Saving Farley's Bog (9 page)

CHAPTER 14

Mrs. Anderson

“Now, Mr. Robinson, how can we help you?”

Stitch was sitting in an office with an official of the Nexus International Bank. Stitch had taxied in that morning and set up a meeting. He told the receptionist he was interested in setting up an offshore account. He had been assigned Mr. Simons. Simons was surprisingly young. He seemed vaguely uncomfortable in the blue suit and striped tie. His dark brown face glistened with sweat even though the air conditioner was going full bore.

“I represent a group of investors. We are interested in setting up a corporate entity here. As well as an account, of course.” Stitch didn't know what he'd get out of the meeting. But he had to start somewhere. “You were recommended by colleagues. The United Investment Group?”

Simons simply smiled.

“By the president, actually,” Stitch went on.

“And who would that be, Mr. Robinson?”

Stitch was getting nowhere fast. “Ah, Mr. Simons. We like to keep names out of our business, don't we?”

Simons sat back in his red leather office chair. He studied Stitch carefully. “Perhaps. So, as I was saying, Mr. Robinson. How can we help you?”

Suddenly a woman's voice exploded from the next office. “$50! There's supposed to be $100,000 in that account! Are you scamming me?”

Stitch glanced at Simons. “Another happy customer?”

The official in the next office tried to calm the woman down. “Now, Mrs. Anderson. All but $50 was withdrawn from that account a week ago.I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding, eh? I'll say it's a misunderstanding.”

Stitch was still looking at Simons. “Canadian, eh?”

Simons tried to get back to business. “Given your interests, Mr. Robinson, I think we can be of help. Let me acquaint you with some of our products. We have full corporate services that include…”

Stitch was hardly listening. Anderson. Anderson. Wasn't that Didi's last name?

Stitch heard the woman in the next office slam her chair against the wall. “Listen,” she yelled. “I will get to the bottom of this. And I'll be back tomorrow. Make sure you have my money!”

Stitch looked at his watch. “Gosh. I'm so sorry, Mr. Simons. I completely forgot I had another appointment.” Stitch stood up from his chair and headed for the door. He glanced at Simons' puzzled face. “But I'll get back as soon as I can. Hold those thoughts, eh?”

Stitch pushed the door open. A tall blond woman burst out of the adjoining office. Stitch fell in behind her. She was a young woman. And very attractive. Her thin tight blouse did little to conceal her magnificent figure. A tiny pair of black shorts that looked as if they'd been painted on topped two long, tapered legs.

She pushed her way out of the bank. A few steps down the street she stopped and leaned against the stone wall. Stitch could see that her eyes were closed. “Damn it!” she swore under her breath. She shook her head slightly and continued down the cobbled street.

The woman walked to the waterfront. Near the St. Kitts ferry terminal she turned right. Stitch continued to trail her, but he wasn't sure why. He had never seen Didi Anderson. Not even a picture. Was he wasting his time?

After a few blocks the woman pushed her way through a gate into a shaded courtyard. Stitch glanced at the sign above the gate: Abigail's Coffee and Tea House. Stitch watched as the woman stopped and looked around the grounds. Small wooden tables were scattered under palm trees. The woman hesitated then made her way to a table in the farthest corner. She pulled up a chair and sat down quickly. She was almost entirely hidden behind a palm and a huge bush of fizzy purple bougainvillea.

Stitch pushed through the gate. He found a table on the other side of the courtyard about 60 feet away. He sat down in a bright yellow chair and leaned his elbows on the table.

Stitch pulled his Blackberry out of his holster. He selected his phone book, scrolled to “Office,” and pushed the green phone symbol.

“Robinson Investigations,” Erin answered.

“Erin, it's me,” Stitch said quietly. “I need something. Pronto.”

Erin heard the urgency in his voice. “You got it, boss.”

“Can you get me a photograph of Didi Anderson?”

“The stripper that took off with Maxwell?”

“That's the one.”

“I think there's a photograph with the file that Carl sent. I'll scan it and attach it. You should have it in a few minutes.”

Stitch remained hunched over the table. “Thanks, Erin. You're a doll.”

Stitch sat back and took out the ballpoint pen in his shirt pocket. He snapped the button on the top to stop recording. It was a neat little gadget. It could record three hours of conversation without anyone knowing. But you had to have something worth recording. Unfortunately, Simons had nothing to say.

A pretty black woman approached Stitch's table. “What can I get you, sir?” She asked with a bright smile.

Stitch smiled back. “What time is it?”

The waitress looked at her watch. “It's almost 11:30.”

“Close enough,” Stitch said. “Bring me a Carib Lager. Really cold, OK?”

The woman nodded. “Frozen suds. You've got it.” She turned toward the restaurant at the back of the courtyard.

Stitch studied the woman he had been tailing. She had lit a cigarette. The woman smoked automatically, gazing out over the harbour in front of them.

Stitch's BlackBerry vibrated in its case clipped onto his belt. He pulled the phone out of its holster and quickly scrolled to messages. An e-mail had just arrived from Erin. The paper clip meant there was an attachment. He opened the message and then the attachment. A picture of the woman he had been trailing stared back at him. She was a bit younger in the picture. But it was definitely her.

The woman at the table was Didi Anderson.

As Stitch watched, she threw her cigarette on the ground. She opened her leather purse and dug out a cell phone. Stitch quickly opened his green case. He grabbed what looked like a basic phone. But it was a lot more than that. The Diasonic DDR 5 was really quite a little machine. It could scan cell phone conversations going on within a hundred yards. Once the number was selected, Stitch could listen to the conversation without detection. And record every word.

Stitch quickly toggled through the phone numbers. There it was: 416-832-5097. It was the only phone in the area making a call using Toronto's 416 area code. He pushed Lock to Device on his menu. The connection was established. Then he pushed Listen.

“You're a real son of a bitch, Tommy,” Didi was saying. Her words were not loud. But they were filled with hate. “You set me up. You put the money in there long enough for me to check it out. Then you pulled it.”

“Take it easy, Di,” a man's voice answered. “It's not like that. We just ran a little short. Cash flow problem. We just, you know, sort of borrowed the money from your account. You'll get it.”

“Yeah?” Didi hissed. “You bastards. You wanted Maxwell out of town. You never mentioned killing him. Now I'm looking at an accessory charge. Or worse.”

“Shut up!” the man on the other line snarled. “This line could be tapped.”

“No one's listening in on my goddamned phone, Tommy. I'm in the middle of friggin' nowhere. And even if they were, what do they hear? That you murdered Maxwell? And then double-crossed me?”

“Listen, bitch,” Tommy snapped dangerously. “You're into this up to your phony tits. Don't start getting smart with me.”

Stitch could hear Didi take a deep breath. “Tommy, all I want is my money. You promised me a hundred thou. It was in my account. Now it's gone.”

There was a silence on the other end. “OK, Di. Let's not get sore with each other. We've known each other for a long time. I'll have the money in your account tomorrow morning.”

“Early? I want to get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah, early. I'll have a cab waiting for you at the hotel. Eight o'clock. You're at the Douglas Plantation?”

“Yes.”

The man on the other end hung up. Stitch quickly pushed Call Log. The number Didi had called was displayed: 416-211-3721. He jotted the number down on his napkin. A Toronto number. Then he pushed the speed dial for the office. Erin was waiting at the other end.

“Picture received,” Stitch said into the phone. “It confirmed that it's Didi down here. Check out this number for me: 416-211-3721.”

There was a short pause as Erin wrote the number down. “Got it, boss. I'll be back to you in a minute.”

“20 seconds would be better.”

Stitch put the scanner back into his case. He continued to watch Didi through the bougainvillea. She stared at her cell phone for a few seconds. Then she slipped it back into her purse. She took a deep drag from her cigarette.

The BlackBerry vibrated. Stitch pulled it out and pushed the talk button.

“Stitch,” Erin began. “Be careful. You've got a tiger by the tail.”

“Whatcha got for me, Erin.”

“That is Tommy Cecconi's personal phone number. I had to use every trick in the book to ID it.”

Stitch whistled under his breath. Tommy. Tommy Cecconi. Of course. “Didi's ex,” Stitch said.

“Yeah, among other things. Those would include racketeer, murderer, drug lord and all-around bad guy.”

“Thanks for the synopsis.”

“Do you need anything else, Stitch?”

“How did that Warren Zevon song go? ‘Send lawyers, guns and money.'”

“I'm serious, boss. This is getting heavy.”

Stitch had been keeping an eye on Didi as they spoke. Now he noticed that she was getting up from her table.

“Gotta run. Just keep that cell phone on, eh?”

“24-7,” Erin said.

Stitch started to get up as the waitress showed up with the beer. “Here you are, sir. One damned-near frozen Carib.”

Didi was halfway to the gate. Stitch frantically thumbed through his wallet. All he could find was a US $20. He slapped it onto the table. “Keep the change.”

The woman blinked at the $20 bill. “I can't take that. You didn't even drink your beer.”

“Changed my mind,” Stitch muttered as he headed toward the gate. “I never drink before noon. But you are one super waitress.”

Didi had disappeared. Stitch ran through the gate. A cab had pulled over on the side of the road. Didi had opened the back door and was climbing in. Stitch rushed to the open window.

“Did I hear you say you were going to Douglas Plantation?”

Didi looked up, startled. “Why, yes. I guess you did.”

“I'm staying there too,” Stitch smiled. “Would it be OK if we shared the cab? Cheaper you know.”

Didi paused for a moment. Her eyes were dark with irritation. But she was caught. “I suppose so,” she said unenthusiastically.

Stitch went around the back of the cab. He opened the driver side door and slid in beside her.

“Thanks,” Stitch grinned. “Cabs are so expensive down here. Don't you think?”

Didi stared out the window. “Umm,” she agreed.

Stitch studied her face as the cab pulled from the curb. She was still beautiful. But she didn't look as young up close. Lines furrowed her forehead. Her full, red lips pulled down at the corners. Frown lines creased each side of her chin. Her nose was cute and perfect. The best money could buy, Stitch figured.

There were several minutes of silence as the cab headed for the high road. “Are you vacationing here?” Stitch asked.

Didi shifted her gaze at him as if she'd forgotten he was in the car. “Business, actually,” she replied.

Stitch lifted his eyebrows in interest. “Business. What line of work are you in?”

Didi turned back to the window. “Banking.”

“Banking. How fascinating. I understand there are a lot of offshore banks down here. Some that aren't completely legitimate. Is that right?”

Didi fixed him with a look of mixed amusement and contempt. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Stitch noticed Didi's spectacular green eyes. He nodded. “I'll bet there's a lot of money laundering going on. Drug money.”

Didi looked at him more sharply. “I wouldn't know.”

They rode in silence for a few moments. “You're a gorgeous woman.”

Didi half turned her head. She glanced at him but said nothing.

“I mean like really stunning.” Stitch shook his head. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but it's like I've seen you before.” Stitch looked at her, an embarrassed grin on his face. “Are you an actress or something?”

Didi turned her face back toward the window. She said nothing.

Stitch was quiet for a moment as if he were thinking. “I know!” Stitch burst out. “You're Didi Rose! I used to see you at the Cascade Club in Toronto. You were one of the top exotic dancers in Canada.”