Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series)

by Maxim, John R.

  Whistler heard a squeal of brakes in the distance. He realized that the sirens had stopped. He said, “Okay, we’ll walk up there, but only to eavesdrop. When we hear a description, we leave. Fair enough?”

  His cell phone chirped before she could answer. He flipped it open. His father, most likely. But the caller was the sergeant. He thought Moore had read his mind. Sergeant Moore, however, sounded upset. Moore asked him, “Adam, are you on your boat?”

  “Yes, we are. We just got here.”

  “Who is we? Is Leslie with you?”

  “Leslie Stewart?” Whistler asked. “No, she isn’t.”

  “Have you seen her at all? She was coming to get Claudia. From there, she was going to the hospital.”

  “Claudia and I just got back from there ourselves. What’s wrong, Ed? What’s going on?”

  “Look, I just pulled into Palmetto Bay. We have a report that a woman has been beaten and kidnapped. From the witness accounts, it sounds like Leslie. They ripped off part of a blouse like the one she was wearing. Oh, shit. Now I see Leslie’s car.”

  Claudia was standing a few feet away. She was staring at the phone as he held it to his ear. He raised a questioning eyebrow. She nodded in response. She mouthed the words, “I can hear.”

  “Ed…you said ‘they.’ What did the witnesses see?”

  “Three men, a green Pontiac and, God damn it, I saw them. They were crawling past Jump’s. This must have been why. They must have followed her down to the marina and…Oh, Christ. I think one of them had to be Crow.”

  Moore paused to swallow. He was more than upset. He seemed to be blaming himself.

  “Ed, slow down. Why might one of them be Crow?”

  “Witness description. His face all patched up. He called her a slut and something else about the devil. Who the hell else could it be?”

  Whistler had felt his own stomach tighten, but he forced himself to speak slowly. He asked, “And the others? You have descriptions on the others?”

  “Golf shoes.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “They say Crow was wearing golf shoes with spikes. Why would he walk around wearing spikes?”

  “I don’t know. Ed…the others. What did they look like?”

  “One had a gun. He whacked Leslie on the head. Then he threw her into the car. Dark suit, late thirties, linebacker build. He had a cigar in his mouth.”

  Whistler’s mind was spinning. Crow and Lockwood together? As unlikely as it seemed, he knew that Claudia was right. Vernon Lockwood had been aboard their boat. He felt a cold fury rising within him. In his mind, he saw Lockwood touching Claudia’s things and for that alone Whistler would kill him.

  Moore said, “Talk to me, Adam. You there?”

  Whistler, with effort, kept his voice calm and even. He asked, “And the third man? You said there was a third.”

  “Third man was the driver. Late forties, striped jacket, straw hat, tinted glasses. This is someone who I think Leslie knew before this. Do you know either one? They sound familiar?”

  That didn’t describe Briggs, but it did sound familiar. “Not off-hand,” he lied. “Have you broadcast those descriptions?”

  “Green Pontiac, three men is all that went out. The rest of it’s going out now.” Moore paused. He took a breath. He asked, “Adam…why Leslie?”

  “You say she knew the driver?”

  “She sounded that way.”

  “And she’s seen the flyer on Joshua Crow. She knows that his face was marked up. You say you think they followed her here. She got out of her car and they grabbed her?”

  “That’s what it looks like,” said Moore, “but why her?”

  “Ed, you just said it. They thought that she’d made them.”

  Moore answered, “Wait a minute. That couldn’t be right. She was halfway down to your boat when this happened. Crow didn’t chase after her and grab her from behind. He was already down there. He was coming from there.”

  Whistler felt a chill. He said, weakly, “I don’t know.”

  “Is this about you? Were they down here after you?”

  “Ed…I don’t know. We’ll be right up there.”

  THIRTY THREE

  Poole’s bodyguard, Robert, slowed the Lincoln to a crawl as Lagoon Road came into view. The first mailbox he could see showed the number 18. The house two lots beyond it was blue with black shutters. He pointed. He said, “There it is, Mr. Aubrey. That blue house must be 22.”

  “Good house,” said Briggs from the passenger seat. “Set back and it’s got a two-car garage. Got a privacy fence on one side of the house and what looks like a jungle on the other. Good choice by Crow. Even better for us.”

  Aubrey leaned forward, one hand on Briggs’ shoulder. “I do not see the car. Do you see a green Pontiac anywhere on that street?”

  Briggs shook his head. “It’s not there.” He seemed glad of it.

  If it had been, thought Aubrey, they would have followed plan A. All they’d need do is pull up and tap the horn. Kaplan would hear it, know that they’ve arrived, and promptly shoot Lockwood and Crow. Tidier, perhaps, but less gratifying than actual witnessing Lockwood’s comeuppance. Less gratifying, certainIy, for our Mr. Briggs who would prefer to see to Lockwood himself. But Briggs would want to preface the deed by telling Mr. Lockwood why he’s killing him. He would say, “See this face? You left me behind. You saved your own ass and they gave me this face. So I’m going kill you, you son of a bitch. But first I’m going to shoot off most of your own face before I put a couple in your gut.”

  Or words to that effect. Something melodramatic. But that sort of confrontation was out of the question. You don’t warn a man like Lockwood. You don’t let him know what’s coming. Best to smile, say, “Hi, Vern,” and then shoot him.

  Young Robert, it developes, detests Lockwood as well. It seems that Lockwood once tried to intimidate Robert in the same way he’d tried to intimidate Whistler. Robert, who is even bigger than Lockwood, might have given a good account of himself had his boss, Mr. Poole, not told him to ‘forbear.’ Poole counseled him to turn the other cheek…which he did…so Lockwood, predictably, then slapped him. Well, we’ll see, thought Aubrey, who gets slapped this time around. We seem to be left with Plan B. We wait.

  “We’re here earlier than Kaplan expected us,” he said. “But that’s good. They’re still out. Kaplan’s keeping them busy.”

  Briggs scanned the street. He said, “We don’t know how long. We better get inside while we can.”

  “You’re quite right. Robert? Take us up to the driveway. The garage should be unlocked. Briggs and I will go in. You will then leave this car on one of the side streets, but not one that Mr. Kaplan is likely to use.”

  Robert’s feelings seemed hurt. “I’d have thought of that, sir.”

  “Forgive me,” said Aubrey. “I know that, of course. It’s just that so much has gone contrary to instructions, I find myself micro-managing. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand perfectly, sir.”

  “When you walk back…excuse me. How will you come back?”

  “I won’t walk up the street. I’ll come around through the woods in the back of that house. If you will unlock the back door for me, sir…”

  “That is where Mr. Briggs and I will wait for you, Robert. We’ll try not to start the party without you.”

  Whistler, after breaking the connection with Moore, took Olivia’s small caliber pistol from his belt, checked the barrel and chambered a round. He slipped into his jacket. He put the cell phone in his pocket. He said to Claudia, “It was Lockwood, no question. Remind me not to doubt you again.”

  She said, “Let’s go help them find Leslie.”

  “We’ll do what we can. Let me think for a minute.”

  “While you’re thinking, they could be killing her, Adam.”

  “You want us to do what? Drive around? Look for their car? That’s why I didn’t tell Moore that we know Vernon Lockwood. That’s exactly what Moore would have us do
ing with him.”

  “Wouldn’t that be better than standing here talking?”

  No, it wouldn’t, thought Whistler, because if they found Lockwood, he wouldn’t be able to kill him on sight. Not with the sergeant looking on.

  He said, “Let’s try to figure out what we’re up against first. The third man, the driver…we’ve seen him before. He was there last night when the shooting took place. I’ve noticed him several times before that.”

  She remembered. She asked, “The far side of the bar?”

  “Facing us, his back to the door.”

  Whistler grimaced as he realized that he should have known. The striped jacket, he told Claudia, was the only person there who hadn’t ducked for cover when it started. He’d seen it all. The best seat in the house. Whistler had to shout for him to get down when Crow drove up outside and raised his shotgun. Whistler should have wondered why he’d seemed so detached. No fear. Fascination. Didn’t want to miss a thing.

  She asked, “Could he have been a lookout for Crow?”

  “No. Too surprised. He didn’t expect it. He was there watching us and now we know he’s with Lockwood. This means that Lockwood must have known for some time that you and I are back in this country.”

  He must have, thought Whistler, but how? The answer to that was any number of ways. The most efficient of those would have been electronic. That double signal. That must have been it. His father had said that he was getting an echo. Since when? Since Antigua? No, before that. Martinique.

  Whistler said, “There’s a tracker somewhere on this boat. They’ve known where we are for two months at least.”

  She did not seem alarmed. She said, “And yet nothing’s happened.”

  “You call all this nothing?”

  “No, I mean that we’ve been here for more than three weeks. If they wanted you, Adam, they had every chance. Yet until last night, nothing happened.”

  “What’s changed,” he said, “is Crow. Them tying in with Crow. I just can’t imagine why they’d do that. Or how.”

  “But they did. What’s the simplest answer to how?”

  He stared for a moment. “They already knew him. They had to have known where he’d be…how to find him.”

  “Of course. And therefore? Who put them together?”

  “You…want me to say Aubrey. This does not sound like Aubrey.”

  “But Crow is a lunatic. A religious fanatic. What does that suggest to you, Adam?”

  He nodded. “You’re right. That would point to Stanton Poole.”

  “Okay, what’s the simplest answer to why?”

  “To silence Ragland. But that’s where you lose me. Aubrey wouldn’t have touched this and Lockwood works for Aubrey. Lockwood doesn’t take orders from Poole.”

  You’re assuming that Lockwood wouldn’t act without orders. And if, as you say, there’s a tracker on this boat, why would Lockwood feel the need to come aboard?”

  Good question, he thought. To plant a listening device? Or, just as likely, some other device. Whistler felt the hairs on his neck begin to rise. He remembered Moore saying that Crow had used bombs. Remote control, maybe? Lockwood’s thumb on the button?

  He stepped closer to Claudia, his lips to her ear. He whispered, “Don’t touch anything. Climb back up the steps.”

  Her eyes widened. She understood and obeyed. Without a word, she went first. She reached the cockpit where she waited for him. She pointed to some marks on the fiberglass deck. They were scuff marks. From street shoes. Whistler saw them and nodded. They had to be Lockwood’s. She stepped over the rail and onto the dock. She pointed to another set of marks that she’d found. Spike marks. Those golf shoes. Crow had been there as well. They followed the spike marks all the way up the ramp. They were safely away from the boat.

  Whistler saw Moore’s patrol car. Another had joined it. Moore was standing at the door of his car, speaking into his radio; his back was turned toward them. Another deputy was talking to a small knot of people. Must be those who had witnessed the abduction. A few others had gathered and they stood on the fringes. Whistler saw two men among them who looked vaguely familiar. A big man and a smaller one, both middle aged. The big one had the build of a wrestler. They reminded him of…never mind…it couldn’t be. He took Claudia’s arm and steered her toward the steps that led off into the warren of restaurants and shops.

  She asked, “Why this way? Are we ducking the sergeant?”

  “If we don’t, he’s going hold us. Let’s try to get to the car.”

  “What then?”

  He said, “Claudia, I need you to do something for me. If we can get to Jump & Phil’s, I’m going to drop you off there. Wait there for me. Stay by the phone.”

  “While you’re doing what?”

  “While I try to find Leslie.”

  “By yourself? How would you even know where to start?”

  “I…know how Lockwood thinks. That might help me.”

  She looked into his eyes. She saw that they’d turned cold. She asked, “Is it Leslie you’re thinking about?”

  “She’ll be with them if I find them. And you said it yourself. I won’t find them standing here talking.”

  “I’m going with you, Adam. You go nowhere without me.”

  “Look, this morning…when you said that you’re in my world more than ever, I didn’t correct you. But you’re not. You never will be.”

  She said, “Adam, that’s not your decision to make.”

  “Yeah, it is. And I’ve just made it. You will wait at Jump & Phil’s. I don’t want you with me on this one.”

  Arnold Kaplan had almost reached North Forest Beach when he heard the the description of their car on the scanner. Green Pontiac, three men, one young woman, partial plate. At least one of the occupants may be armed.

  He said to Lockwood, “Few more blocks. We’re almost there.”

  Another bulletin came on, this one much more detailed. It identified the victim of the “probable abduction.” It gave her full name, Leslie Stewart. It described the two men who’d forced her into the car and the clothing that was worn by the driver. It said that one of them might be Joshua Crow, the man wanted for the shooting of Ragland. It further identified Miss Stewart, the victim, as a bartender at Jump & Phil’s. It said that as such, on the previous evening, she had witnessed the shootings in that restaurant. She might have recognized Crow before he made his escape. She might have spotted Crow again at Palmetto Bay. He knew it and attacked her and seized her.

  No, thought Kaplan, that is not how it happened. It happened because this fucking loony in the back….

  He swung off the main road to a narrow street that looked like it might wind back toward the house. Up ahead, he saw that the paved road was ending. After that it was dirt. That looked right. He’d go that way.

  He said, “Leslie…Miss Stewart…can you hear me back there?”

  She coughed and she squirmed. She could hear.

  He said, “Miss Stewart, we’re not going to hurt you. I give you my word. No one hurts you.”

  Lockwood glanced at him sideways. Kaplan knew what he was thinking. Lockwood’s eyes said, “No way we don’t snuff her. She’s seen us.” But Kaplan was thinking, “No, she’s only seen Crow. You, she only heard, but it doesn’t much matter. You two are going to get a bullet in the head just as soon as I can stash this girl someplace.”

  Leslie’s voice, scared and muffled, came up from the well. She asked Kaplan, “What did you do?”

  He answered, “Do where? You mean down on the dock?”

  “What did you do to Claudia? What did you do to Adam? If you hurt them…”

  “We didn’t. They were not even there. None of us have seen them. It’s the truth.”

  Lockwood snapped, “What’s this? True confessions? Shut up.”

  “No use scaring her more than we have to,” said Kaplan. He asked Leslie, “By the way, what were you doing there?”

  “I was going to the hospital. I…stopped by to see
if they wanted to come.”

  “See that?” said Lockwood. “I told you. They’re tight. They knew each other long before this.”

  “Leslie?” Kaplan asked her. “How long have you known them?”

  “I don’t know. Two weeks. Maybe three.”

  “And just from the bar. You only know them from the bar?”

  Lockwood asked, “And what’s this? Now you’re feeding her lines?”

  Kaplan answered, “She’s telling the truth.”

  “That she hardly knows them? You’re kidding me, right? Then what was that meeting on the boat with that cop? You yourself said they looked very cozy.”

  Kaplan said, “So let’s ask her.”

  “I’ll ask her myself.”

  Lockwood turned in his seat. He looked down at Leslie’s head. He pushed Crow’s headcovers out of the way so that he could see her face looking up at him. He asked her, “You saw what the girl did to Breen?”

  “I…no,” she said, swallowing. “I’m not sure what I saw.”

  “See that?” he said to Kaplan. “She’s still covering for them. They’re both fucking killers and she’s covering for them. Why is that, do you think? They’re big tippers?”

  Look who calls who fucking killers, thought Kaplan. He answered, “Let’s just leave it, okay?”

  But Lockwood never did know when to shut up. He asked Leslie, “Whistler showed you Aubrey’s ledger, am I right?”

  “His…who?”

  “On the boat. This morning. He was showing you papers. They were from Aubrey’s ledger, am I right?”

  Kaplan sighed and asked Lockwood, “Did you hear what you just told her?”

  “I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t know. I’m right about this, Arnie. She knows.”

  “Vernon…do you think we could avoid using names?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “And you showed her your face. Do you realize you did that? Back when you hit her, she did not see you coming. She never saw your face before just now.” You dumb shit.

  “So what? Doesn’t matter. Watch the road.”

  You’re right, thought Kaplan. It’s not going to matter. He surveyed the road ahead and he checked his rearview mirror. Up ahead, all he saw was a garbage truck making its house-to-house rounds. Behind him, was an oil truck on its way to make deliveries. He saw a taxi further back, but the taxi was turning. It all looked nice and normal, nice and quiet.