FORTY-NINE
Each time I dialed Leslie’s cell I got her voice-mail. On the third call, I left a message telling her to contact me when she could.
I reached my neighbor to check on Max and to apologize for the delay in getting back home. I was assured that Max was a delight and she had won over the entire family. Great, I thought, maybe she’ll remember me.
Dave was already one ahead of me when I approached Gibraltar. He grinned and waved me over to his boat. “Care for a libation?”
Dave listened as I brought him up to date with the latest killing. I told him about my suspicions concerning Slater and about his connection with the Brennens, their money and influence. I told him how an old case of mine, one I failed to solve, could be raising its ugly head again.
He said, “The latest victim may not be related to the first two killings.”
“Why?”
“Completely different MO. The first victims were raped and strangled. We don’t know right now if the third body had been sexually violated. Some of her organs were missing. Could be coincidental that all three were female and Hispanic.”
“I don’t believe in criminal coincidences.”
“Sean, somewhere between the Brennens, the migrant labor contractors, Detective Slater, and a Miami murderer with a similar MO is the key. We just need to look at this from different angles.”
“Right now it’s missing a link.”
“Money, power and political influence. It all fits into the dynamics between the wealthy growers, the labor contractors, and the lowest rung, the laborers. This leverage the contractors hold over people imported in human trafficking is sad. They use people over and over like a renewable resource. Organized crime wouldn’t cut into its revenue stream nor would these degenerates, the labor contractors. So that leaves either Detective Slater, the Brennens or the Miami connection, or all three.”
“How do you mean all three?” I drained my beer and waited for his response.
“Slater could be working for organized crime or the Miami connection in some capacity. Maybe he’s the front man for the Brennens. Sean, why would the Miami murderer, the perspn you called Bagman, leave his sphere in Miami to travel the inner circles of the farm camps?”
“Serial killers follow ties, patterns. They need easy prey. The sociopath blames the present on the past and tries to destroy the future for those he holds responsible.”
Dave nodded. “It could be a deep-seated, vengeful motivation. Could go back to his childhood. This discussion warrants two more beers from the land of Montezuma. Where the hell does Corona find the good water? Ever wonder that?”
I started to answer when my cell rang. I fished for it deep in the pocket of my khaki shorts as Dave went below for the beers. Ron Hamilton was calling. “Sean, you nailed it! The stored DNA from the Bagman case involving the asphyxiation four years ago matches your killer. It’s the same perp. Nice work, partner.”
I felt my pulse rise. I was beginning to understand the complexity and depth of the spider’s web.
“Thanks, Ron. I’ll get back with you.”
Dave returned with two fresh Coronas. He set one down in front of me. “You all right? You look like someone just told you the Mexicans made this beer from recycled donkey piss. Sounds like that call wasn’t good news.”
“Bagman is the perp killing the women. We just matched his DNA.”
Dave let out a low whistle and sat down. “Sounds like this guy never stopped killing. Just extended it into rural Florida. Perhaps he was driven to come here or to come back here. Sean, you’re tracking someone you hunted before…in the shadows. A killer with an enormous capacity for evil is lurking out there. Whoever is ultimately calling the shots fears nothing. He kills when he wants to. I bet he thinks he’s smarter than anyone who would attempt to catch him. What if he knows you’re tracking him? What if you chasing him again is part of his insane rush? Something that amplifies his kills even more.”
FIFTY
Somewhere on the fringe of midnight, I felt Jupiter move. Slightly, but it was enough to pull me from the edge of sleep. I listened for the sound of a boat that may have passed by in the night. Nothing. I was lying on the bed in the foreword cabin, a little groggy but aware that something didn’t feel right.
I heard the distinct sound of metal on metal. Someone was trying to turn the locked handle on the salon door. I reached under the pillow for my Glock and quietly stood. Pools of soft light poured in Jupiter’s portholes. I had to walk through the light, past the galley, to get to the steps leading to the salon.
The noise stopped. The intruder wasn’t gone. Jupiter didn’t move. I ran beyond the light and stood on the first step. I leveled the Glock toward the salon doors. A silhouetted figure was on the other side standing in the cockpit. Then hands came up to the glass on the doors and a face leaned forward to peer into the salon.
It was Leslie.
I put the pistol on the galley counter and opened the doors. I said, “I’d called you. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay.” She stepped into the salon. The light from a three-quarter moon seemed to follow her inside, settling on her face, revealing tired and reddened eyes. The usual glow now drained from them. We stood in silence. I heard the subtle groan of the stern lines against the tide and the drone of a small boat entering the pass.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“It was so horrific,” she said softly. “She was so young. Maybe eighteen or nineteen.”
“Let’s sit down. Want a drink?”
“Do you have vodka?”
“Grey Goose.”
“That’s fine. Over ice, please.”
I fixed the drinks and sat at the small bar with Leslie as she began to tell the story. She sipped the vodka and said, “The M.E. says the person that did it wasn’t a hack. He or she knew what they were doing. Kidneys and heart removed with the skill of a surgeon. No sign of the organs with the body. We think that whoever dumped the body didn’t plan on dumping it in the wildlife refuge. FHP was doing a spot sobriety check less than a mile away from near the area where the body was found. The speculation is the perp or perps saw the checkpoint and then they cut off the road and drove right through a chained entrance into the refuge. They drove a couple hundred feet in and dumped the body.”
“Any tire tracks or shoe prints?”
“Too sandy. We saw a spot where they apparently got stuck. They used limbs and branches under the tires.”
“Do you have an ID on the body?”
“No. She looked like the other girls, young. Dan and I will be going back to the camp at SunState Farms. I’m showing the latest vic’s picture to every farm worker I can until somebody tells me who she was. If she wasn’t from there, we’ll keep going until we hit all the farm camps in Florida. Somebody knows these women.”
Leslie released a pent-up sigh and swirled the vodka in her glass. “They traffic in human beings. They sell sex. Now they traffic in human organs.”
“Was she raped?”
“Looks like it. Neck broken. Which is information we withheld from the media.”
“Maybe she’s the latest vic of the Miami perp.”
“Maybe none were killed by somebody who vanished four years ago.”
“I wish that were true.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the same perp, Sean.” She took a long swallow from her drink.
“For the first two murders it’s the same killer. Ron’s sending everything to you. The DNA is a match, at least the sample from the victim I found. It matches with DNA from the Miami murderer, the one who mixed asphyxiation, rape, and death into each gruesome ten minutes.”