He opened his eyes. His cell phone was calling him.
“Hello?”
“Jon! This is Frank Maraca. How are you doing, my friend?”
“I’m good. How have you been? How’s your wife?”
“She’s doing great, thanks for asking. We’re celebrating our anniversary next week and going to Bimini. Your message said you needed my help. I’m here for you.”
“I’m in Tampa working a case, and the name Charlie Bandit came up. Does that ring any bells?”
“I’ve got a knot on the bridge of my nose because of that piece of shit. Bandit played possum after I arrested him. Then, he coldcocked me, and split my nose open.”
“How well do you remember his arrest?”
“Like it was yesterday.”
“The witness who called in the robbery was named Gloria Joiner. Do you know if she testified against Bandit at his trial?”
“She did. Bandit pleaded innocent, claimed the police framed him. Luckily, Joiner saw the whole thing. She was the prosecution’s star witness.”
He found himself nodding. One by one, the pieces of the puzzle were falling in place, the picture getting a little clearer. Like Audrey Sipos in Gainesville, Gloria Joiner had helped stop a crime, then helped put the perpetrator behind bars. He felt himself growing excited, and stood up from the bench.
“Were you there at Bandit’s sentencing?” he asked.
“After he broke my nose? You bet I was.”
“Where did they send him?”
“Raiford,” Maraca said.
All roads continued to lead to Raiford.
“I don’t mean to pry, but what’s this about?” Maraca asked.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the women disappearing around Florida during the last month,” he said. “Gloria Joiner was the first victim, and I think a gang of ex-cons that did time out of Raiford is responsible.”
“She was? Jesus, how did I not see her name in the paper?”
“You were probably busy. Do you know if Bandit is still in the joint?”
“I haven’t kept tabs on him. I’m sitting in front of my computer. Want me to go on the DOC offender site, and run him down?”
“That would be great.”
Maraca hummed as he did the search. “Nothing comes up.”
“Try Charles instead of Charlie.”
“Gotcha. You were right — Bandit’s file is staring me in the face. He got his sentence reduced and was paroled a few months ago. Could he have been responsible for Joiner’s abduction?”
He nearly said yes, but stopped himself. If Bandit had wanted revenge, he would have murdered Joiner. That was how criminals enacted payback against people who crossed them. But Joiner had been kidnapped, which took planning. It was not the kind of crime that scum like Bandit were known for.
It didn’t add up. And until it did, he had to keep digging.
“Maybe,” he said. “Thanks for the assist.”
“Happy to help,” Maraca said.
He ended the connection and called Daniels. He had promised to share whatever leads he came across, and be a team player.
Her voice mail picked up.
“Call me when you get this,” he said.
Chapter 20
The ringtone on Daniels’s cell phone was a police siren. Police sirens were meant to instill fear in criminals, while telling victims that help was on the way. Her niece had given it to her as a present, and she’d fallen in love with it.
She put down her infrared binoculars to stare at the cell phone’s screen. It was Jon. She didn’t want to talk to him right now, and let voice mail pick up.
She raised the binoculars to her face and continued her surveillance. She was parked in front of Dino’s Pizza and Subs, where a sign proclaimed EVERY DAY IS TWO FOR One! Barely Legal, the adult club where Dexter Hudson was hiding out, was next door.
The club was a dive. But that didn’t stop the locals from dropping by to stare at the naked ladies, and the parking lot was filled with dirty pickups and beaters. She had conducted busts inside of strip clubs before. Based upon what she’d learned from those investigations, strip clubs were money-losing propositions, the markup on watered-down drinks not large enough to cover the overhead. The real money came from peddling drugs and prostitution, which made the clubs nothing more than fronts.
But she wasn’t there to make a drug bust, or stop the club’s owner from pimping. She was there to arrest Dexter Hudson, and she’d brought her team to do the job.
She’d split the agents into two teams. The first team’s job was to drive around the club, and count the exits. When the bust went down, she would have an agent guarding each exit in case Dexter tried to run.
The other team was inside the club, looking for Dexter. She’d decided to ignore Jon’s warning, and had sent them in. She’d been inside strip clubs, and they were as dark as caves. Her team wasn’t going to be made.
Her cell phone beeped. She dialed into voice mail and punched in her password. Jon’s voice greeted her. “Call me when you get this.”
She erased the message and lowered her phone.
Did Jon really have something? Or was he itching to join the bust, and creating an excuse to get a call back? Having Jon join her team was a risk. He’d promised not to hurt Dexter, only she knew that was a lie. If Jon got his hands on Dexter, there was no telling what he’d do.
She resumed her surveillance. A group of back-slapping guys went into the club. They were feeling no pain and laughing hoarsely. She gazed at each of their faces through her binoculars. None of them resembled Dexter.
The first team pulled into the lot and parked. Special Agent Gary Safko got out, and rapped his knuckles on the passenger window of her vehicle. Safko was a rookie, and a little too cocky for her taste. She unlocked the doors, and he got in.
“How many exits did you find?” Daniels asked.
“We found two exits in the rear of the club,” Safko said. “Both feed into the parking lot. If our suspect has a car parked in back, he might escape.”
“He’s one man. You should be able to stop him.”
“Not if we wait on the street.”
“Why would you wait on the street?”
“There are surveillance cameras on the roof and motion detector lights. If we get too close to the building, someone inside the club might spot us, and alert him.”
Safko was starting to annoy her. Where there was a will, there was a way.
“You outnumber him three to one,” Daniels said. “When the bust goes down, your team will cover the exits. If Dexter makes a run for it, take him down.”
“You want us to shoot to kill?”
“No. Shoot to wound. I need to question him.”
Safko didn’t seem happy with her decision. She looked sideways at him.
“Is this not to your liking?” she asked.
He wilted beneath her stare. “It sounds risky.”
“How so?”
“You said that this guy is wanted for two homicides, and was recently released from prison. He might come out with guns blazing.”
“That’s highly unlikely. If Dexter runs, it will be because he’s scared, and people like that rarely shoot it out,” she said. “If he tries to escape, wait until he’s close to his car, and is getting his keys out. It will be enough distraction for you to subdue him.”