No Good Deed, page 26
part #2 of Lancaster & Daniels Series
CHAPTER 41
As a cop, he’d never liked it when civilians took the law into their own hands. It was vigilantism, and often led to innocent people getting hurt.
But there were exceptions to this, and he left the marina believing the victims on the charter fishing boat would be safer if Trent’s team rescued them, as opposed to the FBI. Rescue operations were tricky, and people with military training were better at doing them. He didn’t care if the FBI got their noses bent out of shape because he’d invaded their turf. All he cared about was the victims, and their families.
Traffic was light as he drove north on Alternate US 19. Reaching Palm Harbor, he spotted the street sign for RichJo Lane, and he slowed down. He assumed that the FBI had posted a stakeout in anticipation of conducting a raid when Dexter and the ex-cons met up, and he wanted to see if he could spot them.
Across the street from the entrance to RichJo Lane was a tire store. Parked in the lot was a large camper with multiple antennae on the roof. The camper hadn’t been there earlier in the day, and he assumed it was filled with FBI agents.
He crawled past RichJo Lane. He didn’t spot any other FBI vehicles, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here. When making busts, the FBI liked to use overwhelming force, and he assumed that more agents were nearby.
A pair of headlights appeared in his mirror. A car had pulled out of RichJo Lane, and was also heading north. Earlier that day, he’d seen a number of residences on the street, and guessed it got a fair amount of traffic.
The car gave him an idea.
He had resigned himself to the fact that he probably wasn’t going to pay Dexter back for killing his brother. If he put a bullet into Dexter, he would not only end up in jail but also endanger the bust, as well as put the victims’ lives in jeopardy.
So he couldn’t put Dexter out of his misery. But maybe he could get someone else to do it. It was the next best option, and would taste just as sweet.
A mile down the road he spotted a second camper parked in front of a storage facility. It was identical to the camper up the street, with multiple antennae on the roof. To conduct the raid, the FBI would use armored vehicles, which was standard operating procedure. The storage facility was the right size to hold a pair of such vehicles.
The FBI had the area covered. If he put his plan into action, they might spot him, and that would be bad. Did he want to risk his freedom to pay Dexter back?
He decided he needed a second opinion.
He kept driving until he reached Dunedin. The first business he saw was a craft brewery. It was housed in a snug little building that could have been a concession stand on the beach. There were bike racks in front, and he guessed their brews had such a high alcohol content that locals didn’t risk driving for fear of getting pulled over.
The tasting room had five empty stools. A chalkboard behind the bar announced that day’s selections. The beers had exotic names like Ale of Two Cities, Imaginary Friends, and Control Freak. A female bartender asked his pleasure, and he picked a farmhouse ale called Evil Urges. She placed a pint in front of him.
“Do you want to run a tab?”
He gave her a credit card. There were no TVs or jukeboxes, the only noise the sounds that came out of people’s mouths.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Elizabeth. My friends call me Liz,” she said.
She had a kind face and soulful eyes, and impressed him as the honest type. “My name is Jon. Do you mind if I ask you a question? It’s nothing personal, I’m just a little torn.”
Liz crossed her arms in front of her chest. She’d had guys bend her ear before, and didn’t act as if his request were anything out of the ordinary.
“You break up with your girlfriend?” she asked.
“I wish it was that simple,” he said.
“When is breaking up with your lady simple?”
“Sorry, that didn’t come out right.” He took a sip of his beer, and tried again. “When I was a teenager, my older brother got arrested for being part of a convenience store robbery where the owner got shot and later died. My brother and his partners got arrested, and were put on trial.”
“This is heavy,” she said.
“I can stop if you want,” he said.
Liz put her elbows on the bar, and looked him in the eye. “How long ago was this?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“Wow. And it’s still eating you up?”
“Afraid so.”
“Were you part of the robbery?”
“No, I was at home, doing my homework.”
She took a can of soda out of the cooler, popped the top, and clinked it against his glass. “Okay, you’ve hooked me. So what’s your question?”
“My brother wanted me to testify at the trial, and say that he was at home with me during the robbery. The problem was, a witness picked my brother out of a lineup, and there was also a videotape. My brother was guilty, and nothing I was going to say would have changed that.”
“So you didn’t do it.”
He shook his head, and took a long swallow of his beer.
“Did they put him away?”
“Yeah. He got out two months ago. I saw him, and he still held it against me. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I did the right thing, but also the wrong thing.”
“How so?”
“I spoke the truth when I got up on the stand. That was the right thing. But I didn’t stand up for him, and that was wrong.”
“You couldn’t have done both. So what’s your question?”
“If you were in my shoes, what would you have done?”
The question caught her by surprise. She finished her soda and crushed the empty can between her palms. He had made her feel uncomfortable, which had not been his purpose for coming in. He threw money down for his drink, and told her to keep the change. She retrieved his credit card and slid it toward him.
“Good night. Thanks for listening,” he said.
“You don’t have to leave,” she said.
“Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“You’re not bothering me, really.”
It didn’t feel that way. He said good night, and made for the door.
“You really want to know what I would have done?” she said.
He turned around and slowly nodded.
“If it had been me, I would have lied, and said he was home,” she said.
“But lying wouldn’t have changed things,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s still your brother.”
Not just his brother, but also his hero. And he hadn’t stuck up for him. There was always time to make amends, and he said, “Is there an all-night grocery nearby?”
CHAPTER 42
Daniels thought she was going to have a heart attack.
She was staked out across the street from RichJo Lane. On the camper’s roof were three high-resolution, infrared digital cameras that allowed her to not only capture the license plate on a car at night but also peer into the car, and get a good look at the driver. These images were sent to a computer whose screen she now stared at. A man that could have been Jon’s twin had just turned down RichJo Lane. The images were being recorded, and she played them back, just to be sure.
The resemblance was uncanny. Same round face and stubble of beard. And the trademark baseball cap, this time one bearing the logo of the Miami Marlins.
She told herself that it couldn’t be him. Baldini had threatened to arrest Jon and throw him in jail if he showed his face, and she couldn’t imagine Jon taking that risk.
She replayed the video. On the passenger seat was a bag of groceries with a loaf of bread sticking out. She remembered Jon once saying how he liked to put groceries in the passenger seat when tailing a suspect. If the suspect happened to look in the mirror, he’d see the groceries, and think it wasn’t a cop on his ass.
She told herself it was a coincidence. Jon wasn’t that dumb.
“Find something?” a voice asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. Three other agents shared the camper, and were drinking coffee. Baldini was with them, and was facing her.
“Just a car,” she said.
“A car,” he repeated.
“Yes, a car. It turned down RichJo Lane. It was nothing.”
His eyes were cold and unfriendly. Baldini hadn’t let her out of his sight, and she felt like she was being stalked. He returned to his conversation.
She switched screens. A satellite shot of RichJo Lane appeared, taken through an infrared lens. The local police used satellite surveillance to catch burglars, and had given the FBI permission to use the satellite for their bust.
The car pulled in front of the building that had once housed Earl’s BBQ. A dark figure got out and disappeared in the building’s shadows. She had convinced herself that it wasn’t Jon. But if it wasn’t Jon, then who was he, and what interest did he have at Earl’s BBQ at this time of night? Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Baldini coming toward her. She touched her mouse, and the screen returned to real time.
Baldini touched her shoulder. He’d done that before, and she’d told him to not do it again. It obviously hadn’t sunk in, and she slid her chair back, catching him in the thigh. He yelped.
“Stop sneaking up on me,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his leg. “What are you looking at?”
“Like I just said, it was nothing.”
“Why do I think you’re hiding something from me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you don’t like me.”
The other agents feigned conversation among themselves. She slid out of her chair and moved toward the door. “Let’s take this outside. One of you guys needs to take over for me.”
She left the camper before Baldini could reply.
Daniels walked around to the front of the camper, and waited to see if the car came out of RichJo Lane. Baldini edged up beside her. He was breathing on her neck, and it was all she could do not to tell him off.
“You must be looking at something,” he said.
“A car pulled down the street a minute ago, and pulled into the BBQ joint. I think the guy is taking a leak,” she said.
“Should we go check?”
“And blow our cover? That’s a bad idea. If the guy stays too long, I’ll call the sheriff, and have him send a cruiser.”
“That works. So what’s the problem?”
“Who said there was a problem?”
“I did. You’re seething. Are you angry because I yanked Lancaster off the investigation and you guys are in a relationship?”
“Leave our relationship out of this. Jon was conducting an independent investigation, and knows things. You should have interviewed him.”
“My mistake. I assumed he told you everything he knew.”
“Why did you assume that?”
“I assumed you were sleeping with him.”
“Did you now?”
“You’re not?”
It wasn’t easy being a female agent with the FBI. The ratio was one to five, with men getting most of the top jobs. When a female did get promoted, there were the inevitable rumblings about the agent having slept with her boss.
Daniels had gotten ahead, and she hadn’t done it on her back. Instead, she’d outperformed her peers, and earned it. She’d also made it a point to mute her looks, and hadn’t worn a lot of makeup on the job. It was the only way to keep the rumors away.
Baldini would have known this about her, had he asked around. Instead, he’d made an assumption about her, and demeaned her at the same time. It was worse than a stab in the back; it was a stab in the front, and she decided to make him pay for it.
Her right hand went up to the side of his head and pushed, while her left hand grabbed his wrist and pulled. At the same time, the bottom of her right foot swept his leg out from under him.
Push, pull, sweep.
He hit the pavement hard, and banged his head. Groaning, he struggled to rise. She put her foot on his chest, and kept him down.
“Let me up. Someone might come out,” he pleaded.
“Afraid they’ll see you lying on the ground?” she asked.
“I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to say.”
“Is that what you and the other guys were talking about? How you thought I was screwing Lancaster, and that it was clouding my judgment?”
“It was nothing like that.”
“But you were talking about me, weren’t you?”
“So what? No harm, no foul.”
She dug her heel into his chest and watched him squirm. It shouldn’t have brought her pleasure, but it did. “Let’s be clear about something. I work at headquarters, and see your bosses every day. If I put in a bad word, your career will be over.”
“What kind of bad word?”
“I’ll say that you’re drinking on the job.”
“But that isn’t true!”
“And I’m not sleeping with Jon Lancaster. But you assumed that I was, and told the others. That hurts me, and my reputation. It also hurts my career. Do you see my point?”
A knowing look spread across his face, and he nodded.
“I’ll tell them I was wrong,” he said.
Not an apology, but an admission of guilt. She liked that.
“Is that a promise, Special Agent Baldini?”
“Yes, Special Agent Daniels, it’s a promise.”
She removed her foot from his chest and stepped back. He slowly climbed off the pavement, and dusted himself off. His clothes weren’t torn, and there were no visible bruises or scrapes. It could have been worse, a fact that he seemed to appreciate.
“Was that a judo move you used to take me down?” he asked.
“Muay Thai,” she said. Baldini went inside the camper. As he did, a pair of headlights came down RichJo Lane. She hid behind the front of the camper, and watched the vehicle turn onto Alternate 19 and head south. It was the car with the driver who resembled Jon.
She glanced at her watch. The car had been back there for ten minutes. It could have been a guy having a cigarette and drinking a beer. Or it could have been Jon, up to no good. She needed to find out, and went inside the camper.
The agent warming her chair gave it up. Baldini was not present, and she guessed he was in the bathroom, checking himself out in the mirror. The stupid bastard had no idea how close she’d come to kicking out his front teeth.
“Anything going on?” she asked.
“Nothing much,” the seat warmer said. “I need more coffee. Want some?”
“No, but thanks for asking.”
The agent went into the kitchen in the back of the camper. Now alone, she replayed the tape of the car turning down RichJo Lane. Freezing the frame, she memorized the letters and numbers on the license plate. Then, she made a call. The FBI was wired into the DMV databases in every state, and could run down license plates at warp speed.
Within a minute she had her answer. The vehicle belonged to National Car Rental. The bureau had agreements with the rental car companies, and she made a second call. This time, it took a little longer for her to get an answer.
The car was a 2018 Ford Fusion, and had been rented out of the Tampa International location earlier in the evening. The renter’s name was Jon Lancaster.
PART FOUR
SMOKE AND MIRRORS
CHAPTER 43
If Lancaster had learned anything during his time on the police force, it was that the world was a better place with certain people dead.
It was true. Some people had evil in their hearts, and the harm they wreaked upon society was incalculable. Lost lives, shattered families, psychological scars that never healed—their mark on the world a bloodied footprint.
Dexter Hudson was such a person. In the short time he’d been out of prison, he’d murdered two people and orchestrated the kidnappings of fourteen more. Sending him back to prison wouldn’t change him—he’d just find new ways to cause harm. The only way to stop a person like Dexter was to remove him from this earth.
If he had one regret, it was that he wouldn’t be the one to do it.
Sleep wasn’t an option. That would come later, when the mission was over.
He dropped the rental off and retrieved his car from short-term parking. Back at his hotel, he showered and put on fresh clothes. Then, he drank a cup of coffee and thought about how he was going to handle Daniels when she found out what he’d done. She wasn’t going to be happy with him, and he told himself she’d have to get over it.
He drove to Tampa Road and headed west, then headed south on Alternate US 19, and pulled off into a fast-food joint so he was directly situated between the Ozona marina and RichJo Lane in Palm Harbor. He didn’t want to be accidentally spotted by the FBI, and he parked on the side of the building. It was three a.m., and the streets were bare.
He opened the Arlo app on his cell phone. Arlo was a security company whose products could be purchased in any Best Buy or off the internet, a supply of which he kept in the trunk of his car. Their gadgets weren’t expensive, which was part of their appeal. Many times, he’d left them behind after a job, as he was planning to do now.
A few hours ago, he’d gone to Earl’s BBQ, and mounted four wireless security cameras to the gutters. Each camera had a crystal-clear picture, and allowed him to monitor the parking lot, as well as the road that led to the restaurant. No one was going to come onto that property without him seeing it. The system also had audio, and he now listened to the noisy frogs and crickets that lived in the bushes by the restaurant.
There was a drawback. The cameras had to be connected to a router to send their signal to the cloud. To solve that problem, he’d placed a Wi-Fi hotspot into an oak tree. Leaving the hotspot behind was a risk, since he paid a monthly fee to use it, and it could be traced back to him. Hopefully, the FBI wouldn’t do any climbing after the bust.
He switched apps, and stared at the purple dot. It was still out in the gulf. Dexter and the broker had spent a night on the boat. When the sun came up, they’d return to land, and drive down to Earl’s to pay off the gang. Once that happened, he’d put his plan into motion, and put Dexter out of his misery.
