Chapter 12: Too Much Like Work

It was almost ten days before I heard from Harold Sinden. That implied that either there was nothing to be known about John Johnson, or conversely, a lot more than met the eye.

"Well, Rick, you certainly find interesting ways to challenge us. It took a bit of searching, but I think we've got a handle on your man. I'm sending you a photo of someone and you can let me know if this is the man you have been asking about."

"Send away," I said, watching my little screen for something to appear. In a few seconds, the head and shoulders of a man appeared and I examined it closely. It wasn't a recent picture, but I was 99% certain it was John Johnson.

"That's him," I said. "Tell me what you know."

"His real name is Janus Jovanovic. He was born in 1961 in Zagreb, but has lived in both Belgrade and Sarajevo before moving to Dubrovnik. He speaks most of the Yugoslav dialects quite fluently and passed himself off as a businessman. He was educated in England at Liverpool University and speaks English fluently, as you have already discovered.

"It seems his success as a writer of fiction is quite accidental. It's more of a profitable hobby. His real interests lie with trading in drugs, I'm told. Most of them are smuggled out of Albania we think, and end up in Italy for furtherance. We don't know how much money he has stashed away to be certain, but it is well in excess of €250 million. Far more than he would ever earn from pulp novels."

"Holy shit, that's amazing. Is he a ringleader or just a conduit?"

"No, he's one of the top organizers, backed by the Russian Mafia we think. He's a very dangerous man and I'd be very careful around him if I were you."

"My problem is that Sally's mother has fallen for him and is his constant companion. I'm not sure what to do about that."

"Well, I suppose you could warn her, but I'm not sure that's a good idea. We could let the authorities take care of him, but the word is that they are trying to move through him to the key players in Russia."

"I have access to him," I said. "I could use my usual tactics."

"That might have some fallout on both sides of the equation, Rick. In any event, I caution you to take care, whatever you decide."

"Thanks, Harold. As always, you come through for me when I really need it. Thank you."

So much for vacation time. Now what do I do? Tell Sally? Not yet. Take Johnson out? Risky and probably bad for Ros. I needed a strategy and I didn't have one yet. Ros would probably be on the road with Johnson while he was on his book tour. I didn't think anything would happen that would endanger her there. If anything, she would be vulnerable in Dubrovnik if she went there with him.

It also brought up some other questions. Johnson was rich far beyond what we might think of a successful writer. With his looks and money, he could have any woman he chose. Why Ros? Not that she wasn't beautiful, but why a fifty-year-old widow when he could have any number of young, nubile wenches to satisfy his lusts? There had to be a reason.

Sally and I spent another month in New England, enjoying the particularly nice fall weather. We did the usual sight-seeing and otherwise just enjoyed relaxing in each other's company. It was nearing the time for us to leave for Florida when Sally came to me.

"Rick, I can't seem to get ahold of mother. I have her cell phone number, but I don't have the number for John's apartment in New York. Apparently it's unlisted. Do you think you could get it for me?"

"Are you worried about her?" I asked, wondering if her woman's intuition had alerted her to what I had learned about Mr. Johnson.

"It's not like her to be off her phone. I've left several messages, but so far no reply. She's addicted to her iPhone."

"Okay, give me a minute." I took my phone out of my pocket and looked up the number Harold had given me. I was quietly kicking myself for not following up sooner once I learned who John Johnson really was.

I pressed in the number and waited at the call went through. It rang several times before it was picked up and I handed the phone to Sally.

"Mother? Is that you? Are you all right?"

Pause

"You don't sound right. What's wrong?"

Pause

"Is John there?"

Pause

"When is he coming back?"

Pause

"Okay, you stay in. We'll come down to visit. You don't sound good. We'll be there soon."

Pause

"It's no trouble, Mom. We'll see you soon. Bye for now."

Sally had a worried look on her face when she handed me back my phone.

"She doesn't sound right. She sounds dopey ... sleepy. Something's wrong, Rick. I need to go there."

"Not without me," I said. "Pack a bag ... enough for several days. We'll catch the shuttle out of Logan."

I had withheld the information on Johnson deliberately so as not to upset Sally. I hadn't figured out what to do about it anyway, and to be honest with myself, I had stalled doing anything. By the sound of it, that time was past.

"I got the impression John wasn't at the apartment," I said as we hustled to pack and head toward Boston.

"Mom said he was away on business for a couple of days. She thought he might be back tomorrow. She sounded out of it, Rick. I'm worried. She might be sick."

"We'll be there quick enough, Sal. There's a flight every hour by several airlines, so we can be there this afternoon."

Sally buzzed the apartment listed for Johnson, J. and waited for a response. It took a while, but finally a vague voice came on the speaker.

"Yes?"

"It's me, Mom. Sally. And Rick. Can we come up?"

"Oh ... Sally ... yes ... let me push this button."

I heard the zap of the electric lock and I pushed the door to the inner lobby open. Johnson's apartment was on the tenth floor. By the look of the building there would only be four apartments on each floor unless they were exceptionally large. We rode the elevator silently, Sally now visibly worried. The sound of Ros's voice was distant and slow, almost as if she was just waking from a sleep.

I knocked on the door to 1002 fairly firmly. Nothing happened for what seemed like a long time and I was just about to knock again when the door opened a crack and I saw a very disheveled Rosalind Baynes peer out to see who it was.

"Mom ... let us in, please," Sally pleaded.

I saw the door close and hear the security chain before it slowly opened again. Sally pushed through first and looked at her mother in shock. She was wearing a dressing gown and looked like she had just gotten out of bed. But it was almost four in the afternoon. I looked her over more closely.