Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [60]
“ ‘Sent me the letter.’ ”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The Joe Cocker factor. Sometimes the Internet is just all wrong.”
“So your point is what? I should go to Prague?”
“ ‘Yeah she sent me an e-mail, said she couldn’t—’ ”
“Okay, okay. I get it.”
Jack’s cell rang—more of the curse of technology. Andie had reset his ringtone before saying good-bye to Jack in Washington and returning to her undercover assignment. Carrie Underwood and “I took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights” on the quiet shores of Biscayne Bay on a peaceful Sunday morning.
Talk about “all wrong.”
Jack checked the display. It was Neil, who wouldn’t have called so early if it weren’t important.
“What’s up?” Jack said into the phone.
“We got a big problem with Jamal,” he said.
Jack caught his breath, fearing the worst. “Don’t tell me he skipped.”
Neil paused, as if not sure how to put it. “He’s missing.”
“Damn him. He has to know he won’t get far wearing an ankle bracelet.”
“Actually, he borrowed his mother’s rental car to hit the clubs on South Beach last night. They found the bracelet in the car.”
“What? The Omnilink is supposed to be tamper proof. The alarm signals if you just stretch the band. How’d he get it off?”
“He didn’t exactly remove it.”
“What does that mean?”
“The bracelet is still attached to his ankle.”
The image flashed in Jack’s mind. “Oh boy,” he said.
“You can say that again,” said Neil.
“Where’s the rest of him?”
“Not sure. His mother says he never came back to their hotel last night. The rental car was parked all night on Washington at about Seventeenth near Club Inversion. I’m pulling up now. Plenty of cops here. Crime scene is roped off. Maybe someone has an answer.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Jack, and he ended the call. He glanced at Theo, who seemed to have caught the drift of the conversation.
“No fishing again today, huh?” said Theo.
Jack shook his head. “It’s getting to be a bad habit, I know.”
“Pity. I got a feeling even the amateurs are catching fish this morning.”
Jack glanced toward Miami Beach—toward Club Inversion. Then his gaze drifted toward the bay, which seemed to yield at least one dismembered body a year.
“I can only imagine what they’re using as bait,” said Jack.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jack could smell the rain approaching. He was standing outside Club Inversion on the onlookers’ side of the yellow line of police tape. A breeze kicked up and blew Neil’s hat off. Jack picked it up.
“Investigators better hurry,” said Neil. “Gonna rain.”
The downpour in Coconut Grove was definitely headed their way. Maybe it was all the cops around, but Jack was reminded of the time Vince Paulo had shown him how the smells that warned of rain in Miami were as poignant as the sight of thunderclouds over the Everglades. Jack closed his eyes, breathing in the hint of rain—and trying to comprehend the turn of events. But when he opened his eyes, the Miami-Dade Police and Miami Beach Police perimeter control were still on the scene. Investigators were still combing over the vehicle that had given up Jamal’s foot and ankle bracelet. A media van was even pulling up. It was all real.
It wasn’t a dream.
Neil got the attention of a Miami-Dade officer on the other side of the tape, a woman in uniform. “Hey, can you find Detective Burton?”
Burton was the homicide detective handling the Lincoln Road Mall investigation. Obviously Miami-Dade PD had picked up on a possible connection between the two deaths and called out Burton.
“I’m sure the detective is busy,” said the cop.
“I spoke to him on the phone,” said Neil. “He told me that he would meet us here.”
“Who are you?” she said.
Neil told her, and the words made Jack feel as if the world had been turned upside down: “We’re the lawyers for the victim.”
The victim.
He and Neil exchanged glances, as if they were feeling the same sense of flip-flop and disconnect.
“I’ll see if he’s here,” the cop told them.
Jack’s gaze swung back toward the rental car. It was parked at the curb on the other side of the four-lane street. Traffic