to the Hawkins’ ranch property, a place where he was now convinced that hell had long since broken loose.

  And the flames were about to rise again.

  NINETY-NINE

  O’Brien pulled off the county road to combine his firepower. He left the blacktop highway, turning onto the Hawkins’ ranch. He stopped his Jeep under a cluster of tall sabal palm trees near the entrance to the gravel driveway. O’Brien set his Glock on the seat beside him, loaded a round in the chamber, two magazine clips in the console next to an open box of ammo.

  Wynona called. He answered. “Sean, Kimi’s gone.”

  “Did she run away or was she abducted?”

  “She was stolen right from her home. Her mother, Nita, called me in absolute hysterics. Apparently, Charlie decided to tell the mob to go take a hike, and they’ve come back with a vengeance. Charlie was found beaten to within an inch of his life. Nita said three men kicked down their door, grabbed Kimi and left. One backhanded Nita across her kitchen. Beyond the state-wide BOLO we’ve issued, we’ve got an interagency task force going.”