Again, Andre replied, “No,” his voice unexpectedly dropping to a whisper.
“You were in Jamaica last September, weren’t you?” Frazer pulled a small notebook from the pocket of his limp white shirt, thumbed to a page and studied it, as if verifying his facts. “September 2005? Did you see your brother then?”
Knowing it would be stupid to deny that he had traveled to Jamaica because it was so easy to check travel and passport records, Andre had no choice but to confirm the agent’s statement. “Yes,” he confessed. “I went to Jamaica in September. I saw my brother then.”
“What was the purpose of your visit?”
“Vacation.”
“Where did you see Jamal?”
“He came to see me at my hotel in Kingston.”
“Are you two close?” Frazer asked.
Andre hunched his shoulders, beginning to feel cornered. “No, not really.” Biting his lip, he paused, and then added, “We’ve had our differences over the years. I’d like him to come back to the States, bring his family and settle down here.”
“You ever talk about that with him?” Frazer asked.
“Yeah, sure. But I guess he loves the island life too much to give it up.”
“What does your brother do for a living?” Frazer plodded along, his tone growing more efficient with each word, his manner more insistent.
“I don’t really know,” Andre answered in a constricted voice, praying that he sounded convincing. “Odd jobs. He told me he repairs houses, does fix-up stuff. His wife, Kay, is an artist. Sells her paintings in a local market.”
“I see,” Frazer said as he made a few notations on a page in his notebook before flipping it closed and taking out one of his business cards, which he slid across the picnic table to Andre. “You still live at Prairie Towers?”
With a jerk of his head, Andre confirmed the man’s question, a coil of apprehension forming in his gut. This man knew where he lived. Knew he had a half brother living in the Caribbean. He’d intercepted Andre in the park. How long had the FBI been watching him? “Yeah, that’s where I live and where I work. My office is in the same building.”
“You own the building, right?”
“Yes, I do,” Andre snapped, not liking the way this interrogation was going.
“Where’d you get the money to buy a piece of property like that?”
“Where anybody gets money to buy something they want. I earned it. I saved it. Borrowed some from the bank.” Now, Andre was really getting pissed. What right did this man have to ask such questions, which he certainly didn’t have to answer? “What difference does it make how I financed my property?”
“Just wanted to know. For the record,” Frazer calmly clarified.
“Well, is there anything else you want to know?” Andre tossed out, raising his chin in a defiant jut, ready to be finished with this vague interrogation.
“Not right now, but stick around. I may want to talk to you again.”
“Why?” Andre demanded, now suspicious. “Let’s dispense with this cat-and-mouse bull. What’s this about? Do I need to get a lawyer?”
Agent Frazer’s features turned even more solemn and his eyes lowered into hooded blue slits, the first sign of emotion that Andre had seen. “Do you think you need one?”
“No, not at all,” Andre boldly countered, determined not to waver.
“Then, you have nothing to worry about, okay?”
“Sure, sure,” Andre replied as he picked up the card and studied it. “But can’t you tell me what’s going on? Is Jamal in trouble?”
“Well, let’s just say that he’s a person of interest in a complicated situation. He seems to have disappeared. Along with his family. We’d like to find him and his wife, ask them a few questions, that’s all.”
The self-assured expression on Frazer’s face told Andre that he wasn’t going to get more than that. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him,” Andre promised.
“Thanks,” Frazer replied before adding, “Looks like the rain has slacked off. I’d better make a run for it.” He slid his sunglasses back over his eyes and pushed up from the table, preparing to leave.
Andre didn’t move.
Frazer stepped out from beneath the shelter and looked up at the clearing sky, one hand in his pants pocket, his back still to Andre, and then he twisted his upper torso and turned around. “Don’t leave town without letting me know,” he called out over his shoulder, before hurrying across the wet grass to the parking lot where he got into a black compact car.
“I’m sure I won’t,” Andre said to himself, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. I should have known this day was coming, he thought, gripped with the same awful sense of dread that he’d felt the last time he saw Jamal.
Chapter 3
After holding for a full five minutes, Riana finally got George Allen on the line, and it was hard for her to contain her excitement when he finally told her what he wanted.
Swiveling around in her chair, she positioned her back to her office door and faced the sun-splashed windows that overlooked downtown San Antonio. A ripple of anticipation came over her as she took in the details of the most important assignment she had ever been offered. Adding George Allen’s company, the Allen Group, to her client list would be a major coup, and she didn’t care if he asked her to locate a multilingual nuclear scientist who could also sing the blues and write country songs, she was going to accept this assignment. No way could she underestimate the importance of snagging this account.
“So,” she finally said when Allen finished, “you’re constructing a minimum-security prison outside of San Antonio to be named Tierra Trace—specifically for adult women and female juveniles, right? Is this a federal project?”
“Exactly, my company was awarded the contract to design and build Tierra Trace, which will be closely monitored and controlled by government regulations. It’s an unusual approach, in that the complex will house inmates who have been selected to enter advanced professional training and college-level classes in order to reenter society and be productive. Minimum security, white-collar crime. It’s not going to be a place for people to simply sleep, eat and watch TV to pass the time.”
“Interesting,” Riana commented.
“The location and design of the various units within the complex will be crucial to the success of this project.”
“What’s the size of the complex?” Riana asked.
“It’ll be modest in size, divided into three distinct areas with separate buildings for adult women and juvenile girls. It will also have a small unit for pregnant women or those with newborns who need to keep their babies with them for a while. Lots of green space and utility areas all around. Each of these distinct groups has vastly different requirements and I am convinced that housing inmates with similar personal situations and similar needs will impact the success of this plan. This is the first of its kind in the country, and if it’s successful, others will follow.”
“It’s a most unique approach,” Riana said.
“Yes, it is,” Allen stated with pride. “It must be functional, have clean lines and incorporate all the high-tech security equipment and state-of-the-art sanitation requirements available, along with instructional and recreational areas.”
“How can Executive Suites help?”
“I want you to recruit a leader for my design team. I need a space-planning architect to help pull