67
Cameron Ansbacher.”
Windermere dropped a thick file folder on the table. It landed with a thud. Echoed around the boardroom. It was dusk outside the window. The highway was headlights and stop-and-go traffic, and inside, the FBI office was mostly deserted. Even Ojeda had begged off for the day.
Stevens picked up the folder. “This is everything?”
“Ansbacher’s life. Everything I could pull up from the National Crime Information Center database, plus a bunch of Google searches.” Windermere sat beside him. “It’s mostly Google searches. Apart from a couple minor flings with the law a couple decades back, Ansbacher’s pretty well clean.”
“He have family?”
“Goes through girlfriends like water, apparently. Nobody closer.”
“Known enemies?”
“Guess we’re going to find out.”
Stevens studied the folder. It was thick. “You know my first thought,” he said. “This guy’s in shipping. Dealing with a quote-unquote importer.”
“Drugs?” Windermere shook her head. “My first thought, too. But the DEA tells me he’s clean, so far as they know.”
“What about Peralta?”
“Straight coffee, no sugar.” She looked at him. “Again, as far as they know.”
“Sure. Can we trust their intelligence?”
Windermere made a face. “Who knows? Let’s say yes, for the short term. See if any other stories present themselves. If not, we’ll circle back to the drug angle.”
“Right.”
WINDERMERE HAD BEEN DILIGENT. Every hit on Ansbacher’s name was printed and collated in the folder. And at first glance, the man’s life looked unique. Lots of pictures from Miami Beach parties. Lots of young women, a few celebrity snapshots. Articles in the local newspapers, trade journals. Shipping magazines. Stevens scanned them. Kept looking. Then he stopped. “Anyone talk to Peralta?”
“Miami PD,” said Windermere, “and then Ojeda did. Why?”
Stevens glanced back at the shipping magazines. “This guy was on Peralta’s yacht to close a deal,” he said. “Is it crazy that I want to know a little more about it?”
Stevens nodded. “Spenser Pyatt was murdered because Eli Cody held a grudge. Ansbacher was closing a pretty big deal. I’m still wondering if maybe—”
“There isn’t another spurned lover in the background?”
“Exactly.”
Windermere stood. “So let’s talk to Peralta,” she said. “See if you’re right.”