Last Redemption by Matt Coyle

Author:Matt Coyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

I TURNED RIGHT instead of left outside Holland’s office. The lobby and the elevators were to the left. I guessed security was to the right. I passed a couple offices with well-dressed women sitting at desks staring at computer screens.

The third office door down the hall was open and had a placard with “Security” on it. I peeked inside. A buff twenty-something white dude with a crew cut sat behind a desk. The sleeves of his tan short-sleeve shirt were rolled up a couple inches to show off his bulging biceps. He lifted his head up and eyeballed me.

“Can I help you?” He didn’t sound like he really wanted to.

“Yes, you can. Thanks.” I smiled like I thought he’d been sincere. “Is Robert around?”

“Nope. Would you like to leave your name so I can tell him who’s looking for him?” He made “looking for him” sound like a bad thing. With negative consequences if the looker found him.

I debated leaving my name. If Robert was Dan Williams’ stakeout partner and Linda Holland hired both of them to find Luke MacFarlane, she would undoubtedly tell him all about her meeting with me and my identity would no longer be a secret.

“Sure. Tell him Dan Williams dropped by to see him.” Why not keep shaking that tree?

Crew Cut humphed and wrote something down on a pad.

I thanked him and retraced my steps back to the lobby. The supermodel receptionist didn’t even try faking a smile this time. I faked one instead then took the elevator down to the parking lot. My car was a few rows back. I scanned the lot before I approached it. Still no white BMW X6. No Robert from A Hand Up security either. That is, if he was the same guy I saw with Dan Williams in the BMW in front of Luke MacFarlane’s apartment last night. I’d bet my pink slip that he was.

I sat in my car and watched the entrance of the office building for thirty-five minutes. Neither Linda Holland nor Robert from security exited. I sat for another couple minutes and mulled over the Luke MacFarlane disappearance case.

All I had was a jumble of jigsaw pieces without a box to show the big picture. Which puzzle piece went where? I didn’t know. But instinct told me they fit together to form something illegal or evil and I knew someone who might be able to give me some direction. I pointed my car down La Jolla Village Drive toward the Interstate 5 exit and made a hands-free Bluetooth call to that someone.

“Rick Cahill, private detective.” A slight southern accent. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Odell Donohue. A wealthy private investor for whom I’d done some work last year. He was about to invest in a chain of nutritional supplement stores, but wanted me to run a background check on the owner. I did and discovered that he was into supplements. Just not the ones he sold. His nutrition consisted of steroids for breakfast and fentanyl for dinner.

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