The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
Read free book Β«The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) πΒ» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
Read book online Β«The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) πΒ». Author - Frost, J
βIβm speaking to everyone who had direct contact with Black while he was aboard. Millek cleaned his room. I donβt have to tell anyone Iβm interviewing anything.β I pause to let that sink in. βBut if they ask, Iβm a private health inspector investigating reports of food poisoning.β
Reyes snorts. βOh, thatβs great publicity.β
Better than selling your passengers a sex-enhancement drug that kills them. But I keep that thought to myself since this interview has gone badly enough.
βIf you were going to bring the brick aboard, how would you do it?β I ask, taking another shot at getting him onside.
βI wouldnβt,β he snaps.
βGranted. But if you were, how would you?β
He rubs his lightly bearded jaw with his fingers. βIt has to stay in solid form, right?β
βThatβs my understanding. Why?β
He shrugs. βThere are more liquids brought aboard than anything else. Water. Booze. Oil. Heck, even the diesel for the engines. If it were me, Iβd bring the drugs aboard in liquid form. Liquids are bottled, so the dogs might not sniff it out.β
I make a note in my pad to ask Michael about the possibility of liquid brick. βIβll follow that up. Thatβs really interesting.β
βBetter than the drone theory, huh?β At my nod, he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. βIf it has to be in solid form, then, if it were me, and Iβm just speaking hypothetically here, Iβd bring it aboard in the fresh food. Fruit and vegetables donβt keep for two weeks. We take on fresh food in Zihuatanejo. The foodβs heavily screened, though. Youβd have to do something like insert a pill in every head of lettuce. Something crazy like that.β
We have no idea how much Black paid for his little pink friend, and none of the others have admitted to taking the drug yet, much less how much they paid for it. Even if the dealer only managed to get ten pills aboard, if he sold each of them for a grand, that would be more than worthwhile.
βLetβs assume they only brought limited quantities aboard. Say ten pills. Could ten pills get through the screening if they were hidden in heads of lettuce?β
Reyes spreads his hands. βItβs possible. Weβre looking for a kilo of Mexican brown, not individual pills tucked into lettuce.β
βThen, Iβll also need the kitchen staff rotas, if you can get them for me.β
He nods. βSome of the kitchen staff speak less English than the cleaners.β
It might not matter. What Iβm looking for are patterns. βIf it were you, how would you get the drugs out of the kitchen and into the hands of the passengers?β
βSee?β He points a finger at me. If he does it again, Iβm going to snap his fucking finger off. βThatβs where your theory falls down.β
βHow?β
βBecause the kitchen staff never interface with guests. Hell, they never interface with the guest facing staff. Theyβre on shifts. On four hours, off four hours. Theyβre up when weβre asleep, and asleep when weβre awake. Their bunks are right in the middle of the lower decks. Do you know why? Itβs not just because those are the worst rooms on the ship. Itβs because theyβre the darkest. They get used to it, somehow, but itβs crazy.β
βThey have contact with the wait staff, who are guest facing,β I point out, unconvinced.
βYou think so? Ask any of the wait staff if theyβve spoken to a trog. Thatβs what they call the kitchen staff. Short for troglodytes. Because they never come to the surface.β
I feel a hard clutch of sympathy for the trogs, who work in such dismal conditions with the luxury of this posh boat all around them. βOkay, so youβre saying the kitchen staff who would have access to the drug-laced food donβt have any way of getting it out of the kitchens to the passengers?β
As I say it, it sounds ridiculous. There must be a hundred different ways. Reyes grimaces.
βTheyβre not prisoners down there.β
Heβs made it sound like they are. βWhat I think youβre saying, is Iβm looking for one route into the kitchens and another route out. Right?β
He shrugs. βIβm saying itβs unlikely. This whole thingβs absurdly fucking unlikely.β
I donβt care if he thinks my theories are absurd, or the smartest thing since the quantum physics mumbo-jumbo Michaelβs wife was explaining to Emily. What matters is he doesnβt actively obstruct my investigation. βUnderstood. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me this morning.β
Give him points, he knows when heβs dismissed, and he doesnβt prolong the agony. He stands, brushing off his pants, and walks out, ignoring the hand I offer him.
Asshole.
I make a couple of notes while I wait for Jan Millek and doodle a sketch of what Iβd like to do to Dan Reyes, which involves dark droplets spraying from his nose. Maybe Emily would like to color-in my sketch; Iβve read that littles like to color.
With a chuckle, I flip to a blank page in my notebook.
* * *
Jan Millekβs English is halting, but perfectly understandable, and heβs a lot more helpful than Reyes. In ten minutes, we establish a timeline for the days Black was alone.
βAnd he definitely was not in his cabin on Friday night?β I ask, going back to a point weβve gone over already, but I want to nail down.
Millek nods. βSeven twenty, I put out fresh towels. Eight forty, I turn down bed. Two chocolate, like he ask. He not there.β
Millek remembers Black, in part, because he was a difficult guest. He made a number of special requests, including that not one but two chocolates be left on his pillow every night. Black tipped Millek well, though, or so Millekβs quick to tell me. None of this sounds like sour grapes.
βSame thing on Saturday night?β I ask.
Millek nods. βHe there one night. Wednesday. Working,
Comments (0)