Strange how life was so often all about perception, Brett thought.
He had been living with a tension unlike anything he’d known before, as if his muscles had been twisted like burning wire and then hardened that way.
But later that night, sitting on the back porch of Lara’s apartment, he sat back and realized that he should have been thinking like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
He’d respected Matt Bosworth from the time he’d met him, and he’d heard the news when Matt joined the Krewe. He’d also heard the snide remarks people made and the nickname Ghost Posse, but he knew that despite the attitude behind the asides, the Krewe were called in whenever something “different” came up—and when others failed.
And that night, because the Krewe were there and because Lara had been so open about her own experiences, it was all right that he read strange messages on his computer and that Maria’s ghost had shown up in his bedroom.
They ate Chinese food out of the cartons and talked about the case and its similarity to past cases Matt and Meg had worked. He was sitting close to Lara, and when she looked at him now and then, he could feel the strange connection that he couldn’t deny was growing between them. He frowned when Meg and Lara talked about visiting the voodoo store. He wasn’t worried that they’d gone to the store or talked to Papa Joe. He had met a number of people who practiced voodoo through the years—good people, all of them.
It was Lara’s involvement in the case that bothered him.
Then again, he was the one who had gotten her involved so deeply.
Neither Miguel nor Maria made an appearance during dinner. But he learned exactly what had happened to Lara, the truth behind all the press surrounding her abduction and the Walker scandal, and his admiration for her grew. She’d endured so much. She’d been kidnapped by a serial killer, held prisoner under god-awful circumstances, and yet she had survived. And now this.
Perception. It was everything, really.
He had thought of Lara as an extremely attractive woman. Any man would have found her appealing, even in a city where beautiful women could be found in abundance.
But now…
Now he also saw her as strong. Now…
Now her smile turned his insides molten.
He didn’t want to leave her—not even with her best friend, not even with agents he trusted.
And now he felt even more determined to solve this case.
It was growing late, and despite the fact that he was actually working and his line of work didn’t adhere to an eight-hour day, he needed to sleep, and that meant he needed to leave.
At last he regretfully stood. “Tomorrow is going to be another long day. I’ve got to get home. Thank you, Matt and Meg, for your help. And thank you, Lara. You’ve been great through all of this.”
She smiled, rising. “Thanks. Is home far?”
“Not even five miles. If you ever want a brisk walk in the blazing heat, I’m in South Miami, just past the Gables.” As soon as he said the words, he wondered what had gotten into him.
Matt stood, too, and said to Brett, “We’ll be at Sea Life in the morning, and I’ll meet you at the cemetery around one. I’m going to try to find connections between all these people—the staff at the funeral home, the dead we know about—and the Barillo family. I know the local task force is working it, but I also know your Special Agent Bryant isn’t getting anywhere and his informants aren’t giving him anything useful, so since Meg and I are here, we’re going to help if we can.”
“All help appreciated,” Brett replied. “And I can’t help but thinking that this might be an unwitting conspiracy.”
“What’s that?” Lara asked.
“What I mean is that a number of people might be doing things that are illegal without any idea how their efforts are being combined for a much larger—and deadlier—end,” Brett said. “Someone may be supplying whatever drugs and poison are being used. Someone else may have been bribed or blackmailed into supplying a body. A third person may be sharing the know-how without any idea that someone is actually using it. So the more connections we can make between any of the players, the better.”
“In other words, if we start at the end of the string, it may lead us to another string, then another, and eventually they’ll lead us to the spool of thread,” Meg said.
“So is there any indication that Miguel or Maria Gomez knew Randy Nicholson or anyone at the Diaz-Douglas funeral home, or anyone at the cemetery?” Lara asked.
“No. Miguel might not even have known anyone else involved. Except the Barillo family. Because I know they’re in on it somehow,” Brett said. “There’s no other way things could have gone down that way in the warehouse unless someone in the Barillo family was involved. No one else would have known he would be there.”
“What about his family?” Matt suggested.
Brett shook his head. “No, Maria loved her husband, and Miguel made sure his children and grandchildren were far away after he contacted the FBI—even when he caved and started working for Barillo, he wanted his children and grandchildren living elsewhere. They’re out in the Midwest, and they’ve agreed to stay where they are until we’ve gotten some answers. They’re not happy about it, but they understand it’s a safety issue.”
He told them all good-night at the gate, wishing he felt entirely sure that Lara would be all right even as he told himself it was foolish to want to stay. As an agent, he’d quickly learned that no man was an island. They depended on one another. Trusted one another. They had to. He was usually pretty good at it; it was pure ego to think he was the only one who could manage any particular task.
But this was different. Still, he managed to leave, his fingers lingering on Lara’s as she shut the gate, his eyes meeting hers. “Good night. You’re in good hands,” he told her.
She smiled and nodded. He thought that maybe she was wishing he could stay, too.
Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?
He got into his car and drove home. As he neared his house, he saw that a car was parked in front of his neighbor’s house, and there were men just sitting in it.
Watching his house.
An assassination team? he wondered.
He told himself for the second time that night that no man was an island. It was late, but he sat in his own car down the street, lights off, and felt for his Glock and his phone. He dialed Diego.
Diego answered right away, instantly alert, even though Brett was sure he’d been sleeping.
“Men in front of my neighbor’s house,” Brett said.
“I’m on my way. Should I call for backup?”
“No, this time of night, you should only be five minutes. I’m parked down the street, and let’s leave the line open.”
“On my way.”
Brett set the phone on the seat next to him. He didn’t get out of the car—he would be an easy target if they spotted him—just sat, watched and waited.
A moment later the other car’s driver’s door opened; a man stepped out and walked around, then opened the passenger-side door. He reached in to help a second man out.
It was Barillo. Even in the dark, Brett knew. He’d seen video and pictures of the man often enough.
The two men walked over to where he was parked. So much for hiding in the shadows, Brett thought.
“Agent Cody,” Barillo called.
Brett drew his Glock and stepped out of the car. Barillo lifted his hands. The younger man at his side did the same. They weren’t holding weapons, though Brett was certain that one of them, at least, was armed.
“What?” he asked, Glock aimed at the older man.
“There’s no need for that,” Barillo said to him. “I came in person to tell you that you don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Brett said.
“Then, you’re estupido!” the other man said angrily.
Barillo nudged him, and the man went silent.
“I’m here to tell you I don’t murder women,” Barillo said. “And I didn’t kill Miguel. You need to look somewhere else and find out what is going on. I came here in peace. I’m old. I’m done with my old ways. Do you understand? If you want to catch a killer, you need to look elsewhere. I came in person to tell you. That’s all. Good night, Agent Cody.”
Barillo turned around and headed back to the car. Brett watched him go. The man was in his mid-sixties, though he looked at least fifteen years older. When his name was said, people imagined a tough virile man who could take down half an army.
That wasn’t the Barillo Brett had seen tonight.
I’m old, he’d said.
He was more than old, Brett thought. He was also sick.
The Barillo car drove away and disappeared down the street. As Brett stood by his own car staring after it, he saw Diego round the corner in his beloved old BMW.
Diego slammed to a stop and jumped out of the car. “Gone?” he asked.
Brett nodded. “Barillo and a younger man, maybe forty, forty-five,” he told Diego. “Oddest thing. I was afraid of an ambush when I stepped out of the car, but he came out to tell me ‘face-to-face’ that he didn’t kill Maria or Miguel.”
“I wonder why it’s so important to this guy that we believe he didn’t kill Miguel,” Diego said. “Or why he’s so focused on you.”
“Maybe he knows that Miguel came to me. We have informants, they have informants,” Brett said. “I’ve never seen the younger man. Some lieutenant, probably.”
“Must be, since he keeps his kids out of the family business.”
“What a good father,” Brett said.
“Do you think it was a ploy, something to get us off his tail?” Diego asked.
“No,” Brett said thoughtfully. “I actually don’t. He seemed sincere.”
“Lots of criminals seem sincere—the same way murderers find Christ just before they go up in front of a parole board,” Diego said.
That was true enough, Brett knew. “Come on in. Might as well get out of the street.”
At his door, Brett keyed in the alarm code and they went inside. “Want coffee or something?” he asked.
“Coffee? I’m still dreaming of getting something called sleep for part of the night,” Diego told him. “I’ll take a water, though.”
Brett grabbed a bottle of water for Diego and made himself a cup of coffee. It wouldn’t keep him awake once he lay down to sleep, he knew.
The two of them sat on the stools at the kitchen breakfast bar.
“You know what struck me as odd?” Brett asked.
“Besides dead men going around killing people?”
“Barillo himself. He’s a shell of a man. Quite frankly, he looks weak in every way. How does a shriveled little man like that command such an empire? I think he has something, Diego, some kind of disease. I wish I knew what it was.”
Diego shrugged. “Heart disease? Cancer?”
“I don’t know, but it was interesting. The man with him was twice his size and plainly hostile, but Barillo shut him up effortlessly.”
“Like The Godfather. There can be only one don until the don steps aside.”
“Well, I doubt it will be one of the sons,” Brett said. “According to Bryant, there are three kids. Jeremy is going for his law degree. Apparently he’d like to go into politics, but I think his father’s reputation will put an end to those ambitions. Then there’s Felipe. Smart kid—he’s in anatomy or something premed like that. Anthony Barillo himself has a medical degree, not that he uses it now. Maybe everything Felipe does is to impress his old man, who knows. Then there’s the daughter, Cecelia. She’s about thirty and already has master’s degrees in two fields, I forget what, and she’s going for a third. It really is like The Godfather. He’s a major crime lord, but he wants his kids to be above reproach—like Michael Corleone. Of course, Michael would up being the one to take over the family. Maybe Barillo’s kids are starting to feel the pressure, too. The man who called me the other night said ‘my father.’ The guy tonight was too old to be either of the sons, though. Maybe it was his brother.”
“Barillo’s brother?”
Brett nodded. “Now that I think about it, it could be his youngest brother, Tomas. There were originally four brothers, but one died of natural causes and one died in a shoot-out. Tomas is the youngest, and Bryant thinks he’s being groomed to take over, not that Barillo has loosened his grip by a millimeter.”
“Sounds almost like a royal dynasty. When Anthony Barillo is gone, it will be like, ‘The king is dead, long live the king!’ No wonder poor Bryant has been at it so hard all these years. They have to root out the whole dynasty if they’re going to have a real effect.” Diego yawned.
Brett remembered that he’d roused his partner from a sound sleep and shook his head. “You want to just sleep here?” he asked.
“No, that’s okay. I’d only have to get up early and go home to shower and change.” Diego indicated the old AC/DC T-shirt he was wearing. “They’ll frown on it if I come to work like this. I’ll take off and see you in a few hours.”
“Thanks for the backup.”
“You’d have my back, too, amigo,” Diego said.
Brett saw him out to his car, and he didn’t head inside and lock up until Diego was out of sight.
It was disturbing that Barillo had come to his house. Despite the job, agents didn’t usually fear for their own lives unless they were in armed pursuit; it just didn’t pay for criminals to attack them. Law enforcement never came after you with greater ferocity than if you killed a fellow officer.
He set his alarms and double-checked that his Glock held a full clip before going to bed. His head was filled with questions and theories as he tried to sleep—and in the middle of every one he found himself thinking about Lara Ainsworth Mayhew.
He thought about her eyes.
And then her body.
Her smile.
And the way he had felt when she was so close to him in her swimsuit, nearly touching, when they’d been in the water and on the boat.
She was still on his mind when he finally fell asleep.
* * *
He woke with a jerk, dreaming about Lara in a way he shouldn’t have, but his dream vanished as he came instantly alert, almost as if someone had poked him. Instinctively he reached out, ready to grab his Glock, though with the alarms set it should have been impossible for anyone to get in without him knowing.
There was no danger. Even as he noticed the shadowy figure at the foot of his bed, he knew there was no danger.
Maria Gomez was back, looking at him with eyes filled with sadness.
Looking at him…and asking for his help without speaking a word.
When she did speak, she said nothing new.
“Miguel did it… It was Miguel, and yet it was not Miguel.”
“I know, Maria,” he said, wondering if he was imagining things because he’d gotten so damned obsessed with this case. “Maria, I know he loved you. He never would have hurt you—not if he was himself.”
The ghostly woman shimmered in and out of focus. And then she said, “Please. Please…”
The first pale sliver of morning light seeped through the drapes. For one minute more, she was there.
And then she was gone.
* * *
Lara thought it would be impossible to concentrate on her job, but throughout the morning she worked on the plans for the Sunday event, sending out emails to their members, replying to veterans who wanted to know what to expect, addressing their special concerns.
She thought that Meg would be bored to tears, but she wasn’t; she was on her laptop the whole time, wrapped up in what she was doing.
At about eleven-thirty they were interrupted when Lara received a call from the front; Sonia Larson was there to see her.
“One of our sponsors,” she explained to Meg. “A major sponsor—she loves the place and donates heavily.”
“Tax write-off?” Meg asked.
“Well, it’s a tax write-off for everyone, but I’ve seen Sonia at the lagoons. She really does love the dolphins.”
“You are talking Sonia Larson the fashion queen, aren’t you?”
Lara laughed. “I think she’s more like a goddess. You’ll see.”
Meg did.
Sonia walked into Lara’s office loaded down with bags bearing her company logo. She smiled with genuine pleasure on being introduced to Meg and apologized because she didn’t have anything for her. “But I have a feeling this one shares,” Sonia said, beaming at Lara.
Among many other things, she’d brought Lara a slightly daring bikini and matching lace-edged cover-up in a rich blue with just a hint of green.
“Matches your eyes perfectly,” she said.
“This is lovely. And I thank you so much. But I’m not sure I’m supposed to accept gifts like this,” Lara said. “And aren’t you supposed to be in Rio?”
Sonia waved a hand in the air. “You’re not going to believe this, but they had to put the show back a week. It’s one of the biggest in the world, but Jean Paul Genet—the host, you’ve heard of him, yes?”
Lara and Meg had both heard of him—yes! He had a makeup line, a perfume line, a clothing line and now he was designing yachts and cars.
“Well, anyway, the man got sick. So they have postponed the show. It’s all right with me. My schedule is my own. So I’m here and able to bring you a few presents.”
“And you’ll be here on Sunday?” Lara asked. “It would be wonderful if you can. The soldiers would be so thrilled.”
“I will come,” Sonia promised her. “But you wear the bikini I brought you and they’ll be more thrilled with you.”
Lara smiled. “Well, thank you. But we’re required to wear our regular wetsuits, and I’m not even sure I’ll be in the water at all. I’m media. The trainers are the ones who’ll work with the vets and the dolphins. You’re a celebrity. They’ll love seeing you.”
Sonia smiled. “I understand about the suit. And if you think I will do some good by being here, of course I’ll come. But for now I have a doctor’s appointment and my chauffeur is waiting.”
“Is anything wrong?” Lara asked, worried.
“No, no. I have an irregular heartbeat, so I see Dr. Treme for regular monitoring. I had to cancel my next appointment, but luckily he was able to fit me in today.”
“Treme?” Meg said.
“He’s the best down here,” Sonia said. She blew kisses. “I must go, but I will see you on Sunday.”
As soon as Sonia left, Lara looked at Meg, frowning. “What’s bothering you about Dr. Treme?” she asked.
“He’s the doctor who signed Randy Nicholson’s death certificate.”
“Should we stop her?” Lara asked nervously.
“No. He’s probably not guilty of anything. The man flatlined, and an entire group of medical personnel thought he was dead.”
“But…?”
“I’ll call Matt and Brett,” Meg said.
“Perfect,” Lara said, jumping up.
“Where are you going?” Meg asked her.
“To stop Sonia. I’ll get her to postpone, tell her I could use her help thinking about next season’s gala,” Lara said. “Just to be safe.”
Meg nodded. “A conspiracy of the unwitting,” she murmured.
* * *
Diego, Matt and Brett stood in the offices of the Diaz-Douglas funeral home, along with the entire staff. They went over the events that had followed the arrival of Randy Nicholson’s body at the mortuary. Every employee seemed equal parts stunned, scared and mystified. They’d been there for thirty minutes, and all they’d ascertained so far was that yes, the body had arrived. Many of the employees had seen it, but since the family hadn’t wanted embalming or an open casket, there had been no need for anything beyond cleaning and dressing the body, then laying it in the silk-lined coffin his children had chosen. That meant, as Mr. Douglas had explained, most of them had no actual contact with it.
“All right,” Brett said. “Who prepared Mr. Nicholson for the coffin?”
Carl Sage lifted his hand. “I cleaned and dressed Mr. Nicholson,” he said. “I laid him in the coffin, and I sealed the coffin. And I can tell you, when I did so, Mr. Nicholson was in it. Two of our ushers, Mike Bitter and Victor Menendez, helped me set it in place for the service. We also saw that it was transported from the funeral home to the cemetery. I’m telling you, they did not take the body, and neither did I.”
“What about the night the body stayed at the mortuary?” Brett asked.
“I was here until quite late, as usual, but I locked up when I left,” Carl said.
“Anyone else? After closing, I mean,” Matt asked.
“We were all here for a while,” Carl said. “The ushers leave first, but Mr. Douglas and Mr. Diaz were here for a while. And Mrs. Diaz,” he added. “When they left, I locked up and then went to my office.”
“May I see your office?” Brett asked.
Carl looked at his bosses. Both men nodded grimly.
It was odd, Brett thought as Carl led him, with Diego and Matt, with Diaz and Douglas following, through the employees-only area, that while he’d attended many autopsies, he’d never been behind the scenes at a mortuary. They passed by the embalming room, where several bodies were in various stages of preparation.
Somehow, he found this place sadder even than autopsy. In an autopsy, doctors worked to discover cause of death. To speak for the dead.
While here…
The soul was gone, but every pretense was taken to pretend the dead weren’t really gone. A makeup set on a tray sat by a stainless-steel gurney holding the remains of an older woman.
No amount of makeup would change the fact that she would never look like herself again. The internal spark that had made her who she was had fled.
They moved past the embalming room and stood in the doorway of Carl’s office. The small room held a desk, a computer, filing cabinets—the usual accoutrements of any office, although this one also held a collection of books on embalming, and the reconstruction and cosmetic preparation of bodies. There was also a thick book of Florida statutes on proper and legal burial procedures.
But it wasn’t the office itself that interested Brett. It was the fact that the office was at the far end of the hall, near the funeral home’s receiving bay. But if the office door was closed, the bay doors could easily be opened and closed—and someone in the office would be none the wiser.
“Do you keep your door shut when you’re in here?” Brett asked Carl.
“Yeah. I turn on my music and do my paperwork,” Carl said. He seemed puzzled by their question.
Matt walked to the end of the hall and the receiving doors. Diego closed the office door.
“What’s going on?” Diaz demanded.
“There are only five people with keys?” Brett asked him.
“Yes, I told you. Myself, Jonathan, my wife, Carl and Jill,” Diaz said. “Why?”
“Because I think someone opened that door and let somebody in, somebody who took Randy Nicholson’s body from the mortuary,” Brett said.
“That’s just not possible.” Douglas sounded genuinely indignant.
“I think it’s time we stopped cooperating and called our attorneys,” Diaz said.
* * *
The only way Lara could legitimately think of to stop Sonia from going to her appointment was to come up with something else for her to do, so she told her that Meg was crazy about her designs and really wanted to take her to lunch. It was a bit hard to persuade Sonia to agree, but in the end she agreed to reschedule her checkup for a second time. Given her semi-celebrity status, Dr. Treme’s office was more than happy to oblige.
Lara raced back to brief Meg on her “role,” and then they joined Sonia outside. Her chauffeur drove them over the causeway to South Beach.
The area had a character all its own, a faded elegance left over from the days of Sinatra and Al Capone, who had both spent time here. The hotels had weathered through the years, and the local kids had come in droves to ride waves that really weren’t there. High-class restaurants and nightclubs had been replaced by coffee shops and bagelries. Then a boom had hit. The old deco hotels had been recognized as the treasures they were, painted and spruced up, and high-end restaurants and clubs had made a comeback.
The problem with the beach now was parking, but they didn’t have to worry about that, since Sonia’s chauffeur would drop them off, then come back for them when Sonia called.
They opted to stroll along Lincoln Road Mall and choose a restaurant at random. Options were plentiful, along with shops, a movie theater, a bookstore—and dozens of dogs. The open-air mall was known for being pet friendly. All three of them were dog fans, and they stopped to compliment so many dogs that Lara was afraid she would be gone so long that she would miss a full afternoon of work.
Sonia finally chose a restaurant, and of course she knew the owners. They were shown to a special table and offered a select champagne. Lara and Meg demurred—they were working—but encouraged Sonia to enjoy.
Sonia, meanwhile, was delighted with the whole event. “Lunch with girlfriends! This is something I never get to do,” she told them.
As they ordered and ate, Lara thought she understood why. Sonia was approached several times by people who wanted their pictures taken with her.
Sonia explained that she always tried to be obliging when people recognized her. “I met Versace once when I was young. People loved him because he was always so available. He lived on the beach. He had breakfast at the News Café. He was a man of the people, and I want to be the same.”
Lara realized that she really liked Sonia. The woman was a bundle of sincere energy. Glancing at Meg, she knew that her friend was thinking the same. While Meg had always been hell-bent on her law enforcement career, Lara had intended to save the world through politics. Their friends hadn’t often been fashionistas.
It wasn’t until they were almost ready to leave that Lara noticed Ely Taggerly having lunch with three other men in a dark corner of the restaurant. Ely was nodding vehemently as he spoke, making some kind of point. He was clearly aggravated. Lara hadn’t seen him angry before, but then she’d only seen him at Sea Life, and the facility seemed to have a calming effect on everyone.
It wasn’t until Ely shifted in his chair that Lara realized one of the men he was having lunch with was Sea Life’s own Nelson Amory. Amory, too, looked annoyed.
“Look who’s here!” Sonia said, noticing the men at that moment, and before anyone could stop her, she hurriedly swept through the restaurant to their table.
As Lara quickly rushed to get ahead of the temperamental woman, intent on averting a potentially disastrous encounter if she could, she saw that the other men at the table were two of their other benefactors, Grant Blackwood and Mason Martinez.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Lara said breathlessly as Sonia came up behind her. “How nice to see you all together. Are you planning a new line of vitamins for dolphin health?” she teased.
“No, no, of course not,” Dr. Amory said, rising. Lara was certain that he was drawing out his answer because he was thinking up a lie.
“We’re all planning on being at your Sunday event,” Grant said. By then, all four men had risen.
“And in the meantime, I’m trying to squeeze more money out of them for research,” Dr. Amory said.
They were lying—she was sure of it—but why lie to her? Maybe one of them was trying to persuade Dr. Amory to leave Sea Life and work for him instead?
Maybe later she would walk down to the education building and ask Dr. Amory straight out.
“Well, keep squeezing,” she said cheerfully.
“He’s pretty good at it,” Ely told her, smiling benignly.
He always appeared to be the perfect gentleman, but Grady had told her once that even though they always saw him as kind and smiling, he was hell in a boardroom. He’d built his pharmaceutical company from nothing, and his scientists had done a lot of groundbreaking work with diseases like Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s.
He’d made a small fortune on his drug patents, and he’d told her once that all drug companies changed things up just a little now and then to keep their patents in force. “After the money and effort we put into developing them? We don’t like to see the generic showing up two seconds later.”
As nice as he’d always been to her, though, she felt uneasy now, certain that she and Sonia—who was smiling and chatting, she noticed, completely oblivious to the undertone Lara had picked up on—had interrupted something they shouldn’t have.
“Who is that pretty young woman waiting for you?” Grant asked, slurring slightly. A glance at the table showed that it had probably been a three-martini lunch for him.
“My friend Meg,” Lara said. “She’s with the FBI, but she’s down here for a while.”
“Well, isn’t that too bad?” Blackwood said with a laugh. “Anyway, I think she’s getting impatient. You fillies oughta mosey along.”
“We’re not fillies, Grant,” Sonia said. “You show some respect.”
“Yes, ma’am!” he agreed, grinning.
Sonia rolled her eyes. “We’ll see you on Sunday—enjoy your lunch,” she said.
“See you Sunday,” Lara echoed. They rejoined Meg at the table, where she had waited.
“Meg, you didn’t join us,” Sonia said.
“I was afraid to make us any later. Lara has to be back at work,” Meg said, standing and tucking a receipt into her wallet, having apparently paid the check while they were talking to the men.
But Lara also knew exactly what her friend had really been doing.
Watching. She had realized that Lara felt disturbed.
“Just as well. Blackwood is a douche,” Sonia said, looking at Lara as if for confirmation.
“I’m not saying a word,” Lara said.
Sonia laughed. “Let’s go, then. I’ll call Henri and we’ll head back. This was delightful. I hope we can do it again.”
“That would be nice,” Lara assured her.
“Absolutely,” Meg agreed.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, back in Lara’s office, Meg closed the door and turned to her. “Okay, tell me about them—all of them.”
“You met Dr. Amory, and all the men he was with are big supporters of Sea Life. Grant Blackwood is a Texan pain in the ass who tries to pick up just about every woman he meets, even though he’s married. A lot of women are flattered and fall for his line, and they don’t care about his wife because he’s not just rich, he’s filthy rich. Ely Taggerly is the founder and CEO of Taggerly Pharmaceuticals. And the last guy was Mason Martinez, the health guru. You must have seen him on at least one of a dozen of his infomercials for vitamins or exercise equipment.”
“Yeah, I thought I recognized him. So they were with Amory because he was trying to hit them up for money?”
Lara shrugged. “So he claimed.”
“But you didn’t believe him?” Meg asked.
Lara shook her head. “He looked guilty. I think maybe one of them was trying to hire him away from Sea Life. He’s a brilliant man. He has doctorates in marine biology and veterinary medicine. He’s done all kinds of research. Before he came here he was with the military. They still use dolphins in some missions. The animal-rights activists aren’t happy about it, and I think maybe he came here precisely because we’re all about learning what the dolphins themselves need.” She frowned. “Why? Are you suspicious of him for some reason?”
“I’m always suspicious of everyone,” Meg said. “And pieces of Miguel Gomez’s body were found in this lagoon.”
“Dr. Amory would never be guilty of that. I can’t believe he could kill, and even if he was capable of murder, he wouldn’t want his dolphins in a lagoon that was contaminated in any way.”
“Still, it’s an interesting situation,” Meg said. “I think I should find out a little more about Dr. Amory and your sponsors.”
“I know Dr. Amory well, and the others I’m getting to know, and I don’t think any of them would—”
Meg cut her off. “I believe you. But remember what Brett said about an unwitting conspiracy.”
“But there’s no reason whatsoever to suspect anyone at Sea Life,” Lara protested. “Those body parts don’t mean anything. The ocean is huge!”
“Precisely,” Meg said.