CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
While Jock drove us to the airport I called Bill Lester. I told him what we’d learned in Birmingham, or perhaps more precisely, what we hadn’t learned. “Anything on Telson?” I asked.
“According to Pilots on Demand, he’s not working. But he hasn’t been home in a couple of days. His wife said he flew out on a trip two days ago and she hasn’t heard from him since. Said the trip isn’t unusual, but he always calls at least once a day. His cell phone goes directly to voice mail. He’s in the wind.”
“We’re on our way back to Sarasota. Should be landing about two o’clock your time. Let me know if you hear anything.”
Jock asked, “What now?”
“I don’t know. We’re not any closer to finding J.D. than we were this time yesterday.”
“We know she has to be with Telson. That’s something.”
“Not much.”
“She said she was okay. That means something.”
“She also said she was scared,” I said.
“Look, we know now that the same rifle was used to kill both Desmond and Fleming. We can be pretty sure that both murders were carried out by Asians. The only connection between the two victims was the Otto Foundation. We know that Bud Stanley is dirty and that he has a lot of Asian visitors. We know that one of his goons speaks Vietnamese.”
“But the Fleming boy was in Cambodia. That sort of leaves out the Soupy connection.”
“Maybe there never was a Soupy connection,” said Jock.
I thought about that. “But there was a Soupy connection to Stanley.”
“Right. But it might not have anything to do with Desmond.”
I thought some more. “Suppose Stanley is still running drugs for Soupy. Maybe he’s using the kids somehow to bring the drugs into the country. The Otto Foundation could be the way to launder some of the money.”
“And if Stanley is using the kids to bring in the drugs,” said Jock, “maybe both Fleming and Desmond tripped over something that alerted them and they had to be taken out.”
“That makes some sense, except that Desmond had been home for four years when he was killed. He apparently didn’t have anything to do with the foundation after he came home from Laos. If he’d found something earlier, I’d think he’d either have been taken out before now or gone to the cops.”
“When’s Logan due back?” Jock asked.
“He’s supposed to dock in Tampa early tomorrow.”
“I’d like some new eyes looking at the evidence. Logan’s pretty good at that.”
“Jock, did you notice anything strange about Caine when I mentioned Jim Desmond’s name?”
“He seemed a little taken aback, but his reaction didn’t ring any alarm bells.”
“Not in me either. But there is a coincidence here. All three of the fathers of the murdered young people served in Vietnam at about the same time.”
Jock was silent for a beat. “Where’re you going with this?”
“I don’t know. It’s like trying to grab a handful of cloud. I can see the shape, but I can’t get hold of any substance.”
“Didn’t you say that Brewster was a Marine?”
“Yeah.”
“And Fleming and Desmond were both army.”
“Yes. And there were still a lot of people in-country during that time. I doubt they would have known each other. It’s just a little loose thread that needs to be tidied up.”
I called Debbie. “Did you find anything on those hard drives?”
“Not as much as I would have thought, but some interesting items.”
“Talk to me.”
“It seems that a lot of money is being transferred out of the Otto Foundation accounts to other banks. The transfers are always relatively small, but they add up to quite a bit.”
“Overseas banks?”
“No. All in this country.”
“Have you got a list of the banks?”
“All of them. Everything is done electronically.”
“Were you able to find out where the money goes after it’s transferred into the other banks?”
“Not yet. But I’ve got the names of the accounts in those banks. Their security might be too much for me. I was hoping Jock’s people could get into them.”
“I’m sure they can. Was there anything on Nigella Morrissey?”
“Yes. I got into the foundation bank account records. She shows up on the payroll the first time when the payroll account was opened with the bank about five years ago. The payments were being sent to a bank in Macon, but in mid-June of this year, that changed. Her pay is now electronically transferred to an account in a Sarasota bank. Ten thousand dollars a month. The last payment was transferred overnight Sunday. It was in the account at the opening of business yesterday.”
“You’re sure? Sarasota?”
“Yes. I ran her Social Security number through the databases. I wanted to see what else I could turn up on her. The number was never issued to anyone named Morrissey. Turns out it was issued to a friend of ours.”
An icy chill ran up my spine, an augury of dread, the presage of knowledge I didn’t want. “Who?”
Debbie let out a long slow breath. “I’m sorry, Matt. The Social Security number belongs to Jennifer Diane Duncan.”