I clicked my way through two more pages of search results without finding anything else of interest. There was no mention of Frankie's life before he got out of the military. I was a bit surprised that I didn't get a link back to his parents' obituary. I guess even search engines miss something once in a while.
Aside from his MMA career, Frankie wasn't newsworthy. Nothing I found contradicted what Mary told me. That was comforting; she was finally starting to level with me.
And maybe she really was in a fugue state after she found the Daileys. Or on drugs, but we talked about drugs when we first met. She denied using them, and I believed her on that one. She showed no signs of having been a drug user.
She told me back when we first met that she was clean, and so far, she was. If she were using, I would have known it. Frankie could have drugged her without her knowing, though. I wouldn't hold that against her.
She even suggested that Frankie might have drugged her when she was staying with him. That led me to comb through our conversation from earlier this morning.
She was smooth; I gave her that. I caught her twisting my words several times, once I was on the lookout for it. How many times did she do that earlier in our relationship?
I didn't know. At this point, I couldn't go back and look for other instances where she manipulated my understanding of her situation. We spent too much time together for me to analyze our exchanges with any objectivity.
Besides, I acknowledged to myself, I didn't want to know. She made me happy. Her life was rough; there was ample evidence of that. There were doubtless things she was hiding, things she was ashamed of.
We all had those. I surely did; I wasn't about to share my past with her, or anybody else. Why should she be different? She ran afoul of some dangerous people, and she did what she had to do. I wasn't trying to pry into her past for frivolous reasons; I only wanted to be sure she wasn't setting me up for something.
The more I watched her wriggle out of the traps created by her lies, the more I realized none of them were about me. She lied to me, all right, but not about anything that involved me. She was only trying to preserve her own dignity.
I already pried into her past more than I had any right to. I needed to stop; she wasn't a threat to me. I needed to leave her alone with her tangled past and focus on enjoying what we had. None of that history mattered; keeping her safe was the important thing.
Although I didn't want to keep nagging her, I did want to know more about O'Hanlon. I worked my way back through our discussions of him, looking for something that might let me narrow the scope of an online search.
And then it came to me. There was a loose thread I could pull. Mary's first memory after Frankie found her in Alabama and took her to his place was of working as a barmaid in Savannah. She couldn't recall how she got there.
Suppose Frankie worked for O'Hanlon and had prior knowledge of the Daileys' murders. He might have tracked down Mary because they thought she stole the money and the files. Frankie and O'Hanlon would have wanted those files even if they didn't have the Daileys killed.
There was no way to tell if Frankie or O'Hanlon knew about the safe in the Daileys' bedroom, but they knew Mary was close to Mrs. Dailey. Mary mentioned meeting Frankie at their house while she was working for the Daileys.
It would be surprising if a guy like O'Hanlon failed to check out a key employee of the Daileys, even though she was only involved in their legitimate business. Mary might not know much about him, but I would bet he knew a good bit about her.
The news reports mentioned the open safe and Mrs. Dailey's penchant for expensive jewelry and speculated that someone tortured the Daileys to make them hand over her jewels.
It wouldn't have been much of a leap for O'Hanlon and Frankie to connect the safe to the missing records. Given that Mrs. Dailey had let Mary wear her jewelry, they would have suspected Mary might know something she shouldn't. Plus, Mary said O'Hanlon's goons told her he knew from the police report that her fingerprints were on the safe.
Frankie could have snatched her and drugged her, keeping her in his place in Atlanta while they questioned her. Once they decided she was clean, they could have turned her loose while she was still dopey. If they'd been feeding her something like roofies while they questioned her, her memories would be scrambled.
She came to her senses in Savannah. There must be a reason she was there. Savannah was a four-hour drive from Atlanta. Why would she have ended up there when they set her free?
On a whim, I typed O'Hanlon, Dailey, and Savannah into the search box of the web browser. I got several hits, but one caught my eye. There was an article in the Savannah paper about an Atlanta restaurateur named Rory O'Hanlon opening a place in an old warehouse on River Street.
I followed the trail back to Atlanta and discovered that O'Hanlon owned restaurants and nightclubs all over the southeast. The puzzle pieces began to fit together. I could almost feel them click into place when I saw that several of his clubs were in places developed by the Daileys.
Maybe there was more to Mary's tales than I thought. I was eager to share what I found with her; it might help her remember something useful.
I glanced at the time in the upper corner of the laptop screen. It was almost two p.m. Mary left to go shopping five hours ago. She planned to be back for lunch; she was late.
I took my cellphone out of my pocket and called her. After a few rings, I was forwarded to voicemail. The message informed me that the voicemail for her number was not set up yet.
Puzzled that she didn't answer, I tried again with the same result. I sent her a text reminding her that she was late for lunch and asking her to call me.
Walking around the shopping area to see if I could find her would be reasonable, but I didn't want to lug the laptop case around. I would drop it off at the boat and come back ashore. That would give her half an hour to get my message and respond.
If I didn't hear from her by the time I got back here, I would go looking for her.
28
As I tied off the dinghy and climbed aboard Carib Princess — I still thought of her as Island Girl, but I was working on it — I noticed that we forgot to put the drop boards in the companionway. That meant we failed to lock up, as well. Careless.
I climbed down the companionway ladder and dropped the laptop bag on the chart table. I sensed something wrong as I turned to face forward.
That's when I noticed that the bifold door that separated the forepeak from the main cabin was closed. I frowned; that was more odd than our forgetting to lock up.
Carib Princess is built to a design from the '70s; she doesn't have a lot of space below deck. That bifold door was intended as a concession to privacy, I guess, but it makes the boat seem claustrophobic. I knew we hadn't closed it.
Someone came aboard while we were ashore. I took a first step toward the bifold door and it snapped open. I froze.
"Good, Finnegan," Frankie Dailey said, the pistol in his right hand trained on me. "Don't make any sudden moves, okay?"
I recognized him from the headshot on his website. "Okay, Frankie."
Surprise flashed across his face, but he recovered quickly enough. He held our passports in his left hand. Reaching behind him, he put them on the V-berth, but his eyes never wavered from mine.
"Since we're using first names, do you go by Jerome, or Jerry?" he asked.
"Neither," I said. "Everybody calls me Finn."
"Finn," he said, nodding. "That your real name? Jerome Finnegan?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. I see Mary's changed hers."
I didn't say anything, and he smiled for a few seconds.
"I guess she told you about me," he said, breaking the silence.
"Not really."
"No?" he asked. "Then how'd you know who I am?"
"Oh, she mentioned your name, but she didn't seem to know much about you. I looked you up on the web, saw your picture on your website."
He nodded. "Wha
t did she tell you about me?"
"You were estranged from your parents, you did a tour as a sniper in Iraq, and you're into MMA."
"Uh-huh. And what did she tell you about herself?"
"She worked her way through college with some help from your parents, went to work for them full time when she graduated. Your mother kind of adopted her. When they didn't show up at the office one day, she let herself in their place and found their bodies. She freaked out and went on the run."
He grinned and shook his head. "What else?"
"She was broke and spaced out in Alabama, credit cards didn't work. She said you found her and helped her get her act together. Took her back to your place in Atlanta for a while so she could regroup."
He laughed at that.
"Why's that funny to you?" I asked.
"You have no clue, do you?"
I frowned. "About why you're here?"
That got another laugh. "About anything."
"Apparently not," I said. "Are you going to fill me in?"
A serious look came over his face. He studied me hard for several seconds, his eyes sweeping me from head to toes.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"We did that. You've got my passport. Jerome Finnegan."
"Yeah, yeah. Finn. But who are you?"
I shrugged. "What do you want to know?"
"Where'd you meet Mary, for starters?"
"Puerto Real, at the dinghy dock. She was looking to hitch a ride."
"Yeah? Your lucky day, huh?"
"I think so, yes."
"Where'd she want to go?"
"Anywhere but there."
"That was you, then?"
"What was me?"
"With her when my guys fucked up trying to grab her. You did that?"
"You should hire better help. All I did was steal the car keys. She kicked the shit out of your boys all by herself."
"You broke the driver's jaw."
"Good to know I haven't lost it."
"Yeah. That wasn't your first rodeo. My guys don't go down that easy. Taking down the driver blew your cover."
"How's that?"
"Mark of a pro. You know that. Gave you all the time in the world to deal with the others."
"She took care of them just fine without my help."
"Uh-huh. And in Bequia?"
"I don't know what happened there. I left her aboard and caught the ferry to St. Vincent. That's where I was when your three morons blew that one. How'd you track us there, anyway?"
"We have local contacts there. You left there with one set of identities and checked in here with different passports. Different ship's document, too."
"How'd you find us here?"
"The morons in Bequia left a tracker on this tub. So she killed the woman?"
"Like I said, I wasn't there. It was all over by the time I got back."
"Look, Finn, I came out here to see who you were."
I nodded. "Okay. Satisfied now? My face matches my passport?"
He smirked. "I'm satisfied that you're a smart-ass of some kind. You give off all the wrong vibes."
"I'm so sorry you feel that way, Frankie."
"You're gonna be sorrier. You woulda been better off if you'd pissed your pants. You're way too cool about lookin' down the barrel of a pistol. I think you're gonna have to come with me. We need to get to know one another a little better so I can decide what to do with you."
"Where are we going?"
"Just to the marina."
"You have Sisyphus there? That where Mary is?"
"Not Sisyphus. Sailboats are too slow. I don't have the patience that Rory does. My boat's called Aeolus. Motor yacht."
"Yeah, okay. Makes sense. You strike me as a throttle jockey."
"Keep it up, wiseass. Your turn's coming, right after we get through with sweet little Mary."
"Then you are the son of a bitch who interfered with our lunch plans." I shook my head.
"Turn around, Finn."
I turned my back to him.
"When I give you the word, you climb the companionway ladder. Stop in the cockpit, and stand there facing aft until I tell you different. If you make a wrong move, I'll pop you in the elbow. You got any idea how bad that hurts?"
"I can imagine," I said. "I don't want to find out."
"You're right about that. Behave yourself, and you'll be all right."
"Until I get to Aeolus? That it?"
"We're civilized people. We're gonna question you, yeah. But we use drugs. When you wake up, you won't even remember what happened. If you give us the right answers, you may even wake up back in your own bed. Depends."
"How about Mary?"
"It's time to go, Finn. Up the ladder."
I kept my hands out to the sides until I got to the ladder. Then I put one on each handrail and went up the four steps and into the cockpit.
There was a six-inch-square stainless-steel plate on the starboard side of the stern rail that was part of a bracket to hold the dinghy's outboard engine. It was shiny enough to act as a mirror, allowing me to watch Frankie as he came up the ladder. He was using his left hand to hold on, the pistol in his right.
I stood there, swaying with the rolling of the boat. When he mounted the first step, I lost my balance. "Shit!" I barked, catching myself with one hand on each cockpit locker.
Frankie laughed, and that's when I kicked backward with both feet. I caught him in the chest, and he dropped the pistol as he went over backward. The pistol fell in the cockpit, so I left it there.
Twisting, I snatched a winch handle from the holder in the cockpit. I dove down the companionway, landing on Frankie. Knowing his skills as a fighter, I didn't give him a chance. I cracked him on the side of the head with the winch handle. I drew back for a second blow, but he was out cold.
Opening the drawer under the chart table, I grabbed a few cable ties. Rolling him onto his belly, I secured his wrists behind his back. Then I cinched up a tie around his ankles. For good measure, I found a piece of light line and threaded it through the cable ties at his ankles and wrists, drawing them together behind him. He was hogtied, now. When he came to, he was going to be uncomfortable. I retrieved his pistol from the cockpit.
Drawing a glass of water from the galley sink, I tossed it in his face. He sputtered and shook his head, struggling for a few seconds, then going limp.
"Fuck you, Finn. You're a dead man, now."
"I need to ask you a few questions, Frankie. But I don't have any of those nice drugs you were talking about. We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."
"Like I said, fuck you."
"Frankie, it's only fair for you to know. I've been doing this for a long time. As you said a few minutes ago, it's not my first rodeo. You can answer my questions, and the discomfort you feel now is as bad as it'll get. Or you can be a tough guy. I promise you'll talk, either way. And don't feel the need to impress me. I've seen plenty of tough guys break down over the years."
"Who are you?" he asked.
"We did that already. You know as much about me as you need to. From now on, I'm asking the questions. You're either answering or screaming in pain. Got it?"
"Yeah. What do you want to know?"
"Are you working for O'Hanlon?"
"Yeah."
"Is he here? On Aeolus?"
"Yeah."
"Did you kill your parents?"
"No, not me."
"Did O'Hanlon hire somebody?"
"Yeah," he said, drawing it out into a laugh.
"What's funny?"
"You really don't know, do you?"
"Don't try my patience, Frankie."
"Sorry. I figured she told you. Or maybe you were even part of it."
"What did you think she told me?"
"She's a hired killer, Finn. One of the best in the business. I'm not shittin' you, man. Honest."
"You telling me O'Hanlon hired Mary to kill your parents?"
"Yeah. That's the short version."
> "I've got plenty of time. Give me the long version. Don't leave anything out."
"They were skimming. I caught them at it, but my uncle knew, anyway."
"Wait. Your uncle?"
"Rory O'Hanlon. He's my mother's brother."
"Jesus," I said. "Nothing like keeping it in the family. You offed your own parents? O'Hanlon had his sister killed?"
"I didn't win any prizes when it came to the parent lottery. They had it coming. Rory felt the same way about them."
"Okay. So O'Hanlon hired her to kill them?"
"Yeah. Not just to kill them. Her real job was to recover the money they'd stolen, and a bunch of files they had. Like business records. He conned them into hiring her to help out in their office, like to spy on them. At least to start with. The other came later."
Everything was falling into place, now. Her whole story was bullshit, except the part about running off with the money and the records. "And did she deliver?"
"She killed them and took off with the money and the records. I caught up with her in Alabama and dragged her sorry ass back to Atlanta. Rory and I were gonna dope her up and question her, but she killed the two men I had guarding her and got away. We've been chasin' her ever since."
I felt the bump against Carib Princess's hull right before I heard somebody say, "Hey Frankie?"
He was right under the open port light on the starboard side of the coachroof, from the sound of it. I stuck Frankie's pistol in his mouth and shook my head. He got the message.
"Lie to me and I'll kneecap you. How many?" I asked, my voice soft. "Nod when I get to the right number. One?"
He nodded.
"Make a sound and you'll pay for it in pain," I said, rising to a crouch. I could see the guy's head through the port light.
"Frankie? You ready? I saw the guy come — "
I raised the pistol and shot him, blowing the top of his skull away. I scurried up into the cockpit and picked up a boathook, snagging the RIB before it drifted away. I tied it up and climbed down into it, keeping an eye out for neighbors.
I was in luck. The closest boats were anchored a couple of hundred yards upwind, and I didn't see any signs of life on them. My victim was a slight man, fortunately. I lifted him and rolled him onto Carib Princess's side deck.
Assassins and Liars Page 13
