The Girl on the Yacht (14 page)

Cameron turned on her phone and dialed.

“Give me the property room.” She waited. “There’s a computer in lock up, on the Laura Douglas case. I need you to check it.”

After a few minutes, Cameron said, “What do you mean, it’s not there? Did someone check it out?”

Cameron turned toward John and Marin. “It’s gone, and no one knows what happened to it.”

“We know what happened to it,” John said.

Cameron grabbed her laptop and iPad from the desktop and headed for the door. “I want to talk to Laura’s husband before I call this Teddy Bryce.”

“Come back after you talk to Teddy,” Marin said.

Cameron glanced at the speedometer––she was doing seventy up Pacific Coast Highway toward Huntington Beach. Dan Douglas was about to have an unannounced visitor at his office. The concealment of Laura’s CIA involvement wasted her time, though she didn’t know how much the information could have helped in the investigation. At the very least, it would prove to be an interesting conversation and possibly give some direction for her when she spoke to Teddy at the CIA.
I need to be ready for that conversation.

The car nearly jumped the curb when she entered the parking structure of Dan’s building. Cameron threw open the car door and bolted toward the elevator. On the ride up, she straightened her white blouse and adjusted her holster.

Her mind worked to analyze the recent complications of the case.
Dan had to know what his wife did for a living.
If it hadn’t been for John cracking the encryption, Cameron may never have known.

The elevator stopped on the third floor in front of the heavy doors with Dan’s company logo painted on the cherry wood. She charged straight past the receptionist into his private office.

Behind his desk stood a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass with a spectacular view of the white sand beach. At its center, the long pier stretched out into the emerald-green Pacific. A few surfers were maneuvering their small boards within the face of a six-foot wave, while dozens of other surfers paddled powerfully out past the breakers.

Cameron paused at the sight, not being able to remember the last time she had relaxed at the beach. She turned her attention to his office, which was no less impressive than the view outside. Startled by the intrusion, Dan Douglas rose from behind an enormous teak desk. On the walls were artifacts from sunken ships, each labeled and identified. At her feet, the dark teak floor had a white ash inlay of a compass––
impressive for clients
, she thought.

“Mister Douglas, we need to talk.”

“Detective, how can I help?”

“You can start by being truthful with me. Is there something you want to tell me about Laura’s work?

“What do you mean?”

“Is there anything you left out of your story?”

“I don’t think. . . .” He looked at her with a surprised expression.

“Her other life, for example.”

His face turned to dumbfounded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but––”

“What?”

“I just had a strange call from an attorney. He wants to talk to me about Laura. I wrote down his name.” He raised a small notepad and handed it to Cameron. “He’s just down on Main Street.”

She read the name and handed the notepad back to Dan.

“He said he needs to see me in twenty minutes to discuss Laura’s estate. She didn’t have one, but he wouldn’t give me any details. I don’t know him or his firm. I was just about to leave when you came in.”

“Before you go anywhere, I want to know about Laura’s CIA involvement.”

“What?”

“She made trips to Langley, Virginia, to CIA headquarters, and you claim you didn’t know about that?”

“Laura had conferences and lectures at Walter Reed in Maryland, not to the CIA. You have it wrong. She’d been doing it since her medical school days.”

“You never went along? You never called her? You never suspected anything?”

“Her trips were always during the week. She was an important, published researcher in clinical psychiatry. I went along a couple of times, when we were first married, but I ended up spending all my time alone in the hotel, while she worked at the hospital. After a couple of trips, I preferred being alone at home rather than alone in Maryland. We spoke often on the phone when she was out of town. I would call the hospital, and sometimes she would be available. Other times, she would be in conferences. You’re just wrong.”

“It’s well documented.” Cameron noticed that he looked confused.

He tore the note from the pad in front of him. “Can you come with me to this attorney’s office? I’m feeling nervous about it. Perhaps he has some information.”

For the second time in a couple of days, she had lost control of an interview. Was she losing her edge? She blinked, and he marched past her toward the elevator.

“CIA—that’s crazy.”

“I’ll follow you in my car––I don’t have much time.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were admitted into the lawyer’s plush office.

“Mr. Douglas, I’m William Peters, I’m so sorry for your loss,” the elderly man said. “I’ve known Laura for so many years.” The man smiled as he reminisced in his mind. “She’ll be missed—so much. Anyway, she wanted me to be the executor of her estate.” He extended his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Please, call me Bill.”

“Estate? I think you have my Laura confused with another Laura Douglas. We don’t have wills or estates,” Dan said. “We don’t have any significant assets—just a house and a boat.”

“Dan, I feel like I’ve known you for years. It is your Laura that was my client. All will be clear to you in a little while.” He pointed to a couch and chair in the corner.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever heard her mention you. She never talked about having a lawyer.” Dan shrugged and trod toward the couch. “This is Homicide Investigator West. She’s working . . . is it all right to have her here?”

“I have no objections—it’s up to you.” The attorney exuded heartfelt sorrow in his eyes. “Laura was a good friend. And, she did have a considerable investment portfolio.” He slid a DVD into the player next to the TV. “She wanted you to see this.” He hit the play button on the remote. Bill sat down next to Dan.

Laura appeared on the screen, her blue eyes full of life. Her blonde hair was bright against the dark background. She was five years younger on the video.

“Dan, you are the love of my life,” Laura said. “I will always be with you, wherever you are.” Her eyes teared. “Honey, I’ve kept a secret from you all these years, and, now, you have a right to know everything—or as much as I can tell you. Since Med school, I’ve had a contract with the CIA to create psychological profiles on individuals. It’s a very sensitive area. You can never utter this information to anyone.”

Dan quickly glanced over at Cameron West who had mentioned CIA in his office earlier.

She nodded.

Laura continued on the video. “I was always advised that my work was not dangerous as long as no one knew. However, I sensed there was an element of risk as I worked on the psych backgrounds of particularly repulsive individuals—thus the covert nature of the work—I couldn’t even tell you, babe.” She seemed profoundly hurt by the necessary deceit. Laura’s eyes peered from the screen as if she could still see her lover. “I didn’t want you in harm’s way or worrying about my safety. I hoped to grow old with you, my love. It appears that was not to be.”

Dan reached out toward the screen. “Honey,” his head fell into his open hands, “I need you.” He glanced back up at the screen.

“Dan, there’s a possibility that the work had something to do with my death. Know this, my love, I could have left the work at any time, but I felt that I was contributing to our country’s security. Risk was part of my service.” Laura closed her wet eyes and took a deep breath.

Tears rolled off Dan’s cheeks.

“Before my father died, he and Bill, my attorney, were best friends. He was the only personal acquaintance who knew of my work. During all of my tenure with the CIA, I had Bill collect my consulting fees, pay the taxes, and make appropriate investments on my behalf. This money was going to be our early retirement fund and that bigger boat you always wanted.” She forced a smile. “Whatever money has accumulated will help you to have a good life, and that makes me happy. Dan, find someone to share your life.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I just wish you were here,” he said to the image of his wife.

“Honey,” she continued. “I hope you and Bill become close friends. He’s been a great counselor, and I’ve loved him like a second father. You would do well to keep him for your attorney. He would like that.” She began crying. “Bill, take care of my Dan. I’m going to miss both of you.”

The two men watched in pain, tears falling from their eyes.

“Dan, my love, I want a wonderful life for you. I was the lucky one. I found my soulmate and lived my life to its fullest. Promise me you’ll be happy.”

Click
. The tape stopped.

Cameron stood and faced away from the two men in sorrow. “Bathroom?”

Bill Peters pointed to his private washroom.

She closed the door. Cameron splashed cold water on her face.

The two men had pulled up their chairs to the window and were gazing out at the broad blue Pacific. Bill patted Dan’s knee as they stared forward.

Cameron quietly fled from the room without disturbing their moment of mourning. In her Prius, she thought about the pain in the room she had just left. And yet there was a lot of love. She wondered if she would ever find that much love. Could someone love her that much and could she love someone like that. It didn’t seem possible—soulmate—that’s what Laura had said. Her eye caught the clock on the dash. “Teddy Bryce, damn.” She pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

Cameron knew she couldn’t make it to her office and a land line before one o’clock that afternoon. She hit the speed dial on her cellphone. It rang.

“Newport Beach Police Department?” the male voice answered.

“Let me speak with Lieutenant Bail. Tell him it’s Cameron West.”

A minute later her friend answered.

“Cam, how are you?”

“Tommy, I’m on my way over and need a land line. May I use your office?”

“No problem. I’ll see you when you get here.” He hung up.

It’s good to have friends.
She pulled into the parking lot off Jamboree Road and darted up the steps leading to the lobby. She flashed her badge at the officer behind the counter.

“
The lieutenant is waiting for you. Do you know the way?”

She nodded and pushed open the door when the electric lock released. The clock on the back wall––five to one—almost four o’clock in Langley, Virginia.

Not expecting much cooperation, she dialed. The other end answered with the recording, “If you know your—”

Cameron pressed the extension number John had given her.

“Bryce.”

“This is Cameron West.”

“I understand that you’re investigating the murder of Dr. Laura Douglas,” Teddy started. “I’ve checked into it, and we have no record of this person ever working for the Agency.”

Think, what had John said? Ask questions and make sure he cleared me for the conversation.
“Has my security clearance been approved?”

“What security clearance?” Teddy asked.

She slammed the receiver into the cradle.
Okay John, let’s see if he’s interested. Damn, I forgot to give Teddy the number to the Newport Beach Police Department.
The light of an incoming call began to blink.
No way
. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Cameron, don’t hang up.”

“Teddy, is my security clearance approved?”

“I’m working on it.” Before he could say another word, she hung up again.

The phone rang. She answered and asked again, “Have you––”

“Yes, you have temporary security clearance. Can we talk?”

Hooked––the CIA needs something––now reel him in
. “Teddy, I’ve got a job to do, and I don’t appreciate the game playing. I need to speak with Laura’s supervisor.”

“How do you know that she worked for the Agency?” he asked.

She hung up.

It rang again––while it continued to ring, she studied the well-appointed room––
the Newport Beach Police Department really takes care of their people
. On the fifth ring, she answered. “Mister Bryce, it’s the last time I answer. How did you get the computer out of my lockup?”

“We need to meet. We shouldn’t discuss this over the phone,” Teddy said.

“When are you coming to California?”

“I’m in Newport.”

“I dialed Langley.”

“Trust me. I’m across the street at the Marriott––room 2118.”

Across the street?
Her mind raced ahead. “I’ll be right there.”

While marching the block, she reviewed the timeline.
He’s been in my computer since the murder. He knew what phone I used to call from
––well, that wouldn’t be difficult—the three-letter Agencies trace calls all of the time.
He knew my exact location
—across the street.
How? GPS tracking of my cell phone? Or the traced call popped up a location on their screen. Probably both.
Teddy’s here in Newport Beach––what have I gotten into? This knowledge could be useful.

A man in his early thirties answered the door to room 2118 and escorted her through the expansive hotel suite overlooking the coastline. In an adjoining room, she could see that a bank of computers had been installed around numerous temporary tables—it had been transformed into a makeshift operations center—complete with computer geeks and possibly agents. This is
really
important to the Agency. Her confidence grew.

An attractive man in his late forties approached with his hand held out—fingers long and nails well manicured. The tailored dark suit he wore exuded confidence and possibly wealth. His short brown hair, a tinge of gray on the sides, framed a handsome face and friendly smile.

The hand was soft––way too soft for a man’s hand.
This guy has never seen a day of manual labor in his whole life—wealth.

“I’m Teddy Bryce. It’s good to meet you, Cameron. I’ve heard great things about you.”

“Yeah, you probably know more about me than I do.” She searched his hazel eyes for signs of a desire to help. They were deep pools where many secrets would remain submerged—
impossible to read
.

He walked over to the table where a smartly dressed woman held out a sheet of paper. He signaled for her to put it back on the table. He turned to Cameron.

“You need to sign that,” he said.

“What is it?”

“An NDA. . . “

“A non-disclosure agreement?”

“Secrets Act.” He pointed to the paper. “You need to know that once you sign it, you go to prison if you divulge any sensitive material.”

She pulled a pen from her pocket and signed the document.

“This is Meredith, Laura’s supervisor,” Teddy said. “Cameron, bring us up to speed on your investigation.”

She extended her hand to the woman sitting at the table. “I’m Homicide Investigator Cameron West of the Orange County Sheriff’s Department.” She shook the woman’s hand and then opened her iPad. “And your full name is? For the record.”

The woman glanced up at Teddy.

He grinned at Cameron. It was not so much a friendly grin, but an expression meant to create anxiety in her.

She wasn’t buying his body language.

Teddy shrugged. “We can give you any name you want––but not her real name. For that matter, you can’t take notes of the conversation we are about to have. This interview is a courtesy we are extending to you.”

“How benevolent.” Cameron gave a quick nod at the open door to the adjoining room. “And you have no interest in the case?”

He laughed and glanced over at the seated woman. “She’s Meredith, for now.”

“Was Laura’s identity compromised before she died?”

“We’ll acknowledge that she did some consulting for us. The particular type of work is classified as highly sensitive—and you don’t have that high a clearance,” he answered.

“I understand the need for security. What has the CIA’s investigation come up with?”

“What investigation?”

“What is Meredith here for?”

“She’s here to answer your questions. How much do you know about the work Laura Douglas was doing?” Teddy asked.

“Who killed Laura?” Cameron kept answering questions with questions.

“We don’t know who killed her. We’re checking out a possible security breach. We’ll continue until we know the truth about the case.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the autopsy report. The technique used to kill Laura was one used by professionals,” Cameron said.

“The stealth used also suggested advanced training.”

“You’re hacking my computer and bugging my phone.” She wanted to get a response.

“We’re doing those things for your protection. If this is a professional hit, the killer may think you know something, or you’re getting too close.”