bodies to be here. Finding the victims was the only way I was going to be able to get on with my life. Cheever put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said.
I nodded without looking at him.
“Let's go rescue Melinda,” he said.
I reached for the light switch, then noticed a map taped to the wall. It was of Broward County and had colored thumbtacks stuck in it, just like the map in my office. The thumbtacks were stuck in the same spots as on my map. Perez had chronicled where he'd nabbed his victims, just as I had. Only there was a thumbtack on his map that wasn't on mine. It was on the north end of Dania Beach, where I lived. I wondered what its significance was, and decided I'd have to ask him. I turned out the light.
We entered the backyard. Cheever stood by the end of the shed and cautiously peeked around the corner. I edged up beside him.
“I hear them talking inside the house,” he whispered.
“How many are there?”
“I'm not sure. You speak Spanish, don't you?”
“A little,” I said.
“Maybe you can understand what they're saying.”
We switched places, and I stuck my head around the shed. Jonny Perez's face was visible through a screened window on the back of the house. He was washing his hands in the kitchen sink while carrying on a conversation. He moved away from the window. “He's talking to his brother Paco, and some guy named Alberto,” I whispered. “They're discussing a restaurant they want to visit after they kill Melinda.”
“So we're outnumbered,” Cheever said.
“Looks that way.”
Cheever pulled out his cell phone and powered it up.
“Time for reinforcements,” he said.
“You calling the cops?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I thought about the ramifications of bringing in the Broward cops, and how Bobby Russo was going to react after hearing what we'd been up to.
“Give me the phone,” I said.
“Why?” Cheever asked.
“I've got a better idea.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I called Ken Linderman. Even though I'd abandoned him a few hours ago, I knew he'd help us. He wanted Skell as bad as I did.
“I need your help,” I said.
I explained our situation without going into specifics. Cell phone conversations could be picked up by a variety of monitoring devices, and I didn't want to tip our hand to Perez or anyone else who might be electronically eavesdropping. Twenty minutes later, Linderman was standing on the sidewalk with us. Theis was with him.
“That was a shitty thing you did this morning, Jack,” Linderman said.
“What happened after I left?” I asked.
“Goddamn police grilled me for an hour like I was a perp,” he said. “If Coffen hadn't shot at me through his desk, I'd probably still be talking to them.”
“Did everything get resolved?”
“Yes, no thanks to you.”
I was past the point of apologizing for my behavior, and led the FBI agents down the alley. I pointed over the fence at the back of Perez's house. “Melinda Peters is being held inside that house by Jonny Perez, his brother Paco, and a guy named Alberto,” I said. “They're going to kill her once Skell gets here. Skell has told them he wants to watch.”
Linderman and Theis acted stunned.
“How do you know this?” Linderman asked.
I had decided not to tell Linderman about our encounter with Neil Bash. It would only get Cheever in trouble.
“A little bird told me,” I said.
We walked back to the street, and Linderman unlocked the rear of his 4Runner. The backseat had been replaced with a metal footlocker, and he removed two Kevlar vests and a pair of Mossberg 500 shotguns. He tossed the vests to Cheever and me.
“I remembered this time,” he said.
Cheever and I put on the vests. Then the four of us went into a huddle.
“Here's the game plan,” Linderman said. “Theis and Cheever will go to the front door of Perez's house posing as deliverymen. At the same time, Jack and I will come through the back door and trap Perez and his buddies. We'll coordinate our steps using our cell phones. Any questions?”
There were none. We wished each other good luck and broke up. I grabbed Buster and followed Linderman down the alley.
“What is it with you and that dog?” Linderman asked.
“We're getting married,” I said.
We stopped at Perez's place, and I tossed Buster into the yard, then hopped the fence. Linderman handed me his shotgun and climbed the fence as well. His cell rang, and he took the call standing behind the shed.
“Damn it,” he said, hanging up. “Theis just spotted a school bus. He wants to wait until it's left the neighborhood.”
Storming a house with children around was never a good idea, and we went inside the shed. Linderman took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. As he smoked he propped his foot on one of the coolers lying beneath the workbench.
“Perez put the victims' bodies in those,” I said.
Embarrassed, he removed his foot from the cooler.
“They're empty now,” I added.
“Any idea where he disposed of them?” Linderman asked.
“No,” I said. “But before this is over, I'm going to find out.”
Linderman ground his cigarette into the dirt floor.
“What if Perez won't tell you?” he asked.
“Then I'll make him,” I said.
Linderman gave me a long, hard stare.
“Are you ever going to let go of this?” he asked.
It was a question I'd asked myself a hundred times. I gathered my thoughts before responding.
“Do you know what Dia de los Muertos is?” I asked.
“It's a holiday down in Mexico. Day of the Dead.”
“It's also a religious belief,” I said. “In the village where my wife was born, they believe the spirits of the dead watch over us, and that it's our responsibility to treat their memories with respect. If we don't, those spirits will haunt us for the rest of our lives.”
“Do you believe that, Jack? Do you believe the victims will haunt you if you don't find out what happened to them?”
I nodded solemnly. It was my only explanation for how far I'd gone over the past six months.
“Then I guess we'll have to make Perez tell us,” Linderman said.
We were beginning to sweat and went outside. I peeked around the corner of the shed at the house. A portable radio sat on the kitchen windowsill, and I heard Neil Bash's abrasive voice. It made me shudder, and I
