Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

“Really? I thought the feds only investigated nice, tidy white-collar crimes.”

“Wrong. We get called in on homicides, especially organized crime. Remember, I work in New York,” Agent Hill said.

She scrolled through the photos again, bookmarking two more. “I like these two. The wide-angle shot, where you can see the tip of the boat, and her with the chains and anchor, and then that first close-up of her head, with the blood, and then the shark shot.”

“Your call,” Joe said. “I’m just the muscle.”

Vikki Hill typed the text message into the phone.

Mission accomplished.

Next, she texted the three photos.

Consider this your invoice.

Joe helped himself to a gooey slice of pizza, then sprinkled red pepper flakes on it. “Now what?”

“Now we wait,” the agent said.

He looked over at Letty. “Are you okay? You look pretty pale.”

She managed a wan smile. “I thought that was the idea. I’m supposed to be a corpse, right?”

“That part of the charade is over,” he said.

“You did great,” Vikki said. “A real trouper.”

“I might never eat seafood again,” Letty said. “I must have used half the bottle of shampoo, trying to get that smell out of my hair.”

“Sorry…” Joe started to say.

Vikki’s phone pinged. She grabbed it up and read the text message out loud.

Where’s Maya? Is she okay?”

Vikki typed a quick reply.

She’s fine.

Wingfield texted back immediately.

Proof?

Vikki looked expectantly at Letty. “What should I say?”

Letty got up and went into the bedroom, where her niece was turned on her side, clutching Ellie to her cheek. She shut the door and went back to the dining area.

“Point out that it’s after nine o’clock, and she’s asleep.”

“Should we take a photo of her, to prove it?” Vikki asked.

Letty’s reply was sharp. “No. I don’t want her to wake up and think something is wrong. If Evan doesn’t like it, too bad.”

“Good idea,” Vikki said.

It’s after 9. She’s asleep. Long day.

Wingfield’s text was to the point.

No proof, no money.

Joe peered over the agent’s shoulder, reading the text as it appeared. “What a douche. Tell him your guy doesn’t like getting stiffed. No money, no kid.”

Vikki texted Joe’s message, verbatim.

They waited.

“Okay, I’ll take a very small glass of wine,” Letty said, after fifteen minutes of pacing the room. “Otherwise, I’ll never sleep tonight.”

She took the glass of wine and stood at the sliding glass doors, looking out at the rain. What would they do if Evan balked at completing the transaction? Would the FBI have enough evidence to arrest him? How could she prove she hadn’t killed her sister? Would Evan ever face charges for killing Tanya? Would she and Maya have to return to New York? The questions swirled around in her head as the minutes ticked slowly past.

“It’s been thirty minutes,” Joe said. “Should we ping him again?”

“No,” Vikki said, standing up. She yawned loudly. “Let Wingfield stew about it overnight. I’m going to bed. If I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”

She went to the sliding glass doors and stood beside Letty for a moment. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “We’ll nail this guy. I promise you, Evan Wingfield is not going to get away with this. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Joe gathered up the pizza box and the paper plates and placed them in the kitchen trash bin. He corked the wine bottle and placed it on the counter.

“I’m gonna shove off too,” he told Letty.

“No more sleeping on my patio, or in your truck out in that parking lot,” Letty said, trying to look severe. “Go home. You heard Vikki. They’re gonna get Evan. Maya and I will be fine.”

He cocked one eyebrow and studied her. “Will you? Seems like you’ve been through a lot. Especially today. I get that you’re physically okay. But what about up here?” He tapped her forehead.

“Truthfully? I’m a mess, emotionally. I need a good night’s sleep, and then Maya and I will get up in the morning, and we’ll somehow get through this. Because we don’t have a choice.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re a ballsy chick, Letty Carnahan. You know that?”

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

He placed the flat of his hand on her back and it lingered there, for a moment. “I have lots of real compliments. You know, when you’re ready to hear them.”

Letty walked him to the front door and locked it behind him.

“Don’t forget the security latch,” he said, his voice muffled by the door that stood between them.

“Go home.”

When she heard his footsteps echoing outside in the breezeway, she stood with her back to the door, feeling a mixture of relief and regret. She had come so close to caving in, to asking him to stay, to allowing herself to give into her growing attraction to Joe DeCurtis. For tonight, anyway, she’d managed to dodge that bullet.

40

Saturday Morning

“HEY, JOE.”

He opened one eye. Oscar Jensen stood in the breezeway outside Letty’s room, unlit cigarette in hand, looking down at him with a bemused expression.

Joe yawned. It was just past daylight. He stood up and stretched. His back was killing him.

“What’s going on?” Oscar whispered, glancing around furtively. “You staking out Letty’s room, or what?”

Joe plucked the cigarette from Oscar’s fingers. “You gotta quit smoking out here, Oscar. Also, you didn’t see me. Understand?”

He was just emerging from the shower when he heard the phone ringing on his nightstand. He dove for it, stubbing his toe on the metal frame of his bed. “Goddamn!” he howled, tapping ACCEPT.

“Excuse me? I’m looking for Officer DeCurtis?” It was a man’s voice. Joe looked at the caller ID screen and saw a South Florida area code.

“Oh, sorry. This is Joe DeCurtis. Who’s this?”

“This is Chief Deputy Warren Davis, down here in Collier County. I’m just following up on a lead and I see your department has an outstanding warrant for a Charles Sheppard?”

“Who?” Joe sank down on the bed, examining his little toe, which was bleeding.

“Charles Sheppard. White male, age sixty-three. Wanted for theft by taking, fraud, conspiracy to commit fraud. Your warrant is from 2014. Sound familiar? Looks like he and a couple associates had a racket going at a motel up there in Treasure Island. Buying estate silver and gold and jewelry and bilking senior citizens.”

“Chuck!” Joe exclaimed. “You mean Chuck Sheppard?” His toe was bleeding all over the floor. “Don’t tell me you caught up with that piece of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say we caught up with him. Or what’s left of him,” the deputy said, chuckling at his own joke.

Joe padded into the bathroom, tore a piece of toilet paper off the roll, and wrapped it around his toe. “He’s dead?”

“Oh yeah,” the deputy drawled.

“When was this? What happened?”

“We found his remains four days ago, but we couldn’t identify him until yesterday. We were able to lift his fingerprints from the vehicle he was driving, and that’s when we found out his name and discovered the outstanding warrants.”

“How was he killed?”

“Somebody wanted us to think that he was killed in a car fire. His body was discovered on a county road down here, in a stolen vehicle, a 1998 Jeep Cherokee. The Jeep was smashed up and partially burned. We found your guy in the driver’s seat.”