I looked up the street and spotted a scooter rental outfit. “Not necessarily.”
*****
Ocean City is two-wheeled rental central. You can find just about any kind of two-wheeled transportation you might desire for rent within the city limits. Scooters have become an extremely popular mode of transport in this town, given the high price of gas and the low availability of parking. Rather than risk Jamila’s wheels, I’d get my own. Why blow bucks on a car, if I could get by with less? The scooter was speedy and cheap. Highly maneuverable in traffic. I took it for a test ride on the straightaway of Coastal Highway. This baby could move. It maxed out at a blinding 45 miles per hour, though it felt like closer to 60. So, I backed her down quickly.
As I played with my new toy, I pondered where to go next. If the police suspected Curtis Little of smuggling illegal workers, I wondered how much evidence they had. I also wondered if Little and Sutterman could have been smuggling people and drugs in a joint operation. How interesting would that be? And what proof did I have? None, of course. What else was new?
Think, Sam. Where to start looking? How about Little’s trailer? Haven’t the cops been there? Perhaps not. Maybe they haven’t gotten a warrant yet. So what are you waiting for?
I pulled the scooter over and called Amber’s cell number. She answered on the second ring.
“Hi there,” I said. “I need a Spanish translator. How’d you like to do something a bit different this morning?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’d managed to catch Amber before she left for work. Although she hadn’t planned on making a trip to Curtis Little’s trailer, I stressed that the cops could be obtaining a warrant as we spoke, making time a factor. I assumed they suspected Little of smuggling illegals based on evidence obtained at his workplace or around the crime scene. Invading his home would require probable cause, which I was pretty sure they were trying to establish with a judge at that very moment. Before they did, I wanted to take a look inside that trailer and see if anything connected Little’s death with Billy Ray’s. This meant, if I hoped to find anything, I needed to act fast.
I made a quick stop at Jamila’s car to transfer a few personal belongings into the scooter’s storage compartment before taking off to meet Amber at a mutually convenient parking lot. We took her car to Little’s trailer. A knock at the door and Carmen answered.
“Hola, Carmen,” I said. “Me llamo, Sam.”
“Sí” She smiled and nodded. “Recuerdo.”
“Carmen … uh …” I gestured back and forth between the two women. “Amber Moore.”
Amber picked up the ball and started rattling off Spanish. Carmen responded in kind. I stood there, grinning. This went on for a bit. Carmen invited us in. Apparently. We went in. I kept grinning and nodding. Carmen took on a slightly alarmed look. Amber’s voice assumed a soothing quality. She placed a comforting hand on Carmen’s arm. The woman seemed somewhat appeased, but still wary. Amber paused and said, “I asked if the police have been here. She freaked a bit. She claims her work visa is valid, but I wonder, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” I said, sotto voce. A bit louder, I added, “Excuse me, Carmen, dónde está, um, el baño?”
Carmen pointed toward the other end of the double-wide. A bathroom door was on the right, next to a small room with a bed and dresser. A dresser full of drawers. “A la derecha,” she said.
“To the right,” Amber translated.
“Got it,” I said. “Can you, um, keep her occupied?”
“Sam …”
“I need to duck in there for a quick peek before the cops come in and scoop everything up.”
Amber sucked in a quick breath. “Okay.” She turned toward Carmen and guided her toward a sofa, keeping her facing away from me. Together, they sat and gabbed about whatever. I sc
urried down the hall, bypassing the bathroom, slipping into the bedroom, and began rifling through the dresser drawers as fast as I possibly could.
I pulled the first one open only to find socks and underwear. The second one revealed shirts and long johns. The third one contained some official-looking paperwork, but I didn’t have the time to sort it all out. The whole enterprise began to feel like an exercise in futility until I opened the bottom drawer. It was jammed with rows of Social Security cards and visas marked “H-2A.” I searched my memory. Hadn’t Amber mentioned something about these visas? I’d stake my next retainer that these allowed foreigners to do seasonal agricultural work in the United States.
This was it. The first real lead I’d found. But to where? What did it signify? The Social Security cards and visas were obvious fakes. So this confirmed that Curtis Little was indeed involved in smuggling illegals into the country. But why was he killed? And what, if anything, did it have to do with Billy Ray’s death?
My muddled thoughts were interrupted by pounding on the door.
I heard it open.
“Police,” a man said. “We have a warrant to search the premises.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
While Amber and Carmen distracted the cops, I slunk into the tiny bathroom. I flushed the toilet, ran the tap several seconds, then left and walked toward the visitors, slapping my hands against my jeans.
And who led this contingent? The short craggy-faced cowboy with the calloused hands.