“No way the local cops could go with the theory that you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Anson growled.
“Keep in mind that there aren’t any local cops on Lost Island,” Cabot said. “The investigator who showed up to look into the fire and the death of Rose Gilbert was from one of the neighboring islands. He said it looked like a gang hit. He reminded me that the area has been notorious for drug running since the days of Prohibition.”
Anson grunted.
“It used to be liquor that was shipped from Canada to the West Coast of the U.S.,” Cabot continued. “These days it’s meth, cocaine, heroin and, lately, exotics from the other side of the world. There’s also some human trafficking going on as well. The smuggling business flows both ways, and the islands offer ideal places to dump a hot cargo or pick up a shipment.”
“Cabot and I talked to the couple who operate the B and B where we stayed last night,” Virginia said. “They had no problem believing that Rose might have been in the drug business and that she might have made some dangerous enemies.”
It was late afternoon. They were gathered in the offices of Cutler, Sutter & Salinas. She was sitting in one of the client chairs. Anson was behind his desk. Cabot was standing at the window.
Xavier was hovering in the doorway of one of the darkened offices, trying to be inconspicuous. But Virginia could tell that he was following the conversation very intently, clearly fascinated.
Neither she nor Cabot had gotten much sleep, and they had spent a long morning talking to the investigator who had showed up to take charge of the crime scene. She had napped a little during the ferry crossings but she was starting to become aware of the heavy weight of stress and exhaustion. It occurred to her that she and Cabot were seriously sleep-deprived.
Not that all of the factors that had contributed to her current state of exhaustion were negative, she reminded herself. Every time she thought about the passionate lovemaking in the chair, she got a little thrill. Yes. You can do normal, woman.
Cabot had called ahead to tell Anson that they were on the way home, but he had saved the harrowing details and the news about the discovery of the diary pages until they were all in the same room. It was clear he had meant what he said when he told her that they would no longer trust the security of their phones.
“Did you remind the investigator that this was the second major fire on the island in the past few weeks?” Anson demanded.
“Sure,” Cabot said. “He said to let him know if any new evidence came to light, but until then, he’s sticking with the rival-smugglers theory.”
“Cops like the easy answer because it’s usually the right one,” Anson said.
“Occam’s razor,” Cabot said grimly.
Xavier stared at him. “What’s that?”
“Never mind,” Cabot said. “I’ll explain later.”
“Point is, in this case, the simple answer is bullshit,” Anson growled. He winced and glanced apologetically at Virginia. “Apologies for the language.”
His old-fashioned manners made her smile a little.
“I may have mumbled something just as bad or worse when Cabot was in the process of lowering me down that laundry chute,” she said.
Anson blew out a small sigh. “You two had one hell of a close call. Good thing you remembered the laundry chute.”
Xavier stirred a little, clearing his throat. “What’s a laundry chute?”
They all looked at him.
“Just what it sounds like,” Virginia said gently. “A long chute that runs from the basement straight up through a house. You chuck dirty laundry into it on the upper floors. It falls into a cart at the bottom. In the old days, most multistory houses had one. The bigger the house, the bigger the laundry chute. The Lost Island B and B had a large one.”
Xavier regarded Cabot with something close to awe.
“Excellent,” Xavier said.
Cabot did not seem to notice the little flash of hero worship. He was focused on the view outside the window.
“The trip was not a complete loss,” he said. “Virginia discovered some photocopied pages of a journal that Abigail Watkins kept. They date from the days of the California compound and they confirm that we’re on the right track. Among other things, there are references to a secret bank account that Virginia’s mother and mine used to hide at least some of the money that Zane’s operation raked in. Evidently four women in the compound knew where the key was hidden: Kimberly Troy, my mother, Hannah Brewster and Abigail Watkins.”
Anson whistled softly. “And now all four are dead.”
“Which leaves Virginia,” Cabot said. “I am convinced now that someone thinks she can lead him to the key.”
“Well, well, well,” Anson said. He sounded very satisfied. He turned to Xavier. “Tell ’em what you found.”
Cabot turned around at that and pinned Xavier with a piercing look.
“You came up with something?” he said.
Xavier reddened under the close scrutiny and he stammered a little at first.
“You were r-right,” he said. His voice firmed quickly. “The little children’s book turned out to be a simple code, but it’s got nothing to do with computers, at least, I don’t think so. Mr. Salinas and I did the math problems and put the answers together. Mr. Salinas said the result could be a numbered account in a bank – maybe one of those places the mob guys and drug runners use to hide their money.”
Virginia looked at Anson. “An offshore account?”
“I believe so,” Anson said. “Once we decided we might be looking at a bank account, we went back through the picture book and started looking for some clues that would give us the location of the bank. We came up with a possibility. There’s an island in the Caribbean with the same name as that of the magical kingdom in the math book. For several decades it’s been doing a very brisk business with folks who like to conceal their money offshore, no questions asked.”
Cabot’s eyes heated a little. “That fits. Did you try to access the account?”
“No,” Anson said. “Figured we’d hold off until we could talk to you and Virginia. Technically the account probably belongs to her now. She is her mother’s heir.”
Xavier looked at Cabot. “Also, I was afraid that if I started poking around online and screwed up, I might alert the bank’s security department. Mr. Salinas said that would not be a good idea, not at this point in the investigation.”
Cabot smiled a wolfish smile. “That was very good thinking. Nice work, Xavier.”
Xavier grinned. “Thanks. In that case, I guess it’s okay to tell you my other good news.”
“You made reservations to go home?” Cabot said.
“No,” Xavier said. “I asked my mom if I could stay here in Seattle for a couple more days. Told her I had a job. She said it was okay with her if it’s okay with you.”
Cabot shot a wary glance at Anson and then turned back to Xavier.
“What’s the job?” he asked.
“I’m an intern here at your agency,” Xavier said. He was practically bubbling over with excitement.
“We don’t have a position for an intern,” Cabot said.
“We do now,” Anson announced. “Turns out the kid’s good with computers and we just happen to need an in-house IT department.”
Cabot gave Xavier a considering look. “How good are you?”
“Pretty good,” Xavier said. His eyes lit with hope. “Why?”
“Do you think you could tell if someone had planted some kind of tracking device on Virginia’s phone?”
Xavier switched his attention to Virginia. “Maybe.”
She took her phone out of her handbag and gave it to him.
“Go for it,” she said.
“I’ll need some password info,” Xavier warned.
“Not a problem.” She smiled. “I trust you.”
Xavier was almost glowing now. “Thanks. I’ll get right on it.”
Virginia took out the photo of Abigail Watkins and Quinton Zane standing with their arms around each other on the ferry. She put it down on Anson’s desk.
“We also found this in Rose Gilbert’s room,” she said. “I’m sure that the girl is Abigail Watkins and the man —”
“Quinton Zane,” Anson said, his voice very grim. “I’d recognize him anywhere. That poor kid. Looks like she was in love with him.”
“Yes,” Virginia said. “She was very young and very naïve. Zane would have found it easy to seduce her and manipulate her.”