by John Moralee
“I reckon they drowned him,” Wayne said. “Makes it look like an accident if his body is found. They probably held his legs and dangled him upside down over the side, holding his head under the water until he was dead, then let him sink. He won’t resurface for days – if they haven’t weighed his body down with blocks. The perfect way of disposing of someone.”
They’d killed Ed because he was a weak link in the chain. But were there others? Maybe there was one more. A cold feeling of dread filled me.
“Jesus! We’ve got to get to The Boat House immediately!”
“You need a drink that bad?” he joked.
“I’ll explain on the way. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Chapter 41
“Cindy? Who’s Cindy?”
“She’s a waitress. She had told me about the guys in the parking lot. It had been so dark outside that I had not been able to see them until my eyes adjusted, but she had seen them easily. How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because they’d told her to tell me about the vandalism. They must have threatened her or something. Maybe Ed got her involved. She tried to warn me in the hospital, but I didn’t put it together. She ran out rather than risk telling what she’d done. We have to get to her before they kill her.”
It was approaching midnight when we docked. We’d agreed to not report finding Ed’s boat deserted until tomorrow because there wasn’t time to wait for the Coast Guard. We ran to Wayne’s pickup. He drove it through the winding streets, ignoring the one-way signs. We reached The Boat House at midnight. Wayne pulled into the parking lot. I got out and went inside. My father was serving behind the bar. He saw my face, questions forming. “What’s up?”
“Ed’s missing, probably dead,” I said. “Where’s Cindy?”
“She got a call a few minutes ago. She rushed out saying she had to go home, some kind of emergency. Why? What do you mean Ed’s dead?”
“Can’t explain now. See you later.”
“But –”
I was out of there and back in the passenger seat next to Wayne before I could catch my breath. “Get to the trailer park now.”
Wayne had kept the engine running. The pickup truck leapt forward, jolted over the sidewalk and back onto the road at a speed that slammed me into my seat, my neck bouncing back and forth. I didn’t have time to reach for my seatbelt - we were driving too fast and wild. I held onto the dashboard, absorbing the shocks with my arms. Wayne raced across town. The trailer park was ahead in no time at all. I could see Cindy’s car turning in through the entrance. We were not too late. I pressed the horn, but I didn’t think she heard it. Wayne squeezed out some more speed. We were right behind her when she parked next to her trailer. I parked next to her car and got out before she unlocked the trailer’s door.
“Cindy, I know.”
Her lips parted as if to say something – a denial, a flat-out lie – but then she stopped herself. I had caught her by surprise; she could not recover fast enough to react. She looked resigned to telling the truth. “You’d better come in …”
Wayne and I stepped out, guns up. Wayne went looking for trouble. A car engine started up. I glimpsed a brown pickup pulling away from behind a trailer. It must have been watching. Cindy saw it too. It screeched off without its lights on. Wayne ran past several trailers – chasing it on foot like a sprinter - but the vehicle escaped. He walked back, cursing.
“They were waiting,” Cindy said. “Oh, God.”
“Ed was killed, Cindy. They drowned him. They would have killed you, too.”
Cindy dropped her key. She retreated from the trailer. She could not look me in the eyes. I wanted to be angry with her, but she was so frightened I couldn’t hate her. I let her cry into my shoulder. Wayne rolled his eyes. “You’re a sucker for women, man. She helped them put you in hospital.”
Wayne picked up her key and approached the trailer, going up the aluminium steps. He peeked through the window, then went around the sides and rear looking in the other windows. He came back looking satisfied. “Just checking the place wasn’t rigged before opening the door.”
He unlocked the door. I ushered Cindy inside. Wayne stood guard.
Inside, the trailer was a mess. It looked as if she’d just left her old clothes where she’d taken them off. A bra was hanging from a cupboard. A pizza box lay in the sink. Cindy slumped on a threadbare couch.
“Tell me everything, Cindy.”
She asked me to close the door on Wayne. I did. She looked a little afraid of what he’d do, which she had a right to be. I was angry, too.
“Okay,” I said, “explain why you did it. Why’d you set me up?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “God, I didn’t think they’d hurt you. It was all Ed’s doing. Ed was the one working for them. He took money off them. He gave me some to pay my bills. That was how he got me involved. We had a little thing going for a while.” She added quickly, “I stopped it because he was married. I didn’t want nothing more. But Ed owed them money. Ed was always after more money. They gave him the money to buy his own boat for some favours. He was paid to turn a blind eye to what some guys would do in The Boat House when he was on duty.”
“What things?”
“Selling drugs.”
“Jesus! Ed let them sell drugs in The Boat House?” I needed it explaining.
“Only when Harry wasn’t there. Ed wasn’t that stupid. Ed wouldn’t get your dad in trouble. Ed figured it was okay because they would’ve sold drugs with or without his permission. He figured he could earn some legal money fishing. Ed didn’t know they’d want him to return the favour – like collecting drugs from the mainland. They made him do it once a month. Ed said they had a buyer on the island who would pay top dollar.”
I waited as Cindy wiped her tears.
“Ed brought some bad men with him one night. I hadn’t seen them before, but Ed had told them about me. They just wanted to give me some money for a little favour – that’s what Ed said, but he was lying. There was this guy with a flat head. He was real scary. He wanted to know about you. I told them I’d only met you like once or twice, but he acted like I was lying. He said I could have $2000 to tell them when you were at The Boat House, so they could scare you into leaving town. I knew I couldn’t say no. I mean, there were so many of them. I said okay, hoping there wouldn’t be a time right. Besides, I just thought they wanted to scare you.”
“Cindy –”
“Honest. I had no idea what they intended doing. Anyway, his creepy gang came back a couple of days before they beat you up. Flat Head knocked on the door in the middle of the night and demanded I open it or they’d set fire to my home. They had bottles filled with petrol. They would have done it. I was so scared. I had to let him in. He told me I had to remember our deal. By then, I knew I couldn’t possibly say nothing. That day, Ed called in sick, knowing Harry would need someone to fill in. He reckoned right that it’d be you. The scary guy – the one that looks sort of like Frankenstein? - he tells me what to say to you to make you go outside. I didn’t want you to be there, but I couldn’t say nothing. I didn’t want you to go out into the parking lot. I tried to warn you. But then …”
“Things got violent.”
“When I saw what they were doing, I got the students to come outside to stop them. I didn’t want any of that to happen. I had no idea they’d stab you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Did you see their faces?”
She said yes.
“These the guys?”
She recoiled from the pictures. Yes, they were the guys.
“Cindy, I need you to tell a writer for the Tribune exactly what happened. His name is Douglas Clark. Then I want you to make a statement for the police.”
“I can’t. The guys ...”
“They will come back to shut you up if you don’t help me put them away.”
“They gave me no choice but to do what they wanted.”
“I know.
”
“I didn’t want you hurt, Michael. I thought about contacting the police, but I knew they would just come back another day, with more bombs.”
“I know. You didn’t want to be involved, but you are now. You have to clear things up. Those guys have to be locked up. You have to make a statement to the cops.”
“But I can’t!”
“Cindy, you have to.”
“They’ll kill me! I don’t want to die. There’s no way I could do that. Please let me go. I can’t stay here no longer. Please!”
Exasperated, I paced the room. “Cindy, someone has to make a stand against these lowlifes. They kill people.”
She whined and shook her body. “I can’t.”
I had never seen someone so scared.
Cindy would never talk with the police.
“Okay, Cindy, I won’t make you do something you don’t want to.” She calmed down a little. “Just tell me about the call you got today. What made you rush over here?”
“He said I had to pack my bags and leave in the morning or they’d hurt me real bad.”
“Was it Flat Head?”
“No. It was someone clever. You know.”
“I don’t know. Explain.”
“He was like intelligent. Talks right. Like a lawyer.”
Chapter 42
It was Wayne’s idea to use Van Morgan’s bugging equipment against him. That was why Wayne followed Van Morgan to the tennis club, where Van Morgan had a game with another businessman. While Van Morgan was sweating on the court, Wayne was in the locker room doing electronic surgery on his unattended phone. He removed a tiny screwdriver from his pocket and opened it up, slipped the transmitter into the device, sticking it down with tape, then closed it and screwed it back together. It felt the same. It looked the same. The only difference was we could now record any conversations Van Morgan made. Wayne slipped the phone back into Van Morgan’s locker as though it had never been opened. He didn’t tell me how. I didn’t ask.
Cindy had described the lawyer’s voice sufficiently for me to know it was David Freeman. I watched him come out of Dyler and Westbrook’s office at midday. He looked confident and perky. David Freeman walked down the street, swinging his briefcase like he didn’t have a care in the world. I followed. I caught up with him at the street corner. “David! Can I talk to you over lunch?”
“Something happened?”
“I’d like to talk about Vernon and the arson thing.”
“You should have called me. I would have gone to see him. I’ll get on it right away.”
“There are other matters I want to discuss first.”
“Oh? What?”
“Let’s eat while we talk?”
“Uh - excellent.”
Freeman was crossing the road when a pickup truck swerved towards him. I grabbed him and pulled him backwards to the kerb.
The pickup sped away.
Freeman touched his heart. He was breathing sharply. “Did you see that? He tried to kill me!”
“Just not looking where he was going, probably. You want to call the cops?”
“Yes – no. Forget it. I didn’t see the licence plate, did you?”
“Too fast,” I said, shaking my head. “You look like you need a stiff drink.”
“Yeah?” he said, unsure.
“Just to steady your nerves. Not every day you get missed by a truck by this much.”
He tried laughing it off. It sounded like a death rattle.
We went into the restaurant. I bought him a Scotch.
At lunch, he didn’t eat much, but he did drink. He also took two trips to the restroom. His eyes were dilated after each trip.
Cocaine, I thought. He’s a user.
I should have seen the signs earlier. I, being an expert at ruining my body and mind with the nose candy, should have spotted it straight away the first time I met him.
Freeman had quite a habit.
My own cell phone got a call when he was away. Wayne said, “He’s calling Van Morgan like we predicted.”
“It’s working?” I said. It had been a gamble that the bug would work.
“Like clockwork. Sound’s coming through fine.”
Freeman spoke to Van Morgan for a couple of minutes. Wayne recorded every word. Freeman acted as normally as he could under the belief that Van Morgan’s associates had tried to kill him. Lunch continued. I talked about Vernon’s problems, Freeman listening and offering advice. He sweated during the meal, blaming the spices. He was more flustered than I’d ever seen him. I didn’t think he suspected me of arranging his brush with death. He had too many things on his mind, like his own survival.
“Guess what?” Wayne said, as I entered his pickup truck.
“Do tell.”
“Freeman did exactly what we hoped. And then some.”
“Taped it?”
“You bet.”
Wayne played it back. There was some static, but the voices were clear.
Freeman: “It’s me.”
Van Morgan: “Who?”
Freeman: “David Freeman.”
Van Morgan: “Dave, what’re you calling me for?”
Freeman: “I thought we had a deal.”
Van Morgan: “We do.”
Freeman: “Yeah, right. All I agreed to do was keep you informed about the court case. Then Scott Taylor is killed and now you’ve got guys after me. Sending somebody to give me a hit-and-run accident is your idea of a partnership?”
Van Morgan: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I keep telling you Taylor wasn’t killed by me. And I don’t know what else you’re on about.”
Freeman: “Yeah, right. You tried to kill me! Well, listen up, partner. I’m not so stupid I haven’t protected myself. I’ve kept evidence of all your kickbacks and your drug connections with that psycho Morrow. I’m not someone you can get rid of. Last night, you went too far. Drowning that guy. How many people have to die? I told you I could give you all the information you needed to beat Beck’s lawsuit without doing anything to anybody. That included Taylor. He had no idea I was feeding you his case. You shouldn’t have killed him.”
Van Morgan: “I didn’t kill Taylor.”
Freeman: “Huh. Semantics. You hired someone to, though, right?”
Wayne looked at me, grinning.
Confess, I thought. Say you did it, Van Morgan.
“I’m not lying,” Van Morgan said. “I didn’t kill Taylor. Why would I do that when I had you to screw up his case? That’s why I hired you.”
Freeman: “You didn’t have Morrow do anything either, I suppose? Like get me to do stuff last night. You broke our deal.”
Van Morgan: “You’re starting to piss me off, Dave. I promised you a top position in the company as soon as Beck lost her case and the media stopped asking questions, remember? Don’t get paranoid on me. Your trouble is you snort too much white stuff. I guess that’s what a white-collar criminal is, huh? A junkie lawyer. Get your act together, Dave. You and me are on the same goddamn side. Remember that. Stay cool. I didn’t try to kill you. Think about it – you wouldn’t be around complaining if I had. So, don’t be so dumb. A couple of weeks and this will all be behind us.”
“A couple of weeks …”
“Then you can get the final payment and look forward to a new career in company law working for me.”
“So … so we understand each other?”
“Yes. We understand each other. Jesus – just do what we agreed, lose the case in court. That’s all I ever asked.”
A long pause. “Okay, then.”
“Dave?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t call me ever again, okay?”
“Too late,” I said. “Too late.”
The tape was still running. There was a second call from Van Morgan to another number. I recognised the voice of the man who answered. It was the man who’d threatened me on the phone. He said, “Yes?”
“Bad news. Freeman’s lost his nerve,” Van M
organ said. “He’s just told me he’s go some evidence on us. We can’t trust him. Get everything off him and take care of him.”
“When?”
“Now.”
The message ended.
Chapter 43
After that, things moved fast. We had to get to David Freeman before Van Morgan had him killed. Wayne parked his car outside the offices of Dyler and Westbrook. I went in and spoke to the receptionist. She told us that Freeman had hurried out about fifteen minutes ago, saying he was sick and was going home for the day.
His address was listed as a beach house just a few minutes away.
Wayne drove while I called the police. The dispatch didn’t understand what I wanted, so she put on a deputy.
“Uh – I’m Deputy Jacobson, how can I help you?”
“My name’s Michael Quinn. I’m on my way to the house of a David Freeman. His life is in danger.” I outlined what was going on. The deputy didn’t know what to do. Then I played the tape to him of the conversations. The deputy listened.
“How’d you get this?”
“Explain later. Get someone to his address right away. Just make sure they don’t shoot me or my friend Wayne.”
“I … I have to speak to the sheriff.”
“Hurry up,” I told him. “We’re almost there.”
“Quinn?” Boone barked. “What the hell is going on? Where are you?”
“I’m about to do your job, Sheriff. Talk to your deputy.” I hung up the phone and looked at the beach house. Slowing down, we arrived in silence. Freeman’s beach house was some distance from the other houses on the beach. It was a strange and impressive building, built on three levels going downwards towards the sand. Each level had a sloping white roof made of alabaster tiles. The top level had a garage and entrance as well as what looked like more rooms on either side. The windows were large black panels and it was impossible to see inside. There were two vehicles parked outside. One was a brown pickup truck – Ecker and Gruemann’s. Nobody was inside it. Wayne stopped our pickup below the beach house.
