With a streak of good weekend weather ahead, we planned on spending it aboard Scalawag. Max, normally a Sunday visitor, had asked to come aboard Saturday because on this particular Sunday he was having brunch with his college-aged daughter, which unfortunately included his ex-wife, on one of their infrequent visits to Washington.
As soon as both his feet were on deck, he said, “Reed called me from Miami this morning—they have received no cooperation from the two male civilians taken off the yacht. They maintain they were on a pleasure cruise. From their IDs, we know one’s from Chicago, the other from Paterson, New Jersey. They are both in the long-haul trucking business. They claim they are good Americans and don’t do business with mercenaries.
“However, the good news is what Reed and a female agent learned from the six party girls. Faced with accessory to murder charges, they all cooperated. They are employed by an escort service in Miami that has ties,” he said very slowly, “to a porno operation in Atlanta . . .”
“George Manchester?” I questioned.
Max smiled his best Cheshire cat grin. “The man with known ties to Washington politicians. Two Atlanta-based agents paid Mr. Manchester a visit at his home last evening. Their ruse was an investigation of two women arrested in Miami on drug charges who admitted to working in Atlanta and Washington. And because Mr. M had sworn to the FBI—after last year’s brush with the law—that he would forever be cooperative, they knew he wouldn’t mind answering a few questions.”
My adrenaline was exploding.
“That’s a wildly interesting coincidence,” Jerry said.
Max nodded. “Manchester quickly proved to be a valuable asset.”
This was astounding. “Horowitz?” I asked hopefully.
“It seems that the pharma lobby utilizes Mr. Manchester’s escort service on a regular basis in both Miami and Washington.”
I was freaking out. “Manchester knows Horowitz?”
“It appears they’ve had a direct dealing or two, but the escort service is handled through surrogates,” Max said in his most deliberate—and for me, agonizing—manner, except his grin was giving him away.
“Do I hear the strains of It’s a Small World?” Jerry asked. “What else did they pull out of the man from Atlanta?”
Max said Manchester assured the FBI agents he was no longer in that business, but did allow that he knew Mr. Stanley Horowitz professionally. “This ties the women on the yacht to at least the pharmaceutical lobby. Reed said the contract for the women’s services was filtered down through several layers. However, we still need another breathing person to fill in the details. The yacht has been searched and found to be clean.”
I found that curious. “If there were no incriminating items like weapons, clothing, or personal stuff belonging to the six men, maybe it was all dumped.”
Max smiled. “I believe the Marines have some SCUBA equipment and, along with Carmayan divers, are searching the harbor bottom as we speak.”
“Okay. I didn’t think of it first, but I did think of it,” I said.
“Max, you can’t be saying that somebody other than our own Miss Marples comes up with these gems?” Jerry asked, trying hard not to burst into laughter.
I slapped Jerry’s shoulder and let out a sardonic laugh. “Ha, ha. I get it. But you’ll have to admit—”
“Of course, we do,” Max interrupted, “I was just curious to see if your being off the street-beat had dulled your thinking.”
He and Jerry joined in a guy-type, loud laugh. They loved it when they could tease me. But that’s why I feel so lucky . . . having them both in my life. My eyes began to tear, so I jumped up and turned away from them. “Can I get you boys anything?” I said, heading away from them toward the galley.
“I’ll take a brew,” Jerry answered.
“Make mine water,” said Max, who preferred to stay sharp on Saturdays in case he was called to duty. I descended the ladder and got a tissue. I washed my face and went to the ice chest.
I was thrilled we had Horowitz pinned to the yacht. Human life was so cheap to him. It’s easy to believe he’d want both Rogers men killed. I pulled a beer and a bottle of water out of the ice chest, while wondering if I should call Ro or Michael. Max believed the pharmas had Mort killed and were behind the processing plant attack. Assassination and annihilation were tools in the pharma lobby’s trade. I went topside.
“Here you are, gentlemen.”
“Well,” Jerry said, “as you’re in a giving mood, when do we eat?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry . . . I forgot to bring my sarong and leis, but maybe I can find a luau CD,” I said, holding up Jerry’s can of beer, making as though I was about to shake it. “May I open your beer, sir?”
“No, no . . . that will be fine.” Jerry cowered playfully.
“Consider yourself fortunate I did this much.” I turned to go down below.
“Where you going?”
“Check on Tyler and make my lunch.” Actually, I had decided to call Ro. As I reached the ladder, I had a thought and twirled around. “Perhaps the two incarcerated men were on an entirely different mission and should be let go. Maybe we could learn more from them that way.” I went below and made my call.
“Hello,” Ro answered softly.
“It’s Laura.”
“Good morning. Are you on Scalawag?”
“We are, with Max Walsh. I have good news.” I filled her in.
“That is great news. Dad mentioned there were some new developments in Carmaya, but wouldn’t tell me on the phone. Do you know—?”
“I believe that would be a search of the bottom of the Carmayan harbor for stuff possibly dumped from the party boat, because there was nothing incriminating on board.”
“That stinker, not telling me. Thanks. I’ll have some fun with this.”
“If you’re not doing anything, how about coming over?”
“I’m visiting some friends later who are far apart from all this. I need the break.”