Chapter 9

George had managed to fast-track them a search warrant thanks to Judge Malone being on call today. His Honour had been a major donor to Thomas Whitman's opponent last election and was still peeved his man hadn't unseated the Senator. A uniformed officer had delivered to Chris and Rita the all-important "show me the goods" paper less than an hour after they'd called in the request. This meant they were ready to roll when they flashed Ortega's photo and key at the eager young man—Jerrod, according to his smart white and blue name tag—standing duty at the front desk of Andy's Storage and Moving Company and he confirmed that he had, indeed, seen Ortega here before and yes, that key does look like it opens one of our units. "Oh yes, sir" he said earnestly to Chris and then, looking wide-eyed at Rita, "yes, ma'am. I seen him here two or three times. Mean fellow. Not surprised he's in trouble with the law." Jerrod sounded like he was doing a bad line reading for a Law and Order audition. To look at him you'd think he'd waited his whole life to get this close to some real police action. And a real cop who looked like Rita.

"Well, Jerrod, do you think you could look up his unit number for us?" Rita was trying to bring the young man's attention to the urgent task she needed him to perform on the computer, and to get him to stop staring at her face, where he was keeping his eyes glued in a clear effort to make sure they didn't drift southward.

Jerrod nearly saluted. "Yes. Yes. I can do that. No problemo. Happy to help. Lemme see…" he was typing, looking over to Rita and grinning at her. Then looking at Chris, who was giving him the evil eye, and quickly putting his attention right back on the computer monitor. "Yep. Here it is. 246. Climate controlled. Nice unit. Very secure. I can hook you up with a good deal on one if you like?" He side-eyed Rita hopefully.

"Uh, thanks. But I'm good." Rita brushed him off. "Which way to 246?"

"I'll take you!" Jerrod started to run from behind the desk.

"No, no. That's fine. This is police business, and we'll need to keep the area clear. You stay here and make sure no one bothers us, okay? You've been very helpful, Jerrod. If you could just point us in the right direction…?"

Andy's Storage consisted of ten long buildings in five rows, with each building housing multiple storage units. Buildings in the back of the lot weren't climate controlled and contained a great number of smaller storage sheds. The closer to the front the building was, the larger the individual units got. All had roll-up doors with various kinds of locks keeping them more, or often less, secure. Jerrod waved them to the third building from the front office, which included climate-controlled, mid-sized garage-like rooms where the itinerant, the down-on-their-luck, and the families with too much stuff they couldn't bear to part with kept their worldly possessions side-by-side. Tucked in between units with masses of plastic toddler toys middle-class kids had outgrown and hoarders' stashes of junk they swore was actually valuable collectibles was Unit 246. The detectives slipped the key easily into the padlock, rolled up the door, and found the room lined with rows of cardboard boxes stacked three and four high. They each took a box from the top of different stacks near the front, setting them down at the entrance to the unit. Rita got hers open first and immediately felt queasy. "Ugh. Uh…" She half-turned her head, wrinkled her nose, and silently cursed. Having caught her breath she looked back into the box and confirmed that it was filled with neatly-packed stacks of DVDs whose covers promised the viewer "torture porn" beyond what she had thought possible. There must have been 100 disks just in this box alone.

"Are you finding what I'm finding, Sammy?" Chris asked, his voice weary.

"Sick bastard." Rita said without a lot of oomph. She was thinking about Chloe and how she had looked on the beach the morning they found her. Rita closed up the cardboard box. They would do a quick inventory just to see if all of the boxes held the same nightmares or if there was something else here that might help them find Ortega, but she didn't want to spend any more time than she had to actually looking at this horror.

"Is he pushing this stuff just for the money, or do you think the creep gets off on it as well?" Chris was staring off in the middle distance. Angry. Taking deep breaths to get it under control.

"I don't know, Chris. And I don't care, so long as we find him. Let's see if there's anything that'll help us locate Ortega, and then let's get out of here." Rita's voice was hard enough to cut glass.

"I may have an answer for you," Devon said, looking up at the two of them from her own unfortunate find. She held up something small and black in her left hand: "A compact flash card. From a digital camera." She handed it to Rita.

Chris raised his eyebrows.

"We'll take it back to the shop and get forensics to see what's on it," Rita said, studying the card with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

"And…" Devon cut back in, her voice rising. They both looked at her. In her right hand she was holding a pair of brass knuckles.

"Let me guess," Rita said.

Devon nodded. "The spike over the ring finger has a divot in it."

Chris whistled. "We got you, Ortega. We got you."

"Yeah, we just need to find him" Rita reminded him.

They did a quick search through the storage unit, but they didn't find much other than more of the same.

"Looks like Ortega was diversifying, trafficking in porn as well as drugs," Devon said, "but apparently he thought he was selling instruction manuals."

"Took his work too much too heart, our Carlos," Chris mused, tapping his chest with his right forefinger. He was leaning hard on the crutch of dark humor cops relied on to keep some emotional distance from a tough case. They were walking back to their cars, leaving the storage unit to the uniformed officers who'd come to inventory the contents before moving it all to the PBPD evidence room.

"We'll have to see what we find on the camera card, but yeah, it looks like it." Devon was looking back and forth between Chris and Rita. "So where would he go? He didn't come here after he shot out of the Juno Beach house. Do we think he's stupid enough to run to mommy and daddy's place?"

"It's our only lead at this point, so let's see what the Whitmans have to say for their sociopath of a son," Rita directed.

They were just getting into their cars when Devon's phone rang. "Agent White," she answered, glancing quickly at Chris and Rita. Then her eyes got wide with rage. "Dammit! Dammit! Are you sure he was on it?... Well find OUT!" She hit the 'off' icon on the screen of her iPhone and cursed the lack of satisfaction in the gesture. She wanted to hit something. Or someone. "A private plane left the North Palm Beach County Airport 90 minutes ago. And you'll never guess who the plane is registered to," she said sarcastically. Without giving them a chance to answer, she spat "Raul Ortega. Carlos Ortega's uncle."

"Was there a flight plan? Do we know who was on the plane?" Rita asked incredulously as Chris smacked his hand against the roof of his cruiser.

"It's a small, private airport. Filing a flight plan with the FAA is recommended, but not required. Nothing came in for this trip. We only know it took off because one of my FBI colleagues knew about the plane from the family files and, after I ordered the freeze on Ortega's passport, called out there to see if it was in town. Someone on the ground crew let slip that two people had come in unexpectedly and hauled ass to get the plane ready and off the ground." Devon was massaging her temples now, trying to ward off a headache. "No word yet on who the two men were."

"North Palm Beach is the general aviation airport close to Juno Beach," Chris looked at Rita.

"If he made good time, he could have made it from Vargas's house to the airport in twenty minutes. If it was Vermosse's ex who called and tipped him off right after you two left her, Ortega would have had plenty of time to get the plane ready and get out of there before we'd even started hitting the storage facilities." Rita was angrily cutting the air with her hands. "This bastard has been two steps ahead of us the whole time."

"Forget the parents. Forget waiting for the FBI to call us back. Let's go to the airport and see if anyone there got a good look at who took that plane," Chris commanded.

Thirty minutes later, they were interviewing the skeleton crew working at North Palm Beach airport, just one of the four general aviation airports required by a small city that was so overrun with the super-rich. One maintenance worker was eventually willing to admit he had overheard the two men who took the plane say something about "Key West." He glanced briefly at the photo of Ortega they showed him, but said he didn't know if that's who'd taken the plane or not.

Chris grabbed him roughly by the collar of his mechanic overalls and pulled the man's face close to his own. Slowly and clearly he said, "look again. For real this time. And tell me if you saw this man here today or not." He pushed the man back from him and substituted the photo for his own angry face. The man looked at it, looked at Chris who was glaring at him, and still holding onto his collar. The mechanic pushed Chris's fist off his neck, glanced at the photo for another few seconds and seemed to be stalling for time. Finally he said, "yeah, I dunno, maybe that was him."

"Maybe that was him?" Devon mocked. "Was it him or not, jackass?"

"Maybe. That's what I said."

Devon set her jaw. "I'm a Federal Agent, Darren…" she said, looking at his uniform dismissively as she read the name tag on it. "I suggest you work on your memory issues and take another look at the photo Officer Lorenzo here has provided. I'd hate to have to find something about you to make a federal case about…" It was an empty threat, but the kind that usually worked on obstreperous, but not particularly bright or criminally-minded, witnesses. She wasn't really the cowboy type, but sometimes you had to play to people's worst stereotypes of the Bureau in order to break a big case. She didn't enjoy it, but she wasn't above it, either.

Chris wagged the photo helpfully, drawing Darren's attention back to it. Darren stared at it for a few minutes, seemingly trying to decide which action posed the greater risk to his personal safety, ratting out Ortega or stonewalling the cops. Proximity won. "Yeah, he was here. He got on the plane."

"Shit" Devon sighed. Rita turned and started walking back to the car.

"See, Darren, that wasn't so hard now was it?" Chris smacked him upside the head with an open hand before turning to follow Rita.

…

Back at their desks, they immediately started making calls. Devon to both the FBI and the FAA to see if Ortega had gone through the general aviation airport in Key West. Chris and Rita to various police departments and friends on the force in the Keys and Miami, just in case Ortega had opted for a different route. It was just under an hour's flying time from Palm Beach to Key West. If that's where Ortega had gone, it was possible he was still on the island. If so, they wanted him grounded there.

An hour after they had gotten back to the station, they received confirmation that Ortega and someone piloting for him had indeed taken his uncle's small plane to Key West. But apparently they had no intention of leaving so little distance between themselves and the cops. The pilot had radioed ahead to get another, larger, plane ready to leave as soon as Ortega arrived. It was already off the ground.

"He's flown the coop," they had to report to Lipschitz.

"What do you mean flown the coop?" Harry's voice went up an octave as he pounded his desk with his fist.

"Someone tipped him off that we were coming to Vargas's house to find him; Vermosse's ex, we think," Chris explained. "He had enough lead time to get to his family's jet and get out of town before we tracked him down, Cap. He made it to Key West and took a second flight from there." Chris sounded as dejected as he felt, which didn't stop Lipschitz's nostrils from flaring.

"The second plane filed a flight plan and manifest with the FAA, probably to avoid raising immediate suspicion and giving them a chance to get into international airspace before we knew they were gone. The pilot seems to have been just some flier-for-hire who regularly makes extra cash chauffeuring any rich person who needs him. The name they gave for the passenger was Jesus Ortega, Carlos's cousin. But a colleague in Miami checked, and the cousin's currently eating a steak dinner at his favourite spot on Lincoln Road in South Beach. So all money is on Carlos as the real passenger." Devon's hands were on her hips, her lips pursed, eyes narrowing. She didn't take well to feeling helpless and outsmarted.

"And where, pray tell, did they say there were going on their little vacation?" Lipschitz's sarcasm was only ramping up.

"Haiti." Devon said simply.

"Haiti?" Lipschitz raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Haiti was close enough to reach in the small plane they were flying. And even though they have an extradition treaty with the U.S., the wheels of justice turn rather slowly there. Plus, both the police and immigration are easily persuaded to look the other way if you have the kind of cash Ortega flashes," Rita explained.

"We've talked to the consulate in Port au Prince and are working on an extradition warrant." Devon chimed in again.

Harry just stared at them, shaking his head. "Unbelievable…." He sighed. Giving the detectives a serious look over the top of his glasses he said, "Listen, you three did great work today. Keep on it. Good work." He paused, shaking his head again. "The rich. They think they're above the law. But they're not. We're going to get this guy." He looked at Rita. "You did good, Rita. We're going to get him."

…

A mere 24 hours later, they were back in Lipschitz's office with another update.

As their new information had come from the feds, Devon took the lead. "The plane Carlos was on made a last minute diversion to the Dominican Republic, not Haiti. By the time the State Department had gotten that information sorted and notified local authorities, Ortega was out of sight." Up until now, Devon's tone had been professional and unemotional. But as she continued, a certain weariness started to kick in. "We'll keep scouting for him on both sides of the island, but Ortega's not much for roughing it. Our best guess is that he's on his way to the greater comforts of Vietnam, where he keeps a vacation property. We're getting agents in place in case that is where he's headed. If he hasn't landed yet, there's a chance we can catch him on his way into the country. But assuming that's where he is or is headed, and in the quite likely event he's already there, Vietnam is convenient for Ortega and tricky for us."

Lipschitz raised an eyebrow.

"They don't extradite criminals to the US," Rita explained.

"So where does that leave us," Cap asked, looking pained. This was partly due to the irritating turn in the case, and partly due to another spasm in his lower back.

"I'll keep working it through the federal side of things," Devon said. "We've got agents all over Southeast Asia who now have enough pictures of Ortega to wallpaper their offices."

"And you'll keep us in the loop," Chris and Cap said at the same time, both looking at her seriously.

"You know it. You all worked too hard on this not to be the first to get a call when we find him."

"If we find him," Rita said softly.

"We'll find him." Devon's voice conveyed more certainty than she felt. In Vietnam, it would be difficult, but hardly impossible, for Ortega to disappear and stay hidden for a good long time if he wanted. On the other hand, she believed in her co-workers and knew they'd work hard to find him. She also knew Carlos wasn't the type to stay out of the action forever. She figured him as too cocky, and too eager to make a name for himself, to stay away for more than a few years, and she said as much to her new friends in the PBPD.

"Agent White, you've been a huge help on this one. But don't forget," Cap said, pointing at Rita and Chris, "Lance and Lorenzo here get a crack at this guy once he's back in the U S of A."

Chris and Rita just smiled patiently at the Cap, appreciative as always of his protectiveness of them. Devon smiled, too, as she nodded.

Chris and Rita walked Devon outside to say their good-byes. "I'll call you with any updates," Devon was saying as they approached her car.

"And you'll be back in September, for the Night Moves fundraiser," Rita reminded her.

"Absolutely. I've got some more ideas for the silent auction. Let's talk next week, once I'm settled back in down in Miami." Devon and Rita exchanged a friendly hug. Then Devon looked at Chris who flashed that famous Lorenzo grin and gave a mock salute. Devon just rolled her eyes while Rita laughed, a bit of a twinkle coming back into her deep green eyes.

As Devon drove off, Chris and Rita looked at each other for a long moment, then silently turned and walked side-by-side back inside to tackle the never-ending pile of paperwork on their desks. They were still at it more than an hour later when Lipschitz came out of his office. Standing just outside his door frame, he looked at each of them, shook his head and then barked, "Lance! Lorenzo!"

Chris and Rita shot each other a quizzical look as they turned their heads toward Harry.

"Get out of here,"he said, his voice softening. "Take a break. Get some dinner. You've earned it."

Rita looked at Chris, one eyebrow raised. Then she turned her eyes back to Harry, and then back to Chris again. A grin was spreading across his face as he and Rita made eye contact and both nodded. "You got a deal, Cap!" Chris laughed lightly. "Hah!"

Rita was already straightening up the files she'd had open and quickly shoving stuff into desk drawers. "Thanks, Cap," she chirped as she grabbed her purse.

"Just don't be late tomorrow morning. The Shannon case isn't going to solve itself. And apparently Smith and Jackson aren't going to solve it either, " Harry yelled to their backs as they were half-way to the squad room doors. Detectives Smith and Jackson pretended not to hear him. They were perfectly capable, and might be able to close the Shannon case given enough time, but apparently they were still on Harry's shit list for their juvenile antics last week. Harry wasn't a fan of practical jokes, at least not when they were at his expense. And their switching his decaf coffee for regular late in the day just to see him get increasingly jittery had led to Harry having difficulty sleeping for days. Worse, it was all he could do to keep Frannie from coming in and "giving those boys a stern talking to." This kind of trouble he didn't need from his own detectives.

The Sams decided to make the most of their unexpectedly early end to the work day. They grabbed some beer and pizza and headed over to Rita's place. They were quiet at first, just enjoying each other's company. Once they were ready to hit their second slices, Chris broke the companionable silence. "So Devon's coming back for the Night Moves auction?"

"Yeah, she seemed to connect with the work. I think she supports the cause. Even though she doesn't want kids of her own, she's committed to helping out the 'strays,' as you like to call them." Rita tilted her head toward Chris as she offered him a wry smile.

"Another cop with a big heart. Just like you, Sammy," he said with a softness in his voice. Rita's generous spirit and big heart were just two of the many things he loved about her.

"Well, I don't know about that, Sam." Rita shrugged lightly, her voice soft and dropping a bit shyly. "But I do care about those kids. And I want Ortega to pay for what he did."

"He will, Sammy." Chris swiped a bit of her hair back from her forehead with his index finger. "Eventually, we'll get him." He had to believe that. He knew they might not, but he had to believe that they would.

"So," Rita said, changing the subject to something more pleasant, "are you sorry to see Devon go?" She was teasing him. She knew how much he appreciated good-looking women, and he and Devon had certainly gotten along. "You two seemed to work pretty well together there partner." Her eyes were dancing again. Chris was pretty sure she was teasing him.

"Well, you know" he said, shrugging his shoulders, playing the confident rogue, "women like me. What can I say?" He laughed, and Rita tossed a bit of pizza crust at him that nailed him right in the center of his forehead. "Hey!" he yelped as they both started giggling.

"What about you, Sammy? You like being a threesome?"

Rita just rolled her eyes at his poor attempt at humour. "I liked Devon a lot." She paused, and then said thoughtfully as she caught and held his gaze, "but we make a good team."

"Yeah we do, Sammy," Chris said, his tone softer and more serious now. "Yes we do." Their eyes stayed locked on each other slightly longer than "just friends" might do. And then they each took a bite of pizza and looked elsewhere.

"So do you think if Devon had stuck around longer that you and she might have become more, um, friendly?" Rita asked, trying to lighten the mood again, but then realizing this might not have been the safest of subjects.

Chris's eyes popped wide. "Um…" he started to blush. "Naw. No. I mean, she's a very attractive woman, don't get me wrong."

"Uh huh," Rita said, rolling her eyes at him again.

"But, you know, office romances…." He trailed off, but then said in a rush, "I mean, sometimes they can probably work, you know, in some cases…" he trailed off again.

"But I think Devon learned her lesson the hard way on that one," Rita saved him from having to figure out how to finish his thought.

Chris looked at her, interested and bemused. "How do you mean?"

Rita shared with Chris the story of Devon's failed affair with her partner, ending with how they had to split up the teams in their unit and now had an incredibly awkward professional relationship. "They had a great thing going as partners, you know? And then they crossed the line." Rita was looking meaningfully at Chris now. "And they blew it."

Chris held Rita's gaze a second, and then smiled, pointing at her with the crust of his fourth slice of pizza. Honestly, Rita didn't know how he could eat so much and stay in the kind of shape he did. "That's the great thing about us, Sammy. We got it perfect and we know it."

Rita's heart warmed. Chris was her best friend. And even though, every once in a while, she found herself having those "what if" thoughts, they passed quickly. She loved him too much to risk his friendship for what she was sure would be terrific sex, but feared would also be a regretted one-night-stand. "I know, Sam. We're too smart to mess up a good thing." Her green eyes brightened as they again locked onto Chris's deep blue ones. She saw so much respect and love in them.

They laughed easily and leaned into each other, their shoulders pressed together. Chris gave Rita's temple a friendly kiss. Then he grabbed the TV remote in one hand and with his other led Rita to the couch. As they were sitting down, he turned on the Bogie & Bacall double feature: The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep were just about to start playing on the classic movie channel. Chris draped his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers resting lightly on Rita's shoulder. She snuggled into his side and they stayed there in the flickering light of the TV, enjoying each other's company and quoting all their favorite dialogue along with the two actors who'd made such a great team, professionally and personally.

The end?