A False Dawn

SIXTY-TWO

It took about five days before Max could look at me without quickly turning her head. I don’t think my swollen face scared her. She seemed to be more uncomfortable than afraid. She still slept at the foot of my bed. The dark is often the great equalizer.

On my sixth day of convalescence, I left the river house with Max and took her to the beach. She played in the small breakers while I floated on my back, tilted my face in the sea, letting the sun and saltwater gods heal my cuts and bruises.

From the beach I decided to head over to Ponce Marina to pay the boat slip rent. My cell rang. It was Dan Grant.

“Sean, the guy you said Davis and Gomez referred to as ‘Doc,’ is a real doctor. His name is Jude Walberg, an oncologist. He says he didn’t kill anyone. He was being blackmailed by someone he never met. Walberg says one day he received an e-mail with a video attachment. Showed him having sex with underage girls. Although he swears he was told they were all over eighteen. He met them through an escort service that specializes in Central American women. Said he was given directions to meet the women at a posh condo. Camera must have been hidden there. The good doc is married with two kids. He cried straight for the entire hour we questioned him.”

“Who’s blackmailing him? What’s the escort service called?”

“He didn’t know the guy’s name. Service is called Exotic Escorts. Because all biz is done online, who the hell knows where they’re located. Probably some pimp’s house. Walberg would get a call about a few hours before he was supposed to drive to the processing shack near the river. Vics would be on ice. He removed a heart or kidneys and left them in Styrofoam cartons with that clear liquid in the tanks.”

“Did he say what the caller sounded like? Any accents, speech patterns?”

“He said the guy talked in a soft monotone. Like he was in total control.”

At that moment, I wanted to hear Santana’s voice. I knew how Richard Brennen spoke. Measured. Complete control. But Richard Brennen had brown eyes, unlike that of a jaguar.

I parked in the Marina lot and walked to the office. The door was locked. I had forgotten that it was Sunday. The office was only open from 8:00 A.M. — noon on Sundays. I checked my watch: 2:45 p.m. I wrote a check and slipped it under the door.

Turning to leave, I almost ran into Dave Collins.

“Sean, what the hell happened to you? Don’t tell me I should see the other guy.”

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Yeah, worse shape than me.”

“Did you…”

“I didn’t kill him. I would like to have, though.”

“What happened?”

We sat on the aft deck of the Gibraltar. I told him everything that had happened. I concluded by saying, “Not only is Santana a serial killer, he’s figured out a way to make a huge profit from his spoils. Dave, this perp is the most sadistic and smartest criminal mind I’ve ever come up against. I might have to set a trap to draw him out.”

“What kind of trap?”

“Not sure. It has to be one that he can’t resist. I need to dig as far into his mind as I can. I have to get as close to his way of thinking as I can consciously permit myself to travel. Evil is a dark destination.”

“Maybe if you knew Santana’s past, you could predict his future. If you could open his mind, a psychopath who kills the way he does…the asphyxiation…what would you see? I’ll make drinks, maybe it’ll take away some of the pain in your wounds.”

Dave served Grey Goose martinis with slivers of ice bobbing on the surface. I said, “In the processing shack, the liquid in the vat looked like this martini. I didn’t see any ice in it, but it was cold. Not a subzero cold, but more like a chilled syrupy liquid.”

He listened intently, brow wrinkled, eyes trained on me, and then he glanced to the side like what I said brought back some distant connection. “Santana has a pipeline for quick distribution,” he said. “Maybe some hospital is turning a blind eye and accepting the organs. He might have a network getting them to recipients far away.”

Dave sipped his martini and continued. “I recall a study done on the wood frog. The frog is found far north as Alaska. They survive severe winters by increasing the glucose stored in their cell fluids. This acts as a kind of antifreeze providing the tissue, membranes, and internal organs with a greater freeze threshold. Gives the frog the ability to withstand temperatures minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit. What if Santana had some type of agent, antifreeze if you will, that allowed them to dramatically cool down organs without damaging the cells and tissue, essentially providing greater latitude from the time the organ leaves the victim to the time it enters the receiver’s body? Makes it easier to ship from point A to B.”

I watched Dave scratch Max behind the ears. She was asleep in his lap. I said, “Thanks for the martini. I can’t finish it. A little sore. Can you to watch Max for a few hours tomorrow? I have her food on Jupiter.”

“I’d love spending some time with the lass. Where’re you going?”

“To point A.”