Deep Blue Trouble

by Steph Broadribb

  Parcelling those girls off to virtual strangers straight after such a tragedy seemed cruel, although at least, as twins, they’d got each other. My stomach flipped as I realised that was exactly what I’d done to Dakota in sending her off to camp. Except she didn’t have a sister; she was alone in a strange place with strangers.

  I swallowed down the guilt. Told myself it wouldn’t be for long. That, after what had happened on the last job, I would never take my daughter with me on any kind of job, easy or not. Still, it had been crazy tough to leave her. When we said our goodbyes, her lower lip had trembled as she said, ‘Keep safe, Momma.’ It’d felt like my heart was being squeezed to busting.

  I took a breath and pushed the memory from my mind. Needed to focus on the job – have it done fast and get back to Dakota.

  I looked at Monroe. ‘So what made him freak? He didn’t have a history of violence; I checked that out when I took the skip trace on him before.’

  ‘We don’t know. He said nothing in his defence at the trial, and nothing since. But there’s more to Fletcher than small-time thieving. Stuff that isn’t on his official file.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  Monroe waited for a group of hikers to stride past, arguing over the best trail to take, and then said, ‘He had another line of business that was more niche, kept off-the-record: specialising in antiquities – finding and liberating unique items to order.’

  It was news to me. ‘Like what?’

  ‘It’s a long list, but the thing that got him on our radar was the theft of a set of chess pieces that were used in a special game in Vegas between two legends back in the eighties; showcasing the old guard and the newest talent. It was the fall of ’89: Christophe Lenon vs Bradley Eston. It was the victory match that made Eston the household name he is now. Back then the match was the most glitzy, expensive one in history. The set itself was a work of art.’

  I nodded. Had a vague recollection of it. ‘The Billionaire Face-Off match?’

  Monroe nodded. ‘Yep.’

  ‘So what happened to the chess set?’

  ‘It was bought at auction by a private collector, and that was it, until it disappeared from the owner’s collection ten days before Fletcher was arrested for minor thefts from tourist cabins on the commercial vacationers’ yacht, Sunsearcher. It hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘I’m guessing the set was worth a lot. How come its theft got the attention of the Bureau, though?’

  ‘Sorry. That’s need-to-know.’

  He did look kind of sorry, but I wasn’t tolerating any bureau bullshit. ‘And I don’t?’

  ‘It’s not relevant to the job you’re doing.’

  ‘Is that right? Because it sounds real relevant.’ Irritated, I tried a different angle. ‘So if you knew he was lifting this high-end stuff, why didn’t you arrest him?’

  Monroe exhaled. Pushed his shades a little further up the bridge of his nose. ‘We’ve got no evidence. Nothing that ties Fletcher beyond reasonable doubt to the antiquity thefts.’

  I took another draw on my iced tea. Frowned. ‘You were working the case before he got busted though, am I right?’

  Monroe shifted awkwardly on the bench beside me. Didn’t answer.

  ‘Yep, guess I am right.’

  He gulped down the rest of his drink. Tipped the ice out onto the grass and scrunched the plastic cup into a ball in his fist. ‘Look, whatever I was or wasn’t doing at that time, I can tell you the trail went cold as soon as Fletcher got arrested.’

  I looked at him sideways. ‘So me finding Fletcher, it’s not just about taking a dangerous man back to jail is it?’

  Monroe stayed silent a long moment, then shook his head. ‘I need some time with him – off-the-record kind of time – before he goes back to supermax.’

  There was something about his tone, and the way his voice broke slightly as he said the word ‘time’, that made me think this wasn’t just about work. It was personal too. ‘Why?’

  Monroe starred at me, silent, his expression impassive aside from the frown lines between his brows. The dark lenses of his shades masked the look in his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, don’t tell me. Need-to-know, right?’

  He nodded. His expression stayed unreadable.

  I figured I needed to play the long game to find out what was going on behind those shades of his. From what I’d learnt about Monroe in that last week, he was as smart as he was guarded, and that’s a hard combination to crack. So, much as I wanted to push him harder, I didn’t force it, not just then, even though a personal element between fugitive and lawman introduced an extra layer of complication that had me feeling real uneasy.

  I switched topics. ‘So you told me Fletcher got loose after an operation?’

  ‘Yep. After a kerfuffle in the yard he was diagnosed with a bust appendix. The medical on site couldn’t deal with the complications, so he was transferred to the hospital for urgent treatment. The op was successful. But a few hours later Fletcher killed three guards and shook off the marshals.’

  ‘How’d he kill them?’

  ‘Faked collapse. Took the first’s weapon when he came over to check his breathing and shot him point blank. Uncuffed himself then took out the other two when they stormed the room. Emptied the gun at them. Messy, not economical.’

  ‘Same as on the Walkers’ yacht?’

  ‘Close enough.’

  ‘That’s pretty special for someone who’d just had major surgery. You sure he didn’t have help?’

  Monroe shook his head. ‘Cops found no trace of it. They never got him in their sights.’

  I narrowed my gaze. ‘The cops didn’t. What about you?’

  ‘We got in on it late. Almost twenty-four hours after the fact. The usual jurisdiction bullshit, local PD didn’t want to give up the case.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘We have confirmation Fletcher crossed the state line. It’s a federal case, no question.’

  I nodded. ‘So when he hightailed out of state, do you know which way he was heading?’

  Monroe gave a half smile. ‘I can do better than that. I’ve got a confirmed destination.’

  ‘So why’d you need me? You could go fetch him yourself.’

  The smile on his lips died real fast. ‘It’s not that simple.’

  It never is, but the more complicated a situation, the more chance there is of things turning out bad. I felt a twist of tension in my stomach, and fixed Monroe with a hard stare. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know, you need a time delay. If you catch him, you’ll have to bring him straight back; no detour, no off-the-record chat. You use me, and the timeline can be a little more flexible. And “use” is the key word here, am I right?’

  ‘Lori, it’s more—’

  ‘It’s damn messed up, is what it is. You’re using me – exploiting JT’s situation as leverage, so you can appear to keep your hands clean.’ I clenched my fingers tighter around the iced tea. Heard the plastic start to creak. ‘I don’t like it, and I do not like being a part of it. Whatever’s gotten a burr in your saddle about Fletcher, I need your assurance that once I have him you’re not gonna go all vigilante. I will not have another person’s blood on my hands, you understand?’

  ‘It’s not like—’

  ‘I asked you a question. You give me your word, or I walk now.’

  Monroe starred at me, most likely trying to figure out if I was bluffing. He ran his hand over his wayward hair – a nervous tick of his – and exhaled hard. ‘Alright, agreed. You have my word. Fletcher will be returned to jail in one piece and with a fully functioning pulse. I just want to talk to him.’

  I held his gaze a couple more beats, then nodded. ‘Okay then.’

  The bluff had paid off, so long as Monroe’s word held good. It was the only guarantee I had that JT would be exonerated and that whatever grudge match Monroe and Fletcher had going on wasn’t going to turn deadly. I was pinning a whole lot more than was wise on a promise, but still I had to take the risk. The only other
living witness who could confirm JT hadn’t shot the state trooper was the man himself, but he was in a coma and the doctors said things didn’t look good. Unless he came right, and could remember what had happened to him out on the shoulder of the highway in Florida, the deal with Monroe was the only way I could get JT free.

  ‘So where is Fletcher?’ I asked.

  ‘As of this moment, I don’t know. We tracked him to a small airfield outside San Diego two days ago. Trail ended there.’

  I figured Fletcher was most likely heading for the border. Wondered what business had caused him to stop in California. ‘Tell me about your eyes in San Diego.’

  Monroe stayed silent.

  ‘What, that’s need-to-know, too? Enough with the bullshit, give me something to work with here!’

  Monroe looked thoughtful. Nodded. ‘A local informant. Young guy who works cargo at a storage place near the airfield. He took a photo on his phone.’

  ‘Message it to me. The guy’s name, too.’

  Monroe looked uncomfortable. Sweat beading on his forehead. After a long pause he said, ‘Okay.’

  ‘No sightings in that area for two days?’

  Monroe shook his head. ‘Nope. That’s all she wrote.’

  ‘And you need for me to write the next line.’

  ‘Something like that, you ready to do this?’

  I’d got Dakota safely to camp and I’d told JT about the deal. My go bag was packed and checked, my Taser and cuffs were ready. I felt the pre-job nerves fizz in my stomach. Knew this was what had to get done. I couldn’t tell Monroe to go to hell and walk away; I had to do this for JT and for my daughter.

  ‘Yep. I’m good.’

  He nodded. Handed me a ticket. ‘You fly out of Tampa. Wheels up at 17:15. Don’t be late. We’ve booked you into this place.’ He passed me a print-out for a booking at the Carlsbad North Inn. ‘It’s close by the airport. Nice, and clean, but not high profile. Should be a good base.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He took a burner cell phone – a pay-as-you-go, unregistered, old-school, non-smart variety – from the inside pocket of his suit and gave it to me. ‘Use this to stay in contact. Update me twice a day – at 08:00 and 20:00. My number’s stored in the contacts; it’s the only one.’

  ‘What about a number for your San Diego contact?’

  Monroe looked irritated. ‘I’ll message you his details.’

  I nodded.

  ‘If you don’t check in, I’ll assume you’re in trouble.’

  ‘And if I’m in trouble, I’m on my own?’

  ‘Get Fletcher for me, Lori. Fast as.’

  I pocketed the paperwork and the phone. ‘I’ll report in when I’ve arrived.’

  Monroe nodded then starred out across the grassland towards the lake. I took that as the cue our meet was over. Getting up, I strode back along the trail to the parking lot, thinking on my next move.

  There was someone tailing me and I didn’t know why or what their end game was. I had a fugitive in the wind; a start location, but no leads. I wanted to know why Fletcher had gone to San Diego, why he’d risked travelling out of state, and why, as he’d left Florida and seemed to be heading to Mexico, he hadn’t gone straight there? It didn’t stack up right. Not yet. But if I could find what motivated him to stop in California, I’d have a damn sight better chance of finding him once I got out there.

  Back when I’d caught Fletcher the first time, I’d had a little help from a retired investigator of sorts. If anyone could help me figure out what Fletcher had waiting for him in California, I reckoned it would be him.

  I had six hours before I had to be on the plane. If fate had any sense of justice, she’d let me find the old investigator right where I’d found him before, at the Deep Blue Marina, Tampa.

  6

  There’s something real peaceful about the marina.

  The drive had been easy enough, straight down the I-4, through Polk City and into Tampa the back way through Brandon. No sign of the black SUV. I got into town near on midday, and the sun was beating hard.

  Up ahead I saw the sign for the Deep Blue Marina – orange script across bright-blue, the smiling fish pointing towards the words. Turning across the traffic, I drove through the open gate and took an immediate left into the parking lot.

  As I turned off the engine, I looked out past the lines of boats bobbing in their moorings towards the ocean. The place looked just as I remembered it. It was neat and clean, but wasn’t as fancy as some – more for houseboat dwellers and Florida residents with smaller yachts than for the big vacation boats and millionaire cruisers you saw further into holidaymaker central. I liked that. Made it feel more homely.

  Jumping out of the truck, I made my way to the white security hut. It looked empty at first glance. It was only the loud snore that made me look twice. Reclined back on his chair, chin resting on his chest, was a young guy in board shorts and a white polo shirt with ‘Deep Blue Marina Security’ on the pocket. He was unshaven, wore shades and, from the alcohol fumes coming off him, must have come straight to work from a party.

  I was about to say something when I heard tyres on the gravel behind me. Turning I spotted a silver sedan stop on the edge of the parking lot closest to the security hut. It was twenty yards away – close enough for me to see that the driver was staring right at me. Watching.

  My breath caught in my throat as I recognised him – black hair, mirrored shades – the same guy who’d been driving the black SUV. The tail was back.

  I’d had enough already. I needed me some answers. Dropping my purse, I sprinted towards the vehicle. Covered the ground fast – taking long strides, arms pumping, exhaling hard through my mouth. Kept my eyes focused on the driver.

  Surprise flashed across his face. He scrabbled for the ignition.

  I reached the sedan. Bashed my fists on the door. Tried to yank it open but it was locked. I kept thumping – on the door, the roof. Yelled, ‘Who the hell are you? Who do you work for?’

  The man’s face was flushed. He didn’t look at me. Put the gear into drive. The engine caught.

  ‘Why are you following me?’ I pounded my fists against the window. ‘Tell me what the hell you want!’

  The sedan accelerated out of the lot, tyres squealing, back end fishtailing, gravel spitting in its wake. Left me cussing and none the wiser. Bastard.

  ‘Hey, you okay, ma’am?’

  I turned. Saw the young security guy hurrying towards me with my purse.

  He handed it to me and gestured at the exit. ‘You had some kind of trouble?’

  I forced a smile. Knew I needed to find out who was tailing me, but didn’t want the authorities involved, not yet anyways. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Seemed relieved I wasn’t going to ask him to file a report. ‘You visiting with someone?’

  ‘I’m here to see Red.’

  *

  The altercation with the driver of the silver sedan had me worried and pissed in equal measure. Were they connected somehow to what had happened at the amusement parks or was their interest in me due to my job for the FBI?

  As I headed out along the wooden walkway between the boats I tried to put the questions flying around my mind to one side and focus on the job for Monroe. I only had a few hours before my flight to get what I needed. Glancing around, I hoped I could remember how to find Red’s boat. It’d been two years since I’d last visited, and the boat-lined, well-trodden walkways all looked real similar.

  I remembered he’d been moored at the end of one of the jetties, that he liked it that way on account of him not getting any passing foot traffic. I paused at a point where four walkways intersected. Instinct told me I needed to go along the jetty to the left. When I did, I recognised the boat, and the man, straight off.

  The houseboat had the same immaculate green and gold livery, and Red was upfront, cleaning the exterior, just like he had been the first time I visited with him. The memory of how he’d inducted me in
to the ways of the boat community and helped me figure out Gibson ‘The Fish’ Fletcher’s way of getting into yachts – by approaching them from the water rather than land – made me smile. It also made me wonder if all he did these days was work on that boat. Maybe that was how he spent his retirement. Except a man like that, I doubted he’d ever truly retire.

  As I got closer, he looked round, squinting towards me. Grinned. ‘Miss Lori? Well, hell, aren’t you a fine sight.’

  He wasn’t bad himself. Barefoot, wearing sun-faded jeans and a grey tee, his deep tan made his silver-streaked hair all the more striking. He must have been in his mid-sixties but was still a disarmingly attractive man – fit and rugged, with a boyish smile that age couldn’t dim. Made me wonder a moment if that was how JT would look when he got older; if the state allowed him to get older.

  ‘Hey, Red. How’s it going?’

  He scooted around to the side of the boat. Held out a hand to help me aboard. ‘You know what they say. You do stuff, then you die.’ He looked down, brushed a dried flake of gold paint off his jeans. ‘I’m still here, so I must be doing something.’

  I took his hand and stepped onto the boat. ‘Guess so.’

  ‘People like us, they don’t like to be bored.’ He winked. ‘Lack of adventure, that’s what kills you in the end.’

  ‘Live hard, die young?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He narrowed his gaze. ‘Fun as it is to shoot the breeze with you, Miss Lori, I’m thinking you didn’t journey out here just for the conversation. What’s the job, and what help are you after?’

  I held up my hands. ‘You got me. I need to find Gibson Fletcher again.’

  ‘Uh-huh. They got you back on that one?’

  ‘Yeah, he escaped.’

  ‘Saw that. I watch the news. Not sure I believed it mind. Seemed a mighty effort for a man just out of surgery.’

  ‘I thought so, too, but the cops and the FBI are saying it’s true.’

  ‘And you trust them?’

  Oftentimes trusting people, especially those that want something from you, is a foolishness, and I do not like to be taken for a fool. ‘Let’s say I’m humouring them.’