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“Michaela, Mic, are you there? I can’t hear you,” Jack Françoise barked into the phone. “What the hell is wrong with your damned phone?”
Mic smiled to herself. Jack was irritated, excited, and on edge. She could see him pacing in front of his office window in the Big Easy. With a head of salt and pepper hair, the man was a mountain of energy and impatience.
“Jack, I can hear you just fine. I’m several oceans away from you though, you know?” she chuckled. She could picture NOPD Commander Jack Françoise in his office at One Police Plaza in New Orleans. Mic knew him well. She’d spent a week with him in the spring when they’d identified and hunted the St. Germaine serial killer. Mic imagined the sunlight shining on his hair as he quickly moved his massive body around his office. The burly policeman was a go-getter and Michaela had incredible respect for him. But, by far the best thing about Jack Françoise was that he was still a street cop at heart. He was a cop’s cop and his men loved him.
“Did you catch him yet? Did you catch that miserable son-of-a-bitch?” he hollered into the phone. “Monique said you’re sure St. Germaine is on the same ship with you and the Countess.” Mic could hear the excitement and feel the tension in Jack’s voice. She knew he was about to jump out of his skin.
“No,” she sighed. “I haven’t caught him and I haven’t seen him either. Several days ago, someone killed a blackjack dealer in the ship’s casino. Of course, it’s been kept pretty hush-hush and the passengers don’t know.”
“Yeah, yeah, but what about St. Germaine?” Jack said, once again impatient, his voice full of excitement and anxiety.
“Let me tell you the entire story, Commander,” Mic said in a firm voice. “Then, it’ll make more sense to you when I’m done. Is that okay?”
Jack felt guilty for rushing her. “Yeah. Sure, sure, give it to me from the top.”
Mic took a deep breath and began. “There are a lot of physicians, primarily psychiatrists, on board this cruise ship. Blake Pharmaceutical offered this cruise as a reward and/or incentive for psychiatrists who had prescribed their newest antidepressant, Quelpro.”
“Yeah, and...?” Jack said in a tight voice. “That’s why medicines cost so much...that kind of stuff pisses me off,” he said loudly.
“Dottie met a young physician and his wife from Washington, DC. We had dinner with them and Senator Peter Bostitch from Maryland. We learned a large number of psychiatrists aboard the ship have concerns about this antidepressant. Dr. Pennington and Senator Bostitch are two of them,” Mic continued.
“Yeah, Monique knows Bostitch. She’s upset,” Jack interrupted. “I think they went to school together or something.”
“Yeah, I know. Another physician, Dr. James O’Leary, a psychiatrist and researcher who represented a significant group of concerned psychiatrists, was to present data with the hopes of having Quelpro recalled by the FDA and retested for safety and efficacy. That night, a man fell, or was thrown, overboard and Dr. O’Leary hasn’t been seen since.” Mic paused and added, “The captain believes Dr. O’Leary was the man overboard.”
“Humph.” Jack was thoughtful. “Don’t know. That’s not like St. Germaine. He doesn’t kill like that... but I guess he could change his MO,” he said in a disappointed voice.
Mic shook her head and laughed, “I’m not finished yet. Don’t interrupt me.”
“Okay, I won’t. Sorry, Mic,” Jack apologized in a contrite voice. “You know how much I wanna get this guy.”
“Yeah! Exactly. I know that. And I want to get him too.” She paused for a minute, laughed, and then asked, “Can I continue, Commander?”
“Yeah, please do. I promise I’ll shut up, or at least I’ll try harder,” Jack promised.
“Dr. O’Leary didn’t show up for his lecture yesterday morning, the lecture that would hopefully persuade Blake Pharmaceutical with sound, empirical evidence and force them to recall their drug. Now, it’s believed that Dr. O’Leary is the man that was thrown overboard as I said earlier.”
“Yeah, that one. Damn,” Jack said angrily. Mic could practically hear Jack think.
“Dottie and I talked... rather we had tea with Senator Bostitch yesterday afternoon. He was supposed to have dinner with the Blake Pharmaceutical executive team last night and tell them that he was going to the FDA and have Quelpro, the antidepressant, recalled.”
“Yeah, and...?”
Mic paused for a moment, “So, to summarize, we’ve got a dead blackjack dealer, a doctor we know was threatening to Blake Pharmaceutical and most likely thrown overboard before he could present incriminating evidence against Blake Pharmaceutical, and a dead senator. Are you with me?”
“Yeah, Yeah. I got it. Go on,” Jack said in a gruff voice. “Then what happened?”
“Senator Bostitch never made it to dinner with the Blake Pharmaceutical executives. Last night, Captain Wodensen told Dottie and me the senator was dead. Murdered, or rather, butchered in his stateroom.”
“What? What the hell! Are you telling me that some son of a bitch killed a United States Senator on the ship in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea?” Jack’s voice was so loud Mic laid her phone on the table.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Dottie insisted the captain allow us to view the body. He resisted, but Dottie pulled rank.”
Jack laughed shortly. “Yeah, I’m sure. Doesn’t she pretty much own the cruise line?”
“She owns a large percentage of it. Anyway, the crime scene was bad. One of the worst I’ve seen,” Mic admitted.
“Describe it,” Jack ordered.
Mic took a deep breath as the heinous scene flashed before her eyes. “Senator Bostitch was hanging upside down in his bathroom. His feet were tied to the shower rod, his body rested on the side of the tub and his head was on the floor. His throat had been slit and he had exsanguinated.”
Jack was silent for a moment. He cursed and said, “That sounds just like St. Germaine. Did you get any pictures?”
“Yeah. I’m texting them to you now.” Mic said as she texted the graphic pictures to Jack in New Orleans. “Are they coming through?”
“Hang on. Let me look at them,” he said impatiently. “Damn, they’re taking forever. So damned slow,” he growled.
Mic patted Angel and scratched his ears as she waited for Jack to view the three pictures she’d texted of Senator Bostitch’s body. Her stomach was in knots as she waited for him to reply.
“Damn, Michaela. It sure as hell looks like St. Germaine to me!” Jack said in an excited voice. “So, you think the pharmaceutical bastards murdered the doctor and the senator to keep their damned medicine from being taken off the market?”
Michaela sighed. “Yeah, I do. That’s my theory and exactly what I think, along with several physicians on aboard the ship.” She paused and continued, “But, I gotta tell you, a lot of them have quieted down since they learned of James O’Leary’s disappearance. When they learn the senator has been murdered, that may stop everyone from speaking out.”
Jack cursed and tapped his pencil against his yellow pad. “Yeah, well damn. No surprise there. I’m sure of that. Who knows the senator’s dead?” he asked.
Mic quickly replied. “The captain, his security team, his cabin steward, Dottie, and me. I think that’s everyone. Dottie told the captain to call the FBI. I guess he’ll wait until nine a.m. in the United States.”
“I’ll call our FBI contact here in New Orleans. No one in the entire FBI knows St. Germaine any better than Travis Stoner does. When do you get into port?”
“We’re in Athens in two days. We dock at nine in the morning.”
Mic heard Jack’s sharp intake of breath. “I’ll be there with Special-Agent-in-Charge Stoner of the FBI. I’ll call the Washington Bureau or have the governor call them. Senator Bostitch’s family must be notified. I’ll also have the FBI and an Athens law enforcement official take control of the bodies of the blackjack dealer and the senator. Can you think of anything else I need to do, Michaela?”
Michaela thought for a few seconds and said, “See if you can negotiate some crime scene investigators to come aboard the ship to gather evidence. The captain plans to remove the senator’s body ASAP because of the smell. They also want to clean the stateroom for the same reason.”
Jack was quiet for a moment. “Well, he’ll probably have to do that, but ask him to leave as much of the crime scene intact as he possibly can. Have him ice both bodies.”
“Will do. There’s a morgue on board. The blackjack dealer is already in there.”
“I hope so. Most likely, St. Germaine killed him too,” Jack said as he cursed under his breath.
“Yeah. Probably so,” Mic sighed. “From what I heard, it happened so quickly that no one saw anything... or at least that’s the captain’s official story. Whoever slit the man’s throat, pushed the body to the floor and then quickly shoved it under the blackjack table. Then the perp walked out, free and unencumbered.”
Mic could hear the wheels turning and Jack’s mind.
“What an SOB,” Jack said with a low whistle. “The guy’s got balls. Nobody can deny that!”
“Yeah, then he disappeared into thin air. No one in the casino or the ship’s staff can offer up any kind of description at all,” Mic said with a sigh, “except for the casino cashier and she can’t remember him. There’s a poor image caught on camera that’s not helpful at all.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Jack asked sarcastically. Mic heard the familiar squeak of his chair as he lowered his body into it. Thousands of miles away in the Big Easy. Technology is pretty incredible. For just a moment, Mic longed for a Muffuletta from the Central Market. Her stomach growled as the room service menu flashed through her mind.
“No idea, but I’d guess since I think most of the staff would be honest. They are desperately poor and need their jobs,” she acknowledged.
Jack mulled Mic’s statement over in his mind. “Yeah, you’re probably right. That quick and easy murder sounds like St. Germaine,” Jack said. “He’s dangerous, fast, and deadly.” He paused. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. There’s one more thing, Jack. Slade McKane is coming to Athens too. Why don’t you and Travis Stoner meet up with him and the three of you can board the ship before they allow people off. Perhaps you can view the ship’s security camera footage and look at the passenger manifest to see if you can spot him.”
“Hell, yeah! If St. Germaine makes it off that ship he’s never gonna get back on. He’ll get lost in Athens and we’ll lose him again.”
“Exactly,” Michaela said. “Here’s Slade’s cell number. Coordinate with him and I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
A thought crossed Jack’s mind and he said, “Why is Slade coming? Of course, I’m glad, because he’s one of the best police officers I’ve ever worked with and it’ll be great to see him.”
“Oh,” Michaela said, “That’s another whole story. I’ll save that for another day,” she said.
That seemed to satisfy Jack. “Okay, Mic. I’ll text you my arrival info, contact the FBI, and let them deal with the White House and the senator’s family. I’ll also talk with Slade. See you at nine in the morning, two days from today.”
“Sounds good, Commander. If anything else comes up, I’ll let you know. Bye.”
Michaela heard Jack click off the line and turned to Dottie. “He’ll be here in two days. Jack, Slade, and the FBI will board the ship before anyone is allowed to disembark. Do you think that’ll be a problem for Captain Wodensen?”
“Not in the least,” Dottie said with a smile. “But, I’m tired and I’m headed for bed.” She paused at the door, turned around and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in my suite tonight?”
Mic laughed and said, “I’m positive. “I’ve got Angel and two weapons. I’ll be fine,” she assured her.
Dottie shot her a dirty look and scowled, “I hope you’re right. I’ve saved your butt more than twice,” she said in her haughty, countess voice.
Mic threw a pillow at her and said, “Good night, Countess!”