Mona Lisa Eyes (Danny Logan Mystery #4) (38 page)

“Why
’s she afraid?” Doc said. We were talking about Linda
Ramos.

“Don’t know,” I answered. “I got a couple
of theories. What do you think?”

“I think maybe it
’s ’cause last time you talked to her, two people
turned up dead right afterward.”

I smiled. “Yeah, that could
be it.”

We walked a bit farther. “Maybe she’s
just one of those dramatic types,” he said.

I smiled
. “Linda Ramos seemed about as dramatic as a box of
nails when we met her. She was all business. But
this morning? Wow. I don’t know. I think she
’s really scared, dude. She said, ‘it’s not safe
.’ She even whispered it. You ask me, I’d say
that means whoever she’s afraid of was nearby.”

“Humph
.”

We walked into the store a couple minutes later and
were greeted by a very tan, cheerful young man whose
name tag read “Sergio—Sardinia, Italy.” Sergio seemed very happy
to see us.

“Gentlemen,” he said with a big smile
. “Welcome to West Marine. Anything in particular I can point
you to this morning?” Despite his foreign hometown, Sergio spoke
English like a Southern California native.

“Yeah,” I said. “I
need to look at some rope.”

“We have that. Lots
of it. It’s this way.” He beckoned for us
to follow him. “In fact, we have a whole department
. What’s it to be used for?”

“I was a
crew member on a sailboat race this weekend,” I said
.

“The Snowbird, right?” I was impressed. Sergio obviously knew the
local racing schedule.

“Yeah. Up off Shilshole. Anyway, I saw
this line made out of something I hadn’t seen
before—it’s the line that lifts the sail to
the top of the mast; I think it’s called
the halyard?”

“The halyard,” he said, nodding. “Exactly. There’s
one for each sail.”

“Yeah. On the boat I was
on, I noticed it was made out of this real
light, thin, gray rope that must have been hellacious strong
to hold that big main sail up against that wind
. I’m wondering if it might have been that Marlow
Dyneema line?” I rubbed my fingers together as if I
were rubbing the line.

“So you were on a go
-fast boat, then?”

I looked at him with a curious
look. “I’m not sure what that means. I think
it was a fast boat, if that’s what you
mean. It was a J/133,” I said, remembering what
Gaston had told me.

“Oh! J/133. Very fast. Definitely
a go-fast boat. You must have been on
Warwitch
—Eric Gaston’s boat.”

“That’s it,” I said, impressed
again. “You know the local fleet.”

He smiled. “It’s
my job. I know most of the racing boats around
here, and I think there’s only one J/133
up here now. Anyway, I know the
Warwitch
for sure
. We helped Eric replace all his stock standing and running
rigging last year. His new halyards are all Marlow Max
90. Best you can get.”

“Max 90,” I said. “Is
it made out of Dyneema? Do you have any in
stock that we could look at?”

“It’s right over
here. Come on.” We followed him to a whole wall
covered with spools of line in all sizes, styles, and
colors. Sergio searched for the line. “I think it’s
—yes, here it is,” he said, pointing to a spool
of thin, gray, braided line. “Max 90. And to answer
your question: yes, Max 90 is made with Dyneema D12
.”

He handed me the end of the spool, and I
examined it for a second before I turned and handed
it to Doc. He looked at it for a couple
seconds, then he looked at me. “This the stuff?”

I
nodded. “Sure is. Dyneema D12. Looks exactly the same. Ron
said it was used for pulleys and winches.”

“That’s
right,” Sergio said. “Pulleys, winches, anything that needs a strong
, light line that doesn’t stretch. It’s actually stronger
than steel. It’s perfect for sailing, especially racing. But
not everyone uses it because it’s expensive. That means
it usually ends up only on the high-tech racing
boats like
Warwitch
. What we call the ‘go-fast’ boats
.”

I stared at the line for another second. It looked
exactly like the line used to strangle Judie Lawton—the
same line that was found in Josh Bannister’s apartment
after he died. And Eric Gaston apparently had lots of
it.

C
hapter 24

TONI AND I WERE TO MEET
Gloria
McKenzie at the Chantanee Thai Restaurant on 108th Avenue in
downtown Bellevue later that same evening at six o’clock
sharp. Kenny was driving himself and was supposed to meet
us there. The restaurant is located on the ground floor
of the Key Center office tower, directly across from the
Bellevue Transit Center, tucked between the tall Lincoln Square towers
on 104th and the nearly as tall Bravern towers on
110th. Downtown Bellevue is busy during the daytime, but it
gets pretty quiet after work hours. Once we cleared the
520 toll bridge, traffic was light, and we were right
on time.

We’d actually never been to the Chantanee
before because we don’t get over to Bellevue for
lunch or dinner all that often, but Gloria had vouched
for the place. When we walked in, I could see
why. Right away, as far as Thai restaurants go, the
place is pretty swanky—definitely not your paper carton takeout
joint. It was a little early yet for the dinner
crowd, so the place was quiet inside, nearly empty. When
we told the hostess we were meeting people, she said
, “Mrs. McKenzie?” I said yes and she led us to
a booth in the back, hidden from view from the
front. Gloria was already there, and Kenny was with her
.

We said our hellos and ordered dinner. While we waited
, I showed Gloria what we’d found. Kenny’d made
prints, so I spread them out on the table. “You
haven’t seen any of these pictures, is that right
?” I asked.

She shook her head as she looked at
the photographs. “I have not.”

Gloria nodded and continued to
study the photographs for a couple of minutes. When she
was finished, she leaned back in her seat. “Well, I
can say right now that there are problems with these
pictures.”

She opened her attaché and pulled out a few
flyers.

“See these?” she asked. She looked through them and
selected one, holding it up. “This is an annual report
, issued by the Beatrice Thoms Memorial Foundation for a particular
project, in this case the Bati Clean Water Project #2
.” She looked at the report for a second, then said
, “According to this document, the funds that the Foundation contributed
, some $4.2 million, were to be implemented by the Southern
Star Relief Fund which was to—let me read it
, ‘plan, construct, and administer a facility for a water well
and water treatment system’ for the whole village.” She looked
up. “Leonard and I donated one million dollars for this
project eighteen months ago.”

The report had a glossy cover
, showing a photograph of a brightly painted water well with
several smiling local women congregated around it, full water jugs
at their sides. Gloria laid the report on the table
alongside the photograph that Leonard had taken. Everyone looked happy
. “This is the most recent report. It covers all of
2011,” she said. “Leonard’s photos were taken in June
this year, months after this report was issued. The captions
on the photos make it pretty clear that this project
is completed and operational as of the end of last
year.”

Each of the other photos Leonard took also had
a corresponding annual report. All confirmed the same condition, just
as we’d suspected: rosy report, missing project.

Gloria thought
for a second, then she looked up at me. Her
eyes flashed cold. “Who? Who, Mr. Logan? Who’s behind
this?”

I took a deep breath. “We’re not certain
yet.”

“I will say that we think someone at the
Foundation is involved,” Toni said. “Someone who was or still
is personally participating in the fraud. This is not just
something happening at the Southern Star Relief Fund level.”

“What
makes you feel that way?” Gloria asked.

I shrugged. “Because
Sophie and Leonard were connected with the Foundation, not Southern
Star. I’m betting Leonard wasn’t involved with Southern
Star, but I’m near certain Sophie wasn’t.”

Gloria
shook her head. “He wasn’t.” She looked at me
for a second, then she took a deep breath, letting
it out slowly. “I can’t believe it. With Sophie
involved, we really felt comfortable donating to the Foundation, like
we were doing something positive—something that we were really
convinced would be put to good use. Leonard and I
had no idea that they themselves—the Foundation—could also
be getting duped.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I
think your feelings regarding Sophie were right on,” Toni said
. “I think she very likely may have died because she
was going to bat for Leonard.”

Gloria nodded slowly. “I
understand.” She thought for a moment. “It certainly looks like
Leonard’s photographs were a real threat to whoever’s
behind this, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ll
bet they didn’t count on Leonard actually going to
Africa to conduct his own little audit—to check up
on things for himself.”

She smiled. “Then they didn’t
know my Leonard, did they?”

We walked outside after we
were finished, where we said our good-byes and watched
her drive away.

“What time is it now?” Toni asked
.

Kenny looked at his watch and said, “Two minutes before
seven.”

“If I’m any judge of character, I’ll
bet Linda Ramos will be right on time,” I said
.

“Mr. Logan?”

I turned and saw Linda Ramos walking up
. She carried a file folder under her arm.

“See?” I
said to Kenny and Toni. I turned to Linda. “Linda
. It’s good to see you.” I reached out and
shook her hand. “Your timing is perfect.”

She glanced around
nervously before looking at each of us. “Thanks.” I looked
at her carefully for a moment. No doubt about it
, I was looking at the face of a very scared
woman. Her eyes were wide-open, her mouth drawn. Despite
the cool evening, small beads of perspiration were evident on
her forehead.

I reached out for her arm. “You okay
? You ready—”

I froze mid-sentence because at that moment
I saw a man wearing a black ski mask step
from behind a Cypress tree maybe twenty feet away from
our group. Even in the dim light, I could see
that he carried a full-sized Glock in his right
hand. I could tell the caliber right away: big and
mean.

Toni was on my left, Kenny on my right
. Linda was facing me, her back directly to the man
. None of them had seen him yet. I swept my
coat clear and started to reach for my .45, but
as soon as I started the motion, the man saw
me and yelled, “Don’t!” He pointed the Glock directly
at me and quickly stepped closer. I thought about it
for a split second, but with something like ten feet
between us, and innocent people on either side of me
, my odds of successfully drawing my weapon and bringing it
to bear before he plugged me or, worse, one of
the others, were rotten. I stopped moving.

At the sound
of his voice, the others turned. Shocked, Linda moved to
my side, between Kenny and me. We were all more
or less facing the man now.

“Nobody move,” Ski Mask
said. Nobody did. In fact, even the restaurant doors remained
closed. I could hear traffic from 108th, maybe even from
I-405 a couple of blocks east. I could hear
crickets from the nearby planter. But nobody in our little
group moved.

“Wallets and watches,” Ski Mask said. “Hand ’em
over. Now!” His voice was sharp, but not so loud
as to draw attention, even if there had been anyone
else nearby. He sounded vaguely familiar, but I was unable
to ID him—except to notice that he was too
tall to be Eric Gaston.

“This is a stickup?” I
said.

“Shut the fuck up, smart guy. Give me the
stuff, now.”

The others were frozen, waiting for my lead
. I’ve always wondered what I’d do in this
sort of scenario—staring down a mugger who had the
drop on me and who may be intent on killing
me. Never thought it would happen in sleepy Bellevue, though
. Matter of fact, the thought quickly flashed through my mind
that this was no ordinary mugging. My mind flashed to
the Leonard McKenzie “mugging.”

“Okay.” I turned to the others
. “Let’s give the man what he wants.” Kenny and
Linda both turned to me, as if they couldn’t
believe what I’d said, as if they’d expected
some heroics.

“You heard the man,” Ski Mask said. “Hand
it over.” He waved his gun between Kenny and me
. “You two, empty your pockets. Women, take your wallets from
your purses.” Kenny and I pulled out our wallets, and
the ladies took theirs out of their purses. My pockets
were already empty except for my keys. I carry my
favorite titanium Surefire folding knife in my back pocket, but
I decided Ski Mask couldn’t see that and, besides
, I don’t think he cared. I didn’t think
this was your standard, everyday robbery.

“Set everything right there
on that planter, then step back,” Ski Mask said.

We
did, and he stepped up and scooped everything into a
coat pocket. Then, he looked at Linda for a second
. “What’s in the folder?”

“Just pictures,” she said, her
voice trembling. “Reports. For work.”

“Good. I’ll take ’em
. Set ’em on the planter.”

“I need these,” she protested
.

Ski Mask responded by raising his gun and pointing it
directly at Linda’s face. “I need ’em more,” he
said. “Put ’em on the fuckin’ planter.”

He stepped back
away from the planter to give Linda room, his gun
still leveled on us.

“Why do you want her folder
?” I asked, still playing for time.

“Shut up,” he said
as he reached for the folder and picked it up
.

At that moment, four people walked out of the restaurant
. They noticed us standing there, but I’m not sure
they could tell what was going on in the dim
light.

“Say,” I called out to them. “You guys mind
calling 9-1-1 and telling them we’re being held up
?” They froze, not sure what they’d just heard.

“What
?” one of the men said, apparently not sure he’d
heard correctly.

“You fucking idiot,” Ski Mask said. He turned
to me and quickly raised his gun toward my face
. His eyes told me he was going to fire. I
immediately shoved Toni out of the way, dropped into a
fighting stance, reached for my .45 and slid to my
right, all at the same time. The guy was close
, but it’s not easy to hit a moving target
, so at least I had that in my favor. On
the other hand, we were positioned so that even if
he missed, the muzzle blast alone would probably knock me
over.

That’s the moment Kenny yelled “Stop!” I glanced
over as I reached for my weapon and saw that
while Ski Mask had been focusing on me, Kenny had
already drawn and leveled his Glock. He started to say
, “Drop your—” when Ski Mask spun toward him and fired
a quick-snap shot in Kenny’s direction before Kenny
could react. Kenny went down immediately, causing one of the
women in the foursome at the door to scream. Time
seemed to freeze for a second as the report from
the gunshot echoed off the nearby buildings. Without pausing, Ski
Mask fired again, and Linda dropped.