“I guess,” he said. “I need to go.”
“One more question.”
“You’ve run out of those.”
“This is a simple one. How did your brother feel when he learned that you’d become a member of Team Adam, and had dedicated yourself to finding missing kids?”
“My brother never found out.”
“Why’s that?”
“He died before I had a chance to tell him.”
“That’s sad. I’m sorry.”
She’d wanted a happy ending, but those were in short supply these days. Her question made him wonder how Logan would have reacted to the news that he was working for the organization founded by the parents of Adam Walsh. His brother would have seen the irony of it, but would Logan have appreciated the rest? Most people spent their lives not knowing why they’d been put on this earth, but a lucky few did, and he was one of those lucky few.
He walked her outside to where her car was parked. She gave him back the handgun he’d given her for protection a few days ago. He said goodbye and started to walk away.
“I’m sure he would have been proud of you,” he heard her say.
Chapter 39
He drove back to his hotel with his phone resting on his leg, the purple dot still parked in the waters north of Honeymoon Island. Dexter and the broker appeared to be bunked down for the night, and he assumed their boat had sleeping quarters.
As he entered his hotel room, he got a call from his favorite teenage sleuth. He wanted her news to be good, and wash away his conversation with Gamble. He kicked off his shoes and sat on the room’s solitary chair before taking her call.
“Hey, Nicki, what’s up?” he asked.
“I got a hit,” the teenager said excitedly. “The Outlaws have another business they’re running on the side, and I found out what it is.”
There was no greater pleasure than cracking a case wide open, the surge of adrenaline better than any drug.
“Are you near your laptop? I just sent you a link,” she said.
He scooted his chair up to the desk and booted up his laptop. It had gone into sleep mode, and was slow coming to life. “Which of the companies was it?”
“Hurry Sunrise,” she said. “The other two were duds.”
Going into his inbox, he opened Nicki’s email, and clicked on the link. Hurry Sunrise was a charter fishing outfit that operated out of the marina that he and Daniels had visited that day. The company had been in business for thirty years, and specialized in taking large groups on three- and four-day excursions. There were photographs of sunburned clients holding trophy fish up to the camera, along with testimonials saying how great the staff were.
He found himself shaking his head. He knew guys who ran charter fishing companies in the Keys, and they barely scraped by. It didn’t seem like the type of business the Outlaws would be involved with, and he wondered if there was something below the surface that he wasn’t seeing.
“Are you sure this is the right Hurry Sunrise?” he asked.
“I’m positive,” Nicki said. “The company has a charter fishing license, which I traced to a Saint Petersburg address that is also the Outlaws’ clubhouse.”
“Huh,” he said in frustration.
“What’s wrong?”
“It just doesn’t sound like a business they’d be involved with.”
“Well, that’s the strange thing, I’m not sure they really are running a business. During one of the talks you gave to my class, you said that a good investigator would run down every lead, and see where it took her. So I took your advice, and called the contact number on their site.”
“You called them? That was nervy.”
“Actually, it was fun. I got an answering machine that said the company wasn’t taking any bookings, and that I should leave a message. When I tried to do that, a recording said the mailbox was full.”
“That’s strange.”
“That’s what I thought. For the heck of it, I called two other charter fishing companies that operate out of the same marina, and told them I was looking to hire a boat for my father’s birthday party. They were more than happy to take my business. I asked them what dates were best, and both companies said their calendars were wide open.”
“So business is slow, except for Hurry Sunrise.”
“I don’t think Hurry Sunrise has any business. You told my class that crooks use legitimate businesses to hide illegal activity. What was the expression you used?”
“A front.”
“That’s right. I think Hurry Sunrise is a front.”
It felt like a dead end. He had hoped that one of the Outlaws’ shell companies had purchased a building to house the gang’s victims, and that Nicki would turn up the real estate transaction, and that would lead him to breaking this open. Instead, she’d found a charter fishing company that had stopped doing business for reasons that weren’t entirely clear.
“Good job,” he said, not wanting to burst her bubble.
“Thanks. What do you think it means?”
“I have no idea. Why would a gang of crooks run a business, but not take any customers? It doesn’t add up.”
“It bothered me too. I wanted to call the previous owner, and ask him, but I didn’t think he’d talk to me.”
“What previous owner?”
“His name is Captain Peyton Lynch. He’s mentioned in the company’s reviews on Yelp. I found his address and phone number on Whitepages.com. He lives in Dunedin, which isn’t far from the marina.”
“How do you know this guy sold the company?”
“A reviewer on Yelp mentioned it, and said he really missed him.”
If Peyton Lynch was local, perhaps he’d know why the Outlaws had decided to stop taking customers after purchasing his business. He needed to call the guy, and see if he could get him talking.
“That’s some excellent detective work. Good job,” he said.
“Thanks. Do you want Captain Lynch’s phone number?”
“Please.”
Dunedin refused to bend to corporate America. Lining Main Street were eclectic shops and restaurants and several microbreweries. The locals had somehow managed to keep out franchise restaurants and chain retail stores, and it gave the place a special feel.
Sea Sea Riders restaurant was housed in a Key West — style cottage just off the main drag. He found Lynch at the bar drinking a rum and coke and chatting with a pretty bartender half his age. A border collie sat by his feet, licking its paws.
“Captain Lynch? My name is Jon Lancaster, and I work with a law enforcement agency called Team Adam,” he introduced himself. “I spoke to your roommate, and he said I might find you here. May I have a few minutes of your time?”
Lynch spent a moment reading his Team Adam business card. His face was a burgundy color, his mop of hair snow white. His hands were the size of small dinner plates, and were scarred from countless cuts and scrapes.
“What’s this about?” Lynch asked.
“I’d like to talk to you about the Outlaws,” he said.
His eyes flickered. “What about them?”
“You sold your charter fishing company to them, is that correct?”
Lynch tossed the card on the bar and frowned. “Yes, I did. I knew something was wrong with those guys, I just couldn’t put a finger on what it was. Sure, I’ll talk. You want something to drink?”
“A club soda would be good.”
“Hey, Amber, get me a refill and my friend here a club soda.”
They went outside for some privacy. The patio was empty, and they took a table beneath a large oak. The border collie dutifully followed, and parked himself at Lynch’s feet. He was rewarded with a dog biscuit, which he happily chewed.