No Good Deed, page 10
part #2 of Lancaster & Daniels Series
“How much do you know about Katrina?”
“Not much. I was in middle school.”
“It was chaos. New Orleans was under martial law, and law enforcement agencies from all over the country sent teams to help out. I led the team that was sent by the Broward Sheriff’s Office. There were ten of us. We were taking boats into flooded areas and pulling kids out of trees and off rooftops who’d gotten separated from their families. We’d take them back to the camps so the doctors could check them out, and then do it all over again. It went on for days.”
“How many hours a day?”
“All day, all night.”
“You didn’t sleep?”
“We couldn’t. The kids had no food or water. If we didn’t find them quickly, they’d starve to death.”
“How many did you save?”
“We had four small boats. Probably fifty kids a day.”
“You must have been exhausted by the time it was over.”
While training to become a SEAL, he’d often stayed up for seventy-two hours straight while preparing for missions. It had taught him how far his body could go.
“I don’t remember. It was a long time ago,” he said.
“How did you connect with Andy Vita?”
“That happened at the end. Most of the kids were reunited with their parents. But there were about twenty that weren’t.”
“Their parents abandoned them?”
“It was nothing like that. Millions of people had to evacuate, and families got separated. Then the floodwaters rushed in, and people ran for their lives. It was like a war zone.”
“Didn’t the kids have cell phones?”
“These kids were poor. Besides, the flooding took down the cell towers. There was no communication, except by walkie-talkie.”
“That sounds like a nightmare.”
“It was. We eventually tracked the parents down. They’d gone to live with other family members, and were scattered all over the country. Houston, Atlanta, even Chicago. That presented a problem. How were we supposed to reunite them? We couldn’t just put the kids on a Greyhound bus and say good luck. That’s where Andy Vita and Team Adam came in.”
“They saved the day.”
“I’d never seen anything like it. Andy arranged for private jets to fly into New Orleans, and take the kids to the cities their parents were living in. I personally put every kid on one of those jets to make sure they got out okay. Andy was with me the whole time.”
“Who paid for the jets?”
“Team Adam has arrangements with the major airlines. If a child needs to be flown across the country, an agent can arrange for a private flight at no charge. For the NOLA operation, the jets were supplied by Delta and Southwest.”
“That’s way cool.”
He’d been enjoying their conversation up until that point. Rescue operations were often mired in red tape and politics, and as a result, innocent people suffered. Vita had demonstrated that there was a better way to get things done.
“Have you ever covered a disaster?” he asked.
His question caught her off guard.
“No, I haven’t,” she said.
“Saving lives hinges upon everyone working together. While Vita was reuniting those kids with their families, people were dying inside the Superdome because there weren’t any doctors. Ten miles outside the city there were truckloads of medicine waiting to be sent in, only they weren’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the mayor of New Orleans and the governor hated each other, and never got on the phone. They had a pissing contest, and innocent people died because of it.”
“Thank you for telling me that. It explains a lot.”
He didn’t know what it explained, nor did he care. He had a job to do, and talking to Gamble wasn’t getting it done.
“I’ve got to run,” he said.
Then, he hung up.
Twenty minutes later, he parked beneath a shady tree in his hotel’s parking lot. It was noon, and he was surprised that he hadn’t heard back from Beth. At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter what she said. Dexter Hudson was the key to solving this puzzle, and he was going to track the bastard down, with or without the FBI’s help.
Daniels awaited him in the lobby. She had her cell phone out, and slipped the device into her purse as he came inside. Her badge was clipped to her lapel, indicating that this wasn’t a social call.
“I was just about to call you,” she said.
“My ears were burning. What’s up?”
“We need to go for a ride. I want you to take a look at something.”
“Are you taking me up on my offer?”
“We can discuss that in the car.”
They headed for the door, and she pulled her car keys out.
“I’ll drive,” she said.
“What exactly are you taking me to see?”
“A body.”
CHAPTER 16
With Beth, it was all about being in control. She insisted on driving, even though she was unfamiliar with the area. Arguing with her was usually a losing proposition, and he strapped himself into the passenger seat of her vehicle.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“A little town called Tarpon Springs. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yeah. Although I haven’t been there since I was a kid.”
She drove west until she reached US 19 and headed north. US 19 was an ugly eight-lane highway with long uninterrupted stretches. Driving on it felt like NASCAR.
“Whose body do you want me to look at?”
“We’re not sure. It got hauled up in a fishing boat’s nets early this morning. It’s a white male approximately six feet tall and a hundred sixty pounds with a bullet hole in his back. He wasn’t carrying any ID. I need you to take a look, and see if you think it’s the driver from last night that you shot at.”
“It doesn’t sound like a match.”
“How can you say that without looking at him?”
“I shot at that bastard twice.”
“Maybe one of your bullets missed.”
In the navy, he’d shot over ten thousand rounds of ammo from a variety of different weapons and had won medals for his marksmanship.
“I don’t miss at close range,” he said.
“Take a look anyway,” she said.
“You’re the boss. Have you made a decision on my offer?”
“Let’s talk about it over lunch. I have a proposition for you.”
They came to a busy intersection, and Daniels turned onto Tarpon Avenue. The scenery dramatically changed, and she drove down a narrow cobblestone street lined with stately Victorian houses with gabled roofs. It led to the historic downtown, which had gone through a transformation, the dusty antique and consignment shops he remembered as a kid replaced by trendy eateries with outdoor seating and a microbrewery.
Soon they were at the sponge docks, and she looked for parking. Sponges had once been Florida’s biggest industry, and Tarpon Springs had been its capital. The divers who risked their lives every day needed to eat, and the main drag was filled with restaurants that had sprung up to serve them and continued to thrive.
She parked in a gravel lot. Across the street was a waterfront restaurant called Rusty Bellies that also had a seafood store. Three police cruisers were parked in front of the restaurant with their lights flashing. Next to the cruisers was an unmarked van that he guessed was a CSI team.
They had to walk up a flight of stairs to enter the restaurant. A group of waiters sat at a long table, talking among themselves. Otherwise, the place was empty due to the crime scene out back.
They passed through a pair of doors to a balcony that overlooked the Anclote River. Down below was a dock where two commercial fishing boats were moored. A body covered in a bright-orange tarp lay on the dock. There was a breeze, and the tarp was waving like a flag. The cops stood around the body, talking in low voices.
They went down a short flight of stairs, and Daniels identified herself.
“Who’s in charge?” Daniels asked.
“That would be me,” the female officer said.
“Where’s the crew that found the body?”
“I had them go inside the fish store,” the female officer said.
“Do you know these men?”
“I do. My kids go to school with their kids. They’re good people.”
“I need to ask you a question, and I want a straight answer. Do you think one of them might have removed a wallet from the dead man’s pocket? Be straight with me.”
The female officer hemmed and hawed.
“I don’t see any of them doing a thing like that,” she finally said.
Daniels wasn’t convinced. To Lancaster she said, “I’ll be right back,” and she left with the female officer in tow. Beth was an aggressive interrogator, and he pitied the fishermen if they decided not to cooperate with her.
Kneeling, he lifted the tarp. The dead man lay on his stomach. He had stringy hair and a nasty tattoo of a snake on his neck. A body thrown into the ocean sank to the bottom as its lungs filled with water, and stayed submerged until bacteria in the gut produced enough gas to bring it to the surface, which usually took a day or so. The corpse on the dock hadn’t been dead very long.
But was it the same guy he’d shot in the fleeing car outside the Jayhawk? The stiff’s T-shirt had a bullet hole right between the shoulder blades. With his fingertips, he gently opened the tear for a closer look. The wound was larger than normal. That decided it. Daniels returned a few minutes later.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“The fishermen are telling the truth. They didn’t steal the dead guy’s wallet,” she said. “How about you?”
“It’s him,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I thought you said you shot him twice.”
“I did shoot him twice. Both bullets entered through the same hole in his back. That’s why the wound is larger than normal.”
“Come on, that’s not possible.”
“See for yourself.”
They both knelt down, and he lifted the tarp and showed her the enlarged wound.
“If you don’t believe me, ask the pathologist after the autopsy is performed. They’re going to find two slugs in the same hole.” He stood up and dusted off his knees. This bastard had been an accessory to his brother’s murder, and he stared at the body long and hard. Rot in hell, he thought.
He offered Daniels his hand, and she rose as well.
“Where are you taking me to lunch?” he asked.
They took a walk down the street to Hellas. It was one of the first restaurants to serve the sponge divers, and was decorated with furniture and artwork that had been shipped over from Greece many years ago. The outdoor seating area was full, and Daniels asked the hostess for a secluded table inside.
The interior was deceptively large. Waiters wearing white shirts set fire to skillets of saganaki and shouted “Opa!” while diners gorged on octopus and souvlaki. In the back of the room was a garish blue neon bar that could have been a set in Pulp Fiction. The hostess seated them at a raised table, and handed them oversize menus.
“Your waiter will be right over.”
She departed. Daniels put her elbows on the table and looked him in the eye. Her face softened, and she gave him a rare smile. Beth could be charming when she wanted to be, and he told himself to be careful.
“I talked to my boss about your offer to join my team,” she said.
“What did he say?”
“He was against it, but said it was ultimately my call. I want you on board, provided you do as you’re told. Think you’re up to that?”
“What do I have to gain from disobeying you?”
“You want to pay Dexter Hudson back for murdering your brother. I saw it in your face last night. And don’t you dare tell me that isn’t true.”
FBI agents were trained in the art of reading facial expressions. He broke eye contact and stared at the table, which was covered in aqua-blue tiles.
“Look at me,” she said.
He lifted his gaze and saw the fire in her eyes.
“Dexter is our key to finding the victims,” she said. “If you kill him, which you’re perfectly capable of doing, we may never find them. I can’t let that happen.”
“Can I kill him after we rescue the victims?”
“That’s not funny.”
Their waiter came. Daniels ordered a Greek salad for two and the broiled seafood combo to share. Glasses of water appeared along with a basket of bread and a plate of olive oil. He dipped a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth.
“You didn’t answer me,” she said.
“It’s your show, Beth,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you want. But . . .” He let the sentence hang and popped another piece of bread into his mouth and chewed. “I won’t be your lapdog. I’ll share with you what my brother told me, provided you share with me. Otherwise, no deal.”
“Fair enough. Should I go first?”
“That would be a good start.”
She reached into her purse and produced a sleek black Droid, which she placed on the table between them. “This cell phone was found in the driveway of one of the Miami victims. We’re certain that it fell out of the kidnapper’s pocket before he fled the scene. The phone is encrypted, and had its microphone, camera, and other connectivity functions disabled.”
He picked up the phone and examined it. Logan’s phone had also been a black Droid, and he wondered if the two things were connected.
“The phone also contains a privacy app called KYTS, which stands for Keep Your Texts Safe,” she said. “The app looks like a calculator, and can be used to do simple equations. But it’s really a communication device. By entering a four-digit PIN and password, the user enters an encrypted vault, and can store text messages and videos.”
“Is that legal?”
“There’s nothing illegal if a person wants to keep their communications hidden. But if the phone is being altered and sold for criminal activity, then it’s illegal, and the manufacturer will be prosecuted.”
“My brother had a black Droid. Was it altered in this manner?”
“Yes. And it also had a KYTS app.”
“Did you find anything valuable on it?”
“Unfortunately, it had been scrubbed clean by the time we examined it.”
His cheeks burned. He’d been the last person to handle Logan’s cell phone. Did Beth think he’d gone and erased the information on it? She seemed to know what he was thinking, and she reached across the table and touched his wrist.
“Don’t worry, you’re not a suspect,” she said. “The KYTS app lets anyone who knows the phone’s number remotely wipe away the data, provided they have the PIN and password. We think your brother’s phone was scrubbed after he was shot last night.”
“By a member of his gang?”
“That’s our guess.”
“If the data’s been erased, what good is it to your investigation?”
“The company that made your brother’s phone, as well as the phone we found in Miami, is called Phantom Communications. This same company also developed the KYTS app. Guess where they have an office.”
“Tampa?”
“You got it. All roads lead to Tampa.”
The waiter brought their Greek salad. Beth didn’t think the scoop of potato salad was large enough considering she’d ordered a salad for two, and she made the waiter take it back. She’d done that in restaurants before, and it always amused him.
“Should I assume you’re going to raid Phantom Communications’ Tampa office, and seize their files and computers?” he asked.
“Our lawyers are drawing up a search warrant, and plan to take it to a judge tomorrow,” she said. “Our evidence is circumstantial, so we need to word the warrant correctly, otherwise the case might later get tossed.”
“Everything by the book.”
“That’s right, Jon. It’s how the FBI works.”
She tore off a piece of bread and chewed. She’d shared a valuable piece of information with him, and he needed to do the same. He’d lied earlier when he’d said he could find Dexter. The truth was, he could find people that knew where Dexter was hiding out, and with Beth’s help, would get them to cough up the information.
The waiter returned with a new Greek salad, which Beth inspected.
“Don’t send it back. I’m hungry,” he said.
She decided the salad was fine, and they both started eating.
CHAPTER 17
Along with being a picky eater, Daniels was hell on wheels, and the forty-five-minute trip from Tarpon Springs to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement’s Regional Operations Center in Tampa took less than half an hour. She parked in a visitor spot and killed the engine before addressing her passenger.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said.
“Let’s go over it again, just so I’m clear.”
He’d already explained how he planned to track down Dexter, and didn’t see the need to repeat himself. “What aren’t you clear about?”
“I want to make sure we’re not breaking any laws,” she said.
“Dexter is a member of the Outlaws motorcycle gang,” he said. “When Dexter was in Raiford, he joined the Phantoms out of necessity. But he never stopped being an Outlaw. The gang’s motto is ‘Once an Outlaw, always an Outlaw.’”
“And you think the local gang in Tampa knows where he is?”
“I’m sure of it. When Dexter got released from prison and relocated to Tampa, he would have checked in with the leader of the local club.”
“What would he gain from doing that?”
“Motorcycle gangs are tribal, and hold loyalty to a high standard. Dexter would tell the head of the local club that he’s available if they needed him. That’s important to these guys. I dealt with them as a cop, and know how they behave.”
“And you think that you can persuade the leader of the local club to tell us where Dexter is hiding out. Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?”
“Not if you help me.”
