Chapter 13 Columbus

Jeremy was up early. The Waters Edge restaurant was only just open when he took a table looking out over the Atlantic Ocean to watch the sun rise. The previous evening he had followed the instructions that Vanessa had relayed to him, rented a car and driven for two hours down US1, also called the Overseas Highway. On a small island called Duck Key, just half the way to Key West, he had checked into an attractive resort called Hawks Cay.

After a quick breakfast of fruit, toast and coffee he found the marina where he rented an eighteen foot boat, “ideal for fishing out at Bamboo Bank,” the man had said. The weather was good, not as windy as it could be in that early February, but he still was rather nervous as he set out through Tom’s Harbor Cut.

The chart he had purchased showed the shallows he had to navigate before passing Channel key and reaching a deeper area in Florida Bay, “thereafter steer 300 degrees for about 30 minutes,” his instructions had said. “We will find you.”

The boat rental guy had said, “look for sandy bottom” and Jeremy found a large patch in the grass bed. Not knowing how long he would have to wait for a contact, he started fishing with a vengeance. At first he hooked up a couple of small sharks, bonnet heads the book called them, but in a while caught some really nice gray snappers. He threw them all back till the two and a half pounder, which he could not resist. “That is a great supper” he said to himself.

While fishing he had been watching what little passing traffic there had been, a couple of lobster boats collecting up their traps as the season drew to a close, a sail boat heading off towards Cape Sable, and another fishing skiff that had long since left, presumably having limited out on their daily catch. Nothing looked like a contact. Then he noticed the lobster boat working a line of traps that passed very close to his spot. He was sure it had passed him earlier, about the time when the sail boat was nearby. Eventually the boat reached a trap about forty yards away, and as the mate wound the line around the winch to haul the wooden trap aboard, the boat swung around broadsides on to him. A man almost hidden by the pile of traps spoke, “You are Bonanza?” It took a second for Jeremy to recognize the pseudonym Bill had used in his contacts with Columbia. “Well, actually Jeremy Baird, but I use Bonanza for security reasons.” Jeremy knew this was the critical moment, If Columbus had any idea who the real pseudo Bonanza was, this tactic would probably get him killed, but if not, it would be much more convincing to use his real name. Apparently all was well because the man did not flinch. “Good to meet you, I am Columbus. Come aboard.” Obviously Columbus was not about to reveal his own true identity.

Although the seas were relatively calm, it was still a delicate balancing act to clamber off his small boat onto the almost twice as large lobster boat, and the piles of traps did not help, but Jeremy managed with a hand up from the mate, and once in the pilot cabin he found it sparse but comfortable. Columbus did not waste time with pleasantries, “The two deals we have done have worked well. You have proved to me that you are both trustworthy and competent. I want to do more, and larger, is that OK?” It was posed as a question, but there was no inflection in his voice to allow for a negative response, and he did not wait for a reply. “We want to do a million at a shot, every month, OK?” Again no inflection, no pause. “The first installment is here.”

The bag he passed to Jeremy was a regular carry on size black suitcase with wheels and extension arm, and although it was heavier than he expected, Jeremy had no trouble carrying it over to his skiff. “I hope we can be just as successful as we have been in the past,” he said as the boats drifted apart. The response may have been intended as a joke, but it sounded very ominous, “If you aren‘t, I’ll just have to kill you.”

The lobster boat headed off south west at a surprisingly good clip for a large vessel and soon disappeared from Jeremy’s view. The men on board could not have noticed a fisheries and wildlife vessel trailing them a mile astern. The officer on board used a secure channel as he spoke on the radio, “We have the subject in view, they appear to be a lobster vessel operating out of Summerland Key, three men on board. Please ask Phelps for further instructions.” It took ten minutes for a response, “Watch and wait, make no contact until further orders. Don't lose them, confirm their home base.” The officers had no difficulty following their instructions, or their quarry. Their twenty five foot whaler was powered by twin two hundred and fifty horsepower outboards, and if necessary the boat could do eighty miles an hour. To break the monotony, the officers sped by the lobster boat and checked out some snorkelers under the Seven Mile bridge, before again fading into the distance. By late afternoon, they were positioned to the east of the Summerland Key Fish house as they watched the lobster boat disappear into the gap in the mangroves which they knew led up to the dock. Mission accomplished for that day.

Meanwhile Jeremy waited a while before he pulled anchor and headed back to Hawks Cay. En route he passed the same fishing skiff he had seen earlier, but thought little of it. He might have been more wary if he had noticed that, as soon as he was well past them, the skiff weighed anchor and followed him in. His mind was full of questions. He was aware of the Microline deal, but Columbus had mentioned two deals. What was the other, and exactly what was going down? This did not look like a simple insider trading scam, suitcases full of cash money were not the normal method of settlement for stock purchases.

Back in his room Jeremy called the number he had been given by Vanessa, identified himself to the gruff voice that answered, and was immediately patched through to Phelps. “You have made this a busy day for law enforcement in this country said Phelps. “Columbus is now under surveillance, we will have warrants ready in the morning. I suggest you get out of there pronto, there is nothing more that you can do. In Michigan, Hargrove found the body of a man shot through the heart, and a red Bronco with distinct evidence of a collision with a man. Forensics will show if the man was Bill Fernstine, but we are all pretty sure. Seems you are off the hook on that one, at least for now. Here in new York, we are certain that at least four of the names you gave us have trading patterns consistent with the kind of activity you believe Brad Layton was performing, but proof is going to be difficult. We are up against a wall of silence, but we certainly ruffled a few feathers. One of the individuals on your list was particularly agitated, a Jeff Rosenberg. We will want to watch him. Yes, quite a busy day. Now you take off and get some rest, and let us get some too. With what is likely to go down tomorrow I think it may be prudent for you to get lost again, as we had the impression you were being followed.”

Although he had planned to spend the night here, Jeremy decided this last advice was good. He surreptitiously carried his bags to the car and locked them in the trunk before he walking down to the front desk, and loudly asking for advice on a restaurant that would cook his fish. He purchased a styrene cooler and some ice, and without checking out, set off back towards Miami. He found the place the concierge had recommended, a delightful place called Bentleys in Islamorada. He parked his car in full view of the restaurant, and chose to sit where he could get a clear view. He asked the chef to grill just the one fillet, and kept the other well chilled, hoping that he would have another opportunity to eat it soon.

While waiting for his meal he carefully observed the parking area and as much of the street as he could. He was not sure, but it seemed that a small truck that parked in front of the next-door liquor store had arrived soon after him, and showed no signs of leaving. He would watch this vehicle as he left.

The meal was delicious, his fish cooked just sufficiently so that it had not lost its moistness. The accompanying salad complimented the light flavor of the fish, and was nearly as fresh. He had no wine as he was heading directly to Miami after the meal, and he missed it. A nice Oregon gewürztraminer would have been perfect.

Once he had paid his check, he made a trip to the rest rooms to provide a cover for a quick call to Miami on the pay phone and sauntered out to the car, watching for a reaction from the truck. Sure enough, as he began to move, he could see a figure straighten up from its concealment and take its place behind the wheel. So Phelps was right, he was being watched, and it seemed that Columbus did not trust him quite as much as he had tried to imply. There was no point in trying to outrun the truck, there was only one road out to Miami, and if he showed that he was trying to throw off his tail, there would be plenty of opportunity to pick him up again. All he would achieve would be to alert the occupants of the truck to the fact that he knew they were following him, and the next meeting might be with some force.

He meandered up the highway towards Miami, stopping a few times to play tourist, and was pleased to note that the truck kept its distance, and the occupants remained the same. He was intent on making them totally comfortable that he was not aware of their presence. By the time he got to Florida City he knew that the men in the truck could not still be fooled by his little deception about dinner, if they ever were, and he picked up the pace, heading down the Florida Turnpike towards Orlando. His plan was to take the Dolphin Expressway down to Miami, and on to Miami Beach. At the several tollbooths along the route he could easily pick out the truck always a careful couple of vehicles back.

Once he had crossed the MacArthur Causeway he sought out the XXXX Beach Hotel, parked his car in a visible location, and checked in to the hotel. A half hour later, he emerged in beach gear and set out down to the water, carefully edging just a few hundred yards northward from the hotel. Although it was well after sunset, it was not dark thanks to the lights from the myriad beach front hotels, restaurants and bars. It was also quite mild if not exactly warm, and he was not alone on the beach, although perhaps all of them were also visitors from the frozen north.

From Jeremy’s hotel room a figure watched, and when she saw the two men get out of their truck to take a position on the beach front from where they could watch Jeremy and wait for his return, she picked up his two bags and walked briskly to her car. The men idly watched this tall blonde beauty, drive off in the same direction as Jeremy had ambled a few minutes before. They were less relaxed when Jeremy scampered up the beach and into the passenger seat of the tall blondes car, which sped away before they could react and follow.

Three hours later, relaxing at last in a room in a Residence Inn just off highway I75 outside of Naples, Vanessa said, “So that's what a million dollars in cash looks like. I’ve always secretly wondered. OK tell me everything.”

The call from the clerk at the county court in Marathon came in to the encampment on Summerland key at ten that night, “Judge Briscoe has issued a search warrant. They will be there at first light” The tip off was received by Jose, alias Columbus, and his reaction was immediate. “So Mr. Baird was a plant. Pity, I thought I would like him. Get him, and get my money back.” Although these words were not addressed to anyone in particular, each of the ears that heard them knew that this was an order for all of them, and it was a task at which they must not fail, else the fate planned for Baird might just be theirs as well.

Plans for an event such as this search had been made long ago. All “product” ready for shipment left within the hour. Everything else was wrapped in plastic just like cling-wrap, packed into lobster traps and taken in small boats via a secret tortuous route through the mangroves hidden from any prying eyes and dropped out into the bay. It would be easy to locate it later, and any of the authorities would not expect that direction when the ocean side seemed so much more obvious. The whole warehouse area was washed down with gallons of sea water, till it was perfectly clean. Even the fishing boats that were cleaned meticulously every evening were washed down again. At three a.m. the two go fasts pulled out very quietly and without lights until they were half a mile out to sea. When they opened up to full throttle heading due south, they were already far enough away from land for their roar to be muffled by the wind. No one noticed them leave. By just after four am, when the first police and FDA vehicles began to assemble a mile from the gate, the boats had tied up on a private dock in north eastern Cuba, with Jose and some twenty others on board. All the personnel who remained on Summerland Key were legitimate fishing crews who were regularly seen plying their trade on the waters around the Keys and would raise no suspicion.

The search of the warehouse was thorough, and they found only a few lobster (it was the end of the season after all), lots of dolphin, all of yesterdays catch of yellow tail, and perhaps twenty nice grouper, all carefully laid out on beds of ice ready for the packers to arrive in a few hours. If the few fish swimming around near the dock looking a little glassy eyed could have been used as evidence, that would be about the only cocaine, or other criminal activity that was there to be found. They were out of their by noon, and no arrests were made. As Phelps listened to the reports coming in he mused, “The reason we can never beat these criminals is that we operate inside the law, but they do not!”

Jose had also been listening to reports transmitted via the local fishing boat’s radios. With only a seventy mile channel separating Cuba and the Keys, no-one, not even Castro could stop these communications. The reports of the raid out of Summerland Key made him mildly amused, but the information relayed from Chicago and Miami made him sad and furious, not necessarily in that order. From Chicago he heard that the body of Alex had been discovered in a remote cottage in Michigan. In his last communication with Jose, Alex had talked of seeking a tall beautiful blonde who had apparently recognized him as he was leaving the scene of his most recent “activity”, and now this friend, colleague, and comrade in arms for so many years was dead. The girl had to be the cause. From Miami came the news that Baird, who was from Chicago and had a million dollars of his money, had given his tails the slip, and had done so quite deliberately with the help of a tall beautiful blonde. It was a stretch, but could it be the same blonde who caused the death of Alex. It may be a stretch, but it was enough for him. He gave the order, and the blonde, whoever she was, was as good as dead.

At six thirty the same night Mr. and Mrs. Gus Delatorres arrived in Miami on a flight from Port-O-Prince, Haiti. Yes thanks they had enjoyed their trip, but would be pleased to get home to Marathon.

They stepped out of the terminal building onto the street where Juan was waiting with his SUV to transport then back to the Keys. As they drove the two hours south they joked about how easy it was to cover up the nature of their business. “Still we wont be able to use Summerland for a few months. I see the old fish house on Conch Key is up for sale. It is not as perfect as Summerland, but it will have to do. Shouldn’t cost too much, no one can make money out of lobster fishing these days!”

Chapter 12 Laurie

After their experience at the funeral that morning Jeremy and Vanessa were ultra cautious as they made their way to the “Trader” just before nine that evening. If Laurie Merkel had not been brought on-sides by the information in the packet given her by Jeremy, they could be walking into a trap. Carefully Jeremy parked his beamer in the parking lot of the arena and they walked to a position across the street from the Trader from where they could observe any evidence of a stakeout. They could see nothing nor could they see Laurie Merkel inside. “There is no other way” said Jeremy “We’ll just have to hope for the best. You stay here, if I don’t come out and call you in five minutes, you get out of here.” With that, he walked towards the door.

Inside he looked around quickly and saw two women sitting at the very same table he and Vanessa had occupied when this whole affair started. The woman with her back to him could be Laurie, so Jeremy moved cautiously around the room till he could see her face. When he was sure, and could see nothing else untoward in the room he approached her. “I’m glad you came, I had to trust you.” Just then he felt rather than saw the man behind him, and was ready to run when Laurie spoke, “Don't worry he is with me and has assured me he will not harm you.” Jeremy turned and recognized the man as Phelps, the SEC agent that had visited the Fraser offices.

Phelps grabbed his shoulder, “Don’t run, I have nothing to do with the FBI or the local police. I have seen the stuff you gave to Mrs. Merkel, we want to find out where you got that information, and what more you know. You obviously know Mrs. Merkel, this lady is her daughter, Candice.”

Before he sat down at the table, Jeremy went to the door and signaled to Vanessa, and once she had joined them, he began, “Actually, Vanessa got this information from a secret location revealed to her by Brad Layton before he died, and we have a lot more. The stuff I gave you referred only to the Microline stock insider trading. Unfortunately Bill Fernstine seems to be involved in that one as well as Brad Layton.” This last comment was directed at Mrs. Merkel, who responded, “Don't hold back anything on my account, we knew Bill was up to something naughty, we just hoped that when it came out, if it came out, it wouldn‘t hurt us too badly. Seems we should have acted more actively!”

Phelps interrupted, “The insider trading thing is only the beginning of this thing, you said something about market manipulation, surely in this day and age that's not possible?”

“I would have thought so,” continued Jeremy, “and you are right, the insider trading is the lesser scam, and it seems that Bill was the small fry! I’m not yet sure exactly what is going on, but if you look only at Brad’s dealings in Microline, sure he sold a whole bunch ahead of the announcement on Monday, but look at the previous six months. In total, all the funds under Brads control held seventy five thousand shares, just under five percent of the stock, important because that meant he was free of any obligation to declare his interest in the shares. But what I think is more important is that it makes up forty percent of the stock not held by insiders or institutions. Now look at his trades, over the past six months prior to Monday, the total purchases by his funds of the stock is one hundred and fifty thousand shares, and the total of the sales is equal to that same amount. By rolling over stocks from one fund to the other, always keeping the shares in his stable, he created a market equal to double the number of shares he held, and in the process pushed up the price by eighty percent.”

With little further interruption from the others, Jeremy went on to describe how he thought Brad was doing this internal trading scam with several other stocks, and that Microline was only the tip of the iceberg of the problems for Merkel. Along the way Brad was ripping off the funds with his phantom fund.

Then Jeremy dropped the bombshell, “Vanessa also found this card. I think this means that Brad and Merkel are not the only ones doing this, we have some possible names, which is the main reason we asked for your help. We think that Bill was killed by someone because he was suspicious of Brad’s involvement in this scheme. And we think Brad was killed because that same someone thought that maybe Bill already had found out too much.”

At that Laurie interrupted, “Brad was not killed, he died of a heart attack”. This brought Vanessa into the conversation, “I was there the day he died, leaving Brad’s office, I saw a man on the elevator who looked just like the driver who ran down Bill. It’s too much of a coincidence that he was there just when Brad has a fatal heart attack.”

Phelps could hardly contain himself, “Now we are going to have to tell the FBI. I can’t have knowledge that a murder has been committed and not report it.”

“No problem,” said Jeremy, “but wait till we have disappeared again. It’s difficult enough for us to clear our names while we are on the run, it will be almost impossible if we are behind bars. This is what we have got to find out. Here is a list of six names that we think may have been working with Brad.” Somehow we have got to establish if they are doing something similar. Mr. Phelps, I am sure you can do this, but please do it soon, like tomorrow.”

“And Mrs. Fernstine, please, when you get home could you email me at this address all the email addresses you know or suspect Bill was using. We already know his AOL box, but he may have others. If you know his passwords, that will help too, saves a lot of time. Thanks. OK, we will keep in touch by email. Let’s try to get some answers before someone else is killed, particularly before it is one of us!”

Jeremy and Vanessa quickly returned to the beamer, and disappeared into the evening traffic. Phelps shook his head, “Now I know those guys had nothing to do with Bill's death. I hope they are careful, if this is as big as it is beginning to look, billions of dollars are at stake, and people kill other people for a lot less than that! Now I had better call Hargrove at the FBI and tell him that we have information that Brad‘s death was murder.”

By the time Jeremy and Vanessa got back to the cottage on the lake, it was well after midnight, as their speed had been restricted by a persistent snow squall coming in off the lake. Even so Jeremy immediately accessed his internet provider and logged into his email. He was pleased to see a message from Candice Fernstine. There was Bill’s email address, and several passwords he was known to use. Without difficulty he was able to find the address and using each password in turn found the second gave him access to Bill's mailbox. There were several new messages, but he was not interested in those, he was hoping that Bill would be the kind that only cleared his mailbox when he approached the memory limit, and this was the case. All the mail in and out over the past two weeks was there, only the spam had been deleted.

Looking back to the previous week in the sent folder he found the message that had been sent to his mailbox in error, and right next to it was one to an address Columbus@BellSouth.net. What attracted him to this message was the subject “Sell Microline”, and in the body of the message was the same information that Bill had intended to give to Brad, but had inadvertently sent to Jeremy. However, this message had been signed “Bonanza”, not Bill. Two days later was a second message to the same recipient, also signed Bonanza. “Take care who you use to liquidate. B.L. is suspicious, and is becoming a problem.”

The truth hit Jeremy like a rock. Under a pseudonym, Bill was giving insider information to someone else, someone outside Merkel. The initials B.L. could be Brad Layton, but whoever it was, it was clear that Columbus would know, which meant that he had been the subject of discussion before. If that was the case, and it was Brad, it seemed that there was a problem between him and Bill! It was obviously important that this information should reach Phelps, and perhaps even Hargrove. With a few deft clicks of the mouse Jeremy sent both messages on their way.

There was nothing much else of interest in the messages, which made it probable that Bill was not at all involved with the manipulation scam. Jeremy was on the point of logging off when he noticed that one of the new messages in the inbox dated the day after Bill was killed was from Columbus, whoever he was. Jeremy had hoped not to have to open a new message because it would clearly show the fact that someone other than Bill had been in to this mailbox, after all Bill could not open his own mail now! But the opportunity was too exciting, the presence of the message sent after Bill was known to be dead may indicate that the Columbus was not aware of this fact.

Throwing caution to the wind, he opened the message, “We appreciated your tip on Microline. It allowed us to close off a very successful operation. We like doing business with people who look after their friends. The next deal could be even bigger, but this time we meet in person, in the Keys. Ref. B.L., do not concern yourself. We will take care of the situation as necessary”

The intent of the first half of the message was very clear; Columbus was happy with the service he was getting from Bonanza, and wanted to do a new deal. Jeremy’s brain began to race. The identity of Columbus was unknown. Columbus wanted to do business with Bonanza again. Columbus had never met Bonanza, thus he had never met Bill. Columbus did not know Bill was dead, or even perhaps of the true identity of the individual he was dealing with. On the internet one can be whoever one wishes. If Jeremy became Bonanza, he could meet Columbus, maybe even actually find out who he was.

Jeremy was already signing off from Bill’s mailbox when he realized the import of the second half of the message! Columbus was assuring Bill he would take care of Brad, and within hours, Brad ends up dead. Could be pure coincidence, but it could also be that Columbus had Brad Killed.

Vanessa woke with a start. “Come on. get up, you have got to take me to Ann Arbor, I am going to Miami.” Jeremy was standing over her, shaking her shoulder. Once she was awake, he continued, “I’ll tell you all about it in the car, but move it my flight leaves in just three hours.”

As they again left the cottage, it was still dark, but the snow had stopped. The car skidded a little in the fresh snow that covered the laneway, but the all weather radials the beamer had cut through the three to four inch carpet with no trouble. It was only six to seven hundred yards to the county road, and they knew that would be ploughed even at this early hour. In this part of the country snow was part of life, and it could not be allowed to be disruptive.

By the time they reached the highway, twenty miles away, it was just getting light, and Jeremy was able to relax a little and tell Vanessa all he had found out. “It seems that Bill was not involved in the manipulation scam , and probably didn't actually know much about it. He was into an insider trading business that extended outside Merkel. Brad was apparently getting suspicious of what Bill was up to, and Bill knew Brad was up to something. Their mutual suspicions was making them both very nervous, and it seems that our joking conclusion may have been correct, they each may have been indirectly responsible for the others death. Now, if they were killed by the same man as we suspect, and if Columbus ordered Brad killed, he probably also ordered Bill’s demise. In the same breath he was organizing to do future business with the man he knew as Bonanza, so he did not link Bill Fernstine with Bonanza.

“So we have two murders, apparently done by the same person, but for two different reasons, and probably linked to two different scams. The common factors are the killer himself, and the man who ordered the killings, the man who calls himself Columbus. So I will go to meet that man.”

As much as Vanessa remonstrated that Jeremy’s plan to visit with Columbus was extremely dangerous, and he should not go alone, he was determined. He explained that she was required at the cottage to manage the flow of information, and to pass on the story to Phelps. “I sent an email to Columbus to tell him I will be there today. He will have to give me instructions as to how we will meet. You have to pick up the reply.” He knew he could do all that from anywhere that there was a phone line, but he did not want to expose her to danger, and her being here in Michigan and isolated in the cottage was the safest place to be, or so he thought.

They were approaching the airport in Ann Arbor, so conversation was curtailed. Being a much smaller operation than O'Hare, they felt sure that this airport would not be watched, but they still had to be careful. They were after all still the prime suspects in at least one murder. Jeremy insisted that Vanessa simply drop him on the curb, and return to the cottage. “As soon as you get a response from Columbus, send a message to Phelps, see if he can get some one in Miami to watch my back. I’ll call as soon as I land, so make sure you are not on the internet around six tonight!” The cottage had only one telephone line, and they had only one laptop between them, so she could see things were going to get out of control. Luckily she could not have foreseen just how chaotic it would become!

Her mind was occupied with the developments of the day, and Vanessa paid little attention to the road as she returned to the cottage. In fact she had already made the turn onto the laneway when something told her to stop. There in the fresh snow were the tracks of the beamer, a little smudged by the snow drifting in the light wind. Also there were a second set of tracks, these larger, and much fresher, and the tracks went in, but did not return. Whoever made those tracks was still down that lane, and it was not the mailman.

She sat immobile for a few seconds staring at the tracks, the hair on the base of her neck bristling. She wanted to run, but in the cottage was the laptop, all the addresses, everything she needed to help Jeremy. She had to go on, but she had to be careful. She quickly backed out of the lane, and continued down the county road to a spot a quarter mile beyond the cottage. Here was a crude car park which in the summer was used by the public to gain access to the beach on the lake. Luckily the snowplow had cleared just enough for her to edge the car off the road. She parked and looked around for a weapon. All she could find was a tire wrench, much lighter than she would have liked, but better than nothing.

Knowing that no one would expect an approach to the cottage from the lake side gave Vanessa some confidence as she crept through the deep snowdrifts up to a side window. The snow silenced her movement, but made per progress laborious. The crust was just strong enough to support her weight and allow her to see into the window. Peering through she could see in the dim light that this was the room Jeremy had slept in, and through the open door into the front room she could see a shadow moving. That would not be the way in.

Carefully she skirted round to the back of the house through even deeper snow only to find her way blocked by the wood shed. “Damn” she thought, and then smiled. In the timbered parts of the country, wood is an important fuel, and like many farm houses and cottages this woodshed was placed alongside the house with a small trapdoor leading directly into the kitchen to facilitate access to fuel during the worst storms of winter. Vanessa knew the shed was nearly empty, so getting to that small access would be easy, but getting into the shed through the deep drift snow was not. Having reached the outside door of the shed, she first had to clear the snow sufficiently to open the door, a task which would have been impossible was a carelessly discarded snow shovel not leaning conveniently on the wall of the shed.

Inside the shed was dark, but quite warm, and Vanessa was thankful for the respite. As her breath returned from the exertion of clearing the snow, the temptation just to roll up and hide was almost overwhelming. Two factors drove her on, the knowledge that Jeremy was almost in Miami and would certainly go it alone to disaster if she was not able to give him the information he needed, and a rustle under the woodpile that was almost certainly a rat also sheltering from the bitter winter cold.

After several minutes in the dark, her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom and she could see the outline of the little access door. Careful to avoid any sound she cleared the wood away, and slid open the door. The kitchen was in darkness but sufficient light came through the half open door to the front room for her to get her bearings. How she wished that door had been shut! Being as large as she was, she struggled through the trapdoor and was just firmly on her feet when a man came through the door. He held a large automatic pistol in his hand, but his arm was relaxed at his side, as he obviously did not expect anyone to be in the room. They saw each other at the same time, the man’s arm swung out and the gun pointed at Vanessa. Even as he did so, he seemed to relax, and Vanessa could almost feel the “its just a woman” look come over his face.

Without hesitation Vanessa leapt forward, one and a half steps was all that was needed. The first swing of the wrench knocked the gun flying, the return struck the man on his temple. Had the wrench been heavier, the blow would have at least put him out cold for hours, but light as it was, he had barely hit the floor before he staggered up again. But it was enough time for Vanessa to find the gun, and she was just turning to face him when she felt his hand grab at her arm. She fired. The jerk she felt on her arm where he held her told her that he had been hit, and when the grip relaxed she knew he had been hurt badly. It was still a surprise when he fell in a crumpled heap at her feet, not moving except for involuntary muscular shivers.

Leaving the man where he fell, Vanessa quickly checked the other rooms, they were empty. The man had been alone. Outside the front door she could see a red Bronco. The recognition flooded into her brain just as the adrenaline rush that had spurred her violent action subsided, and she collapsed into a chair. This was the man who had killed Bill Fernstine and Brad Layton.

Five minutes later, when the uncontrollable shudders which had wracked her body subsided, Vanessa got up and closed the door to the kitchen. She would not be returning to that room. She found the laptop and logged into Bill’s mailbox, carefully following Jeremy’s instructions. There was the message from Columbus. She printed it without absorbing the contents, knowing she would have to read it to Jeremy later. In the meantime there was work to be done. After retrieving the beamer and having a quick breakfast at the McDonalds in the village, she prepared a number of emails, to Phelps, “Watching Jeremy’s back”, to Fraser and Fraser, “Extending our vacation”, and to Laurie Merkel, “More information we will need”. As this last one detailed much of what Jeremy had discovered during the night, she also copied this to Phelps. She was just about to finish when she thought of Hargrove. She felt sure he didn’t really believe that she and Jeremy had anything to do with this, so, as quickly as she could type, she prepared a summary of all the things she knew about the murders.

This she would send later to Phelps, just before she left the cottage for good, with a request that he forward it to Hargrove, subject “Where to find the murderer of Fernstine and Layton”. She packed what little she had with her, as well as what Jeremy had left, and opened a beer to wait for his call.

Alex never reached Miami. His plane was descending to land in Atlanta, when he awoke from a doze. The dream he was having remained stark in his consciousness, there was a girl getting into the elevator this afternoon, a tall beautiful blond girl, and behind her was another girl staring at him as he gunned his red Bronco away from the body of yesterdays job, also tall, also blond, also beautiful, and as the dream turned into a nightmare he knew it was the same girl, and he knew she had seen him. All this added up to an unfinished job! He would have to return to Chicago.

Where to start. He staked out the Sears tower to no avail, tried the Palmer House Hotel, no dice, so what about a funeral. At last success, but short-lived . The driver of the screaming beamer was definitely the girl. He tried to follow but the damn cops got in the way, and the last thing he needed was attention from the cops. He did however get the plate registration from the car.

The good thing about being a criminal was that one did not have to do things legally, so he made a few phone calls. So called privacy laws stop people getting information about other people legally, but the stacks of data are actually available to banks, insurance companies, lawyers, and to anyone with a modicum of knowledge, and the intent to use it. So within an hour, he had the name, home address, and any alternate addresses of the owner of the BMW. After staking out the home address for twenty four hours, he moved on to the alternate address, a cottage on Lake Michigan, but no one was there either. He was just about ready to give up when he walked into the kitchen, and there she was. Twenty years earlier he would not have made this mistake, “Just a woman, but what a beautiful woman” he thought just as she hit him.

That would have been the end of that were it not for the call Alex had made to Jose telling him he would be staying in Chicago till he found and dealt with “a tall, blond, beautiful woman.”

Chapter 11 Alex

Before first light the next morning, Vanessa took off in Jeremy’s BMW. The highways were empty but she avoided those leading into the city which could become jammed even at this early hour. As she approached her condo in Carol Stream she carefully parked near the rec. center and walked around near the lake to approach her home from the sliding door which opened onto the lawn. This door looked locked but she new if you lifted the edge just right, you could release it from its latch and it would slide open. It seemed a serious security breach, but Vanessa was not the nervous type, and the convenience of this emergency entrance totally outweighed any drawbacks.

Most certainly the place had been searched, things had been replaced neatly, but just not where they should be, and not quite as she would have placed them. Vanessa hoped they had had a good time, because surely they would have found nothing incriminating. Without turning on any light except in the bathroom, she showered quickly, dressed in some carefully chosen clothes, and knowing that she would probably not return there for a while packed a bag of personal things. Unconsciously she included two sets of night clothes, one her usual homely set, the other, a set that she hardly ever wore, was taken from a lower drawer and had been a gift from a long past admirer.

Her preparations complete, she left as she had come though the patio door, even though she could not lock it from the outside. Before returning to the car she peeked into the parking area in front of the condo. There across from her front door, was a dark automobile, and she was sure she could just make out two forms inside. She smiled, and thought that it was a good thing to have a personal security guard on your condo if you had to leave it for a while, particularly if you couldn't lock it up properly!

Just before eleven she parked in the garage under the Sears tower, and made her way in the elevator to the fifty sixth floor. Only a close inspection would reveal the girl who emerged from the same car that yesterday had carried the body of Brad Layton to be the same as had been there at that time. Her blond hair was now just darker than auburn, and the smart business suit was replaced by a bright full skirt and a floral blouse buttoned up the front. The scarf loosely knotted around her neck completed the transformation. As she spoke to the same receptionist as before, she very briefly removed her dark glasses to reveal her carefully smudged mascara which just hinted at tears shed earlier in the day. There was not a hint of recognition in the girls face as Vanessa explained that she was Brad’s sister, and would like to collect his private belongings from his office. Still shattered from the events of the previous day the girl escorted her into the inner sanctum, offered her a soda, which was declined, and left. As soon as she was alone, Vanessa began to systematically search the room for personal diaries, appointment books, or other note books that may give a hint of what Brad had been in to, and with which she and Jeremy were now inexorably entangled.

On the desk was a large daybook, one of the page a day variety, she thought she would take that when she left, but otherwise in the drawers, in the cabinets, and credenzas nothing that looked vaguely incriminating.

She had been alone for perhaps twenty minutes when she heard approaching voices, one of them a man’s who was saying, “I knew Brad’s sister, I should just drop in to extend my condolences.” Knowing this was heading for disaster, Vanessa ducked into the door which led out of the office in the opposite direction, only to find that she was in a toilet shower room. Down the one side was a long counter with two hand basins. on the other were the toilets, and a shower. The far end was a full length mirror . There was seemingly no escape. Just playing for time, she closed the door, which action seemed to cause a slight movement of the mirror at the end of the room. She investigated quickly, and the entire mirror swung open to reveal a dimly lit stairway leading upward. Vanessa stepped inside, pulled the mirror door closed behind her, and as she heard it click shut, she also heard the receptionist enter the bathroom looking for her. Seeing the obviously empty stalls, the girl turned to her companion saying, “She must have left without saying anything. I’m not surprised, she looked very upset, it must be very difficult, so sudden.”

Vanessa sighed with relief, a close escape, but what was she to do now. Certainly investigating what was in the room up the stairs was the first thing to do, how to get out of there without being discovered would have to wait till later.

She found a light switch and climbed the stairs to the secret office. Looking around her everything was as Brad had left it a few days before, and nothing seemed extraordinary. The desk in the center was clear except for a folder, inside of which was a single yellow card. The card was headed “Allocation #17.” and had six sets of letters on it, which looked like stock exchange listing symbols, next to each was a number in thousands. The only words were “Good Luck, Jeff”.

Finding nothing else of interest on the desk, she turned to the computer, and was surprised that as soon as she touched the mouse the screen jumped to life. “Brad was not afraid of intruders here in this very private room,” she thought. Several program were still open including outlook express, and she could see the listing of messages that had been sent. Everything still related to stocks and trades and funds, so why were they done here in this secrecy, and not down stairs in the main office. Vanessa did not know enough about the business to know.

“Make copies,” she thought, “Jeremy will be able to decipher what is going on here.” Conveniently there was a box of new floppies near the keyboard, Brad did his backups! Knowing she had plenty of time Vanessa carefully copied every document, message, letter or database or spreadsheet she could find on the computer, and in a couple of hours she had filled nine discs. She also carefully forwarded several emails from the inbox to her own address, and attached a couple of files which had been too large for a single disc.

By now it was nearly four and she knew Jeremy would be expecting her to contact him. He was stranded at the cottage while she had his car, but had volunteered to collect supplies in the nearby village. There were three phones to chose from, and she wondered which would not alert suspicion at some switchboard or console downstairs. Of course, the modem line, this was most often direct, and there was a single old fashioned phone plugged into the computer. That would be the on to use. When she dialed the number she waited for seemingly ages before Jeremy came on the line, “Sorry, I was just getting in from the village, where are you.” Vanessa could here him visibly sag when she explained she was trapped inside the Merkel Offices, but felt him straighten up as she described what she had found. “You got his address book, and did you export the details of his email accounts?” She admitted she had not, but she would rectify that, if he would just slow down and explain to her what to do.

After some more idle chat designed more to pass the time than elucidate more information, Jeremy asked, “So how do you propose to get out of there.” Vanessa paused for a moment, I am really not quite sure, but I know I have to wait till much later. Around seven everyone who isn’t working really late will have left, and those who are still here will be absorbed in their work.” It was said more with hope than assurance.

A world away in New York, Frankie watched as the eighteen-wheeler transport backed into the loading dock of the fish market. This was the largest of five similar establishments he owned. He was always impressed at how these drivers maneuvered their enormous vehicles with such ease. The rear of the trailer just touched the rubber bumper on the dock as the truck stopped and there was hardly any gap to let in the weather. Not that that mattered much at this time of the year because the temperature of the February air was much the same as it was in the refrigerated room into which the cargo would be unloaded. The first twenty pallets were quickly stacked near the aisle leading to the shop, but the last ten were moved through a plastic curtain to a second smaller storeroom. The night shift would come on in a few hours and they would deal with those.

Frankie had a couple of errands to do before five pm, actually he had the same errand to do in a couple of different places. He collected the satchels from his office and walked out the back where his driver was waiting. They drove a few blocks to the first stop, an office on the second floor of a side street building with a small sign which read Franklin Capital Retail Sales Division. The sole occupant of the office was expecting him, gave him a prepared receipt, and took satchel that was offered. “The usual amount I trust” were the only words spoken. The same thing was repeated in five other locations near by. As he completed the drive Frankie thought, “It is a good thing for the small investor to be saving in mutual funds.” He no longer wondered at the fact that each of his two sons would make a similar number of drops that day with satchels emanating from this location, and each of his other stores would do about the same. Up and down the east coast, perhaps five mill every day. Yea, mutual funds were great for small investors. Still, the new deal with the unions was helping to soak up some of the rest.

When Frankie returned to the fish market the evening rush was in full swing. The night staff was divided into two groups. The first and smaller group served the walk in customers of whom there were many, because Frankie’s Fish was always fresh, delivered daily direct from Florida. The other group prepared and sometimes delivered wholesale orders. These wholesale sales were done out of the rear storeroom, small vans pulled in and were given a crate of product, surprisingly small for a fish distributor, and left. The singular difference between this and any other regular commercial distributor was that each and every order was paid for in cash, neatly packaged in bundles of a thousand.

Vanessa waited till just after seven before she crept down the stairs into the washroom below. She inched open the door into Brad’s official office, and quickly closed it again. There was no question that someone was there in the office. After a minute or so she cracked open the door again and listened. She could hear drawers being opened and shut and papers being ruffled, someone was doing what she had done earlier, searching the office. She was just about to close the door again when someone spoke, “The bastard was obviously a neat freak, nothing is here but fresh untouched stationary, and empty files. I know the man was ripping us off, Bill knew it too, I’m sure that's why he was killed, but there is nothing here.” The voice was that of a mature woman.

Silence for a while, then more rustling from a different direction, “Nothing in the cabinets except regular office copies and personal files.” A second voice, younger. “Come on, Mother, we will find nothing here, we don't even know what we are looking for.”

“Well all this has smeared the name of my son in law, and is a serious blow to the company my father built, I intend to get to the bottom of it.” The first voice again. So the older voice was probably Laurie Merkel, and maybe the younger voice was her daughter Candice, Bill Fernstine’s wife.

The older voice was muttering, “I should have listened to what Bill was saying, but I really did not want to know too much, in this business it’s all about when you knew, not what you knew. I didn’t think anything was illegal till I found the cleared checks on Bills desk, checks from a mutual fund I have never heard of, and I am in the business. Large checks made out to Brad Layton , But they were in Bill’s desk? I know we are going to have to bring in the SEC, but I don't want to do it till we know more about what they were in to. Damn Brad, and Damn Bill for letting him do it.” She was getting upset and Vanessa could hear the younger girl comfort her, and cajole her out of the room.

Vanessa waited a few more minutes before she risked opening the washroom door sufficiently to squeeze out into the room. She need not have worried because the office was empty and the door leading towards reception was open. She could see all the way down the corridor to the door which she knew was directly behind the receptionists desk, the route she would have to take to get out. Most of the offices were in darkness but just before the door she could see a swatch of light and as she watched carefully she noticed a shadow move. She looked around for a weapon or something to protect herself with, and could find nothing till she remembered the daybook. If those other two women had not taken it, it may be just enough.

She walked stealthily down the corridor with the book brandished across her chest, and just as she got to the lighted doorway a man stepped out. He was totally startled to find Vanessa in front of him and she took advantage of his hesitation to bring the book up sharply and strike him on the left side of his chin. He dropped like a stone to the floor, and surely would not remember how he got there. “Talk about a cross check, Mario Lemuir would have been proud of that one,” she thought referring to her idol, the NHL star. With no further need for stealth, she ran quickly through the area past the receptionist’s desk to the door to find it locked, but easily unlocked from inside. As she opened it she heard an alarm sound deep in the office, if anyone else was there, she had to disappear fast. Quickly, she ran out the door to the fire escape, and up two flights not down as she would be expected to do, and only then did she relax and look for an elevator. One came very shortly, and it was empty. She rode right to the parking floor and seconds later was in the beamer heading towards the lake front, and the three hour drive back to the cottage.

As she walked in the door she was welcomed by a gorgeous fire which made the room appear so safe and warm, and Jeremy was there in the corner working on his laptop. He jumped up, gave her a hug, and exclaimed, “You made it, I was scared half to death.”

“No problem, I was not scared at all,” she said, lying, and he knew she was.

“Supper? I’ve made a quiche.” Remembering last night’s effort, she was ready to refuse, but realized she was quite hungry, so determined to risk it, and it was quite good, not at all runny or tough.

As they ate, Vanessa recounted events of the day, trying to recall every detail in case it turned out to be important. Jeremy mostly just sat and listened, but soon he could not retain his excitement any longer, “You give me those floppies, and you go to bed. You must be bushed. I’ll stay up a little while and see what I can find on those discs. Oh, and tell me your password so I can retrieve the emails you forwarded.” This seemed to be a good plan to Vanessa, so she retired and fell asleep immediately.

The next day when she awoke it was after nine, later than she had slept in years, and she staggered through to the living room. The fire had died down but it was still warm, and Jeremy was still hunched over his laptop. “Did you not sleep?” she exclaimed. “Couldn’t, I got involved. And I think I am beginning to understand what is going on,” he replied.

“You speak in the present tense when both the guys are dead, surely nothing is still going on?” Jeremy did not reply immediately, but when he did it left Vanessa with a feeling of foreboding. “What we have here in Chicago is just the tip of the iceberg, what seems to be going on is much bigger than we could imagine. We are going to need some help if we are going to get out of this mess.”

“And just who is going to help us, that is two suspected murderers?” Vanessa’s question was more a cry of dismay, but Jeremy responded as if it were just a routine enquiry, “Well, you actually hit on the key yourself last night. Laurie Merkel, Bills mother in law. Actually not her alone, but she has the resources at her disposal, and the fact that she is looking to clear her firm’s reputation, she has the incentive to get involved. The conversation you overheard shows she is not implicated in whatever illegal acts are going on, and I know from her reputation that she is a tough old bat.”

Vanessa was getting increasingly skeptical, “Of course we are just going to walk up to Merkel’s and announce to the receptionist that the two people suspected of killing one of their vice presidents wish to meet with his mother in law, the president of the company.”

“No,” said Jeremy calmly, “we are going to a funeral, and if we don't hurry we will be late.”

As the beamer wove through the lunch time traffic, Jeremy began to explain what he thought he had found out. “We thought the issue was insider trading but that seems to be the least important scam. There seems to be a lot of in house trading, which is what I was talking to Bill Fernstine about. Fund managers do this all the time, sometimes to overcome caps on holdings or to balance their risk. Brad’s division of Merkel was doing more than usual. Bill had to see these trades because he had to authorize the brokerage, and maybe he was getting suspicious. Perhaps that is why he was killed, and perhaps it was Brad, or someone paid by Brad who killed him.”

Vanessa was not quite sure she fully understood, but she listened intently as Jeremy continued, “You see, Brad seems to have added his own personal wrinkle creating scam number two. and this may be why he was killed. He inserted a phantom fund into the process. Every tenth or so time he made an internal trade of one of their select stocks, he first sold it to the phantom fund at no profit, then he resold it to the other in house fund at a predetermined small price increase. So each time this happened he was creaming off a few pennies per share, and with the volumes being traded he accumulated a sizable chunk of change. This money was being stolen from the investors in Merkel funds. This is the information I am going to give to Laurie Merkel, and when we have her attention, we will ask for her help.

“Laurie Merkel already knows that Bill suspected Brad was up to something, and those cleared checks you heard her speak about, the ones in Bill’s office made out to Brad, they were Brad’s payoff from the phantom fund. Somehow those checks are linked to why Brad was killed, maybe on Bill’s orders. Wouldn’t that be a joke, Brad pays someone to kill Bill, and before the contract is carried out, Bill pays the same someone to kill Brad! Well at least the killer must be laughing, that is if he got all his money up front.” Vanessa did not find it amusing, and they drove in silence the rest of the way.

It was lucky it was a very cold day. With everyone wearing heavy coats, scarves and hats, Jeremy did not look out of place as he approached the chapel hunched into his parka, the hood shielding most of his face from view. He and Vanessa had waited, parked just down the street until they saw the Limo approach. Although they could not see inside, it seemed likely that this would be the family, as it was very close to the scheduled start of the service. Telling Vanessa to wait with the engine running, Jeremy walked quickly down the street to where Laurie Merkel had stopped to talk quietly with a small group of mourners and other close family members who had been waiting for her. He timed it perfectly to be at the door just as Mrs. Merkel turned to enter. Making out that he was opening the door for her he briefly blocked her path, and spoke softly. “I am Jeremy Baird. Please read this, and if you want to know more, be at the Trader in Oakbrook Terrace at nine tonight.” He slid a small envelope into the pocket of her coat as he guided her through the door. Laurie Merkel did not show any sign of surprise or fear. As Jeremy had said, she was a tough old bat.

He turned and walked quickly back down the street towards his car. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men start to run towards him from across the street. Obviously, Vanessa saw them as well because she accelerated towards him. She was still traveling at a considerable speed as he opened the door and rolled into the passenger seat, the wheels screeching as Vanessa put her foot flat. He was sure he heard the fender scrape the nearest of the two men as they jumped smartly out of the path of the now speeding BMW. As the car rounded the first turn to be out of sight of the church, and the two men, Jeremy laughed, “Add resisting arrest to murder. I’m sure one of those guys was Agent Hargrove.”