Chapter 48
Ajit arrived two minutes later with Rishi in tow. Cutter took a seat on the sofa while the security officers moved the side chairs to join them around the small coffee table. Lola stood. Ajit pushed a manila folder toward Cutter.
“I believe Rishi has identified Bart Preston’s partner.
” The security man gave an almost imperceptible nod to the first page in the folder, the photo of a man named Leo Bouchard, taken when he was boarding and linked to his passenger ID.
He had a prominent chin and thin, cotton fluff hair that was easily blown by the wind, judging by how mussed it was in the photo.
“Interestingly,” Ajit said, “Bouchard has been on and off the ship … three times today. He reboarded last just a few moments ago, not two minutes behind you.”
Cutter looked at Lola. “Did you notice anyone tailing you?”
She shook her head. “Could be a coincidence.”
“Nope,” Cutter said. “You know how I feel about those.”
“Me too,” Ajit said without waiting for an explanation.
“Why would he follow me?”
“Bart Preston’s arrest was very public,” Cutter said. “I imagine this Bouchard saw it and wants to know what we’re up to.”
“I should have let him catch me,” Lola said. “Then I could ask him what he’s up to.”
“Both Bouchard and Preston have Texas addresses,” Ajit said. “We’ve established several interactions between the two over the past twenty-four hours at various spots around the ship.”
Lola picked up her phone, thumbs poised and ready to type. “What’s his date of birth?”
Ajit flipped to the next sheet of paper in the folder. “Here it is—7 November 1980.”
Lola texted the information to Nancy Alvarez, the Anchorage police officer assigned full time to the Alaska Fugitive Task Force. She was already doing full workups on Bart Preston and Steven Cruz.
Cutter flipped through the file—a scant four pages. “Anyone else appear to be involved besides Bouchard?”
“Not that we can see,” Rishi said, full of youthful exuberance, less jaded by the world.
Her text message sent, Lola leaned on her elbows against the arm of the couch in a rigid plank, stretching her calves and working her abs as she spoke.
It wasn’t so much to burn off nervous energy as it was to utilize free moments for some kind of workout.
Cutter was used to it, and it didn’t seem to bother the security officers.
She glanced up at Ajit from her plank. “I read somewhere that you guys have a way of tracking the whereabouts of every passenger on the ship?”
“Some ships do,” he said. “We have the capability of searching facial recognition and key card use, but no tracking in real time as you would with an AirTag.”
“I don’t know if that makes me like this ship more or less,” Lola said.
“It might not matter,” Rishi said. “We’ve found four other instances of missing video—twenty-six minutes in total. It would be possible for someone to scrub the tracking data as well.”
“Any line on who’s mucking around in your system?” Cutter asked.
“We are narrowing that down,” Ajit said. “I have set a little trap, so to speak. With any luck your immigration authorities will escort them off the ship as soon as we reach Juneau—whoever they are.”
“After we talk to them.”
“Of course.” Ajit nodded at the computer tablet in Rishi’s hand. “Find Bouchard’s location.”
Rishi tapped the screen a few times. “Key card logs show him in his cabin. I assume you’d like to meet with him.”
“Let’s hold off on that,” Cutter said. “I’d prefer to watch him awhile. Could be he’s meeting with someone else in addition to Bart Preston. We need to suss out what his intentions are. Why he’s after Joellen—”
“Or if he even is,” Lola said. “After her, I mean.”
Cutter closed the folder and leaned back in the sofa. He had the urge to get the piece of cedar out and start carving but held off for the time being.
“Tell me about Steve Cruz. Do you believe he fell off the ship?”
“That would be extremely rare,” Ajit said. “But not impossible. Some twenty-five people go overboard from cruise ships each year. Most of those falls are not accidents, and there are almost always witnesses.”
“But someone could fall,” Cutter said. “Or be pushed over, and no one see them go?”
“That also would be extremely unlikely,” Ajit said.
“But not impossible,” Lola said.
“There are cameras all over the ship,” Ajit said. “I was personally involved in mapping their placement. You will understand this, Marshal Cutter. I think of the cameras as intersecting fields of fire. No dead zones.”
“Unless your inside man did you dirty and erased the good stuff,” Lola said. Her phone buzzed, forcing her to get up from her plank. She held the phone so Cutter could see the caller ID. It was Alvarez.
Lola picked up. “Hey, Nancy. I’m putting you on speaker with the boss and ship security. Whatcha got?”
“Steven Cruz is an active fraud investigator with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. I have a call into his supervisor, but you know the drill; we’re still at work here for three hours when they’ve already gone home for the day.
I can follow up with the emergency number if you need me to. ”
“Please do,” Cutter said. “We’re unable to locate him and suspect foul play.”
“Copy that,” Alvarez said. “Oddly enough, Leo Bouchard also has a background in law enforcement. He was a sergeant with the Sulphur Springs, Texas, Police Department. Resigned eight months ago to avoid an internal investigation over improper use of a city vehicle.”
“That’s good work, Nancy,” Lola said.
“The dispatcher on duty happened to be his ex-girlfriend,” Alvarez said. “Talkative would be an understatement.”
Cutter leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes to try and connect the dots. “Anything that ties Bouchard to Steven Cruz?”
“Nothing yet,” Alvarez said. “I’ll keep digging.”
Cutter thanked her and they ended the call.
“What’s next?” Cutter asked the group.
Ajit gave a contemplative nod. “We will find out who in my shop is deleting data.”
“And we’ll watch Leo Bouchard while he watches Joellen,” Lola said. “Maybe Nancy will come up with some connection to Cruz.”
“Perhaps,” Ajit said. “Deputy Teariki, I have to ask. Aren’t you worried about being trapped aboard the ship with a man who is apparently following you?”
“Not a bit,” Lola said. “Oh, I’m careful enough, but it’s worse for Leo Bouchard. He’s trapped on this ship with us.”