by C. M. Sutter
Marco didn’t respond.
“Answer me, damn it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moore. It slipped my mind.”
McKinley pounded the seatback with his fist. “Go back to the warehouse. I have to think this through.”
Chapter 18
I climbed out of the Buick and stretched my contorted body, which had been twisted like a pretzel as I searched between, and under, the seats. Kate did the same. When I stood, I rolled my neck and shoulders then tipped my head toward the back of the car. I had given Jack all of the papers that were inside the glove compartment, and he and Kate began going through them. The car’s contents could be a treasure trove of information. “Find anything in the trunk?” I stopped in my tracks when a midnight-blue BMW Alpina B7 glided by. “What the hell? I think I just died and went to heaven.”
Clayton looked over his shoulder at the back end of the vehicle that had just passed the house. “Why? What was that?”
“Only one of the sexiest and fastest sedans on the market.”
Clayton shrugged.
“Never mind. You aren’t a car enthusiast like the Monroe ladies are. Guess Jade’s fast-car obsession has rubbed off on me.”
Clayton backed away from the trunk. “Anyway, there’s nothing visible at the moment other than a bunch of empty boxes. I’ll pull out the spare tire in a minute.” He glanced at Jack. “Need help with that?”
Jack placed the papers from the glove compartment onto one of the garage’s lower shelves. “Yeah, let’s go through this stuff first before moving on.”
Kate held several store receipts that she had found between the seats. She checked the list of items bought on each one while we went through the slips of paper on the shelf.
“This is interesting,” she said, catching our attention.
“What do you have?” Jack asked.
“This receipt in particular.” She handed it to him. “It looks like Joe purchased five bottles of bleach only three days ago.”
I added my two cents. “As long as the store’s name and time stamp are on the receipt, we can check their video feed.”
“You two go ahead and take care of that. We’ll keep going through the car. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.” Jack handed the car keys to me and we took to the sidewalk. When we reached the cruiser, Kate programmed the address into her phone’s map system. I climbed in behind the wheel and adjusted the seat and mirrors. “Give that grocery store a call and tell them we’re on our way. Have them queue up the video from Monday.”
“Yep, I’m on it.”
The drive took only a few minutes. We pulled into the grocery store lot at three thirty and found a parking space near the front entry. After we passed through the automatic doors, the customer service area stood directly to our right. Kate and I approached the woman who was standing behind the counter. Her name tag read Robin K., Store Manager, and she barely lifted her head as she worked on the spreadsheet lying in front of her.
There wasn’t time to waste, so I leaned into the counter and called her by name. “Excuse me, Robin. We’re from the Washburn County Sheriff’s Office. My colleague here”—I pointed at Kate as I pulled out my badge—“called a few minutes ago about reviewing Monday’s surveillance tape. Was it you she spoke to?”
“Oh, yes, as a matter of fact it was. Give me just a minute.” She flipped over the spreadsheet and walked away. I sighed as I watched her begin a conversation with a nearby cashier. They both looked our way, then Robin returned. The other woman followed at her back. “This is Janine. She can help you.” Robin picked up her spreadsheet, turned away, and entered a room behind the service counter.
I rolled my eyes. “Wow, okay. So Janine, will you please show us where your security office is located?”
“Sure, right this way.” She tipped her head at the closed door Robin had passed through seconds earlier. “She usually isn’t quite that abrupt. I’m guessing she’s behind schedule with her paperwork.”
We followed Janine through the store to the back of the building near the loading docks. Several offices, along with the employees’ lounge and lunchroom, were located in that area.
“What was it you needed?” Janine held open the door to the security office and allowed us to pass through.
Kate spoke up. “We need to see the security tape that corresponds with this store receipt.” She handed the slip of paper to Janine, who took a good look.
“Okay, no problem.” She motioned to a couple of chairs against the wall. “Have a seat. This will only take a few minutes. Having the receipt to go on is super helpful. I can plug the date, the time, and the cashier lane right into the camera parameters, and it will pop up immediately. The days of watching hours of footage are long gone.”
“Humph. I wish somebody would tell that to the rest of the world.”
Janine gave me a quick smile, turned the laptop to face us, and rose and joined us at our side of the desk. “Here you go. Everything you need is right at your fingertips. The tape shows a number of people in line, but the fact that this person bought five bottles of bleach should easily narrow it down for you. Actually, it appears that the next person in line is who you’re looking for.” She pointed at the man wearing a button-down plaid shirt and jeans. “Of course, everything is in black and white, but you can clearly see the five bottles of bleach, can’t you?”
I was dumbfounded, so Kate responded for both of us. “Yes, we certainly can. Would you be able to email that footage to me?”
“Sure thing. Easy as pie.”
Kate gave Janine her email address, and we waited until a confirmation showed it was sent. We thanked Janine for her assistance, then I left my card, and we showed ourselves out.
Once outside, I shook my head and spoke openly. “What the hell? Joe is the other dead guy in the ditch? This case is becoming more and more confusing as time goes by.”
“Yeah, and what about the bleach? Did he clean his own house, dispose of everything, and then disappear just to end up with a bullet to the brain?”
“No clue”—I got in behind the wheel—“but I better call Jack.” I tapped his name in my contact list, and he picked up right away. “Hey, boss, we’re heading back.”
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, luckily that store has joined the twenty-first century. Wish others would too, but we have a brand-new problem that kind of threw me for a loop.” I heard Jack groan through the phone lines.
“Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”
“Joe showed up on the tapes all right, and he’s the other dead guy in the ditch.”
“That’s just awesome.” Jack paused for a minute. “Okay, come on back. We need to put our heads together and figure out this case.”
Kate and I reached the house just as Clayton opened the spare tire well.
“Was there anything else of value in the glove compartment papers?” I asked as we walked up the driveway.
Jack shook his head. “Nah, just the car manual from the 2002 Buick Regal, an old crunched-up map, registration papers, proof of insurance, slips of paper with gibberish written across them, and oil change receipts. That sort of thing.”
I shrugged in disappointment.
“So Joe is actually the other guy, huh?” Jack raked his hair then fisted his eye sockets.
“Yeah, we even had the video sent to Kate’s email address. We can view it together later if you want.”
Jack nodded.
“Holy shit!”
We spun around to face the back of the car.
Clayton whistled and peeked around the trunk. “You aren’t going to believe what I’m looking at.”
Chapter 19
McKinley jiggled the knob on his locked office door then dropped the keys into his pocket. He entered the warehouse space and watched as seven employees kept themselves busy with the bleaching, drying, and printing duties.
Damn it, I should have had the entire process set up here from the beginning. Now the cops are goin
g through Joe’s car. That’s the first strike against Marco, and there better not be a second. My list of dependable help is getting shorter by the day.
McKinley approached Marco. “I need some time to think, so I’m taking the rest of the day off. You, Juan, and Derek are in charge. Get Royce to watch the security cameras, and have him call me if any suspicious-looking vehicles come up on the screen, especially if they’re black cruisers.”
“Yes, sir, and again, I apologize about forgetting to clean out the car.”
“That could be your first costly mistake, Marco. We have to be diligent and keep our eyes peeled and our ears to the ground. Watch the news and listen for chatter on the scanner. I want a call every two hours until ten o’clock tonight.”
Marco nodded. “Yes, Mr. Moore, and I’ll get Royce on that camera right away.”
McKinley climbed into his personal car and left. The forty-minute drive north would help him clear his head, and he wanted to check on the progress of Shooters, anyway.
Traffic on northbound I-41 was heavy. Rush hour was in full force, with people leaving the downtown area and heading to their homes in the suburbs. McKinley looped the bud around his left ear, pressed Grant’s name on his phone, and engaged the speakerphone option.
“Hey, son, I hope you’re still at the bar. I’m on my way to check it out.”
“That’s great, Dad, and yes, I’m still here. The furniture was delivered an hour ago, and we’re still arranging it. Do you have some money with you for the till?” Grant let out a quiet chuckle.
“Of course, I do. There’s always some backup cash in the spare tire well. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Sounds good, and I’m sure you’ll be impressed when you see everything.”
McKinley tapped the earbud to end the call. Traffic had finally eased up, and he turned the radio to a station that played quiet, relaxing music for the rest of the drive.
Gravel crunched under his tires at five thirty when he crossed the shoulder of Highway 33 and turned in to the parking lot of Shooters. From the looks of it, new asphalt had been spread out, and white parking lines had been painted over it. A nice-sized pergola-covered patio had been erected for outdoor eating, drinking, and smoking, twenty feet from the front door. Tall arborvitaes planted side by side buffered the sounds and the view of the highway to the north. Flowering potted plants lined the brick pavers and gave the patio an inviting vibe.
Clearly impressed with the outdoor appearance, McKinley gave a nod of approval as he pulled open the door and entered their new establishment.
“Hey, Dad, over here,” Grant said when he noticed his father standing in the doorway.
“Had to adjust my eyes to the darker interior.” McKinley approached Grant and gave him a pat on the shoulder when he reached him. “I will say that outdoor patio looks great. This place should do well in every way possible.” He gave his son a wink.
“Yeah, definitely, and I’m even bringing in a well-known band for the grand opening.” Grant tipped his head. “Check this out.” He led the way to the kitchen. “There’s a side door that goes from the kitchen directly to the patio. The waitstaff won’t have to carry any trays of food through the busy bar area. Plus”—he continued through the door—“the patio is large enough to set up a band for live music on nice summer nights.”
“Great job, Grant, I’m impressed.” McKinley checked his surroundings to make sure they weren’t in earshot of workers. “I have twenty thousand in tens and twenties in the spare tire well. How much do you want to start out with?”
Grant rubbed his chin. “Ten grand should be good. I’ll probably be moving more tens than twenties, though. Customers are likely to pay with twenties or credit cards.”
“Yeah, okay. Frank will process the credit card payments to our corporate account at the bank then move it to our secondary account offshore.” McKinley smiled proudly. “Never a paper trail tied to us personally, remember?”
“Absolutely.” Grant led his father back into the building. “Looks like these guys are about to wrap it up. We’ll take care of the money after they leave.”
Chapter 20
“What did you find?” Jack rushed to the trunk area with Billings, Kate, and me on his tail.
We peered into the spare tire well, where three zipper bags of cold hard cash were banded into stacks of hundreds.
“What the hell? That’s the weirdest banking method I’ve seen yet,” Billings said.
I slipped on my gloves and held up a bag. “Not so fast, Adam. If what Jade said is correct and the bleach was purchased for washing currency, then we may be staring at counterfeit versions of Andrew Jackson and Alexander Hamilton.”
“So, if that’s true, Joe was a one-man operation? There isn’t enough here to support a counterfeiting ring,” Clayton said.
“Don’t forget about Charlie. Maybe it was a two-man operation,” Kate said.
Jack scratched his cheek. “Doubt it. I don’t think they shot each other in the head and dumped their own dead bodies in our county. We need to have this currency tested. Their deaths could be directly tied to a larger counterfeiting operation.”
I gave Jack a frown. “You think he was skimming off the top? Maybe that’s why he and Charlie got a bullet to the head.”
“Maybe. Forensics needs to pick up this car, and we have to call the Secret Service. I know there’s a branch right here in Milwaukee, but I think this has gone way beyond our case of two dead guys in Washburn County. Even though the timing is bad, we need to turn this part of the investigation over to the fourth district police department. It’s time to get Chief Ortega involved.” Jack stepped into the garage and got out of the sunlight glaring on the screen of his phone. He dialed the number that was on the business card Chief Ortega had handed him hours earlier.
“Chief Ortega speaking.”
“Chief, it’s Lieutenant Steele from Washburn County calling.”
“Lieutenant Steele, how can I help you?”
“We’ve run into something that is beyond the scope of our initial investigation. It looks like we may have discovered a counterfeiting operation during our search of a property affiliated with Charlie Dupree.”
“Son of a bitch. How do you want to handle this, Lieutenant?”
“My job is to find the killer of the two men dumped in my county. If that person is a Milwaukee resident, everything will be turned over to the locals. The leader of this possible counterfeiting ring or one of his minions may be our shooter, but counterfeiting is a federal crime that the Secret Service handles. We have stacks of money in our possession and a vehicle that needs to be gone over by your forensics team. Somebody needs to come to our location and take this part of the investigation off our hands.”
“I understand, but the timing couldn’t be worse. I have a precinct of pissed-off policemen and women that just lost a colleague today. I’m going to need the help of other police departments if I jump in on this. Tell me your location, and I’ll call the Secret Service’s downtown office. They’ll likely take over that entire investigation. Is there anyone residing at that location who needs to be taken into custody?”
Jack took a seat on the porch step. “Not anymore.”
“Okay, I’m ready for the address.”
“It’s 359 West Stark Street.”
“Sure thing, and I’ll get somebody out there right away. Thank you, Lieutenant Steele.”
Jack clicked off the call. “Looks like we’re waiting for the Secret Service to show up. Chief Ortega has his hands full with the shooting from this morning.” He pointed at the steps. “You might as well take a load off. Chances of anyone getting here within a half hour are slim.”
“I thought counterfeiting was a dying art. With the security threads and the watermarks these days, how can anyone get away with it?” Kate asked. She pulled up a blade of grass, placed it between her knuckles, and blew. The noise sounded like a horn.
I grinned. “I taught you that, you know.”
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Jack studied his nails. “Counterfeiting new bills is nearly impossible, although I’ve read China is pretty proficient at it. My guess is that they’re using older rag paper as blanks, if this is what’s really going on. They have to have graphic templates too.”
Billings raised his brows. “How do they change the serial numbers, then?”
“No idea. I’ve never had to delve into that world.”
I returned to the car’s trunk, put my gloves back on, and lifted the bag I held earlier. I took a close look at the ten-dollar bill that faced me. “Yep, it’s dated 1989.” I held up a second bag and looked to the right of the band. “This twenty is from 1986. Makes sense now, but I will admit these bills look authentic.”
Jack chimed in. “They’re smart enough to use real paper. It’s the wrong paper stock that usually gives away counterfeit money, not the printing process. People don’t usually check the smaller denomination bills, either. It’s the fifties and hundreds that are scrutinized.”
“True enough,” Kate said. “Real paper has colored fibers in it, and it’s made of cotton and linen. It doesn’t seem like we’re dealing with amateurs here.”
Jack jerked his chin toward the street as a black Suburban parked at the curb. “From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like we’ll be dealing with them at all.”
We stood as four men in dark suits exited the vehicle and approached us.
Jack took the lead, and the rest of us kept quiet. He extended his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Jack Steele from the Washburn County Sheriff’s Office.”
The men bounced a glance off each other, and the one who seemed to be in charge spoke up. “Lieutenant Steele. I’m Agent Ty Brennan. Washburn County, huh? How did our northern neighbors become involved in a Milwaukee case?”