Trina said, "Have you lost your mind?"
"Maybe," he said, as he closed the safe. "But I ain't gonna lose my uncle."
He rose, pulled a leather holster off the shelf, and strapped it on. The gun fit perfectly on his left side for a right-handed draw. He selected a lightweight jacket to conceal his weapon.
He turned and looked at Trina, as if expecting her approval, or at least her acquiescence.
She said, "You think you can solve this all by yourself?"
"Ain't nobody else gonna do it," he said, as he stepped past her and back into the bedroom. He checked himself in the full-length mirror and apparently didn't like the noticeable bulge of his handgun. He went back to the closet to change jackets.
"Jack thinks you should call the cops," she said.
"Sometimes Jack thinks too much."
"I don't like this."
He didn't answer. It was a little too warm outside for a leather jacket, but the bulkier garment seemed better suited to his purposes. He stepped past her and checked himself in the mirror again.
"I'm talking to you," she said.
He turned to face her, his arms extended and his hands resting on her shoulders as he looked straight at her. "You have to trust me on this."
"I don't understand it."
"If it was you instead of Cy would you understand it then?"
She didn't know how to answer. She just held him. "I love you," she said. "I think."
He smiled a little and said, "Me thinks too." Then he pulled away and retrieved a pen and notepad from the nightstand. She watched him jot something down and fold the paper into thirds. Then he gave it to her.
Theo said, "If something happens, you call Jack, and you give him this name."
She started to unfold it, but he stopped her. "Just give it to Jack," he said.
"What is this?"
"Jack will figure it out."
She hugged him again, this time with a kiss.
"I'll see ya," he said, and he walked out of the room.
Trina sat on the bed and listened to the thud of each footfall on the stairs, the sound of the door opening – and then for a moment there was silence. In her mind's eye she could see him standing in the doorway, maybe rethinking things.
Then she heard the door close, and Theo was gone.
Her eyes closed slowly and then she opened them, trying to deal with the confusion on every level. It seemed so obvious that Theo was doing the wrong thing, yet she felt certain that there was nothing else he could do.
Her hand shook as she unfolded the paper and read Theo's note. Trying to think through her next move rationally would have been pointless.
She followed her gut, picked up the telephone, and dialed Jack's number.
Chapter 44
Two minutes after his phone conversation with Trina, Jack nailed down one thing for certain: Fernando Redden was no Lance Gilford.
A quick Internet search turned up hundreds of hits. Jack focused on the local media coverage, which was extensive. Redden was the president and CEO of American Dream Development Ltd., a multimillion-dollar company that built housing for low-income families. He was also a south Florida success story, particularly in the Latin community. His name appeared repeatedly in the business section of the Miami Tribune and its Spanish-language counterpart, and the society pages couldn't seem to get enough of him and his stunningly beautiful wife. One photograph, in particular, caught Jack's attention. It was from July 1994, just a few months before Florida's statewide elections. Fernando Redden was smiling widely, and the mere sight of the man shaking Redden's hand made Jack's heart skip a beat.
It was Governor Harry Swyteck – Jack's father – campaigning for reelection.
Jack printed the photograph and a couple of other articles of interest, tucked them into his pocket, and grabbed his car keys. Ten minutes later he was at the Coral Gables home of his father and stepmother. Harry answered the door dressed in a terry cloth robe. Agnes was asleep in the bedroom, and it appeared that Harry wasn't far behind.
"I need to talk to you," said Jack.
Harry was halfway into a "not now" sigh, but the expression on Jack's face must have told him it was important. "Sure," he said. Come on in.
Harry took him to the library, his favorite room in the house. The cherry-paneled wainscoting, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and soft leather chairs were all very reminiscent of the governor's mansion. Harry reached for the Russian-cut carafe on the credenza. "Brandy?"
"No, thanks," said Jack. "I'm actually in a hurry."
Harry poured a short one for himself, then settled into the worn leather chair behind his massive desk. As much as their relationship had improved over the years, it bothered Jack that every time he said "Dad, let's talk," Harry still put the old mahogany antique between them – a vestige of the bad old days for a disciplinarian father and his rebellious son.
"Okay," Harry said. "Shoot."
Jack had to stop and think about where to begin. The kidnappers' warning made it best not to say anything about Uncle Cy – at least not until Theo decided to involve the police. Jack didn't have time for all that background anyway. His needs were very specific. He laid the printed copy of the old newspaper photograph atop the desk.
"Do you know this man?" said Jack.
Harry examined it. The recognition wasn't instant, but it finally came to him. "Yeah. That's Felipe Redden. No – Fernando Redden."
Jack did not yet fully understand why, but it relieved him to see that Redden obviously wasn't one of his father's closest friends. "How do you know him?"
"We've met. That's about all I can say."
"Was he one of your supporters?"
Harry's chest swelled, as if a deep breath would trigger some recollection. "As I recall, he really wanted to jump on board. I talked with him when my campaign was down in Miami. That's when this photo was taken."
"Did you accept his money?"
"Well, let's not be too cynical here. Beyond being a Miami player with plenty of dough, he was the kind of guy you wanted to like. He was born in Cuba in the 1950s – Bejucal, the same town your mother was from."
"Interesting coincidence."
"It got my attention. And his story is a good one. Whole family fled to Miami after Castro took power. Grew up with five cousins in a two-bedroom apartment in Hialeah, worked his way through law school, learned the ropes of local government over the next decade, and eventually landed a job as chief counsel to the mayor of Miami-Dade County – another 'kid done good' from the old Hialeah neighborhood."
"So, you liked him?"
"At first. But my antennae told me to stay away from the guy-
"What do you mean?"
"Can't really describe it. Just my political instincts."
"Had to be something."
Another big sigh. Harry was digging deep into the memory bank. "It was his business dealings. Something didn't add up for me.
"Something illegal?"
"Jack, you're asking me to go way back on a guy I spent maybe a couple of hours with on the campaign trail. As a candidate, you get a feeling about people, and you go with your gut. Redden had lots of friends in county government, which is not necessarily a bad thing. What troubled me was that his development company kept getting fat contracts for public housing projects – one after another, as if Redden was the only developer in town."
"Projects in Miami?"
"Yeah. Mostly Overtown."
Overtown. Mere mention of it hit Jack like an electric current. He wasn't ready to connect the dots in ink just yet, but he had the distinct feeling that things were starting to line up like bullet points on the printed page. His most recent conversation with Andie was suddenly echoing in his mind – in particular, Jack's "conspiracy theory" about her getting pulled off the investigation into the murder of Theo's mother for "jurisdictional" reasons.