Caribbean Hustle (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger, Jack Rain Page B

for protection, which is how he knew about everything.
    What he didn’t tell the man is how Modeste sold the gold in New York and wedged the money into a Cayman account. Nor did he tell him that he had the diamond divas buried under the sand down the road, or how Modeste’s friend, Constance, still had one of them—Marilyn.
    Rail listened to every word, stood up and said, “Give me ten minutes. Then we have work to do.” He grabbed Evil Angel’s hand. “You come with me.”
     
     

    33
    Day Five
    June 8
    Sunday Morning
     
    Alone, Teffinger poured another cup of coffee and took the opportunity to call Station Smith. “You still alive?”
    “Alive and well,” she said.
    “You’re laying low, I hope.”
    “Pretty much.”
    “No, not pretty much,” he said. “Do it fully. Things haven’t quieted down yet. In fact they might be worse than ever.” He took a sip. “I have a weird question for you. I’m in Haiti and I came across a videotape of a voodoo ceremony. There was a woman there who looked a lot like you. Was it, by any chance?”
    Silence.
    “Station, are you there?”
    “I’m here.”
    Her voice sounded like a spider was crawling up her leg.
    “It was you,” Teffinger said.
    “Nick, stay out of it,” she said. “Get the hell out of Haiti. You’ll end up dead and so will other people. Don’t call me anymore.”
    The line died.
    Teffinger dialed back but the woman didn’t pick up.
     
    He called Sydney and said, “Any signs yet of Kovi-Ke?”
    “No, none.”
    “Do me a favor,” he said. “Station was involved in some kind of voodoo ritual down here in Haiti, I’m not sure exactly when but I’m guessing not too long ago. Go talk to her and get the details. Don’t let her push you off. Get answers. I want to know who did it to her—I suspect it’s a voodoo woman down here they call Janjak but I want to know for sure. Find out when it happened and how it came about; and most importantly, why didn’t she tell me about it? ”
    “Nick, it’s Sunday—”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    “I’ve got plans to go see Vivid Black.”
    He knew the band. He’d caught them at the Taste of Colorado last year and they were awesome.
    “You’ll have to see them another time,” he said. “Be sure Station still has her bodyguards. Oh, one more thing. Ask her if she’s ever been able to see through someone else’s eyes.”
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “I wish I was. Oh, one more thing.”
    “That’s two things.”
    He smiled.
    “Station told me to get out of Haiti or I’d end up dead and so would other people. Find out who she was talking about. Who else will die?”
    He was about to hang up when Sydney said, “Nick, are you still there?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t think I got a chance to tell you yet,” she said. “Remember when you asked me to talk to Kovi-Ke about the other two murders she saw?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, I did that,” she said. “Do you have time to hear about them?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “One of was Faren White, a San Francisco woman, killed three years ago. The other was Jaylor Colt, killed four years ago. Get this, she was a Cuban diplomat who got killed in Washington, D.C.”
    “How’d you get their names?”
    “Leigh Sandt.”
    “She’s helping?”
    “God, Nick, she doesn’t blame you for what happened to Poppy. I’ve talked to both of the detectives in charge. Neither remembers any notes being found at the scene but they’re going to send me their whole files. I’ll forward them to you as soon as I get them. I’m hoping that’s tomorrow.”
    “Find out if either of them have been to Haiti,” he said.
     
    “Oh, on a different note, something weird happened with that dead lawyer down by Tarzan’s place,” Sydney said.
    “How weird?”
    “Weird enough. She makes big bucks but she was staying at a fleabag down on Colfax. She wasn’t using her real name, either. She was using the name Melody Pincher.”
    “How’d you find out?”
    “When she