Ring of Lies

by Howard, Victoria

  ‘In that case, why would anyone threaten the widow?’

  ‘Those schemes inevitably collapse; it’s only a matter of time. One or more of the investors could have hired some heavy to threaten Grace, only to find out she doesn’t know anything about her husband’s business dealings.’

  Diego shook his head. ‘Sorry, boss, I’m with Jack on this. I think Daniel Elliott was the banker for a money laundering scam. As an accountant, he knew his way around the system, which countries operated tax havens, and so on. He used some of that money to buy this house on Gasparilla Island. His boss found out and had him killed.’

  ‘Let’s be completely sure his death wasn’t anything other than an accident. Get a hold of the accident and autopsy reports from the British Police. I also want a full background check on Zachary Parous—where he grew up, which law school he went to, what sort of clients he represents, where he buys his suits. I want to know everything about him and I want the information on my desk in the next twenty-four hours.’

  Diego rose to leave.

  ‘Oh, and have Mancuso get hold of the phone records for Sand Dollars, and check them against those for Parous and Associates. Let’s see if any numbers show up on both sets of records. And one more thing — check the flight manifests. I want to know who sat next to Elliott each time he travelled to Miami.’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ Diego said, and charged out of the room to start his assignment.

  Mike pushed back from his desk and went to the coffee machine. He’d already drunk too much of the thick black brew and wondered if his ulcer could handle anymore. As it happened, the pot was empty. He grunted and selected a bottle of water instead. Jack should have called by now. He opened the bottle and took a lukewarm mouthful.

  After twenty odd years with the Bureau, he was too old to be pulling back-to-back shifts. Good thing Chrissie is so understanding, otherwise our marriage would have crashed and burned a long time ago.

  He yawned, took another long swallow of water, then capped the bottle, looked once at the recycling bin, and smirked. Then he tossed the bottle in the trashcan. The pile of reports on his desk wasn’t going to get any smaller if he just sat looking at them. With a sigh, he adjusted his reading glasses and slid the first folder across his desk.

  An hour later, his research confirmed what he already knew. Lionel Lattide wasn’t associated with any known criminals, which left two possibilities. Either there was a new mob in town or Lattide was acting on behalf of an international group.

  The mastermind behind any successful scam was a devious one, and if there were a loophole to be exploited, that person would find it. Banks had a strict code of practice, and employees weren’t immune from prosecution if they failed to report suspicious activity. Mike stared at the bank statements Grace had left with him until his eyes glazed over. He wasn’t an accountant, but even he could see a pattern in the deposits and transfers. So why hadn’t the employee overseeing the account at First Apopka Bank alerted the bank’s compliance department?

  There was only one answer. Someone had paid the bank employee to ignore the rules.

  Over the years he’d built up contacts in every law enforcement agency in both hemispheres. He started emailing his contacts in the hope that one of them might know if someone was working a new money laundering scam crossing international borders.

  Mike ran his hand over his bald head and massaged his throbbing temples. He couldn’t do any more until Diego and Mancuso finished their research and someone replied to his email. He stood, picked his jacket off the coat rack in the corner of his office, and turned out the lights.

  He got as far as inserting the key in the lock, when a ringing telephone punctuated the silence. Training overrode the desire to ignore it. He kicked open the door and snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Zupanik.’

  ‘Hi, Mike, sorry it’s so late,’ Jack said. ‘I was waiting for Grace to go to bed before calling you.’

  ‘I was about to go home and find out if Chrissie had kept my dinner warm or fed it to the dog.’

  ‘Tell her it’s my fault you’re late. We had some unexpected guests.’

  Mike hitched a hip on the edge of his desk. ‘You and Grace okay?’

  ‘Grace was spooked for a while, but otherwise we’re fine.’

  ‘I figured we’d have three or four days before word got out that the widow was in town,’ Mike said.

  ‘Me too. They blasted a pretty powerful search light on the house. I couldn’t make out a name on the boat it was too dark. But the perps were definitely speaking Cuban Spanish.’

  ‘Found anything else interesting?’

  ‘I haven’t had chance to look around, too busy preventing Grace from trying to drown herself.’

  ‘You are shitting me,’ Mike’s eyes narrowed, at times like this he wished he still smoked.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘The woman sounds like a nut. Where is she now?’

  ‘In the bathroom, getting ready for bed. She’s pretty sane considering everything she’s been through. But finding out her husband was unfaithful, didn’t help. She’s okay now. We bumped into a guy called Pete Jacobs while we were out eating dinner. He recognized Grace, called her ‘Mrs. Lattide.’ He runs a seaplane charter company. Can you have him checked out?’

  ‘Sure,’ Mike said, and scribbled the name on his legal pad. ‘This woman impersonating Grace—do you have any idea who she might be?’

  ‘No. Hair and eye colour are easy to change. Coloured contacts, a cheap bottle of hair dye, or inexpensive wig and she could transform her appearance in minutes. But height and build, that’s a different matter. Whoever this is, she either had major plastic surgery or came straight out of the box looking like Grace.’

  ‘I’ve got Mancuso checking the flight manifests. If Lattide was travelling with a companion, we’ll know soon enough. Anything else, or can I call it a night?’

  ‘This place is too big for me to cover alone. I need some back up. Whoever you send will have to camp on the beach, so you’ll need to speak to the parks department, there are strict no-camping rules on the island. Any chance you could persuade the coastguard to patrol the area behind the house? I don’t want someone sneaking ashore in the dark.’

  ‘Anderson and Kennedy will be with you by morning. Can you handle things until then?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll manage.’

  ‘Okay, Jack. I’ll get the sheriff to do a drive-by now and again. As soon as anything breaks I’ll let you know. In the meantime, be safe.’

  Mike broke the connection. Other than himself, Jack, and now this Jacobs character, only Zachary Parous and Cody, the banker, knew Grace was going to Gasparilla Island. Either one of them could be responsible. Or neither.

  He sighed. Jack West was one of his best agents. Occasionally headstrong, his impetuosity had got him into a few scrapes, and he had more than a few enemies within the upper echelons of the Bureau. His instincts and investigative skills were excellent, but Mike had a feeling that there was more to Jack’s relationship with Grace than he was letting on. He just hoped it wasn’t affecting his judgement.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jack knocked at the office marked ‘Seaplane Charters’ expecting it to be staffed by Pete Jacobs. Instead, a plump woman barely five feet tall opened the door. Her dark brown skin and chocolate coloured eyes were framed by a mass of jet-black curly hair. She looked up at Jack.

  ‘Won’t you come in? I don’t normally lock the door, but I was in the back office making coffee.’

  ‘That’s okay. Is Pete around, we’d like to talk to him, if he can spare the time?’

  ‘He’s down at the marina refuelling the plane ready to fly a group of Canadian tourists over the island later this afternoon. If you take a seat, Mr.—’

  ‘West. Jack West, and this is Grace Lattide.’

  ‘I’m Mercedes, although folks usually call me Mercy. I run the office; take bookings, keep the accounts, that sort of thing. So you want to book
a special charter?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Jack lied. ‘I promised Grace a trip down to the Keys.’

  ‘That’s nice. It’s lovely down there at this time of year.’

  ‘You worked here long, Mercy?’

  ‘Pete hired me a couple of weeks ago after his last assistant left. I guess island life wasn’t her thing. That sounds like the plane now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go and see if he’s available.’

  While they waited for Jacobs, Grace strolled around the room. It was small, barely sixteen feet square, three chairs stood against one wall. A series of aerial photographs hung on the walls. One in particular caught her attention.

  ‘Isn’t that Sand Dollars?’ she said, and tapped the frame.

  Jack scrutinized the foot square photograph. ‘Could be. I wonder when it was taken.’

  ‘I took that eight months ago when the previous owner decided to sell,’ Jacobs said, as he entered. He wiped his hand on an oily rag and crossed the room to stand next to Grace. ‘Photography is a hobby of mine. When I’m not flying charters, I work for the island’s realty companies. I gave your husband a copy a couple of months back.’

  ‘That was kind of you.’

  ‘No bother at all. Come through to my office.’

  Grace and Jack followed Jacobs down a narrow corridor to an even smaller room at the rear of the building. A huge plate glass window looked out across the bayou toward Charlotte Harbor.

  ‘Take a seat. Can I get you some coffee?’ Jacobs asked.

  Grace shook her head. ‘Not for me, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll pass, too,’ Jack said. ‘Yesterday, you mentioned that you flew Mr. Lattide down to the Keys on a regular basis.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Was there anything different about the last trip?’

  Jacobs shifted in his chair. ‘What’s this all about?’

  Grace chose her words carefully. ‘I was at home when my husband died. I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of his movements during the days preceding his death.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t like giving out information about my clients.’

  Grace smiled softening the lines of tension around her mouth. ‘Under the circumstances, I think you could make an exception, don’t you?’

  ‘Point well taken. I flew Lionel down to one of the small private islands off Marathon Key, as usual. It’s little more than a sand bar in the middle of the Gulf. I don’t even think it’s on the charts, and as far as I know, it doesn’t have a name.’

  ‘If it’s not on the charts, how did you find it?’ Jack asked.

  Jacobs scooped a handful of peanuts out of the bowl on his desk, popped them in his mouth and chewed for a minute before answering.

  ‘Lionel gave me the GPS co-ordinates. There’s only one house. It’s built on stilts and surrounded by palm trees. It’s hard to see from the air. On the seaward side, there’s dock that leads out into deeper water, and a helipad.’

  Jack kept his gaze firmly fixed on Jacobs. A nervous tick played at the corner of his face.

  ‘What happened after you landed, did you taxi up to the dock?’

  ‘Depends on the tides. Most times a boat came out for him.’

  ‘Did you hang around?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Sometimes. It depended on whether Lionel was staying over. Whenever he did that, I came back here, waited for him to call, then flew down and brought him back.’

  ‘Do you know who owns the island?’

  ‘No, but I can fly you down there if you like.’ Jacobs looked hopeful.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Jack said. ‘But I would like the GPS coordinates.’

  Jacobs went over to the filing cabinet that stood in the corner and took out a folder. He scribbled something down on a pad and handed it to Jack, who slipped the piece of paper into the pocket of his jeans.

  ‘Thanks. Did you see or meet anyone while you where there?’

  ‘Like I said, I dropped Lionel off, and either hung around until the launch brought him back or returned to Boca Grande. Look, are you sure you’re not a cop?’

  ‘Jack is a close friend, Mr. Jacobs. He’s acting on my behalf. If you have a problem answering his questions I can always put this on a more formal footing and involve the police,’ Grace bluffed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Lattide. I keep forgetting how difficult this must be for you,’ Jacobs said. He turned to Jack. ‘I only saw the guy handling the boat, but I didn’t get a good look at him.’

  ‘Will you be around for the next day or so in case we need to ask you anything else?’

  ‘I’m flying a party over to Sanibel, and then taking a honeymoon couple down to Key West, but other than that, yeah, I’ll be around.’

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Jacobs,’ Grace said.

  ‘Lionel was a nice guy and a good customer. Always paid cash and turned up on time. You don’t usually get that kind of business in my line of work. I’m gonna miss him.’

  Jack caught hold of Grace’s elbow and led her towards the door. ‘Just one more question—did anyone accompany Lattide on these trips to the island—a woman perhaps?’

  Jacobs looked away. ‘Lionel always travelled by himself. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason. Thanks for your help,’ Jack said. He ushered Grace out the door. They crossed the street and got into his car.

  ‘Did you believe him, Jack?’ Grace asked, snapping the seat belt into place.

  Jack hesitated, wondering whether she was up to hearing the truth.

  ‘He knows the name of the island and who owns it.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘Because he’s protecting someone or he’s been paid not to talk.’

  Grace swivelled in her seat to face him. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I’m going to keep pushing until I get some answers. In the meantime, we grab something to eat, and then go back to the house. I want to examine the desk and see if I can open the safe.’

  The island deli and bakery occupied a corner lot just off Main Street, and was full of sun worshipers shopping for goodies for their picnic baskets. Jack and Grace stepped inside to the aroma of freshly baked bread and coffee. An elderly couple wearing matching T-shirts and shorts stood at the cheese counter debating whether to purchase some Brie or Gorgonzola. Grace smiled at a small redheaded boy who tugged at his mother’s hand, pleading for an ice cream and took her place in the queue at the deli counter.

  While she waited for their order to be filled, Jack wandered around the store. A middle-aged man wearing beige chinos, a pale blue shirt, and a Stetson, entered the shop. For someone with a limp he moved confidently, and seemed intent on watching Grace.

  Intrigued, Jack edged closer without ever looking directly at him. When he saw the man replace the tin of tuna he’d been holding on the shelf and head for the sandwich counter, his interest sharpened. As Jack drew level with him, the man muscled his way into the line behind Grace. He leaned into her at the same time his right hand pulled something out of his pocket.

  Jack cut into the line, elbowed the man out of the way, and stepped on his foot at the same time, ignoring the shouted curse that came from his lips.

  ‘I’ll carry that,’ he said, and snatched the brown paper sack from Grace’s hand. He hauled her through the checkout and out the door. He kept looking over his shoulder as they hurried across the street toward his parked car.

  ‘What’s the matter, Jack? Are we being followed again?’ Grace asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why did you drag me out of the bakery?’

  ‘Because I didn’t like the way the dude with the Stetson and the limp cut into the line and crowded you.’

  Grace looked back at the entrance to the bakery over the rim of her sunglasses. ‘Limp? The guy in the graveyard had a limp.’

  ‘I know, which is why I don’t want you out in the open one minute longer.’

  Grace put a hand to her throat. She had to fight to
catch her breath. Her heart was beating too fast, making her skin damp and her head spin.

  ‘You don’t think—’

  ‘I’m not thinking, but there are way too many coincidences for my liking. Now hurry up.’

  She swallowed hard and almost ran to keep pace with Jack’s long strides. She had no sooner climbed into the passenger seat than Jack started the engine.