False Truth 8-10: 3 Action-Packed Romantic Detective Mystery Thrillers To Keep You Up All Night (Jordan Fox Mysteries Series)

by Diane Capri

  From that news helicopter flying around overhead, the crowd surely resembled ants at a picnic. Everyone Jordan saw wore badges visible outside their clothes, either media or government. Curious onlookers had been escorted away and inbound traffic was blocked.

  Multiple media trucks gathered in Mack’s large parking lot. She’d seen live trucks for News Channel 12 and three other stations. A fleet of assorted SUVs was likely providing backup equipment for each station. Cable news outlets were set up in a different area. A few print reporters and internet bloggers wandered around on foot.

  FBI vehicles were plentiful. Agent Ryser and a dozen or more of her closest FBI friends, no doubt. Unmarked black Suburbans could belong to FBI, Florida Department of Health, Centers for Disease Control or other government agencies. Unlike the media, the agencies didn’t always display their logos on the doors.

  There was no way the other media knew this situation was related to El Pulpo. Even Channel 12 didn’t necessarily believe her. Not that she blamed them. She hadn’t shared her INTEL yet.

  This story was a big deal simply because it was typhoid fever in Florida. Like the Ebola scare last year, the disease instilled fear in everyone.

  Jordan had read through a couple of websites quickly after Dr. Lee died. Vaccines were readily available in the U.S., but they were typically given only to people who were preparing to travel to nations where the disease was prevalent. Typhoid could be spread through contaminated water or food or contact with an infected person. And it could be deadly.

  Even though typhoid fever was treatable with antibiotics in developed, prepared countries like the United States, the word “deadly” was a catch phrase that got people squirming, whether the reaction was rational or not.

  She spotted Agent Ryser standing beside a large FBI vehicle the size and shape of an armored truck. Agent Lincoln Hunt, the lead agent on the drone case resulting in several El Pulpo arrests, stood next to her. They were talking to a woman wearing a Centers for Disease Control ID and holding a clipboard.

  Jordan walked over to join them. Maybe it was stupid to think the cartel would attack her in such a public situation, but being surrounded by sharp shooters couldn’t hurt.

  She walked up in time to hear Ryser ask the woman, “Is this situation caused by the same typhoid water that we seized from the ship?”

  “We’re testing the lake water now against the samples from the bottles. But there’s probably no way of knowing unless it’s some freakishly modified strain of the virus. But the timing is suspicious and it’s probably not coincidence.”

  Jordan looked at the woman’s CDC nametag. “Can I quote you on that, Dr. Peters?”

  “No.” Agents Hunt and Ryser spoke simultaneously. Ryser sent a glare Jordan’s way that encouraged her to keep quiet and listen or be banished.

  Dr. Peters said, “This is a smallish lake, but all the samples we’ve taken so far have much higher concentration of the bacteria than any other contaminated lake in our records.”

  Agent Ryser asked, “Any conclusions you can draw for us on that?”

  Dr. Peters grimaced, as if she didn’t want to reach the conclusions that came readily to mind. “It could mean large quantities of the bacteria were dumped here. The bacteria multiples quickly. It doubles every twenty minutes under the right conditions.”

  Jordan said, “What conditions?”

  “Pretty much what we’ve found here,” Dr. Peters explained. “Warm water. The right quantities of phosphorous, nitrogen, magnesium and sodium.”

  Agent Hunt spoke up. “Is there any other reasonable explanation? Other than intentional contamination from that stuff in the bottles?”

  “Well, sure.” Dr. Peters cocked her head and tapped her pen against her front tooth. “We could have multiple contamination delivery systems. In fact, given the amount of contamination and the number of serious cases we’ve already discovered, it’s likely to have been introduced several weeks ago and in several ways simultaneously.”

  “Like what?” Ryser asked.

  “You could have the stuff from the water bottles, dumped where the water is shallow and warmest, maybe one to two months ago. Particularly in Florida where you have so many residents and tourists from around the world, visitors could spread the bacteria at restaurants, theme parks, theaters, private homes. Typhoid is common in many countries.” Dr. Peters was warming up to her hypothesis. “The early symptoms are mild. The kind of thing kids get all the time. Fever, stomachache, nausea, and sometimes a rash.”

  Jordan wished she had a recorder running.

  Dr. Peters cleared her throat and continued. “Parents don’t recognize the symptoms as typhoid, the kids don’t get early treatment, and the kids keep spreading the bacteria around. Adults pick it up. It gets spread on food, doorknobs, hand towels. Stuff like that. After a month or two, especially since it keeps spreading, you’d have quite a problem.”

  Jordan wasn’t buying it. Her News Nose said this was El Pulpo’s work. Seriously large quantities of contaminated water were dumped here by El Pulpo. Likely El Pulpo had introduced the bacteria in several other ways, too. She wouldn’t accept any other answer.

  Jordan spotted Theresa across the parking lot waving to her. She excused herself and hustled over. She felt a slight cramp in her stomach. What was the incubation period for typhoid fever again? One to three weeks? She’d been back from Haiti for longer than that. She’d have been sick a while ago. Probably.

  Theresa leaned close. “Did you see that Drew’s here?”

  Ugh. “Of course he is.”

  “That’s bad news for you if you want the reporter gig.” Theresa paused. She didn’t look happy to share what she knew. “I heard Patricia and Richard discussing things today. Because Heather’s leaving. They have to make decisions. And they were saying good things about Drew. A lot of good things. I think he’s winning.”

  “Not for long, he’s not. I have a total advantage on this story.” She glanced around looking around for him. “God! Why does this happen?”

  Theresa said, “He’s working even though he’s off today.”

  “It’s Sunday. He’s not off on Sundays.”

  “He got the day off because he worked late Friday night.”

  Jordan clenched her fists at her side. Even her voice was tight. “Are you kidding me? I worked late Friday night.”

  “Yeah but he was assigned to that story and we were there by choice.”

  “Great. So showing initiative means I don’t get rewarded. Because that’s fair.”

  “He was at the station this morning, too. And you weren’t.”

  “So an intern is supposed to work around the clock now?”

  “No. But Drew does. And you don’t. If you were trying to operate a newsroom with a severely decreased budget, which intern would you choose?”

  “Crap!”

  “It’s not the end of the world.” Theresa patted her shoulder. “I’ll keep helping you. Ever notice one thing Drew does that you rarely do? He tags along with a reporter. Makes him more bullet proof because they figure if Antonio wants him around, he must be doing a good job.”

  “But that’s just crap. Drew is a good guy. Hell, I like him as much as everyone else does.” Jordan blew a long stream of anger through her lips and rubbed the back of her neck.

  Theresa grinned and grabbed Jordan’s arm. “Come on, the Department of Health is setting up over by the lake for a presser. We’ll listen in and take notes for reporting later.”

  Jordan let Theresa lead her along. She appreciated Theresa. A lot. But she wanted to beat Drew—not become Drew. She could do that if she used the info she’d acquired on her own and show some of the right kind of assertive attitude that Richard said he wanted.

  She tapped her foot waiting for the press conference to start. Puffs of dirt rose from the ground like smoke.

  Theresa leaned in for another quiet exchange. “Did you see who just showed up?”

  Jordan looked around. It was Richard.
“He’s here? On a weekend? That means this story is a huge deal, huh.”

  “Safe to say.” Theresa tapped on her phone, probably pulling up a note-taking app for the press conference.

  All of the media and most other officials closed in as the presser started. The official at the microphone confirmed two new typhoid fever cases in quarantine at Tampa Southern Hospital, confirmed that the lake water was being tested for typhoid-causing bacteria, and stated that it made no sense that typhoid would be in Tampa.

  Nothing Jordan didn’t already know.

  Officials stressed that people should not panic and that the serious cases were caused by a failure to seek early treatment, but everyone should stay out of Bear Creek Lake as a precaution.

  But they didn’t mention Dr. Ross and the other members of her medical team. And he said nothing about the death of Dr. Eric Lee. Why not?

  After the basic facts were issued, one reporter asked if this could be some kind of bacterial warfare, possibly connected to MacDill Air Force Base, which was located at the southern end of Tampa Bay. The question created a buzz humming through the crowd.

  The speaker laced his fingers together, calmly. “There is no indication of that right now, but a thorough investigation is under way. Typhoid wouldn’t be the most likely mechanism for that because it’s easily treatable. But, again, we are investigating.”

  As the press conference wrapped up, Antonio handed a microphone to Drew. The pair strutted to an empty spot by the lake, and Antonio shot video while Drew did a stand-up report. Richard stood by, supervising.

  When he finished his report, Richard flashed Drew two thumbs up.

  CHAPTER 23

  It’s okay. You still have an advantage, Jordan.

  She knew Drew couldn’t be reporting on anything except a summary of what the officials had said in the press conference. Which could only be so compelling.

  But Jordan was different. She had more info. If she could make an argument as to why this typhoid fever outbreak was connected to El Pulpo. Not just that it maybe was, but that it had to be. Then she’d win the day for sure.

  The evidence was certain in her head. The typhoid-infused water was in a barrel stamped with the cartel’s symbol. On the same ship where criminal cartel activity had occurred. When the FBI had caught Maria and the other human trafficking victims, they’d snared a twofer.

  So how to prove that? It was her new angle. She had to figure it out, and fast.

  Jordan distanced herself from Theresa, who’d become distracted anyway. She walked to a deserted part of the shoreline to think up a good plan.

  The sky was overcast. Lone seagulls squawked here and there, seeming as desperate for food as she was for answers.

  She walked farther from the frenetic activity at Mack’s, her feet pressed deeper into the soft, moist sand. The thin soles of her ballet-style flats were wet now, but she barely noticed.

  Step. Think. Step. Think. Step. Think. OW!

  What the hell was that? A sharp piercing pain shot through the ball of her left foot. She looked down. A thick, finger-sized shard of glass spiked her foot to her shoe like a human kebob.

  She gritted her teeth against the throbbing, held her ankle with both hands, and plopped down in the wet sand to examine. Drops of blood trickled out of sole of her shoe. The glass shard filled the cut and stopped blood from gushing.

  She was a couple hundred yards away from Mack’s now. She looked at the sand around her, then toward the trees farther up the shoreline. Wet sand glistened in the afternoon sunshine. Too bright, she thought.

  Jordan pushed herself up on her right foot and balanced on her left heel. She hopped over to the spot under the trees she’d seen sparkling in the sun.

  The sunlight had bounced off a cache of glass containers piled high in an overflowing recycle dumpster. Among the pickle jars and juice bottles and the like, she saw a variety of empty alcohol bottles. Vodka bottles in various infused flavors, beer and wine bottles, and a good number of empty rum bottles.

  The rum bottles looked identical to the ones she’d seen on the ship. Same type, same distinct Haitian rum label, same everything. The labels were torn and worn, but she’d recognize them anywhere.

  Bottles like these had carried typhoid-causing bacteria from Haiti to Tampa. And now the glass was in her foot. She bent to pick up one of the empty bottles and examine it.

  Nearby, tree leaves and tall grass rustled. Jordan gasped and looked around wildly. Before she screamed, Detective Grey said, “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  He looked down at her bleeding foot, then at the empty rum bottle in her hand. “Are you tampering with evidence?”

  No no no no. “Not at all. I stepped on this glass, and then I found the source of it. There are these bottles over here.”

  He walked over to look in the recycle bin and the surrounding area. “The same type of bottles we found on the ship. You just stumbled upon these?”

  “I promise.”

  “Drop it.”

  She did.

  “I’ll send a team to collect the bottles. Let’s get you to first aid.” He scooped her up, one hand beneath her knees and one hand around her back, and jogged across the sand and then the marshy grass.

  He was a big guy. Made her feel like a rag doll, limbs flopping as they approached the network news van. “They have supplies for a makeshift triage center over here.”

  Her voice bounced as they covered the distance to the vans. “You know I wasn’t tampering with evidence, right?” Jordan couldn’t afford to get in trouble with police again. “I stumbled upon those bottles.”

  “We’re not going to charge you for tampering with evidence for Christ sake.” He was kind of puffing now. At five-foot-nine, she wasn’t a light load to carry. “We’d been looking for something like that recycle bin. Thanks for finding it for us.”

  Okay. That’s more like it. Finally, she’d done something right. Even if she hadn’t meant to do it at all.

  “I’ve been trying to call you.” Jordan tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. “I want to collect on that favor you promised me.”

  “I said I owe you and I meant it.” He puffed a little with every word. “But right now, I’ve got my hands full.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny.” But she smiled anyway. “You worked on my mom’s case. How much influence do you have now? Because I know who killed her. I want the killers charged and brought to justice. And I want an apology for my dad.”

  He slowed to a fast walk. The stern lines in his face screamed serious cop, but the glimmer in his light brown eyes whispered compassion. “I don’t have any control over any of that, Jordan. I wish I did. But after this is all over, we’ll see what we can do. How’s that?”

  “Thanks,” she said, because one word was all she could force past the lump in her throat.

  CHAPTER 24

  The paramedic on scene was a tall, slender guy. Maybe thirty-five. Her foot was propped up on his knee. “On the count of three, I’m going to pull the glass out. Okay?”

  Jordan squeezed her eyes closed. “Don’t count, just do it.”

  The shard slid out of her foot and she felt the glass stretching her skin as he pulled. She winced and kept her eyes closed, as wet and dry materials dabbed at her now glass-free foot.

  She opened her eyes. “How bad was it?”

  “The glass was pushed up in there pretty good, but I think it’ll be okay if you don’t make it worse.” The paramedic applied a bandage in several layers. “I cleaned it up and doused it with antiseptic. I put three butterfly stitches on it to hold it together. The bleeding’s stopped. You’ll need to keep weight off this foot for a few days.”

  She was Jordan Fox on Two Capable Legs. “Do I have to stay off both feet? Can I get crutches and hobble?”

  “You can hobble on one leg. You can balance on your left heel. Just don’t put pressure on the ball of your left foot.” He was poking around, maybe looking to be sure he’d removed all the
glass. “Otherwise those butterfly strips won’t hold and you’ll need stitches.”

  “Okay. Um, one other thing.” The question might be stupid, but she’d ask anyway. “Say there was typhoid-infected water in that glass when it used to be a bottle. Would I be infected with typhoid now, even if I got the vaccine?”

  “Check with your physician because I’m not an expert. But the bacteria that causes typhoid fever, which is a strain of salmonella, needs to be ingested. Your doctor may advise you to get an antibiotic just in case.” He wrapped her foot in gauze and then a wide elastic bandage to hold everything in place. “The bigger issue here is tetanus. Tetanus lives in the ground in Florida and could easily get into a cut like this. When is the last time you were vaccinated?”

  “About a month ago. I spent a week in Haiti, so I got all my vaccines and boosters before I went.”

  “Great. You should be good, then. Take a couple of Tylenol if it bothers you. Be careful about infection.” The paramedic packed up his first aid kit and left.

  Her pained breathing had normalized when Richard poked his head into the live truck. The place had room for about four to sit uncomfortably, plus multiple television monitors, computers, and other equipment. It was like a traveling control room.

  “Fox. I heard you got hurt.”

  “Just a cut. Nothing serious.” She couldn’t be seen as a liability again. She looked down and shook her head. “I was on a walk. Stepped on some glass.”

  “Glad to hear it’s not serious. I was surprised to see you here at all.” He ducked his head in through the entrance and folded his long body into a little chair across from her. “I knew Drew was at the station working but I figured you were taking the day off.”

  Jordan suspected he didn’t think that, and wanted to hear it from her own mouth. But the last thing she wanted was to get into a discussion about her tweeting.

  She winced as a surge of pain ran through her foot. “I got word that the water in the mysterious bottles police found on the ship after the FBI raid was typhoid bacteria contaminated water, so I wanted to come here right away.” Now, before he had a chance to accuse her of not sharing an inside scoop or something, she threw even more information at him. “We need to figure out why El Pulpo is spreading typhoid fever.”