Lost Witness Page 14

  "Thanks," she said. "I'm running on empty, and if I go to sleep now it will throw my rhythm off for tonight."

  "I don't think I ever know'd you to pull an all-nighter. Hope you had some fun getting so tired," Miguel said.

  "It wasn't an all-nighter. I just couldn't sleep because there was a little excitement at the joint. Been thinking about it, that's all." Sparkle took a drink, and when she put the mug down she said: "You make bad coffee, Miguel."

  "So I've heard," he said. "But I'd have to raise the prices if I got any of that fancy stuff. There's Starbucks down the road if you want to cheat on me."

  "I'd rather have bad coffee served by an honest man then good coffee by some politically correct barista in a weird little hat." Sparkle put the newspaper aside. "Yep, hard to find an honest man these days."

  "There are a few of us left. You let me know if you ever want to settle down with one."

  "Yeah? Got someone in mind?"

  "How about an honest man who makes bad coffee?" Miguel said.

  "I'll let you know."

  Sparkle laughed. Miguel leaned one elbow on the counter and turned sideways. He looked out the big window of the little, run-down diner and stared at the port. Sparkle folded the paper, giving him a glance as she did so.

  "You miss it, don't you?"

  "Surely do. I could have probably gone another five years, but the doc said the heart wasn't in the best shape.” Miguel lifted a shoulder to show that his regret was real, but not gut-busting. "What are you going to do when you can't dance no more?"

  "Buy a diner and serve lousy coffee and great eggs," Sparkle said.

  "Marry me and it's all yours," Miguel said.

  He looked out the window briefly, turned back and put both elbows on the counter as he lowered his voice. Sparkle put down her paper. There was gossip coming her way.

  "Did you hear the Coast Guard is all hot and bothered about some ship that came in yesterday? They stopped it before it was half out of the harbor. I hear the captain's not letting them board."

  "What do they want with it?" Sparkle asked. Miguel lifted both shoulders this time.

  "I don't know, but I heard it was some trafficking thing. Maybe they got people in them containers. Nick, he works on the dock that off loaded, and he said they found someone in one of them."

  "Really?"

  "Yep, big commotion this morning. The cutters are still out there, ship's at anchor, and nobody knows what's going on. It's a standoff."

  "Well isn't that just damn interesting?" Sparkle said. "Anybody say anything about a guy taking a dive off the ship?"

  "Not that I know. If I had someone to look after the place, I'd go down and see for myself. I still got my day license. That might get me on the dock. Then again, it might not work these days. You never know."

  Sparkle got up and went to the window. More than one set of eyes followed her even though she was dressed like any other woman who hung out around these parts: jeans, an oversized shirt, deck shoes. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face was bare of make-up. Still there was no disguising her assets not to mention she trailed a certain something along with her that just made men sit up and take notice. Sparkle couldn't control it, but she could ignore the effects of it.

  The diner sat on a hill, so she could see down the waterways and out to the harbor. Even if she squinted, though, she couldn't make out any details of the ship Miguel was talking about.

  "Hey, Miguel," she said. "Do you know the name of that scow they got corralled?"

  "Faret Vild," he said. "An old girl."

  "Do tell," Sparkle muttered.

  She dug in the pocket of her jeans and came up with a ten. She gave it to Miguel on her way past the counter. When Miguel went to make change she said 'keep it', gathered her things, and headed out the door.

  "Where you going in such a hurry?" Miguel asked.

  "I got laundry to do," she said. "And you keep that day license handy."

  "Bull crap. We're talking about the United States Coast Guard. Is that captain out of his mind?"

  "He says he refuses a fascist order to board his vessel. He states that the port cleared the Faret Vild, that his cargo is electronic goods and farm machinery, and that what is in the containers he carries is none of his business or ours. He says if there is a problem with the containers off-loaded, take it up with those who filled them."

  "Bull and bull."

  Bree Nelson pushed away from the conference table, grabbed her mug, and went for the coffee. She was in uniform, ribbons on her chest, her posture perfect as always. Her weight was not exactly on the right side of slim, but she was Coast Guard command and she would have fallen into the sexy category for an officer of her rank if she weren't headed to retirement in a couple of months.

  In the years since 9/11 her job had gotten a whole lot more intense and she was proud of her record. Her command had rescued over three hundred and fifty people in the South Bay alone, plucking them from the water or off sinking ships and boats, saving ninety nine percent of the lives in jeopardy. She had overseen the securing of hundreds of pounds of drugs, six search and rescue operations for downed aircraft and foiled twenty-six terrorist actions that the public was never aware of. Granted, most of those threats had been idiotic attempts to make a statement by lone wolves of limited intelligence, but of those twenty-six, eight would have been apocalyptic if they had slipped through the cracks. The one thing Bree Nelson had never been involved with was a body in a box. That was the purview of LAPD, the sheriff, the Marshalls, and, at times, the FBI and Homeland Security. Even if the Coast Guard had been called to weigh in, it was those under her command who took part.

  All that changed early this morning when she got the call about the corpse in container forty-seven taken for random inspection from the Faret Vild. Now her people were in a standoff with a vessel that should have been taken out of service ten years ago. Andreeve put out the word when he got the first low down on the dead man. Not that there was anything specific, but there was enough information that no agency wanted that ship to get out of the harbor before they were sure exactly who the stiff was. Since the identification might prove difficult, they were all on edge.

  First off, the victim was a friggin' mess of broken bones, smashed skull and face, and near dismemberment. Rust stains on the victim's clothes could have been passed off to an industrial accident aboard ship until the initial coroner's report went on to indicate there were over thirty stab wounds in the body. It was just darn hard to get accidentally stabbed thirty times.

  Next, finding a body in a container was not unheard of. A few bucks to whoever packed the thing got you a free ride across the sea and an eighty percent chance that someone on the other end would get around to opening it before you ran out of food, froze to death, or got cooked. In this case there was nothing to indicate that the man made the voyage from Manila to L.A. in the container. Nor was there any indication that he had been attacked inside the box. That meant someone onboard the Faret Vild had caused his death. Whether it was murder or manslaughter was a matter for the courts, which injuries killed him — a knife or mutilation by machinery — was a matter for the coroner, how to prove it was a matter for the police. How much attention the man's death received was up to the FBI who was doing priority runs on the guy's prints and analysis of the man's unusual wristwatch. It was the watch that led the FBI to the conclusion that the victim in the container might possibly be connected to the Philippine government.

  That was definitely not good.

  Nor was it good that the Faret Vild was headed out to sea. That was when the Coast Guard was contacted. Bree gave the order to detain the ship, a feat that was accomplished with the greatest of ease. Stopping the ship was one thing, boarding for an investigation was quite another. The Faret Vild was in U.S. waters, so technically the Coast Guard could board for cause. But if this were a political problem between the U.S. and the Philippines, it wasn't Bree's job to exacerbate the situation by acting in
haste.

  She put a bit of milk and two packets of raw sugar in her coffee, turned around, and took a look at the people at the long table. They looked right back with a mix of concern, curiosity, and disinterest. Andreeve had been the point man, fielding the call from the cops, sharing the information with the FBI who shared with Homeland Security who, in turn, called Bree. Andreeve was taking all this in stride. The Faret Vild, after all, was not taking up space at his pier, backing things up, costing him money. His paperwork was in order. His men had randomly plucked the containers off that ship as they had all other ships that had come and gone. It had fallen to customs to investigate the cargo in a timely manner and that, it appeared, they had not done. In fact, the last signature releasing the Faret Vild had been Henry Cook’s despite the fact that one of his people was still working on the Faret Vild haul.

  Pat Hansen, L.A.'s head of Customs and Immigration, backed Henry Cook all the way. He believed his team had done everything in their power to expedite the inspections properly. He pointed to union negotiations that were pending leaving Henry Cook with a skeleton crew. The supervisor had left the final containers in the hands of an experienced agent who went by the book with the reporting and had finished ninety percent of the containers before the paperwork was signed. This was well within the margin of error. It was, he pointed out, Gregor Andreeve who gave the final and premature order - albeit by only thirty minutes - for the Faret Vild to cast off as he tried to make up for the time that he had kept the ship offshore in queue. Hansen also pointed out that his people had secured and quarantined the container after alerting the Sheriff, LAPD, and port security. Their responsibility ended there as far as he was concerned.

  Henry Cook had been called and questioned while, simultaneously, the head of Port Security ordered a complete sweep of all the containers that had been off-loaded by the Faret Vild. So far the other containers had yielded nothing untoward. The container where the man was found was not booby-trapped, nor did it appear that there was anything compromising inside the boxes. The jars in the shipment were oil extract labeled for cosmetic use. Still, container forty-seven would not be released until local law enforcement completed their investigation.

  The Sheriffs Department determined that the LAPD was better equipped to handle the investigation and Detective Charles Armstrong, who also sat at the table, had taken over. He indicated his forensics team would be finished by six that evening - maybe seven - and the cargo could be released, but the container itself would be set aside until the matter was concluded. He was also interfacing with the medical examiner who had completed a cursory examination of the body, and had forwarded fingerprints to the appropriate agencies and the LAPD for follow up.

  Homeland Security was represented by Natalie Day, a woman half Bree's age with twice the education. She was there as a courtesy. Everyone knew that if the dead guy were a diplomat of any rank, the matter would be turned over to the U.S. diplomats at State and Justice. Right now, though, Bree Nelson was the ceiling they were all bumping into.

  "We've got a stand off two and half miles out. It's almost eight in the morning. This captain is a stubborn cuss, but at least he's staying put. I have already been in touch with headquarters and they have passed it along to Foreign Affairs and State with a heads up. They're leaving it to me to move or not. This, of course, with the understanding that it's my ass in the sling if that man turns out to be Duarte's brother, and I let a ship go that is harboring his murderer." Bree took a breath and smiled at Natalie. "What are you thinking, Natalie?"

  "The Philippines is a pretty brutal place these days. If he is President Duarte's brother maybe it was Duarte himself who put a hit on him," Natalie said. "Other options: our guy could have been trying to get out of the country on his own because he crossed the powers that be. Maybe someone lower down in the government or the military could have taken him out for about two hundred different reasons including they felt like it. Frankly, we need a better timeline. If he died on the open sea, we ship the body back with our condolences and let the Philippines take care of it. If he died before they left Manila, same thing. But if death occurred here, it's above any of our pay grades depending on the I.D."

  "Agreed." Bree set herself down at the head of the table, propped her elbows on it, and held her coffee cup in both hands. "Anything else?"

  "I've got a detective in Hollywood waiting for someone to show up at the address on the bill of lading on the other two containers that came off that vessel," Detective Armstrong said. "The one where the body was found was supposed to go on to Panama, so I think it was snagged by mistake. All three containers have the same cargo."

  "Who's interfacing with the FBI on the fingerprints?"

  Armstrong raised a finger. Bree nodded and said:

  "Natalie, you deal with Detective Armstrong too if you get a hit," Bree said. "I expect that both of you will funnel information through me in real time. Let's not have any grandstanding. I can't keep my people out there indefinitely, so we need to figure it all out fast. If all we've got is some poor schlep of no consequence then we can all stand down, but if we've got a political crisis on our hands. I would prefer to be fully informed when I make the tough calls. Best case scenario, State takes me out of the loop."

  "One more order of business," Detective Armstrong said. "We have a guy in custody for an incident regarding this ship. It happened yesterday."

  "Do you think you could have led with that?" Bree's coffee mug went down on the table hard. She was annoyed beyond measure. "What are you holding him for?"

  "Trespassing, assault." All eyes turned to Andreeve when he spoke. "He came to me with an entourage — an attorney and some others – and a story about a dead man and an assault on a crew member. It wasn't credible at the time."

  "It was the minute that body was found," Bree snapped. "We could have detained the ship in port and not gone through this bloody exercise."

  Andreeve raised his chin and pulled his bottom lip up. Everyone around the table knew Bree Nelson was right, but they also knew it was in Gregor Andreeve’s best interest to have the ship out of his jurisdiction.

  "The captain's crew manifest didn't show the man in custody or the crew this guy was talking about," Andreeve said. "There was no passenger listed, and the report was that the alleged body was in the anchor room not a container."

  "Easily put into a container," Bree griped. "I would have thought you could put two and two together. There were hours for you to figure it out before we all got here."

  "Given the injuries on the body, I doubt the guy we detained had anything to do with this." Detective Armstrong interrupted Bree's dressing down before Andreeve could defend himself. "He had no weapons on him, he had no injuries that were not consistent with what went down when Andreeve's security subdued him. He couldn't have wielded a knife, and caused those kinds of injuries without some evidence on his body. It just isn't there."

  Bree waved a hand to stop the conversation. "Wait, what do you mean he showed up at the port? Didn't he come off that ship?"

  She ran her eyes around the table, getting blank stares in return. Bree threw herself back in her chair.

  "Oh, for God sake. This is a clown car. Every time we open a door ten problems pour out that involve ten more agencies.

  She drilled her fingertips on the table and thought for a minute.

  "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Armstrong, talk to the guy you have in custody about the Faret Vild. Andreeve run down any history on that ship. I want to know about any problems with the vessel, the captain, the cargo, and/or crew. Anything you can come up with. You have the manifest the captain gave you. I want a copy and give one to Natalie. Natalie, run them through all the watch lists from Homeland Security and see if you come up with anything interesting. Especially focus on the Filipino crew. Detective Armstrong I want the statement from your guy ASAP, and give his name to everyone at this table. He is now an official person of interest."

  "And what are you going to
tell the Faret Vild?" Henry Cook asked.

  "We're going to let her sit until we put a name on that corpse, or I get an order from someone whose got the authority to tell me whether my people are boarding or escorting that ship out of our backyard."

  20

  Day 2 @ 11:00 A.M

  "Man it's good to see your face. Holy moley, I never thought you'd be sitting here again. Feels like old times. Man, you look good. Wow, you filled out some, Billy."

  Burt, proprietor of Burt's by the Beach, clasped Billy's hand and pulled him up for a man-hug. He pushed him back, gave him another look-see, and then pulled him in for one more.

  "God works in mysterious ways, man. We all thought you were a goner. Where've you been? What've you been up to? You need some clothes that fit, and some food in you. Josie, you see that he gets some clothes."

  Burt motor-mouthed through a grin as wide as the restaurant's front door, beaming like a mother hen whose chicks were finally all accounted for.

  "We'll deck him out," Josie promised.

  "Then I'll fatten you up," Burt said. "Damn, this is good. Does Hannah know you're back? I bet she's tickled pink. She hasn't moved downtown yet has she, Josie?"

  Josie warned Burt off the subject with a shake of her head, but he didn't catch it and kept going.

  "And Jamal? You met that dude yet? He's something else. Looks kind of scary with that hair of his, but nicest guy you'll ever —"

  "Hate to cut this love fest short, Burt," Josie said, "but Billy and I have a few things to talk about."

  "Yeah. Sure." Burt finally caught the drift that Hannah was off limits. He gave Billy another clap on the shoulder. "There's plenty of time to catch up. What's your pleasure, my friend?"

  "Been a while since I've had a real burger," Billy said.

  "Coming up and on the house. What about you Josie?"