“You told Frisco about the needle, right?”

“I’d never seen Frisco so mad. He said it was a blasphemy. When God says something, you can’t make it change.”

I recalled Harry telling me that Owsley had started receiving anonymous threats when he came to Florida, took the shot: “It was Frisco who called Pastor Owsley, right, Andy? Made threats?”

A head bob. “The Pastor was trying to help Mr Winkler go against God’s laws.”

“Would Frisco have killed Pastor Owsley if he got the chance?”

Again, the beatific smile. “Yes. To save him.”

I’d spent enough time in Delmont’s broken world. I stood and looked down at the mad singer, smiling at me like I was a momentary swirl in a wide and ancient river.

“You know you’ve broken laws, Andy,” I said. “You’ll have to go away for a very long time.”

“Man’s laws and Man’s time, sir. I have all eternity with Jesus.”

60

It was four in the morning. Since it was a big operation and I’d alerted Roy what we’d be doing, he was up and waiting for news.

“I’m heading in, Roy,” I said on my cell. “I’ll give you the full report tomorrow. You won’t believe it, but I swear it’s true.”

“I want to hear this story tonight. Or I guess it’s morning, isn’t it?”

“I have to track down Belafonte and find out what—”

“Belafonte’s here at HQ, Carson,” he said. “She’s been here for hours.”

“She drove to Miami? Why?”

“She wanted to bring us a gift.”

“Pardon me?”

“Just come in, Carson. We’ll have a parade.” Roy was being cryptic, but he also sounded oddly happy, like he had a lobster dinner on his desk. The night was still producing oddities. “Hey … you bringing Nautilus?” Roy asked.

“I figure Harry’ll hang out on Matecumbe for a few days.”

I rang off. All the guys who’d accompanied Belafonte were gone and I spoke to the desk officer as we headed out. “What happened on Tohopekaliga?” I asked.

“We got the three guys in custody,” the DO said, meaning the Johnson half-brothers and the doctor. “The other one went with the tough lady back to Miami. She’s from Bermuda. It’s a British protectorate. I just learned that tonight.”

“Other one? What other one?”

A shrug. “Some Hispanic dude. She jammed cuffs on him, locked him to the D-ring in the back of a cruiser. She said a lot of people were looking for him.”

I was shaking my head as Harry and I headed to the waiting chopper. Would the weirdness never end?

We were in the air minutes later, the storm dissipating, the night sky clearing to the south. The world below sparkled with lights of small towns and vehicles strung like chains of white-eyed insects on the roads below our beating rotors. Speech was difficult with the noise and helmets with microphones, but Harry and I managed a bit before shutting into our own worlds.

“The girl,” I said, “Rebecca. What’s gonna happen there?”

“Rebecca’s the only adult in the family, Cars,” Harry said, looking down on a dark plain studded with light. “She starts college in a couple years, wants to study science, probably biology. I expect Rebecca will get her way. She’s good at that.” He paused. “Cars …?”

“What?”

“That was fun tonight, y’know? Like old times.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like old times.”

In what seemed scant minutes, we hit the Clark Center as day dawned in the East, the long and lonesome blue of the ocean dappled with the pink and orange glitter of sunrise over waves, iridescent and glorious and hopeful all at once.

The Center was quiet as we stepped from the elevator. “Hello?” I called. “Anyone here?”

“Back here in your office,” Belafonte’s voice called.

We headed down the hall until stopped by Roy’s voice at our backs. “You hit the mother lode, Carson. It’s over. You deserve a parade.”

“Parade? What’s over? What are you talking about, Roy?”

He winked. “Go see Belafonte for details.”

We entered my office. Belafonte was sitting on the couch and I did introductions. “The desk guy at Osceola said you hauled a prisoner back, Holly. What’s that about?”

Roy appeared at the door. He nodded to Belafonte and she put her arms behind her head and leaned back on the couch. I’d never seen her so relaxed.

“We followed the Johnson limo to the house on the lake,” she said. “Three men and the girls went inside and the chauffeur parked at the head of the drive. I wanted the man silenced before he pulled his cell and alerted our rascal boys. I crept behind the limo, yanked the door open, and flashed my badge.”

I heard a chuckle. Roy.

“The chauffeur’s name was Hector Machado,” Belafonte continued. “An ex-gang member who got religion and hired on at the Hallelujah ranch as a groundskeeper. He was promoted to driver for Johnson after a month.”

“I don’t need every detail, Holly. Did the girls get pulled out?”

“Oh sure, we handled that little job rather quickly.” She smiled. Was that coy? Laughing and coy … who was this woman?

“We entered the home and found four young ladies in shorty gowns and negligees. There was enough liquor to start a pub, plus various pills and marijuana. Hayes Johnson, his brother Cecil, plus a buggy-eyed gent named Uttleman were lounging about in their undies. The latter stated that he was a doctor and had rights. I told him he had the right to get handcuffed first, which didn’t seem the effect he was hoping for.”

“Great that you got the girls out of that hellhole,” I said, thinking it was, unfortunately, an easy rap to beat “… the women were all over the age of consent, Your Honor,” a high-priced lawyer’s voice said in my head, “and willingly accompanied the men to the house for drinks and dinner, bringing illegal drugs, unbeknownst to the gentlemen …”

“Don’t you want Belafonte to finish her story?” Roy said.

“I thought she just did.”

“You’ve forgotten Mr Machado,” Belafonte said. “When he stepped from the limousine, the first thing Machado saw was the Osceola unit in tac gear: rifles, helmets, full body armor, knives strapped to thighs, night-vision glasses …”

Roy said, “You’re gonna love this, Carson.”

“It seems Mr Machado thought he was the target,” Belafonte said. “He dropped to his knees and commenced bawling like a baby, saying he’d confess if we kept his sister in the home. I said, ‘What are you bloody talking about?’”

“Need a drum roll, Officer Belafonte?” Roy said. “This would be the time.”

Belafonte stood and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a look of grand amusement on her face. “Mr Machado confessed, Detective Ryder.”

“Confessed to what?”

“The killing of Roberta Menendez.”

I stared, dumbfounded. Roy sat on the front of my desk, though I should have been the one to sit, the world spinning.

“You’ll need the backstory,” Roy said. “Miz Menendez, a religious lady, visited Hallelujah Jubilee recently, part of a church group. A frugal woman, she was a bit dismayed by the expense. She went home and did due diligence on the park, finding its paltry reported income at odds with her experience. When she found there were no huge debts – like land payments – our numbers lady suspected proceeds were being siphoned off before they hit the books.”

Belafonte said, “Hallelujah’s accountant is Cecil, Hayes Johnson’s brother. Somehow Johnson discovered the intrepid Menendez suspected skimming, which turns out to have been exactly right: three tax-free million a year, one-point six mil a year to Johnson – who probably set it all up – eight hundred G’s a year to Cecil, six to Doctor Uttleman. Roberta Menendez knew a member of the park’s board and approached her. It probably got back to Johnson that way.”

My head was topsy-turvy. “How do you have exact figures?”

Roy’s turn. “Three hours ago Jacksonville agents raided Cecil Johnson’s office with two FCLE forensic accountants in tow. They found a set of duplicate books in a safe you could have opened with a penknife. They also recovered emails between the three men saying something had to be done about Menendez before, as one poignantly put it, ‘this bitch destroys our retirement fund’.”