Bad News Travels

Chapter 23

Florida was big on hospitals. With all the babies being born, as well as the growing elderly population, there were new hospitals going up in practically every corner of the state.

Flagler Hospital in Saint Augustine had recently added a new addition to meet the demand. It was built like a fortress, without a single tree to protect it from the blinding sunlight. Daniels parked on the building’s shady west side and killed the engine. It had been a rough night, and she’d hardly slept. She slurped down the Starbucks coffee they’d picked up during the ride over. Jon offered her the rest of the croissant, and she shook her head.

“It’s yours,” she said.

He stuffed the bread into his mouth. “How long did your father work here?”

“Almost from the day he moved to Saint Augustine. The hospital’s administration was happy to have him on board. He liked to say it was a marriage made in heaven.”

“So he really liked it here.”

“Loved it. When he retired up north, he said he felt like he didn’t count anymore. That changed when he joined Flagler.”

“It gave his life a purpose.”

“Absolutely.”

The sound of Jon’s whistle caught her ear, and she realized he was onto something.

“Is that important?” she asked.

“It’s another contradiction,” he said. “Your father loved his job, yet he risked losing it by looking at porn during a board meeting when the other doctors might catch him. The risk outweighed the reward. Your father was smarter than that.”

“Who knows what was going through his mind.”

They went inside to the reception area. Daniels had decided that it would be best if she conducted the interview with the head of human resources by herself. It was important that she not be seen in Jon’s company until the investigation was over, for fear her boss might find out. She asked if there was a place to get a drink, and they followed the receptionist’s directions to a café that sold coffee and fresh pastries.

“I need an espresso,” she said.

Jon bought espresso for her and a regular coffee for himself. Several uniformed police officers sat at a table eating breakfast, so they picked a table on the other side of the room and spoke in hushed tones.

“We still haven’t figured out how the police are involved,” she said.

He blew on his drink. “Maybe they’re not.”

“They have to be. The sheriff runs a tight ship, and runs hookers out of town. Yet somehow the Sokolov brothers were trafficking women right under his nose. To use your Spock-like logic, that’s a contradiction.”

“Let’s hope we get a chance to ask him.”

She downed the espresso like it was a shot of whiskey. It was just the extra kick she needed, and she took out her badge and pinned it to her lapel.

“Wish me luck,” she said.

Leaving the cafeteria, she caught the uniforms’ stares. Was it the badge, or were they just sizing up the merchandise? Any other time, she would have gone to their table, and given them a piece of her mind, but there were more important things to attend to.

Walking to the reception area, Daniels used her phone to get on the internet, and find the name of the hospital’s head of human resources. It was a she, and her name was Greta Vinson.

The hospital reception area resembled a hotel check-in, with two receptionists on duty, one a young girl of no more than twenty, the other a silver-haired lady. Daniels approached holding her wallet open. Both receptionists stared at her photo ID.

“Oh my. The Federal Bureau of Investigation,” the older one said.

The young one put on a brave face. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Greta Vinson,” Daniels said. “Would you please ring her office, and tell her that Special Agent Daniels wishes to speak with her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The young one made the call. The older lady leaned in, breathless.

“I didn’t think there really were female FBI agents,” she said. “I see them on TV shows, but I figured that was just a way to get women to watch. Are there a lot of you?”

The remark made Daniels wince. The bureau’s male/female ratio was a sore point to every female agent she knew. Male agents outnumbered their female counterparts five to one, with only a handful of women having leadership roles. The FBI was a good old boys’ club, and showed no sign of changing anytime soon.

“No, but we’re really loud,” Daniels said.

The older one cackled. “I bet you are!”

The young one put down the phone. “Ms. Vinson said she will see you. Her office is on the sixth floor. Let me print you a pass.”

Soon Daniels was riding upstairs in an elevator with a hospital pass attached to her other lapel. As the doors parted, she was greeted by a striking Scandinavian woman with a shock of white-blonde hair who was easily six feet tall.

“Special Agent Daniels,” she said.

“Ms. Vinson. Thank you for seeing me so promptly.”

“It’s Greta, and I’m happy to help. Please step this way. Is this about Clive?”

Daniels shook her head, not understanding.

“The FBI planted an undercover agent here last month,” Vinson explained. “One of our custodians, a fellow named Clive Croake, was a suspect in a murder that took place in Atlanta thirty years ago. DNA found on the dead woman matched Clive’s DNA from a previous arrest. The undercover agent posed as a cleaning man, and tried to secretly get more DNA from Clive to confirm it was him. I think he was hoping for an empty soda can.”

They entered an office with a small sitting area. They sat so they were facing each other. Vinson kicked off her shoes as if by habit.

“That isn’t why I’m here,” Daniels said.

“A pity,” Vinson said. “Clive vanished like a puff of smoke. Which means he was probably guilty. I hope they catch him.”

“Eventually, they will. It’s a lot harder to hide than it used to be. Now, let me tell you why I’m here. My father was Martin Daniels.”

Vinson’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She took a moment to compose herself. Then she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t make the connection. You bear a resemblance to your father. You have his eyes.”

“No need to apologize. It’s a common last name. I’m conducting an investigation into my father’s death, and was hoping you could help me.”

“An investigation? Is there something wrong?”

“It appears that my father was being extorted. Were you aware of this?”

“Martin never mentioned anything like that to me.”

“Did you speak with him often?”

“When he was on the board, we often lunched together.”

“How often was this?”

“About once a week.”

“Is it true that my father was fired because an intern caught him looking at pornographic videos on his cell phone during a board of directors meeting?”

Vinson’s face reddened. “Who told you that?”

“Dr. Sircy. She told my partner that my father was a porn addict, and that he got caught many times watching it. Did you ever catch him?”

“I’m afraid so. It was in the elevator. I caught a fleeting image of a couple rolling around in the sheets. The sound was the tip-off.”

“You heard something?”

“The female was having a loud orgasm. I cleared my throat, and your father put his cell phone away and said that he needed to stop opening junk email.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No. I’d already heard the rumors. This just confirmed them.”

“Did this occur before or after the intern complained?”

“It happened before.”

“Why didn’t you take action?”

Vinson shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was a person of authority, and not used to being put in the hot seat. “Your father was such a valuable addition to our staff that I was willing to overlook his transgressions. In hindsight, that was a mistake, but I can’t promise you that I wouldn’t make it again.”

Daniels smiled. Her father was a charmer, and had many fans. Yet for reasons she still did not completely comprehend, he’d destroyed everything by letting an obsession get the better of him. It made his demise that much more tragic.

“Dr. Sircy said that your board meetings were videotaped, and that a video exists of the incident between my father and the intern. Do you still have it?”

“I do,” Vinson said. “It’s on my laptop.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“I would have to speak with the hospital’s legal counsel first.”

“Why would you have to do that?”

“The video was shown during a hearing as evidence. I’m bound by privacy rules not to release it. I would need to get our attorney’s permission.”

“Which he probably won’t give you.”

“Probably not.”

“Let me explain what will happen then,” Daniels said. “I will go to a judge, and tell him that you didn’t hand over a piece of evidence to me, which you are legally required to do, since I’m with the FBI. The judge will issue an order requiring you to turn over your laptop. I will review everything on it, and find the video myself. I’ll also keep the laptop until my investigation is completed, which might be a while. I suggest you save yourself the embarrassment, and show me the video right now.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I most certainly am.”

Chapter 24

Lancaster drank coffee in the cafeteria while cleaning out emails on his cell phone. There were hundreds, and most of them were junk or scammers posing as young women with alluring first names wishing to establish a relationship. They were obviously fake, and he wondered how anyone ever fell for them.

He got a text from Nicki.

He considered not responding. Nicki needed to go back to her classes, and stay out of their investigation. But there was always the chance that she’d found something valuable that would move things forward. If that was the case, then not responding would be a huge mistake.

he texted back.

His phone’s screen lit up. “Hey, what’s up?”

“My mom threatened to pull me out of my CSI class if I didn’t stop sticking my nose into your case,” the teenager said. “Was that Aunt Beth’s idea?”

“No, it wasn’t. But it was a good one. We’re dealing with dangerous people. You could put yourself in harm’s way if you’re not more careful.”

“But I am being careful.”

“It’s your mom’s decision, Nicki, and you need to honor it.”

“Okay. Last night, I dug up some more information about the four men in Saint Augustine who got the hands on their doorsteps. There’s some interesting stuff there. Can I send it to you? I don’t want it to go to waste.”

A bell rang. He realized that Nicki was calling him from school. He wanted to say no, just to get her to stop, but also wanted to see what she’d unearthed.

“Interesting in what way?” he asked.

“Their backgrounds,” she said. “There are a lot of parallels. They were older, like Grandpa, but they all worked, and were very successful. It made me wonder if they were being extorted, like Grandpa.”

“Who told you your grandfather was being extorted?”

“I heard my mom tell my dad about all the missing money from his bank accounts. I put two and two together, and figured that was going on.”

He found himself nodding. Because Sircy had said that her mummified hand was intended to keep her quiet, he’d assumed this was why the others had received hands as well. But that might not have been the case. Perhaps Martin’s boating buddies were also being shaken down by the Russians.

“Send it to me,” he said.

“You’re not going to tell Aunt Beth, are you? CSI is my favorite class.”

“I’ll tell her I made the link myself, and steal your glory.”

“Thanks, Jon.”

He said goodbye and disconnected. He had company. The three uniformed police officers who’d been eating now stood beside his table, wearing menacing looks. The one in the middle wore a greasy butter stain on his shirt.

“Morning, Officers,” he said.

“You need to come with us,” the cop with the stain said.

He was taken to the parking lot and frisked. His Glock 43 drew sneers. It was the smallest handgun that Glock made, just over an inch wide and six inches long, and the cops tossed it between them like it was a beach toy.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead carrying this,” one of them said.

“Hell, my wife wouldn’t carry something this small,” the second said.

“Frisk him again, just to be safe,” Butter Stain told them.

They searched him again. One of the cops stuck his hand into Lancaster’s open shirt, feeling under his armpits for a hidden weapon, and busted a button.

“He’s clean,” one of them said.

“Good. Hands behind your back,” Butter Stain said.

“Is this really necessary?” Lancaster asked.

“Shut your mouth, and do as you’re told.”

“Are you arresting me?”

“I said, shut up.”

He put his hands behind his back and was cuffed. They walked him over to a parked cruiser and shoved him into the back seat. The interior was hot as an oven, and the cops stood outside shooting the breeze while he baked inside the vehicle. Soon his clothes were drenched in sweat and his hair was matted on his forehead.

Butter Stain got behind the wheel and fired up the engine. His partners drove an unmarked sedan with tinted windows. He followed them out of the parking lot.

“Where are you taking me?” Lancaster asked.

“You were a cop, what do you think?” Butter Stain said.

“I think you’re abusing your authority.”

“And you would be right.”

He hadn’t spent enough time in Saint Augustine to have a lay of the land, and unfamiliar street names flashed by. They came to a large park, with swings and basketball courts, and Butter Stain parked behind an aluminum storage shed. An unmarked sedan was waiting for them.

Butter Stain yanked him out of the back seat and removed the handcuffs. Lancaster watched the cops roll back their shirt sleeves in preparation for a good beating. One by one, they removed their sidearms and placed them on the hood of the sedan.

A man stepped out from behind the shed. He wore a jacket and tie and was sucking on a cigarette. He took a final hit and ground it into the dirt. It was Detective Sykes. Coming forward, he poked his finger in Lancaster’s chest.

“You are the definition of a problem,” Sykes said.

“What did I do?” Lancaster asked.

“What didn’t you do, is more like it,” the detective said. “You run around town with that pretty little FBI lady, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, stirring the pot. Martin Daniels killed himself, and nothing’s going to change that. Leave it be.”

“Martin was being extorted by a group of Russians,” he said.

“We’ll take care of the Russians in due time,” Sykes said.

“The Russians have been causing trouble for a while, and it doesn’t appear that you did a damn thing to stop them.”

Sykes poked him again. “Leave it be.”

“Fuck you.”

“What are you, some kind of masochist? My boys will beat you to a pulp, make that ugly face even uglier.”

“Have at it.”

Sykes snarled like a junkyard dog. He moved backward while motioning with his arm. The biggest of the three uniforms stepped forward. He was corn fed, about six-four and 250 pounds, with tree-trunk arms and no neck. Lancaster, who stood five-nine and weighed 170, held his ground.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” No Neck said.

“Said what?” Lancaster asked.

“Fuck you. You shouldn’t have said that.”

“I didn’t realize you boys were so fragile. Oh, by the way, fuck you.”

No Neck put his hand on the lapel of Lancaster’s shirt and gave it a yank, popping the buttons. “You’re not funny.” Suddenly his eyes went wide, and he froze.

Sykes sensed something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”

No Neck pointed at the distinctive frog skeleton tattoo crawling up Lancaster’s shoulder. The tattoo was blue-black in color, and had the date that it had been inked.

“He’s a SEAL,” No Neck said, the bravado gone from his voice. “Those guys are lethal. I don’t want my eyes gouged out.”

“He’s no SEAL,” Sykes said. “He probably got the tattoo to trick a lady into thinking he was. Only way he was ever going to get laid.”

Sykes and the other two cops laughed. No Neck wasn’t convinced and started backing up. Lancaster wondered if the guy had been born stupid or if he took classes. By dropping his defenses, he’d made himself vulnerable to a variety of kicks and blows, all of which would incapacitate him. He was an open target.

Lancaster rushed forward and grabbed No Neck by the arms. He kicked his legs out from under him, and gave him a shove. No Neck crashed to earth, taking Butter Stain with him on his way down. They lay on the ground, writhing in pain.

“My knee!” Butter Stain said.

Sykes cursed. Their four-to-one advantage had just been halved. He began to draw his sidearm from inside his sports jacket. Lancaster knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt, which he tossed into Sykes’s face.

“I can’t see. Get him, Kenny,” Sykes said.

The third cop rushed him like a mad bull. Lancaster had seen the tactic before. Kenny was going to use his superior weight to wrestle him to the ground and hold him there. It was a smart tactic when dealing with a suspect resisting arrest, but not an ex-special ops soldier. In fact, it was probably the worst choice Kenny could have made. SEALS were taught first and foremost to be practical fighters, and were trained not to engage in fancy spinning kicks or other showy maneuvers. As a result, they only focused on the effective martial arts, like Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Israeli Krav Maga, Muay Thai, and good old-fashioned boxing.

He sidestepped Kenny’s charge and tripped him. Kenny broke his fall, then sprang off the ground, and threw an amateurish haymaker. He ducked the blow, then stepped in and grabbed Kenny’s right ear with his right hand. He pulled Kenny’s head toward him, while driving his elbow into Kenny’s mouth. The sound was awful.

Holding his damaged face, Kenny sank to his knees.

Sykes was struggling to get his vision back. Lancaster reached into the detective’s sports jacket, and relieved him of his weapon. Then, he scooped up the three officers’ weapons that had been left on the hood of the sedan. The trio remained on the ground. Their faces were bloodied, their clothes ripped. The badges of dishonorable men.

“Give us our weapons back,” Sykes said.

“So you can arrest me? Fat chance.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Sykes said.

“You’re in no position to threaten me. I’m also taking your car. I’ll leave it in the hospital parking lot with the keys under the mat. I plan to tell Special Agent Daniels what happened, and I’m sure she’ll relay my story to the FBI’s Jacksonville office. If you pull another stunt like this, they’ll come after you. Am I making myself clear?”

Sykes grunted under his breath. He was seeing clearly, and the future didn’t look very promising. In a pleading voice he said, “Please don’t take our guns. I’m begging you, man. From one cop to another.”

Sykes and his pals would get in hot water for losing their weapons. There would be a department review that would end in them being disciplined, or even suspended. If they fabricated a story, and were later caught lying, they’d lose their jobs.

“Sure. But I want something in return,” Lancaster said. “Tell me why you didn’t run the Sokolov brothers out of town. From what I can see, they’ve been pulling bad shit for a while, yet the police haven’t touched them.”

“I can’t tell you that,” Sykes said.

“Then you’re not getting your guns back.”

He got behind the wheel of the sedan. The engine was running, and the interior was ice cold. He placed the cops’ guns on the passenger seat, and pulled out. Driving away, he glanced into his mirror at Sykes and his goons and saw them shake their fists.

Reaching the main road, Lancaster spied a kid with a backpack on a bicycle, pedaling furiously. Had the kid seen the fracas with the cops?

Lancaster decided to follow him.

Chapter 25

After a mile, the kid ran out of steam, and pulled his bike into the parking lot of a convenience store named Rudy’s. Lancaster sensed the kid was going to jump off his bike and make a run for it, and he pulled in and lowered his window.

“Police. Stop.”

Lancaster jumped out of the sedan. The kid was straddling his bike, puffing hard. He was looking through the front window of Rudy’s as if expecting someone might come outside and save him. Lancaster showed him his badge.

“Don’t be afraid, I just want to talk,” he said.

“You’re not going to arrest me?” the kid asked breathlessly.

“I wasn’t planning to. Let’s start with your name.”

“It’s Micah,” the boy said.

“Why aren’t you in school, Micah?”

“Teacher’s conference. We got the day off.”

Micah looked about fourteen, with a curly mop of brown hair and thick glasses. He still hadn’t mustered the courage to make eye contact, and looked scared out of his wits.

“What were you doing back there, Micah?” he asked.

“I like to look through the trash at the park, sometimes there’s stuff that I can salvage,” the boy said. “When the police cruiser drove in, I got scared, and hid.”

“How much did you see?”

“All of it. You beat the boogers out of those cops. Pow, pow, pow. They didn’t know what hit them. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“In the navy. They made a man out of me. Taught me how to fight.”

Micah finally looked at him. He didn’t act scared anymore.

“Can I see your tattoo?” he asked.

Lancaster parted his shirt so his shoulder was bared. Micah was transfixed.

“That’s cool. How come it’s a skeleton?” the boy asked.

“They call it the bone frog,” he explained. “It signifies a comrade lost in the line of duty. I got mine after a buddy got killed during a mission in Afghanistan.”

“Your friend died?”

“That’s right. He was my best friend. I got the tattoo to honor him.”

“What are those square things beneath the frog?”

“His dog tags.” Lancaster buttoned his shirt. “You want a soda or something?”

Micah shook his head. His eyes had a faraway look as he tried to imagine what it was like to lose your best friend in a godforsaken part of the world. It was a hard concept to grasp when you were young. When it did grab you, you stopped being a kid.

“Can I ask you a question, Micah?”

The boy thought about it, then nodded.

“Did you take a video of me beating up those policemen?”

Micah grinned. Of course he’d taken a video of the fight. Any person in possession of a cell phone was an evidence gathering machine, capable of taking photos, videos, and audio of any event they witnessed. This was especially true of teenagers, who immediately posted the images on social media for the rest of the world to see.

“I got the whole thing,” he said.

Lancaster took out his wallet. From the billfold he removed two crisp fifty-dollar bills. The boy’s eyes grew wide.

“How would you like to make a hundred bucks, Micah?” he asked.

“A hundred bucks? What do I have to do?” the boy said.

“Two things. First, I’ll give you fifty bucks if you send me a copy of the video.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

Micah removed an iPhone from his backpack. Lancaster read him his cell phone number, and the boy texted him a copy of the video. Lancaster watched thirty seconds of the video and saw that the boy had captured the entire event, but had muted the audio. He handed him one of the fifties, and watched Micah stuff it into his pocket.

“I’ll give you the other fifty if you’ll erase the video from your phone,” he said.

“You want me to get rid of it?”

“That’s right. Those men might come after you, if they find out you have it. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Micah reluctantly agreed and erased the video. Lancaster handed him the second fifty and told him it was nice meeting him. He entered the convenience store and purchased two iced teas. Coming outside, he tossed Micah one of the drinks.

“How old do I have to be to enlist in the navy?” Micah asked.

“Eighteen, unless you have your parents’ consent. Then you can be seventeen.”

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen. My parents didn’t want me to go.” He got back into the sedan and started the engine. It was a bad way to end the conversation, and he lowered his window.

“They got over it,” he added.

The Matanzas River ran the entire length of Saint Augustine, and led to the city’s port. He let Google take him there, and parked in a spot on the side of the road. Taking the policemen’s guns off the passenger seat, he got out, and tossed them into the water. He had taken three years of Spanish in high school, and knew that Matanzas was the Spanish word for massacre. It was a strange thing to name a river.

He drove back to Flagler Hospital. The sedan was fully equipped, and he heard a police dispatcher barking over the radio. She was looking for Sykes, and he had an urge to answer the call, and pretend he was the detective.

He decided that was a bad idea, and kept driving.

He had told Sykes that he would leave the sedan in the hospital lot, which in hindsight was a dumb thing to say. Better to call Sykes after he parked the sedan, and tell him where it was. There was the chance that Sykes and his goon squad would be waiting for him, hoping for a little payback.

But it was a slim chance.

More than likely, they’d go to a walk-in clinic to get their wounds treated, then find a diner where they could sit in a corner and fabricate a story to explain what had happened. They’d then have to memorize the story, and take turns reciting it. If one of them tripped up, they’d all go down.

As he pulled into the hospital lot, Beth called him. She sounded angry.

“Where the hell are you?”

“I had an unwanted encounter with three deputies in the hospital cafeteria,” he said. “They made me leave with them.”

“They kidnapped you?”

“Afraid so. It didn’t end well.” He paused. “For them.”

“Did you beat the living daylights out of them?”

“Guilty as charged. Sykes was behind it.”

“What a surprise. I’m in the hospital parking lot. Where are you?”

“I just pulled in. I borrowed Sykes’s car. Are you in your rental?”

“Yes, why?”

“Don’t get out. Let me scope things out, and make sure they’re not hanging around. See you in a few.”

He circled the parking lot and did not see any sign of the law. He parked in a visitor space and hustled over to Beth’s rental and hopped in. She had the car in reverse before his door was completely closed. While she drove, he pulled up Micah’s video on his cell phone and played it for her. She laughed under her breath.

“Who shot the video?” she asked.

“A fourteen-year-old kid.”

“Sykes won’t take this lying down.”

“I’d like to think that I taught him and his boys a valuable lesson.”

“Which is what?”

“Never underestimate an opponent. Sykes told me to leave town. He said we were poking our noses where they didn’t belong.”

“Sounds like he’s running scared.”

“I agree. But we still don’t know of what. How did your meeting with the head of human resources go? Were you able to get your hands on the video of your father?”

“Yes. She put up a fight, but I prevailed.”

Beth grew quiet, fighting back tears.

“I’m assuming you watched it,” he said.

“All eleven minutes of it.” Then she said, “It was awful.”

Chapter 26

When Daniels was a teenager, she’d witnessed a tragic automobile accident. She had never forgotten it, nor the lessons she’d learned.

Melanie had been accepted at the University of Pennsylvania, and their father had decided to take the family out for a celebratory dinner. In their town was a restaurant that served authentic Northern Italian cuisine, and they’d eaten enough pasta and desserts to make themselves uncomfortable.

Her father had driven home. An Eric Clapton and B. B. King duet called “Riding with the King” played on the car stereo. Her father loved the blues, and the music was loud. He braked for the light at an intersection, which was illuminated with streetlights. With no vehicles in front of them, they had a clear view of the cross street.

A white Ford station wagon came to the intersection, slowed down, and began to turn. A Saab being driven at high speed in the opposite direction hit the Ford, destroying both vehicles. It was the loudest, most gut-wrenching noise she’d ever heard.

Her father went to help. But it was too late. The driver of the Ford was dead, as was the driver of the Saab. Daniels and her sister broke down and cried.

The police and an ambulance soon arrived, and the scene was cordoned off. Because they were witnesses, a deputy took each of them aside, and got a statement.

Back home, they sat in the living room in a state of shock. Their mother served them hot chocolate, and it soothed their nerves. They talked about the accident, and to Daniels’s surprise, their recollections of what had occurred were different.

Her father believed the Ford’s driver was at fault, and had turned into the path of the Saab without putting his blinker on.

Their mother said the Saab’s driver was to blame. She believed the Ford had turned its blinker on, yet the Saab hadn’t slowed, and caused the wreck.

Melanie believed both drivers were at fault, and that the Ford’s driver hadn’t used his blinker, and that the Saab was speeding.

Daniels had a completely different view. She felt that the driver of the Saab was impaired, and had crossed the middle line, and hit the Ford.

Four eyewitnesses to the same event, four different versions.

How was that possible?

To further complicate things, the local newspaper published a story claiming that a crime scene investigator had determined that the Ford’s driver was at fault, and that the Saab’s driver wasn’t to blame. Confused, she worked up the nerve to call the paper, and spoke to the reporter who wrote the story.

The reporter was very nice to her. He explained how people’s imaginations often distorted the things that they saw. This was especially true with stressful situations, when a person’s eyes could play tricks on them. The only way to get to the truth was to let an impartial person look at the facts, and then determine what actually happened.

“I want you to look at the video of my father in the board meeting,” she said.

They were in the local Starbucks’s parking lot, drinking coffee and sharing an oversize muffin from the bakery. It had become a ritual when they were working a case, and were faced with a difficult problem. Jon stared ahead, saying nothing.

“Is that a problem?” she asked.

“Can I do it later?”

“You mean when I’m not around.”

“Yes. I don’t want to say something out of line, and hurt your feelings.”

She popped the last piece of muffin into her mouth. Jon always left her the last piece, and he always paid. He had impeccable manners that way, and his request to view the video alone did not surprise her. “Nothing you can say at this point is going to offend me. My father had another side to him; so do a lot of men. I’ve accepted that. The reason I want you to watch the video is that I feel like I’m missing something important.”

“How so?”

“I watched the video several times while I was waiting for you. It doesn’t feel like I’m looking at my father. The behavior is wrong. Yet I can’t put my finger on why. I need another set of eyes to look at it.”

Jon drank his coffee in silence. She was not going to give him a chance to say no. Taking her briefcase off the back seat, she removed her laptop. Soon the video was playing, and she shifted the screen so it was pointing at him.

“My father arrived first to the board meeting. Watch what he does.”

The video was in color, and showed a sunny room with a boardroom table and six leather chairs. On the table were glasses and two pitchers of water. A door opened, and Martin Daniels appeared. He looked every bit the country doctor, wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches and a striped necktie. He glanced impatiently at his watch.

“Dad couldn’t stand when people were late,” she said.

“So that’s where you get it from,” he said.

Martin cordially greeted each of his colleagues as they arrived. When all were present, he took a seat facing the camera, and poured himself a glass of water.

The meeting started.

The video had audio, and the chairperson read the minutes from the previous meeting, then read the topics that they would be discussing. It was about as exciting as watching paint dry, and Jon smothered a yawn.

“Watch my father,” Daniels said.

“What am I looking for?” he replied.

“Just watch. Something weird is going on. See if you can spot it.”

Jon reached across the seats and took the computer from her lap. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

He balanced the computer on his legs, and stared at the screen. His eyes were unblinking, his face cast in stone. A long minute passed.

“Your father looks agitated,” he said. “He keeps shifting in his seat and making faces. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was sticking him with a pin.”

“What do you think is bothering him?” she asked.

“Hard to say. But he’s clearly upset. He was in a good mood when he came in. Something happened after the meeting started that upset him.”

“Did someone at the table make a sarcastic remark?”

“If they did, the audio didn’t pick it up.”

The meeting droned on. The chairperson was talking about the hospital budget for the coming year. Suddenly, her father began to tug at his collar like it was choking him. It reminded her of the comic who used to say he didn’t get any respect. Only her father wasn’t doing it for laughs.

“Come on, Martin,” Jon said under his breath. “Tell us what’s wrong.”

Her father lifted the glass of water to his face. His eyes shifted around the table. Checking to be sure that the others weren’t watching him. His other hand removed his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

“Your father just caved to his desires,” Jon said.

“Yes, he did,” she said quietly.

“Is this when he gets busted by the intern?”

“Just watch.”

Her father held the cell phone below the table’s edge. His eyes shifted downward as he stared at the screen. His eyes narrowed, and he looked stunned. “What a transformation,” Jon said. “Did you ever see him act like that?”

“Never.”

The door to the meeting room opened. It was directly behind her father, and he didn’t hear it. A twentysomething woman entered the boardroom.

“That must be Demetria the intern,” Jon said.

“In the flesh. This is when it gets ugly.”

Demetria shut the door. In her hand was a pot of coffee. She came up behind Daniels’s father, and leaned over, ready to whisper in his ear. Her eyes found the screen. Bringing her hand to her mouth, she said, “Oh. My. God.”

The meeting came to an abrupt halt. Her father snapped his head up, seeing Demetria. He came out of his chair. The intern backed up, afraid.

“It’s not what you think,” her father said.

“You pervert!” the intern said.

Demetria grabbed the door handle. In a flash, she was gone. The other people in the room stayed in their seats, too stunned to speak.

Her father remained standing, looking ashamed. His shoulders sagged, and his body went limp. The cell phone fell from his hand to the table. For a moment the screen was visible to the camera, the images of a naked couple rolling around on a bed impossible to miss.

“She got him dead to rights,” Jon said.

The meeting ended, and the others left without a word. Her father slipped the cell phone into his pocket. His world was falling apart, and he didn’t know what to do.

The chairperson came around the table. They were the last two people in the room. She seemed to share her father’s pain, and put her hand upon his shoulder.

“Martin, you need to get help,” she said.

“It’s not what you think,” her father repeated.

“The cat is out of the bag. We all know about your problem with pornography. You’ve let it invade your professional life, and it’s going to ruin you,” she said.

“It’s not—”

“Stop making excuses, damn it.” She took a business card from her purse and stuck it into his hand. “This is a therapist that I know. Get some help, before this addiction destroys your life. It’s for your own good.”

“I don’t have an addiction,” her father protested.

“I’m not blind, Martin,” she said. “Please, get some help.”

Her father slipped the card into his breast pocket without looking at it. The chairperson shook her head and left. The door slammed loudly behind her.

Her father gathered his things. Then he, too, was gone.

The screen went dark.

Chapter 27

Lancaster stared at Beth. “Your father looked tortured in that video.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” she said.

“I’m no shrink, but his behavior doesn’t fit the profile of a porn addict,” he said.

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Hardly. I worked the night shift as a beat cop. There was another cop who I shared a patrol car with who was addicted to porn. He used to sneak away and watch videos on his cell phone on break. He never did it in the open.”

“Your partner hid his addiction.”

“That’s right. And he was good at it.”

“My father was watching a porno in a board meeting. It was like he was oblivious to the danger he was putting himself in. It doesn’t make sense.”

They had hit another wall, and they both fell silent. They were missing something important. Martin’s problem was right there in front of their faces, yet his motivation still remained unclear.

Beth’s cell phone lit up. Special Agent Phillips calling. She let the call go into voice mail, then played his message so they could both hear it.

“Call me right away,” Erce said. “Jon Lancaster has been up to his usual tricks.”

Lancaster glanced at his watch. A little over an hour had passed since he’d smacked around Sykes and his posse. Bad news traveled fast in these parts.

Beth turned on the car before calling Erce back. Her phone’s Bluetooth connected to the car’s sound system, and they listened to the call go through over the car’s speakers.

Phillips answered on the first ring.

“Hey Erce, it’s Beth. I’m driving in my car. What’s up?” she said.

“Have you spoken to Jon Lancaster recently?” Phillips asked.

“No,” she lied. “What’s going on?”

“The Saint Augustine Police Department released an official statement a few minutes ago,” he said. “It seems that three uniformed officers and a detective were attempting to subdue a homeless guy when the homeless guy jumped them. One of the cops got his face rearranged, and another has a broken knee. The homeless guy also stole their weapons, and drove off in one of their vehicles. They gave a description of the assailant, and are asking other law enforcement agencies to be on the lookout.”

“One homeless guy took down four cops? How does that work?”

“The statement was vague on the details.”

“Who is this guy — John Rambo?”

“That’s what the Saint Augustine cops made it sound like. Between you and me, I think your buddy Lancaster is responsible, and the story is a coverup.”

“Really. Why do you think that?”

“Most of the homeless population in Saint Augustine have drug and alcohol addictions. There’s no way a drunk, or a druggie, could pull off what these cops are claiming. And Lancaster’s an ex-SEAL with a history of confrontation. The guy has no fear. I’ll bet you a beer he was responsible for roughing up these cops.”

“Does J. T. know about this?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I have to. J. T. ordered me to report any suspicious activity that might be linked to Lancaster. If I don’t send him the statement, he’ll be all over my ass.”

“Got it. Please remind J. T. that Lancaster is running solo here.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

She thanked Erce for keeping her in the loop, and disconnected. Lancaster smiled to himself. Sykes and his goons had just painted themselves into a corner, and he realized that it couldn’t have played out any better if he’d scripted it.

He hopped out of the car and entered the Starbucks. When he returned, he had two Double Chocolate Chunk Brownies wrapped in a napkin. Brownies were Beth’s weakness, and her eyes went wide when he handed her one.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“We’re celebrating,” he said.

“What for?”

“We’re going to break this thing wide open.”

While Beth ate her treat, Lancaster replayed Micah’s video on his cell phone.

Micah had been standing on elevated ground when he shot the video, his angle pointing down. For reasons only Micah knew, the audio was muted, and there was no sound.

On the video, a police cruiser and a black sedan pulled into a public park and parked behind an aluminum storage shed. Three beefy uniformed police officers climbed out of the vehicles, followed by Lancaster, who was in handcuffs, and was obviously being held captive. Detective Sykes appeared from behind a shed after Jon’s handcuffs were removed. A brief conversation between the two men followed.

“What did he say to you?” Beth asked.

“He told me we were sticking our noses where they didn’t belong,” he said.

“So he threatened you.”

“Several times. Now comes the fun part. Watch.”

The largest cop cuffed his shirt sleeves and stepped forward, ready to administer a good old-fashioned whipping. The other two cops and Sykes were sharing a laugh.

“What a bunch of mutts,” she said.

The largest cop pulled the front of Jon’s shirt apart. He pointed a chubby finger at Lancaster’s shoulder. He said something to his partners, then started retreating.

“He saw the frog tattoo on your chest and made the connection, didn’t he?”

“Good eye. It put the fear of God into him.”

“It was four against one. Weren’t you afraid?”

“Not of these idiots. They thought I was going to roll over for them.”

On the video, Lancaster charged the largest cop, and tossed him into one of his partners. They went down, and lay on their backs, writhing in pain. He threw a handful of dirt into Sykes’s eyes, then incapacitated the third cop. There were plenty of street fights on YouTube, and they always ended quickly. This one was no exception. They watched him relieve Sykes of his weapon, scoop up the cops’ handguns, then hop into Sykes’s sedan and drive away. It was here that Micah’s video ended.

“You fight dirty,” she said, licking her fingers.

“Dirty wins. Does anything you just saw match the statement the Saint Augustine Police Department released?”

“Nope. Whoever wrote that statement lied through their teeth.”

“Sykes wrote the statement.”

“You don’t think the others had a hand in it?”

“No. Sykes is the ringleader.”

“Do you want me to arrest Sykes? Based upon what I just saw, I can charge him with kidnapping, assault, and attempted battery. He’ll also be suspended from the force for releasing a false statement, and eventually fired and lose his pension. He might even spend time in prison. His life will be ruined.”

Lancaster ate his brownie in silence. He would have enjoyed seeing Sykes get what was coming to him. He was a dirty cop, the kind that gave police departments a bad name, and deserved whatever harsh treatment he received. But justice was never cut and dried. If Beth arrested him, Sykes would lawyer up, and they’d never find out what had happened to Martin Daniels in the months leading up to his death. That was the goal, and he needed to make sure they didn’t lose sight of it.

“I don’t think arresting him will get us any closer to the truth,” he said. “Sykes knows what happened to your father. We need to make him open up, and talk to us.”

“How? Blackmail?”

“Works for me.”

Beth shook her head.

“Why not?” he asked. “We’ll use Micah’s video to leverage the truth out of him. Don’t tell me you haven’t coerced suspects before.”

“I have coerced suspects, and it works wonders,” she said. “But Sykes is different. He lied to us the first time we met him, and now he’s lied to his superiors by issuing this false statement. Whatever Sykes is hiding, it’s big enough for him to risk everything. If we corner him, he’ll just come up with another story, and hope we fall for it.”

He found himself nodding. Beth’s instincts were right, and not being clouded by the personal nature of the investigation. He admired her for being able to do that.

“I agree. So what should we do?” he said.

“We need to figure out why Sykes is lying to us,” she said. “Why is he willing to forfeit his career to cover up what happened to my father? There’s something nasty going on here. It’s right in front of our noses, but we’re not seeing it.”

“Start over.”

“Yes. Start over.”

“I’m game.”

“But first, we need to study the video of my father during the board meeting. My father says ‘It’s not what you think’ several times. He got caught red-handed, but he wouldn’t back down. Why?”

“Because it wasn’t what everyone thought,” he said.

“Exactly. The video had a hidden meaning,” she said. “We need to figure out what it was. Once we do that, I think we’ll understand why Sykes is being a snake.”

Beth’s cell phone rang. She answered it and made a face. “I’m leaving right now,” she said, then disconnected.

“Who was that?” Lancaster asked.

“Erce. There’s trouble in River City.” She started the rental and backed out. “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

Chapter 28

Forty minutes later, Daniels arrived at the FBI’s Jacksonville office on the west side of town. The building was a four-story, yellow monstrosity inside a bland industrial park, and had no personality. Erce had been cryptic over the phone, and it had made her wonder if there was someone in the room with him as he made the call.

The reception area was cold and unfriendly. She handed her credentials to the male receptionist and announced that she was here to see Special Agent Phillips.

“I’ll let him know you’re here. Please make yourself comfortable.”

She was too nervous to sit. She studied the smiling portrait of the director in charge hanging on the wall behind the reception area. Her name was Maria Rojas, and she had olive-colored skin and an engaging smile. Even though Daniels didn’t know Rojas, she admired her. The Jacksonville office was a big operation, with seven satellite offices that reported to it, and the bureau didn’t hand out those kinds of assignments to bench warmers. Rojas had earned her stripes.

To her surprise, it was Rojas who greeted her.

“Special Agent Daniels, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Rojas had a firm handshake and eyes that didn’t blink. She used her security card to open a door with a security camera over it, and they walked down a carpeted hallway.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Rojas said.

They stopped at a pair of double doors leading to a conference room. Daniels studied Rojas, then shook her head.

“We spoke the morning of 9/11,” Rojas said. “I was working at the FBI’s office on Wall Street. When the first tower was hit, I called the Pentagon to report what happened. You were on assignment at the Pentagon that day, and picked up the phone. We spoke for several minutes. You sounded young, like me. I never forgot you.”

“I remember you now,” Daniels said. “A half hour after our conversation, the Pentagon got hit. What a horrible day that was.”

“It made us who we are today.”

“It sure did. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“J. T. is on the warpath. He wants to do a conference call with us.”

“About what?”

“Your boyfriend.”

Daniels swallowed the lump in her throat and followed Rojas into a conference room with blackout shades on the windows. A sixty-four-inch flat screen hung on the wall, facing a long table with chairs. Erce stood at the head of the table, looking worried. He skipped the formalities and simply nodded. Daniels nodded back.

Rojas made the TV come to life. Their boss filled the screen, sitting behind a desk littered with reports and thick memorandums. He’d recently suffered a heart attack and had ignored his doctor’s advice and returned to work once he was strong enough to get around. He’d lost a lot of weight, and looked gaunt.

“Good afternoon, Special Agent Daniels. Thank you for joining us,” J. T. said. “All of you, grab a chair, and have a seat. We need to have a little chat.”

The words sounded ominous. They pulled chairs from the table and sat in a row, facing the screen. Daniels put her best poker face on.

“A few years ago, a college buddy of mine named Jack Potter became publisher of the Florida Times-Union, which as you know is the main newspaper in Jacksonville,” J. T. said, staring at Daniels as he spoke. “Jack called me earlier today. It seems that the paper has a satellite office in Saint Augustine. A few hours ago, a fourteen-year-old boy came into the office, and met with a reporter. The boy had a video on his cell phone that he wanted to sell to the newspaper for a hundred dollars. After reviewing the video, the reporter decided it was a good investment, and paid the kid off.”

Daniels couldn’t believe it. Jon had been tricked by a kid. Micah had pretended to erase the video, then tried to sell it to someone else. The kid was a real entrepreneur.

“The reporter sent the video to his editor, who shared it with Jack. Jack was disturbed by what he saw, since the video involves several members of the Saint Augustine Police Department. He sent the video to me, and asked for my advice.

“As you know, the Saint Augustine Police issued a statement today, stating that a homeless man attacked four of their officers, and relieved them of their weapons. The video paints a different picture of things. See for yourself.”

J. T. picked up a remote on his desk and punched in a command. Half of the flat screen was taken over by a second screen. The video of Jon humiliating Sykes and company began to play. It was even better the second time around.

Daniels’s mind raced. J. T. was going to grill her about the video. He would want to know why the police had kidnapped Jon. And, he’d want to know if she and Jon were working the case together, and not running solo, as she’d led J. T. to believe. Every FBI agent was trained to detect when a suspect was not being forthright with them. J. T. was an expert at reading people, and had taught classes at the academy. If he caught her lying, he’d fire her on the spot.

The video ended, and the second screen went away. J. T. stared at Daniels from a thousand miles away, his eyes boring a hole into her soul.

“Special Agent Daniels, can you identify the individuals in the video?” he asked.

“Certainly. The man in the handcuffs is Jon Lancaster. The man wearing the sports jacket and necktie is Detective Sykes with the Saint Augustine Police Department,” she said. “I don’t know who the three uniformed officers are, but I’ll guess they’re also members of the Saint Augustine police.”

“Were you aware of this video?” her boss asked.

She placed the tips of her fingers together, as if praying. There were more nerve connections between the hands and the brain than any other part of the body, and hand gestures were a gold mine of information during an interrogation. Steepling the hands was an indicator that the suspect was telling the truth.

“I was not,” she lied.

“Did Lancaster tell you the Saint Augustine Police tried to rough him up?”

“I haven’t talked to Jon in days.”

“Is that a yes, or a no?”

“It’s a no,” she lied.

“So Lancaster didn’t talk to you about it. How do you know Detective Sykes?”

“I spoke with him two days ago in his office about my father’s suicide. Sykes had my father’s cell phone, which he let me look at.”

“And what did you find?”

“Everything on it had been erased, which I found suspicious.”

“Was Lancaster present during that meeting?”

“Jon was there, yes.”

“Did he say something out of line that angered Sykes?”

“I did most of the talking. I don’t believe Jon said more than a few words.”

“What is your take on Sykes?”

J. T. was staring at her legs. FBI agents were taught to always believe the feet, as they were the most honest part of the body. She realized she was locking her ankles, a sign that she was holding back. She uncrossed her legs, and answered truthfully.

“My take is that Detective Sykes is hiding information,” she said. “I don’t believe that my father erased the data on his cell phone before he took his own life. I believe that Detective Sykes erased the data later on.”

“Why would Sykes destroy evidence?”

“Any answer I give you will be purely speculative,” she said. “So let me tell you what I do know. There’s over a million dollars missing from my father’s bank account. A young Russian woman named Katya was in a relationship with my father, and appears to have been blackmailing him. I believe that Sykes is involved.”

“What’s the connection between Sykes and the Russian?”

“Katya was being fronted by two Russian brothers named Sokolov. The Sokolovs were trafficking young women into Saint Augustine through the private airport. I believe Sykes was being paid by the Sokolovs to look the other way.”

J. T. spent a moment considering what she was saying. Daniels sat up straight in her chair, her posture confident, her face expressionless. She felt like she’d passed the test, and wasn’t ready for what came next.

“Special Agent Daniels, I don’t believe you’re being honest with me,” he said.

J. T. paused, waiting for her to reply. She wisely said nothing.

“Are you lying?” he asked.

“No, sir,” she lied.

“I believe everything you’ve told me, except the part about Lancaster not telling you that he’d had a dustup with Sykes,” J. T. said. “That just doesn’t ring true.”

“Why is that, sir?” she asked.

“I’m the one asking the questions, Special Agent Daniels,” he said curtly.

“You’ve called me a liar in front of my peers,” she said sharply. “I believe I’m due the courtesy of an answer.”

J. T.’s face grew fire engine red. Erce and Rojas both shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I’ve known you since you were in the academy, and I’ve seen the relationships you’ve had,” J. T. said. “None have seemed to satisfy you. Your relationship with Lancaster is different. He makes you happy in a way your other suitors did not.”

It was Daniels’s turn to grow red.

“Really,” she managed to say.

“Yes, really,” J. T. said. “The most challenging aspect of our work is the shackles the system places upon us. Lancaster doesn’t play by the rules, and that appeals to you. He succeeds where other law enforcement officers often fail. You like that.”

“I suppose,” she said.

“Lancaster is your alter ego. Which is why he told you about his encounter with Sykes. For him not to tell you would have been a betrayal.”

J. T. had nailed it on the head. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. To do so would have been professional suicide. She put her elbows on her knees, and leaned in.

“When Jon and I first started dating, we set ground rules,” she said. “We agreed not to discuss current or past investigations, and so far, we haven’t.”

“I find that hard to believe, Beth,” her boss said.

She ignored the remark. “We had to do this. Jon was a Navy SEAL, and went on a hundred and fifty missions in hostile countries. The navy expects him to adhere to his nondisclosure pledge, and will severely discipline him if he doesn’t. Since a part of his past is off-limits, we decided not to discuss our cases. By doing that, neither of us will divulge sensitive information to the other.”

J. T.’s face was hard as stone. It softened, and he nodded.

“I believe you, Special Agent Daniels,” he said. “I apologize for questioning your integrity. I was out of line.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Do you know where Lancaster is now?”

“I do not.”

“Can you get in contact with him?”

“I can certainly try. He’s usually good about getting back to me.”

“Please reach out to him. I want to see where this situation with Sykes is heading. Lancaster is linked to the bureau because of his relationship with you, and we need to keep him in check. If such a thing is possible.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will. Once you’ve made contact with Lancaster, please communicate through Special Agent Phillips and Director Rojas what you find out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Beth.”

The screen went dark. The air trapped in her lungs slowly escaped. Phillips and Rojas rose, and she did as well. She exchanged goodbyes with Phillips, and accepted Rojas’s offer to be shown out. Rojas walked her to the parking lot. They stood in the building’s long shadow, facing each other.

“That was quite a performance,” Rojas said.

Rojas’s eyes had a mischievous glint, her lips a faint smile. Daniels felt trapped. A woman knew when another woman was lying, and Rojas had her dead to rights.

“Oscar caliber?” she asked.

“You would have given Meryl Streep a run for her money,” Rojas said.

“Do you think J. T. knew?”

“Not at all. You snowed him. Good job.”

“So you’re not going to tell him?”

“Absolutely not. Since the day I landed in this job, I was made aware that things weren’t right with certain members of the Saint Augustine Police Department, but I couldn’t pin down what they were doing. You’re getting close. Keep at it.”

“I will. Thanks for the support.”

She had made a new friend. They shook hands, and Daniels got in her vehicle. She backed out and saw Rojas move her finger up and down. She lowered her window.

“I want you to remember one thing,” the director said.

“What’s that?”

“We have your back. Call me if you need help.”

“I’ll do that,” she said.

Chapter 29

Lancaster had stayed in plenty of dive hotels, and the Microtel Inn & Suites by Wyndham Palm Coast ranked right up there with the best of them. Fifty bucks a night got him a noisy room with paper-thin walls and ugly striped carpet. The TV didn’t work, and the internet service was spotty. The only thing to recommend the joint was that it was one county away from Saint Augustine, ensuring that he would not receive any unwanted visits from Detective Sykes or his minions.

The desk in the room faced the parking lot, which was a stone’s throw from Interstate 95. In the distance, cars zipped past in a blur on the elevated highway. He had watched the video of Martin Daniels at the board of directors meeting four times, and he still didn’t have a clue why Martin had behaved so strangely, or continued to maintain his innocence after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

It’s not what you think.

He decided to deconstruct the sentence, just to see where it got him. What did Martin think the intern thought the video was? Two naked adults engaged in wild sex was porn. Or was it? Was the video another act, that looked like porn?

It’s not what you think.

Then what was it?

He watched the video again, and focused his attention on the moment that Martin got caught by the intern. The screen of his cell phone was briefly visible, revealing two adults rolling around on a bed. The resolution was poor, and he could barely make out their bodies.

It’s not what you think.

He scrolled through the contacts on his cell phone. Hector Morales had joined the Broward Sheriff’s Department the same week as him. Two weeks in, Hector had gotten shot in the gut while handling a domestic dispute, and lost the partial use of his left leg. Hector had gotten a desk job, and over time, had become the department’s top forensic expert. His friend picked up immediately.

“Is this Jon Lancaster, star of stage, screen, and television?”

“You got him. How you been?”

“Living the dream. I heard that Tinsel Town is making a movie about your life. Are they going to let you play yourself?”

“Fat chance. They picked some soap opera star from Australia. Guy’s six-foot-two with a washboard stomach and a perfect tan. We met last month over lunch. He took one look at my stomach, and rolled his eyes.”

“But your stomach is your most defining feature.”

“I agree. Some men have a six-pack, I prefer a keg. But this is Hollywood, where everyone is supposed to look perfect. You know how it is.”

“Sounds like a blast. So what can I do for you?”

“I have a video that I need enhanced. Think you can help me out?”

“Sure. There’s a new video quality enhancer called FonePaw. I’ll send you the link, and you can download it to your desktop. It’s super easy to learn.”

He coughed into the phone. He needed to focus his energies into reviewing the case, not learning a new software application. Hector caught his drift.

“Or, you can send me the video, and I’ll enhance it myself,” Hector said.

“That would be great. How long will this take?”

“I’ll do it right now. Are they letting you have final say on the script?”

“You mean the producers? Not final say, but they did send me a draft.”

“Was it any good?”

The script was typical Hollywood horseshit, the characters dumbed down to the point of not being lifelike, the dialogue stilted, the action scenes over the top. When he’d voiced his objections during a conference call, the producers had explained that these changes were necessary in order to appeal to foreign markets, the inference being that audiences in foreign countries were half-wits who needed to be talked to like children. He didn’t believe that for a second. It was the producers who were half-wits, and needed to keep the story cartoonlike in order to understand it themselves.

But he wasn’t going to tell Hector that, and burst his bubble. Hector, like many other people he knew, was entranced by the movies, and believed they were magic.

“I loved it,” he said.

“Cool,” Hector said. “Email me the video once we hang up. Do you want the entire thing enhanced, or just a portion?”

“Just a portion. There’s a man in it, holding a cell phone. Toward the end of the video, he stands up, and holds his hand so the screen is visible to the camera for a few seconds. There are two people in a video, having sex. That’s what I want enhanced.”

“A sex video, huh? Sounds like the plot for another movie.”

“I’m done with Hollywood, Hector. Once is enough.”

“You’re going to be famous, man. Just you wait.”

“I sure hope not. Has your email address changed?”

“Nope, still the same.”

“Then we’re good. Later, my friend.”

He purchased a can of Pibb Xtra from a vending machine in the hallway outside his room. Mr. Pibb had been his favorite drink as a kid, and he hadn’t had one since joining the navy. It had a spicy cherry taste, and brought back a lot of memories.

He sat at his laptop and watched the video of Martin again. Martin looked like a stuffy doctor until he pulled out his cell phone and started watching porn. The expression on Martin’s face changed, and his eyes took on a nervous look. Only when the intern caught him in the act did his facial expression go back to normal.

Lancaster shifted his gaze out the window. The whole scenario didn’t make sense. A man as intelligent as Martin wouldn’t commit an act so blatantly stupid that carried such enormous risk to his personal and professional life. Yet the act had been captured on video.

It’s not what you think.

“You could have fooled me,” he said aloud.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Normally, he ignored his cell phone’s beeps and rings, not wanting to be a slave to any device. But a vibration meant that he’d gotten a text, and since only his friends had his number, those texts were usually important.

It was from Beth. She was on her way.

He considered calling her. He was curious to hear how her meeting at the FBI’s Jacksonville office had gone. But his mind was locked on Martin, and he didn’t need the distraction.

He put the phone away, then watched the video of Martin again.

He noticed something that he hadn’t seen before. The cell phones of the other doctors attending the board meeting lay on the table next to their notepads. Not Martin’s. His cell phone resided in his jacket pocket. Like he didn’t want the distraction.

Lancaster leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Martin had deliberately put his cell phone into his jacket pocket so it wouldn’t disturb him. So why had he pulled it out in the middle of the meeting, and started watching a porno? It didn’t make sense.

His cell phone again vibrated in his pocket. He had a look, assuming it was Beth. And was wrong. An elderly neighbor in the condo building where he lived had texted him. Lancaster was the building’s de facto cop, and was often called upon to settle disputes or deal with undesirables who managed to get past security and invade the pool area.

His neighbor had sent him a reminder that there was an HOA meeting tomorrow night in the building’s recreation center. Would he be attending?

He texted her back, and said he was out of town.

He started to put his phone away. On his laptop’s screen, Martin had pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and was staring at it. The look on his face was filled with uncertainty.

That’s when it hit him. Martin hadn’t decided to start looking at pornography in the middle of the board meeting. That was out of character, and not plausible. In fact, Martin had received a text, assumed it was important, and taken a look.

He cursed. Dr. Sircy had told him that Martin was addicted to pornography, because she’d caught her lover looking at porn on his phone. But it was a false assumption. Martin was looking at videos that were being sent to him.

He’d made a beginner’s mistake. It wasn’t the first time.

His first week as a cop, he’d responded to a 911 call of a woman claiming a burglar was in her home. He went through the front door to find a bloodied man holding a broken bottle. He nearly shot the guy before noticing the suspect was wearing bedroom slippers. Not a burglar, but the caller’s estranged boyfriend, who hadn’t done a damn thing except tell his girlfriend their relationship was over.

He’d let the 911 call cloud his judgment, and hadn’t entered the house with an open mind. And now, he’d done the same thing with Martin. Dr. Sircy saying that Martin had a pornography addiction had made him believe that Martin really did have one, even though he’d seen no evidence of an addiction in Martin’s house, or among the books and papers in his study, or on his laptop. No evidence at all.

He’d let a jilted lover distort his thinking. He wanted to kick himself.

He rewound the video, and watched it again, this time from a fresh perspective. As he reached the end, his cell phone rang. It was his friend Hector calling.

“Hey, Hector. Tell me you have good news,” he said.

“I have good news and bad,” Hector said. “What order do you want it in?”

“Give me the bad news first.”

“There are two individuals in the porno on the guy’s phone. A male and a female. The female’s face isn’t visible. Sorry.”

“Any identifying marks or tattoos?”

“Yep. She has light-brown skin and a number of colorful tattoos on her back. I did a search of the tattoos, and got a hit. She’s a member of the Latin Kings gang.”

The girl in the video was one of Katya’s friends, and he found himself nodding.

“What’s the good news?” he asked.

“I was able to capture the face of the male, and blow it up,” Hector said. “Guy was right in the middle of having an orgasm. Pure ecstasy.”

“Was he an older guy?”

“Yes, indeed. Do you know him?”

“I think so. But I’ll need confirmation. Can you send it to me?”

“Of course. It will be in your inbox in a minute.”

“Thanks, Hector. I owe you big time.”

“Any chance there will be a premiere of your movie in South Florida before it’s released? It would be a blast to take my wife and kids to.”

Lancaster liked it. The producers were regularly calling him for help with the script, and he didn’t think it would be hard to finagle them into having a premiere in his hometown so he could invite his cop friends and drinking buddies.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

Ending the call, he went into the inbox on his laptop, and waited for Hector’s email to arrive. He was certain that it would be what he and Beth had suspected all along. One of Martin’s trysts had been secretly videotaped and used to blackmail him. The fact that the female in the video wasn’t Katya was a shock, but not entirely a surprise. Martin had been sexually active, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him having sex with one of Katya’s friends.

Beth’s rental had pulled into the parking lot, and she got out. In her hand was a cell phone, which she called him on. He answered it.

“I just arrived,” she said. “What room are you in?”

“103. I’m on the ground floor. I can see you through my window,” he said. “The door’s unlocked.”

Hector’s email appeared in his inbox with an attachment. He placed his cell phone down, and clicked his mouse on the attachment. The face of a man in full rapture filled the laptop’s screen. Lancaster’s mouth dropped open. The door opened, and Beth came in.

“You’re not going to believe what happened,” she said.

Still speechless, he continued to stare at the screen.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“My friend enhanced the video on your father’s phone,” he managed to say.

“And?”

“You’re not going to believe this.”

He had been wrong. The man having sex in the video wasn’t her father. She came over to the desk and had a look.

“Hey,” she said. “Isn’t that Sykes?”

Chapter 30

As an investigator, Daniels had been trained to look for patterns. If a suspect committed a crime once, it could be explained as bad judgment. But if the suspect committed the same crime repeatedly, it often meant darker forces were at work.

She also looked for patterns in the men she dated. She’d once dated a guy who chose the clothes he wore to work each week by laying them out on his bed on Sunday night. When she asked if he’d ever changed an outfit on the spur of the moment, he got angry with her. Another beau had ordered the same thing on the menu whenever they went to dinner. A question about dietary restrictions produced a dirty look.

Jon was also predictable, but in a different way. He was in love with the water, and tried to be near it whenever possible. Growing up, he’d lived near a canal, where he went fishing with his friends. During summer vacations he worked as a lifeguard, and spent his days on the beach. Upon graduating high school, he joined the navy and became a SEAL. Being near the water calmed him down, and made him happy.

At his suggestion, they went to the South Beach Grill, and sat at an outside table and had drinks while listening to waves slap the sand. Daniels flipped a coin. She won, and proceeded to tell him about the video conference with her boss at the FBI’s Jacksonville office, and how Micah’s video had ended up in her boss’s hands.

“I gave that kid a hundred bucks for that video,” he said, shaking his head.

“He must have thought he could get additional money from the local newspaper,” she said. “Watching it a second time was a real eye-opener.”

“How so?”

“I had no idea you were still so skilled at self-defense. You could have killed Sykes and his men.”

“My goal was to humiliate them, and at that I succeeded. What happens now?”

“J. T. wants you to restrain yourself. You’re linked to me, and therefore linked to the FBI. He’s afraid you’ll really hurt someone, and it will reflect badly on the bureau.”

“Is bad press all he’s worried about? What about your father’s death?”

“Come on, Jon. He’s just doing his job.”

Jon stared out at the ocean. A couple of long-haired kids were trying to break their necks on boogie boards. He said something under his breath, and a thin smile creased his lips. When he looked back at her, he’d noticeably calmed down.

“I’m not going to restrain myself,” he said.

“I didn’t think you would,” Daniels said. “Your turn.”

“We need to start our investigation over,” he said. “For starters, we have to stop thinking that your father was addicted to porn, and that his addiction was driving him to watch it at inopportune times. There wasn’t any porn in his study, or on his laptop, which would have been the usual hiding places.”

“What about the used condom in the bathroom?”

“Your father had a healthy sex life. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But he was looking at sex videos when he was out in public.”

“Not by choice.”

“I’m not following you. Of course it was by choice.”

“Not in the way that you think.” Taking out his cell phone, he held it in front of her face. “We are slaves to these devices. That’s especially true when we get texts, which are almost always from people that we know. When was the last time you got a text, and didn’t read it?”

“I always read my texts.”

“Exactly. We all read our texts, regardless of where we are, and who we’re with. We can’t help it. Your father was receiving texts that contained porno videos of men that your father personally knew. That was why he was looking at them. He wanted to see who’d gotten snared in the trap.”

“Back up a second. Who was sending these videos?”

“Either Katya or the Sokolov brothers. They’re all in this together. They were blackmailing your father.”

“So they caught my dad in a compromising situation.”

“Yes. Katya turned a room in her basement into a love nest, and I believe she secretly videotaped your father having sex. Then the blackmail began. That’s where all the money in your father’s bank accounts went.”

She considered what Jon was saying. It all added up, except the part about the videos being of her father’s friends. That came out of left field.

“How are my father’s friends caught up in this?” she asked.

“I think the Russians are blackmailing them as well,” he said.

“Based on what?”

“Piece together what we know so far. The Sokolovs brought three young Latin women to Saint Augustine on a private plane. You told me those women didn’t have any luggage, and were slaves. I think they were sex slaves.”

“They were the bait.”

“Correct. They were introduced to different men at wild parties at Katya’s house, with the purpose of having sex with them. The men were secretly videotaped, and later blackmailed.”

“Which is why there were cameras all over that house,” Daniels said. “The women would get the men drunk, pull them into a room, and have sex. It didn’t matter which room, because they all had hidden cameras.”

“That’s right. The house was rigged to trap them.”

“This all makes sense, Jon. I’m on board.”

“There’s more.”

He paused to take a long swallow of beer. When conducting an investigation, she’d learned that it was impossible to ever know the true story. All an investigator could do was take the available evidence and construct a plausible story. That story then became the truth that the case would be built upon. Jon was as good as anyone at doing this, and his theories usually held up.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I think these men decided to fight back, and didn’t pay the Sokolovs their ransom money right away,” he said. “That’s when the mummified hands started showing up on people’s doorsteps. The Sokolovs were sending a message.”

“And the men caved, and paid them off.”

“I think so. Except your father. I think he must have held out. So the Sokolovs started sending him text messages that contained videos of his friends in compromising situations. It was their way of putting pressure on him to pay up.”

“Do you think he gave in to their demands?”

“I do. If he hadn’t, the videos of him and Katya would have been posted online by the Sokolovs, and we would have heard about them by now.”

“So my father wasn’t addicted to porn.”

“No, he was not. He was a victim.”

She wiped away her tears with a napkin. Her father was a proud man, and she could see him doing what Jon had described. In the end, he had given in to the Sokolovs’ demands, and the shame of his transgressions had led him to take his own life.

“I still don’t understand how Sykes plays into all of this,” she said. “You don’t think he was stupid enough to fall into the same trap as my father, do you?”

“I do. Sykes was also being blackmailed by the Sokolovs. The video proves it,” he said.

“How can you be sure? Maybe he had a fling with one of those girls, and it got videotaped. That doesn’t mean he was being blackmailed.”

“No, it doesn’t. But the other lies Sykes told are proof enough.”

“What lies?”

“Sykes never mentioned to us that he knew your father, yet it’s obvious they were acquaintances by the way your father reacted when he saw the video of Sykes having sex with the girl. Your father wouldn’t have reacted like that if he hadn’t known Sykes.”

It was excellent deductive reasoning, and she kicked herself for not seeing it.

“Good call,” she said. “What else?”

“When we talked to Officer Spencer about the mummified hands, Spencer said that there were six victims. He immediately backtracked and said there were five. That’s not the kind of fact that a police officer would get confused. I think Spencer was hiding the name of the sixth victim from us.”

“You think the sixth victim was Sykes.”

“Correct.”

It was too neat a conclusion, and Daniels shook her head. She remembered seeing a number of framed citations hanging on the walls of Sykes’s office. Police officers didn’t receive those unless they were good at what they did.

“I can’t see Sykes being drawn to that house, and being lured into having wild sex. He’s too experienced to fall for something like that,” she said.

“I agree. Sykes is too experienced. I think the video was shot in another location. One where Sykes felt safe enough to let his guard down.”

“Where?”

“This is just a guess.”

“Go ahead.”

“Remember the photographs on your father’s laptop of the local B&B? It’s been bugging me why he had those. Maybe one of the rooms was outfitted with hidden cameras, and Sykes was drawn there and secretly videotaped.”

“You have no proof of this.”

“No, but why else did he have those photos?”

“It’s a stretch. You couldn’t outfit a room in a B&B without the owners knowing about it. They would see the equipment being brought in.”

“The owners are involved.”

“That’s a real stretch.”

“Not really. Remember the Russian couple that sponsored Katya into this country?”

“The Vasileks.”

“Right. They own a B&B in Fort Lauderdale. I’m thinking they might have done this before.”

As every investigator knew, there were no coincidences in police work. But knowing something and proving it were entirely different things.

“Let’s say you’re right, and a local B&B was used to trap Sykes,” Daniels said. “How do we find out which B&B was used?”

“Easy,” he said. “We’ll use the internet.”