by Tripp Ellis
I was silent a moment as I pieced things together. "How does Chelsea Jones play into this?"
"I can almost guarantee that was a professional hit by Serpent Syndicate. Especially after what went down."
JD and I exchanged a curious glance.
"What went down?" I asked.
"I've been in Brynn's office long enough to see a few things. Brynn and Xavier were an item. That is, until she caught him banging Chelsea."
JD lifted his brow. "That would put a strain on the relationship."
"She fired Chelsea on the spot. By that time, Chelsea was aware of their little mortgage scam and threatened to go to the cops if Brynn didn't hire her back. That made the Syndicate nervous. They took her out to silence her and to send a message to Brynn and Xavier—stop screwing around."
"And the break-in at Brynn's office?"
"The Syndicate. They wanted the data on the computers."
"And you couldn't have shared any of this information with the sheriff's department?" I asked, perturbed.
Shelby's face tensed. "I couldn't risk blowing my cover. I don't think you realize just how powerful the Syndicate is, and how deep their connections run. Paying off local cops is par for the course for the Syndicate. And quite frankly, you two both look like you're on the take."
My face twisted.
So did JD's.
"What gives you that idea?" I asked.
Shelby scoffed. "Please," she said snidely. "This guy drives a $275,000 exotic sports car," she said, pointing to JD. Then her finger aimed at me. "And you live aboard a $9 million yacht. Something's funny about that."
Daniels's stern gaze flicked between the two of us.
"Jack invested well, and I sold a script."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't even trust people in the bureau. I'm certainly not going to trust you two clowns."
"Then why are you talking to us?" I asked.
"I'm not really sure. Maybe I'm trying to feel you two out."
A devilish grin curled on Jack's lips. "Feel free to feel me anytime you like."
Shelby glared at him.
"So where do we go from here?" I asked.
"We don't go anywhere. I go back to my office and try to find a way to connect one of these shell corporations to Vasily Kozlov."
"And how do we connect Kozlov to the murder of Chelsea Jones."
"You won't. His people are loyal, and they won't talk. He gives an order, and it's carried out without hesitation."
"I'm always up for a challenge," JD said.
"Who are the enforcers for the Syndicate?" I asked.
Shelby hesitated a moment. "Ivan and Gregor Akulov. You do not want to get on their bad side."
"I think they should worry about getting on our bad side," I said.
"You two should watch your backs. You're stepping on dangerous toes. The Syndicate is not afraid to hit anyone anywhere."
"What about you? Who's watching your back?" I asked.
Shelby was silent for a long moment. I saw the wheels turning behind her eyes. "The only people that know I'm working this case outside of this room are me and my boss. That's it. The Syndicate has a lot of money to throw around. They can make enticing offers. They can threaten agents' families. They can pile on the pressure and force compliance from anyone."
"Are you saying they may have infiltrated the Bureau?" I asked.
"I'm saying that's a distinct possibility. By even talking to you, I've placed my life at risk."
"I can assure you, that no one in this room is on the take, Agent Sullivan," Daniels said in a tone that was not to be disputed.
"I hope you're right, Sheriff."
"What if we can flip Xavier?" I asked.
"You better put him in protective custody. He might not make it through the night."
"We should go talk to him and see what he says," I suggested.
Shelby said, "If he's smart, he won't say shit."
24
“I'm not talking to you people," Xavier King said. "I want a lawyer. Now!"
The demanding little shit wasn’t Xavier King at all—that was just another fictitious identity.
The prints taken during processing turned up a match on AFIS (Automated Fingerprint Identification System). His real name was Lucas Tyler. He had a prior arrest in Texas for mortgage fraud and was on probation.
Xavier, now Lucas, sat at the table in the interrogation room, his hands cuffed. Sweat misted on his forehead. His perfectly slicked-back hair had unraveled, and long strands dangled to the side. Despite his tanned skin, he looked pale and sickly under the green glow of the florescent lights. His $3000 Zangari suit was gone. It had been exchanged for the orange, county jumpsuit.
Shelby watched from the next room through a two-way mirror.
"By all means, speak with your attorney," I said. "Once we comb through all the county records, I have no doubt you'll be facing multiple counts of mortgage fraud. You'll never get out of jail. But then again, I wouldn't worry too much about that. You're not going to make it a week. You and I both know that."
Lucas swallowed hard. "I want to talk to my lawyer."
"I don't think your lawyer will be able to help you," I said. “You’re going to find yourself on the wrong side of the Syndicate."
Lucas said nothing.
"You give me something that will bring down Vasily Kozlov, and the Syndicate, and we might be able to work a deal."
His nervous eyes continued to stare at me, but he remained silent.
I gave it another moment, then left the interrogation room. He wasn't talking.
Daniels and Shelby joined us in the hallway.
"Told you he wouldn't talk," Shelby said.
"Give it time," I said. "Something tells me that guy won't do well in prison. He may soon have a change of heart."
My phone buzzed my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the display screen. It was my sister, Madison.
I took the call.
"Have you heard from Brynn?"
"No," I said. "I left her a few messages, but I don't think she will be calling me back anytime soon."
"What did you do?" Madison said with an accusatory tone.
"It's not what I did," I said.
"If you screwed up this deal for me, I swear to God…"
"I didn't screw anything up. I think Brynn did that all on her own."
"What are you talking about?"
I told her that I suspected Brynn was involved in mortgage fraud and money laundering.
"What? That's insane!" Madison was clearly in denial. "You're making that shit up! This is so typical."
"No, I'm not. What do you know about the person trying to buy Diver Down?"
"Brynn said she had a long-time client that was interested in the property. She said the buyer has cash, and will wire the money into my account. We're supposed to close next week. The offer was considerably more than Finley had made."
"Did Brynn tell you the name of the buyer?"
"She said the wire transfer would be coming from a corporate account. I didn't really ask any questions."
"The whole thing didn't seem a little odd to you?" I asked.
"No. She got me a great offer, said we could close quickly."
"Does the name Vasily Kozlov ring a bell?"
"No. Not really."
"What's the name of the corporation on the contract?" I asked.
"Hang on. Let me check." Madison rifled through some papers. "VSKV Capital Asset Management Limited."
"Great. Thanks."
I knew Isabella, my former handler at Cobra Company, would be able to sort out the ownership of VSKV Capital Asset Management Limited. The clandestine agency had ways of gathering intel. Their methods weren't admissible in a court of law, but it could point you in the right direction.
"Does this mean the deal is not going through?" Madison asked.
I told her about the Syndicate, and that they were likely purchasing the property to launder drug money. That was all Madiso
n needed to hear.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Positive," I said.
"I'm cancelling the deal. Not getting involved with something like that. There is an addendum in the contract that allows me to back out at any time without penalty."
"I think that's the right decision."
"Don't gloat."
"I'm not gloating," I said, emphatically.
She was utterly deflated. "What am I going to do? I guess I could go back to Finley, but I feel a little bad for screwing her over."
"Look, I'm working on a few things. Let's work out a deal. I can give you a substantial amount of cash now. It's only going to be a fraction of your asking price, but it will be more than enough to cover your expenses while I drum up the rest of the money."
Madison was quiet.
"I'm begging you."
"You want me to owner-finance you?"
"Something like that," I said.
"How much can you put down?"
"The Bree Taylor project is about to go into production. I'm guaranteed a $2 million back-end payment. It's yours."
Madison was silent for a long moment. "Okay. On a couple of conditions."
I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"You pay the full principal amount within a year. If you default, I repossess the property free and clear."
"You're ruthless, you know that?"
"Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it," I said.
"I'll have an attorney draft a contract and send it to you." She paused. "Do I need to be worried about this Syndicate coming after me?"
"I don't think so—"
"You don't think so?"
"With as much heat as is coming down on Brynn. They're not going to go near anything she was involved with. You're not planning on coming back to Coconut Key, are you?"
"Nope!"
"That's probably for the best. Safer that way."
"Every time I talk to you, it just reaffirms my decision. Leaving Coconut Key was the right thing for me."
She hung up, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. I had saved Diver Down, for the moment. My relationship with my sister was another story altogether. That was, perhaps, beyond repair.
25
Daniels put a BOLO out on Brynn. JD and I decided to check her apartment. She lived in a two-bedroom condo in the Nautilus—a luxury high-rise developed by Finley Morgan.
The building had secure access points that functioned either with biometrics, or with key cards.
I held my shiny gold badge against the glass as I banged on the lobby door. The concierge buzzed us in. I told him we were here for Brynn, and he escorted us up to the 19th floor.
There was no need to kick down the door. It was already open.
There was a shoe print on the door, and the doorjamb was splintered.
We pushed into the condo with our pistols drawn. JD and I advanced down the foyer, spilled into the living room, and cleared the area.
The place had been ransacked.
Paintings had been torn from the walls. Seat cushions had been cut open, and the stuffing pulled out. Every drawer had been emptied.
Brynn's body lay in a pool of blood on the tile. I hovered over the corpse, examining the wounds. It looked like she'd been shot twice with a small caliber weapon. Probably a .22 pistol.
"Somebody was looking for something," JD said.
I agreed. "But what?"
"Something incriminating, I suppose."
The concierge hovered in the doorway, looking mortified.
I called Daniels, and he arrived at the condo with the medical examiner and the forensics team. Soon the luxury condo was bustling with activity.
Brenda examined the body, wearing nitrile gloves, taking the temperature of the corpse. "She's been dead about an hour, I'd say. Give or take."
"Did the neighbors hear anything?" Daniels asked.
The concierge shook his head. "No one has made any complaints. The walls here are pretty thick."
"What about surveillance video?" I asked.
"We have surveillance video in the lobby and in the common areas. I can show you, if you'd like."
We left the apartment and followed the concierge to the elevators. His name was Barrett. He was in his mid-60s with gray hair, and a friendly face and rosy cheeks. His spine was curved slightly, and he stood with a little slump.
We rode down to the main lobby, and Barrett escorted us into the security office. There were several flatscreen displays, each offering multiple views. The security officer, wearing a blue uniform and navy pants, sat in a chair behind the control terminal. He had short dark hair, a goatee, and a round face. He looked like he sat in the chair a lot and passed the time with more than a few candy bars and sodas.
The concierge introduced us. The guard's name was Miles.
"I need to see everything from the lobby, and the 19th floor hallway over the past few hours,” I said.
"Sure thing," Miles said.
He scrubbed through the timeline on those two cameras and replayed the footage. We watched several people enter the building using their biometrics. A thumbprint on the pad near the main entrance would grant access. The building was high-tech. State-of-the-art smart controls, automated lighting and air conditioning. No expense had been spared, and the residents had paid a pretty penny for that convenience.
"There!" I said, pointing to the screen as a pizza delivery guy stepped to the main door.
Barrett had buzzed him in.
In one hand, he held a warming bag that presumably contained a box of pizza. He wore a red, long sleeve shirt, and still had on his motorcycle helmet and gloves. A camera angle on the parking lot captured footage of the motorcyclist entering the lot and parking on the drive underneath the awning.
The footage continued to show him stroll across the lobby to the elevators. The angle on the 19th floor showed the delivery guy march down the hallway to Brynn's condo. He set the pizza on the floor, leaning it against the wall, then drew a pistol from the holster inside his waistband. He pulled a suppressor from his pocket and screwed it onto the end of the threaded barrel of the semi-automatic .22 pistol.
The delivery guy was a big boy. It was hard to tell from the video, but I was guessing 6'2", 240 lbs.
With a swift kick, the doorjamb splintered, and the door swung wide. He stormed into the apartment.
A shrill shriek filtered down the corridor, followed by two barely audible snaps.
Then there was silence.
A few minutes later, the pizza delivery guy emerged, unscrewing the suppressor. He holstered his pistol, tossed the suppressor in the pizza bag because it was probably too hot to slide into his pocket. He stormed back to the elevator, and the lobby camera showed him exiting the building, still wearing his helmet.
Nobody seemed to give him a second look.
I requested a copy of the footage from the security guard. Miles transferred it to a thumb drive and handed it to me.
As we left the security room, Brynn's body was removed from the premises, wheeled out on the gurney. I spoke with Sheriff Daniels in the lobby as things wrapped up.
"Faulkner and Erickson knocked on every door on 18, 19, and 20. Nobody heard anything."
"Or they're not coming forward," I added.
I told him about the video footage of the pizza delivery guy. "I have no doubt he was a Syndicate enforcer. Shelby mentioned two names. Ivan and Gregor."
"You've got connections," Daniels said. "See what you can find out about them."
"I'm on it," I said.
I texted Isabella and asked her to send me full dossiers on the Russian assassins. She didn't respond right away.
JD looked at his watch. "I need to get to band practice."
Daniels gave him a sour look. "What?"
Jack shrugged, then smiled. "I'm singing in a band now. You should come see me. We're at Sonic Temple on Saturday. I can get you a comp ticket."
Daniels gave him an
annoyed glare.
I gave Daniels the security footage to take to the lab for analysis. We chatted for a moment, and I mentioned, "There's video of the shooter riding a motorcycle. I don't think there's an angle of the license plate. But, maybe there's some other way to identify the bike?"
"It's probably stolen," Daniels said.
"Probably."
JD and I left the building, walked through the parking lot, and climbed into his Porsche. He cranked up the flat six, and we headed to the rehearsal studio.
I called Shelby along the way and gave her the description of the pizza guy.
"That could be Ivan or Gregor. They are both big guys," she said.
"Do you have any idea of what he would have been looking for in Brynn's condo? The place was pretty torn up."
"Anything that could connect the Syndicate to the real estate transactions. That's my guess. Look, these guys are no bullshit. I was serious when I said you need to watch your back."
"I'm used to people gunning for me," I said. "I told Daniels to leak the information to Lucas Tyler that Brynn had been murdered. Maybe that will provide encouragement for him to start talking?"
"It could provide encouragement for him to keep his mouth shut," Shelby countered.
She had a point.
I ended the call as we pulled into the parking lot of the warehouse. The offbeat rhythm of two different bands practicing echoed across the lot.
The same group of metal-heads were out front, smoking cigarettes. I wondered if they did anything besides smoke cigarettes?
We climbed out of the car and walked toward the entrance. My phone buzzed with a call from Joel.
"Bad news," my agent said when I put the phone to my ear.
"I'm not really in the mood for bad news. Can you call back later?"
"I can, but I thought you'd like to know…"
A reluctant sigh escaped my lips. "What went wrong now?"
26
I stayed in the parking lot while Jack went inside to join the band. I moved away from the crowd of smokers to find fresh air while I talked to Joel.
