Chasing the Captain Read online

Lee frowned. “One thing I don’t like about Granberry’s is that they have too few of these. The queues are always massive, and they are located close to the exits. There is almost always lots of cash in the till since her patrons often have bad credit and trade in the ‘coin of the realm.’ They attract thieves like bees to honey.”

  Zoe touched Lee’s arm. “Look at the low-life in the purse section. He has a partner checking out the jewelry.” Zoe pointed to a short rat-faced Mediterranean-looking man inspecting the women’s purse display to the left of the kiosk. To the right, a tall, unshaven Caucasian fondled the lingerie.

  “Out of place,” Zoe added. “Two odd sods.”

  Zoe pointed to a short rat-faced Mediterranean-looking man inspecting the women’s purse display to the left of the kiosk. To the right, a tall, unshaven Caucasian fondled the lingerie.

  “What triggered you?” her partner asked.

  “The raincoats.”

  “Why?”

  “It isn’t raining.”

  Lee saw Zoe feel for the collapsible baton in her fanny pack. Moments like these made her wish they let more coppers carry guns.

  On the other hand, Lee felt as if Zoe had just given her a Christmas present. She rubbed her hands together, smiling like a child about to raid the biscuit box.

  “Let’s see what the tall boy is up to.”

  Lee took the Manchester United jersey from her partner’s grasp and pulled it over her head. She was no longer the focused, plain-clothes police constable but now a flighty tosser. She stopped to touch some hanging outfits as she moved in the taller man’s direction.

  When Lee made eye contact, she perked up in surprise. “Dennis?” Her voice was loud, obnoxious, and got attention. “You have the nerve to make love to me and then don’t call me?”

  “I don’t know you,” he growled.

  “How dare you, Dennis? You take me to dinner. You take me to bed. In the morning, you are gone. What way is that to treat a lady?”

  “Shut up,” he hissed.

  Lee was getting close to him now, invading his personal space. “My mother warned me about your kind. ‘Never fall in love with an Irishman,’ she said. Did I listen? No. What a fool I was.”

  The man put a hand on Lee’s chest, shoving her to the ground. A shotgun appeared from beneath the raincoat.

  “Nobody moves and nobody gets hurt,” he yelled. “Me and my pal over there have you all covered.”

  He nodded across the way, where Rat Face vaulted over the circular counter and into the kiosk. He produced a handgun and put it against the head of an associate. Lee watched Zoe slip closer to her target.

  “It’s payday, luv,” Rat Face whispered. “Just put the pounds into this black bag, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Lee didn’t break character. She was on her feet and in subject number one’s face.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Dennis. You have a good job. That’s why I went out with you.”

  The man in the raincoat put the barrel of the shotgun against her forehead. “I warn you, lassie. Get back, or I’ll blow what little brains are in that empty melon all over the panty display.”

  Lee stepped back in horror. “You’ve changed, Dennis. What happened to the man I thought I loved? I believed in you. We were going to have a family, a future.”

  “I swear to you, woman, if you don’t shut up.”

  Lee swept the shotgun away from her head with a forearm, smashing a fist into the suspect’s face. Momentarily stunned, he loosened his grip on the weapon. Lee grabbed it, thrusting the butt between his eyes. He fell to the floor, the barrel of the shotgun now trained on his temple.

  “Move a muscle, arse-hole, and I’ll blow what little brains you may have in that empty melon all over the floor.”

  Lee saw Zoe clear the countertop and force Rat Face’s gun hand into the air. The weapon discharged into the ceiling tiles as Zoe crushed her baton against the perp’s windpipe. A moment later, the pistol was in her fist and Rat Face was writhing on the floor.

  “Police officers,” Lee announced. “Everything is under control. If one of you kind people would call 9-9-9, we’ll take care of these gentlemen. And by the way, I’d like to pay for that Manchester United jersey and a Crunchy chocolate bar, please.”

  The place erupted in applause.

  Lee had her suspect cuffed, face down on the tiles.

  “You have skills, Detective,” Zoe said.

  Lee winked. “Let’s take Harry a candy bar.”

  10

  FBI Headquarters—Washington, DC

  Terry Taylor, Associate Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, studied the single sentence text message, sent by a dying man in a dark alley. He imagined the scene playing out; the searing sting of the slugs entering the man’s body, his strength draining from him in a trail of blood, and the sheer will it took to make sure the information he was sent to discover made it home, even if he didn’t.

  The Captain is Vladimir Prokofiev.

  A cell phone screen scan lay atop the thick file, entitled simply, “Vega.”

  Taylor didn’t like the feeling in the pit of his stomach. This one would cross into CIA territory, perhaps even the National Security Agency. It was a case he had hoped would stay closed and ice cold.

  Now it was heating up.

  A couple of phone calls had given him all the information he needed to decide. Prokofiev was reportedly in London. Perhaps Taylor could quietly hand this one off to a man he knew at MI6.

  But this would have to stay below the radar.

  Taylor punched a series of digits into his personal cell phone. The man answered in a single ring.

  The associate director put on his most ingratiating voice, the one he used when he wanted to convince someone to do something that wasn’t quite by the book.

  “Tom Anastos, you old bugger. Is MI6’s most talented agent keeping his nose clean these days?”

  The voice on the other end of the line knew Taylor’s act well. “Terry Taylor. We can dump the rubbish and cut to the chase. What is it you need?”

  “Something that’s right up your alley, old boy. But I’m hoping you can engage without having to tell your superiors about it just yet.”

  There was silence on the line as Taylor imagined Tom Anastos’ mind calculating the trouble headed his way.

  “Okay, Terry. What’s the story?”

  11

  HM Belmarsh—London, UK

  Lee and Zoe met Harry Duggan in one of Belmarsh’s interrogation rooms. If Marie Culpado needed documents, Duggan would likely be the man to provide them and might well provide a key to her whereabouts.

  Harry’s residency there was a little odd because the prison was usually home to more high-profile inmates. Jeffrey Archer and Julian Assange were among the more famous. Harry was just a forger. Even the UK prisons had a class system.

  Incarceration had not changed Harry. He was still the same cheerful chap, arrested with a flat full of printing equipment and hundreds of counterfeit passports.

  Lee allowed herself a smile as Harry Duggan inspected the two women. She knew he was pleased to have such handsome visitors.

  “Well, hello, love. I would give you a proper hug, but they don’t allow that kind of thing here. It’s been a long time.” Lee watched as Harry eyed her companion with evident delight. “Who is your beautiful friend?”

  “This is PC Zoe Doyle, Harry. We wanted to ask you some questions about somebody who may have been one of your… clients.”

  Harry leaned back in the plastic chair, weaving his fingers behind his head and looking toward the ceiling.

  “The business just isn’t what it once was. Syrian passports are going for less than £200. One must sell many to maintain a lifestyle. I take their money. But I don’t want to know anything about them.”

  Lee produced the picture she found online from a tabloid.

  “This is what she looked like. It would have been ten years ago, an American, perhaps with a companion
. Short, 5’2” tall. A little heavy, maybe 150 pounds. Brown hair.”

  Lee took a breath to give Harry time to process the information.

  “Her distinguishing characteristics are a tattoo of a rose on her right shoulder and a noticeable scar on her chin from a childhood fall.”

  Harry closed his eyes as if he were flipping through a mental card file of clients.

  “Tattoos are easy to hide. Tell me about her chest.”

  Lee caught Zoe’s confused look and smiled.

  “Harry fancies breasts, Zoe. Baps are the puzzle pieces he remembers.”

  Harry’s features took on an expression of warm satisfaction.

  “The old brain isn’t what it used to be. But some things a man like me never forgets. There was one American, I remember. About the dimensions you describe, missy, right down to the scar. It was a long time ago, and I would have consigned her to the dustbin, but for that gorgeous balcony.”

  Lee searched her memory for that brief encounter in the Strand. It was an uncertain recollection now.

  “If she’s the one, Harry, what can you tell us about her?”

  “There was a third party that did most of the work. There were two passports. A woman and a man. I never saw them in person. But that passport picture. Some things even close-ups can’t hide.”

  “Can you tell us what names they used?” Lee asked.

  Harry shook his head.

  “No, missy. But I can tell you this. I saved a copy of that picture. The coppers confiscated all of my things. If they still have ‘em, she’s there.”

  “Anything you can tell us about her companion?”

  “No hair. Bald as an egg. But it was shaved. He looked to me like a copper. But people change their appearance for counterfeit passports. You probably wouldn’t recognize him now.”

  “And that ‘third party’ you mentioned?”

  “He’s dead?”

  Lee exchanged glances with Zoe. “Fact or a guess, Harry?”

  “Only a guess,” Harry continued. “He stopped bringing me business about a month after that transaction. When they disappear like that, they usually turn up face down in the Thames.”

  “Thanks, Harry,” Lee said. “In your own way, you’ve been helpful. How much longer until they let you out?”

  Harry waved a hand to the guard who stood by the door, as if summoning a personal assistant.

  “I’m not in any hurry. The food here is pretty good. I’m old enough that the bad guys look up to me as a hero. And I’m taking some classes.”

  The news surprised Lee. Most criminals Harry’s age were content to live on their reputation. “What are you studying?”

  “Politics. These days, being a convicted criminal is a plus if you’re running for parliament. At least your constituency knows what they are voting for.”

  As the guard opened the door to let the women out, Harry remembered one thing more.

  “Blair,” he said. “Like Tony.”

  “Blair?”

  “That was the last name on her passport. I thought it was unusual that she would pick that last name in England. It raises hackles, especially if you are a Tory. Blair with the Big Ones. That’s how I filed her photo.”

  Lee shook Harry’s hand.

  “Thank you, Harry. If you run for MP, you have my vote.”

  “Men and breasts,” Zoe said as the two drove away from Belmarsh. “They seem to go together like fish and chips.”

  Lee laughed. “It sounds like our suspect’s attributes are hard to miss.”

  “And we have a name,” Zoe added. “An armed robbery, and a couple of clues. A productive day.”

  “So, I’ve got you hooked on the Culpado mystery, eh, Zoe?”

  Zoe sniffed. “Just a peripheral interest. I support my partner.”

  Lee pointed their vehicle toward the A2016. “Now to connect those clues with one of London’s 8.7 million inhabitants… If she’s even still in the country.”

  Lee focused on the line of cars coursing along the motorway like corpuscles in a blood vessel. It was well past the end of their shift, and night was descending on London.

  Zoe weighed in. “A single grain of sand in a beach a thousand miles long. It can wait until tomorrow. You’ve got a better chance playing The National Lottery.”

  12

  Paloma, Illinois

  “You’re awfully quiet, Jessica.”

  Jessica Ramirez sat across from her partner, Officer Alexandra Clark, at The Paloma Bean coffee shop just off campus.

  The days were getting longer, and most of the patrons came here in the afternoons for the free Wi-Fi and sips of overpriced liquid concoctions. The warmth of the afternoon sprouted several dozen students enjoying the sunshine on the green grass berm that spilled down toward the Mississippi River in front of the Paloma University Administration Building. Just two other patrons were in the place at this hour, and they seemed to look at one another across a two-top with the wary glares of lovers who were reassessing their relationship.

  Whenever Jess returned from a trip, she spilled details. This afternoon she was silent.

  “I haven’t slept since I got back from Nashville, Ali. Nobody should have to witness an intentional murder.”

  “Is my right-wing sister swinging left against the death penalty?”

  “Psychotics are different.” Jess’s attention was reflexively drawn to the rising heat brewing between the one other couple in the shop. “We can’t rehab a nut job. I think this guy was innocent.”

  Ali’s expression turned thoughtful. “He was definitely calm when you arrested him. But I’ve met some pretty calm psychos, too. That’s how I know you’re ‘normal.’”

  Jess twirled the single marshmallow that floated atop her Frappuccino with a stir stick. “I have half a mind to drop everything and take a trip over to England to see what this UK detective inspector can remember.”

  Ali rolled her eyes. “One observation in a sea of humanity and you want to chase it down? I don’t get it.”

  Jess sipped the drink, hoping the caffeine would recharge her flagging spirit. “I saw Papa’s face in that electric chair, Ali. I failed him as a daughter, and I failed a citizen as a police officer. He’s dead because I couldn’t protect him.”

  Ali tried plucking a mosquito from in front of her face. On days like today, the owners left the doors open and the damned things were a nuisance. “And you think that vindicating another dead man will make all that go away? We’re all walking powder kegs of grief, regret, and cynicism, sister. Learn to let it go, or you’ll make a bad decision and get yourself in a jam you can’t get out of.”

  Jess fingered the buttons on her shirt, processing Ali’s words. It was a rare day when they worked old cases and didn’t have to be in uniform.

  The sound of the guy’s voice got her attention. The volume was up, and the tone was borderline menacing.

  The barista heard it, too, and was heading in the couple’s direction. Jess stood, holding up a hand to stop the employee. “I have this.”

  The guy’s tenor was creepy, and the girl was clearly uncomfortable. “This isn’t working for me,” the girl said, “I think I want to leave.”

  Her companion smiled. It was the smile you saw when the smiler had dark things on his mind. “That’s okay, baby. I know where you live.”

  The color drained out of the girl’s face. Her companion leaned in, resting his chin on a pair of beefy palms.

  Jess grabbed a nearby chair, planted it backward at the table between the two, straddling it with her arms folded on the back. She opened her fist, displaying her shield and depositing it on the table in front of the guy so he could see what he was dealing with. He looked Jess up and down, as if trying to decide how he might prevail if things turned ugly.

  Jess’s gaze locked on his, her voice soft but with an authoritative tone. “I’m enjoying my frappuccino with my partner over there, and I heard you threatening this young woman. Got anything to say about that?”


  The guy stumbled through a half dozen ahs and ums before Jess held up a finger to shut him up.

  “I thought so. We cops don’t have a lot of patience for that kind of behavior, so I’m deciding whether to call some of my colleagues to come to take you to jail.”

  The guy pulled back, putting some physical distance between himself and authority. “I was just joking around. I meant nothing by it.”

  Jess nodded. Another macho idiot. “Arresting you would be inconvenient for all of us. So, here’s what I want you to do. Give me your ID because I’ve had misguided young people take off on me, and that option might just be on your mind right now. Then get up and pay your bill. And while you’re at it, pay this young lady’s bill, too. If that’s not something you’re comfortable with, my partner over there can have six cops on the scene in five minutes. And I promise you, they won’t be as patient as I’ve been. The choice is yours.”

  The guy didn’t flinch. His ID was in Jess’s hands in seconds. “No problem, ma’am. I’ll go pay the check right now.”

  Jess turned to the girl as she wrote her companion’s information on a card. “I apologize for intruding. You could have handled this, but I thought I could help. And if you would like to file a complaint, I’ll have my friends pick him up on his way home. He crossed the line, and we can definitely do something about it if you want.”

  “Thank you,” the young woman whispered, the color returning to her face. “I wanted out an hour ago, but I let him drive me here and didn’t know what to do.”

  Jess softened. She thought she could hear her own mother’s voice in her. “Well, my partner and I are still working on our caffeine over there. Would you like to finish your salad and iced tea with us? We can give you a ride home after unless you would prefer to call someone.”

  The girl returned Jessica’s smile. “That would be great. Thank you very much.”

  The soon-to-be ex-boyfriend returned. “I took care of everything,” he said, the tiniest hint of swagger returning to his voice. “Is it okay if I take my ID back now, ma’am?”