Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

I still wasn't convinced and it obviously showed in my face.

"Before the boat went supernova, the witness managed to get off it unscathed. She says that John Telfer must've brought a bomb on board with him. He was carrying some kinda backpack when he arrived." Barker sucked air through her teeth. "Mind you, we ain't giving the bomb part much weight. More than likely, something on the boat went bang. Apparently there were a lot of guns going off prior to the explosion."

"It's not like John," I said, thinking aloud.

Barker lifted her knobby shoulders. "Just telling you what's been said."

"Was there any mention of why John was on this boat in the?rst place?"

"Nothing the witness will admit to."

"Who is the witness?"

Barker said, "A hottie Rhet Carson picked up over on Catalina Island. You know how these old rich guys are. They like a touch of eye candy draped over the rails of their yachts when they pull into dock. Gives them, whaddaya call it, self-esteem?"

"Are you saying your eyewitness is a hooker?"

"Hookers have eyes the same as anyone," Barker replied. "She says that Telfer wasn't the only one to come on board. Two guys in sharp suits turned up. Then some other guy. She seems to think that the last guy on board was with Telfer. The shooting started just after he got there."

Rink and I looked at each other. "Did she give a description of any of the three that turned up after John? The two guys in suits, for instance?"

"Let me see." Barker pulled a notebook from her shirt pocket and thumbed through to a page marked with an elastic band. I doubted she needed the prompt. "Yeah, here we are. An APB was put out for them. Both guys are in their thirties, medium build, dark haired. Kinda swarthy-looking. Dressed in designer suits by all accounts."

"The Mambo Kings." I nodded to Rink.

Barker lifted the corner of a lip at my remark. "You know these two?" "Not personally," I said. "But I intend to." Barker looked off across the valley. "Whatever your intentions, you can scratch one of them from your 'to-do' list. Got another dispatch not ten minutes ago saying one of them was among the dead found in the burned-out wreckage. The other could be at the bottom of the harbor for all we know. They're sending divers down as we speak."

"What about the third man? The one she thought was with John?"

Again Barker scanned her notebook. She made an exasperated noise as she puffed out her cheeks. "White guy. Late thirties to early forties. Cold eyes. That's about it."

"Nothing about his clothing? His hair coloring?"

"Nope. The witness said she only got a quick glance at him. Something about the way he looked at her was enough to send her scuttling for cover, she said." It was apparent Barker didn't like what she was reading. "Not to mention the fact he'd just gutted one of Carson's bodyguards with a knife."

It was my turn to puff out my cheeks. I looked at Rink and saw him staring back. Turning back to Barker, I asked, "Did the witness say anything else about him or John? Did they make it off the boat before it blew?"

"She says they jumped in the harbor just before the boat went up. She didn't see them after that. Chances of them surviving that kind of explosion would be pretty slim."

"John can't swim," I said, a feeling of dread gnawing at my insides. Burned or drowned, neither would be pretty. I had the feeling impression of John's bloated face peering up at me from some in?nitely deep place. Shaking off the disturbing vision wasn't easy, but I had to remain optimistic. I wasn't prepared to admit defeat just yet. Neither was I ready to give up looking for him until the police divers dragged his corpse from the murky water.

"He could've made it out," Rink offered. "Boats are generally moored closely together. Its likely he made it to another one and climbed out of the water."

"I hope so," I said.

"Funny thing is," Barker said, "this other guy, the one who was with Telfer, apparently he did something extremely odd while he was on the yacht."

"Apart from gutting someone with a knife?" I asked.

"Yeah. One of Carson's bodyguards survived the explosion. He was pretty mangled up and not making much sense. He was off his head with pain and blood loss, but he kept on saying, 'He stole my thumb.' "

I glanced sharply at Barker, who gave me a wry smile in return. "Apart from burns over much of his body, his wrist was cut open and he was missing a thumb. Of course, his injuries could've been caused by flying shrapnel from the explosion. Thing is, he was adamant that this mystery man picked his thumb up off the deck."

"Jumpin' Jesus," Rink said, and I could only agree with him.

My theory about John crossing paths with this Harvestman was beginning to take greater shape. Only thing I couldn't fathom was what that meeting meant to them. What was John doing going there with a murderer? Were they acting as allies, on some mad spree where they were working together? Or was John being compelled to work with this beast? I could only hope it was the latter. For everyone's sake.

I didn't realize I'd fallen silent, caught up in my own thoughts, until Rink nudged me. "You hear that, Hunter?"

"Uh? Hear what?"

"Rhet Carson? The guy who owned the yacht?"

I squinted at Rink in miscomprehension.

"I knew we'd lost you there," Rink said.

"Sorry," I said. "I was just thinking."

"Yeah," Rink said. "I could hear the cogs turning from here."

I shook myself into the here and now. "So what did I miss?"

"Rhet Carson's a major player. Head man of one of the outfits out here." "What? Like the Mafia?" Barker gave a little laugh. "The Mafia doesn't hold much sway any longer. Not if you're looking for the old-time Godfather type. But you could say he was a key player in the local underworld. Nowadays your most successful mobsters shun the old-style Cosa Nostra methods. Carson's a top-fight business executive. Runs his business from a downtown commercial center, even advertises on the cable networks."

"His business being?" I asked.

"Banking," Barker said. "But more specifically, moneylending."

I said, "You telling me he was money laundering? What better front than to use your own bank?"

Barker snapped her fingers. "You've got it, my friend. There have been a number of high-profile investigations into his business, lots of supposition, but nothing that would stick. There was the rumor that he was laundering counterfeit dollars for some out?t from the East Coast, but the case never really got off the ground. He's laid low for the last coupla years, kept his nose clean, spent more time on his boat. I'm thinking Carson was maybe about to get back in the business again."

I'd had my suspicions since our last talk with Louise Blake. What the something big was that she'd referred to.

Forged money has never been a big problem in the U.S., obtaining decent paper being just about impossible. But I also knew that it was a ploy of some terrorist groups to?ood countries with fake currency. Kind of destabilized the value of the dollar, bringing down the almighty American Dream. What they couldn't achieve with bombs, they made up for in Mickey Mouse money. Petoskey and Hendrickson would have been making top dollar, selling to the enemies of the USA.

And Rhet Carson had wanted in on the action.

To Cheryl Barker, I said, "But without the drawback of being the middleman this time?"

"It's a fair assumption," Barker said.

"This out?t he was working with, do you know who runs it?" I asked.

"Not personally," Barker said. "I suppose I can?nd out."

"I might be able to give you a couple of names."

"You already have your suspicions?" "Yeah. A couple. Could be a guy called Sigmund Petoskey. He has his base in Little Rock, Arkansas." Barker shook her head at that. "Nah. The mob I'm talking about was rumored to be up in Virginia, maybe Georgia, I can't recall."