Ring of Lies

by Howard, Victoria

  ‘Have you noticed,’ Grace said when they’d finished eating, ‘how the consonants are interspersed in groups of three throughout the page.’

  ‘Yeah, what’s your take on that?’

  ‘I think they represent countries or airports within those countries. Look here,’ her finger traced a line across the page. ‘LHR is the code for London Heathrow. And this one MAD,’ she said, tapping the page once more, ‘is Madrid. I only know that because I’ve seen it on Catherine’s suitcases when she’s returned from a trip abroad. But I don’t know what the others are.’

  Jack stared at the page. Now that Grace had made the connection he saw the codes for four other cities, Mexico City, Frankfurt, Miami, and AUA for Aruba.

  ‘If Daniel was moving dirty money around Europe and the Americas he could arrange inter-bank transfers, but he’d have to go there to set up the accounts to begin with. But his passport only had entry stamps for the States.’

  ‘There are no longer frontier controls between European Union countries, so your passport isn’t stamped on entry. Something else has been bothering me, too.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Pete Jacobs called me Mrs. Lattide, yet neither Mr. Parous nor Mr. Cody at the bank did, although Mr. Cody said he’d met me before. So Jacobs only knew Daniel by his other identity.’

  ‘Jacobs must be involved in the scam and either knows where the money came from or who’s running it.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand why Daniel didn’t use the name Lattide when he purchased this house.’

  ‘Perhaps Lattide and Elliott are just aliases, and Daniel had another passport in another name. They’re easy enough to obtain if you know how.’

  Grace carried her plate over to the dishwasher and placed it inside, then put the coffee maker on. She swung round and faced Jack.

  ‘If Daniel had a third passport, he kept it someplace else. After the accident, Shaun cleared out Daniel’s office and brought me all his personal papers. I went through everything, and I’m telling you there was nothing else.’

  ‘What about the contents of his car?’

  ‘The police returned his briefcase after the inquest, but his cell phone was missing.’

  ‘Daniel had a laptop?’

  ‘Yes, what about it?’

  ‘Did you examine the files, his calendar? Was there anything to suggest he was up to something?’

  ‘I-I don’t know. I couldn’t get it to work.’

  Jack shot her a penetrating look. ‘Why didn’t you say something sooner? It might have saved us a lot of time.’

  ‘How was I to know? I assumed it had been damaged in the accident.’

  ‘Where is it now?’ He held up his hand as she started to speak. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess—back home in England.’

  ‘Actually, it’s upstairs in my hand luggage. But I’m telling you it’s useless.’

  Jack bit back an impatient curse. ‘Go and get it. Could just be the battery’s dead. If not, I can turn it over to the tech department. They’ll scour the hard drive. If there’s anything worth finding, they’ll find it.’

  Jack finished stacking the dishwasher while he waited for Grace to return. He couldn’t blame her for thinking Daniel’s laptop was useless.

  ‘Did you ever see Daniel use it? Did he use a password?’ he asked as she handed it to him.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I went into his office once when he was working—’ She shivered as the image of that evening focused in her mind. Subconsciously, she rubbed her cheek. ‘But he threw me out and told me never to enter again. He wouldn’t even let me take him a cup of coffee.’

  Jack laid the MacBook on the table. The case was battered and scratched. He didn’t hold out much hope that it would work, but he pushed the power button anyway. One of the LED lights briefly flashed then died.

  ‘Yep. Battery’s completely dead. We’ll take it to Miami tomorrow, after we talk to Jacobs again. One of the tech guys might be able to get it to work.’

  He spooned coffee into the pot and filled it with hot water, just as someone knocked on the kitchen door. Reflexively his hand reached for his gun and flicked the safety off. Uncertain, Grace looked at him. He jerked his head, signalling that she should move away from the table.

  ‘Go lock yourself in the bedroom and stay there until I come and get you.’

  Unable to speak, Grace nodded her head and ran for the stairs.

  With caution born from years of experience, Jack stood by the side of the door and turned the key with his left hand. The handle turned and the door opened. A man stepped into the kitchen, his arms held away from his body.

  ‘That’s an easy way to get killed,’ Jack said, holstering his gun.

  Anderson’s breath hissed between his teeth. ‘Yeah. Who’d you think it was?’ A tall man, with sun-bleached hair, Anderson had the body and weary eyes of a fighter. His clothes were typical Floridian garb—washed out T-shirt and cut off shorts. ‘Where’s the widow? I heard she’s a real hot piece of ass. You sleeping with her yet?’

  ‘Watch the mouth, Anderson,’ Jack said. He glared at the other agent. The cool tone of his voice barely concealed his contempt. He reached for the coffeepot and helped himself to cup.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s enough for another cup.’

  Jack didn’t move. ‘You suppose right. What’s so important that you had to risk blowing your cover?’ Anderson was a decent enough agent when he wasn’t ass-kicking to get ahead, which was most of the time.

  ‘I’ve been asking round. The word on the street is that Pete Jacobs has money worries. His wife filed for divorce last May and was granted interim custody of the kid. Since then, Jacobs has been struggling to make ends meet.’ Anderson’s gaze shifted to the notebook lying open on the table.

  Jack snapped it shut. ‘What about the family home?’

  ‘Jacobs is behind on the repayments. The bank has threatened to foreclose if he doesn’t clear the arrears and his business overdraft. He put it on the market three months ago, but so far no takers. The realtor’s suggested he drop the price, but Jacobs has refused. According to the court records, he’s behind on his alimony payments, too.’

  ‘What about his office and seaplane?’

  ‘The office is rented by the month. The seaplane is about the only asset Jacob’s has. He had a run in with the Federal Aviation Association a couple of months back. They say he failed to file a flight plan, but he disagreed and said that he submitted the requisite document, but it was never received due to a computer malfunction. The FAA refused to accept his explanation and fined him a thousand dollars.’

  ‘Any history of drug running?’

  ‘He’s not on the DEA’s radar, but that doesn’t mean to say he’s clean. According to local gossip, he specializes in charters, mainly for fishermen, tourists and the occasional honeymoon couple. Although, the rumour circulating the island is that he’ll fly anywhere for cash.’

  ‘Check with the IRS, find out whether he’s filed his taxes and whether he owes anything. In the meantime, you’d better go and join Kennedy,’ Jack said.

  ‘Kennedy can manage. He’s down on the beach, keeping an eye on a group of teenagers. They’re having a barbeque and a few beers. I doubt they'll cause any trouble.’

  ‘Even so, Anderson, I want you out there, doing your job.’

  ‘But there’s a storm front moving in, nothing is likely to happen.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Now get your butt back out there.’

  Anderson’s mouth compressed into a tight thin line. He held Jack’s gaze for a moment, then turned on his heel and left.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Small towns made Sergio Vasquez nervous. He preferred to work in the anonymity of the city. There he could duck down a darkened alleyway out of sight of prying eyes. Here on Gasparilla Island he felt exposed, as if everyone knew why he was here, and the crime he was about to commit.

  Stealing a car and getting to the island was easy. He took the shuttle
bus to the airport and strolled through the long-term parking lot looking for a suitable vehicle. Nothing too flashy, just something that wouldn’t seem out of place on an island full of snowbirds and millionaires. On the third level he’d spotted a black, late model Saab convertible. He’d been stealing cars since he was old enough to reach the gas pedal. Back then, it took him nearly half an hour to pull off a heist. Today it took less than two minutes to jimmy the lock and climb inside.

  A quick search of the glove compartment revealed that the owner had conveniently left the parking ticket for him. This time there was no need for him to create an excuse to tell the attendant about losing the ticket. It was right there in his hand. He kissed the ticket and crossed himself, ever thankful to the Blessed Virgin for his luck.

  Once clear of the airport, he drove to a vacant lot, switched the license plates with those he stole off a beat up old pick-up truck an hour earlier, and drove, at legal speed so as not to attract attention, to Boca Grande. The car loved the road. He didn’t much care for Saabs, but he had to admit to himself this was one model he might even steal for himself one day.

  About four blocks square, and located in the centre of the island, the small residential community of Boca Grande bustled with activity. He parked the car in a side street next to the local community centre and walked around the tree-lined streets. Every house was unique, the gardens full of flowering plants. There were no high rises or traffic lights. No blare of car horns to disturb the old gentleman sleeping peacefully in a chair on his porch.

  Vasquez picked up a copy of the local paper, the Boca Beacon, along with a street map from the stand outside the post office. He crossed the road to the local eatery where he ordered a New York strip, rare with pepper sauce and fries, and a bottle of Bud. While he waited for his order to be filled, he studied the map, memorizing the layout of the town. He lingered over his meal, only leaving the restaurant when it closed for the night.

  The air inside the Saab was hot and stale. He wound down the window and turned the A-C to full. He drove slowly past the target building. He turned left at the intersection and went over a few blocks, before parking under the branches of a Banyan tree. He sat and watched the street, and listened.

  No curtains twitched. No doors opened and no lights came on.

  If anyone had seen or heard him arrive, they didn’t care. He grabbed the gym bag off the passenger seat, and stepped out of the car.

  Dressed all in black, he strode confidently along the tree-lined avenues, his footsteps silent in the still of the night. Suddenly, a door opened, bathing him in light. A barrel-shaped middle-aged man appeared on the porch, two poodles yipping frantically at his heels. Vasquez bent down and pretended to tie a shoelace. The man paused for a moment as the dogs took turns doing their business on the sidewalk, then looked his way.

  One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

  He could only tie his shoes for so long. He could kill the man if he had to, but it would be messy out here. Besides, he liked dogs. He wouldn’t want to drop their master right there in his yard. They might bark, and then he’d have to use his sleek black gun with the silencer on them too. That would be a shame.

  He stood and pretended to answer his cell phone. The dog man stood still. Was he watching? Then suddenly, the dog man clapped his hands, and the little vermin scurried back inside the house. Their owner followed. Praying again to the Virgin for small favours, Vasquez continued on his way.

  His instructions were very specific. Deal with the target and then return to Miami. He thought about that as he scanned the surrounding houses. Most appeared empty, either second homes or rentals, and in such a quiet neighbourhood it would be easy to slip down a driveway unnoticed. Old habits were hard to forget, but petty larceny was a game for amateurs, not a seasoned professional like him.

  He walked quickly along the deserted streets, but not so quickly so as to draw attention, should anyone happen to look out of their window. He looked back at the dog man’s house. Nothing. Good.

  He turned right at the intersection. The target building remained in darkness. Vasquez smiled. Snowbirds were predictable—nearly everyone was in bed by ten o’clock. Despite his earlier misgivings, working in such a small community wasn’t going to be so difficult after all.

  An intricate wrought iron gate and an equally impressive lock stood between him and the rear of the property. After a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, he took a ski mask out of the gym bag and pulled it over his head, then sprang over the gate like a cat, landing soundlessly on other side.

  He waited. He listened. But there was only silence.

  Confident that the occupants of the first floor apartment slept on undisturbed, he followed the path down the side of the building toward the rear. He inched his way past a couple of windows and a side door.

  A light breeze rustled through the trees. Under the ski mask, Vasquez’s skin itched and dripped with sweat. At the edge of the building he paused. Tied to a concrete dock, less than fifty yards away, and illuminated by a solitary light, was a single-engine seaplane.

  A rush of adrenaline filled his body. He removed a pair heavy rubber gloves from the bag and pulled them on. It only took a few seconds to open the service panel and disconnect the electricity supply, plunging the dock and surrounding area into semi-darkness.

  Under the ski masked he grinned. It was almost too easy, but he was too much of a pro to be complacent. He swapped the heavy gloves for a pair of lightweight exam gloves, gently easing the thin latex over his sweating palms.

  He waited for a count of fifty. Satisfied that the sudden loss of power hadn’t attracted attention, he sprinted across the dock to the plane. He dropped the gym bag down on the edge of the dock, took out a small flashlight then, using the wing as cover, stepped onto the float. When the plane sank slightly under his weight, he didn’t worry.

  Balancing on the float, and guided by the narrow beam of light, he edged his way toward the propeller. He released the three engine cowling latches and pin locks. Whoever maintained the plane had done their job well, for hinges opened smoothly and silently. Vasquez rested the rubber-encased flashlight on top of the battery and reached blindly into the engine compartment. Fear of being discovered, combined with the slight swaying motion of the seaplane and the smell of high octane AvGas twisted in his stomach. He swallowed the bile and tried to keep his hands from shaking.

  Concentrate. Concentrate.

  The small wrench slipped from his fingers, the noise reverberating in the stillness.

  He froze.

  Somewhere off to his right a dog barked. If its owners noticed, they weren’t bothered. He cursed his clumsiness. He shifted position and felt for the wrench. It was somewhere. He knew it. Finally, his fingertips touched it, but he couldn’t get a grip on it. He stretched until he was standing on his toes. The float sank, submerging his ankles in cold water. Coño! With his left hand, he grabbed the edge of the fuselage and hoisted himself up until he could reach down and pick up the wrench. His body slick with sweat and shaking from the exertion, he worked quickly, aware that time and his luck were both dangerously close to running out.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  By midnight, a slow-moving storm shimmied in from the Gulf of Mexico and settled over the island just as the weathermen had predicted. Grace lay in bed and listened to the rain lashing the windows. She loved storms—something about the violence and the ensuing calm and freshness fascinated her. It was if Mother Nature was renewing herself in a not-so-subtle way. A thunderclap rolled over the house like a slow drum solo. A flash of lightening briefly illuminated Jack’s face as he slept in the bed across from hers. He stirred briefly, and then went completely still, his breathing once more deep and rhythmic.

  Grace plumped her pillow and rolled onto her back. A soft sighed escaped her lips as she thought about her life. She was different now. Daniel’s death had made her stronger, more determined to be her own person, other than just someone’s wife and sister.r />
  From the very first moment they met, she’d been swept along by Daniel’s self-confidence and determination to get what he wanted, to give any thought to her own needs and desires. She’d been too young, too eager to provide a stable home for Catherine when she fell in love with him to realize that under all that charm he was arrogant, controlling, and manipulative.

  Lightening lit up the room once more. She turned to look at Jack, his profile dark in the eerie light. He was so different from Daniel. He made her all too aware what love between a man and woman could be. His very look held a promise of sultry heat and erotic secrets to be shared. She’d been totally unprepared for the emotions their one brief kiss had unleashed within her, the slow, sweet oblivion that made the rest of the world fade away.