The Shoal of Time Page 16

  I didn’t know what it meant, but I took a picture anyway.

  Tucked into the back of the ledger was a picture of a woman in a red leather bra. She was very much alive and her expression was one of terror. I swallowed my bile and took a picture of that as well.

  Nothing else was in the box.

  I put everything back the way I found it but left the box itself sitting on the desk up front.

  Eleven minutes. Time to get out of here.

  The parking lot was still empty. I trotted to my car, stripping off the latex gloves as I went. I got in and drove over to the end with the shuttered pizza parlor. It was almost one o’clock in the morning.

  I dialed Ashley’s number.

  She answered on the second ring. “Micky? Where are you?”

  “On the stakeout. Three crooks just broke in.” I almost said “before I had the chance to,” but we’d agreed to pretend I wasn’t going to do that. “I managed to scare them off.”

  “What?” she said, sounding confused.

  “Sorry, no time for a long story. They made a lot of noise and someone probably called the police by now.”

  “Oh, shit, you’re kidding,” she said. “Who the hell would break in?”

  “Meth heads who thought they would find drugs here.”

  “Fucking amateurs,” she muttered.

  It was odd, but I remembered Madame Celeste saying the same thing. But about different people.

  “Yeah, anyway, the place has been broken into. Once I’d scared them off, I did a quick check inside. To make sure no one was in there and hurt.”

  “Of course, makes sense.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “What do you mean?” I’d probably woken her up; she didn’t seem to grasp the situation.

  “Do I call the police and pretend to be an innocent citizen who happened on this? Do I get out of here and hope someone else will call it in? Turn the power back on and let the alarm wail? What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Then she said, “Wait, give me a moment to think. It needs to be called in, but it’s not a good idea for you to do it. Can you turn the power back on? See if that sets the alarm system on?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Call me and let me know what happens.”

  “It may be a while. Once the alarm goes off, I’m gone and not stopping until I’m far gone out of here.”

  “That’s okay. Just call and let me know.”

  I hung up. I needed to exit this place. The meth trio might have pooled enough brain cells between them to begin to wonder about the cops who didn’t bother chasing them. It was still possible someone had called the police and they were dealing with more important crimes before making it here.

  I drove back close to the office, not directly in front, but a short sprint away.

  I hastened out of my car and went back to the circuit box, barely remembering to put my latex gloves back on.

  At least the day-care place would get its power back. Hate to have the milk spoil for the kids.

  I flipped the circuit breakers to the on position. An alarm started to wail.

  I sprinted to my car, didn’t bother taking the gloves off, and sped out of the lot. I was only briefly on the I-10 service road, heading back into the residential areas, a turn and then another turn before slowing to a sedate speed, as if I was someone coming home late at night. Nothing to see here, keep going.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I drove through the residential areas, slowly squirreling my way back to Veteran’s, the main drag here in suburbia land, using that to get back to safety, aka Orleans Parish.

  Once I was sure no one had followed me—and my nerves had calmed enough—I found a place to pull over to call Ashley. Before I called her, though, I emailed all the pictures I’d taken to my office computer. Back up, back up, and back up again.

  Praise the fates for speed dial, I didn’t think I could punch in digits and at two in the morning it’s not nice to call a wrong number.

  She answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  “Where am I?” I looked out the window to get a clue as to where I was. “On the side of the road, Esplanade I think. Up near City Park. I came the back ways.”

  “You’re away from the site? Did the police come?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. I turned the power back on and that set off the alarm. Didn’t think it prudent to hang around and see.”

  “Okay, I’ll check on it. Did you see anything? Find anything?”

  “I didn’t have much time, so it was a quick look around. Some drugs the meth heads missed. Another ledger.”

  “You found that? In not ‘much time’?”

  “Most thugs are only smarter than their thug buddies, and most thugs are stupid. There are standard places to hide things, like in the food pantry or the kitty litter. Places they think people won’t look.”

  “So you found another red ledger.”

  “Yes, but this one was a new one, only about ten entries in it. Hard to think that they ran out of space in the first one and had to start a new one.”

  “Maybe they lost the last one and needed another. Did you take it with you?”

  “No, I left it there, for the police to find as evidence.”

  “Of course, smart move. Why don’t you come here?”

  “Here?”

  “To my hotel. So we can talk this over.”

  “It’s late, you should get back to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep worrying about you. This is the second time it was supposed to be an easy assignment and instead something dangerous happened.”

  “I really am okay,” I told her. “A little shaken up, but that’s not the first time this happened.”

  “Just come here. Let’s talk this through, okay? I need to debrief you and we might as well do it in a comfortable place with room service. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, not that I’d thought about food until just now. “We don’t need to take too long doing this.”

  “We’ll take the time we need. You can crash here if you like or go home if you prefer.”

  “Thanks, I’ll see you soon.”

  I was wired, still on an adrenaline rush and not likely to be sleepy for several hours. I put my phone away, buckled my seat belt, checked my rearview mirror, and pulled out. Late-night drivers are often less-than-sober drivers and I wanted to give the cops no reason to pull me over. That would be too much, the wrong people break in and I get caught for the wrong reason at the wrong time.

  Most houses were dark; only a few distant headlights and an occasional streetlight pierced through the night until I got closer to the Quarter, the place where the city never slept. It did, however, stumble and weave drunkenly, especially the drivers. I slalomed around the slow-moving drunks on Rampart as I headed to the CBD.

  I made it to Ashley’s hotel in good time. Even the crazy French Quarter traffic didn’t slow me down as much as it usually would.

  I left my car with the valet. I’d need to check before I retrieved it that I have enough money on hand to pay for parking. Or maybe Ashley would cover it.

  She’d given me her room number, so I walked purposefully through the lobby, the stride of someone who belonged here. Being female and middle-aged made me unthreatening, almost invisible. Besides, a hotel this close to the Quarter had to have seen its share of people coming in at all hours. This is a city where the bars never close.

  I tapped softly on Ashley’s door.

  She was waiting for me and quickly opened it.

  “Come in,” she said, giving me a hug in the entryway.

  She had a small suite. I’d entered into a sitting area with a table off to one side and a wet bar in the corner. On the table was a fruit-and-cheese tray and a bottle of wine.

  She noticed my gaze. “Thought you might be hungry,” she said.

  “Thanks, but you didn’t need to do that.”

  “I know, but it seemed t
he least I could do. Sit.” She motioned to the love seat.

  I obeyed, plopping myself into its deep cushions. It felt good to finally be at rest.

  She brought the fruit tray and wine to the coffee table and took the overstuffed chair next to it. Our knees were close, but we could look at each other. Her briefcase was beside it, and she pulled out a notebook.

  “Walk me through what happened,” she said. She put her pen down on the coffee table and grabbed a few grapes.

  Verbal report, I told myself and took her through the evening’s events. She said little, scribbling a few notes in between eating the grapes. Halfway through my recitation, I realized how tired I was. Usually I have enough warning about late nights that I either sleep late or take a nap so I’m not exhausted. I hadn’t had a chance this time. Plus the hangover and the added dehydration from too much alcohol.

  “Thirsty?” she asked as I faltered. She started to open the wine bottle.

  “Water?” I asked. Avoiding the need for a bathroom on a stakeout doesn’t do much for hydration.

  “Sure,” she said crossing to the bar and retrieving a bottle of water from the small fridge there.

  I took a long swig, then finished telling her about scaring them away.

  She opened the bottle of wine. “Can’t let it go to waste,” she said. “What did you find inside?” She poured herself a moderate glass of wine.

  I took another sip of water, then described the office and what I’d seen.

  “The janitor’s closet,” she said when I told her where I’d found their hidden box.

  “Like I said, crooks are dumb. Once you don’t find things in the likely places, go to the most unlikely, as that’s where they’ll try to hide things.”

  “Good trick. I’ll have to remember that.”

  I told her about the drugs, said, “I took pictures,” and pulled out my phone.

  “Let me see.” She leaned in to me, close enough I could smell her perfume mixed with the wine.

  I also got a decent view of her cleavage.

  Then quickly looked back at her face.

  Not quickly enough. “Thanks, but you’re exhausted, sweetheart. And so am I, for that matter.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Show me the pictures.”

  I scrolled slowly through them, back and forth several times.

  “They make no sense,” she finally said.

  “Could the numbers be women? Their measurements?”

  “Maybe,” she said with a yawn, “but that would be a stupid way to keep track. What do you do, measure every time you need to know who it is?”

  “Might be easier than names. These women are probably from Eastern Europe and have the kinds of names Americans can’t pronounce.”

  “They can just give them American nicknames—Gigi, Susie, whatever.” She yawned, then added, “They don’t care about their lives, they certainly don’t care about their names.”

  “I guess,” I admitted.

  “What do you think of that weird note?” she asked.

  I looked at the photo on my phone. Eula May, 9 at 11 on 18 up the bayou by the germans.

  “It sounds like a meeting place,” I said after reading it a few times.

  “Really? Why do you think that?”

  “Nine people are arriving at eleven o’clock—could be a.m. or p.m., if they’re doing military it would be the morning—on the eighteenth of the month.”

  “Hard to know. It could be code. What the hell else could Eula May be?”

  “A boat,” I answered. “A lot of boats, especially the shrimping and fishing boats, are named for women. It could be the vessel they’re using for smuggling.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, taking a sip of wine. “But what about the rest of it? It makes no sense.”

  I stared at the words, then admitted, “It sort of makes sense, but not very useful sense. ‘Up the bayou’ could be anywhere given all the bayous around here. I’m guessing it’s a known place and what they call it. As for ‘the germans,’ that might be who they’re meeting and it’s how they know them. Again, not helpful. People could be German because they’re from Germany or because they like bratwurst.”

  “That’s plausible,” she said. “But I’m still betting it’s a code. One that sounds like it’s a real message so people think it is and act accordingly. We can have our people look at it. You need to delete those photos.”

  “Delete them? Why?”

  “Too risky. It ties you to the scene.”

  “But who’s ever going to look at my phone?”

  “I don’t know. But it is hard evidence you were there. Don’t take the risk. Delete them now.”

  “Don’t you need a copy?”

  “We’ll get it through legit channels, from the police evidence.” She put her hand on mine. “I don’t want you to end up like the women in the river.”

  I didn’t want to end up like them either. I had to trust Ashley on this one. I deleted the photos one by one while she watched.

  I didn’t mention that I’d already emailed them to myself. I was pretty sure I’d covered the rest of my tracks well or at least blended them in with the meth heads so they’d be blamed.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now I feel better. Is there anything else you can think of about tonight?”

  I shook my head.

  “Okay, your part is done.” She poured me a glass of wine. “I have to send in a report of what happened—you were doing surveillance and saw someone breaking in. It needs to be on a desk in the morning.” She got up and went to the table where she had a laptop.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Eat something and enjoy the wine. You’re off duty now.”

  I was hungry, I realized, mixed in with the fatigue. It had been well over eight hours since I’d last eaten. I cut a couple pieces of cheese and grabbed crackers to go with them. The wine was white and in the real world probably about a ten-dollar bottle, in the hotel world probably about thirty, which was generous considering Ashley’s government salary. But I’m not much of a white wine drinker and this wasn’t good enough to make me change my ways. I managed to finish my glass and another half one in between eating cheese and fruit. And sipping water.

  After I finished eating, I tried to stay awake. Ashley had to, after all. But with the hunger gone, it left only the exhaustion.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” I asked her.

  “I’m sure,” she said. Then smiled at me, a wistful smile like the last thing she wanted to do was the report in front of her. Like she wanted to be with me instead.

  I put my head back. I would just close my eyes for a few minutes.

  “Hey, your neck is going to hurt in the morning if you don’t get to bed.” Ashley was standing over me, gently shaking my shoulder.

  “I was sleeping?”

  “Yeah, you’re been out for over an hour. Crash here. I’m going to be up for a while longer so you might as well use my bed.” She took my arm, pulling me up and leading me back to the bedroom.

  “There’s a couple of extra toothbrushes in the bathroom,” she said.

  “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed.”

  “You’re not. Like I said, it’ll be a while before I get there and you may be awake by then. Plus it’s a king, we’ll both fit.”

  This wasn’t the romantic night I had hoped for but it was almost better. Much as I wanted touch, I also reveled in being taken care of, having someone worry about whether or not I’d eaten and how tired I was.

  “Thanks,” was all I could think to say.

  “Sleep well.” She went back to the other room, gently shutting the door.

  I did a quick run through the bathroom routine, taking advantage of the free toothbrush, then turned out the light and went to the bedroom. The king bed did look lovely to my tired body. I usually sleep naked, but that seemed a little too friendly. I settled for stripping down to my T-shirt—taking the bra off, of course—and unde
rwear.

  I gratefully slid into the bed, my eyes shutting as soon as I hit the pillow.

  Then one nagging thought. I didn’t remember telling Ashley the ledger was red, yet she called it red. Maybe I had. Or maybe that was one of the we-can’t-tell-you areas.

  That was my last nagging thought.

  Later, late enough that the dark was turning to gray, I felt someone get into bed. A soft rustle of blankets, then silence. I started to fall back to sleep, then there was a rustle again. Ashley quietly rolled to my side of the bed and gently put her arm around me, snuggling together.

  We fell asleep that way.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I woke by myself, wondering if it had been a dream. But then I rolled out of bed and noticed our two pillows next to each other.

  The next thing I noticed was the smell of coffee.

  Good coffee.

  That got me up.

  Bathroom first. The hotel provided robes, so rather than searching for my clothes, I put that on over my ratty T-shirt and underwear.

  “Good morning,” Ashley greeted me as I entered the sitting room. She was also in a robe, just showered, her hair still wet. “I took a guess and ordered room service for us both.”

  It had clearly just arrived. She was pouring her first cup of coffee, careful with the carafe as it was so full. Two covered plates promised food.

  “This is wonderful. I could get used to it.” I sat down beside her and she poured me a cup before first sipping from hers.

  “Milk? Sugar?” she offered.

  I took a sip. “Nope. I do it the old-fashioned way.” Another sip. My brain was joining my body.

  She removed the covers from the two breakfasts. One was French toast and the other was a standard eggs and bacon. There was also a fruit tray and pastry basket.

  “You get to pick,” she said.

  “Either is fine.”

  “Same here. Which is why you get to pick.” She’d gotten the waffles when we’d gone to brunch, so I guessed she had more of a sweet tooth than I did. I pulled the eggs my way.