“Nick, we’re almost there. You need to be in the left turn lane.” We were still driving along the Embarcadero, nearing one of the piers south of the Bay Bridge that could accommodate a yacht the size of Seashell. I turned off my battery-challenged phone, hoping I wouldn’t need it again.
“Got it.” Nick executed a left turn into the parking area and pulled into an available space. “I don’t see anyone around.”
We began walking toward the pier, our vision already hampered by deepening twilight. A chill breeze whipped across the lot, making me glad I’d grabbed my windbreaker before leaving the car.
“We’re losing light.” I zipped my jacket. “Maybe we should have come sooner.”
“I don’t think so. For what we’re doing, dark is on our side.”
“Then let’s hurry. I’d rather not have to explain to anyone why we’re here.”
Nick took a Giants ball cap out of his jacket pocket. He put it on, pulling the brim low, and handed another cap to me. “Here you go. We’re sightseeing tourists in town for tomorrow’s game, killing time by taking in the local color.”
“Okay, so do we know who the Giants are playing?”
“Beats me, but I’m guessing you’re about to look it up.”
“Red Sox,” I said, phone in hand.
“Don’t forget, you’re almost out of juice on that thing.”
“I know.” I started to turn it off, but noticed a text coming in. I stopped in my tracks. “Wait, Nick. I’m getting a message from Kass.”
“At this hour on Saturday night? It must be important. Read it, but keep walking.”
I read the text while trailing behind Nick.
“He says they got a hit on the blood. The DNA was in CODIS, and the name of the subject is ….” I scrolled down. “Oh my God, Nick. The subject’s name is Francisco Santos. His address is in New York City. The Bronx.”
That stopped Nick. “Son of a …. The Bronx?”
“I know. It’s crazy, but look.” I held out the phone to Nick. “Kass sent a mug shot. It looks just like the man I saw fall on the dock last weekend.”
“You didn’t gather that specimen immediately after he fell. Can you be sure it was his blood?”
“I took that sample only an hour later. I’m sure.”
“What about the photo. You’re certain it’s the same guy?”
“Not a hundred percent.” I searched my memory of the quick glimpse I’d caught the weekend before of the man’s bloody face. “But it almost has to be the same man.”
“Does Kass say what crime got the guy’s DNA added to the CODIS database?”
“Graffiti.”
“You’re kidding. What the hell is that about?”
I scrolled further. “He and some others were arrested a couple of months ago for marking up an empty storefront in the South Bronx.”
“And that’s the crime that put him in CODIS?”
“Looks like it. I know New York City has huge gang-related graffiti problems. The South Bronx probably has it worse than the other boroughs. I guess their graffiti laws are tough.” I glanced at my battery icon. “I have to turn off my phone. My battery is being used up faster than I thought. It’s about to die.”
“First, see if you can forward that text to Harry.”
“Wait. There’s more.” I scrolled to the bottom of the message. “Kass says the photos we sent of that bullet you found look like a match to the one that struck Paulo.”
“He can tell from photos?”
“Forensic photo analysis can tell a lot. He says it’s close enough that he has the Sawyer County DA convinced.”
“Hope he’s right.” Nick started walking. “Let’s get this done while we still have enough light to see where we’re going.”
I sent Kass’s text to Harry and turned off my phone just as it died. In minutes, we reached the entrance to one of the docks and stood staring at the mist-shrouded sight of the largest yacht I’d ever seen. It dwarfed all the other crafts moored at an adjacent dock.
“That could be it,” I whispered. “Can we get close enough to look for the name?”
“There are a lot of interior lights on inside,” Nick said. “We’ll have to be damned careful we aren’t spotted.”
“The bow is facing us. It’s so dark I can’t see a name displayed there. Do you see anything?”
“No. The name’s more likely to be on the stern.” Nick reached back and motioned with his hand. “Wait here and keep watch. I’ll go ahead and see if I can spot anything on the aft end of the ship.”
“I don’t want you to take—”
“Don’t worry. It’s almost full dark, and the dock isn’t lit. No one will notice me.”
“I see light standards all along the dock. They could come on at any minute, Nick. It’s too risky.”
“Those lights are probably on a timer.” He checked his watch. “I’ll bet they’re set to come on at nine sharp. That gives me five minutes. It’ll take me three, max.” He pulled a small digital camera from his jacket pocket.
“Then get going.” I held my breath while I watched him move along the dock in a rapid crouch with the stealth of a cat burglar. He made it to the far end of the yacht, snapped a couple of photos, and started back toward me.
Nick had made it as far as the yacht’s midsection when a man’s voice shouted, “You there, stop!”
A spotlight caught Nick in its fierce glare. “Stop!” The voice boomed out again over a bullhorn.
Nick broke into a run, moving out of the spotlight’s range and motioning me to hightail it back to our car. I took off, praying I wouldn’t hear gunshots. Nick reached the car only seconds after me. We scrambled in and he peeled out of the parking lot and onto the Embarcadero. My heart knocked so fast, I couldn’t catch my breath to speak. Nick recovered more quickly.
“It’s Seashell,” he said, “and I got the hull number.”
The drive back through San Francisco to Marin County gave us time to recover. We were quiet most of the way, each considering what we’d learned and what we still needed to accomplish if we were going to rescue Liliana.
Back on Buck’s yacht, I plugged my cell in to charge and opened my laptop.
“Looking for Francisco?” Nick asked.
“Might as well. Although the Bronx address has me baffled.”
“You do realize that Francisco Santos is just San Francisco in reverse? Doesn’t that seem a little fishy?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Maybe his parents were partial to Saint Francis. He’s known as the patron saint of animals and the natural environment, although that doesn’t help us sort out this little Saint Francis knock-off.”
“Any word back from Harry since you sent him Kass’s text?”
“Not yet.” I glanced at my phone, still charging.
“It’s after eleven. You think he’ll get back to you this late?”
“Maybe. He and his friends could easily lose track of time if they’re zeroing in on that password.”
“Okay, while you’re prowling online for our Francisco, I’m going to hang out in the aft cabin and call Buck. I want to fill him in about Seashell. Maybe he’ll have a progress report on getting me approved to attend that auction.”
My search for Francisco Santos pulled up a South American politician and a baseball player from the Dominican Republic. There were lesser-known men of the same name on Facebook, but no one came close to matching the one I was searching for. He had told Liliana he was eighteen, but I couldn’t even find a mention of a high school graduation.
“Any luck?” Nick came back into the main saloon just as I was finishing my search.
“No. He must have scoured all trace of himself off the Internet. I’m sure Catia said Liliana first met him on Facebook.”
“He’s not there now?” Nick sat next to me, looking at my laptop screen.
“Not in any way that I can find him. Harry and friends might know of some way to dig deeper, but I’m not savvy in the ways of hackers.”
“Speaking of Harry, are you ready to give up on his contacting us tonight?”
“I guess so. We need to get some sleep.”
“Okay. Now my turn. Buck heard back from the anonymous folks who sent him the invitation. I’m still being vetted. So is he, apparently. No way to know if they'll decide in our favor.”
“How soon will you know?”
“That’s not pinned down, but if I am approved, Buck will let me know right away. If I’m denied, Buck will be informed. All we know is the latest he’ll hear either way is one hour before the start of the auction, and if it’s a go, he’ll be given the location. Apparently, it’s easier to join the Secret Service than to become a member of this repugnant cabal.”
“Meanwhile, those horrible people have poor Liliana. Nick, I can't stand this. We have to do something.”