Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

“But he wasn’t killed in the wreck?”

“Probably not. Our medical examiner found a bullet lodged in his cerebellum.”

It took a moment for the finality of Chuck Sheppard’s death to sink in for Joe. “Does your medical examiner have any thoughts on when he was killed?”

“The body was in pretty bad shape. That road’s in a remote part of the county, way back in the swamp. It was discovered by a couple of hog hunters. Doc says rough estimate, death occurred about a week ago.”

“Well, damn,” Joe said, toweling his hair dry and looking around for his clothes. “I don’t suppose you have any suspects?”

“I was hoping you could help us with that,” the deputy said. “Since he had no ID on him, we don’t know where he was staying or what he was doing here.”

Joe thought back to where his mother had started her ill-starred acquaintance with Chuck Sheppard. “Do y’all have any Indian gambling casinos in your area?” Joe asked. “That’s where he liked to hang out when he was living up here, at the Seminole casino in Tampa. That is, when he wasn’t ripping off old people.”

“The Seminole tribe has a casino here in Immokalee,” the deputy said. “I’ll look into that. But from what I can tell, the last time Sheppard was detained, he was working with a couple of associates. A woman named Tanya Carnahan and a Declan Rooney. Do those names ring a bell?”

“They do,” Joe said. “Tanya Carnahan died about a month ago.”

“Natural causes?”

“No. She was murdered.”

“Well, damn. How about this Declan Rooney? I see he’s got a record. Any idea of his whereabouts?”

“Funny you should ask,” Joe said. “Rooney may have returned to the scene of the crime. I’ve got a witness who spotted someone who looked like him at a Publix right here on Treasure Island, yesterday.”

“That’s interesting,” the deputy said. “You think this witness is reliable?”

“If it was Rooney, he was wearing a baseball cap, so his face wasn’t very visible, but I think we’re going to go back to the store and ask for footage from their security cameras,” Joe said.

“Seems pretty surprising this Rooney character would resurface in a place where he just barely escaped the law the last time around,” the deputy said.

Joe pulled on his jeans and a clean shirt. “I think maybe Rooney left behind something the last time he was here. And he’s just getting around to looking for it.”

His phone beeped and he saw he had an incoming call from Vikki Hill. “Tell me your name again?”

“Warren Davis. Collier County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Okay, Warren. I’ve got to take another call. Text me your contact info, and any other pertinent info you have. I’ll get back to you about Rooney. And thanks for calling.”

Joe disconnected and clicked over to Vikki Hill. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up? Any word from Wingfield?”

“He wants proof that Maya’s with me. Then, he says, he’ll be in touch.”

“Okay, great. Did you call Letty?”

“I did, but she didn’t answer. So I walked over to her unit and knocked on the door. No answer. And her car’s gone too.”

“Dammit. I just left there, not thirty minutes ago. I’ll head back now,” Joe said. He shoved his feet into a pair of flip-flops and grabbed the keys to his truck.

“Okay, don’t panic. Maybe she went to the store or something,” Vikki said. “You haven’t heard from her this morning, right?”

“No.” He was reluctant to admit to the FBI agent that he’d spent the night on a chair outside Letty’s door. “I’ll call my mom. Maybe she sent Letty out on an errand or something. But in the meantime, I just had a call from a sheriff’s deputy in Collier County. That’s south of here, down by the Everglades. Chuck Sheppard’s body was found in a stolen Jeep. Somebody set it up to look like the Jeep had crashed and burned, but the medical examiner found a bullet in his brain.”

“When was this?”

“Some hunters found the remains four days ago, but they think it had been there a few days. They identified the body from fingerprints they recovered from the Jeep.”

“How did they know to call you?”

“Same way you did. They researched his criminal history, saw that we had warrants out up here for him, and for Declan Rooney.”

Vikki Hill let out a long breath. “That’s some coincidence. Sheppard’s killed, and then Rooney turns up—how far away is this Immokalee?”

“Not sure. I think it’s in central South Florida. Maybe two and a half hours from here? Okay, we can talk about this, after I find Letty.”

“Keep me posted,” the FBI agent said.

“Hey Mom, have you seen Letty and Maya this morning?”

Ava was sweeping sand from the office floor when her son called. “No. Why?”

“Vikki and I need to talk to her. She’s not in her unit and doesn’t answer her phone. We thought maybe you’d sent her out on an errand or something.”

“I didn’t send her for anything. You sound kind of worried, son. Is something going on that I should know about? It’s not Rooney, is it?”

For a moment he debated not telling her about her ex-boyfriend’s fate. But she had a right to know, didn’t she? And given that Declan Rooney might actually be lurking in the vicinity, they all needed to be on high alert.

“I promise, I’ll fill you in later,” Joe said. “But in the meantime, can you and Isabelle kind of scout around and see if anybody’s seen Letty?”

“Sure thing.”

His apartment was only five minutes from the motel, but he covered the distance in record time. He slowed and checked the parking lot for the silver Kia, but it wasn’t there. He drove past, headed south, and scanned the parking lot of every business he passed, hoping to glimpse the Kia. He tried calling her, but each time he was sent directly to voice mail.

When he reached St. Pete Beach, he turned around and headed back north, slowing as he passed through Treasure Island, Madeira Beach, Redington, Redington Shores, and Indian Rocks Beach.

Joe was stopped at a traffic light a couple of miles from the Murmuring Surf when he spotted the silver Kia as it pulled out of a McDonald’s parking lot and into traffic. The light turned, but he had to wait while a bedraggled-looking homeless man shuffled across the street pushing a shopping cart loaded down with bags of plastic bottles and aluminum cans for recycling. By then, the Kia was three cars ahead. He accelerated, pulled up next to her, and lightly tapped the truck’s horn. Letty glanced over, looking surprised, and gave him a wave. Maya was seated in the back seat, contentedly sipping on something in her plastic cup. His shoulders relaxed and he called Vikki Hill. “Found her,” he reported, pulling into a convenience store parking lot. “They were at McDonald’s.” He exhaled slowly and headed back to the Murmuring Surf.

When they reached the motel, she got out of the Kia and waited for him to park. Letty knew something was up from the serious look on his face.

“Something wrong?” she said, as he walked up to her.

“You scared the crap out of me, taking off like this without telling anybody,” he said.

Letty leaned into the car, lifted Maya out of her car seat, and set her down on the pavement. “Hey Mr. Joe,” the child said. “I got a Happy Meal.”

He forced a smile. “Good for you.”

Letty started walking toward her unit. “We need to talk,” he said, hooking his hand around her elbow. “Vikki got the call this morning. When she couldn’t reach you, and you weren’t at your place, yeah, we panicked.”

“Well, we’re back now,” she said.

“There’s more.” He pointed toward the office, where Ava and Vikki Hill stood waiting in the open doorway.