Follow the Evidence (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 2) (4 page)

I shook my head. “Not a chance in
hell, but I’ll give it a shot,” I said. “Say, fire up the Fax machine and let
me know when they send that report. It should come through before you leave.
Oh, wait-it’s five. Time for you to go.”

“The Fax is on,” she responded.
“I’ll hang here until your report comes in. Anything else I can do?”

I thought for a minute then said,
“Pull up any news stories on the Nassau Ghost Ship you can find. Copy the links
into an email, and send them to me. That way I’ll have the live links,” I said.
“I’m going to makes some calls.”

“OK Mac,” she said. “I’ll get right
on it.”

She turned to go, but hesitated,
then turned back toward me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“If you need me tomorrow I don’t
have to take the day off. I can do what I need in a couple hours. Maybe I could
go tonight or take a long lunch tomorrow.”

I smiled. I was really getting to
like this kid. “Thanks Lia,” I said, “they got to you too, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, that missing girl…That could
have been me,” she said wistfully.

“Well it’s not you,” I insisted. I
didn’t want to come down on her, but there’s nothing worse than feeling sorry
for yourself. I know that first hand. “You’ve had your own challenges and they
made you stronger. Those two have plenty of problems and so, apparently does
their daughter. Nothing is what it seems on the surface, kid. You take your day
off. Enjoy yourself and be grateful for what you have. Besides, you’re always
telling me you’re a big girl.”

She looked at me for a moment, and
then cocked her head to the side considering what I’d said. Forcing a smile,
she nodded, and went back to her desk. Yep, I was really getting to like this
kid.

I picked up the phone and dialed
the Coast Guard District headquarters in Jacksonville. I got a recorded message
and left a message for James Matchell, the Public Information Officer, to call
back.

My next call was to Marco Lima.
From politicians to drug dealers and everyone in between Marco knew everyone.
He also knew where they’d buried the bodies. I never understood how such a
straight arrow could get so much Intel, but Marco did. He was a good guy,
people trusted him, and they talked to him too. He could keep his mouth shut
when it counted and he could root out reliable information, all for a
reasonable price. Marco learned to wheel and deal while working as a cook at
the county jail where information could buy anything. Now retired, he worked
occasionally in the Embassy Suites’ kitchen and trading facts for cash.

“Hey, Marco, it’s Mac Everett,” I
said when my friend answered the phone. “How’s it going?”

“Mac! I’m fantastic,” he said. His
words had the flavor of Puerto Rico though he’d lived in Florida for more than
thirty years. “
Que pasa
my friend?”

“I’m good Marco. How’s that
grandson of yours?”

Marco’s grandson John was in med
school at the University of Miami, my older alma mater.

“He’s in his third year now. The
hours are long and the expectations are high, but he loves it.”

“That’s great to hear,” I said.
“He’ll make an amazing doctor. You and I’ll need to him to take care of us in
our dotage.”

“Yeah we will,” he laughed.

“Do you have time to talk about a
job?” I asked.

“Sure, I’ve always got time for
you. Got a new case? What is it this time, another ‘marido infiel’-a cheating
husband?”

“No,” I chuckled. Marco had helped
me chase down a lot of cheating husbands over the last few years. “Nothing as
straightforward as that,
amigo
. What do you know about the Nassau Ghost
Ship?”

“
Madre de Dios
. That is a
bad business, a cursed ship, my friend, a cursed ship. Don’t get involved Mac.
No good can come of it.”

“I’m already involved, Marco.”

“How did you get caught up in
that
?”

“The parents of one of the missing
girls,” I replied. “I don’t think there’s much I can do. Have you heard
anything about it?”

“What is there to know about a
cursed ship?”

“You must’ve heard something,” I
insisted, “how about your newspaper and TV station contacts?”

“I’ll check, but I think you will
learn more through prayer,” he replied.

“Can you do this for me or not?”

“When have I ever said no to you? I
don’t like this one my friend, but of course I will help. What are the names?”

“Parker and Maria Summers hired me.
Check them out and their daughter, Jennifer. She was a student at UCF. It
sounds like she was a wild child. There’s another girl too, she’s a UCF student
Hannah London.”

“Got it,” Marco said. “Anyone
else?”

“Parker Summers has a business
connection named Diego Sebastian. He’s Columbian. See what you can dig up on
him and his son, Sergio same last name. Sergio was on the boat too. Do you have
any contacts in Columbia or The Bahamas?”

“A friend of a friend travels to
Columbia often. I think he’s in electronics or something like that. I can get
information from there.”

“Good, I think that covers it. Get
back to me as soon as you can.”

“All right Mac, but I have a bad
feeling about this.” Marco said. “Be careful. There is something evil in this.”

I’m not a religious man, but anyone
in my game knows there is evil in the world. It haunts the dark streets, back
alleys, and places decent people don’t go. I know all of those garden spots too
well.

“Thanks, Marco,” I said. “I’ll be
careful,”

When he was gone, I wondered if
maybe he was right. Cursed ship or not, this case was going to be a loser.

I was about to call my buddy Stan
Lee when an email from Parker Summers hit my inbox. As promised, there were
pictures of Jennifer Summers, her friend Hannah and Sergio Sebastian. There
were ten snapshots in all, each labeled with names. Jennifer Summers was in
eight of them. She was a petite, but well-endowed young woman with a luminous
smile and flowing light auburn hair that fell well below her shoulders. Judging
from the various backgrounds, I guessed she was about five-foot-four or five,
certainly shorter than her friend Hannah was. Jennifer’s colorful floral bikini
had a narrow overflowing bandeau top and French cut bottom tied at the hip that
showed off her sculpted figure. She had legs like a colt, boobs like a porn
star and a visible six-pack. I could see why she was popular with the guys. In
several of the pictures, she wore large dark glasses like her mother. She was
the spitting image of her mother, especially in the face, despite the stark
difference in hair color. I couldn’t make out her eyes in any of the shots, but
I’d bet they were brown like her mother’s.

Jennifer’s girlfriend, Hannah, was
a stunning blond. In her pictures, she wore a tiny bikini and aviator glasses.
In one shot, they sat together on the sand giggling as they ate rainbow
popsicles. In another, the two women posed in short dresses looking as young
people should-smiling as if they had the world by the tail.

There were only two shots of Sergio
Sebastian. In one, he stood alone at the boat’s wheel, wearing yellow jams, a
short-sleeved fishing shirt sporting some leaping game fish, and an intense
look. Shirt unbuttoned to the waist, he flaunted a muscular physique with that
bronzed glow you get from the sun and the wind. His dark hair had a natural
windblown look and he sported a pair of Ray-Bans and white zinc sunscreen on
his nose. His strong chin was raised in a classic ‘old man and the sea’ pose,
even though it was clear the boat was tied to the dock. I could imagine this
guy’s swagger. The other showed Sergio and Jennifer posing on the boat, smiling
against the setting sun. Jennifer’s white top and shorts accentuated her
sun-kissed complexion. They were both were smiling, but something was wrong.
What
was it?
What happened to these kids
, I thought.

The Coast Guard report came through
on the Fax and Lia dutifully waited until it printed, then brought it to me.

“This isn’t much,” she said as she
put the two-page document on my desk. “I can see why Mr. and Mrs. Summers are
looking for answers.”

“That’s the government for you,
either drown you in paper or give you nothing,” I said. “Thanks for staying.”

“No problem," she said and she
really meant it. “There were dozens of articles on the Nassau Ghost Ship. I
printed what seemed to be the best ones and copied the links into a document
for you. I’ve sent it as an email too.”

Lia handed me the list.

“Thanks, Lia. That’s a big help. You
better get going,” I said.

“Right,” Lia said. “You sure there
isn’t anything more I can do?”

“No, that’s it. Call it a day and
lock up,” I said.

She turned to go but stopped when I
said, “Oh, hold on a minute.”

I dug in my desk and came up with
the check I’d written for her. “Here’s your check.”

“It’s not payday. I’m not supposed
to get this until next week.”

“I thought you could use it now.
You know, for your shopping spree,” I replied.

She smiled and I was glad I’d
decided to give her the advance.

“Thanks, Mac. Wait,” she chirped.
“Wait. This isn’t right. It’s too much.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I gave you a
raise. When I called a couple places around town, I discovered I wasn’t paying
you enough. Don’t give me a hard time about it either. My mind’s made up.”

She smiled again and said, “Thank
you. You’re a good man, Mac Everett.”

“You won’t get odds on that,” I
replied. “Have fun at the concert, but text me when you get home. OK?”

“I’m a big girl, Mac,” she
declared. “What are you my father now?”

I gave her my best scowl, but it
didn’t work.

“OK. I’ll text you when I get home.
Call me if you need me,” she said. “Good night.”

The door closed behind her and I
settled in to make something out of nothing.

I spent a couple hours poring over
accounts of the Nassau Ghost Ship, as the local media called the abandoned
Wind
Dancer
. They were short on information and some were long on speculation,
but they all said about the same thing.
Wind Dance
left Nassau with
three people onboard. The next day she turned up abandoned off the Florida
coast. I started a file with the articles Lia had printed and added a few more.
I jotted down a few basic questions on one page and a list of people to talk to
on another. I put them both in the file. Next, I looked at the Coast Guard Marine
Casualty Report; a two-page form captured the basic facts. Name of Vessel-
Wind
Dancer
, Type-sloop, Owner-Sebastian Coffee Group, Name of Master or Person
in Charge-Sergio Sebastian, it was all very cut and dried. A narrative block
titled Description of Causality laid out the unvarnished truth.
Wind Dancer
sailed from Nassau, Bahamas, on October 8 at approximately 0730 hours
reportedly with three persons onboard identified as Sergio Sebastian, Hannah
London, and Jennifer Summers. The vessel was located, abandoned, October 9 at
1340 hours approximately fifty nautical miles southeast of Coast Guard Station
Canaveral.

Not much to show for three young
lives,
I thought.
Why would they leave port with a big storm
approaching?

I pulled up the pictures again. I
clicked through them one after another, hoping the snapshots would tell me
something. They didn’t. I printed each of the pictures and slipped them into my
file.

An impatient knock at my office
door startled me. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was after
nine. I hadn’t even noticed it was dark.

“Hold on,” I shouted.

Whoever it was must have come up
the back stairs from the Drunk Monk. I opened the door and saw my buddy Roscoe
Black.

“Hi ya Captain,” Roscoe beamed from
under his ratty fisherman’s hat. Roscoe, a robust black guy, at fifty-eight was
still slim and muscular. We’d served together in Iraq along with my other
friend Stan Lee. It had been years since we wore the uniform, but he still
called me captain, and he’d stuck with me though some rough times. Mostly, I
didn’t deserve his loyalty.

“What the hell are you doing here?”
I demanded.

“What you can’t read my mind? I
thought that was your thing,” he exclaimed.

Roscoe knew all about me-my ability
to read people and see the truth in their words, but he also knew it wasn’t a
joke to me. I closed the door in his face.

“Come on, Mac” I heard him call
from the hall.

My head dropped and I breathed a
heavy sigh. I loved Roscoe like a brother, but he could piss me off in half a heartbeat.
He was always after me about joining ‘the program’ too. I knew he’d ask about
my drinking and didn’t feel like arguing with him. I opened the door anyway.

“Sorry about the crack,” Roscoe
said. “Just making conversation.”

“What do you want, Roscoe?” I
fretted.

“I can’t come see an ol’ army
buddy?” he laughed. “I was downtown and thought I’d kill two birds by comin’ to
see you and trying out the chow here.”

“Come off it. You hate downtown,
especially at night,” I said. “I think this is the first time you’ve seen this
place since I finished the remodeling. You came all the way down here to...”

“I hear the food downstairs is
dynamite, it turns out the cook’s an old friend. He makes fried chicken my
momma could learn from,” he said. “I even know his secret ingredient. Besides,
I wanted to see you. You ain’t called me in…”

“Do I look like a damn people
person?” I said. I was joking, but only a little. “I’ve been busy and don’t ask
me about my drinking. I’m fine.”

Roscoe’s face fell. “If you feel
that way about it captain, I’ll go,” he mumbled. “Stick it where the sun…”

I reached out and grabbed his
shoulder. “Hold on, hold on, I’m practicing better living through being an
asshole,” I said. “You don’t deserve that. How are you Roscoe?”