by Rene Fomby
Casey stood up, his face now turning bright red. “That didn’t happen! That’s all lies! I was just helping Billie—”
Gavin cocked his head to one side. “And yet that was precisely the plan you and Tara agreed on, wasn’t it? Or have you forgotten the little email she sent you, reminding you of how Katy and her father had duped you out of millions from your one big idea? Suggesting you might want to help her get even somehow?”
Casey had forgotten all about that email. He’d deleted it on his end, of course, then immediately emptied the trash folder on his email, but he’d forgotten about Tara maybe failing to do the same thing on her end. Which apparently she had.
“You can’t pin that on me,” he protested feebly. “And that was just something she sent me, I didn’t even respond, so it’s all just on her. And besides, it’s all hearsay!”
Espinosa pulled out another set of handcuffs. “Tell it to the judge, my friend,” he said simply, as he pulled Casey’s arms around behind his back and snapped the cuffs into place. “Tell it to the judge.”
59
Hotel Bar
Jillian had watched Casey’s sudden and unexpected arrest with abject horror, jumping up and grabbing onto his am as he was being led away. “No! He didn’t do it! You’ve got to believe him!”
Sally stepped over and wrapped Jillian in a deep, consoling hug as her friend emptied out her heart onto Sally’s shoulder. Meanwhile, Brett and Billie looked around the room like lost puppies, neither knowing what to do or say at this point, while Trevor picked up his chair and shoved it under a nearby table.
Gavin held up a hand. “Not so fast, Mr. Johnson. We’re not done, here, not by a long shot. We’ve still got one last little bit of business to take care of first.”
“What’s that, man?” Trevor asked, the easy look that had worked its way back onto his face slowly disappearing, replaced instead with a growing look of panic and fear.
Gavin smiled wryly, and pointed to Casey’s empty chair, motioning for Trevor to take a seat. “Why, we still need to talk about your own special role in this little passion play. As they say, every orchestra needs an orchestrator, and that part was played to perfection by our good friend Tara Cutler. Well, almost to perfection, unfortunately for her. And I guess Casey filled the role of usher rather nicely. But you see, no orchestra is really quite complete without someone to pluck a few strings along the way. And that was clearly your job, here.”
“What are you talking about? I’m innocent, man. You already arrested me for killing Katy once, a false arrest I might add, and something I’m not going to let go of anytime soon.”
“Well, you’re right about that, young man. You’re right about that. My colleague here from the Mexican police arrested you for the murder of your wife, Katy Mulcahey, and that was wrong of him, for sure. As I just explained to everyone, it was Tara Cutler who ultimately did the nasty deed, not you. But you know, I got to thinking this morning, it wasn’t just Billie who might possibly have been in position to see Tara turn off her dive light and slip back to where Katy was innocently waiting in the dark, completely unaware of her impending fate. No, there was no way Tara could have counted on your not seeing the whole thing transpire, as well, especially since you were stationed not very far behind the Cutlers, and facing their way. Plus, if Tara had been forced to swing out wide to avoid you, that would have taken a great deal more time to get to Katy and pull the whole thing off than if she had simply made a beeline in Katy’s direction. And of course, with you hanging back as well, your bulked-up body would have served as an excellent visual barrier to what was happening not all that far behind you. I imagine you even kept your dive light pointed straight forward in Brett Cutler’s direction to blind him, just in case he decided to look back in your direction, searching for his wife.”
“You got nothing on me, man!” Trevor yelled, his eyes now dancing wildly around the room, looking for an escape route that had failed his two co-conspirators in the murder.
“Actually, we have quite a bit, Trevor. Suspicious emails that popped up between you and Tara Cutler in the weeks just before the trip, including one from her to you recommending the dive master for the fatal dive. Most of the other evidence we’ve been over and over a thousand times already. But one last little thing really stands out, here. And it’s personal.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Gavin’s voice had become gravelly, almost feral, as he handed Trevor Johnson his last, final sentence in the case. “The hands that grabbed me by the ankles yesterday, Tara was right, they weren’t petite little hands, belonging to a petite little body. They were manly hands, big and strong, and whoever had the strength to lift me up over the safety fence and dump me in the water wasn’t a dainty little thing, either. I think we can all agree it wasn’t any of the women, and it wasn’t Billie or Brett, either. Neither of them had any part to play in what happened to Katy, that’s already been well established by now. So that only leaves two possible suspects. You. And Casey.”
“And we all know Casey was in on it the whole time!” Trevor insisted, the veins on his neck now bulging and throbbing as Gavin’s net slowly settled around his head and shoulders.
“Yes, but Casey and Jillian claimed they were otherwise busy at the time, involved in an activity they couldn’t possibly keep quiet on that tiny little boat of yours. I heard them going after it myself, just as soon as I stepped back into the main cabin from my unintended dip in the sea. So that leaves just you, the one person with no alibi, the one person whose cabin conveniently opens up onto the front of the boat just a few feet from where I was sleeping. Add to that the fact that when I checked the floor under your front hatchway shortly thereafter, I found a small puddle of water lying there from the rain that had poured in when you stepped outside. And when I searched the bottom of your dirty clothes hamper just a little while ago, I found a rain parka, black in color, wadded up and stashed beneath a pile of clothes where it wouldn’t be seen. And still dripping wet from your recent trip outside.”
Espinosa had reappeared from handing Casey off to the local police, and was conveniently carrying a fresh set of handcuffs. And a gun, which was pointing straight at Trevor Johnson’s chest. “Like I said, Gavin, 99 percent of the time it’s the husband.”
60
Hotel Bar
As Trevor was marched away once again in handcuffs, the remaining four members of the original eight so-called friends who had stepped on board the catamaran yacht just a few days earlier with lofty expectations—albeit some of them with expectations that leaned in a far more sinister direction than the others—looked back and forth between Gavin and each other, wondering if the federal agent from Washington D.C. still had one final shoe left to drop on them.
“Don’t worry,” he assured them with a crisp but humorless laugh. “I think we’re all done here. Four lives crushed and discarded in just a handful of days is justice enough, I suppose. Although—” he looked pointedly at Sally. “I think I’m just going to conveniently ignore all the contraband you brought on board with you on this trip for the time being, Ms. Clarke. I’m not at all convinced Billie had anything to do with it, and your behavior, showing up with felonious quantities of illegal drugs in a foreign country that officially has a zero tolerance policy in that regard, in the company of a boyfriend who has already come within a cat’s hair of forfeiting his entire life covering up for all your vile habits, that was probably one of the stupidest, most selfish acts I’ve seen in a very long while. Well, other than this whole business about three friends conspiring to brutally murder one of their own, of course. So consider yourself officially warned, and I will make sure to draft a note about the whole matter that will go into whatever file the FBI has on you, so any repeat behavior on your part will not be met with any sympathy going forward. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir,” she said sheepishly. “It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not.” He
turned to consider the other three, standing in front of him looking every bit as chagrined. “I can’t tell you three how sorry I am this ever happened, and I imagine your lives will never be quite the same going forward. But, Mr. Cutler.”
Brett gazed up at the slightly taller federal agent. “Yes, sir?”
“You’re not entirely innocent in any of this, you know. Messing around with a married woman, cheating on your own wife, it’s unlikely any of this would have ever happened if you’d just managed to keep your busy little thing safely tucked away inside your zipper. And don’t tell me you weren’t even the slightest bit starry-eyed about spending the rest of your life with all of Katy’s money at your fingertips. Out of the seven deadly sins, I can easily name three or four of them that apply directly to you. Lust. Greed. Envy. Pride. Take a long hard honest look at yourself and see where all that got you. More to the point, where it got Katy.”
Brett Cutler didn’t respond, other than by staring down at his shoes.
“As for you two,” Gavin continued, meeting Billie’s and Jillian’s eyes, both now wet with tears. “All I can say is, I am glad to have met you, and I only wish it had happened at a better time, under happier circumstances. You’re good people, both of you, and out of this entire crowd, Katy Mulcahey was all the better for having known you, I’m sure. We can’t bring her back, but you two can continue to honor her memory by remaining in her son’s life in some form or fashion, at least as long as he’ll have you. He’s too young to remember anything about his mama, but you can help fill in the gaps for him as he grows up, give him some sense of who he is deep inside, of who and where he came from. That boy’s going to grow up richer than Croesus, but as we’ve all observed here over the last few days, that just brings its own special set of problems. Nothing in life is free, not money for sure, and money may just be the most corrupting influence of them all. But you two can help keep him grounded, help him stay real, at least as far as that’s even humanly possible. And I’m afraid that’s the only advice I really have for you.”
“Good words. Thanks,” Billie said quietly, reaching out and shaking Gavin’s hand in a warm two-handed embrace. When he finally let go, Jillian reached out as well and wrapped Gavin up in a warm embrace of her own. “Thank you” was all she could manage to squeeze out between her tears.
Billie helped Gavin push the tables back into place and set up the remaining chairs around them, then made his goodbyes, grasping Sally lightly but sternly by her shoulders and steering her out of the bar. Brett said a few short words to Jillian, and then followed behind on the heels of his friends.
Jillian hung back a moment longer, something evidently still bothering her. “Agent Larson?” she finally said.
He stepped up to her, placing a gentle hand on each of her shoulders. “What is it, Ms. Anders?”
“It’s just Jillian,” she whispered, still fighting to get out the words. She gulped hard for strength, then continued in a low whisper. “The thing is, with Katy dead, I would imagine custody of her son would rightly go to—”
“Brett Cutler,” Gavin finished for her, nodding.
She nodded back, and wiped a single remaining tear from her cheek. Her eyes were red and swollen, but he could see in her face that courage was slowly returning. “It’s just that, after everything that’s happened, do you think that’s wise? It all just seems so—weird to me, is all. Do you know what I mean?”
Gavin looked down at her and took a moment to consider his answer. “I do understand, Jillian. But every child needs his or her own family, and now Brett Cutler is all that little Paxton has left. I know Cutler’s intentions may not have been entirely pure in any of this, and in fact, as I just told him, his decision to involve himself in Katy’s life the way he did, involve himself in Katy’s bed, that wound up being the tiny little shove that set all this whole nasty, awful business into motion. But that one mistake does not have to be the sole defining act for him going forward. We all make our own mistakes in life, and hardly a day goes by that I don’t worry that a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil is the tiny trigger that brings this entire world crashing down upon my own head. And that I won’t even see it coming until it’s too late to do anything about it.”
He paused, and stole one last fleeting glimpse of Brett’s back as Tara’s husband bounded up the stairs toward his now empty room. “You know, a family is not just a one-way street, not just parents raising their children to maturity. Sometimes it works the other way around, as well. Sometimes having a child, being a father or a mother, sometimes that can help us adults finally grow up and become the people we want to be, as well.” He thought immediately of his own two children, living way out on the California coast with their mother, children he had almost completely written off as lost to him forever. Almost. But forever is a very long time, and he had nothing better to do in that regard than to wait, wait for them to finally emerge from their mother’s long dark shadow. He smiled, remembering Andy, who was now very likely puttering around their house, waiting patiently in her own way for his return. And not just from Mexico.
61
Hotel Bar
Espinosa finally returned after seeing his three charges safely locked away in what stood for a jailhouse on the tiny island, and he arranged for the kitchen staff to throw together a simple lunch for the two of them as they stopped to debrief. Or, more to the point, decompress after all that had happened to them over the past three days.
Espinosa leaned back, nursing a cold beer. “I’ll have to admit, Agent Larson, you sort of threw me for a second there, when you brought up that bit about Johnson and Casey. Or should I say, Antoine Thompson.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Those last two connections kind of hit me at the last minute, along with the results of my buddy’s deep dive into Tara Cutler’s emails. I didn’t really have time to share everything we found out, but you can’t argue with the end result. We nailed all three of them to the wall, dead to rights.”
“And I’ll make sure they stay there. You know, most people in your country have an unfair perspective about the justice system down here in Mexico, but in the end, despite all our differences, the process pretty much works the same way for the both of us. They’ll get their chance at a trial if they want one, but I can’t see any way that any one of them is going to leave Mexico without taking full advantage of our country’s well-known and well-regarded hospitality.”
“You mean free food, housing and healthcare?” Gavin suggested with a grin.
“Exactly. And we might just empty our pockets and offer them the bonus package for the remainder of their worthless lives. That’s how generous we Mexicans are toward your countrymen.”
“And I can’t thank you enough for that, my friend.” Gavin took a sip of his own beer and glanced over at Espinosa with a curious expression showing on his face. “By the way, amigo, what was all that business about handing me a bugged phone? Was there some reason you felt you couldn’t trust me?”
“No, no, that wasn’t on me,” Espinosa admitted sheepishly. “That was my boss’s doing. I guess he just wanted to keep close tabs on a foreign agent operating on Mexican soil as much as possible. Particularly given the fact that people pretty far up in both of our governments were breathing down our necks on this one. No way he wanted to get blindsided by you sending a report upstream to your people that made us all look bad down here. But, speaking of that, I don’t think it would be a bad guess on my part that you somehow figured out a way to get around it.”
“Yeah, I brought a little satellite phone along with me on the trip, just in case. But in the end, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t sharing anything of importance with my boss back in Washington that you didn’t already know about. After all, it wouldn’t have helped me a bit if I accidentally ticked you guys off somehow and wound up getting stonewalled the rest of my time down here.”
“Makes sense,” Espinosa said as he tugged at the edges of the three-day-old bread that comp
rised his lunch, along with a bowl of canned tomato soup. The local stores had stopped making deliveries for the tourist havens that had all been emptied of tourists due to the storm, and it was starting to show. “By the way, that thing you mentioned about Mulcahey stashing away millions of dollars in an attempt to bribe Tara Cutler into going along quietly with their plan. Do you think Cutler knew about the money beforehand, or do you think it was all just as big a surprise to her in the end?”
Gavin tried a sip of his tomato soup, wrinkled up his nose, and put the spoon back down. “I can’t really say for sure. I don’t even know if she was aware the safe existed, but if she did, it’s a safe bet she would have tried to figure out what was inside of it. And an even surer bet she would have guessed the combination. After all, it was just the numbers making up Katy Mulcahey’s birthday. Not exactly all that original. We wound up hiring a locksmith to get it open, but that was only because we were pressed for time. If we’d had another day or two, I think we could have figured it out ourselves.”
“His girlfriend’s birthday?” Espinosa snorted. “Why, that’s the oldest trick in the book, like using the names of your children strung together as your password for your email or something. Tan estupido! Yes, I’m pretty sure any idiot could have cracked that safe wide open in just about four or five tries. And Cutler probably uses his wife’s birthday as the passcode on his alarm system at home. That’s just asking for someone to break in and steal everything you own. Serves him right if they did.”
