Lifeguard - James Patterson [43]
“The kind that needs help, Geoff. Lots of it.”
He shrugged. “You can’t be aiming very high if you’re coming to me.”
“I guess I’m coming”—I swallowed—“to the only place I can.”
Geoff winked, and tipped his beer toward me. “Been there,” he said, nodding. “It’s a long straight shot down from number one, ’specially when you can’t see straight in the morning, not to mention trying to drive it, taking spoon curves at one hundred eighty miles an hour. I don’t have much cash, mate, sorry. But I know how to get you out of here, if that’s what you need. Know these boats that sneak in past the Coast Guard down the coast a bit, whatever the hell they’re carrying. Guess they go back out as well. I bet Costa Rica sounds good about now, right?”
I shook my head. “I’m not trying to leave, Geoff. I want to prove I didn’t do these things. I want to find out who did.”
“I see. . . . You and which army, mate?”
“I figure it’s that, or kill myself,” I said.
“Been there, too.” Geoff rubbed an oily hand over his orange hair. “Shit, seems I’m perfectly qualified to lend a hand after all. That, and I’m a sucker for a lost cause. But you know that, don’t you, Neddie-boy? That’s why you’re here.”
“That,” I said, “and no other place to go.”
“Flattered.” Champ took another swig of beer. “You know, of course, I get caught just in the general zip code with you, I could risk everything here. My business, the comeback.”
He got up and limped over to a sink, looking as if he had crawled out of a scrum after two hours of rugby. He washed the grease off his hands and face. “Oh, screw the comeback, mate. . . . But we oughta get one thing straight before I commit.”
“I won’t put your ass in any danger, Champ, if that’s what you mean.”
“Danger?” He looked at me as if I were crazy. “You must be joking, mate. I fly through gasoline fires for three hundred bucks a shot. I was only thinking . . . You are fucking innocent, aren’t you, Ned?”
“Of course I’m innocent, Geoff.”
He chewed on the beer bottle for a few seconds. “Okay, that makes things easier. . . . Anyone ever tell you, you’re a hard fucking bargainer, Ned?” Champ’s eyes crinkled into a smile.
I went over and extended a hand, then pulled him toward me. “I didn’t have anyone else to turn to, Geoff.”
“Don’t get all maudlin on me, Neddie. Whatever you got in store is a whole lot safer than the usual line of work. But before we crack a beer on it, you must have some kind of plan. Who else do we have in the pit?”
“Some girl,” I said. “I hope.”
“Some girl?” Geoff squinted.
“Good news is, I think she believes me, too.”
“Good to know, mate. We’ll overwhelm ’em with numbers. So what’s the bad news, then?”
I frowned. “Bad news is, she’s with the FBI.”
Chapter 50
“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT.” Special Agent in Charge Moretti stood up at his desk, staring at Ellie. His jaw had dropped in something between shock and disbelief. “You want me to bring in Dennis Stratton for questioning for murder?”
“Look,” Ellie said, taking out the evidence bag containing the black golf tee from Tess McAuliffe’s room. “You see this, George? When I questioned Stratton at his home, he took the same black golf tee out of his pocket. They’re from the Trump International Golf Club. Stratton’s a member there. It ties him to the scene.”
“It ties in a couple of hundred other people,” Moretti said, blinking. “I hear Rudy Giuliani’s a member. You want to bring him in too?”
Ellie nodded. “If he was having a relationship with Tess McAuliffe, George, yes.”
Ellie opened her file, placing Dennis Stratton’s photo on his desk. “I went back to the Brazilian Court and showed this around. He knew her, George. He more than knew her. They were having an affair.”
Moretti stared right through her. “You went around to a crime scene that’s not even our jurisdiction with a picture of one of the most prominent men in Palm Beach? I thought we had