Sutter looked at Tasker as they handed in the file. “What now?”
“Let’s go down to the terminal and see if anyone remembers him. We’re here anyway.”
Sutter hesitated. “Yeah, but the restaurants are over there.” He pointed toward Bayside.
Tasker nodded, realizing he was getting hungry as well. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”
The terminal was slow, with only one cruise ship in port and no one boarding. They asked a couple of the terminal custodians and service people about Wells, but no one had a clue.
Tasker walked up to a thin man in his mid-thirties and said, “Excuse me.”
The man turned and smiled, then said something Tasker didn’t understand.
Sutter stepped up and said, “I’ll handle this.” He faced the man and said, “Hola, mi amigo. Yo soy policía. Quiero hacerme lustrar los zapatos.”
The man stared at Sutter with an open mouth.
Tasker looked at his partner. “Good Spanish there, Derrick. Too bad he’s Italian.”
“How do you know?”
“His name tag says ‘Dominic,’ with ‘Salerno’ underneath.”
Sutter just nodded.
Tasker added, “And you told him you’re the police and you need your shoes shined.”
Sutter looked at his shiny Bruno Magli knockoffs. “Those assholes in Vice told me it meant ‘I need to ask you some questions.’ ”
Tasker couldn’t help but laugh at his partner for falling for the oldest joke ever.
Dominic seemed willing to help, keeping a smile on his face and looking for a translator. He led Sutter by the arm to a similarly dressed man near the opened loading hole.
That man spoke Italian and French, but not much English either.
Once Tasker and Sutter had broken away from their newfound friends and walked halfway back to the car, Tasker stopped and looked back at the big ship.
“What would a suitcase bomb do to a ship that size?”
“Not much. Maybe scare some people, stir up the crew, cause a lot of confusion.”
Tasker nodded, then slapped a hand to his head.
Sutter asked, “What? What’s wrong?”
“I was gonna have dinner with my daughters tonight in West Palm.”
“You need to call them?”
“They didn’t know. It was going to be a surprise.”
“Then they won’t be mad.”
Tasker started to feel guilty again as he nodded his agreement to his partner.
Sutter said, “Let’s go. This was a waste of time.”
“No it wasn’t.”
“How do you figure that?”
“We just met the kind of guy Wells killed in the bombing. Dominic could’ve been the victim just as easily as anyone.”
Sutter looked up at the ship.
Tasker said, “Now I’m pissed off and worried.”
fifteen
The small round table had nicks in its Formica top. The sleek, twenty-something waitress clearly resented having to work in her family’s small restaurant near the Orange Bowl and showed her dissatisfaction with every gesture of her delicate hands and every expression on her flawless face. Tasker sat, mesmerized by this striking girl, as she tossed plates onto the marred table and ignored empty water glasses. She was one of the reasons he loved coming here. The look on FBI agent Sal Bolini’s face was the main reason Tasker had asked him to meet him in such an out-of-the-way restaurant.
A thin film of sweat started to form across Bolini’s tall forehead. The heat from the kitchen, as well as the owner’s sparing use of the air conditioning, had had the effect Tasker wanted.
Tasker said, “You could take off your coat. No one’ll complain.” He smiled, comfortably cool in his polo shirt and khakis.
“I like the coat concealing my gun,” Bolini said, using a napkin to mop his face.
“A belly bag conceals pistols and keeps you cooler.” Tasker leaned back and patted his black bag. In truth it didn’t hide the fact that you were armed, it only hid what type of pistol you had. No one ever asked, but if you wore a belly bag in Miami and weren’t just off a flight from Stuttgart, you were carrying a gun.
“The bags go against the idea of being in plainclothes. If I were to wear a bag, everyone would know I was a cop.”
“What about an untucked shirt? Wouldn’t that accomplish the same thing, and you’d stay a hell of a lot cooler?”
“While I normally would enjoy a discussion on fashion, I can end this by saying that we at the FBI have… a certain image.”
Tasker nodded. “I see.”
“An image you tried to tarnish.”
Tasker flushed. “Tell me, Agent Bolini, what was I supposed to do? Take the fall on a false charge so the Bureau looked clean? It was your own agent who took the money and framed me. Should I have kept my mouth shut?”
Bolini remained silent for a few seconds and then said, “It was your attitude. That cop attitude that the Bureau is a bunch of fuck-ups and we were all against you. That wasn’t the case. Tom Dooley was an anomaly. Never happened before and won’t happen again.”
“Never happened before? What about that spy, Hanson? Or the agent indicted in the Midwest for murder? I’d say it happens more than you admit.”
Bolini’s face darkened. “This is why you called me? To nitpick? Get to the fucking point.”
Tasker cursed silently. He needed a favor, not another pissed-off FBI agent. He took a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I need to run something past you. Something you may be interested in.”
“I’m listening.”
“You heard about arresting the wrong guy, Daniel Wells, on the Stinger deal.”
Bolini couldn’t hide his smile. “Yeah, I heard.”
“I know you’ve got some good contacts in the south county and access to some decent databases.” He paused.
“Yeah, go on.”
“This guy Wells is in the wind and I need help finding him.”
“If he was the wrong man and you got him turned loose, why do you need to find him?”
“I think he’s the guy who set the bomb on the cruise ship a couple of years ago.”
Bolini sat motionless and silent, staring at Tasker. Neither man spoke as Bolini seemed to gather his thoughts. “The Sea Maiden? What are you saying?”
“That Daniel Wells is responsible for the cruise-ship bombing.”
“The same Daniel Wells that you had released?”
Tasker kept it professional, even though he felt the mocking sting in every word Bolini uttered. “That’s correct,” he said slowly.
“You got a warrant for him?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
Bolini started to laugh, silently at first, then in big gasps, rocking his firm, six-foot frame. “This is precious. We make the arrest, you get him off and now you want us back on the case. That is just fucking hysterical.” He wiped his eyes.
“Tell me, Mr. Hot-shot FDLE Superagent, why aren’t Melissa Etheridge and Ice-T helping you on this?”
Tasker stayed calm, somehow. “If you mean Camy Parks and Jimmy Lail, they’ve opted out.”
“I thought the princess was all over the cruise ship.”
“Not with me.”
“I see. So ATF jumped onboard with the FBI in thinking you’re a mistake waiting to happen. Smart move on their part.”
“How do you figure?”
“Legally, they can’t be associated with you. They also can’t go after a guy they just arrested, then had to let go. You managed to insulate this guy Wells perfectly if he is involved in anything else.”
“I got evidence he was involved in the Sea Maiden bombing.”
“Does Camy Parks agree with your theory?”
“She hasn’t looked at it closely.”
“How can that be?” Then he paused, running his hand over his perfectly trimmed hair. “I see. No matter what you find, she’s been told to lay off. That’s rough.”