by Jay Giles
I expected Yes he does and here’s what he’s got. Instead, there was displeasure in Mackay’s expression. “He has two high-profile murders,” he said matter-of-factly, “and pressure for a quick resolution.”
“So he wants to frighten Su with an accessory to murder charge so she’ll roll over on Moreno.” I knew how the game was played.
“Pretty much.”
“I want to talk to her.”
Mackay almost laughed. “Not a good idea.”
“I do. In fact, as her attorney, I insist on it.”
Mackay didn’t like that even a little bit, but he didn’t have any choice. I’d played the one card he couldn’t counter. “This isn’t going to go well,” he said, probably hoping I’d relent.
I didn’t. “Good or bad, I need to see her.”
He sighed heavily, took his cell from his belt, punched in some numbers. “It’s Mack. Have Ms. Chang brought to Interview Four.”
We sat in silence for a good five minutes before the door opened. A grim looking Su, wearing handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit, was escorted in by a tough- looking jail matron.
To Mackay: “I’d like the cuffs taken off and privacy with my client. No video, no audio. I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”
Mackay nodded at the matron who took off the cuffs. He stood. “I’ll be outside.”
After he and the matron were gone, I stood and tried to give Su a hug, but she turned her back on me. “Go away. I have nothing to say to you.”
I turned her around, my hands on her shoulders, so we were face to face. “Look, I’m acting as your attorney. They think you’re working for Moreno and are about to charge you as an accessory to murder. This is serious, Su. As an attorney, I can help you—I want to help you—but I need you to tell me your side of things.”
She shook free from my hands. Defiantly, said, “Go away. All you will do is get hurt. You can’t help me.”
“Yes, I can. Let’s talk thi—”
“Guard,” she yelled. “Guard.”
“Wait, don’t—”
The door opened and the matron stepped menacingly into the room.
“Take me back,” Su said and held out her hands.
The matron snapped the cuffs on and they were gone. Su never looked back.
Mackay reentered the room, a sympathetic look on his face. “That’s pretty much what we got from her, too.”
I plopped back down on my seat, stunned by her abrupt dismissal. “I don’t get it,” I said to Mackay, “I understand her not talking to you, she’s afraid of the police. But to me?”
Mackay took the chair next to me, leaned forward his elbows resting on his thighs. “That bullet that just missed you? My guess is Moreno was planning on taking you out, too. She knew what was about to happen and—at the last second—saved you.”
“I agree. So not talking to me? Makes no sense.”
Mackay looked over at me. ”Yeah, it does, in a way. I think she saved you cause she cares about you. Probably doesn’t want to face you now cause she feels guilty about deceiving you.” He paused, watching my reaction. “My advice? Let it go.”
Good advice, I’m sure. Could I take it? Right that moment, no.
He stood. “You’re free to go. I’ve got your numbers and I’ll probably be calling you from time to time to clarify things, but there’s no reason for you to stay here. You can go home, Mr. Taggert, back to your normal life.”
Normal life? What waited for me in Orlando? I had a father to bury. A law practice to try and resurrect from the dead. A lonely life to resume.
“Where are you staying here in town?”
“The Ritz Carlton.” I remembered how radiant Su had been after her pampering in the spa. It seemed like ages ago. What was it really? A day?
“I’ll have a car take you to the hotel,” Mackay offered.
Half an hour later, a uniformed Ritz doorman opened the door of the unmarked police car and welcomed me back to normalcy. I thanked the officer who’d given me the lift, made my way into the Ritz Carlton’s ornate lobby. Maybe it was the glittering look of the place, maybe it was all the other guests in their fine attire, whatever, I felt grubby and tired. As I rode up the elevator, my thoughts were on a long shower and a comfortable bed.
A chambermaid in her gray dress and white apron greeted me as I made my way down the hall to my room. I said hello, kept slogging toward my door, inserted the key card, let myself in, and headed for the bathroom.
I never made it.
An arm grabbed me roughly around the throat. Something jabbed into the side of my neck. Hurt like hell. I was going to scream bloody murder, but my mouth wouldn’t work.
Then the darkness came.
Chapter 12
Pain.
My neck was on fire. Arms felt as if they’d been pulled out of their sockets. Hands and fingers were numb. Couldn’t feel my feet. Something awful was in my mouth. I started gagging.
The hood over my head was jerked off. “He’s awake,” one of them said as the piece of cloth was pulled out of my mouth. With the hood gone, I blinked my eyes open. The light hurt. Things were blurry and out of focus, making me dizzy. My stomach started doing flip-flops. I closed my eyes hoping the dizziness would go away.
A hand smacked me across the face, whipping my head around. “Stay awake,” a different voice ordered.
I blinked open my eyes just as the next smack arrived. The dizziness intensified. I desperately wanted to close my eyes. Kept them open instead. I didn’t want to get hit again.
A blurry man stood in front of me. I could make out the shaved head, black shirt and pants. Something was in this hand. A knife? Couldn’t quite tell. There was still enough of whatever drug they’d used in my system to make me hazy.
Another smack. With more force behind it. I tasted blood.
“Look at me,” the blurry man demanded. I lifted my head. “Where did you hide the diamonds?”
I wanted to say I didn’t hide the diamonds, but it came out as an unintelligible mumble.
This time the blow was a fist that caught me above the left eye. The force of it knocked me, and the chair I was tied to, sideways to the floor. My head bounced like a LeBron James dribble. I couldn’t handle the pain. The blackness came back.
Water hit me in the face. “The diamonds? Where’d you hide them?” The demand was rougher, more urgent.
Why fight it, I thought, once they find out the police have them all this will stop.
Unfortunately, my mouth wasn’t cooperating. Even to me it sounded like, “Pese av m.”
“What?” Blurry demanded, hand raised to hit me again.
I licked my lips, tried again. In fact, I tried three times. Finally, there must have been enough saliva in my mouth that I got close to, “Plice ave ‘em.”
“The police have them?” I guess he wanted to be sure.
I nodded weakly and braced myself for the hit I was sure was coming.
They started jabbering in Portuguese. I heard policia a lot, but I didn’t understand any of the rest of it. They were still arguing when one of them jabbed a hypodermic needle in my neck.
The sounds of the arguing grew fainter as my fingernail-hold on consciousness slipped away.
• • •
I’m alive was my first waking thought. I knew because I hurt in even more places. Trying to open my eyes for a quick peek let me know I had only one working. Left eye definitely swollen shut. The vision in my right slowly cleared and I could see I was in the dining room of a house. From the foo-foo look of the place, someone older owned it. The room was wallpapered in a faded small-pattern floral design and filled with an Early American table and chairs and a massive hutch that held a collection of old-fashioned patterned plates and serving pieces. Beneath my feet was an oval braided rug in shades of brown and orange.
Beyond an arched doorway, I could see the backside of a La-Z-Boy recliner and the side arm of an over-stuffed sofa with a dust ruffle. Both faced a boxy console TV blari
ng out the noisy mayhem of a shoot-em-up.
What I didn’t see were my captors. Didn’t hear them, either. Didn’t mean they weren’t there. Five tense minutes passed as I watched and listened for any sound or movement. I was beginning to think they’d left when I saw a man walk by the doorway. He didn’t bother to check on me, just carried his drink and a plate of something into the living room, got comfortable on the sofa in front of the TV. Just as he’d settled in, something startled him. He stood abruptly, clicked off the TV, and tossed the clicker on the couch.
I heard the whoosh of a door opening, the click of it closing. More of them arriving, I guessed. A few quick words in Portuguese were exchanged before the loud Bam Bam of gunfire reverberated through the house. Sofa man jerked back, his plate of food clattering to the floor.
The gunman, in an orange jumpsuit, holding a small black gun with a wisp of smoke trailing from the barrel, moved cautiously into the center of the living room, pivoted. and swung the gun in my direction.
I gasped, seeing the gun pointed at me, gasped again when I got a look at the gunman’s face.
Su.
She nodded at me and moved on, probably clearing the rest of the house. “Was he the only one here?” She asked on her return as she cut the ropes holding me to the chair.
Nodding, I mumbled, “Water.”
She left, got me a glass from the kitchen, held it to my lips. My hands were numb and painful. I gulped greedily. She pulled the glass away. “Not too much, too quick. You’ll be sick.” She glanced nervously back toward the living room. “We don’t have much time. We’ve got to get out of here.” She took me my arm, tried to help me to my feet.
I took a tentative step. I had no feeling in my lower legs. My feet were like blocks.
“C’mon. C’mon,” she urged, pulling me along.
Slowly we made it to the living room. I got my first close-up look at the dead guard on the couch. His mouth hung open, his eyes stared straight ahead, his skin already white. A small dark red splotch was on his chest right where his heart would be.
Just inside the door, a second man was facedown on the floor. He had a small dark red spot in the center of his back, but a blackish pool of blood was beginning to spread from the body.
Su let go of my arm, pressed her body to the front door, and looked out the door’s small rectangular window. “It’s clear. Hurry.”
She might as well have said we need to teleport to the fifth dimension. “Can’t eave. Cime cene,” I mumbled, recognizing the gravity of the situation. “all th plice.”
Her head jerked around to face me. “Are you crazy?” Exasperation played out on her face and in her voice. “I’m not going back.”
As my dad used to say, you can’t argue with a closed mind. Still, I had to try. “Offcer of th ourt. Swon to rport ths. I don’t, disbard.” I swallowed, tried to get my mouth working. “Thy knapped me. Yu rscued me. I represt yu.”
“This is so over your head,” she said grimly.
“Hep me unstand,” But she left without a word, the door slamming behind her.
Part of me wanted to chase after her, to try and recapture the happiness of our final days on the Venetian. But our time together had been a sham. She wasn’t interested in me, only the diamonds. Fool that I was, I went to the door and peered through the window, hoping she’d changed her mind.
She hadn’t. She was gone.
In the kitchen, I found a wall phone and called 911. A few minutes later, a blaring siren and a screech of tires announced the arrival of a patrol car. Two uniformed officers, guns drawn, cautiously entered the front door. They found me in the kitchen sipping water and eating stale saltine crackers I’d found in the pantry.
Even before they started questioning me, one of them called EMS. Judging from the horrified look on the female officer’s face, I must have looked near death. I had her call Mackay, too.
Jen, a Goth-looking EMS tech, was the one who took my vitals, cleaned-up my wounds, and gave me something for the pain. She was packing-up her kit and telling me I’d sustained a concussion and ought to see a doctor when Mackay arrived.
“What happened?” he asked impatiently as she finished.
I didn’t hold anything back. When I got to the part about telling them the police had the diamonds, his face contorted in a grimace, his head sagged.
“What?”
“Those guys set-off a car bomb and blew a hole in police headquarters. It was like a military strike. They executed six people, got the diamonds, and were gone in five minutes.”
Chapter 13
Mackay snuck me in a back door of the police station. The damaged front of the building was roped off with crime scene tape; beyond the tape the news crews had set-up shop. This was a story they were billing as a terrorist attack. In ten minutes, the news had gone coast-to-coast, probably round-the-world.
Mackay and I settled in a small interview room where he recorded my statement and added to what he’d told me earlier.
“The car bomb went off at 2:38—middle of the afternoon,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “It blew a two-story hole in the front of the building. Ten or more men, all wearing body armor, black hoods, and carrying semi-automatics stormed through the hole. They gathered as many of the headquarters staff as they could in the squad room and demanded to see Hammond and Ewers—”
“Why them?”
“That’s who you called about the diamonds, remember?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell them any names. How’d they get them?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew the answer. Had to be Su.
“Ewers was in the building, Hammond in court. The gunmen told our people, ‘either get them here or we’ll kill a person every thirty seconds until they arrive.’ They showed they meant it by shooting Bill Wexler, a desk sergeant, in the head execution style. Thirty-seconds later, they did the same to Ruby Sanchez, an administrative assistant, who was five months pregnant. Somebody ran and got Ewers before they killed anyone else. Ewers tried to end it by telling them the diamonds were locked in an evidence vault that couldn’t be opened. They didn’t believe him. One of them put a gun to his head and made him take them to the vault.
“They told our people there the same thing, they’d kill a person every thirty seconds until the vault was opened. To make their point, the man with the gun to Ewers’ head pulled the trigger. Lennie Goodson, a property custodian, was next. By then, someone had started opening the vault, but it wasn’t fast enough, and they killed Emma Graf, another property custodian, to hurry things along. Once the vault was opened, the diamonds were easy to spot; they were still in that same box. I bet they were in and out of the vault in less than a minute. A simple grab and go.
“On their way out of building, Steve Stein, a district administrative officer four months from retirement, opened fire on them. He may have wounded one of them in the exchange; they killed him.” He paused apparently overcome with emotion. Getting hold of himself, he continued. “They fled through the hole they blasted in the wall but not before they released everyone we had in lock-up. Murderers, rapists, felons—they’re in the wind, too.” His head shook from disbelief. “The whole department is in shock.” He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Six dead that we know of. We don’t know how many more were killed in the blast. You hear about explosions outside police stations in Baghdad or Kabul, but Sarasota?”
As he was mentioning the individuals who died, the guilt I felt grew heavier. “This is my fault. I’m the one who told them you had the diamonds. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened. I don’t know what I can do for the families—”
“Not your fault,” Mackay interrupted. “You told them the only thing you could, so don’t blame yourself. When crooks hear something’s locked in evidence, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that ends it. You couldn’t have known they’d stage a military assault.”
I appreciated it, but it didn’t make the guilt go away. One thing he’d said nagged a
t me. “Why’d they release all the prisoners?”
“Pretty smart move on their part, actually. We have to recapture them. We can’t focus solely on going after the assault team that took the diamonds.” He gaze met mine. I had a feeling he was about to deliver some bad news, and I was right. “Your girlfriend got sprung with everyone else, but she had to be involved with them or she wouldn’t have known where they were holding—”
The door opened and a woman with short brown hair and large hoop earrings stuck her head in. “Mack, chief’s got to make a statement and wants the latest intel. His office, five minutes.”
Mackay nodded. “Got it.” He looked unhappily at me. “This thing is going to be a media fire storm. It’s going to be like Gabby Gifford’s shooting or Sandy Hook elementary. The media scrutiny is going to be off the charts. My guess is the chief won’t tell them about the diamonds, but sooner or later word will leak out. From there it’s a slippery slope. The media will make the connection to the Sloane and Cabrera murders and to your role bringing that boat up from South America.” He let loose a sigh. “Diamonds. Murder. Yachts. Armed terrorists. The press will go into a feeding frenzy.”
I knew he was right. Worse, I knew it wouldn’t take them long to connect the dots to me.
“When they find out about you,” Mackay said with a rare smile. “You’re going to get more hits on Google than Justin Bieber.”
“I can say ‘no comment’ with the best of them,” I assured him.
“I’m sure you can, counselor,” he said standing up. “If I were you, I’d go home, try and stay out of sight.” His face turned serious. “If your girlfriend contacts you, urge her to turn herself in. I know she freed you from your kidnappers so there are mitigating circumstances, but she’s looking at two counts of first-degree murder. Are we on the same page on that?”
Su had gone without once looking back. I was sure I’d never see her again. “Yeah.”
“I’ll walk you to the door we came in. That’ll put you on the street behind the station and away from the media.” I stood as he opened the interview room door. “I wish I could spare a cruiser to take you to your hotel, but I can’t. Every resource we have will be working round the clock to find these guys. ”
