Page 111 of The Newcomer
“Yeah, do that,” Joe said. “And put my phone number as the contact. Thanks, Fina.”
From the police station, he cruised north on Gulf Boulevard. Tourist season was still in full swing, with cars bearing license tags from as far north as Canada and as far west as Missouri. Every few blocks he slowed or stopped to allow beachgoers to cross the road from motels on the east side of the road toward the beaches on the west.
This was not the Gulf Boulevard of his youth, when, as recently as the eighties, modest family-owned motels and restaurants lined the north-south beach road. Now, the Murmuring Surf was a distinct minority among the flashy condominium and time-share towers and chain hotel resorts.
He turned the truck in at every public-beach parking lot, scanning to look for any clues of a homeless encampment. But the parkinglots were mostly asphalt and concrete—not a really welcome spot to spend the night. All Joe saw were happy, sunburned beachgoers, trudging to and from their cars in the late-morning sunshine.
It was an exercise in futility, he decided, but then he remembered Tiki Gardens. It had started as a family-owned gift shop with a small adjoining garden, and then morphed into an improbable but typical Florida tourist trap—a Polynesian-themed attraction complete with monolithic carved tiki gods and a tropical bird show. The original owners sold out to out-of-town developers in the late eighties, but when Florida’s roller-coaster boom and bust economy took a nosedive, the property was eventually sold to the county in 1990.
Joe could remember wandering the palm-lined paths of the gardens on school field trips, tossing peanuts to the caged monkeys and listening to the unearthly screeches of the peacocks that roamed the grounds. After the gardens were plowed under and the birds and monkeys rehomed and the Polynesian kitsch was sold off, he’d never forgotten the sight of the largest tiki god, Ku, being carted away on the back of a flatbed truck.
The county had kept a toned-down facsimile of the original Tiki Gardens roadside sign, but now the place was just a public-beach-access parking lot.
He drove a couple of miles down the beach and turned in to the lot. He’d grudgingly admit the county had done a decent job of landscaping the entry—if you didn’t know better, maybe you’d actually expect to see a howler monkey hanging off one of the coconut palms.
But you’d be sadly disappointed,Joe thought. Small islands of landscaping were spotted throughout the property, but mostly the place was a sea of late-model cars with out-of-state license plates.
Even the hardiest homeless man would find it tough to find enough cover to camp out at Tiki Gardens these days. Feeling dejected, he pulled back onto Gulf Boulevard and headed north.
42
AS SOON AS VIKKI HILLwalked into the office, Letty could tell by the grim expression on her face that she had bad news.
“Just tell me,” she said quietly, closing out the reservation form on the computer monitor.
“Wingfield is balking at our terms. He wants Maya delivered to him. My people think it’s too risky to try to do this down here. They want us to go back to New York for the exchange. Hate to say it, but I agree. I’ve booked tickets on a flight for tomorrow morning. We’ll have tighter control of the situation.…”
“No.”
Vikki blinked. “It’s not really your call.”
“Actually, it is,” Letty said, her tone much calmer than the roil in her gut.
“According to my sister’s will, I’m Maya’s legal guardian. And I amnotgoing to allow you people to traumatize a four-year-old child by picking her up and taking her right back to the place where her mother was killed a month ago.”
“Come on. You know we won’t take her to Tanya’s apartment. We’re not monsters.”
“The answer is still no.”
“I can get a court order,” Vikki threatened.
Joe DeCurtis strode into the office. “Get a court order for what?” he asked.
“Vikki’s bosses are saying I have to send Maya back up to NewYork for the exchange with Evan,” Letty explained. “And I told her no. Hell, no.”
“I thought we already had this all worked out,” he said.
“Wingfield balked. And my supervising agent and the AUSA agree that it should happen in New York, where they can control the situation. Letty doesn’t agree,” the FBI agent told him.
Letty leaned across the reception desk, her palms sweaty as they flattened on the Formica surface. “If you manage to get a court order, I’ll get a lawyer and fight you. What will you do? Handcuff Maya and drag her kicking and screaming onto a flight full of alarmed snowbirds heading home to Long Island after spending the winter in Florida? Snowbirds with cell phones?”
Vikki Hill did not back away from Letty’s cold fury. She was not used to having her authority challenged. “You’re technically a fugitive from justice, Letty. I could take you into custody right now, lock your ass up…”
Letty held out her arms, fists clenched together. “That’s what you’ll have to do. Maya’s upstairs with Isabelle in Ava’s apartment. You gonna go up there and lock her up too?”
“Whoa!” Joe said. “This is getting pretty extreme, don’t you think?” He turned to Vikki Hill. “Last I heard, Wingfield wanted me to be there for the handoff. But I’m not going to New York.”
The FBI agent started to say something, but changed her mind.
