by Rich Foster
"Don't you drink?" a voice asked after her latest rejection.
Paula opened her eyes, Beyond her sunglasses she saw a fairly fit and not unattractive man looking down at her. He gave himself permission to sit down on the chaise beside her.
"Are you alone?" his voice persisted.
Paula pulled her sunglasses off and fixed icy blue eyes on him, eyes that long ago learned how to discourage a pass. "Why don't you leave before my husband looks down and becomes jealous?" She vaguely nodded toward the twenty stories of balconies that rose behind her. "He tends to blame me and knock me around first. After that he gets angry."
She put her shades back on and closed her eyes, when she peeked a minute later the would-be-suitor was gone.
It went like that day after day. Despite leaving a few thousand of her footprints in the sand and acquiring an excellent base tan, Paula came no closer to resolving the turmoil of her feelings than when she left. She wanted a commitment from Harry, and though she could imagine him as a husband she faltered when she cast him in the role of father. That and the nature of his work left the whole concept in tatters.
*
Storm clouds scudded across the sky in Red Lake. The temperature was ninety-two at one o'clock but fell over forty degrees in a matter of minutes as the front rolled in. The placid water of the lake turned to a roiling chop, waves lapped at the shore, eating away sand and undermining old pilings. Lightening pulsed in the clouds and their cacophonous roar echoed among the hills, then the bolts fell to earth as if the gods were hurling them at man.
When the rain began it was a deluge. Water sheeted down the window panes of Harry's office. Visibility was less than a block, the gutters swelled and then overflowed. Storm drains were so burdened that on the lower end of town water gushed up from them like dirty fountains.
Indoors the air was humid and stifling but the rain fell so hard that any attempt to open the window and permit cool air in only resulted in a puddle quickly forming and water running off the sill. Storms came and went in the mountains, often with a speed that proved both a relief and at times life threatening.
Rain danced across the glass but Harry no longer saw it, he was lost in thought about the Stockman case. Fool, a small voice in his head said, you don't even have a client! Something niggled at the margins of his consciousness but when he tried to nail it down the nature of the thought eluded him.
He sorted through the notes he made over the past weeks but that failed to trigger a synaptic connection. Outside the rain gradually abated. Above the Lazarus Mountains to the west patches of blue sky poked between the clouds. A ray of sunshine shot through to highlight a sailboat, heeling on a long reach, about a mile offshore. Then its crisp white hull and sail faded as it sailed into the shade.
Like the ray of sunshine, an internal voice suddenly urged him, When lost, go back to the beginning. So, Harry called the sheriff and asked if he would have the file on Jillian Donatello pulled from storage. Gaines was willing and told Harry to give him an hour.
He went back to his notes.
Forty minutes later his cell rang, he expected it was Gaines but the number was long distance.
"Harry? It's Crystal Rosen."
They exchanged the briefest of pleasantries before Crystal came to the point. "Do you have anything at all? Panama issued a death certificate two days ago. The company has decided to cut their losses and write a check. If you have anything at all, now is the time to deliver or we can kiss our finders cut good-bye."
"I think Stewart Proust tossed Stockman overboard. Of course you didn't want to hear it."
"Okay, okay, maybe your long shot will pay off. Where's Proust?"
"Either the Dade County Morgue or an urn from some crematorium. He died five days ago on the Miami docks."
Harry heard a long sigh, a steam engine dumping its head. "Forget it then. I'll move on to another case."
The phone clicked before he could reply. Harry looked at his phone, to the dead line he said, "So long partner!"
He locked up the office and chose to walk the half mile to the sheriff's station to get a bit of exercise. Puddles filled the gutters and wind fallen twigs and branches littered the walks. The lake was a muddy brown. Trash that washed down from the storm drains floated on the water, discouraging one from having any desire to take a dip.
On his way he stopped at Cody's Marine to check his houseboat's dock lines. One line showed signs of chaffing so he reset it to put the wear on another section.
Back on the street he picked up his pace and five minutes later he was waiting outside Sheriff Gaines' office.
"He's not all that happy, Harry," Jimmy Hughes warned. The deputy usually ran the patrol boat on the lake, consequently Harry and his paths frequently crossed.
Harry waited. Jimmy was loquacious, one need only wait for him to talk.
"That DEA agent is back. He has the boss' hair up."
"He'll get tired and go away."
"Watch yourself Harry, he's out to get you."
Just then Gaines bellowed for Harry to come in.
"If you like it so much here Grim, why don't you join the force?" he asked.
"Maybe I will."
Gaines' appeared pained by the thought.
"Can you run a passport number?"
"I'm the Sheriff, remember?"
"Harry pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. This is Harvey Stockman's passport the Miami authorities returned, but it has no recent port of entry stamps. I think Stockman had a second passport."
"Under another name?"
"Possibly, but more likely he simply reported his stolen. The new one he used on the cruise."
Gaines' interest perked up, "And he left this one behind to make it look like he went overboard?"
Harry nodded. "I'm sure he went over the side but this complicates things, he might have done a runner."
Gaines stroked his mustache. "But his number would show up at Port of Entry records if he used it elsewhere."
"But only if it was flagged. In that he was only missing his real passport would be valid."
Gaines scratched his chin, and shifted in his office chair. "I don't see how this helps. There are several other possibilities, Witness Protection may have given him a new identity, though that seems unlikely. He may have been planning on running and simply fell overboard with his real passport in his pocket, or was pushed by your biker suspect. For that matter he may have really lost his passport, filed for a new one and his wife, Julia, found the old passport and tossed it in as a Red Herring after she fed him to the fishes."
Harry grunted. "You have a point. I thought I was on to something there. But you could still run these numbers and see if they have anything on possible use of his real passport."
"Okay, its worth a shot, but I don't know how helpful the Passport Office will be. This could take some time. Meanwhile, I pulled the records you asked for."
He tossed a binder across the table. The murder book held all the reports, interviews, photographs and evidence logs for the case. "Have a look, but I told you the Donatello killing was an open and shut case. Two credible individuals witnessed the killing itself and three witnesses identified the body one of which was the victim's husband."
Harry leafed through the reports from the Medical Examiner's office, the reporting officers shift report, the witness statements, and then he picked up the crime scene photo's. In the first shot Jillian's face was turned away from the camera, but a syringe stood up from her neck it's plunger fully depressed. A full load in the carotid artery would have given the victim one bright hot flash in the brain before the lights went out. She lay sprawled as though the killers simply dropped her as soon as she was shot up.
"Look Harry, I've got work to do. Why don't you take these across the hall and play cop at your leisure?"
"Sure," Harry said as he stood, seemingly hearing and yet not hearing what was said.
As he walked out Gaines slowly shook his head. There wasn't anything for
him to find.
Sitting at an unused desk, Harry set the photos aside and read the reports one at a time.
Julia Stockman's statement matched what she told him almost word for word. Horrified by what she witnessed she failed to even call the police.
Frankie Goth reportedly tried to intervene and had the bullet wound to prove his claims. The sheriff decided not to press a weapons charge against him for carrying an unregistered weapon.
The Canaan County Medical Examiner's autopsy reported that Jillian Stockman was in excellent health other than the fatal puncture mark on her neck. Her organs were excellent, though unfortunately the heroin made them unusable for transplants despite the donor card on her drivers license. Jillian, a the time of death was 5' 3'' tall and weighed 102 lbs, giving her a her BMI 16. There were no distinguishing scars, marks, or tattoos on the body. The heroin she died from was completely uncut and enough to keep a dozen hard core junkies high for hours. It was detailed in the crime scene notes she died wearing a yellow French cut bikini, a jade and diamond ring on her left ring finger, silver loop earrings on her pierced ears, and a small ruby belly button ring.
The incident report was by Detective at Egan. It was clear, neat and brief. Harry had seen Egan's work before and he knew it would be accurate, but nothing revealing presented itself.
Finally, Harry returned to the photographs. He saw a lot of gruesome death in Afghanistan, he was responsible for some himself, but the idea that someone would spike a woman with heroin for what her husband did was somehow more tragic. On the third photo Harry felt such shock that for a full minute he simply stared at the picture of Jillian lying in death.
*
Barton came up cold on Carmen's trail. He spent three days trying. He started with her fellow students, but Carmen evidently had no friends. Barton never went to college but he figured that must not be the norm, drinking until you throw up alone wouldn't be much of a dorm party. Few people said they had ever spoken with her. They all mentioned her bodyguard and keeper. If they had been interested at all, this scared them off.
He tried the taxi stand closest to Carmen's place, where he drew a blank with the drivers in the cue. He went to the dispatcher who for $500 dollars gave him a list of all the fares picked up near her apartment the day she left. When shifts changed he collared the drivers involved. None recognized her picture. The closest Barton came to a lead was a late night fare. The driver said she was Hispanic woman but quite a bit older and not nearly as attractive. He remembered her because the woman seemed extremely nervous and spent much of the ride over to Oakland Airport glancing out the rear window.
Next he called all the rental car agencies but none would accept a cash deposit. So unless Carmen had a complete set of false ID's and credit cards that exit was out. The same was true for the airport. If Carmen flew on her own passport Barton figured Salvador Montoya would already have that information, money was all that was needed. A bus was a possibility but a girl who grew up sheltered and had no friends was not likely to take such plebian transport. Dirk finally concluded that she probably bought a used car for cash and she might now be anywhere in the country.
Waiting at SFO for his flight out to Denver, Barton reluctantly called the number Marcelli gave him to contact Montoya. He briefed the narco dealer on what he had learned.
"I'm afraid your daughter is in the wind, Mr. Montoya."
"There must be some way to track her?"
"Perhaps Consuela knew something?" Barton asked, more fishing then expecting an answer.
"No, she swore she knew nothing. If she had she would have confessed."
Barton noted the last word; Consuela was probably more than metaphorically a dead end. "With cash and time she could be anywhere," he said.
"You have been most gracious Mr. Dirk. Perhaps our paths will cross in the future."
After he hung up, Dirk wiped the phone of prints and dropped it into a trash can.
On his own phone he called Harry, it went straight to voicemail.
"I'll be back late tonight. There are things we need to talk about. I think I have a bone we can throw to those mutts from the DEA."
Chapter Eighteen
Harry thought he would test the waters, he called Julia Stockman. Expecting his reception to be cool he was not disappointed.
"Harry?" The word was encrusted by rime.
"Yes, I have some news from Crystal Rosen at UBI."
"Really?" Spring had come to her voice. "That's wonderful! Tell me."
"I thought I would pop over. I have other business in Beaumont today."
"Can't you just tell me on the phone?" The temp was cooling.
"Well I could but it is a bit involved. Besides I was able to liquidate some stock and I can give you a check for the $10,000 you wanted to borrow."
"I don't know what to say, Harry. You're an absolute lifesaver!" Suddenly it was summer in her mouth, she spoke the words as if he was the only person in the entire world that she wanted to see.
"I'll see you about twelve."
Next Harry called Crystal Rosen.
"Crystal, if I could save your company $2,000,000 dollars would you settle for a tenth of my tenth?"
When she answered her voice was as icy as Julia's had been. Harry produced that effect on some women.
"If you know something and don't let me have it, I will see you charged with insurance fraud. This was my goddamn case!"
"Actually, I was on the case for Mrs. Stockman before you were. But, putting that aside, in that you were kind enough to offer me a tenth of your tenth, if you found evidence for UBI not to pay, I thought I would make a reciprocal offer to you."
"Listen Grim, if you have something, I want it, NOW!" she shouted.
The scent of money sure does excite the woman. Harry found it hard to imagine the perfectly tailored and businesslike woman out of control. He waited until her breathing slowed. Finally he spoke, "I didn't say I had something, I was just curious if our deal was a two way street."
"We have no deal, no street, no nothing Grim, so stop wasting my time. And do me a favor, delete my number from your phone."
That went well, Harry thought. There was nothing left for him to say because there was no longer anyone on the line to say it to. Not that it surprised him, from the first he feared that the carrot Crystal Rosen dangled before him would always prove to be just beyond his reach. Harry found the promises people made when it came to money were often as outlandish as the ones they made at the onset of love. It was only later, after marriage or commitment that one learned their limited value.
Unexpectedly, he found he was thinking about Paula.
Where could she be?
Harry drove the pass over the Lazarus Mountains and down into Beaumont. No business awaited him there, he lied to Julia to make it appear he was making the trip anyway, thereby lessening any sense that it was important to see her. Expectations were power and Julia expected to see him come with a check in hand.
Julia answered the door in an outfit that fell short of 'come fuck me' but certainly left a hint all might be possible. If she still possessed any of the dowdy outfits she used to wear they must have be relegated to the back of her closet.
"Harry!" She spoke it with a hint of breathlessness he first heard from her when they were in bed.
Harry stepped inside. Without speaking he pulled a check out of his pocket and held it out for her to see. Julia snatched it up, eyed it like a child at Christmas, and then threw her arms around him, pressing her body against him so firmly, there was little for him to imagine about what was under her dress.
"Oh I can't tell you what a boost this is. I was so desperate I actually called Vito to ask for help. Can you believe it? After all his promises he told me he wasn't interested!"
"Really?" Harry forced himself to hide how much that piqued his interest.
"Oh, but now I am so glad he said no. I really do not like the man!"
Harry felt they were back on stage, playing for an audi
ence that did not exist.
"Can I get you a drink?"
Between then and the time she produced a beer for him his check had been safely tucked away. It didn't matter. If Julia deposited the check, it would bounce.
She sat down on the sofa, closer to him than one might naturally do. The scent of lilacs drifted to him. With scarlet red lips she asked, "What did you learn from Ms. Rosen?"
"Panama has declared your husband dead."
Julia's eyes grew large, arousal burned in her eyes, and without thinking her hands came together as though she was about to thank God himself. She was almost breathless as she actually did by saying, "Thank God!"
If there is any morsel of regret in her soul for Harvey's demise a rat couldn't find it.
"That means I will get the money," she continued. Again her hands made a small clap of delight as she bit her lower lip, smudging her lipstick.
"Unless UBI takes it to court."
Julia's joy evaporated as quickly as chimney smoke.
"What do you mean?"
"Without a body, they could file in U.S. courts to have the death certificate set aside. If they do that you might need to wait seven years."
Tears formed in her eyes, now finding something to grieve.
"But, don't worry, I will help you." Harry felt foolish saying the words but there was an unspoken script to follow. If Donatello was out of the picture Harry figured he would be Julia's immediate choice, at least until she could begin to shop around.
She didn't disappoint. Whispered thanks in his ear was followed by a lingering kiss, that soon lead her to rising and curling her finger toward him to follow. As she climbed the stairs her dress came loose and when it fell Harry saw his assumption about nothing being beneath her dress was right.
