Chapter 55
Claire stared at the camera’s LCD screen, tears spilling over her lids. She continued flipping through the images. There was no mistaking what was going on in the pictures.
Her cheeks reddened, and a mix of sorrow and rage filled her face.
It was heartbreaking to watch.
Unfortunately, her ire was directed at us. People often shoot the messenger.
With her eyes narrow and her jaw tightened, she growled, "You think you can show me these images and get me to do whatever you want?" Her eyes blazed with fury. "Leave. Now! I don't want you here.”
She tossed the camera back to Jack, and he scrambled to catch it before the expensive lens hit the ground.
He managed to grab it just in time.
Claire stepped back into her home, slammed the door, and latched the deadbolt.
JD and I shared a defeated look.
He muttered, "Well, that could have gone better."
We walked back to the Porsche and hopped in. Jack twisted the ignition and pulled away from the curb just as Mark turned the corner in his convertible Carrera S Turbo.
“Looks like he didn’t last the full hour,” Jack muttered.
Granted, Marguerite probably had that effect on most men.
We caught his eye as he passed, and he glared at us.
Jack giggled. “Oh, they’re going to have fun.”
We drove to Oyster Avenue and grabbed lunch at Trade Winds. Jack ordered the gator bites to start, and a crab cake sandwich, and I went with the Cuban grilled half chicken.
Isabella kept tabs on Mark and Marguerite.
The fight Mark had with his wife didn’t last long. Isabella tracked his phone back to the superyacht. It didn’t take him long to get on the phone with Marguerite. Isabella sent me a recording of the call.
“How did she find out?”
“Those fucking cops must have followed you to the marina,” Mark said.
“I told you they were a problem. What are you going to do about them?”
“I’ll figure out a way to handle them. I’ll make some phone calls. Just don’t talk to them.”
“I won’t.”
After a beat, Mark said, “What are you doing later?”
“I’m not meeting you at the boat.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have plans with my husband.”
“Ditch him.”
“Just because you ruined your marriage doesn’t mean I’m going to ruin mine.”
“What makes you think those cops aren’t going to show up at your house, asking questions, showing pictures to your husband?”
Marguerite went silent for a moment. “You think they’re really going to come to my house?”
“They could be on the way right now.” There was a hint of glee in Mark’s voice. Misery loves company.
“I gotta go,” Marguerite said. “We’ll talk later.”
She ended the call. That was the end of the audio file.
Isabella sent another MP3 along with a text message. [Mark made another call to a burner phone. I’ll keep digging into this.]
I played the second clip.
“The cops are becoming an increasing problem,” Mark said.
“Take care of it,” an ominous voice replied.
“How?”
“How did you take care of the other problems?”
“This really isn’t my area of expertise.”
“We must all learn to adapt.” The voice on the other end of the line disconnected.
JD and I shared a look.
He asked, “Who do you think he’s talking to?”
“Whoever is funding this operation.”
“Three-letter agency, foreign intelligence, non-state actor?”
“Any of the above,” I said.
“We can do a routine compliance inspection of his boat or get the Coast Guard to do a more extensive search.”
“Weaver’s not dumb enough to leave anything incriminating on board. I say we give him enough rope to hang himself. He’ll come to us.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little tired of people trying to kill us.”
We left the restaurant and headed back to the Avventura. I took Buddy out for a walk. When I got back to the boat, my phone rang with a call from Mark’s wife, Claire.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Weaver?"
"It's not going to be Weaver for long.”
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"No, you're not.”
"Well, I'm sorry that you have been betrayed.”
She paused and took a breath. "I would like to apologize. I misdirected my anger toward you.”
"I understand.”
"Turnabout is fair play. One betrayal should be met with another, wouldn't you agree?"
In this circumstance, it was exactly what I wanted to hear.
"Come by the house. I have something for you.”
Knowing that Mark probably wanted us dead, I regarded her offer with an appropriate amount of caution. "What is it?”
"Everything you're hoping for.”