Jack took an afternoon ride into Little Havana.
Every available minute after his meeting with Andie had been devoted to legal work for paying clients, but at two P.M. he had a follow-up with Rene, who had promised there was more to the case against BNN. He needed all the ammunition he could get. He took Theo with him, knowing that if he was to stay off the FBI’s “unwanted” list, there should be no more one-on-one meetings with old girlfriends.
Theo drove with his usual disregard for speed limits. They reached San Lazaro’s Cafe fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and grabbed the same table that Jack and Rene had shared, the old map of Cuba right behind Jack’s head. Theo ordered a double espresso. Jack’s adrenaline was already pumping, no need for any more caffeine.
“Where’s Bejucal?” asked Theo, studying the map on the wall.
Bejucal was the birthplace of Jack’s mother. He turned and pointed. “Right outside Havana. I’m impressed you remembered it.”
“Got a history lesson from Abuela the night you were in the emergency room.”
“Really. How did that come up?
“Mostly her carrying on about how the threat against ‘someone you love’ couldn’t possibly mean her.” Theo put on a sad face, speaking in Abuela’s broken English. “Jack no call me. He no visit.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I call her every day.”
Theo chuckled as he stirred a pack of sugar into his cup. Jack loosened his tie, reached inside his collar, and massaged his neck. The bruises were fading, but it still hurt at times.
“You packin’ a Glock these days?” said Theo.
“No.”
“I am. Just give me the word, dude. I’ll find that guy and give him a lot more than a pain in the neck.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Sort of.”
“I’m leaving things to the FBI. For the time being, anyway. But now that you mention it, there is someone I need to track down.”
“Who?”
“This morning I found out that someone actually
“No shit?”
“Totally serious. I spoke to Ben Laramore on the phone over the lunch hour, and he fully believes that it wasn’t me who hired her. But we agreed that we need to find out who did. I was thinking you could maybe help with that.”
“You want me to interview a girl in a coma?”
“No, moron.”
“Cuz I can do it, you know. Had many a conversation with your ex-wife.”
“Low blow, Theo. There was a guy who flew out of Opa-locka with Sydney. You got any contacts over there?”
“Opa-locka,” Theo said, searching. “A buddy of mine got arrested flying in there from the Bahamas with about two kilos of-”
“That’s not the kind of contact I’m talking about.”
“Actually, it is, dude. Lobo-that’s what we call him. It means ‘wolf.’”
“I know what it means. I speak some Spanish.”
“Not according to your grandmother.”
“Will you back off, please?”
“Anyway, Lobo took the rap himself, refused to cut a deal and testify against a half dozen dudes who worked in baggage. They love him. Even better, they owe him.”
“Could be promising,” said Jack. “See what you can find out.”
“No problem.”
Jack checked his watch. Ten minutes past two. “Hope I’m not being stood up.”
Theo was actually quiet for a minute or two, which Jack savored. Until his cell rang. It was his new iPhone- he’d cut himself loose from the old one and its spyware over the lunch hour-so he almost didn’t recognize the ring tone. But he did immediately recognize the incoming number. It wasn’t entirely rational, but the mere sight of it made Jack feel like a cheater.
“It’s Andie,” he said.
Theo snorted so hard he nearly coughed up his espresso.
“Quiet,” Jack said, and he answered. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Thank God you answered,” she said, her voice filled with urgency. “Where are you?”
“Little Havana. Having coffee. Just me and Theo.” Literally true, but the obvious omission made him feel even more like a cheater.
“Get in the car and meet me at the medical examiner’s office.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me. Don’t stop anywhere or for anyone on the way.”
“Did something happen to Celeste?”
“Don’t even stop at traffic lights if you can avoid them.”
“Damn it! I didn’t think she needed a guard so long as she was in the ICU.”
“Jack, I don’t care if this is your new phone, that’s all I can say on your line.”
Of course it was. Nothing short of surrendering his privacy to the FBI would make an FBI agent trust the security of his phone lines.
“Just go!” said Andie.
“Right,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter Twenty
The medical examiner’s office is in the Joseph H. Davis Center for Forensic Pathology, a three-building complex on the perimeter of the University of Miami Medical Center campus and Jackson Memorial Hospital. Typical for midafternoon, the campus was bustling with activity, people headed to the spine institute, the eye institute, and other world-class specialists. Theo nearly flattened a line of them as his car sped through the crosswalk and into the parking lot, only to lose a race with an SUV for what seemed like the last remaining parking spot in Miami-Dade County. Theo jumped out of his car and threatened to pick up and physically remove the two- thousand-pound intruder that had taken the parking space that was rightfully his. Jack didn’t have time to mediate the argument. He jumped out and ran to the main entrance. The guard buzzed him in, and Jack hurried across the lobby to reception.
“I’m here to meet Agent Andie Henning,” he said, winded from the run. “Jack Swyteck’s my name.”
“Wait here, please. I’ll let the doctor know.”
Jack was tempted to burst through the locked door to find Andie himself, but he didn’t need B amp;E charges added to his list of troubles. There was a couch in the waiting room, but he was too wired to sit. He dug his cell phone from his pocket. He’d been trying to reach Ben Laramore since leaving the coffee shop. He dialed again. Same result. No answer. It probably didn’t help that the phone number flashing on Laramore’s display screen was Jack’s new number, as yet unknown to Ben. Jack had told him not to answer any calls from strange numbers, as it might be the media-or worse.
Jack took a seat and caught his breath. A trip to the medical examiner’s office wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence for a criminal defense lawyer, not even for one who defended death row inmates. It had nonetheless been only a matter of weeks since Jack’s most recent visit; it was on the eve of Sydney Bennett’s trial.
Jack had vehemently opposed the disinterment of Emma Bennett’s remains, but the prosecution had convinced the judge to overrule his objection. It was “regrettable but necessary,” the judge had stated in his ruling. As of that pretrial stage of the case, the defense had offered nothing in the way of scientific evidence to counter the
