This is episode twenty-three in the sixth novel of The Trace Troy Adventure Series. It is titled The Double-Cross in Paradise. Here are the links to The Double-Cross In Paradise: paperback, Kindle.
Meeting Kelsey Brisker
Danny Boy pulled his cab in front of the hotel.
“I just thought I’d let you know,” Danny Boy said. “But somebody is following you.”
“Still?” Trace said.
“A man in a blue car behind us on the other side of the street,” Danny Boy said.
Trace looked out the back window. “I’m going to get out. Turn around and park behind him. There’s a car in front of him. That will pen him in. Can you do that?”
“You betcha, but what you going to do?”
“Have a conversation,” Trace said.
Trace got out of the cab. He walked across the street and up the steps of the hotel.
Danny Boy turned around in the street and came to an abrupt stop behind the blue car. Trace rushed down the steps of the hotel. He flung open the passenger side front door of the blue car and plopped into the seat.
A thin V-shaped-faced man sat at the steering wheel. He jerked back and held his hands defensively. “What are you doing?”
“You first,” Trace said.
“I’m just sitting here.”
“I can see that, but you’re been following me.”
“No, I’m not,” the man said defensively.
“If you weren’t following me, you’d say I’m waiting for a friend, I ran out of gas, I’m repoing this car. I’ve been followed since I left Port Vila.”
“That’s not me!” The man said.
“But you are following me now?”
The man heaved a sigh.
“So, who are you?” Trace asked.
“Kelsey Brisker, Australian Federal Police.” He reached inside the lapel pocket of his jacket and showed his ID.
Trace examined the ID and glanced from the picture on the ID to Brisker. “This could be phony.”
“Who would I be if this is phony?”
“Well, you’re not Crocodile Dundee,” Trace smirked.
“Indeed,” Kelsey said.
“If you are who you say you are, why are you following me?”
“We might say you are a person of interest.”
“What makes me so interesting that the Australian Federal Police would be interested in me?”
“That’s why I’m following you?”
“Okay,” Trace said, “I admit, I must look pretty shady to a lot of folks. I visit a casino owner, and who knows what else he’s involved in, in prison. And his son works for me.”
“He has a son!?” Kelsey’s eyes widened.
“Geez,” Trace said, “that was dumb of me. I let that slip out. I thought you already knew.”
“We are interested in your connection with Waldo Franks,” Kelsey said. “He has a lot of money hidden in a lot of different places: like shell corporations and secret bank accounts. And we were able to follow a large amount of cash that ended up in your broker’s account and attached to you and your ship, The Tramp Islander. And it appears you won the ship in a shady card game at Waldo Franks’ Casino a couple of years back.”
“It was shady, alright,” Trace said. “It was the night of all nights. I was supposed to lose in a card game, but won the boat. Then I was supposed to lose with a spin of the wheel at roulette. And I won.”
“Lucky!” Kelsey said suspiciously.
“I helped put Franks behind bars,” Trace said. “That’s a matter of public record.”
“Why are you visiting him?” Kelsey asked.
“About six months ago, he showed up at my boat. Mind you, he was incarcerated at the time. He was desperate. His son, whom he did not know, became a part of a cult, and Franks had information that his son was held against his will. Despite our animosity toward each other, he felt he had no one else he could trust. He hired me to get his son off the island. We were successful. Franks and his son became acquainted. And Franks wanted his son to learn the value of hard work. He asked me to hire him on The Tramp Islander.
“And none of that sounds suspicious to you?”
“What would be suspicious about hiring a mathematics whiz to work on the deck of an inter-island cargo sailing vessel?” Trace said and cringed at the sound of his words. “Okay, from where you sit, that doesn't make sense to me now.”
“What are you shipping?”
“You think we’re transporting drugs?” Trace said.
“You said it,” Kelsey said. “And why did drugs come up so quick? Why not pearls, guns, bootleg rum?”
“Touché,” Trace said. “Here’s the problem, I’ve run into so many people who have not been what they appear to be, I don’t know if I can trust who you say you are.”
“Who do you think I am?” Kelsey said. “Who do you think has a reason to follow you?”
Trace looked forward, beyond the hood of the car. A mass of thoughts streamed through his mind. Fear of implicating himself, betraying Patterson, and dragging his crew into something they were innocent.
“You’re kinda between a fart and a load in your undies, aren’t you?” Kelsey said wryly.
Trace stared into Kelsey’s eyes.
“What do you see?” Kelsey said.
“When you reached for your ID, you could have pulled your pistol out,” Trace said. “I caught a glimpse of it. You flipped your ID open like it was a habit. It’s well-worn. You haven’t replaced it because it was probably a gift. You’re married, but it wasn’t from your wife because your band hasn’t worn a ring on your finger. Likely, a gift from your dad. The picture doesn’t look like it was taken yesterday. Your hair is short in the picture. The shoes, those are cop shoes. Your jacket has elbow pads. Cops do a lot of desk work. You’re wearing a clip-on tie; it comes off easy in a fight. Not just one of those things, but all. However, the question remains, what do you want with me?”
“That’s pretty good,” Kelsey said.
“I’ve been reading a lot of crime novels lately,” Trace said.
“So why are you in Suva, now, and why are you meeting with Franks?”
“I need his help,” Trace said. “It is the kind of help that only a man like Franks can provide.”
“Dirty help?” Kelsey said.
“If you’re hanging by a thread and the only hand that can save you is dirty, who cares?”
“You’re hanging by a thread?” Kelsey asked.
“No, but I know somebody who is?”
“Is Franks’ son in a jam?”
“No, it’s not him.”
“A friend?” Kelsey asked.
“Not really,” Trace said. “Just somebody out of options, and his life is about to be ruined for something he didn’t do.”
“Do you want to tell me more?”
“The guy has done some things I can’t abide by,” Trace said. “He transported drugs. If he got convicted on that, I’d be happy to lock him up. If you ask me, I think he romanticized the whole thing. He’s young, didn’t think it through. He should have some time to think it through.”
“The law is the law,” Kelsey said. “But all of us have a conscience. I have friends who have been in this business a lot longer than I have. They say there are times when justice is carried out long before a criminal appears before a judge and sentenced. We sometimes turn a blind eye in favor of hope. A judge lets a guy off because of hope. Who has the better perspective? We see the raw person. The judge sees the one all spiffied up and clean. Who is most likely to be fooled?”
“I hate to negotiate for a man I hardly know,” Trace said,
“But I want to save his life or keep him from going to prison for a long, long time.”
“Can your man help me?” Kelsey asked.
“I’m sure he could,” Trace said.
“Can we arrange a meeting?” Kelsey offered.
“Will this end up with him being tried for murder?” Trace asked.
“We can’t guarantee how he’ll feel,” Kelsey said. “Let’s keep something in mind: you have no proof other than his word that he didn’t murder someone. Maybe he did, and he’s banking on your being naive.”
“He and his friends were passengers on my boat a couple of months ago,” Trace said. “And I do not doubt that the manner in which we departed, I’m probably the last person on earth he would come to for help. I’ve made a couple of friends in Vanuatu, friends you don’t like to be seen with. I’ve called them and they confirmed the guy’s story. So, what do you think?”
Kelsey cocked his head and grimaced. “That’s the word of a drug dealer and guys who you don’t want to be seen with.”
“In the final analysis, I think he knew I treated him and his friends better than they deserved, and I was fair. And—I probably was the last person on earth. He had no place else to go.”
“Can we work together on this?” Kelsey asked.
“Do you have to get approval?” Trace said.
“I’m what they call a PSO, Protective Service Officer,” Kelsey said. “I have a longer leash than regular officers.”
Trace paused and drifted into deep thought.
“You’re on my radar,” Kelsey said. “And to be straightforward, you can’t get off of it. We have to trust each other. I’ll give your man a fair go.”
Trace offered his hand, and Kelsey gripped it firmly.
“I was raised in West Texas cattle country,” Trace said. “A man’s word and handshake is his bond.”
A wry grin flashed on Kelsey’s face. “Ya don’t say, mate. I was raised on a station in Queensland, a proper stockman before going to university and joining the AFP.”
“That’s good to know,” Trace said, his face relaxed into a smile. “We all think alike.”
“What do you plan on doing next?” Kelsey asked.
“I’m going to see Waldo Franks in a day or so,” Trace said. “I’m hoping he can help me get close to the people who killed a man named Erin Hemley, and are trying to frame somebody for it. What’s your next move?”
“I’ll be following you,” Kelsey said.
Trace and Kelsey parted. Kelsey sat in his car, and Trace went to his hotel room.
