Dead Wrong (26 page)

Denver, Colorado
Sunday, January 26

As soon as Lynnette and Grace had passed through Security at the Denver airport, Lynnette called Thomas and told him where she’d parked his car. She listened with growing anxiety as Thomas told her about the two FBI agents who’d questioned him and Blue again. He cautioned her to treat them with respect if they stopped her at the airport, to tell the truth and to turn over the checks immediately. With fifty minutes left before they needed to board their flight, Lynnette took Grace to a restaurant on the edge of the food court and picked a table that gave her a good view of the concourse.

“What am I supposed to do when we get to Florida?” Grace asked as she poked at her scrambled eggs with her fork.

“We’re going to take a chance on the lady cop from Glades.”

“If I don’t like her looks, I’m taking off.”

“Grace, don’t do that. Please.”

“You don’t know what it’s like living with my mom, Lynnette. And if the cops have to call her back from her vacation, she’s going to be so pissed off at me.”

“That’s true. I don’t know what it’s like. I want to make your life better, honest. It’s just that I can’t do much until I get my own problems straightened out.”

“I should have stayed with Blue and her dad.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair to them. They could get in big trouble. I know you’re worried. So am I. But we’ll do our best to work it out.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, the cops, and I’m sure your mom—”

“Wait!” Grace grabbed her backpack and unzipped the side pocket. The muted melody of “Oh, My Papa” came from inside Grace’s pack. Lynnette watched with confusion as Grace pulled her cell phone from the pocket and said, “Daddy?”

Grace listened for a couple of minutes, then said, “She’s not dangerous, Daddy. But she’s making me go to Florida with her.”

Lynnette’s mind raced as she watched Grace listen to whatever her dad told her, assuming Grace’s father really was on the other end of the call.

“Yes, we’re at the airport. How did you know?” Grace pulled the phone away from her ear and said, “This phone has a GPS tracker too, Lynnette. Daddy already knows where I am.” She put the phone to her ear. “You can spy on me?” She listened then said, “We’re in Terminal A, in a restaurant right by the escalators.” Grace handed the phone to Lynnette. “My dad wants to talk to you.”

Lynnette took the phone. “This is Lynnette Foster, Mr. McCoy. I’m so—”

“I can’t even imagine what kind of explanation my ex-wife, my daughter, and you have for this bizarre situation. Right now, I don’t care. I want Grace to be safe, and I think the best way to insure that is to get her into the custody of the FBI in Denver. They’ll take care of her until I arrive . . . which should be in about three hours. The agents will arrive within thirty minutes. They’ll come directly to the restaurant, so you’re to wait there with Grace. Do not leave. Do you understand?”

“I can’t miss my flight.”

“Don’t worry about your flight.”

Grace’s father ended the call before Lynnette could explain.

Grace bounced up and down in her chair and grinned at Lynnette. “You didn’t believe me, did you? That I even had a dad and that he’s an FBI agent? You should have called him Agent McCoy, not Mr. McCoy. He’s going to be here in three hours and then take me home.”

“Home to Florida?”

Grace stopped bouncing and sat still, her face suddenly less animated.

“Don’t worry, honey. I could tell your dad loves you a lot, so I’m sure he’s going to do what’s best for you.”

Lynnette felt she had no choice but to follow Agent McCoy’s orders and wait. She tried to relax, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension in her neck. As she sipped her coffee, she looked through the window and focused on the concourse traffic.

Albert stood in the center of Terminal A’s food court and studied his options. He had a full hour before his flight to L.A. He needed coffee. Good coffee. The one sit-down restaurant appeared far more comfortable than the packed seating area in the midst of the fast-food counters. As he took a step toward the restaurant, he glanced inside. Lynnette Foster and the kid were seated at a high table by the front window. Both were looking in his direction. The girl pointed. Foster nodded. The girl slid off her chair and turned toward the door, but Foster grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her back to the table. Albert made eye contact with Foster. She shook her head.

It was an odd feeling, but Albert had the impression she was warning him off. From what? He glanced around, uneasy, now certain he should leave the area as fast as possible. His foot slipped on the marble floor as he turned away. Struggling to recover, he tried to stop his backward momentum. His knee struck a woman’s wheeled carry-on as he fell to the side, jerking her off balance. Unable to break his own fall with one arm still confined by the sling, he landed on his left arm and hip. The woman tumbled hard, the full weight of her body on Albert’s right knee. He screeched in pain, shoved her to the side, and grabbed his knee with both hands, whimpering when new pain seized his injured elbow.

“Mr. Getz, airport medics are on their way.”

The voice sounded familiar. Albert opened his eye and found FBI Agent Bailey kneeling beside him, one hand on his shoulder. The other agent knelt by the lady who had landed on his knee.

“What are you two doing here?” Albert glanced toward the restaurant window where Foster and the kid were watching everything that had happened. If the woman still had Ortega’s checks, she was about to get busted. Albert sighed. Was there any reason he shouldn’t rat out the Foster woman? Did she know that her goose was cooked if she told even the tiniest lie to the FBI? What about the kid? Maybe the FBI didn’t know about her. The last thing he wanted to do was make trouble for a little kid.

He grabbed Bailey’s hand and held on. “Just get me some help,” he said. “And don’t leave me.” He moaned and closed his eyes, but maintained his iron grip on Bailey’s hand.

“We can’t stay here and wait for the FBI,” Lynnette said. “If those guys work for Ortega—”

“But Dad said to wait.”

Lynnette grabbed Grace’s hand. “He wouldn’t want me to keep you here if you might get hurt. Get your pack.”

“But, Lynnette, I—”

“Wait until we get on the plane. You can call him before we take off.”

They hurried past the gurney and EMTs while everyone’s attention was focused on the passengers still sprawled on the floor. Lynnette glanced back and saw the two men stand up and head toward the restaurant. It seemed too soon for them to be the agents McCoy had sent for Grace, but they could have talked to Thomas and already been on their way. On the other hand, they had clearly recognized the guy in the tweed jacket and talked to him as though they knew him. No way could she take a chance, not after seeing Ortega’s man right here at the airport.

The plane was already boarding when they arrived at the gate. Shortly after Lynnette and Grace were in their seats, the flight attendants closed the door. Grace did not have time to call her father before the attendant instructed passengers to turn off their phones.

Glades, Florida
Sunday, January 26

Maggie knew when Lynnette bought her ticket. But two tickets? She did a search on the passenger’s name, Grace Foster, and found nothing helpful.

Since Foster’s flight wouldn’t arrive in Fort Lauderdale until Sunday afternoon, Maggie still had time to look for the girl, Laura, who claimed she knew Mrs. Foster did not kill her husband. Maggie decided to start by talking to the kid who was still in a Miami hospital, most likely a safer place to visit than the kid’s home. She didn’t take anyone with her, and she didn’t tell Detective Prince.

Maggie tried to hide her surprise when she walked into the hospital room and found Prince sitting in a chair by one of the two beds in the room. He chatted with the kid who seemed in good spirits in spite of the I.V. in his left arm, the cast on his right arm, and the bruises and lacerations that covered the visible parts of his body. There was a bandage over his left eye.

The room was packed with Latinos, most milling about the tiny space, talking and laughing. A heavy-set woman in a flowered dress sat at the end of the bed, one hand on the injured kid’s foot. She listened to the conversation between the kid and the detective.

Prince looked up when Maggie walked into the room. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He merely said, “Come here. I want you to meet Eduardo.”

Maggie crossed the room, shook hands with the boy’s mother and winked at Eduardo when they were introduced.

“Eddie’s one of my P.A.L. club boxers,” Prince said. “He’s also a straight-A student. He and his younger sister are going to college.”

Eddie’s mother didn’t say anything, but she looked away from the detective and scanned the room as though searching for someone.

“He’s not here,” Prince said. “He left when I walked in.” He looked at Maggie. “Eddie’s brother. He used to be one of my kids, but he got away from me. He’s a gang man now.”

“You can’t get him back?”

“I tried. He won’t listen.” Prince stood, patted Eddie on the shoulder and shook hands with Eddie’s mom, then joined Maggie at the foot of the bed. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Looking for the girl?”

“Sort of. I thought this kid might know something.”

Prince took hold of Maggie’s elbow. Instead of moving her toward the exit, he guided her to a door that stood ajar. When he took hold of the doorknob and pulled it open, the girl inside the bathroom covered her face and began to cry.

“Laura?” Maggie looked at Prince. “You know Laura?”

He looked around to make sure nobody stood within earshot. “This is Eddie’s sister, the one I said was college bound. She’s one of my kids.”

“Did you tell her to come to me?”

“We need to talk.” He pulled Maggie out of the doorway as he said, “Laura, you stay safe. You’re going to be fine. Officer Gutierrez has everything under control.”

“Where’s your car?” he asked when they were in the hall.

“Parking garage. What’s the deal? What does Laura know about Carl Foster’s murder?”

“She knows her brother did it, along with two of his buddies. Carl Foster hurt Eddie and Eddie’s brother was honor-bound to get revenge.”

“Why did they kill Foster? Why didn’t they just beat the crap out of him?”

“That will be one of the questions we ask when we pick him up.”

“Is Foster’s wife completely off the hook then? Do we even need to talk to her?”

“Haven’t you found her yet?”

“Not exactly.”

“We need to ask her a few questions. Have her come on in for a chat. No need to go to Fort Lauderdale this afternoon and meet her, though. There’s no arrest warrant.”

Maggie stopped in her tracks. “You know she’s flying into Fort Lauderdale? How did you know that?”

“You honestly think I’d turn something like this over to a rookie? Not a chance.”

Maggie didn’t know what to say. She stared daggers at the detective as he walked away. The last thing he said before he walked through the sliding glass doors was, “By the way, Gutierrez. You did a good job. Keep it up and you’ll make detective someday.”

Miami, Florida
Sunday, January 26

Benny’s lawyer accomplished one thing on Sunday. He arranged for Benny to move to a private cell after his cellmates beat him up.

Denver, Colorado
Sunday, January 26

“My dad’s going to be mad,” Grace said.

“I know. I’ll talk to him and explain what happened when we get to Florida.”

“What’s going to happen to me if the police arrest you when we get there?”

“I don’t know. But you’ll be safer with the police than you’ve been with me. And if they know your dad is on his way to get you, they won’t call Social Services or anything like that.”

“They’ll call my mom.”

“Maybe not.” She reached over and patted Grace’s arm. “Don’t worry. All this will be over soon. You’ll be fine.”

Grace said very little until they landed in Fort Lauderdale and were given permission to use their phones. When she called her father’s number, she listened for a long time before she finally spoke. “We saw one of the bad guys who chased us—”

Lynnette could hear Agent McCoy’s voice from Grace’s phone but couldn’t understand what he said.

“Lynnette was afraid—”

Lynnette took a deep breath when Grace handed over the phone. “Dad wants to talk to you.”

“Agent McCoy, I—”

“I’m in the airport in Denver, Mrs. Foster. I’m catching the next flight to Fort Lauderdale. You and my daughter will be met at the gate and you will be taken into custody by the FBI. Do not try to run again.”

“I wasn’t—”

“If anything happens to Grace, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Sunday, January 26

Maggie sat near the arrival gate for Lynnette Foster’s flight. A couple of minutes after the plane pulled up to the jetway, two men strode into the waiting area and spoke to the man at the desk.

Suits.
She wondered who they were after.