Don’t hold your breath, he thought.
“The FBI began investigating alleged police misconduct a while back, but they had trouble getting potential witnesses to talk–and who could blame them? They were damn frightened.” She fingered the rim of her cup and continued. “The few of us here willing to go after police and organized crime feel we’re up against an army and have no chance against them.”
Marchetti nodded again in sympathy. He knew how it worked. In a David and Goliath situation, Goliath generally won.
He thought for a few moments. “Okay, so assuming for the moment all of this is true, where do I come in?”
She tapped her pen on the table and appeared to be measuring her words. “Eight of us who’ve been here a while–business owners, tourist operators, investors, and myself–have finally had enough.”
“And–?”
She took another sip of coffee and wiped up a small spill off the table. “We need to get the right person in charge–to set a course for a thorough investigation, dig through layers of cover-up and misinformation, and look into maneuvers by local officials designed to intimidate witnesses.” She rocked forward, her jaw tense to the point of gritting her teeth. “Someone not afraid of the Kauai police or small-time drug dealers, and preferably someone from off the island.” She again gently touched his forearm. “I haven’t mentioned anything to the others yet, but I’ve got a hunch you’re going to be on the island a while because of Vicki’s condition, and the fact is, we desperately need your help.”
Marchetti sat back in stunned silence. After thinking about it for a minute, he answered, “You were right the first time, it’s not the time to discuss something like this. But I can give you a number of quick reasons why I’m not the right person for the job.”
She looked him in the eyes. “I’m listening.”
“Yes, it’s true everything worked out well for us in Dallas. We succeeded in taking down a few bad guys and lived to talk about it. But I don’t consider myself qualified to investigate murders, recommend departmental changes, locate missing persons–those sorts of things. I’m just a simple lawyer with a small business practice who happened to do the right thing at the right time, and that’s pretty much it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to say anything else, but I’m guessing your skills and attitude match up better for what we need than anyone else on the island. We don’t want a PI firm, and we can’t count on the FBI. I feel you’re our best option.”
“I couldn’t work as a private investigator anyway. I’m not licensed as such.”
“I’m not suggesting that. We just need you to look into our problems, ask questions, make recommendations–that sort of thing. More like a consultant.”
Marchetti gave an embarrassed shrug. “Vicki will want to go back to Texas as soon as she’s able–and I’d go with her, of course.”
“Of course. I’ve considered that.”
“Plus, she has a job to go back to, and I wouldn’t stay here without her.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. But I’m guessing she’s not going back to work anytime soon, either, and Kauai would be a perfect place for her to recuperate. With you dissolving your law partnership, this would be a perfect project for you in the interim, until Vicki got well enough to leave.”
“You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“Besides, she told me herself she hates her damn job and may be changing employers anyway.”
“But...”
“Finances shouldn’t be a problem. My hotel chain can spare it. They, along with the other members, have come up with fifty thousand plus expenses to start, with more available if needed.”
“I’d need help.”
“Hire whomever you need.”
Marchetti’s head was spinning. He appreciated Janine’s confidence in him but hadn’t intended to spend the next few weeks or months on Kauai digging into a corrupt or incompetent police department. Although he hadn’t expected Vicki to get shot their second night on Kauai, either.
“You and Vicki could stay at the St. Francis as long you want, and I’ve heard all about your son, Scott. You’d be more than welcome to bring him here. There are a zillion things for him to do on the island, and you’d love having him around.”
“Not if I’m busy working, I wouldn’t.”
Janine continued, “My assistant general manager has a ten-year-old son with boogie-boards, tennis rackets, and a golden retriever who loves to play with kids. It’d be good for all of them.” She got up again, refilled her mug, and sat back down. “And after tonight I figure you’ve got a major score to settle, as well.”
She had a point there, Marchetti admitted. He couldn’t just ignore the incident and pretend it didn’t happen. He needed to know who wanted him, or them, dead, and why.
He gave up trying to analyze her proposal or discuss it further for the time being. “You’re right, I’m damn mad about tonight, but I need to see what Vicki needs before I do anything.”
“That’s all I ask–that you give it serious thought.”
He nodded. “Once I’m certain Vicki is okay, I’ll give you an answer.”
“Thank you. In the meantime, I’ll have another car for you in the morning. We’ve got an agency right next door to the hotel.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Once we’re certain Vicki is stable tonight, I’ll give you a ride back to the hotel.” She reached for her purse. “One thing I’m going to insist upon, however, is that you change rooms tomorrow and move from the cottage to the main hotel. It’ll be easier for Vicki to get around once she’s out of here and a whole lot safer for both of you. Our security staff will cover your butts wherever you are, but it’ll be a whole lot easier at the hotel.”
He thought about it a moment, then said, “Makes sense to me.”
4
Shortly before one Marchetti and Janine were called back to the nurses’ desk and shown to Vicki’s bedside. She was heavily sedated, her eyes closed. A ventilator mask covered her nose and mouth making talking nearly impossible even if she’d been conscious. But her breathing was strong and steady, albeit with the aid of a mechanical device, and color had started to return to her face.
An emergency room surgeon still in scrubs entered the room looking stressed and exhausted. He introduced himself as Dr. Kenyon and said, “Vicki was critical when she arrived, given multiple injuries: punctured lung and nicked aorta for starters... but she’s stable now.”
Marchetti let out a sigh of relief.
“The bullet struck a rib and deflected upward, which pierced her left lung and caught the aorta. Fortunately, we were able to get normal breathing function back, and I’d say there’s a better than fair chance of complete recovery, considering her heart problems and serious loss of blood. Things have to go right, though.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Janine said.
He looked at Marchetti and said, “Your presence of mind to apply pressure to the wound no doubt saved her life.”
Marchetti imagined the bandages wrapped around her chest and shook his head.
Kenyon continued, “En route to the ER the paramedics inserted an endotracheal tube and IV drip since it took them a lot longer to get here than we like to see in a gunshot trauma case–particularly a rifle shot. Hits to the chest can hit various organs and major blood vessels, any one of which could prove fatal, but she lucked out. If the round had been a few millimeters left or right, it’d be a whole different story.”
“You found the bullet?”
He nodded. “Kauai PD has it. In accidental shootings we often leave the bullet in place, since attempts to find and remove it often do more harm than good. But in most deliberate shootings, we try to recover the bullet whenever possible, for evidentiary reasons. Prosecutors are usually glad we did.”
As a former prosecutor, Marchetti understood.
“We saw no exit wound and only one bullet showed up on the x-ray, although there were several fragments. We were
able to access those with little additional trouble since we were in there anyway to repair the damaged organs.”
“What kind of round was it?”
The surgeon shook his head. “I’m no expert and prefer not to venture a guess. I’ll leave that to the police.” He thought for a moment and asked, “Police at the scene said a round went through the windshield?”
“Yes, the second shot, I believe.”
He checked her x-rays again. “That may have helped save her life, too. Some of her organs were damaged pretty badly, but the windshield undoubtedly absorbed much of the bullet’s energy. Likely she wouldn’t be with us now if it’d been an unimpeded shot.”
Marchetti shook his head, again grateful about how lucky she’d been. “Sounds like we had the right person in ER tonight.”
The surgeon declined to take any credit but thanked him nonetheless. He again looked at her chart. “We’ll keep her on the ventilator at least overnight and leave the chest tube in place for a few days, until we’re sure she’s breathing normally. She’ll be on painkillers and antibiotics for a while, too.”
“How long will she be here?”
He shrugged. “Best case, maybe a week. Once she’s off the ventilator, they’ll move her into a chair for part of the day and start physical and respiratory therapy. That will help with her breathing.”
“Possibly longer?” Marchetti asked.
The doctor shrugged. “Once her breathing is back to normal and there’s no sign of infection, I’m sure they’ll look at letting her go home, assuming someone will be there to take care of her.”
“Certainly,” Janine said.
Marchetti felt even more guilt after seeing Vicki in her condition and hearing the doctor describe her injuries. He was certain the bullets were meant for him, yet here he was nursing a flesh wound, while she lay helpless on a hospital bed fighting for her life.
The surgeon advised them the staff would pay particular attention to any complaints Vicki may have of headaches and dizziness, or weakness and numbness in her legs. In that unlikely event, they’d do a CT scan or MRI to confirm there’d been no disc injuries or compression fractures in her spinal column. She’d also require close observation the next few days, he warned, because of possible infection from the gunshot wound and extensive surgery.
He added, “She’ll have a lengthy period of rehab, which I suggest she do here, rather than travel. But with a lot of help, I’m optimistic she’ll completely recover.”
The next morning, Vicki was more alert and communicative, although still in a lot of discomfort and pain. Marchetti called Vicki’s mother during the night and told her about the shooting. Jean Nichols sobbed at the news but was relieved her daughter was still alive. She thanked him for his help but asked enough probing questions about what’d happened he had the sick feeling she might also have held him partly responsible for placing her daughter in danger in the first place.
Sergeant Kalani called a short time later and asked Marchetti to come to the station. When he arrived, Kalani showed him to a conference room and tossed a manila folder on the table. He opened it and slid a piece of paper across the table to Marchetti. “It’s a photocopy of the shooter’s driver’s license. We were able to get the number from the car rental agency and track it down through Louisiana DPS.”
Marchetti studied the driver’s license photo and tapped it with his index finger. ‘That’s him all right... the guy at the bar.’
“It’s Gautreaux on the license, but he has several aliases.” Kalani looked at his notes for a moment. “You said you and Ms. Steele arrived on the island on the twenty-fourth?”
“Right.”
“From DFW?”
“Yes, connecting through LAX.”
“Then you’ll find this interesting,” he said and pulled a computer printout from his folder. “It’s the passenger manifest for American flight 265 out of LAX on the twenty-fourth.” He tapped his finger on the paper. “Check seat 7A.”
Marchetti studied the printout for a moment and then sat back in shock. “I don’t believe this,” he murmured and checked it a second time. “The bastard was on our flight!”
5
The surgeon’s recommendation about keeping Vicki on the island for at least three weeks, along with Kalani’s information about the man who fired the shot, pretty much made the decision for him. But Marchetti wanted to run it by retired detective Tom Shannon back in Dallas before giving Janine his answer. Shannon, now in business as a private investigator, was one of only a few people whose opinion concerning criminal investigations Marchetti respected, and he needed his unvarnished advice.
They’d been acquaintances for years but became close friends when they investigated the Texas-based televangelist who ran a ranch for troubled boys and associated with anti-government and Middle Eastern terrorists. Tom ended up seriously injured in the case but recovered, attended regular physical rehab afterward, and jogged religiously for the first time in his life. In fact, he’d reached the point where he and his doctors agreed his physical condition was no longer an issue, and he felt better than he had in years.
Marchetti dialed his cell number. They chatted for a short time before Marchetti told him about the shooting. “Good God, man,” Tom said. “Can’t you stay out of trouble?”
“Apparently not. But the weird thing is, I still don’t know for sure what it was all about.”
“Vicki okay?”
“Yes, for the time being anyway. Still in ICU, but the doctors are optimistic she’ll pull through.”
“And you don’t know anything about the shooter?”
“Only that his name is Gautreaux, he’s from Louisiana, and had been tailing us at least since we left LA, maybe earlier. Though I don’t understand how he knew we’d be on that flight, or why he was so intent on getting us, except maybe revenge.”
“My guess is we may not be finished with that group here in Dallas–payback time, perhaps. I’d also be willing to bet either your or Vicki’s phone was bugged. How else would he know where and when you were going?”
Marchetti thought about it a few moments longer and couldn’t disagree. “Then your life may be in danger, too. The shooter’s dead, his accomplice is missing, and others may be involved, as well.”
Tom didn’t respond at first, then asked, “What are your plans now–head back to Dallas?”
“Not for a while. Vicki needs me here at least a few weeks. And her friend wants me to look into some problems on the island–police corruption, a friend’s suspicious death... a few other things.”
He laughed. “Trouble seems to find you.”
“Yeah, maybe. I come to a picture-postcard island to relax with my girlfriend, and we find ourselves in a shit storm.”
“What’d you tell this friend?”
“No at first, but since Vicki will have to stay here awhile anyway, I may change my mind–assuming Vicki will be well taken care of at the same time.”
Tom snorted. “Be serious man. You’re going to look into a suspicious death and investigate a dirty police force all by yourself? Who are you anyway, Castle?”
“Of course not, but I might be able to make a dent in the problem. Vicki’s friend Janine, the hotel manager, and a few others are willing to fund the whole thing and let me hire whomever I want, so it’d be more like a consulting job than an investigation. Meanwhile, I’d also try to find out who the hell wants me dead.”
“Well, you’re parsing words characterizing it as consulting work, but I do know a good detective who’s bored out of his mind sitting at home watching Rangers games and reruns of ‘24.’”
Marchetti let the words sink in. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“You get my ass on a flight and set me up with a room, and I’ll be checking into that hotel of yours as fast as a 737 can get me there.”
“But–”
“Look, we took down a bunch of nasty terrorists with missiles two months ago. Dirty cops should be a piece of cake in compar
ison, don’t you think?”
Marchetti didn’t expect Tom to be so willing to drop everything and come to Kauai for an indeterminate period of time. “Frankly,” Marchetti said, “if things are as bad as Janine suggests, one or two guys snooping around the island probably aren’t going to make a difference anyway, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“And you think you’re going to leave me sweltering in this wretched hundred-degree heat, while you’re enjoying cool, tropical breezes and gold, sandy beaches?”
“Don’t be so sure this would be a vacation. Janine filled me in on the less well-known side of Kauai, and it isn’t pretty.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. I’ll be sure to bring my swim fins and sunscreen,” he said and laughed. “Can’t call myself a private investigator, though, since I’m not licensed to do business there.”
“Okay, you’re a yacht salesman.”
“And I can’t stay more than a month–that’s when Susan gets back to Dallas. Otherwise, I’ll give you what I’ve got.”
“That’d be great. Where is she, by the way?”
“Greg has her in Chicago for depositions–some big case involving a multiple car crash. Claims she’s quitting her job when she gets back, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Problems with Greg?” he asked. Susan had experienced Marchetti’s former law partner’s mood swings on many occasions, but she’d always been able to laugh them off. But now, perhaps, she’d grown tired of his outbursts and been offered a job with another law firm in Dallas.
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Can I bring heat?”
Marchetti thought about it for a few moments. “I checked it out before I left. Hawaii’s not what you’d call a gun-friendly state, so it might be a giant hassle and not worth the effort. But if you do, it can’t have more than a ten-round magazine, you’ll have three days to register it with the Kauai police, and you sure as hell won’t be able to carry it concealed on a regular basis, unless you pull strings.”
The Omega Covenant Page 3
