Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [29]
“How are you going to help?” asked Jack.
“I know things.”
“What kind of things?”
The man paused, then said, “I know where Jamal was when McKenna Mays was murdered.”
Jack gripped the phone even tighter. “Where?”
“Exactly where he said he was.”
Yesterday’s court hearing had been closed, so the alleged black site in the Czech Republic was not yet public information. Jack wasn’t going to supply the answer for him. “And where would that be?” he asked.
“Prague,” the man said. “In a warehouse two kilometers from the airport, to be exact.”
It was the kind of detail that added credibility; not even Jamal had known the exact location. “Are you telling me that my client was in a detention facility at the time of the murder?”
Silence. But Jack could tell that he was still there. “How do you know where Jamal was?” asked Jack.
There was another stretch of silence, and Jack wasn’t sure if he had a liar, a crank, or just a reluctant witness.
“How do you know?” said Jack.
Finally, an answer: “I’m the guy who took him there.”
Jack’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “Listen, we need to meet. If you’re still anywhere near this building, I can do it now.”
“Now is not good.”
“I’ll come to you,” said Jack.
“Not now.”
“Don’t play games.”
“It’s not a game. Problem is, I don’t have the photographs with me. You’re definitely gonna want them.”
“You have actual pictures that show where Jamal was?”
“What do you think, Abu Ghraib is the only place they had a camera?”
This was starting to sound too good to be true. Then again, it wasn’t so long ago that photographs of naked prisoners stacked into human pyramids, men on dog leashes, and other forms of abuse at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq would have seemed unimaginable.
“You name the time and place,” said Jack. “I’ll be there.”
“Tonight. Eight o’clock. Go to any of the cafés by the Lincoln Theatre and sit outside on the mall. When I’m convinced that you came alone, I’ll find you.”
“See you then,” said Jack, but the caller was already gone.
Chapter Fourteen
He wants money,” said Theo.
Jack was riding shotgun in Theo’s car, cruising toward Lincoln Road Mall on Miami Beach. Theo Knight was six feet three and 250 pounds of badass, which made him Jack’s go-to guy when strangers called out of the blue and said, “Let’s meet—alone.” Theo was Jack’s investigator, bodyguard, bartender, best friend, and confidant, none of which had seemed possible when Jack had represented the only teenager on Florida’s death row. It took years of legal maneuvering and last-minute appeals, but Jack finally proved Theo’s innocence. The new Theo had spent the last decade making up for lost time, pushing life to the edge, as if to prove that he was only as “innocent” as a former gangbanger from the Grove ghetto could be.
“I’m not going to pay anyone to testify,” said Jack.
“Then there’s no point in going,” said Theo. “People don’t get involved unless there’s something in it for them.”
“Not everyone is you,” said Jack.
“The guy called and texted you on a pirated cell phone so that you couldn’t trace it back to him. He’s going to ask for money.”
Theo had checked out the number at Jack’s request, and it was hard to argue with Theo’s interpretation of the results. “Just drive,” said Jack.
Theo cranked up the radio. Jack immediately reached over and turned it down. It was the kind of music that made him feel old. He just didn’t see the poetry in it, even if it was on some level remarkable that so many words could actually be rhymed with suck and bitch.
“Just trying to get you into the South Beach state of mind,” said Theo.
Jack glanced out the passenger’s-side window. The real crowds wouldn’t show up until after midnight, but the sidewalks were beginning to bulge with the usual mix: the obvious tourists and a few couples, but mostly twentysomethings who had largely ditched