Chapter 22 Chapter Twenty

I waited patiently, not an easy task, but a strategy Harry taught me.But Deborah hadn't learned to wait patiently, and soon she lost her composure. "Damn it," Deborah didn't even start with anything, and I was relieved to hear that she was back as grumpy Deborah.She yelled into the phone, "Kyle is driving me nuts, saying we have to wait and not tell me what I'm waiting for. I'm so fucking impatient." "Debs, I don't know what else to do but offer you sympathy." "You can do a lot more than fake sympathy, old man. I gotta find this guy, and I gotta show Kyle a little bit."

"I'm really clueless about the case, I don't have any feelings." "I was expecting to exchange information with you from Officer Doakes." Deborah also learned to bargain. "Not yet, but I might get something for lunch. I'll be sure to figure it out by one. At Baleen, Kyle's gonna pay for it anyway." If I find a clue for Deborah, maybe I can find the gap I've been dreaming of.But where to start?With few clues, Kyle chases us from the crime scene after we look for fingerprints.In fact, all I had was the victim and the house.Of course, the house could not have belonged to the victim, and the furniture inside gave it the feel of a temporary residence.Just leaving an entire family behind means the killer has somewhere else to go, and is presumably still around Miami, since Kyle was sent here to find him.

No matter how hard people try to hide it, they still leave footprints in real estate transactions.Within a quarter of an hour of sitting in front of the computer, I discovered that the registered owner of the house on Northwest Fourth Avenue was Ramon Pontier.Ramon Pontiac was a nickname given by Cubans, like "Joe Blow" (ordinary people) in English.The house was paid for, tax-free for a short time, and was purchased with a cash wire transfer from Guatemala.Guatemala is a haven for money laundering, and if one wants to launder money in the Spanish-speaking world, Guatemala is the most popular place to go.

The more I searched, the more weird it became. The clue started from El Salvador, passed through the muddy water of a mysterious government agency in Washington, and now turned into Guatemala?How much money does this dismembered doctor have, and where does he get it?There is currently no answer to this question.I can only guess that after giving up the first house, he should have the money to buy another house for about the same price. I went back to the Dade County real estate database to find other properties that had been recently purchased in the same manner and with the same bank funds.Four of the seven deals totaled more than $1 million, which is a bit high for a one-off property.I deleted these four places from the list,.One of the three remaining properties is an apartment building in Miami's black district.The last two remaining properties, one in Homestead, can be seen at any time from the huge pile of rubbish known by locals as "garbage mountain".The other is in the southernmost tip of Miami, just off Quail Nest Road.

I'd be willing to bet some stranger has just moved into one of them and is doing something horrible.I can't be 100% sure, but it's very likely. Baleen is one of those high-end, expensive places, and it also has the best view of Biscayne Bay in all of Miami, and if you're lucky, there are a few tables where you can fully appreciate it.Kyle and Deborah had one. "Debbie said you had some leads," Kyle said. I handed him the piece of paper that the computer had printed out. "You might want to look at this." "Just two addresses," Kyle frowned.Deborah leaned forward like an eager police dog.

"One of them is probably where some guy with a Central American background who doesn't practice medicine is hiding," I said, and told him how I'd tracked down the two addresses. "I should have thought of that earlier, that's great." He nodded, admiration in his eyes.He flicked the paper lightly. "Tracking where the money comes from pays off every time. I bet you've found the killer." "Okay, Chutsky," Deborah said, "we probably know where this guy is hiding. Now what?" "I'm going to have lunch," he said, and picked up the menu with his other hand.

Deborah was not that patient. She threw the spoon in her hand into the middle of the table. "No," she said to him, "I don't want another fucking cup of coffee or this goddamn chocolate mush. I want you to fucking answer me. When are we going to go get this guy?" He looked at her with a little surprise, even a little affection, as if someone in his line of work found the spoon-throwing woman competent and attractive, but he thought her timing was a little off. "Can I finish dessert first?" he said.