The incident with the cargo van worries you. Something like that will not sit well with someone like McCain. It might be enough to keep him coming after you.
However, McCain has met with George Mansfield on numerous occasions. If he is as smart as you’ve been told, if he is even half as perceptive as you believe him to be, then he must realize George Mansfield is a monster. McCain has to have suspicions about Mansfield. Doubts. Maybe even a genuine dislike. For the same reasons you know you could never succeed in charming McCain, you realize Mansfield would also fail with McCain.
It is time. Tomorrow you will initiate the contingency plan you put in place three years ago. Then, the world will never know what happened to Shelley and Evan Baxter.
CHAPTER 30
Boyd and I found Jessica sitting in her rental car a little over a mile from the Western Union. Steam was escaping from the front of the vehicle as we pulled alongside her. She appeared to be shaking her head as we stopped.
Boyd looked at me and smiled. “Get ready for the colorful language. I’m sure she’s pissed off.”
But Jessica didn’t look angry. She didn’t even look disappointed. If I was reading her facial expression correctly, then she looked impressed.
I lowered the passenger side window of my rental car and yelled across Boyd. “You okay?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” She smiled. “That did not go as planned. Hey, Boyd.”
“Hey, Jessica,” Boyd replied sheepishly. “What happened?”
“What does it look like? My radiator is busted, you big dork. Evan Baxter wasn’t done smashing into cars with his sister’s BMW. It appears that hanging out with a genius for two weeks hasn’t rubbed off on you.”
Four days ago, someone crashed into Special Agent Larry Armour’s vehicle, putting Jessica at risk and injuring Larry. We had no proof Boyd was driving the van, but we had no proof he wasn’t either. And we did know he acquired the van and was using it to house a laser microphone. Meaning Jessica could have responded several different ways. Anger would have been justified. She chose to tease him in the manner reserved only for the closest of friends. Her way of letting him know she forgave him without requiring him to apologize.
“Sorry.” Boyd couldn’t even make eye contact with Jessica.
Jessica stared at Boyd until he looked up. “Tell me you’re back.”
“I’m back.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching sirens. The police were on their way. I sighed at the idea of trying to explain the mess Shelley Baxter and her brother had created to the police. “Get in, Jessica. It’s time we drive back to the Western Union and face the consequences. Hopefully, they are willing to listen.”
Jessica exited her vehicle and walked up to the passenger door of my rental car. “You look good, Boyd. I’m guessing Legend hasn’t hit you yet.” Jessica was laying it on thick.
“No, not yet.”
Jessica slid into the rear seat and closed the door. “Or maybe it’s all the action you’ve been getting with that sexy sociopath you’ve been hanging out with.”
I doubted Jessica could see it, but the blush on Boyd’s face confirmed her assumption. I accelerated away from Jessica’s smoking vehicle and pulled into the left lane to make a U-turn at the light.
Jessica said, “Larry Armour will be fine, by the way.”
“Okay,” Boyd responded in a drawn-out, incredulous tone.
“Okay? That’s it.”
“I’m sorry,” Boyd replied. I could tell he had no idea why he was apologizing.
Jessica said, “See, Legend. I knew he wasn’t driving the van.”
Boyd whipped his head around to look at Jessica in the back seat before settling on me, hoping one of us would tell him what we were talking about.
Jessica said, “I suppose Evan didn’t tell you he rammed Larry and me with the cargo van?”
“I didn’t even know Evan was in town until a moment ago. All this time, Shelley has been telling me he was back in Iowa.”
“Well, surprise on you, then. It seems your little girlfriend has been less than honest with you. So, who was driving the damn van, Boyd?”
Jessica and I told him about the incident with the cargo van as we drove back to the Western Union. Boyd apologized once more even though he had nothing to do with the crash that left Larry injured.
“Shelley volunteered to check on the van while I grabbed us a bite to eat. I was surprised when she showed up driving it. She told me someone must have hit the van while it was parked and figured it was best to get it off the street. I never saw any reason not to believe her.”
We wanted Boyd to elaborate but had to cut our conversation short as we pulled up to the chaos surrounding the Western Union. Three squad cars were on the scene. Two of them formed a barricade to the parking lot. Another car parked on the street. No ambulance or paramedics yet, but there were more sirens in the distance. I spotted five officers, three outside the Western Union assessing the wreckage, and two inside. Thankfully, none of the officers were applying first aid or emergency care to any of the people inside the Western Union.
We had Boyd back. It was time to see whether we got to keep him or not.
***
We spotted LeClair leaning up against his rental car, fielding questions from a uniformed patrol officer. Virgil had moved his Nissan Maxima back to the Wienerschnitzel parking lot and was watching the events unfold from a distance. “Smart guy,” I said, “Virgil might get to avoid the whole mess.”
We parked alongside Virgil and exited the vehicle.
“Two cars left, only one returns,” Virgil proclaimed. “Where’s your car, Jessica?”
“Smoking on the side of the road about a mile from here. Baxter rammed me, too. How’s LeClair doing?”
“He seems fine. You might want to get in there, though, and help him out, L.T. You too, Boyd. It’s not fair for him to try and explain everything.”
Two more squad cars pulled up as Virgil finished his sentence. Four more patrol officers on scene.
“Sleepy town like this; the whole police department will be here before this is over. Jessica, Boyd, let’s go. Wish us luck, Virgil.”
LeClair didn’t look overly worried, but he did look relieved to see us approaching. He pointed at us and smiled. “Officer, these are the guys I was telling you about.”
Explaining what happened turned out to be a lengthy, difficult task. I was halfway through my story with one police officer when a police sergeant arrived, forcing me to start over from the beginning. Ten minutes after that, a police lieutenant arrived. Lt. Grace Giggs looked to be in her late forties. Maybe her early fifties. Shoulder length black hair framing what I would call a seasoned face. The face of a woman who was comfortable with her age and the respect that came from her years of experience and wisdom. Tough-looking, yet not harsh. One of those people who could wrinkle her brow a certain way to stare a hole through someone. Yet, also the type of person who demonstrated warmth and compassion with a well-timed, well-nuanced smile.
She smiled and asked me to repeat my story for the third time, this time for her edification. Repeating myself was getting old, but I was thankful for the lieutenant. Her officers wanted badly to arrest someone, while she was demonstrating restraint until she felt we had answered her questions adequately. Jessica and Boyd stayed relatively quiet while I replayed my story for the lieutenant.
Lt. Giggs asked few questions, choosing to let me do most of the talking. “Wow,” she said as I finished. “Let me get this straight, Mr. Dallas, the quiet guy standing behind you, is a private investigator who was hired to find a woman, one Shelley Baxter. He found her but went missing himself in the process. You were worried about him, so you investigated on your own, eventually finding out that Ms. Baxter, who calls herself Mollie Chrisman, was wiring 10,000 dollars to herself at this Western Union, and you planned on confronting them here.”
“Yes.”
“All in an attempt to make sure your
friend was okay.” I nodded. “But Ms. Baxter’s brother showed up and started trying to run people over. To make matters worse, Ms. Baxter drove her car through the front of a building in her attempt to escape. Your wife gave chase, but the brother rammed her vehicle as well.”
“There you go, Lieutenant, you are caught up.”
She stared at me through narrow, slitted eyes. “I hardly think so, but it’s a nice start.”
Boyd’s patience ran out. “Lieutenant, you need to send some officers over to the Holiday Inn on Century Boulevard. Evan Baxter tried to run over two men. That’s aggravated assault at a minimum.”
“Mr. Dallas, I appreciate your input, and once I’m finished with all of you, then I’ll send officers to look for Ms. Baxter and her brother Evan.”
“They’ll be gone by then.”
“Then they’ll be gone. For now, I have you three. Oh, and your friend over there.” She was referring to LeClair, who was watching from across the parking lot.
Jessica said,” If you’re not going after them, then you better call George Mansfield of Bethesda and warn him his life might be in danger.”
Boyd spoke before Lt. Giggs had a chance to respond. “Why would you think Mansfield’s life is in danger? Wait a minute, do you think I’ve been in D.C. planning to kill Mansfield?” There was genuine hurt in Boyd’s voice. “Well, shit.”
“Boyd,” Jessica replied in a pleading tone.
“I expected better from my friends. I’ve been here watching Mansfield. You know, hoping I could find something to use to implicate him in the attempted murder of Shelley Baxter, not just seven years ago but two weeks ago in Wisconsin.”
I saw Lt. Giggs perk up at the mention of attempted murder, yet she remained quiet and watched the events unfold before her.
Jessica said, “You weren’t here to cut the head off the snake?”
“Sure, figuratively. Not literally. I wasn’t here to kill Mansfield. God, Jessica.” Boyd turned away from Jessica to examine my face for any reaction. “I suppose you thought this, too?”
I shrugged. “Come on, Boyd.”
“Don’t tell me to come on.” Boyd turned his back on me and stepped away.
“See,” Lt. Giggs said, “I knew there was more to this story. Please, don’t stop now, this is getting interesting.”
I opened my wallet, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Lt. Giggs. “Call Special Agent Larry Armour and get him down here. Here’s another card for Special Agent Ann Marshall. They will be able to help you make more sense of this. We’ve told you all we’re willing to tell you until they get here.”
“You want me to call the FBI? Not a lawyer?”
“No, we won’t need a lawyer. Trust me, call the FBI.”
The lieutenant took the cards, studied them for a second before huffing loudly, and then walked away to talk to a young patrol officer standing near a police vehicle. She returned a few minutes later. “Someone will call your FBI contacts and recommend their presence on location. If they haven’t arrived in the next 45 minutes to an hour, then they can meet us at the police station. I need to talk to my sergeant. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere.”
Boyd returned, his hurt expression replaced with sorrow. “I screwed up, ya’ll. I should have told you what I was up to. Maybe even asked for help. I have no one to blame but myself. I’m sorry. Shelley was so convincing. After Mansfield sent men after us in Wisconsin, well, I never doubted her after that.”
I said, “Boyd, that was round one with Lt. Giggs. She’ll be back for sure. The locals want to arrest someone. I’m pretty sure the FBI will prevent that from happening; however, they will want a turn at you. To keep the FBI from arresting you, I need to know everything you know before they show up. I can’t advocate for you any other way. And start at the beginning.”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sway the FBI once they arrived. Even if they did believe Shelley was driving the cargo van that injured Larry, Boyd was her accomplice over the last two weeks. Then, there was the incident in Wisconsin. Someone had to answer for three dead bodies. At the very least, the FBI would detain Boyd. There seemed no way around it.
Boyd started by detailing how he found Shelley Baxter. As expected, Boyd found her by visiting dozens of dealerships in the Midwest until he finally discovered a sound lead in Des Moines. From there, he discovered her alias and tracked her to a small town outside Madison, Wisconsin. Boyd described how he approached Ms. Baxter, who agreed to meet with him. She chose the time and place.
“Let me guess, an abandoned gas station,” I said.
“Yeah. So, you know about that?”
“We know, Boyd, but tell us what happened.”
“When I arrived, Shelley was already there waiting for me. She exited her vehicle shortly after I exited mine. Suddenly, some strapped son of a bitch wearing body armor came out of nowhere. I pegged him for former military right away. Probably Special Forces. He was good. He grabbed Shelley and told me to drop my gun. The bastard didn’t know me very well. You give away the gun; you give away your leverage.”
I remembered an incident two years ago when Boyd did give up his gun. He was taken hostage, forcing me to rescue him. I decided not to bring it up.
Jessica said, “How did you resolve the problem? I mean, we know you stabbed him and shot him, but how exactly were you able to salvage the situation since he got the drop on you?”
“To be honest, I suspected the whole thing was a setup, that the gunman and Mollie were working together. Right up until Mollie, I mean Shelley, stabbed him with a knife she had hid on her person. When he flinched, it opened up my opportunity for a headshot. One shot, one kill. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
“That explains the one outside,” Jessica said, “but the police found three dead men.”
“But there was only one, I swear. After I shot the guy, Mollie, Shelley, whatever, said she saw more men, so we jumped in her car and got the hell out of there.”
I said, “Boyd, there were two more men found inside the gas station shot to hell and back. The police say they were killed somewhere else and dumped there.”
“That wasn’t me.”
One look at Boyd, and I could tell he was telling the truth. “No one drove your car away from the scene?”
“No, why?”
We told him about the police finding his car on the other side of the county, followed by how the police found the three dead men at the gas station. We informed him about the identities of all three men, how two of them were cousins from Iowa, and the one he killed was former Army Special Forces from Florida. Less than honorable discharge.
“Meaning I guessed right, Mansfield hired a merc. I realize I should have contacted the Wisconsin police and let the chips fall where they may. You have to believe I felt I was doing the safest thing for both of us at the time. Rich people, powerful people, well, you know.”
Jessica and I did know. Boyd didn’t feel he could trust the system. But I had to believe he still messed up in Wisconsin. He should have called the police. It was doubtful Mansfield had much power in rural Wisconsin.
“After we left the gas station, we drove for like an hour, maybe longer. Shelley told me everything about the kidnapping. She described how two men grabbed her at home and took her to an abandoned warehouse, where they handcuffed her to an old steam radiator. The same two men recorded her making her own ransom instructions. The men never once tried to hide their faces. She knew right then and there the kidnappers had no intention of letting her live. Shelley figured out the whole kidnapping was a sham. A way to kill her without Mansfield casting suspicion on himself, especially after the domestic violence charges from three months earlier.”
Jessica said, “She told you all that?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds fishy. Exactly how did Shelley survive the kidnapping?”
“Somehow, in a manner she never fully explained because she claimed the whole ordeal was too traumatic, Shelley
was able to convince the men to let her live. Remember, Mansfield orchestrated the whole thing. He was paying the ransom to himself. Money he would launder back in over time. In return for letting her go, Shelley showed the men how they could collect the ransom, instead of giving it back to Mansfield. Three million was much better than the ten percent Mansfield promised them. Shelley is some kind of super-genius, plus she’s got a way about her. I can’t explain it. Even without a good explanation, I believed her.”
“None of this makes any sense, Boyd,” Jessica said. “Why the use of a body double? You know a poor, innocent girl was killed instead of Baxter. Her name was Stephanie Woodson. A 24-year-old school teacher from Philadelphia, Boyd. Let that sink in for a second. She sang in her church choir, Boyd. Your little girlfriend got her killed.” Jessica’s volume rose with each sentence until the point she was nearly yelling by the time she finished.
“Shelley feels awful about that. It wasn’t part of the plan she proposed to the two men. She never thought they would kill someone else to take her place. They were supposed to tell Mansfield they had disposed of her body in the Atlantic.”
Jessica was pacing back and forth. Thinking. Looking for holes in Boyd’s recollection of the events of Baxter’s kidnapping from seven years ago. “I call bullshit. Legend, tell Boyd about the two men from Oklahoma City. Remind him where the two men in the gas station lived. I’m telling you, Shelley Baxter has been behind this all the time. Mansfield was right all along. His wife conned him out of three million dollars, and her crazy brother was helping her every step of the way.”
Jessica ranted on for another couple of minutes before allowing me to tell Boyd about the two men from Oklahoma City found dead in Washington, D.C. I explained that the two boys had attended the same private school as Evan Baxter. And I told him the two men found dead in the gas station lived a half-hour from Evan Baxter.
“Come on, Boyd. Even you can no longer deny the strong possibility that Jessica is right about Shelly Baxter.”
Boyd held up his hand, gesturing for us to stop. “Okay, quiet for a second. You both make a compelling case. I get it; there are too many coincidences indicating Shelley and her brother are not as innocent as they led me to believe. I have one question for you.” Boyd paused, presumably for dramatic effect. “If Shelley Baxter is lying about the kidnapping, if she is the mastermind of a complicated con game and her brother was the willing accomplice, then why was Shelley missing a ring finger?”
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