Blood Tracks, page 2
Mitch’s mouth opened to scream.
Hector’s hand slapped over it, and the proof of his emasculation was forced between Mitch’s teeth.
Gagging, trying to spit out the choking flesh, Mitch grew frantic. He flopped and twisted and kicked and more blood gouted over the yellow slicker. His mutilator stared, while forcing his gloved hand harder against Mitch’s mouth and nostrils. Hector wouldn’t relinquish his hold until Mitch swallowed. He aimed an order at the men holding Mitch. ‘One of you bring me that upholsterer’s gun from the table.’
TWO
The blade had cut exceptionally deep.
The scar on her wrist was pink against her skin, not exactly vivid, but noticeable to someone with an eye for detail. Usually when an observer noticed the scar they formed a wrong opinion of Tess Grey. Most people didn’t mention the healing wound, but they considered it, and what it meant about her as a person. Ordinarily she wouldn’t give a damn what they thought, or their incorrect assumption of how her wrist had been cut so deeply, but it was different when it was a prospective employer. She turned over her hand and discreetly pulled down the cuff of her jacket sleeve with the other. Opposite her, the woman noticed Tess’s discomfort, but didn’t comment.
They were sitting in the smartly dressed woman’s office on Baxter Boulevard, near Belmeade Park, in Portland, Maine, from where Tess looked out across Black Cove. The office was typical of what Tess expected of an attorney, but with a better view. The woman wasn’t a lawyer; she worked on behalf of a specialist inquiry firm, headed by Richard Jackson. Tess had heard of Jackson, a former Special Agent in Charge who’d run the local FBI field office for years, and current specialist investigator, but didn’t know his second-in-command. In earlier days the woman would have been termed a private investigator, but she hadn’t introduced herself as such. She’d given her name as Mrs Emma Clancy, and her title as Assistant Inquiry Agent to the Attorney’s Office. In return Tess had offered only her name and the innocuous tag of genealogist – perhaps she should’ve given a more highfalutin title along the lines of Historical Familial Researcher and Examiner and met Clancy’s smile. Let’s face it, she’d thought, we’re both private dicks; you have a nicer office, nicer clothes, and a view to die for, but we both do the same kind of scut work.
They had shaken hands in perfunctory manner, then Clancy waved her to take a seat. In that brief interaction Clancy’s glance had gone to Tess’s wrist, and her summation had pulled at the corners of her mouth. Tess folded her left hand over her right, placing them in her lap.
‘Thank you for coming, Miss Grey,’ said Clancy as she sat. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs. ‘I hope this meeting proves productive for us both.’
‘I hope I can be of assistance to you.’
Clancy consulted a sheet of paper on her desk. Tess doubted she needed to refresh her memory, and that the checking of her notes was simply an unconscious trait. ‘You come to us highly recommended,’ Clancy said, and nodded to herself.
‘I do? Who was it that recommended me?’ Tess was surprised when she’d received a call from Clancy’s office requesting her attendance, and wondered why she’d come to the woman’s attention.
Clancy thought about her reply, but elected to keep her source confidential. ‘You were a law-enforcement officer prior to your current position, right?’
‘I was with the Cumberland County Sheriff’s Office right here in town,’ Tess confirmed.
‘I’ve heard that you were good at your job, and would likely have progressed through the ranks had you not left. And yet you’re now working in the private investigations industry as a genealogist.’
Clancy was pushing for an admission that Tess’s previous job had been too tough to handle and she’d taken extreme measures to get out. If she were any kind of investigator, Clancy should know the real reason for Tess leaving her law-enforcement career behind. Clancy knew, Tess was certain. She didn’t feel a need to go over it now, though there was a point she wanted to make. ‘I didn’t leave. I was forced out. Thankfully I had another skill-set to fall back on. I majored in history and cultural anthropology at Husson University. It makes sense that I use my education to pay for me in my current occupation.’
‘Your background makes you the ideal candidate for the task we have in mind,’ Clancy said. ‘Your law-enforcement and genealogical experience should stand you in good stead.’
Tess didn’t know how best to answer; instead she simply waited.
Clancy pushed a file across the desk. ‘Inside you’ll find details of the person we’re hoping to trace. His name is Crawford Wynne, born July seventh, nineteen sixty-nine in New Orleans, all the other details you will require are in his personal file: I’ll also have a digital version of the file supplied to you once we agree terms. We believe Wynne is now residing in Louisiana, but all our previous efforts at locating him have come up empty.’
‘You want me to go to Louisiana?’
‘Is travel a problem?’
‘No. But why do you not use an investigator down there to locate him?’
‘We have, but as I said, without success. The benefit in using an investigator local to the area is one of familiarity, but it also comes with a drawback: out of sight, out of mind. We haven’t much faith in the level of service we’ve received for our fee. Reports from the investigations company we engaged have been less than encouraging, and we can’t guarantee that any other company down there will offer a higher level of service. It’s why I was tasked with finding someone here in Maine who can offer a more personal service; someone prepared to work diligently on our behalf. Like I said, you’ve been highly recommended, and judging by your previous successes I have full confidence in your abilities.’
As a sergeant with Cumberland County Sheriff’s Office, Tess had distinguished herself, her tough go-get-’em attitude winning her the kind of respect only given grudgingly on both sides of the law-enforcement fence. It was as Clancy had mentioned, before her career with CCSO ended she was poised to rise through the ranks but her climb was based on hard work and commitment, not through manipulation or the internal politics that usually came into play. In regards to her genealogical career path Tess’s previous successes weren’t huge, but yes, she’d given her full, undivided attention to each case she’d taken on since leaving the Sheriff’s Department. The fact that her jobs had been few and hardly taxing of her abilities was beside the point. A dozen times she’d fully satisfied her clients and their glowing testimonials took pride of place on her company website. The jobs she’d undertaken were varied, from compiling family trees through locating beneficiaries of inheritances, and on one occasion tracking down a match for an adopted child in dire need of a bone-marrow transplant. She guessed that Clancy’s confidence was based primarily on when Tess carried a badge and gun.
‘I take it you’ve asked Louisiana law enforcement for assistance in locating Wynne?’ Tess said.
Clancy laughed through her nose. ‘You were a deputy sheriff; you know how these things work. Wynne – despite his criminal tendencies – is not a suspect in the case we’re working on, otherwise the FBI would go after him. He’s more valuable to us a witness for the prosecution. If a warrant had been sworn for his arrest, the police would indeed act on our behalf, but they aren’t going out of their way to trace him as a witness. I expect our request for assistance is still sitting ignored in a fax machine somewhere.’
Tess knew exactly what Clancy meant. There were more important things for a police officer to be getting on with than chasing down possible witnesses on behalf of a prosecutor’s office out of their jurisdiction.
Clancy said, ‘We’re offering an attractive reimbursement package for your time and expertise, and will of course cover all accrued expenses during your investigation.’ She shrugged. ‘I appreciate you’re unfamiliar with Louisiana, and might feel a little out of your depth alone down there. If you wish to hire a local guide then we’ll foot those expenses too.’
Tess could use some of those promised expenses up front. Not that she’d admit it, but the income earned from previous cases had already disappeared into the black hole of her empty bank account. She wasn’t fully destitute yet, but with no other promise of income on the horizon she desperately needed this job. Her mother had offered her money, not a loan but a gift, but Tess turned it down. Accepting the cash bailout would be tantamount to admitting defeat, and her mother would’ve won another small victory against her. Securing employment with Clancy’s firm wouldn’t only balance the books; it would also knock the perpetual frown of dismay off her mother’s brow. She mustn’t come over too needy, though a veiled hint concerning her lack of funds might not go amiss. ‘Shall I leave the travel and accommodation booking to your office?’
‘We can handle that for you, Miss Grey.’ Clancy offered a smile that said she suspected Tess was almost bankrupt, but it wasn’t without a touch of sympathy. Tess thought that Clancy was counting on Tess’s desperation to ensure a service above and beyond what they’d received from previous investigators. Clancy passed a small plastic wallet across the desk. ‘It’s a company credit card. You can charge your ongoing expenses to it as necessary. If you need to use it for your personal use, payment can be deducted from your fee at completion of the contract.’
Tess resisted opening the wallet and inspecting the credit card. One thing that was certain; it appeared she’d got the job, and there was no way she was going to turn it down. ‘I think now would be a good time to tell you how much I—’
‘We’ll pay a set fee that we believe will be more than to your satisfaction,’ Clancy butted in. ‘We require you to trace Crawford Wynne, subpoena him as a material witness if necessary, and get him back here as quickly as possible. Your fee is based upon your success, Miss Grey, and we have confidence in you upholding your end. In fact,’ she said as if making an executive decision, ‘get him back here within the week and you’ll earn a bonus of twenty per cent on top. Are these terms agreeable?’
Hell yes, Tess thought. Instead she said, ‘I really should ask about your set fee first …’
‘Of course.’ Clancy flicked open the file, turning it so that Tess could read the draft contract on the first page. Tess swallowed hard when spotting the fee. There was an extra zero at the end she hadn’t expected.
‘As you can tell,’ Clancy went on, ‘it’s important that Crawford Wynne be located, and we’re prepared to pay handsomely for his retrieval. But it must be within the week. There’s an upcoming court hearing and it’s imperative that bail is denied. Without Wynne’s testimony there’s little hope of that happening. We cannot afford for this criminal to be back on the streets.’
‘Then I’ll do everything I can to bring back Wynne in time,’ Tess pledged.
Clancy’s smile became fixed. ‘Before you sign the contract I must warn you. Crawford Wynne is not a nice person. While he was here in Maine, he spoke to us about his employer’s criminal activities, and he had no recourse but flee back home to Louisiana for fear of retribution. He might not be eager to return with you.’
‘You want me to kidnap him and drag him back to Maine?’ Tess laughed at her own joke.
Clancy didn’t laugh. ‘I should also warn you Wynne might not be the only one who doesn’t want him here. You should familiarize yourself with the information I’ve supplied. It makes for stomach-churning reading at times, but it’s best you’re forewarned.’ Clancy studied Tess. ‘You don’t appear overly concerned by that suggestion.’
‘I didn’t leave the Sheriff’s Department because I was afraid,’ Tess stated.
‘No,’ Clancy said, ‘you didn’t. But in this instance it might serve you to be cautious. Have you heard the name Alberto Suarez?’
The name was familiar but Tess couldn’t bring a face to mind.
‘You might have read about his recent arrest,’ Clancy went on. ‘Though you might have heard of him under a different name: Albert Sower?’
‘The drugs guy?’ Sower’s arrest had made the news weeks ago, but Tess hadn’t given it too much notice, too busy with her own life to follow the updates. When she was still with the Sheriff’s Department Sower’s name had been mentioned on occasion too, but not through any active cases she’d been involved in.
‘I think that description is an understatement, but yes. Alongside the FBI, the State Attorney’s Office is currently compiling a case against Sower as the head of an organized crime syndicate responsible for bringing illegal narcotics into Maine, direct from his homeland of Bolivia. His group is suspected of transporting drugs across the Canadian border and through some of the smaller ports on the coastline. But those are the least of the crimes they’re responsible for. Corruption, blackmail, possession of illegal firearms, violence, rape, murder, the list is not exhaustive.’ Clancy tapped the open file with a manicured fingernail. ‘The charges against Sower will mean nothing if we don’t have witnesses on the stand. Five of those we’d already secured have gone missing, presumed dead. Someone, we believe, is picking off witnesses, and dealing with them in an uncompromising manner, and sadly the media have gotten hold of the story and have run with it. Because of that we’re having trouble reassuring other potential witnesses of their safety. When you do find Wynne, tell him we’re prepared to offer leniency from prosecution and witness protection in return for his testimony. If he refuses, then subpoena him and have local law enforcement detain him and we’ll arrange his carriage back here.’
‘I can do that.’
‘I’m sure you can. But before you commit to this you should take a look at the photographs of the one victim we did find. If those pictures don’t change your mind, then they might help motivate your search. Even if the sickening manner of his death doesn’t shock you, then his identity will. Mitchel Delaney was an undercover narcotics officer working out of Bangor.’
Clancy had kept that denouement to last because it was indeed motivation: there was a full task force investigating Delaney’s murder but Tess would still want to do her bit to avenge a fellow law-enforcement officer. She did, but she’d have accepted the task whomever the victim was. More than she required the promised money, she needed to regain her self-worth, and prove to the naysayers – chief of whom was her mother – that they’d been wrong about her.
‘You can count on me, Mrs Clancy,’ she promised.
‘Then call me Emma. If we’re going to be working together, we needn’t be so formal, need we?’
Clancy assured her that everything Tess needed to get started was contained within the file she’d been supplied, and anything requiring clarification she could glean from the end of a phone. With a promise to have her assistant, Monica Perry, begin booking travel arrangements to New Orleans, Clancy passed over her personal cell number. ‘I’d appreciate daily progress updates and that’s the best number to reach me on.’
‘No problem,’ Tess said, and scrawled her signature on the contract of employment. Her handwriting was spidery, partly through barely subdued anticipation, partly through the injury to her wrist that affected her dexterity.
She left the office in a daze, the warnings ringing in her mind, but Clancy’s parting shot had had the desired effect of motivating her. She should be concerned that she’d taken on something beyond her abilities, and admit to being concerned by the possibility of running foul of Albert Sower’s people during her pursuit of Crawford Wynne. When she’d the resources of the Sheriff’s Department behind her she’d have happily taken on anything Sower could throw at her. Could she say the same now? But she wasn’t fearful. No. She was angry on behalf of Delaney, having learned he’d left behind a grieving widow and young son. She was equally angry for the others suspected of falling victim in order that Albert Sower evade incarceration; they might have been criminals, but nobody should suffer as Delaney had. Even Crawford Wynne – by anyone’s standards a bad man – deserved better than mutilation at the hands of a depraved killer. She’d pledged to find Wynne, bring him back, save him from similar brutal torture, and they were promises she was determined to uphold.
Outside she turned towards Belmeade Park, pondering her first move. Clancy was probably correct: down in Louisiana she might be out of her depth in more ways than one. But she wasn’t going to let anything stop her. She was sure she could engage the help she needed, and who to go to for it.
She took out her cell phone and called her brother Alex, walking head down as she spoke into the phone. She didn’t notice the car parked on Baxter Boulevard opposite Clancy’s office, or the undue attention its occupants paid her. The fair-haired man in the front passenger seat took out his cell phone and hit a number. Tess didn’t hear the corresponding ring of a phone in the office she’d just left.
THREE
Charley’s Auto Shop, a squat cinder-block building with a tin roof, sitting on the corner of a Portland street, stank of hot rubber and engine oil. Old oil, degraded, the air gritty with it. It was an aroma that took Tess back in memory, way back to when she was a small child, watching from the rough bench in his workshop as her grandfather tinkered with his boat’s outboard motor. It was a happy smell, though it had no right to be. The metallic clanks and knocks, the hiss of pneumatics, had no real place in her memory, but they were fitting all the same.
An elderly man, his legs bowed like a sailor’s, was working under the hood of a classic Ford Mustang. It was a muscle car, a genuine car of distinction, unlike the gas-saving Prius she’d parked outside. Tess allowed her gaze to trail along the car’s masculine lines, and she nodded in appreciation. It wasn’t with any knowledge of automobiles, or even a wish to own a classic like it, just that the car embodied earlier times, as did the smell of perished oil. She could imagine her grandfather driving a car just like it, back when he’d been a Homicide cop in NYC. Back before he was shot dead by a punk cranked up on LSD after her grandfather walked in on a convenience-store robbery. Her grandfather’s life in exchange for a few dollars and a handful of Hershey bars scooped up as the armed robber fled the scene.
