Tonight I Said Goodbye (St. Martin's Minotaur Mystery) (23 page)

She stopped talking. I said, "And?"

"And?"

I raised my eyebrows. "And what the hell have you been doing since then? It's been days."

"I wanted to call the police right away. I figured I could tell them everything, and we wouldn't be in any danger. But Randy told me not to. He said the Russians were still going to be looking for us, because they knew we were alive, and they knew we could testify against them. And he didn't trust the police or the FBI for the same reasons Wayne hadn't--he thought Hubbard could pull strings. So we stayed here, waiting to see what the police would turn up. When it was obvious they weren't producing anything, Randy went to Cleveland to sort it out."

"Sort it out?" I said. "How?"

She frowned. "By killing the Russians, maybe? By killing Hubbard? By killing everyone involved? I don't know, but I'm sure that's what he had in mind. Randy is a very dangerous man in his own right, Mr. Perry. I've known him for years, and I'll admit he still scares me. I know he would never hurt Betsy or me, but I'm certainly not comfortable around him. After we found out Wayne had been killed, Randy made it clear he was in charge. I didn't argue. I was scared, and alone, and I had no one else to turn to. He told me he'd go to Cleveland and be back in a few days."

"So you let him go."

She pushed her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears. "What was I supposed to do? Stop him? Argue with him?" She shook her head. "You've obviously never met Randy Hartwick."

"I met him," I said. "For about ten seconds, until someone put a bullet through his chest."

She lifted her hand halfway to her lips and held it there, frozen, her mouth open and her eyes wide. "Randy's dead?"

"Randy's dead. That's what led me here. I wasn't expecting to find you; I was just trying to find out more about him."

She eased slowly into the plastic deck chair beside me, as if this last bit of news had extinguished the final flickering embers that had fueled her.

"So the Russians killed your husband?" I said, knowing she wasn't up to more questioning but still trying to sort out the details.

She swiveled her head and met my eyes, "No. The Russians did not kill my husband. Whoever killed him made it look like a suicide, Mr. Perry."

"Lincoln."

"Whoever killed him made it look like a suicide, Lincoln. The Russians would never have been able to get inside our home to do that. Wayne was too smart for that."

"So who do you think killed him?"

"Jeremiah Hubbard," she said flatly, as if there were no room for doubt in her mind.

I didn't know about that, but I didn't argue with her. It was easy to believe Hubbard might have been involved in Weston's death, but I had trouble imagining the aging real estate mogul doing his own gun handling.

"So you've stayed hidden in this hotel," I said, "because Hartwick told you not to go to the police?"

"That was my decision," she said firmly. "My life as I knew it is over. I understand that, and I have to accept it. My husband has angered the most dangerous group of men in the country. They will kill my daughter and me if they can find us. Jeremiah Hubbard will do the same. If we go to the police, we will be placed in witness protection and forced into whatever life they decide to give us. That is not how I will raise my daughter. But I also can't let the world believe Wayne killed Betsy and me like they've been saying on the news. And I can't let Jeremiah Hubbard get away with this."

"So what are you planning to do?" I asked.

She looked away. "I don't know. Randy told me to wait here, and that's what I was doing. But I know we're not safe here anymore. You proved that by finding us."

For a while we sat in silence. Then I said, "So that's the story? I know everything I should know now?"

"Yes," she said. "Well, almost. There is one other thing you should know."

"What's that?"

"Remember the videotape Wayne shot of the murder?" she said.

"Yes."

"I have it."

W
E STAYED
on the balcony for another hour, but I could tell she was fatigued, so around midnight I told her I would leave so she could sleep. She stopped me at the door, though, and asked me to sleep on the couch.

"I can stay," I said, surprised by the request but not unhappy. I'd had a slight fear I might wake up in the morning to find they'd checked out of the hotel and disappeared. Then I'd get the pleasure of calling Joe.
Yeah, good news, Pritchard. I found Julie and Betsy Weston. Where are they? Well, um, that's a good question. You see, they kind of slipped away while I was asleep.

I told Julie I'd be right back, and then I went down to my own room. It was nice to have a moment alone. It had been only a few hours since I'd left, but it seemed as if it had been days. I closed the door to the balcony and then found my bag. The Glock was inside with a full clip and one spare. I checked the load in the gun and put it back in the bag. It was a Glock 26, known as a "Baby Glock" because of its short barrel, but still outfitted with a ten-shot clip. The gun was small enough to conceal easily in a spine holster and powerful enough to do some serious damage in a short amount of time. It was the first handgun I'd ever bought. An old friend now. I had no reason to believe I was going to need a weapon, but I still felt better knowing it was there. The last man who had tried to help Julie Weston was Randy Hartwick, and I'd watched him die in front of me. Before that, someone had killed her husband. I had no desire to repeat the pattern.

Before going back upstairs, I used my cell phone to call Joe again. This time, I called him at home, knowing he would be there, likely asleep. Joe didn't have an answering machine, and the phone rang eight times without being picked up. I let it keep going, though, trusting he'd be pissed off enough to get it eventually.

"Hello?" He finally answered, and he definitely sounded unhappy.

"Greetings from the beautiful beaches of South Carolina," I said. "Are we having an enjoyable evening, Mr. Pritchard?"

"What the hell do you want?" Testy.

"I found Julie and Betsy Weston. They're here in the hotel where Hartwick worked. I just spent the last two hours talking to Julie." I could hear him take in his breath sharply, but he didn't speak.

I summarized everything Julie had told me, but I didn't mention she had the murder tape. When he spoke again, he was wide awake and all the irritation was gone from his voice.

"When did he shoot the tape of the murder?"

"I don't know."

"Does she?"

"Maybe. I didn't ask."

"Ask."

"All right."

He exhaled loudly. "Nice work, Lincoln. I guess the case is closed, eh?"

"I guess so," I said slowly. "How do we handle it from here on out, though?"

"How does she want it to be handled?"

"She's not sure. She said Hartwick went to Cleveland to 'sort things out.' She doesn't know what this meant, but she thinks he was probably planning to leave some bodies behind. She said she can't let the media think Wayne killed her and the girl, but she's also afraid to enter witness protection."

"Afraid they won't keep her safe from the Russians? Why would the Russians bother coming after her if Weston is dead?"

"A couple of reasons," I said. "First of all, like Cody said, they're crazy. Second, they surely assume her husband told her things that could hurt them, and they know she'll be asked to testify. Third, they might suspect she has the tape of the murder."

"Why would they think that?"

"Because she does have it."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Nope."

"Have you seen it?"

"Not yet. I hope to tomorrow."

"So she produces the tape, testifies if she needs to, and they go to jail," he said. "End of story. Except that's not how it works with the mob. She testifies, they go to jail, and their buddies hunt her down and kill her just to make a statement." He sighed again. I'd really spoiled his night with this call.

"I guess it's not our problem," I said. I didn't want to hand Julie and Betsy Weston over to the FBI, but it seemed the logical way to handle the situation.

"You're thinking we turn them over to the police?"

"We have to," I said, "don't you think?"

"I'm a little hesitant to do that now, and here's why: While you were lounging poolside today, Kinkaid and I were doing some damn fine work. We spent the day wearing out shoe leather and interviewing anyone who might know anything about our Soviet acquaintances. Guess what we found out?"

"No idea."

"Turns out Dainius Belov is a silent partner in a number of local businesses. You know, fronts that he can use to launder cash. And one of these said 'businesses' is located in the Flats. It's a charming little establishment called The River Wild."

"You mean the strip club Hubbard's trying to buy out?"

"The very one."

I stared out at the dark ocean and thought about that. If Wayne
Weston had been shooting film for extortion purposes and pissed off the Russians, it could likely have been at The River Wild. The timing was perfect, since Hubbard was actively pursuing the property.

"What are you thinking?" Joe said.

"Just that it makes sense. Heard of any murders at The River Wild lately?"

"No, but that doesn't mean anything. I'll check it out."

"Do that." I switched the phone to my left hand and leaned against the wall, watching the white crests of the waves glitter on top of the black water as the moonlight hit them. "A minute ago you said you were hesitant to hand the Westons over to the police. I'm not arguing with you, but I don't understand your reasoning."

"That's because I didn't get a chance to finish. Like I said, Kinkaid and I had a productive day. Finding out Belov owns a stake in The River Wild was just a small portion of that productivity. I also decided to check out our man Cody, since I never had a good feeling about him. I didn't like the way he had us misled initially, and I also didn't like the way he blew off our tip about Hubbard."

"Right."

"Well, we ran a pretty thorough background check on him. Turns out Mr. Cody is ten years out of law school."

"Okay." That didn't surprise me; many FBI agents are law school graduates. The best way to get into the Bureau without a police background is to have a degree in either law or accounting.

"While he was in law school, Cody held a summer internship in Cleveland. I'll bet you can't guess where he did his internship."

"Hubbard's real estate company?"

"Nope, but close. I'll give you a hint; you called him Dicky D."

My smart-ass comment in Hubbard's office when he'd referred us to his attorney.

"Cody worked for Richard Douglass?"

"Uh-huh. He worked three summers in a row for Mr. Douglass and his associates. Then, when he graduated from law school, he came
back and worked another year and a half with the firm before he was accepted into the FBI Academy."

"Holy shit," I said. "You're saying Hubbard's pulling the strings in this investigation?"

"I'm not saying that yet," he said. "But knowing what we know about Hubbard and Weston, and knowing what we know about Cody, do you really want to call him and tell him where the wife and daughter are?"

"No."

"Exactly."

I ran my hand through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut. What had started out a relaxing evening was now anything but that. "What the hell should we do, then, Joe? We can't just pack them on a plane for Belize or wherever it is they were going and let everyone think they're dead. We owe John Weston more than that, if no one else."

"We'll work something out," Joe said. "For now, the most important thing is keeping them safe. That job's in your hands."

Great. I was the appointed guardian of a woman who attracted corpses almost as fast as she attracted stares from men.

"So I stay here? I just sit in the hotel with them, keep them safe? And then what? Eventually we've got to take some sort of action."

"I know that. Give me a day to sort things out."

Sort things out. That's what Julie had said Randy Hartwick intended to do. It hadn't worked out well for him.

"What are you planning on?" I asked.

"We need to know more about this murder. Once we have an idea of what went on with that, we can talk about our options. Tomorrow, you watch that tape. See what you can learn from it; see if any familiar faces are on it, whatever. In the meantime, Kinkaid and I will be doing the same thing on our end. Give me a call tomorrow afternoon and we'll see what we have."

"Okay."

"And LP?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to keep those two alive until then, all right?"

He hung up before I could answer. I set the phone down, pulled the drapes shut in front of the balcony door, picked up my bag, locked the room, and went back upstairs. Julie pulled the door open at my knock.