Wally expanded the picture until the cufflink showed in blurry detail. “Looks like maybe a lion’s head. You want a picture, Chuck?”
“Yeah. And save a jpeg copy on this.” I gave Wally a stick drive, which he inserted into the computer. “Now pan over to that sticker on the windshield and get me a print.”
Wally focused on the windshield sticker. “The car’s from Mango Island.”
“Print that too. Then switch to the camera at the rear. Zoom in on the license plate. Print and save that to the stick drive also, please.”
Wally tapped the keyboard for a few seconds. “Done…and done.” The picture began to move again.
The yellow-striped gate raised and the Mercedes glided forward.
“Freeze that. Switch back to the front view. Zoom in on the two men in the front seat. It’s kinda dark. Can you enhance the picture?”
Wally swelled with pride. “I can make this computer do everything but whistle Dixie.” He clicked his mouse and the screen transformed into close-ups of the two men in the Mercedes. “Aren’t those the two guys who were on the elevator with Graciela?”
“Yeah. I recognize his cuff link from the elevator video. It’s the guy in the black tux. Let’s print and save that one too.”
“Done and done,” Wally said. The video rolled again and the Mercedes moved out of the frame.
“I presume those consoles at the entrances and exits record parking charges from the electronic coding on the keycards?”
“Yeah, sure. That’s how we charge guests for parking.”
“Which hotel room was the Mercedes checked into?”
Wally clicked the mouse and glanced at a second monitor. “Room 3406.”
“Just as we thought.”
An ancient white Ford Aerostar van entered the picture and approached the garage exit.
“Freeze it there, Wally. Click ahead a couple more frames. There. Switch to the rear view and zoom in on the license plate.”
“Hey, those are New Jersey plates.”
“Lotta Jets fans from Jersey,” I answered. “I want another picture.”
Wally moved the mouse and clicked twice. The image expanded. “Done.” He ran the video again. “Those rear windows are tinted so dark they look like they’re painted black.”
“Yeah. The back could be full of people and you couldn’t tell at night with the reflections of the lights.”
The van stopped at the exit console and the window rolled down. An arm in a dark tee-shirt swiped a keycard and the gate raised.
I tapped the screen. “There’s one man in the front seat. What keycard did he use?”
Wally clicked his mouse. “Room 3405.”
Crooked Nose was in the Mercedes with Black Tuxedo. Obviously, they had other men working this. “Zoom in on the driver.”
Wally leaned toward the screen. “That’s useless.” The driver wore a New York Jets hat that obscured his face.
“Not quite, Wally. He wore a Jets tee-shirt. Get me a picture.”
“Right.” Wally ran the videos for the next ten minutes, but no other vehicle left the garage.
“When did the van enter the garage?”
Wally consulted his computer. “It didn’t enter on that keycard. It must have pulled a ticket like a non-guest.” He scanned more video files. “Here it is. It entered at 1:26 a.m. and took a paper ticket.”
“Yeah, but it used a hotel keycard to exit, room 3405.”
“Let’s see if we can get a better look at the driver when he entered.”
Wally leaned back in his chair. “Would you look at that? Two men in the front seat, both in black Jets tee-shirts and hats.”
“Neither of those two guys drove the van out. The driver when they exited wore a different Jets shirt. The two guys who were in the front when they came in must’ve been in the back when the van left.”
Chapter 8
Bob Martinez looked up from a table for two in the back corner and stood. “Thanks for coming, Eighty-Eight. Sit down.”
I shook hands and pulled out a chair. I turned to the server who had shown me to the table. “I’ll have what he’s having.” I glanced at Bob’s dishes on the table. “But just one steak, not two.”
Bob waited for the server to leave. “Whaddya find so far?”
“Plenty.” I handed the Jets quarterback the pictures one at a time and briefed him on each one.
When I finished, Bob held one picture up. “Who are these guys in the elevator?”
“I hoped you might recognize them.”
“Never saw them before, although I think maybe I saw this guy in the tux somewhere. What about that XVVP corporation that rented their hotel rooms?”
“XPVV,” I corrected. “Don’t know yet. Snoop is tracing the corporation right now. It doesn’t show up on the Florida Secretary of State’s Website, so it’s out of state. Snoop will look until he finds something, but there are lots of states to check. He’ll start with New York, New Jersey, and Delaware. Lots of corporations are formed in Delaware, even when they do business elsewhere. We should have info tomorrow.”
“Can’t he check those Websites tonight?”
“Snoop went to the airport to get a new key for Gracie’s car. It’s after hours on a Sunday, so it won’t be easy. He’s gotta sleep sometime,” I answered. “Tell you what: I’ve got another operative—a computer geek who’s the best in the business. He specializes in rush jobs and sleeps at odd hours, but he’s expensive. You want me to turn him loose on XPVV Corporation tonight?”
“Gracie is missing. I don’t care about the goddamn money.”
I held up both hands. “I just don’t want you to be surprised when this case gets real expensive, real quick. I’m going to need a retainer.”
Bob pulled out his wallet. “Of course, Eighty-Eight. This has turned into a bigger project than we thought. You don’t need to carry me on the cuff. Would ten thousand be enough for right now?”
I lowered my voice. “Don’t tell me you carry that much money around with you.”
Bob laughed. “Of course not. Mamacita didn’t raise no stupid children. I always carry a few blank checks in my wallet for emergencies.”
“Then make it for twenty thousand.”
Bob filled out the check and pushed it across the table.
I stuck it in my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need more. If I don’t use it all, I’ll refund the rest.”
Bob swallowed a bite of steak. “Amigo, I trust you with my life. I sure as hell trust you to be honest with my money. You don’t need to explain. Do whatever it takes to find Gracie.”
“Right. The video showed that Gracie reached for her keyfob when she got to the parking garage, which means she intended to drive somewhere.” I fished one picture from the stack in front of him. “She carried this bag. Do you know what that is?”
Bob frowned at the picture. “That’s the bag she uses to carry extra clothes when she goes to a photo shoot. It’s kinda like an overnight bag. That’s the one that wasn’t in the closet.”
“You have any idea where she was going?”
Bob shook his head. “Did you find anything in her car?”
“Snoop should have the new keyfob for Gracie’s car later tonight. Maybe the GPS can tell us something—if she used it.”
“Gracie loves gadgets. I guarantee you she used it. I know she went to see her Mom and Dad.”
“She must have known the way to her parents’ house.”
“Yeah, but it’s over thirty miles to Little Havana. She woulda used the GPS to tell her the best way to get there.”
“You know any place else she would have gone?”
“She was gonna see a lawyer about our prenuptial agreement. And she shops anytime we travel together.”
“She dropped her keyfob and it got run over. Look at this picture.” I thumbed through the stack of prints. “Something surprised her to make her drop it. She had already unlocked the car. Maybe somebody ambushed her and pushed her in
to that Aerostar. The Aerostar followed the green Mercedes out of the garage. Remember, there were at least three men in that van.”
“You got an ID on the van yet?” asked Bob.
“We’re working on it, but the New Jersey DMV won’t open until tomorrow morning. We won’t have it until noon.”
Bob grunted.
My meal arrived. I waited for the server to leave. “Gracie’s body language indicates she knew the two guys in the elevator. They left the garage in the Mercedes right before the van did. I traced the Mercedes license number. It belongs to XPVV Corporation. It had a Mango Island resident sticker on the windshield.” I showed him the picture.
“That’s great. Call Mango Island and ask them whose car it is.”
I set down my fork. “It’s not that simple, Bob. The address on the car registration is a Port City post office box. I’m not a cop anymore. People don’t talk to me unless they feel like it, and Mango Island—the entire island—is a private club. They wouldn’t share member information. Liability issues and such. This is not an official police missing person investigation—at your request. I can’t play the sympathy card. You won’t let me tell anyone she’s missing.”
“Don’t tell anybody yet, Eighty-Eight. You’ve made progress, and it’s not even twenty-four hours. Keep this on the down low for now, okay? If you hit a dead-end, we’ll revisit the missing person option.”
I picked up my fork to stab a bite. “You’re the client. It’s your money and your fiancée. But, amigo, you’re making me play with one arm tied behind my back.”
Chapter 9
I turned the key and the instrument panel lit up. “The rental contract says the car had 7,826 miles when Gracie rented it. The odometer shows 8,004 now, so she drove…178 miles.” I tapped the GPS screen. “Here’s the recently found list. Judging from the distances of these addresses from here, I’d guess these last five are Gracie’s, maybe the sixth one too. The seventh one is Disney World. That’s over two hundred miles from here, and she drove only 178 miles, so that would be from the previous driver.” I scrolled up. “Write those addresses down, Snoop. I’ll check the last one first—oh wait, that’s this hotel. She must have put it in to find her way here from the previous address.” I entered the previous address on my smartphone and a map popped up on the screen. “That’s a bad part of town. Bob was afraid Graciela was into cocaine again. She could score some in that neighborhood.”
“If she did, then what did the mook in the black tuxedo pass her in the elevator?”
“Don’t know yet. Cash, maybe?”
I entered the next address and studied the map on the screen. “This is a residential neighborhood in Little Havana in Miami.”
“Maybe she has family there.”
“Her parents. She’s from Miami.” I keyed the next address. “That’s Vicky Ramirez’s office building. At dinner a couple of hours ago, Bob said Gracie had an appointment with her lawyer. I wonder…of course, there are lots of law firms in that building.”
“What’s the fourth destination?”
“It’s in Naples.” I checked the address on my smartphone. “It’s a hotel. Naples is over 100 miles from here. Gracie drove only 178, so she didn’t drive there.”
“Why would she put in the address if she wasn’t going there?”
“Beats me. But look at the address before that if you want to see something strange.”
Snoop looked at the GPS screen. “175 Beachline Causeway. That doesn’t make sense, there’s nothing on the Beachline. It just runs across Seeti Bay from downtown to Port City Beach.”
“I don’t recognize it either. We’ll follow her GPS log backwards and check them all out.”
I started the car and backed from the parking spot.
“You don’t have the hotel keycard for this car.”
“I’ll use the paper ticket I took for our car when we came in. I’ll get another ticket when we bring this car back.”
We exited and I pulled to the curb next to a fire hydrant. I selected the trip log from the GPS screen and zoomed in until the display showed individual streets.
Snoop said, “All those blue lines loop back to the Port City Palace. How you gonna tell which way she drove?”
“We’ll find the last place she went on the GPS map.” I swiped the map screen, following the blue line.
###
I cruised the block at idle speed. “See anything suspicious, Snoop?”
My old buddy scoffed. “I don’t see anything that isn’t suspicious. Look at that guy in the hunting vest. He must carry his inventory in his pockets.”
A young black man wearing a Port City Pilots baseball hat and three-hundred-dollar sneakers stood under a streetlight near the entrance to the alley, thumbs hooked in his yellow hunting vest. His pants hung below his buttocks, revealing dark grey underwear. His eyes widened when he saw the red convertible. A gold tooth gleamed when he smiled in recognition.
I slowed to a stop and pressed the button to lower the passenger window.
Pilots Fan sidled over to the curb. He leaned down to look through the window. “You lookin’ to do some business, my man?” he said to Snoop.
I got out and looked at him over the roof of the car.
Pilots Fan backed up. “I’m clean, man. I ain’t carrying nothin’. Search me if you want.”
I walked around to the sidewalk. “This your territory?”
Pilots Fan narrowed his eyes. “Who wants to know?”
“Relax, dude. We’re not cops.”
“Why you wearing a piece?”
“I’m private. I only want information.” I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and held it where Pilots Fan could see it. He licked his lips as he stared at Ben Franklin’s picture on the bill.
I showed him Graciela’s picture. “You do any business with this woman last night?”
Pilots Fan reached for the bill and I jerked it away. “Answers first.”
He looked both ways up and down the street. “I seen the car you’re in, and I seen the chick. Fine, fine stuff she was. She stop across the street.” He pointed. “But she don’t buy nothin’ from me.” He gripped the bill but I didn’t let it go.
“Who’d she buy from?”
The man glanced up the street. “Eddie Yanez. He work the other side of the street.”
I released the bill and he stuffed it in his pocket. I looked across the street. “Yanez over there now?”
“That’ll cost you another hundred.”
I squinted at the other man and said nothing.
“It’s good information, dude. I wouldn’t shit you or nothin’. That’s worth a hundred.”
I moved my hand toward my pocket. “Where is he?”
“Lemme see the money first.”
I waved the bill in front of him.
“Eddie work the next block up the street.”
###
A contact in the Port City police sent Eddie Yanez’s mug shot to my smartphone. I glanced at it again as I pulled to the curb. My cop friend told me Yanez was a runner and would bug out at the first sign of trouble. “You’ll never catch him,” were his exact words.
I got out and stood by the driver’s door a few yards from Yanez. Let Mohammed come to the mountain.
He glanced over at me. I waved. He nodded but regarded me with suspicion.
I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and held it where Yanez could see it. I stuck it back in my pocket.
He walked over and stood ten feet away. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not a cop; I’m a private investigator. I only want information.” I held up Graciela’s picture.
He came closer and took the photo. His eyes widened when he tilted the photo to see it in the streetlight, but he said nothing.
“Yesterday. She drove this red convertible.” I pulled out the hundred. “What did you sell her?”
Yanez smirked. “I didn’t sell nothin’ to nobody.”
I waved the bill. “An e
asy hundred, Eddie.”
Yanez shrugged and reached for the bill. “Okay. I tell you.”
Chapter 10
Snoop walked around the corner of the house and handed the Maglite back. The sun had risen, but the backyard and driveway were in shadow. “I looked through the garage window. Just regular junk stored in it, Chuck. No car.”
“Since there’s a Dodge minivan in the driveway, they must own two cars. Maybe they went out for early breakfast.” I rang the doorbell. A dog barked behind the house.
“There’s a mutt in the backyard,” Snoop explained. “Cute little guy.”
I waited a minute then knocked. The barking erupted again. “They’re not out of town unless they have a neighbor to feed the dog. We’ll wait.”
A few minutes later, a shiny new Ford Fusion pulled in the driveway and a middle-aged couple got out.
I nodded to Snoop as I opened the driver door. “You be bad cop.”
“Why am I always bad cop?”
“With my movie star good looks, no one would believe it if I played bad cop. You, on the other hand…”
Snoop scoffed as he opened his door. “Movie star looks, my ass.”
We met the couple as they walked to the front door. “Mr. and Mrs. Perez? I’m Chuck McCrary and this is my associate, Raymond Snopolski.” I handed them each a business card.
The man glanced at the card. “Isn’t that Graciela’s rental you’re in?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a friend of hers and of Bob Martinez. Can we talk inside?”
###
“What can we do for you, Mr. McCrary?” Horatio Perez asked.
I set my Cuban coffee on the table. “Please, call me Chuck. We’re trying to find Gracie.”
Evangelina Perez’ eyes widened. “What do you mean? Is my Graciela missing?”
The dog’s ears perked up when he heard Graciela’s name.
I noticed that the woman had put a slight stress on “Graciela.” Maybe she didn’t like the nickname. “Saturday night, she and Bob attended a TV network party in their hotel. Bob left at 10:30, but Graciela stayed a little longer. When I met Bob for breakfast yesterday morning, he told me she never came back to the room.”
Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3) Page 3
