Chapter 65

 

Detective Caplin tossed the paper coffee cup he’d been carrying. With a good breakfast in his stomach, two cups of strong coffee with the meal and this one he’d requested to go, his attitude had improved. He would do the right thing and go to the police. If the French police could catch Frank Morrell here, at least the man would do time for his crime. Serve him right for screwing his partners and heading out on this international chase. Damn the crook and damn the whole situation!

Todd Wainwright’s face came to him briefly. The pudgy museum employee who’d gotten himself deeply in debt and talked Caplin into looking the other way. He wanted to judge the guy, but hadn’t he done the same thing? Let money become an excuse for breaking his own personal code of conduct?

Caplin would face disciplinary action—that was a certainty. He might lose his pension. But he could once again feel good about himself. And, with luck, Mrs. Fitzpatrick might get her family heirloom back.

He walked onto the rocky beach and stared out at the rolling sea, calm and blue, dotted with white sails as the regatta competitors moved into position. He’d always liked the sea. Maybe he could still find a way to spend his final years in Mexico, even though his dream life aboard his own boat seemed unlikely at this point. A shack near the beach in some little town like Punta Lobos would suit him. Hell, he could still improve his Spanish in a place like that.

“Detective Caplin.”

The voice sounded very nearby and he turned, startled. Penelope Fitzpatrick stood no more than ten feet away at the edge of the concrete promenade. He felt his plan crumble.