'Thanks.'
'They were flying the stuff in from the Bahamas?'
'That's right. Using an old abandoned landing strip out in the boondocks.'
'How did you get the banker to sing?'
She lifted her chin. 'I persuaded him,' she said.
Harker nodded. 'This thing we're on isn't drugs. At least not the smuggling or dealing.'
'Money laundering?'
'That may be part of it. The key suspect is a guy named David Rathbone. No relation to Basil.'
'Who's Basil?'
'Forget it,' he said. 'You're too young. This David Rathbone is a wrongo. No hard stuff, but he's a con man, swindler, shark, and world-class nogoodnik. You hungry?'
'What?' she said, startled. 'Yeah, I could eat something.'
'Here's the subject's file. Read it. Meanwhile I'll go get us some lunch. Pizza and a beer?'
'Sounds good. Pepperoni and a Bud for me, please.'
He was gone for almost a half-hour. When he returned, they spread their lunch on his desktop.
'No pepperoni for you?' she asked.
'No, just cheese. I've got a nervous stomach.'
'I read the file on Rathbone,' Sullivan said. 'A sweet lad. Where did you get that photo? He's beautiful.'
* 'From his ex-wife. If she had her druthers, she'd have given us his balls, too.'
'What's he into right now?'
'He's set himself up as an investment adviser or financial planner-whatever you want to call it. I estimate-and it's just a guess-that's he's got at least fifteen mooches on his list, and he's handling maybe twenty million dollars.'
'Oh-oh. Who are all these lucky victims?'
'Widows and divorcees plus a choice selection of
doctors and airline pilots-the biggest suckers in the world when it comes to investments.'
'What's his con?'
'He gets them to sign a full power of attorney plus a management contract. Then he's home free. His fee, he tells them, is three percent annually. If he's handling twenty mil like I figure, it would give him a yearly take of six hundred thousand. But I don't think he's satisfied with that. A greedy little bugger, our Mr. Rathbone. And with his record, he's got to be dipping in the till. But he sends out monthly statements, and no one has filed a complaint yet. About two months ago I convinced one of his clients, a divorcee, to demand all her money back from Rathbone, including the profits he claimed he had made for her. She got a teller's check for the entire amount the next day. She was so ashamed of doubting Rathbone that she returned the check and told him to keep managing her money.''
'If Rathbone is looting the assets, how was he able to return the divorcee's funds?'
'Easy. The old Ponzi scam. He used other investors' money to pay off. He came out of it smelling like roses, and it made me look like a shmuck. Why are you staring at me like that?'
'How long have you been in south Florida?' Sullivan asked.
'Almost eight months now.'
'How come you're so pale? Don't you ever hit the beach?'
'I'd like to but can't. I get sun poisoning.'
'Allergy, nervous stomach, and sun poisoning,' she said. 'You're in great shape.'
'I'm surviving,' Harker said. 'You look like you toast your buns every day.''
'Not me,' she said. 'This is my natural hide. I can get a deeper tan just b r walking a block or two in the sunshine.'
'Count your blessings,' he said. 'Now let's get back to business. Rathbone hangs out with a crowd of wise- guys who are just as slimy as he is. I've only been able to make one of them: an ex-con named Sidney Coe, who did time for a boiler room operation in Kansas City. I don't know what the others are into, but you can bet it's illegal, illicit, and immoral. They all meet in the bar of a restaurant on Commercial Boulevard in Lauderdale. It's called the Grand Palace.'
'Great,' she said. 'Now let me guess. You want me to start hanging out at the Grand Palace and try to cozy up to this gang of villains.'
'That's about it,' he agreed. 'Especially David Rathbone. I'm the guy who racked him up on that insider trading charge in New York. But he waltzed away from that with a slap on the wrist. That's one thing to remember about this man: He's been charged three times, to my knowledge, and never spent a day in chokey. You know why?'
'He cut a deal?' Rita suggested.
'Right. By ratting on his pals. This is not a standup guy. The other thing to remember about him is that he's a womanizer. It helps him hook those female mooches, but he also plays around when there's no profit involved.'
She stared at him a long moment. Finally: 'I'm beginning to get the picture. You expect me to ball this
guy.'
Harker slammed a palm down on the desktop. 'I expect you to do your job,' he said angrily. 'How you do it is up to you. I want to know how he's rolling his victims and I want to know what his buddies at the Grand Palace are up to. You want out?'
She considered for two beats. 'Not yet. Let me make a few moves and see what happens. Do I call you here?'
'No,' he said. 'And don't come back to this building again. These people we're dealing with are bums but they're not stupes. You could be tailed. Here's a number you can call, day or night. Leave a message if I'm not in. One other thing: What are you carrying?'
'Thirty-eight Smith and Wesson. Short barrel.'
'A cop's gun,' he said, holding out his palm. 'Let me have it.'
She hesitated, then took the handgun from her shoulder bag and handed it over. Harker put it in his desk drawer and gave her a nickel-plated Colt.25 pistol. She examined it.
'What am I supposed to do with this peashooter?' she asked.
'Carry it,' he said. 'It's more in character. And leave your ID and shield with Mr. Crockett's secretary on your way out. Here's something else.'
He withdrew a worn, folded newspaper clipping from his wallet and passed it to her. It was a two-paragraph story about Rita Angela Sullivan being arrested in a Tallahassee specialty shop for shoplifting. According to the clipping, charges were dropped for lack of evidence.
She read the story twice, then looked up at him. 'How much did it cost to have this thing printed up?' she asked.
'Plenty,' he said. 'It looks like the real thing, doesn't it? Don't lose it. It might come in handy.'
'How do you figure that?'
'If Rathbone goes through your purse, he'll find your dinky little gun and this clipping. It'll help you con the con man.'
'Uh-huh,' she said. 'Pretty sure of me, weren't you?'
'I was hoping,' Harker said.
She tucked pistol and clipping into her shoulder bag and stood up.
'Thanks for the lunch,' she said.
'My pleasure.'
She paused at the door. 'You can call me Rita if you like,' she said.
'I'll think about it,' he said.
3
