A False Dawn

FORTY-NINE

Each time I dialed Leslie’s cell I got her voice-mail. On the third call, I left a message telling her to contact me when she could.

I reached my neighbor to check on Max and to apologize for the delay in getting back home. I was assured that Max was a delight and she had won over the entire family. Great, I thought, maybe she’ll remember me.

Dave was already one ahead of me when I approached Gibraltar. He grinned and waved me over to his boat. “Care for a libation?”

Dave listened as I brought him up to date with the latest killing. I told him about my suspicions concerning Slater and about his connection with the Brennens, their money and influence. I told him how an old case of mine, one I failed to solve, could be raising its ugly head again.

He said, “The latest victim may not be related to the first two killings.”

“Why?”

“Completely different MO. The first victims were raped and strangled. We don’t know right now if the third body had been sexually violated. Some of her organs were missing. Could be coincidental that all three were female and Hispanic.”

“I don’t believe in criminal coincidences.”

“Sean, somewhere between the Brennens, the migrant labor contractors, Detective Slater, and a Miami murderer with a similar MO is the key. We just need to look at this from different angles.”

“Right now it’s missing a link.”

“Money, power and political influence. It all fits into the dynamics between the wealthy growers, the labor contractors, and the lowest rung, the laborers. This leverage the contractors hold over people imported in human trafficking is sad. They use people over and over like a renewable resource. Organized crime wouldn’t cut into its revenue stream nor would these degenerates, the labor contractors. So that leaves either Detective Slater, the Brennens or the Miami connection, or all three.”

“How do you mean all three?” I drained my beer and waited for his response.

“Slater could be working for organized crime or the Miami connection in some capacity. Maybe he’s the front man for the Brennens. Sean, why would the Miami murderer, the perspn you called Bagman, leave his sphere in Miami to travel the inner circles of the farm camps?”

“Serial killers follow ties, patterns. They need easy prey. The sociopath blames the present on the past and tries to destroy the future for those he holds responsible.”

Dave nodded. “It could be a deep-seated, vengeful motivation. Could go back to his childhood. This discussion warrants two more beers from the land of Montezuma. Where the hell does Corona find the good water? Ever wonder that?”

I started to answer when my cell rang. I fished for it deep in the pocket of my khaki shorts as Dave went below for the beers. Ron Hamilton was calling. “Sean, you nailed it! The stored DNA from the Bagman case involving the asphyxiation four years ago matches your killer. It’s the same perp. Nice work, partner.”

I felt my pulse rise. I was beginning to understand the complexity and depth of the spider’s web.

“Thanks, Ron. I’ll get back with you.”

Dave returned with two fresh Coronas. He set one down in front of me. “You all right? You look like someone just told you the Mexicans made this beer from recycled donkey piss. Sounds like that call wasn’t good news.”

“Bagman is the perp killing the women. We just matched his DNA.”

Dave let out a low whistle and sat down. “Sounds like this guy never stopped killing. Just extended it into rural Florida. Perhaps he was driven to come here or to come back here. Sean, you’re tracking someone you hunted before…in the shadows. A killer with an enormous capacity for evil is lurking out there. Whoever is ultimately calling the shots fears nothing. He kills when he wants to. I bet he thinks he’s smarter than anyone who would attempt to catch him. What if he knows you’re tracking him? What if you chasing him again is part of his insane rush? Something that amplifies his kills even more.”