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“We’ll take care of it. Anything else?”
“Just that I took the liberty of picking up copies of the police reports in San Francisco. No prints on the fake cops you found tossing your hotel room. But there was a match on a print from the man who robbed the bookstore. Jakob ‘Jak’ Stanislav.”
“I take it he’s well known in the system?”
“Definitely a vast criminal history. From a crime family suspected in a number of missing persons cases where the bodies have yet to be found.”
“Duly noted.”
“If I discover anything further, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” He disconnected.
Remi reached for her towel and wrapped it about her, then sat next to him on the longue. “Who was that?”
“Archer. Bree appears to check out.”
“Hmm,” she said, her tone very smug.
“He’s doing some further digging into Larayne. Seems she’s having financial issues and is literally about to lose the farm.”
“But to set up her father?”
“People have done worse for less. The good news is that until Archer’s done with his investigating and Selma’s done with her research, we have nothing better to do than make headway on that vacation I promised you.”
“A lovely thought, Fargo, but we did promise to visit your mother this afternoon.”
His mother, Eunice, still going strong in her seventies, lived in Key West, where she ran a charter boat for snorkelers and deep-sea fishing. “Surely she’d understand.”
Remi arched a fine brow at him. “And what would you be telling her as the reason we had to cancel?”
Before he could think of something suitable, his phone rang for a second time that morning. It was Selma, and Sam placed it on speaker. “Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Mr. Fargo, but Lazlo thinks he knows how to find that cipher wheel.”
Twenty-two
Tell us what you have,” Sam said, then sat back as Selma talked about the history of the ship that sank near Snake Island.
“It was a part of a fleet that set sail from Jamaica. We were able to find some of the records of the other ships on the Internet but hit a dead end. We think you’ll be able to find what you’re looking for in Jamaica.”
“Jamaica?” Remi said. “I love Jamaica this time of year.”
“Unfortunately,” Selma replied, “you’re headed to Kingston, not the beaches. Definitely some areas you want to avoid.”
“Kingston it is,” Sam said. “So what is it we’re looking for, Selma?”
&n
bsp; “Records that trace the ownership of the fleet. Where it originated prior to the stop in Jamaica. That should give us a fair idea about where to start looking for that second wheel—or, rather, the original one. Just be careful. If we found the information this easily, chances are that Avery’s men may very well be there chasing after the same lead.”
The ever-efficient Selma made sure everything was ready the moment their plane touched down at Norman Manley International. A rental car employee greeted them at the office after they cleared customs. “Welcome to Jamaica, Mr. and Mrs. Fargo,” he said with a lilting accent. He gave them a broad smile, his teeth gleaming white against dark skin, as he held out a map, the rental papers, and car keys.
Sam eyed the map. “The car has GPS?”
“Of course. A very nice one, I assure you. The map makes a good fan on a hot day.”
“Thank you,” Sam replied, signing the paperwork.
The employee walked them out to show them the car, a blue BMW 528i sedan. Once the inspection was done, he asked, “Will there be anything else you will be needing this fine afternoon?”
