Bad Move: Det. Lt. Nick Storie Mysteries, #16

By C. D. Moulton

Nick gets involved with the Russian Mafia when an FBI agent is murdered. Even his gangster friends warn him against getting involved with them – but that wouldn't be Nick.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jun 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201893736

Book preview

Prologue

Ken Woodson drove on into the swampy area being careful to stay on the trail, such as it was.

Mark had been right that it was the kind of place he would like and it was next to that big tract that fellow who owned the Crane companies had bought and fenced – well, across the road.

This tract was only a hundred ten acres and most of that was swamp, but there was about a twelve acre high ground knoll in the middle that would put him plenty far away from anyone else and there was never (at least in his lifetime) going to be any development on the Crane side for several miles in all directions. Having billions of dollars to spend on conserving something must be a great feeling.

The stream ran for about four hundred feet inside the property line here. It was legally open to the public, but there was so much overhang it was almost impossible to move along it and that was going to remain. Crane had opened the stream on their side because it was deep and wide enough for canoes and he had even put in three little half acre spots with picnic tables and such, but Katie bar the door if anyone left a mess there. Crane could close those parts in a blink. Not very many people went in those places this far from anything and canoes and gators, which there were plenty of, didn't mix, particularly in mating season.

There it was. Exactly as Mark had described. Oak and pine with sabal palms close to the water and the stream from here down to the river was deep and fairly wide. He could use a canoe and get into thousands of acres of cypress swamps to explore and carry on his personal research. He could go directly into Fakahatchee to the south and west.

He would build a small A-frame on a clear area about three quarters of an acre to the east of the center of the knoll and could get in and out in the wetter seasons with a swamp walker. He had a small plot by the road that was actually higher than the road. He could build a concrete block garage to keep his bike and Jeep in and lock it as securely as he could anywhere else and it wasn't likely anyone would try to break in if he made it look like some kind of pumping station or something. It could be far enough from the road to not be too obvious.

He'd buy it. He had the money and there was damned well no better use for it. It was time he did something for himself and this could double as preservation. He got out of the Jeep and walked around the knoll and to the stream. The water was clear, but slightly tea-colored from the tannic acid. The willows and Brazilian Peppers hung over it a little toward the road so it wouldn't be passable – as he had hoped. He'd get rid of the peppers, though. They’d eventually strangle out everything else. He'd get rid of any melaleucas, too. Mosquitoes would be fierce at times, but he knew a few tricks there, too.

It would be getting dark soon. He didn't know the place well enough to try to navigate around in the dark. He got back to the Jeep and headed back to the road, stopping at the high spot where he would put the garage to note there was limestone close to the surface which was why there was nothing but scrub on it so he could put in something damned strong on that foundation. It was a little out of sight of the road and there were some fairly thick trees between the road to screen it.

A shot ripped through the trees a couple of feet above his head and he ducked and yelled that he was back there. There was a sort of scream and another shot, then a splash and he ran to see a black Cadillac SUV squeal out and head away south. It had been on the bridge and something was obviously thrown into the creek, so he went to look over the rail. There was blood on the rail. Quite a lot of it. Very wet and not at all congealed blood. There was a body in the water. A large black man in a very expensive suit, if he was any judge. That was an Armani or something such and cost more than he made in a week for sure.

Ken went to his Jeep and grabbed his cell phone to punch 911. He was going to find himself in a mess over this. He would definitely be the only witness who wasn’t involved and that could make him dangerous to someone, at least in their mind if they thought he saw or heard something he hadn’t seen or heard.

Just what he needed! He still wanted to buy the place, but what the hell was this? Was it a place drug dealers were dumped?

Chapter one

Is Andrea going to be a genius, like Cole? Det. Larry Feng asked Det. Lt. Nick Storie of Collier County Naples South Station Violent Crimes Division (or just cop, as Nick was prone to say).

Andrea was Nick's daughter, now three months old and Cole was his son, four years old. Larry was finishing his training and would take over the graveyard shift in a little more than a month when Ellen Vickers was transferred to head the Naples Downtown Station. He sometimes took shifts in emergencies now.

Cole's not a genius, Nick replied. "He's smart and quick and Janet (his wife) believes in teaching a child as young as possible to make them want to learn. He's four years old and can read at a second grade level and does numbers at the third grade level, but that's because of the teaching.

"He'll do very well in school. They'll moan and whine because he's so far ahead of everyone else his age, but Jan's teaching him to expect that and not to become an obnoxious type prodigy.

I think she can pull it off. She was raised more or less like that so knows what he'll face. I tell him I'll expect him to have a job and help with the family by the time he's ten. He says does he have to wait that long?

He's a genius. Why’re you fighting it? Larry said.

Vic called from the front desk for Nick to pick up the nine one one line and Larry grinned and said he'd be going or he'd end up suckered into a double shift. Nick waved and grabbed the phone.

Some guy had almost witnessed a murder out on Cross Cypress Road. Out by the second bridge by the entrance to the Crane Preserve. The body was in the creek. Nick punched the forensics line. Dr. Tiny Menthorne, coroner, and Frog Forest, ace photographer would meet him there.

Ken Woodson was a tall, dark, lanky, bearded man who was there looking at land. He told Nick what he knew and they went out onto the bridge as the coroner's lab van came to stop on the bridge. Kathi Carnes, the newest forensics expert, climbed out and waved. Ken was staring in awe as Tiny climbed out of the van.

Tiny stood six six and weighed, at the moment, around three hundred forty pounds.

Frog got out of the back and started panning around with a videocam. He wouldn't miss an inch of the entire area. He included the several gawkers, their vehicles and the license plates on those vehicles. Kathi immediately took some samples of the blood on the rail and Tiny called frog to get shots of the two shell casings by the rail base. Kathi called that she could see the body about eighty feet away caught in the limbs of the Brazilian peppers hanging into the water.

I couldn't see very much except the suit looks expensive. Armani, at the least, Ken explained. "That kind of money says drugs, I would imagine. It was one of those really oversized SUV things. Black. It had a round gold emblem on the back hatch, so I suppose it's a Cadillac. I think the license plate was white with a blue streak across the top. Illinois, isn't it?

"I'm thinking of buying all the land from here back downstream. A hundred ten acres.

I'm not going to have a bunch of this kind of crap, am I? I mean, the first shot was right over my head. I don't need to buy a place where there are druggie killings or drive-by shootings. Mark didn't bother to mention that!

This is the first I've heard about out here. Did you get a look at the driver or anybody else at all?

No. I yelled that I was there when that shot was so close, then there was another shot and I ran out as the SUV laid rubber toward the south. The windows had that film over them, so I couldn't see anything inside.

Nick got all the information Ken had to offer, then told him he could go. He might have to get in touch again if anything came up. Ken said he was renting a place at 4211 Amberton Drive and would be there for the rest of May. He may renew or he may move. He'd call in his new address if this wasn't finished or if he had to testify or anything.

Ken got in his Jeep and drove away as Frog and Kathi pulled the body ashore down by the stream, so Nick made his way down there to assist. Frog got in the water and drug him up to where they could get him out of the water.

Oh, cripes! Nick exploded.

What? Kathi asked.

His name is Arthur Canfield. He's with the FBI. He was here with that Blaine ass when that mobster in the witness protection deal was shot. If Blaine had had the sense to listen to him that one wouldn't have happened. He was the only one who had any sense!

I remember that one, Frog said. "I said at the time that someone sold you out. I still think it was Blaine. Someone knocks over a protected witness mobster because of an incompetent FBI agent and the agent who tried to stop it from happening gets knocked over. Hel-lo-o!"

"I don't think so. However, I've been wrong before.

"He was shot through the head. A second shot. The first was high, so was probably to scare him, then Woodson yelled and the next shot killed him. If someone was trying to scare him it was because they wanted information. If he was killed that soon they didn't get that information. If they didn't get it it's probably somewhere where it will show up to cause someone grief.

There's going to be all kinds of trouble with this one.

"They don't want to tangle with Paddy or with you, Frog pointed out. They have experience."

Damn it to hell, Nick! Capt. James Paddy James exploded the next morning. Nick worked whatever hours he needed when he had a case. Why in hell can't you get a case where some frustrated schnook gets pissed at somebody and blows his stupid damned head off in front of fifty witnesses like any other cop? Why does it always have to be some earthshaking big deal?

Call Pancho, Nick, Specialist Aide Marsha Blevins suggested. Maybe this one is something that can be handled that way. If any of those mobsters are trying to move in down here he'll put an end to it before it gets started.

Pancho DeGulio was a close friend of the entire Naples South Station Violent Crimes Department. He was once thought to be a major drug lord, but had been conning the dealers and the suppliers and had gotten very wealthy in the process. He knew so much about them that the top crime syndicate people in the US (as well as several other countries) were as much as terrified of him. Very little happened he didn't know about.

Nick sighed and called a number very few people knew.

Gloria (Pancho's wife)? Nick Storie here. How are you?

"Oh, hi there, Nickie! I'm due in another week and Pancho's treating me like I'm breakable.

How is Jan? The new baby?

We're all better than we deserve to be. Andrea's as good a baby as Cole was.

They chatted a few more minutes, then Pancho came on. There was no connection he knew about with anyone and the FBI agent. Marsha got on the line and was talking with Gloria. Nick called Arturo Doniletti, Mo Jefferson and Greco Miklokaras the other top crime syndicate people. No one had a clue.

There is no syndicate connection. Anywhere, Nick announced. I think I'm kind of sorry about that. We're not getting any help with this one.

"I'm not putting up with any crap if they send a bunch of the kinds of halfassed idiots we got in that genius geneticist case (Book one: Bon Appetite!), Marsha warned. Every time we get involved with those people they start the same old act. Big bad powerful FBI's gonna tie my ass to a lamp post if I don't do what they say!"

I don't think so with this one, Paddy said. "We would've heard from them this morning if it was going to be one of those. They're too quiet about it, which makes me wonder what's up.

Nick, handle this thing exactly like any other investigation.

I intend to. I've got a watch out for any SUV with Illinois license plates. Particularly Cadillac.

Dolly can probably find something for you there, Marsha suggested.

Dolly was Frog's wife. She was their computer expert. Nick said he'd see what she could suggest and went down the hall to her office. She said she'd check gasoline purchases with credit cards.

You can do that?

"You can do a search for anything on the web anymore. I type in key words – gas slash credit slash SUV slash Cadillac slash Florida – and ... get ... thirty one thousand ... that's too much. Add slash May one hyphen May eight – one week and get