“Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?” she asked.
“Did you see the bag of groceries Mates was carrying? There was a loaf of bread sticking out of the top and a head of lettuce. Like he was getting ready to cook a big meal. Isn’t that part of the ritual? To feed their victim a last meal before the lights get turned out? I want to see what else was in that bag.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“I’m hoping the owner will show us the receipt of what Mates purchased.”
“Will he do that?”
“He should. Many of the groceries around here run illegal numbers games. If we tell the owner you’re with the FBI, he should play along.”
“I’m the leverage.”
“Yes, you’re the leverage.”
An annoying buzzer rang as they stepped inside the store. There were aisles of canned goods and nonperishable items, while produce was kept in bins in the back. Behind glass counters were the meats and poultry and freshly caught fish. The husky Cuban manager working the register wore a white guayabera shirt with a big fat cigar sticking out of the pocket. He eyed them suspiciously as they approached the counter.
“Good morning,” Lancaster said. “My name’s Jon Lancaster and I’m a private investigator. This nice lady is Special Agent Daniels with the FBI.”
The manager stared at Daniels. Lancaster nudged her with his elbow.
“Show him your badge,” he said.
Daniels took out her wallet and flipped it open. A silver badge rested inside. She held the wallet in front of the manager’s face and let him have a look.
“What’s your name?” Lancaster asked.
“My name is Alejandro. My friends call me Alex,” the manager replied. “Is something wrong?”
“There was a man in here a few minutes ago,” he said. “We need to see the receipt from the items that he purchased.”
“You mean Don?” Alex said.
“Yes, Don. You know him?”
“He’s one of my best customers. What did he do?”
“Nothing. We just need to see a copy of the receipt. Can you print out one for us?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
In Lancaster’s experience, only people who broke the law asked to see warrants. He leaned over the counter and put on his best mean face. “Do you want trouble? We can give you trouble, and shut you down for running an illegal numbers operation. Or you can play along, and print the god damn receipt.”
“I don’t want trouble,” Alex said.
“Prove it.”
Alex quickly typed a command into the keyboard on his register. A receipt was spit out of the printer, and Alex tore it off and placed it on the counter. Lancaster and Daniels read it at the same time. Mates had purchased a loaf of bread, a head of lettuce, three New York strip steaks, mushrooms, Hungry Jack instant mashed potatoes, a quart of chocolate Breyers ice cream, a box of brownies, and a product called U by Kotex.
Lancaster pointed at the last item. “What’s this?”
Alex acted embarrassed. Instead of explaining, he came out from behind the counter and walked down an aisle. They both followed him. He stopped at a section that sold feminine hygiene products and pulled a box off the shelf and showed it to them.
“Here you go,” the manager said.
It was a box of tampons.
Chapter 40
New York Strip
Alex was a problem. He’d admitted that Mates was an excellent customer. They may have even been friends. There was a good chance he would call Mates and alert him that an FBI agent and private investigator were asking questions about him the moment Daniels and Lancaster walked out of the grocery store.
It was a risk Daniels and Lancaster weren’t willing to take. Mates and Holloway were keeping a girl against her will inside the house across the street, and it was their responsibility to make sure no harm came to her. They moved away from the counter and stood in the chips aisle, talking in hushed tones.
“This guy could ruin our investigation,” Daniels said, referring to the manager.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “We need to get someone in here, and watch him while we figure out how to deal with Mates and Holloway.”
“I can do that.” She took out her cell phone and started to make a call.
“Who are you calling?” he asked.
“Special Agent Moore. He’s dependable.”
“He works out of the FBI’s North Miami office, doesn’t he?”
“What are you thinking? That Moore might know Mates and Holloway, and tip them off? Come on, Jon. Don’t be so paranoid.”
“Mates and Holloway have been living in South Florida for eight years. They’ve probably made plenty of friends and established allegiances with the other agents working here. They’re con men. It’s one of the reasons they’ve lasted so long.”
She stopped dialing and lowered the cell phone. “Do you have a plan B?”
“I want to call Carlo, and ask him to come over.”
“All right, call him. You don’t need my permission.”
“Yes, I do. It’s your investigation, Beth.”
“Fuck it, call him.”
He made the call. Carlo answered on the first ring.
“How are things at Camp Pearl?” he asked.
“Pretty quiet,” Carlo said. “Karl’s been standing in the driveway, giving menacing looks to passing cars, while Mike’s on the dock, watching boats in the Intracoastal. I think they’ve scared off the sickos stalking Nicki.”
“Nice going. Do you feel comfortable leaving and helping me out for a few hours? I need you to watch a grocery store manager for a little while.”
“A grocery store manager? What did he do? Sell someone spoiled milk?”
“He didn’t do anything. I’m just afraid he might make a phone call, and ruin a stakeout I’m on. Are you in?”
“I’ll have Karl take over for me. Give me the address.”
He gave him the address of the Fast Stop Food Store. Carlo voiced displeasure that the store was in Sistrunk, and chastised Lancaster for not telling him before hanging up. The front door buzzer went off, and a customer came in and went straight to the section of the store where grilling supplies were displayed. Daniels’s mouth dropped open. Lancaster looked at her, then at the customer.
“Holloway?” he asked under his breath.
“The one and only,” she whispered.
“Go hide.”
Daniels went to the rear of the store where the produce was kept and started squeezing the tomatoes. Lancaster bellied up to the counter and grabbed a pair of cheap shades off a display and put them on. Then he pulled a copy of People en Español out of a rack and thumbed through it. Alex was caught in the crosshairs and gave him a nervous look.
“Keep your damn mouth shut,” he whispered.
“Yes, sir,” the manager whispered back.
Holloway was making his way to the front of the store. He stood a half foot taller than his partner and also had a gym physique. He was a seasoned FBI agent and would realize the man at the counter wasn’t a normal customer if Lancaster didn’t handle things right.
“Give me a pack of Marlboros,” Lancaster said as he fitted the magazine back into the rack.
The cigarettes were stored in a plastic display behind the register. Alex pulled out a pack and tossed it on the counter. Lancaster took out his wallet and reached for a five-dollar bill. He didn’t smoke and had no idea how much a pack cost. If he put down too little, it might set off an alarm, so he threw down a twenty.
“That will be seven dollars,” Alex said.
Alex rang up the sale and counted out his change. Lancaster stuffed the money into his pocket and headed for the exit, then stopped and came back. Holloway had put a bag of charcoal on the counter and had his wallet out.
“Forgot my matches,” he said. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”