A crew nursing uniform.
Aman’s.
Remy Girard’s.
I leaned closer to a box that was turned upside down for a makeshift table. Framed in brass and silver was the photo of Jackie, Betty and Remy-all smiling-and him wearing a salmon-colored tee shirt that said BERMUDA on the front in bold yellow.
Remy Girard was indeed alive and living on this ship!
My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp although I felt sure no one was around to hear me. After my hand stopped shaking, I decided I needed to report my find to the safety officer and in turn the FBI. But first I took a few shots with my beeper camera. Remy easily could have killed Jackie and no one would have known, since he was missing and thought dead. He must have kept the extra key in the kitchenette in case he lost one or had to jump ship and come back in disguise.
How clever the guy must be.
Clever enough to be running an insurance-fraud scam from the bowels of the Golden Dolphin-and nearly getting away with murder.
It only took me forty-eight minutes to find my way back to the main body of the ship and to ask where the safety officer’s office was. A few times I had to duck into the nearest open door when I thought I heard someone behind me. No one could be following me, because, after all, how could they know who I was? Before I knew it, I was telling William Benoit, the safety officer; the captain and the FBI suits about my find. I told them who I really was and turned over the key to the blond one.
I was ready to defend myself in case they thought I was a nutcase, but Captain Duarte said they had known who I was from the beginning. I was floored, but realized Jagger must have something to do with that (and well, this was the FBI). I imagined they even knew about all the parking tickets I’d gotten throughout the years.
Obviously Jagger had told them to protect me, or right now I think I’d be sitting in some uncomfortable straight chair beneath a naked lightbulb in a dark room, facing interrogation by Miami’s finest and the FBI crew.
Hmm. If Jagger had shared his cover with them, how come he’d gotten thrown off the ship? Was that a cover too? Was I going to “run into” him in some darkened hallway one of these nights?
One never knew, where Jagger was concerned.
A sense of relief washed over me, especially since I had found and taken pictures of several checks in Remy’s room with the invoices showing that two thirds of the payments went to insurance carriers and one third to our fraud criminals. They had been made out to “cash.” Once the photos were developed, I’d find his accomplices and be going home soon.
“But whom is he still working with?” the captain asked. “Who knows that Mr. Gerard is on this ship and is in cahoots with him?”
“Good question. Seems as if we think alike,” I said. “That was my next plan. To find out the answer to that.”
The suit with the blond hair said, “We’ll make a thorough check, ma’am.”
Ma’am? The way he said it made me sound so old. I didn’t want to argue with a Fed, so I just smiled silently, thinking, I’m not giving up on my case, buddy. Not while Fabio holds the key to my paycheck.
Captain Duarte stood. “Please show us this hideaway, Ms. Sokol.”
Whoa, boy. I didn’t think they’d be real pleased with me for taking forty-eight minutes to show them the way. I smiled and said, “Follow me,” all the while praying I could trace my steps backward faster than I found it the first time.
When we passed the gift shop twice, I decided I wasn’t above the truth-in order to not anger the FBI guy, who, by the way, was not really pleased to see the gift shop again.
“Well, unless the ship has two identical gift shops, I seem to have lost my bearings. Maybe the Bermuda Triangle has something to do with it.” I said and then laughed.
The captain gave me a fatherly smile.
Mr. Benoit stood silent and glaring.
And the blond FBI guy said, “Perhaps, ma’am, if you tell the captain what the area looked like, he can get us there…faster.”
As if I couldn’t. Well! I gave Captain Duarte a good description (Leaving out the chipped paint dolphin on the wall. I didn’t want them to think I was crazy, like some people who see the Virgin Mary on walls or made out of potato chips.). He frowned (I’m sure wondering what the heck I was doing down there in the first place, since my case was in the medical area), and then we were on our way-miles away from where the gift shop was.
“There. There it is!” I said, nearly shouting after we’d turned a corner in the hallway. I looked at my watch. Thirty-seven minutes, including the double trip by the gift shop. Not bad, I thought, until I looked at the annoyed yet good-looking, face of the FBI guy.
“That room has been used for storage. There should have been boxes in it,” Captain Duarte said.
I eased past the safety office and the FBI guy. “Well, one box was still left. Mr. Girard had it turned upside down like a table. He had a picture of himself, Jackie and Betty on it.”
Mr. Benoit took out what must have been a master key and stuck it in the lock. When it clicked and he reached for the door handle, I said, “I guess Remy is the number-one suspect in Jackie’s murder?”
The door opened in a second, Mr. Benoit flipped on the light and I heard the blond guy mutter, “Christ.”
The room was completely empty.
With Captain Duarte in the lead, we made our way back to his office in less than ten minutes. He opened his door and waved a hand for us all to pass.
I wanted to turn and run. I’d been apologizing and mumbling how the stuff really was in the room when I saw it.
The blond Fed didn’t believe me. I could tell.
But Captain Duarte said, “I’m sure it was, Ms. Sokol.” Although I think he was lying.
And Mr. Benoit, obviously feeling sorry for me, said, “Criminals like to cover their tracks.”
“Which means Remy is still onboard!” And knows that I found his hiding place. Now my life was in danger.
The other FBI agent asked me if anyone had seen me earlier, when I’d been looking for this supposed room. I told him about the footsteps behind me and how I had to duck into the room after I opened it with the key.
They chatted for a while and concluded that I should be more careful. The blond suggested to the captain that I not be allowed to investigate anywhere but around the infirmary. I heard him say something about a bodyguard, but the guy was a master at hiding what he didn’t want others to hear. “For her own safety,” he’d said.
Holding back the urge to slug him, I said, “I can take care of myself, sir.” There. Take that. He looked about my age, but my calling him “sir” made me feel younger.
“Everyone says that.” He turned toward the captain, who stood there with a pitiable look on his face-for me.
“I’m sure Agent Harwinton (the blond) only has your safety in mind. It might be a good idea to stay away from secluded areas until Mr. Girard is in custody.
“Might be a good idea” was not the same as being ordered not to go there. Splitting hairs, sure. But still, it kept me from openly disobeying the nice captain.
I bit my tongue from any further discussion so the captain would not clarify his statement.
Before I could open the door, I heard mumbling from the security officer and the blond. I’d bet the guy was talking about me. He was probably going to continue to interfere in my case. So I “accidentally” dropped my lipstick and with help from my toe, it rolled closer to them.
“Damn. The guy’s got to be onboard somewhere. First the body shit, now this,” Harwinton said.
I paused and ran my hand along the carpet as if looking for my lipstick, which was clearly right in front of his shoe.
I had to find out about the body.
The security officer said, “If Girard is onboard, we’ll find him.”