Chapter 13: It Ain't Over 'Till It's Over

"How's Ros," I asked Sally quietly. She was sitting in a chair in the waiting room of the Roosevelt Heights Private Hospital.

"She's out of it, Rick. It's going to be a while before she's back with us. She's pretty loaded up with drugs ... not just heroin. They're doing a tox screen to see just what's there. We should know in a couple of hours. There's some other problems too."

"Like what?"

"Sexual abuse. Vaginal and Anal. I don't know what's been going on, but I can't imagine that she submitted willing to what's happened to her. Maybe when she's more coherent we can find out. I hope you took care of that bastard."

"He's still alive, if that's what you mean. I've handed him off to the NYPD. They did a thorough search of his apartment with my help. He'll lawyer up pretty quickly, but I have it on good authority that he'll be held for the maximum seventy-two hours before he gets a bail hearing. With city and federal cops involved, I'd be surprised if he gets bail, but in this day and age, you never know. I've got some people watching out for him if he does get out."

"Will he come after us?" Sally asked with a stern look.

"You're almost hoping he will, aren't you," I suggested.

"If I thought we could take him out, I would."

"Let's wait and see what happens. I've got contingency plans just in case."

"What kind of contingency plans?" she asked.

"Never mind. You concentrate on your mother. I'll look after security."

That didn't seem to satisfy her, but she didn't pursue it further.

It was almost nine that night that we got a report from the doctors. Sally was right, it wasn't just heroin. She had some ecstasy and GHB to go along with it. It was going to be a while to flush out her system and bring her back to the here and now. A week by the sound of it, and it wasn't going to be pleasant for her.

"There is some vaginal and anal tearing that needs to heal," the doctor explained. "I'd say she had been pretty badly abused over a period of time. She had bruises on her arms and legs, so she might have been restrained in some way."

I saw Sally turn away and cover her eyes. For a hardened police officer, it would be bad enough. For a daughter, it was almost too much. I was pretty sure not all of this was just John Johnson. It sounded like he invited some friends in to join the party.

I took my lady's hand and held it tightly. She needed support right now and that was my main job.

"We're going to take care of this, one way or another, Sal. Trust me, he won't get away with this. That I promise."

She looked at me with reddened eyes and nodded. She heard the tone of my voice and knew me well enough that this was far from over.

Against all odds and common sense, Janus Jovanovic, alias John Johnson, was freed on one million dollars bail. It took him less than two hours to arrange for the one hundred thousand dollars required. As he walked out of the precinct house, he was immediately arrested by immigration officials and charged with possessing a false passport and entering the country illegally.

I had a smile on my face as I watched the little drama. I could see his lawyer shaking his head and watching as they hustled him into a van, heading for the federal detention center in Goshen. There would be a hearing scheduled, but not at any time in the immediate future. His lawyer would fuss and fume, but the wheels of justice in federal institutions moved quite a bit slower than the city. That effectively neutralized Mr. Johnson until both the District Attorney in Brooklyn and the federal authorities could press formal charges. I wondered briefly if Homeland Security might be involved.

"I have people following his every footstep, Sal. If ... and I do mean if ... they grant him bail, we'll know the minute it happens and we'll be watching him 24/7." I hoped that would put her mind at ease.

"He's going to pay for what he did to my mother, Rick. He's going to pay, big time."

I nodded. "I know how you feel, but let's keep it to ourselves. I have a feeling that he'll help us with that. He's just too sure of himself to think he can't get away with it."

It took Rosalind eight days to recover from the cocktail of drugs she had been fed. Her memory of what had happened was sketchy, but apparently her erstwhile boyfriend had started her off on ecstasy and probably some of the date rape drug, introducing her to heroin when she was pretty much out of it. The parts she did remember with disgust was the gangbang Johnny-boy had organized with three other guys, none of whom spoke English.

She wept as she recalled her inability to stop what was happening, or even resist. It was almost as if she wanted it to happen, she cried. Through the days following her release from hospital we did two things that Sally and I knew were essential. We got the hell out of New York and we stayed close to Sally's mother, giving her all the emotional support and comfort we could.

Christmas with my parents in Naples seemed to be the turning point for Ros. My parents always loved to celebrate Christmas, often inviting friends and neighbors to Christmas dinner in my absence. With Sally, Ros and me around, they were in their element. I could almost see Ros coming out of her funk, beginning to open like a flower in the sun.

Sally and Ros had gone shopping together while I was with my mother on a quest. It took us a while before we both agreed on a choice. I had it gift wrapped and kept it hidden until Christmas Day.

"There's something I need to tell you, Rick," Sally said the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

"What's that?" I asked, almost anticipating what she might say.

"Ros and I are going back to El Cajon. She's ready to go back and she needs me. I'm sorry. I really am. I think this is what's best for her ... and me."

"What about me?" I asked, in a daze. It was about the only think I could think of to say.

She was shaking her head. "I really am sorry, Rick. I thought maybe I could handle your lifestyle, but I was kidding myself. You're a loner. I'm just excess baggage. That's not the life I dreamed of."

"But ... I've retired," I pleaded, almost on the border of begging. "I won't be doing what I used to do any more. I'll be out of that completely."

Again, she was shaking her head. "You'll be out of it until something important comes up or one of your old friends calls and needs your skills. Can you tell me that would never happen?"

I sat, staring at her, stunned at her decision. It had come from nowhere. I had no inkling she was thinking this way.

"I can always refuse a contract. Always!"

"Sure," she said, "but would you? Would you turn down a friend or someone who really needed you? I don't think so."

"Is there anything I can do or say that would change your mind?" I asked, trying not to whine.

She shook her head once more. "It's for the best, Rick. You live your life and we'll live ours. We just don't mesh very well."

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"The day after tomorrow. What do you want to do about your car?"

"Keep it. I won't need it any more. E-mail me the title and I'll sign it over to you."

"Rick, this isn't the end of the world. You and I both know that stepping away from your old life is harder than just saying 'No.'"

I'd lost the energy to argue. I wasn't going to change her mind any more than when she left me in Seattle. She was a strong-willed woman and once she'd made her decision, that was it. It was great while it lasted, but it hadn't lasted. This one hurt. I had plans

It was a solemn Christmas for me and my parents. I walked Norton on the beach each day, trying to decide what to do next. The fact that I had no longer had a plan for my future really cemented in my mind exactly what Sally was trying to tell me. At forty years old, I had nothing to show for it except money. In all likelihood, I would be asking myself the same questions twenty years from now.

I stepped to the counter and put my large bag on the scale.

"A first class ticket to St. Maarten, please."

"May I see your passport, sir," the young lady requested. She glanced at it and returned it to me. "When will you be returning, Mr. Vermeulen?"

"I don't know. A one-way ticket will be fine."

We were standing on the beach in St. Maarten, the Dutch side of the island. The sun had dropped low enough that the heat of the sand didn't scorch the bottom of my bare feet. The young lady with me was a new acquaintance. We had met at a poker table in the big casino.

I had watched for a while to see what kind of players were assembled there. Aside from the girl, the rest of the seven were total amateurs at Texas hold'em. This was too good to pass up. I waited until one of the men went broke and I took his place. Two hours later, the girl and I were the only ones left at the table. We declared it a draw and left.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I offered.

"Sure," she agreed quickly.

We sauntered to the bar and sat. "What would you like?"

"Campari and soda, please."

I nodded and ordered it along with a Heineken.

"My name's Rick Vermeulen."

"Pattie Monahan," she smiled.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Vancouver."

"Ah ... yeah, I have a friend in Vancouver. Runs an investigation and security business."

"That wouldn't be Orca, would it?" she asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah ... that's the one. Do you know it?"

"Sure, I work there. You must know Harold Sinden then," she said.

"Yes ... definitely. We worked together a few years ago."

"Really? What were you doing?"

"Oh ... it was one of those joint task-force things between Interpol and the U.S."

"So that was before he started Orca, then?"

"That's right." I confirmed.

"When was the last time you saw him?" she asked.

"Last spring. We went fishing for a couple of days in Pender Harbor."

"Huh! Small world, eh?"

"Yeah. So what do you do at Orca?"

"Forensic accounting."

"Wow ... that's impressive. Where did you learn to play poker?"

"I've been playing on-line for a couple of years but not much face-to-face action. I came down here on vacation and discovered they played it in the casinos."

"So, is that haul you made tonight typical of how you do?" I asked with a grin.

She looked at me with a careful stare. "Pretty much. I move around so I don't wear out my welcome."

"So how much did you win tonight?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Don't know."

"Come on. An accountant that doesn't know how much money she won? Gimme me a break."

She looked at me with a wrinkled little smile. "Eight thousand, three hundred, sixty-seven dollars."

"Not bad," I nodded. "Paid for the trip I imagine."

"I paid for the trip the first night here. The rest is gravy."

"How are you going to get it all home without attracting attention?" I asked.

"I'm a forensic accountant, remember. I know all the tricks people use. The ones that work and the ones that don't."

"I could use some advice," I said. "I have some off-shore investments I might want to move."

"It'll cost you," she said with a straight face.

"How much?"

"Dinner at the best restaurant on the French side."

"Done. When?"

"Tomorrow."

"How long are you here?" I asked.

"Another six days. It's a ten day tour package."

"What do you do when you're not gambling?"

She looked at me carefully once more. "Swim, sailboard, walk the beach, scuba dive."

"I take there's no Mr. Monahan or boyfriend around?"

"Nope. I'm real fussy about the company I keep."

"Good plan. What time and where should I meet you tomorrow night?"

"I'm at the Queen Beatrix Hotel. Pick me up in front at seven. I'll make the reservation and show you how to get there."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Don't run away, Rick. The night's still young," she said with a smile, waggling her eyebrows.

"You sure you want to hang out with an old guy like me?"

"How old is old?"

"Forty."