Gail unlocked the passenger side door and opened it. "It's forty minutes back to Miami. Come on. I want to hear more of this."
It didn't occur to Gail until later, after she had dropped her mother off at home, that she had forgotten to mention that soon she would be voted in as a partner of Hartwell Black and Robineau.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hang on a second." Gail put her palm over the phone and said, "Go back to bed, sweetie. It's late."
Karen frowned from the door of the kitchen. "You said you would tuck me in half an hour ago." Her hair was tangled and she squinted in the light.
"It was ten minutes ago, and I'm still on the phone."
"With him.”
Gail gave her a hard look. "Yes. I am speaking with Anthony about Larry Black. This is very important. I will be there in a minute." When Karen had gone, Gail said, "Did you hear any of that? Mom is being mean."
"You should go. I'll see you tomorrow." Anthony would go with her to speak to Dee-Dee Black. "And Gail—" His voice became more emphatic. "Don't talk to Rudy Tillett, not by phone, not in person. Not you and not Eric Ramsay."
"Of course not."
"Gail, I mean it. Your physical safety is one of my concerns, but now I have to think about Larry Black as well, his possible involvement, even unwittingly, in criminal activities—"
"Anthony, I won't."
She heard him exhale. "I worry about you."
"And I love you for worrying." She kissed him good-bye over the phone and hung up. She had not mentioned that she had actually gone onto Althea Tillett's property—Anthony would not have understood—but she had relayed what she and Eric had talked about.
The latest news in the office was that Larry had come out of his coma. Still groggy from pain medication, but conscious. Anthony had called Dee-Dee; they would meet with her before the police could question Larry about the attack.
Gail took one more sip of coffee, looked for a moment at the stack of papers on her kitchen table, then went to say good night to Karen. She pushed open the door. Karen was sprawled across the bed with her mouth open, snoring softly.
Returning to the living room, she heard a light knock on the front door. She looked through the blinds. Eric Ramsay stood there, dressed in jeans, T-shirt, denim jacket, and running shoes with reflective stripes. She unlocked the door. "Eric?"
His face was alive with excitement. "I talked to Rudy."
"You what?"
He glanced past her into the house. "It's kind of late. Is Karen asleep?"
"Yes. Come in." She closed the door. "Eric, what have you done?"
Standing in the middle of the living room, Eric unsnapped the top pocket of his denim jacket and took out a small, leather-covered notebook. "Come here, look at this. It's Rudy's address book. I stole it from his office."
She walked over. His green eyes were on her face. They seemed hollow. The strangeness of this came to her a split second before she saw the blur of his arm. Then she dropped in a black, gagging spin.
Slowly she became aware of a man's voice. Carpet under her cheek. A knee in her back. She couldn't breathe. The voice came closer, whispering. "Shhh. Gail, I'm sorry I had to do that. Can you hear me? Hey."
She saw the ivory-colored upholstery of the sofa, a flexed running shoe. Now Eric's face was over her, blond hair hanging around his forehead. He spoke. "Be quiet and listen—"
She jerked, but his hand was over her mouth. Her muffled scream tore at her throat.
"Listen to me." He looked toward the bedrooms, then back. "We're going to go somewhere, the three of us. Do what I tell you, and everything will be okay. Tell Karen we have to go to a client's house, and his kids have video games she can play.”
Gail's chest was burning, heaving, air not coming fast enough. Her eyes watered.
Eric leaned closer. "Gail. I won't hurt you unless you make me. Okay? Speak to me."
She let out a long, low moan.
"All right. We're going to get up. Be quiet or I'll hit you again. Gail?" When she nodded, he slowly lifted his hand. "I'm going to borrow you for a few hours, then you can go." She sobbed. "I mean it. Shut up. If you give me any trouble, I'll hurt you, but I'll hurt Karen first" He pulled her up.
Her heart fluttered like a trapped bird. She whispered, "Oh, God. Eric, don't. Why are you doing this? What do you want? Tell me—"
He hit her again, holding her up when she collapsed. "Don't you listen? Jesus. Nothing's going to happen. Are you going to make me do this again?" He jerked her head up by her hair. "Gail?"
"No." Her voice was raspy.
"Good. Calm down. And don't scare Karen." He straightened her hair and gave her a little shove toward the hall.
Eric told Gail to drive her own car. His Lexus was not in her driveway. She hadn't noticed that before. Eric sat in the backseat with Karen and did tricks with quarters, making them disappear, then reappear behind his ear. He dropped one into Karen's alligator bag before she could move it away.
Karen wanted to sit up front and Eric said, "Gail, you better tell her to stay put. She could get hurt moving around in a car." Gail spoke to her sharply. In the rearview mirror Karen's eyes met hers from under the brim of her Hurricanes hat. It was not the defiant expression she usually put on when yelled at. She shrank into the seat and said nothing more.
The windshield wipers hissed across the glass, clearing away red and white dots of light. Gail thought of swerving into a tree. She searched traffic for a police car. Tears ran down her face, and she wiped them off with her hand. She heard Eric explain to Karen that the client was a good friend of her mother's, and he was sick, and Gail was worried. A short visit, Eric said, then they could go home.
Gail's mind churned. Eric was in this with Rudy. With Howard Odell. Frankie. Nothing made sense.
He told her to take the causeway toward Miami Beach, then mm left at Palm Island. At the gated entrance he aimed a black box and the striped mechanical gate went up. They passed a dark playground behind a chain link fence. On narrow lots, the houses hid behind walls or high shrubbery, and across the bay the buildings of downtown Miami were lost in cloudy mist.
"Pull into that next driveway and park past the fence." The one-story house had a roof with turned-up comers. In the yard was a dry fountain with a small stone pagoda. There were no lights on in the house.
Eric told Gail to latch the gate, then follow him and Karen around back. For an instant she stood at the narrowing gap between gate and fence and thought of screaming for help, then turned and saw Karen's small, white face, and Eric's hand on her shoulder.
Behind the house a single floodlight illuminated the wooden deck. There were a few seagrape trees and a hammock, then a dock, and a big Hatteras sportfisher. Light shone dimly from inside the boat, through the curtains in the salon.
Howard Odell was loading something aboard. He saw them and stepped onto the dock. He wore a windbreaker and a billed khaki hat.
He looked at Karen, then said, "Why'd you bring the girl?"
"She was there. Two for one."
Odell scowled at him. "Dammit, Eric."
Gail hugged Karen closer. "Howard, what are you doing? What do you want?"
His face was grim as he untied the ropes on the dock. "Get on the boat. We're making a stop in Bimini. We'll let you out there." When Gail only stared at the sportfisher, horrified, he said to Eric, "Help them on board."
Karen clung to her, and for a moment Gail thought of flinging her into the dark water, screaming for her to swim, go to the next house, hurry hurry, but Eric already had his hand around Karen's arm. He said quietly to Gail, "Would you stop worrying? Nothing's going to happen."
"Eric. I get seasick. I hate boats—"
'Tough."
The boat had a short rear deck with a fishing chair bolted to the floor. There was a long prow, a swept-back bridge above, and higher still, a tower. Radio antennas and long fishing poles—outriggers—extended past that. Howard Odell turned off the porch light, taking a last
look around. He climbed the ladder to the bridge. The engines whined, then steadied to a deep, throbbing rumble.
The salon was done in blue with teakwood trim, a nautical motif. A fake brass porthole with a mirror in it hung on one wall. There were a color TV, a stereo, and a little sink with liquor bottles in a cabinet above. Cardboard boxes and suitcases were stacked along the bulkheads, a garment bag thrown across them. A golf bag leaned into the corner.
Gail and Karen clung to each other on the upholstered sofa. Eric sat opposite, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed. Through a crack in the curtains she could see Palm Island slipping past, then the bridge that arched over to Miami Beach. The water slapped on the hull. Eric stood up, the top of his head brushing the paneled ceiling. He went below. Stairs led down to an area Gail knew would contain a galley, head, and forward cabin. Dave had rented space to sportfishers at the marina, when they had owned the marina.
A boat like this could cost a million dollars, new. Gail wondered who it belonged to. The Easton Trust? The Biscayne Corporation? Or was it Howard Odell's own toy? The money must have attracted Eric Ramsay, the first time he had played racquetball with Odell. But Eric had kept this relationship a secret, and so had Odell.
Eric came up with two canned Cokes and a bottled beer. Gail shook her head, and Karen only glared at him through narrowed eyes, her arms around Gail's waist.
"Suit yourself." He tossed the Cokes into an empty armchair and twisted the cap off his beer. He and Gail looked at each other across the salon.
She said, "Did you go to see Rudy?"
He tipped back his beer. "No."
"What about the address book?"
"It was mine."
"Where are we going?"
"Bimini. You heard Howard. You and Karen are going to Bimini, we're going somewhere else."
"Why?”
He put his fingers to his temples. "Gail... shut up. Please? We won't be in this boat long, so let's try to enjoy it. If that's not possible, then at least try not to be a pain in the ass." He leaned over, elbow across his knees. "Hey, kid. Some adventure. You ever been on a boat like this?"
Karen was sitting straight up now, her arms crossed over her chest, her hat low on her head.
Gail said, "Can she go get me some water?"
"You've got a Coke over there."
"I don't like soft drinks. I need some water." When Eric gestured toward the stairs, Gail shoved Karen off her lap.
"You know where the kitchen is?" he asked.
Karen turned around. "Galley. On a boat, it's a galley."
"Galley. Jesus. Hurry up, and don't mess around with anything."
When Karen had vanished down the companionway, Gail said, "Don't touch her. Don't even try. You'll have to kill me to get me off of you."
"Take it easy, Gail."
"Whose idea was this? Howard's?" When he didn't answer, she asked, "Are you both in it with Rudy?"
"What? You mean—no, you've got the wrong idea here. Howard and I had nothing to do with Althea Tillett. It was Rudy."
"Why are we here? What are you going to do?"
"Don't worry about it."
She sat there for a minute trying to breathe normally. "You're getting out of the country, aren't you? Both of you. That's what all the boxes and suitcases are for. What are we, your security?"
Still looking at her, he finished a swallow of beer, then wiped his mouth on a knuckle. "Yes. That should be reassuring. We have to take good care of the security."
Now she could see. "Howard has been stealing from the Easton Trust. No. Not Easton, because Sanford Ehringer would know. He stole from the Biscayne Corporation, is that it?"
Rolling his beer bottle between his hands Eric finally said, "Not all of Biscayne, only the adult businesses. Wild Cherry, Sun Goddess Escorts and the rest. They ran on cash and Howard's been skimming. I can tell you this because, shit, everybody's going to know about it when they find out he's gone."
"What are you doing here?"
"Helping out."
"Like this? Beating me up?"
"I said I was sorry."
"And that makes it all right?"
His face went flat and empty, then he shrugged. "Howard taught me a lot. I owe him. We traded tips on investments and tax, and one thing led to another. He's a player, but he had some bad breaks. He got screwed on his divorce. The IRS came after him. He lost his house. Then Seagate and Atlantic started getting out of hand." Eric took another drink. "Like Frankie Delgado. Frankie knows some very bad people, and they wanted in. Frankie suspected what Howard was doing. Between Frankie and all this shit coming out about the estate, we decided to leave before everything went kaflooey."
"What's the matter, Eric, you weren't satisfied with a Lexus?"
"I left the Lexus in Coconut Grove with the keys in it. Too bad. A fine ride, that car. Oh, well." He swallowed some beer. "No, I wasn't satisfied, not with a salary. The lawyers at the top—Hartwell Black, any big firm—they're not in it for the paychecks. Three, four hundred thousand a year? No, they want the contacts. Cy Mackey, for instance. He goes out to dinner with bankers or real estate investors four or five nights a week. You know, Gail—" Eric grinned. "Some of those upstanding lawyers you work with have offshore accounts. I could give names. The problem is, it takes so damn long to get into that position. Look at you. Eight years trying to make it on your salary. Which is what? Seventy, eighty grand?"
He leaned forward, looking down the companionway stairs. "What's she doing?"
Gail shivered, not from cold but from nerves. Her jaw was so tight her teeth hurt. She asked, "If Howard's got an offshore account, why do you need Karen and me?"
"Well, we didn't expect to, but Sanford Ehringer had the accounts frozen. He must have known something. It's not Ehringer's damn money, or Easton's, but he's got the contacts. The old man is sneaky."
Eric raised his bottle in a salute, then smiled at Gail. "Bringing you was my idea, sort of a last-minute inspiration. You said Ehringer likes you. Howard will call him in the morning and tell him you and Karen are our guests—he won't say where, naturally—and he'll ask that the funds be freed up. If they are, we can all go our separate ways."
The boat gathered speed, moving into the channel leading to the Atlantic. Karen came up the stairs carrying a mug painted with nautical flags, walking in her sneakers as easily as a circus rider on a bareback horse, her alligator purse across her chest. She gave Gail the mug and a small yellow pill.
"That's Dramamine," she said. "I found it in the head."
"Bathroom," Eric said.
Karen sat back down on the sofa, her hands between her knees.
Gail sipped the water. She said to Eric, "How much money are you talking about?"
"Enough." He made a laugh of pure delight. "Almost two million on board, cash. Six million at the other end. Enough to find a congenial island, let us say, with white beaches and clear blue water. You don't waste your money living high. You get to know people, make some solid investment decisions. You live comfortably the rest of your life. It's what everybody wants."
"Not everyone."
"Bullshit. Given the choice, wouldn't you? You're trapped where you are, so you convince yourself you like it."
"What about Wyoming?"
"Wyoming?" He laughed.
"You also lied about wanting to be a trial attorney. What were you doing, spying? You wanted to be on the case to find out how close I was getting."
"You know what, Gail? I lied about wanting to fuck you too."
She glanced at Karen, then said, "Does Howard mind if we know? What would he do?"
"Nothing. What are you going to say when you get back to Miami? That he's an embezzler? So? Who would testify against him? The high-society, opera-going hypocrites who own stock in these companies? They're not going to show their sweet white asses. The companies will go under, and so will Frankie Delgado and his crowd. You can't object to that, can you?"
"No, I object to this."
&n
bsp; Eric acknowledged her complaint with a shrug. "We'll leave you with enough cash to make up for my bad manners, and you charter a plane home." He said to Karen, "You get to skip school tomorrow."
Karen only looked at him.
He stood up, opened the salon door, and sent his beer bottle sailing into the darkness. He reached around, did three pull-ups on the door frame, then cupped a hand at his mouth. "Howard! Hey! What's that reggae station, mon? I'm in the mood for de island music." He nodded, then came back in and turned on the stereo. Static, then the steady thud of guitars and drums, a song without melody.
"Can we go outside?" Gail asked.
"Yeah." He turned around, smiling. "Don't fall overboard."
The wind wasn't cold, but it was steady from the southeast, and the boat was running at an angle over the swells, churning through the water. Karen wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Gail had on a pullover sweater. Her hair whipped around her face. The lights from Miami north to Fort Lauderdale were a sparkling line ten miles off the stern.
If she could find two life vests, one for Karen, another for herself, and then if on a signal they could both jump into the water ... they could last the night if they held on to each other, keeping warm. There were dozens of boats in these waters. If they had a flashlight as a signal—
Howard Odell was above, leaning against the captain's stool, feet apart. The lights from the dash glowed amber. He took off his hat for a second to scratch his head. He wasn't wearing his toupee. He put his hat back on and picked up a lit cigarette from an ashtray. A diamond ring sparkled on his pinky.
Karen climbed into the fighting chair, facing the horizon, which was slowly slipping away. "Mom. They kidnapped us, didn't they?"
Gail put an arm around her. "We're going to Bimini. You've been to Bimini before, remember? You and your dad and I went on the sailboat. We slept out on deck that night...."
Karen looked at her.
Gail took Karen's face in her hands. "We'll be all right. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."
The stars overhead were blazing now, but less bright in the west, where the skyline glowed. Gail knew it was fifty miles from Miami to Bimini. The sportfisher was moving at a good, steady pace. It was midnight now. They might make it by three o'clock, depending on the wind. They would call Sanford Ehringer. Everything would be all right.
Suspicion of Guilt Page 37
