Mortal Dilemma Read online

  “He’s a pussy lawyer,” Charlie Bates said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “He was Army Special Forces. You saw how he took you down Saturday night. He didn’t even break a sweat.”

  “He sucker punched me. Caught me off guard.”

  J.D. forced a laugh. “Not the way I heard it. You took the first swing. With a beer bottle.”

  “You better start getting outta them clothes.”

  “I told you that’s not going to happen, Charlie.”

  He moved toward her, the knife coming up to waist level, his pistol in the other hand and trained on her. He was interrupted by the sound of a key being inserted into the lock on her front door. It opened. Matt took two steps inside and stopped dead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5

  DURING THE NIGHT, a cold front had moved into Southwest Florida, making its way down from Canada, weakening as it moved south, its remnants blowing chilled air over our island. It was a little early for jackets, but sometimes the cold fronts arrive prematurely and the effects hang around for a day or two.

  I’d worn a windbreaker that morning, and as I walked in the door of J.D.’s condo, I was pocketing my car keys in the right pocket where I kept my Kel-Tec PF9, a small nine-millimeter pistol that was little more than five inches long and weighed less than a pound. I didn’t want to be caught unprepared if Youssef or one of his men showed up. I had a small sack of muffins in my left hand and a copy of the Tampa Bay Times tucked under my left arm. I took two steps inside and stopped dead, my right hand still in the pocket with my keys and my gun.

  My memory of the moment when I walked in the door is of a second fixed in time, a tableau vivant, the actors still, expressions frozen on their faces, J.D. taking a step backward, Bates in mid-step toward her, a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. His head was turned to the right, looking at me, the hand with the pistol starting to point in my direction.

  J.D. was standing with her back to the alcove that led to her bedroom, Bates a couple of feet in front of her. They were maybe a dozen feet from me. Both were looking in my direction, but I was sure Bates could see J.D. in his peripheral vision.

  “What’re you doing, Charlie?” I asked, my voice calm.

  He made that sound that may have been a laugh, or a growl. “I’m going to fuck the little lady here. Just like I promised Saturday night. I’ll let you watch, and then I’m going to shoot your sorry ass.”

  “I don’t think so.” My voice was calm. I didn’t want to taunt the beast.

  He glared at me, and said to J.D., “Get naked, bitch, or I’m going to shoot this motherfucker. Now.”

  “No,” J.D. said, alarm in her voice. “I’ll take my clothes off.” She started to unbutton her blouse, counting the buttons as she did so, trying to keep his attention, and sidestepping discreetly out of his peripheral line of sight. “Done,” she said, her voice soft, sultry, inviting. She threw the blouse on the floor between Bates and me. “I’m not wearing a bra,” she lied. “Take a peek and let me know what you think.”

  Bates turned his head to look. I raised the Kel-Tec, still in my pocket, and shot through the fabric of the jacket. The slug hit him in the neck. He dropped like a felled tree, arms akimbo, no attempt to break his fall or react in any way. My mind slowed and I saw the bullet enter the right side of his neck and exit the left, taking tissue and blood with it. Good thing J.D. has tile floors, I thought. I watched the slug fly out the open sliding glass doors, across the pool deck and disappear into the turquoise water of the bay.

  I’m fully aware that I didn’t really see that, and in fact the doors were closed against the Canadian air, but in the second after I pulled the trigger, my mind conjured up the results of the shot. It was like I had slipped into another dimension, and suddenly, I was back. J.D. was standing where she’d been less than a second ago, wearing her skirt and bra, a look of consternation on her face.

  She walked across the room and collapsed on the sofa. She reached for her cell phone in the pocket of her suit jacket, dialed three numbers, and said, “Iva, this is J.D. I’ve got a dead man in my condo. Roll the guys and make sure Steve Carey is one of them. We’ll need him to do the detective work on this one. Get Kevin and the crime scene people moving, too. You know my address? Thanks. Yes, I’m okay. Matt’s with me.”

  I sat next to her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “That was close. I was about to try to take the knife away from him when I heard your key in the door. You got back fast.”

  “I stopped at Harry’s store for a newspaper and saw a basketful of muffins. I thought a couple of those might be a little better for us than all that sugar from Publix. I’d have been here sooner, but I ran into Mike Seamon and stopped to talk. Cyndi’s volunteering full time at Mote, now that the turtles have gone to wherever they go, so he…” I stopped. My mouth was outrunning my brain, talking because I didn’t know what else to do. I was shaken by J.D.’s brush with Bates. He’d have killed her just for the hell of it, and her vulnerability to such an attack had unnerved me.

  I heard sirens in the distance, getting louder as they came closer. The cavalry, in LBKPD uniforms, was on the way. “You’d better put your blouse on,” I said. “One guy already died today trying to get a look at those beauties. You don’t want to get the reputation as a strumpet.” I was trying to break the tension. I knew she was feeling a lot more than she was showing.

  “Not funny. Strumpet?” she said, slapping me on the thigh as she got off the sofa, put on her blouse and went to open the door. But she smiled, and I knew she would be okay soon enough. She was a tough cookie. And she was mine. And she was alive.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5

  STEVE CAREY WAS the first cop through the door. “You okay, J.D.?”

  “Yes. Matt shot the bastard.”

  “What happened?”

  “The guy was trying to rape me.”

  “You did good, Matt,” Steve said. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Charlie Bates,” I said. “Do you want me to go into detail or wait until you can take a formal statement?”

  “Let’s wait. Are you sure you’re okay, J.D.?”

  “I’m fine. He never touched me. Matt came in just in time.”

  Two other cops pushed through the door and in a couple of minutes the paramedics arrived. They checked the body, determined that Bates was well and truly dead, and left, telling us that the medical examiner’s people were on the way.

  Chief Bill Lester and Deputy Chief Martin Sharkey showed up to make sure J.D. was safe. The chief told Carey to get detailed statements while we waited for the forensics people. “That’s just for show,” Lester said. “Not much forensics is needed here. We know who Bates was, we know he’s no longer among the living, and we know old dead-eye Royal here killed the bastard while in the act of saving the life of a Longboat Key police detective. We’ll get out of your hair, J.D. Don’t worry about the deposition today. I’ll take care of it.” He and Sharkey left.

  We sat and talked to Steve Carey, who was recording our statements. The medical examiner’s assistants came and took pictures and removed the body. A cleanup crew arrived to get the blood and tissue off the tile floor. Kevin, Longboat’s forensic guy, came, took a look around, snapped few photographs, and left.

  Some of J.D.’s neighbors had gathered in the parking lot, wondering what was going on with all the official cars and ambulances showing up with sirens blaring. The officers on the scene had assured them that everything was under control and J.D. was fine. After everybody was gone and J.D. and I were alone in her condo, she started to shake, and tears ran down her cheeks. I pulled her into my arms as we sat on the sofa. She began to sob, her breath catching as she tried to choke back the emotion. I held her tighter and said nothing. There wasn’t anything to say. She needed to cry it out, and then the tough-as-nails cop would come back. Hopefully.

  �
��I wanted him dead, Matt,” she said finally. “I didn’t want justice for him, I didn’t want to see him in court or getting sent to jail where he’d be taken care of by the state. I didn’t even want to see him executed, if it came to that. I just wanted him dead. Right there on my floor. And I wanted to do it, pull the trigger, and watch him sink into the abyss. And when you shot him, I tried to see the expression on his face. I wanted to see something, but it wasn’t there. Nothing. He just closed his eyes and slumped to the floor. I was glad you killed him, but my first thought was that I wished it had been me pulling that trigger.”

  “I know, baby.” I was still holding her, letting the anguish dissipate.

  “That isn’t me, Matt. I’ve had to kill people before. In the line of duty. But I never wanted to kill them. That guy who took the shot at me up in Gainesville last week. If I could have arrested him, I would have done so. I only shot him because I had no other choice. And I didn’t feel too bad about it, like I thought I should have. But I wouldn’t have shot him if I could have avoided it. Bates, I wanted to kill. And I would have killed him. Given the choice, I might have even used the knife.”

  “I know, baby.” I didn’t know what else to say. She had to talk it out.

  “Have I crossed a line, Matt? Have I abandoned every belief about justice and law that I’ve held over a lifetime? It’s dark on the other side of that line.”

  She talked some more and then was quiet. Her breathing evened out and she dropped off to sleep. We sat like that for a long time, her head resting on my shoulder, my arms around her, holding on to the one person who was completely indispensable to me. She’d had a close call, but she’d be okay. I’d see to that.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5

  YOUSSEF AL BASHAR and Saif Jabbar were eating breakfast in a Wendy’s restaurant near the intersection of Highway 64 and Interstate 75, east of Bradenton. The call had come on Sunday morning telling Youssef that Royal was back on Longboat Key. He must have driven, because he didn’t go through the airport. Or at least, if he had, Saif had missed him. That wasn’t likely.

  The men had spent the rest of the day on Sunday trying to find some trace of their men. They had gone to the taxi company manager’s house to ask about the one known as Tariq. The man knew nothing. He hadn’t seen Tariq since Saturday morning. Hadn’t heard from him.

  Youssef shot the poor man in the head, and he and Saif drove to the marina where the ambush had been set up. No sign of either Tariq or Abdullah, or of Tariq’s taxi. They called all the burner cell numbers given to the men. No answer on any of them. The phones were shut down, turned off.

  Monday had been a day of frustration. They had heard nothing more from their source on Longboat Key, and when Youssef called him, the man could only assume that Royal and the woman were still on Longboat. He hadn’t seen them since Saturday night. And he had not seen or heard of Jock on the island since he’d disappeared on Friday and left for Key West.

  There was no word from his men. Youssef decided they were lost, either dead or in custody. The best evidence he had was that Royal and Duncan were in Longboat Key. It was time to move north.

  They left Key West late Tuesday afternoon and drove to Florida City, the first town on the mainland of Florida. They checked into a small mom-and-pop motel, spent the night, and started the four-hour drive to Longboat Key at daybreak.

  “What is your plan, Youssef?” Saif asked as they finished their Wendy’s breakfast. “How do we find the woman and Matt Royal?”

  “The American we have hired will strike this morning and kill the woman. I should have heard from him by now. Maybe he was delayed. He is not to touch Royal. They often spend the night together in Royal’s house or the woman’s condo. If they are together, our man is to wait until the woman is alone and then kill her. I don’t trust him to take Royal alive, and we need him to tell us where Algren is.

  “We’ll take him alive and find out what he knows about Algren’s location,” Youssef continued. “Our contact told me where he lives, and what kind of car he drives. We’ll strike at midnight. He’ll be grieving over the death of the woman. He will not be expecting us.”

  “What if he resists?” Saif asked.

  “He won’t. You’re a big man, Saif. Even if he does resist, you can take him. All you have to do is get the drug in him and he’ll be unconscious.”

  “How are we going to take him?”

  “My contact had an idea on how to do that. He will have to leave the island as soon as he has killed the woman, but he has associated another American to assist us. He’ll have a place for us to hide out and even hold the prisoner if we have to. It’ll all be over by tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5

  I MUST HAVE dozed off because the ringing of J.D.’s cell phone awakened me. It was on the arm of the sofa where she’d set it down after calling in the shooting. She stirred and reached for it and turned it off without answering. I looked at my watch. It was a little after eleven. We’d been asleep for the better part of an hour.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “We never did eat our muffins.”

  “I can make ham sandwiches and we can have the muffins for dessert.”

  “You want to go out? We could get something at the Dry Dock.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m sure the island telegraph has been active and I don’t want to have to explain what went on here this morning.”

  “Ham sandwiches it is.”

  We ate on J.D.’s sunporch, chatting and watching the boats on the Intracoastal Waterway. “You know, we’re going to have to face them sooner or later,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “The islanders.”

  She chuckled. “I think I’ll be better able to do that with a couple of glasses of wine. I’m surprised we haven’t already had a bunch of phone calls.”

  “They’re just giving you space. I’m surprised that we haven’t heard from the local TV stations and newspapers. They’re usually out right away knocking on doors and asking penetrating questions, like ‘How did you feel while you were being shot?’”

  “Bill Lester may not have released anything to the press yet. And besides, I doubt they could get hold of my department cell phone number. I turned my personal phone off.”

  “Maybe, but they monitor police radios and have all kinds of nosey people feeding them information. They’ll probably be here soon enough. You want to go to my place?”

  “No. They’ll just show up there. Let’s sit it out here. We just won’t answer the door.”

  My cell phone interrupted us. I answered. David Parrish. “Do you know where J.D. is?” he asked as soon as I answered.

  “She’s sitting right across the table from me.”

  “I’ve been calling her for the past two hours. She’s not answering.”

  “We’ve had a pisser of a morning.” I told him what had happened.

  “I’m sorry as hell, Matt. Is she all right?”

  “Mostly, I think.” I looked at her and grinned. “She’s tough. She’ll be okay. You want to talk to her?”

  “I need to talk to both of you. Put me on the speaker.”

  I found the right button on my phone and pushed it. “You still there?”

  “I’m here,” Parrish said. “I wanted you to know that the FBI is going to arrest your buddy D. Wesley Gilbert late this afternoon.”

  “The bank had a video of the withdrawal.”

  “That they did. It clearly showed Gilbert withdrawing the money on Tuesday of last week. The bank account records show that was the only cash withdrawal in a couple of weeks.”

  “Why did they have that account?” J.D. asked.

  “It was a not very slick way to move money. Fortson deposited money in varying amounts on an irregular basis. It looks like the only money going out was on checks written by Gilbert and the occasional cash withdrawals, but we don’t have any way now to determine whethe
r they were made by Gilbert or Fortson. Had to be one of them.”

  “Was there a lot of activity?” J.D. asked.

  “A reasonable amount. The account has been open for about four years. There’s been a lot of money deposited in it over the years by Fortson.”

  “Do you know where the money went?” J.D. asked.

  “We’ve got people looking at that now, but it seems there were a lot of checks to something called Wayfarer, Inc. and quite a few to a Wally Delmer.”

  “His lawyer isn’t going to let him say a word,” I said.

  “No, but he won’t have a lawyer. We’ll tell him that we picked him up on a warrant from the FISA court, the one that oversees terrorist activities. We’ll use Gilbert’s connections to Ishmael’s Children as the wedge. We don’t have to let him have a lawyer. At least not right now.”

  “That doesn’t ring true to me, David,” I said.

  “That’s because it’s not true, Counselor. We do have some leeway in how we interrogate suspects. We might be taking a little advantage here, but I doubt this idiot will figure it out.”

  “What’s your plan?” J.D. asked.

  “We’re going to let him spend the night in the federal lockup in Sanford, and one of our agents is going to talk to him at eight in the morning. I thought you might like to sit in, J.D., and maybe have some questions based on your investigation.”

  “I’d like that,” J.D. said, “but I don’t think I can get to Orlando tomorrow. We’ve got lots going on here with Matt having to kill the guy who was trying to kill me this morning.”

  “We’ll do it virtually,” Parrish said. “I guess that’s the right term. All this newfangled technology kind of buffaloes me. Anyway, I’m told that we can somehow plug your computer into our video system, so that you can watch and hear the proceedings in real time. You won’t be able to join in and ask questions, but before we cut Gilbert loose or lock him up, I’ll get with you by phone and you can ask him any questions you might have.”