Gamma Blade Page 7

  The clips played, one after another, some lasting ten seconds, others closer to thirty. They were of variable sound quality. Two of the men spoke only Spanish.

  After the last one, Venn said: “Play them again.”

  Estrada did so.

  Venn didn’t need to listen a third time.

  He said, “The third one. That’s him.”

  Chapter 11

  Estrada said, “You sure?”

  “Maybe eighty per cent. Eighty-five. Couldn’t swear to it in court.”

  “You couldn’t. Our DAs would never rely on testimony based on this kind of evidence.” Estrada stared at the iPad between them. She chewed her lips. Venn thought she looked buzzed, as if he’d given the answer she was hoping for.

  He said, “So who is this guy?”

  She raised her eyes. “Ernesto Justice Brull. He’s a local gangbanger. Head of his own crew. Been around five, six years, maybe. Cautious, growing his business organically. He’s still considered small fry by the MPD. But I know this guy’s going to be massive. He’s smart. Ambitious. And he’s going to pull something off. A coup, that will catapult him into the top echelons of the Miami underworld.”

  “Why’d you guess he was the one I encountered?” said Venn.

  Estrada paused, her expression wary again.

  “Venn,” she said. “One last time. You’re who you say you are? A weekend tripper, here with your doctor girlfriend? You’re not here to dip your New York stick into our particular pot of shit and give it a stir?”

  “I’m not even going to answer that again.”

  “Okay.” She began gripping her hands together again, squeezing the fingers together. “For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been waiting for Brull to make a move. In what way, exactly, I don’t know. But the intelligence that’s been coming in - low-level informants, undercover cops, so forth - has suggested his area of interest concerns the waterfront. That isn’t exactly unusual, of course. Most of the gangs here have some connection with the sea. Drugs, mostly. Gunrunning, also. But Brull’s focus seems to be on the marina, specifically. The wealthier end of the spectrum.”

  “Drugs and guns involve rich people, too,” Venn pointed out.

  “Yeah. So that may be what Brull’s business is all about. Still, I’ve been watching the marina for a couple weeks now, like I said.” Estrada paused again. “Tonight, you saw those guys lined up along the pier. Then some stranger gets knocked out cold, and when you give chase, another guy pulls a gun on you and toys with you a little, before deciding not to kill you. You describe this guy as at least a little educated, and obviously smart enough not to shoot a cop. That fits Brull. Fits a lot of other guys, too, but still.”

  Venn thought about it. “That boat the men on the pier were watching,” he said.

  “The Merry May. I’ve checked it out. It belongs to an Irishman named Paul O’Reilly. He owns a small boat rental firm on the marina. The kind of business that caters to folks who aren’t really sailing enthusiasts but want to try their hand at it, just so they can say they’ve done it.”

  “Is he clean?” asked Venn.

  Estrada said, “Far as I can tell. No record, locally or with the Feds. This O’Reilly seems to be a fairly wealthy sailor who runs his business as a sideline, to keep his income topped up, but mostly because he just enjoys the whole marina atmosphere.”

  “You talk to him yet?” Venn suspected she hadn’t, because she wouldn’t have had time before coming to the hospital.

  Estrada shook her head. “He’s out of town. The patrol guys spoke to the staff on his yacht, and he’s gone up to Orlando. We’ve notified him, asked him to come back down so we can ask him a few questions.”

  A dead end, Venn thought. He said, “What about the guy who got his lights knocked out? The one here in hospital? Any idea who he is?”

  “No. Apart from his driving license, we have nothing on James Harris. But we’ll need to start on him the moment he wakes up, of course. And if he wasn’t just an innocent bystander, if he was watching the men watching the boat, then maybe he saw something important.”

  “Which means this Brull guy, if that’s who he was, will also be looking for him.”

  “Right,” said Estrada. “I’ve got two undercover cops on standby, to be near him on whichever ward he’s admitted to. No uniforms. I don’t want a deterrent. I want to catch Brull’s people if they make a move on Harris.”

  Venn studied Estrada some more. He said, “You’re sharing a lot of information with me, Lieutenant. You want me in on this?”

  She said, “You want in on it, I’m assuming. The guy put a gun to your head.”

  “Yeah.” The memory played itself back through Venn’s mind, like a recollection of a bad dream. He realized his fists were clenched on his thighs, and he made a conscious effort to relax them.

  “So here are the terms,” said Estrada. “This is my turf. Which means Brull and his associates are my assholes. Not yours. You get to help out, but you don’t get to call the shots. You get any smart ideas about how to proceed, you run them by me first. If you don’t, and if I find you going all vigilante on me, even a little bit, I’ll kick your butt back north so hard you’ll end up in Canada.”

  Venn was amused. “Okay.”

  “You think I’m screwing with you.” It was an observation, not a question. Estrada’s glittering eyes were cold. “Here’s why I’m not. You’ll have noted that I’m alone. That I’m not partnered up. There’s a good reason for that. I am alone. The powers that be don’t want me wasting my time on Brull. I’ve gotten myself a reputation as a pain in the ass. The bosses think I’m obsessed with this guy, and I’ve been formally warned by my captain that if I continue to pursue the Brull thing I’ll be suspended.”

  She raised her eyebrows, which had the effect of lightening her expression a degree.

  “So I’m doing this on my own, with a few helpers at a lower pay grade. If we screw this up, I’ll go down, hard. And my top brass will talk to your top brass back in New York. Tell them how you, Lieutenant Joseph Venn, stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong, for personal reasons, and interfered with the workings of the Miami PD. You’ll have a shitstorm of your own to deal with, Venn.” Estrada drew breath. “That’s it. Speech over.”

  Venn held up a hand. “Message understood. Look, Lieutenant. I know exactly where you’re coming from. I’m as territorial as the next cop. And I get antsy when I’m bucking the rules, and somebody comes along who threatens to derail things. So I’ll keep my nose clean.”

  Estrada regarded him for a long moment. Then: “Okay. But Venn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Watch the mixed metaphors,” she said. “They kind of make you sound a little dumber than you are.”

  Venn sighed. Inwardly, though, he winced. Beth had once told him something similar, though in a more diplomatic way.

  He said: “So what’ve you got in mind for now?”

  “I’m going to check on this Harris guy,” said Estrada. “Find out what sort of shape he’s in, and where he’s being admitted. Then post my plainclothes guys. Then put feelers out on my network. See what’s been going down in Brull’s world tonight.”

  “What do you need me to do?” said Venn.

  Estrada stood up. “Go back to your girl,” she said. “Get a night’s sleep. What you doing tomorrow?”

  Venn thought about the day he’d had semi-planned. Beth was starting the conference early, so Venn had intended to lay in bed a little longer than usual, then take a stroll down by the water, catch a late breakfast.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “You staying at the Eden Palms?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. She would have checked out which hotel he was booked into.

  “I’ll meet you there at nine a.m.,” said Estrada. “Out in front.”

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and preceded him out the door of the office.

  As Venn followed, he watched her wiry, fast stride, and thought to himsel
f that there was something he wasn’t quite getting about Detective Lieutenant Lauren Estrada.

  She was edgy, intense. Driven. Nothing odd about that. A lot of the best cops were.

  But she’d said she’d been threatened with suspension if she pursued this Brull guy any longer. Cops, especially senior detectives, didn’t get canned for riding their own particular hobby horses. Every detective had one. A cold case that niggled away at them, a petty criminal they’d encountered who’d given them a bad vibe and might be part of something bigger.

  No. Either she was lying about risking suspension.

  Or, she’d done something else to warrant it. Something more serious.

  Venn shook his head, in part to try to clear the grogginess which lingered from the blow he’d received earlier.

  As he headed down the corridor, he took out his cell phone to call Beth.

  Chapter 12

  Beth’s specialism was as an internist, but all through her training she’d taken a particular interest in neurology. Which was why, when she’d been ticking the boxes for her choice of lectures and seminars to attend during the conference, she’d opted for several neurological ones.

  The main one of the morning was a presentation by a San Diego professor of his research into a potential new therapeutic agent for multiple sclerosis. His results were controversial, and Beth anticipated a lot of lively, indeed heated, debate during the Q&A session afterward.

  She’d slept well, far better than she’d expected, and she woke with the alarm at six. Her first thought was that she was on the mend.

  She looked down at Venn beside her, his eyes still shut but his lips murmuring grumpily at the sound of the alarm, and she smiled.

  Back in the late summer and fall of last year, Beth had gone through a bad patch. She’d been taken hostage by a group of Mexican drug dealers who’d infiltrated New York, and although Venn had gotten her free, she’d started to suffer chronic anxiety and flashbacks soon afterward. She’d been objective enough to recognize the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, and had sought help, but the problem had placed a severe strain on her relationship with Venn, and they’d separated for a while.

  She was better now, getting a little more so with each passing day. She still had the occasional flashback, and would wake some nights, or pause in her work at the hospital, feeling the cold steel of a gun barrel against her temple, rough hands gripping her arms. But she was able to take a step back and calm herself, and the terror tended to fade sooner rather than later. And she was able to enjoy life once again, without the crippling sense of tension which had been present even in the absence of flashbacks.

  But Beth knew that while she was with Venn, the fear of him coming to harm, to violent harm, would never entirely leave her. Because that was what he risked on an almost daily basis.

  She’d made a decision to learn to tolerate that fear, because she’d decided she wanted to be with Venn for the rest of her life. It took evenings like the last one, however, to remind her just how fragile their life together was, how suddenly Venn could be taken away from her.

  But, waking this morning and feeling refreshed, and unable to recall any nightmares, Beth understood that she was getting stronger. More resilient. Yes, Venn had been at extreme risk in the alleyway last night. But he’d survived, and that was something to celebrate, not to brood over.

  She slipped out of bed and peeked out through the curtains. The early morning sunlight bathed the palm-lined street outside the hotel in a golden light. The sky was cloudless, and a blue tinged with rosiness.

  By the time she’d showered and dressed, Venn was awake, or at least close to it. He lay propped up on an elbow, gazing at her sleepily.

  “Hey,” she said, padding over and kissing him. “Go back to sleep.”

  Venn squinted at the bedside clock. “Six thirty?”

  “I told you I had an early start.” His hand reached for her, trying to catch her round the waist, and she dodged away playfully. “None of that, now. We’ll have plenty of time tonight.”

  Venn groaned. “Tonight’s like sixteen hours away.”

  “It’ll be all the more fun for the wait.” Beth picked up her purse and checked her makeup in the full-length mirror on the wall. “I’ll be in conference all morning, but if you need to talk to me, text me, okay? I’ll try slip out.”

  “I won’t bother you.” Venn lay back on the pillow, looking as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to go back to sleep. “Catch up with you maybe lunchtime, yeah?”

  “Okay.” She kissed him again, delicately so as not to smear her lipstick. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  *

  Beth had a working breakfast in the hotel restaurant with a group of colleagues, before they headed down to the auditorium together. The room was enormous, like an arena, and the presentation by the San Diego professor was, as she’d expected, controversial. The debate afterward was fiery if not hostile, and Beth herself had a question she wanted to put to the speaker, but she didn’t get a chance because of the sheer number of requests.

  She checked her phone discreetly from time to time, but there was no text from Venn. She was relieved. Not because she didn’t want to hear from him, but because he’d said he wouldn’t bother her, and that meant he’d only message her if something bad had happened. She wondered what kind of a morning he was having, if he was taking it easy and exploring Miami as he’d intended.

  She doubted it. Venn wasn’t the sort of man who would let a thing like last night go. He’d scratch that itch until it bled.

  He’d returned to the hotel a few minutes after her last night, and related briefly what the detective, Estrada, had told him: that there was a suspect identified as Venn’s possible attacker in the alleyway. He didn’t mention a name, and Beth knew better than to push further. Venn said Estrada might contact him in the morning to talk more. And that was it.

  Beth pictured Venn strolling around the city for an hour at most, then giving up on any attempt to distract himself and heading for the marina and the scene of the events last night. Or maybe seeking out Estrada.

  Or, heading for the hospital where the stranger Beth had helped, James Harris, was being cared for.

  The morning session drew to a close, and Beth found herself in the lobby of the auditorium, sipping coffee and chatting to another set of colleagues whom she knew vaguely. One of the most useful aspects of a conference like this wasn’t so much the content of the talks and seminars, but the opportunity for networking with fellow physicians. Already she’d had an offer to collaborate with a Milwaukee team on a research project involving acute stroke victims, and she’d been introduced personally to a couple of the big names in neurology from UCLA and the Mayo Clinic.

  Lunch was approaching, and although there was a buffet laid on at the hotel as part of the conference program, Beth and a couple of other doctors had talked about getting away for an hour and finding a bistro with al fresco dining out in the sunshine. She was heading for the restroom to freshen up when her phone rang.

  Beth looked at it, expecting to see Venn’s name come up. But it was an unfamiliar number.

  She answered: “Hello, Beth Colby?”

  “Dr Colby,” said a man’s voice she didn’t recognize. “Sorry to trouble you. My name is Dr Craig Sanders. I’m a neurologist at St Ignatius’s Hospital. You gave emergency treatment to a Mr James Harris last night.”

  Beth’s interest was piqued. “That’s right,” she said. “Is he all right? What’s his status?”

  “He regained consciousness a half hour ago,” said the doctor. “Opened his eyes, moved a little. The ward nurses called me, but by the time I got there, he’d slipped under again.”

  “What did the brain imaging show?” asked Beth.

  “Not a lot,” said Dr Sanders. “No fracture on the CT, no evidence of intracranial hemorrhage on either the CT or the MRI. No cerebral edema. It’s a diffuse injury, by the look of it. And he’s intact, neurolo
gically. He’ll come round again sooner or later.” The doctor paused a second, to address somebody in the background who was trying to get his attention. He came back: “Anyway, I didn’t call just to update you. As I said, I wasn’t there when he woke up, but the nurses who reached him first said he asked for you.”

  Beth wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Asked for me?”

  “Not by name,” said Sanders. “But he grabbed one of the nurses by the arm and said: Where’s the woman? The nurse asked him which woman he meant. And he said, The woman in the street. The one after I fell. That’s verbatim, by the way. The nurse wrote it down immediately after.”

  Beth considered this.

  “I guess he was delirious,” she said. “He spoke about the last thing he recalled. Which was me.”

  “Probably,” said Sanders. “But do you know this man?”

  Beth said, “No. He’s a complete stranger.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Sanders spoke away from the phone again, then came back. “It’s just that... the nurses said he looked really intense. Like he wanted to convey some kind of a message, and like he knew he wasn’t going to stay conscious for very long, and it was imperative that he find out where you were, or get a message to you, or something.”

  He waited, as if he was expecting Beth to respond.

  She said, “I can get down there in maybe fifteen minutes. How about I talk to him? See if there’s any response?”

  “That’d be a help.” Sanders sounded grateful. “Well, actually it probably won’t do anything. Like I say, the guy’s out cold again. But it can’t hurt. And we’re at a loss with him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we can’t trace any next of kin. And the address on his driving license is fake. Our ward clerk made some calls, and it turns out the street and zip code are for an abandoned lot in Denver, Colorado, scheduled for demolition.”

  Beth felt a prickle of something at the nape of her neck. It was unease, partly.

  But also intrigue.

  She said: “Okay. I’ll be there. Twenty minutes, tops.”