Rick shrugged. “All I can say for sure is there’s an inventory discrepancy. But I wondered about that possibility too. What if whoever’s making these lightweight parts needs the subassembly, but not the valving component Cascade makes? It could explain why the subassemblies are scraped but the valve unit isn’t. But none of that explains the inventory shortage at the warehouse here.”
“Until we talk to George this afternoon, we don’t know exactly what’s inside those lightweight parts. What’s there and what isn’t. When you come right down to it, none of that matters unless we know who’s behind it.”
She propped her elbows on the desk. Would the DEA guys know anything? They might know people who looked at products moving across the border legally. Well, she hoped the transposed-SKU parts were legal. She’d helped the Special Agents. Maybe they could help her.
“Yeah.” Rick rose. “I’ll catch the Cascade accounting manager after we talk to George. Ask what she’s done to verify the scrap and confirm those extra valve assemblies are fully accounted for.”
The rest of Holly’s morning vanished in a blur of client meetings, interspaced with calls to the hospital. Tate still hadn’t regained consciousness, but was otherwise stable. His dad—her Uncle Mark—was on his way up from California and would arrive in the afternoon.
She deliberately avoided thinking about her mother’s bombshell revelation.
When JC called, she picked up the call.
“Just making sure you’re okay,” he said.
“Define okay.”
“Well, you’re breathing and conscious, so I consider those good signs.”
“There is that.” She twisted in her chair and watched traffic line up at the mall entrance. Should she tell him about the very real possibility that they might have to sell Desert Accounting? That she might end up unemployed?
Not over the phone. And not until she knew what her options were.
There was one thing she could ask. “Have you run across a guy named Adrian Mazur? In your work, I mean.”
“Name’s not ringing a bell. Why?”
How to explain without saying anything she shouldn’t? “His name came up in connection with a client matter. I have…concerns. He doesn’t work for my client, so I can’t find out anything about him that way. Can you— What do they call it? Run him through the system?”
She heard his long sigh. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both. There are all kinds of constraints to keep people from using the system for personal reasons.”
Now it was her turn to sigh. “I see.”
“Do you? We’ve had this discussion before.”
They hadn’t had this particular argument. She knew officially he couldn’t traipse through the databases. “I hoped you could find a way around those constraints. Look, thanks for calling and checking up on me. But I have to run.”
“Okay. I’ll give you a call tonight.”
She closed her cell and tapped it against her desk. She could’ve told JC about the vendor file—about Mazur, not Tate. The transposed-SKU parts she and Rick had discovered in the warehouse were suspect, but she couldn’t legitimately claim they were connected to Danny Shaw’s death. Maybe if she could find a connection, she could ask JC again. Tell him that Mazur might be—should be—included in the investigation into Shaw’s death, and therefore checking on Mazur wasn’t for personal reasons.
Except, then she’d have to share the rest of her concerns and the fact—there was JC’s favorite word—that Tate’s name was also linked to a bogus vendor record. Even if she explained that the LLC record was most likely fake, it was territory she wasn’t ready to reveal.
For a moment, she worried if not telling JC before she found out what was really going on would make it better or worse for Tate.
Or for her relationship with JC.
Then again, informing the police about the suspect-SKU parts was George’s call, not hers. Working to clear Tate was her pre-emptive strike to keep the cops off his back.
Damn, she was tired. And stressed out. And... And...
She drew in a deep breath. Starting right now, if it wasn’t essential and wasn’t on her calendar, she was ignoring it. With everything she had on her plate, even dealing with her deadbeat dad and Ashiro’s ultimatum would have to wait.
Unless her mother’s attorney couldn’t block her dad’s attorney, and Holly had to come up with cash from somewhere for his alimony.
And more cash to buy him out.
Or if Ashiro called and she was dumb enough to pick up the phone.
Yeah, she wasn’t ready to think about that ultimatum right now. Running to Seattle sounded super appealing, but she wouldn’t go back because she couldn’t hack it in Richland. She wouldn’t accept Ashiro’s offer—or negotiate with him—unless she was sure that was what she wanted for her future.
Which brought her back to her mother’s revelation and latest offer related to Desert Accounting. Somehow, she had to find time to think that through. Put up or shut up. Did she really want to run the practice?
The only bright spot in her week was that the Tri-City Courier reporters had left her alone. Apparently they’d figured out during the Marcy mess that she had nothing to say to them.
And it was only Monday.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Fake It (Bastille)
Holly tossed the remnants of a salad in her office trashcan, then picked up her purse and briefcase.
Tracey looked up when she entered the lobby. “You coming back after your meeting?”
“I’m not sure. I need to stop by the Tom Tom Casino to check in with Amanda.” And see Frank. “I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”
“I’ll leave messages on your voice mail as well as the message slips, then.” Tracey wrote something on her notepad.
“Thanks. Was Rick at a client location this morning?”
Tracey hit a few keys on her computer. “Tri-Ag. Want me to ping him for you?”
“No, I’ll catch him before our meeting with George.” She wanted Rick’s insight on the Mikhail angle—that maybe Mazur worked for him—and how best to approach him.
A few minutes later, she parked in the casino’s lot. Rather than hunt for her auditing manager, she looked for Frank. He might be shut out of the official law enforcement loop, but he understood the cop perspective. And she suspected he missed the investigative role.
She found him on the casino’s main gambling floor.
“Holly?” Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “You okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” The irony that she was searching for him hit her and she nearly laughed aloud. “It occurred to me you were working security at Boulder Bounders—”
“Yeah. How’s your cousin? I heard about his accident.”
Accident. Interesting that was the official version on Tate being attacked. “He’s still in the hospital. I’m hoping for the best.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
She took a deep breath. He’d offered. “You’re pretty tied into the local security network, uh, group, aren’t you?”
He shrugged and nodded.
“Do you know who handles security at Mikhail Petrov’s warehouse? The new Quality Distributing one out off Highway 395?”
Frank studied her for a beat. “ABC Security. But I hear Petrov’s hiring his own staff.”
“Do you have a contact there? With ABC, I mean.”
He folded his arms. “Why?”
“Can you ask for a file on an employee?”
“Why?”
She glanced around the gambling floor, but no one seemed to be paying attention to them. “I’m bending all kinds of client confidentiality here, but it looks like someone might be stealing from the company.” She explained about the second SKU. “We uncovered what looks like a fake vendor scam. This guy’s name is connected to it. I’m not sure where he fits in. I want to know more before we make any offi
cial noise.”
Frank glanced down and the cowboy hat shaded his features.
She waited out his internal debate. She couldn’t believe she’d actually shared her concerns with him. But at least Frank wouldn’t immediately want to arrest Tate. And much as she hated to admit it, she needed his help.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Please let this work.
“Thanks.” She smiled and headed for the door.
***
George opened the meeting precisely at 2:30. There was no small talk, no explanatory fanfare. He handed Rick and Holly copies of a typed report. “The mislabeled suspension part—that second SKU—you found in the Quality warehouse is identical to the one we examined after Daniel Shaw’s wreck. Just like that one, the internal mechanism—the valving assembly—was removed from the strut. Essentially this created a void, which was then refilled with motor oil.”
Holly looked at the photo and schematic on the report. The description beyond “void” was meaningless, but a great big hole was easy to understand.
“Anything distinctive about the motor oil?” Rick examined the pages as if they meant something to him.
George shook his head. “Common 10/40.”
Rick dropped the report onto the conference table. “Using motor oil as a dampening agent, the suspension might’ve survived on city streets.”
“Until it hit a pothole with any speed,” George agreed. “The oddest thing the team noted was traces of a white powder. Fortunately they were wearing gloves during their examination, because the powder was identified as N-propionanilidehydrochlorid, commonly referred to as Fentanyl hydrochloride.”
Rick straightened. He blinked in what might’ve been either an “Oh, shit” or “Say what?” expression. Holly figured she had the same surprised dismay splashed across her features.
Wait a minute, did he say Fentanyl?
JC had said Danny Shaw had Fentanyl in his system after the wreck. Could Shaw have picked up traces of the drug off the suspension when he installed it in his rig?
Damn. She couldn’t tell George and Rick about the possibility because she’d promised JC she wouldn’t say anything to anyone.
And, oh, my God. The void in the component.
They were looking at drug-tainted car parts.
Parts tainted by the same drug the DEA agents were investigating.
What if the bad guys—the ones the DEA were looking for—had hidden the drugs inside the hollow suspensions before the parts were shipped north?
“Is it possible,” she asked, “that the internal valving system was removed to conceal contraband?”
“You mean smuggling?” George looked shocked. “You think that’s where the Fentanyl came from? That someone is bringing drugs in here?” His forefinger jabbed the table. “In our car parts?”
Damn. She couldn’t say anything about the DEA agents or the drugs they were in town looking for. How had she gotten caught in the middle of both these messes?
And everybody’s frickin’ confidentiality rules had her tied in knots.
“It kinda makes sense,” she ventured. “Well, to the extent smuggling or drugs ever make sense. Whoever gutted the strut deliberately created a space inside a car part that looks just like an actual operating product. Why do that unless you’re trying to hide something?”
George nodded, a considering expression on his face. “Possible.”
“Then your lab people found traces of a drug on the modified part, which points to it being used to conceal Fentanyl. And…” She sat back as her mind raced. “If they hid the drugs inside the parts and took it out after the load got here—to the Quality warehouse—that could explain the weight difference.”
“It might,” Rick said with a scowl. “We need to get the rest of those parts.”
“There are more?” An angry flush climbed George’s neck. “Dammit, of course there are. You said there was a whole pallet. I want that entire pallet segregated and investigated. I haven’t heard from the warehouse manager yet. I asked Jennings to be discrete when he inspected the site, so he’s probably doing it himself. I don’t want to tip off the asshole who’s ruining our product until we can build a case against him.”
“Do you want me to go by the warehouse on my way back to the office?” Rick asked. “I can check in with Jennings, ask if they’ve found the rest of the inventory instead of asking about more of these altered parts.”
George pressed his lips into a thin line. “No. Let me handle it.” He turned his attention to Holly. “Have you made any progress on the vendor?”
“Some. Unfortunately, the fake company’s registered in Wyoming.” She explained the problem. “There’s a name associated with it. Adrian Mazur. He doesn’t show up in your employee files, so I’m following some other leads.”
“Keep me informed.” George rose.
As soon as she and Rick cleared the office door, Rick asked, “Does following some leads include JC? He can run the name through the system, can’t he? Anybody pulling a stunt like this might have a record.”
“Are you crazy? JC would blow up if he knew I was looking into this. I’ve already gotten the stay-out-of-it-you’re-too-personally-involved lecture on anything related to the attack on Tate. And there’s no way JC would go outside official channels to locate this guy.”
Rick cocked his head. “Not even for you?”
She wasn’t about to admit she’d already asked and her boyfriend had turned her down flat. “Especially not for me, because it would mean I have my nose in someone’s investigation.”
“Huh.” Rick shrugged. “What’s the good of having friends in high places?”
“He has redeeming qualities.”
“I can guarantee I don’t want to hear about them.”
Good thing. Because at the moment, she was having a hard time remembering what they were.
***
Three meetings later, Holly dragged herself back to the rental car. The rental car she would have to pay for starting next week. The rental car she hated.
She was too tired to go negotiate with a car dealer, and she really wanted to ask Frank if he had found Adrian Mazur. After talking to George, she also wanted to ask Frank about the DEA investigation at the casino. A quick call showed he was still at the main casino.
Another call to the hospital elicited Tate’s general condition and location after she specifically identified him by name. He was no longer in ICU. At least now he was “serious” rather than “critical.”
“Twice in one day?” Frank raised a sardonic eyebrow when she stepped onto the hideous plaid carpet of the casino’s gaming area.
“Can we talk? In your office?” she asked as soon as she reached him.
“Sure.” He pushed away from the wall with one last scan of the dealers and their tables.
They angled across the main floor of the casino toward the office cluster. He threw sideways glances at her as they walked, as if he was either waiting for her to freak out on him or really couldn’t believe she was in the casino for the second time that day.
At some level, she couldn’t believe it, either. Then again, she didn’t seem to have a long list of people standing in line to help her figure out the multiple criminal actions she found circling around her personally and professionally.
Over the past days she’d also slowly realized Frank wasn’t a bad person. Granted, he had a problem with relationships—a problem he seemed to be addressing. As long as he kept his act clean, she was willing to work with him. To give him a second chance to be a friend.
Maybe friend was too strong a word. Colleague? Compatriot?
He tossed his cowboy hat on the file cabinet as soon as they entered his office.
“Do you even like that thing? Or is it a prop?”
He eyed the hat. “At first it was part of the costume, but it’s growing on me.”
Before she could ask, “Any progress with Adrian Mazur?” Frank said, “I think I’ve ID�
��d the supplier.”
It took her a second to catch up. “The guy who comes in and talks to ‘Bob’?”
Frank leaned against the desk rather than sitting down. “Once you told me which dealers to watch, I reviewed a bunch of security tapes. Normally a dealer gets dozens of gamblers rotating through their stations. Some stay at one table, others move around.” He folded his arms and studied her for a moment. “I told you earlier I suspected a certain customer. We’ll call him Ralph. Basically, Ralph would come in, go to Bob’s table, make one bet and leave.” He shrugged. “It pinged my radar. “
Frank’s cop instincts still seemed to be working. “And?”
“I was headed out the door on Sunday and saw Ralph come in. I figured, what the hell. Let’s see if he comes right back out.” He shrugged again. “Ralph was back outside in two minutes. So, I followed him. Straight to the warehouse used by that short, balding guy—the sponsor from Boulder Bounders. Reason I’m telling you this is, from what I picked up on opening day, that guy’s your client. I don’t want you to get blindsided or caught up in another mess.”
Frank had tried to help her once before with a client mess. A client mess that had nearly gotten her killed.
“Damn.” She paced the small space in front of his desk. “You’re talking about George Chen? You think Bad Guy Drug Supplier Ralph works for or with him? George can’t be involved with drugs. He’s a total straight arrow.”
“People can fool you.” Frank hesitated, then added. “I’ll let you know if I see anything else.”
She stopped and pivoted back toward him. “Who is he? Mr. Bad Guy Drug Supplier. Your dealer’s contact.”
“Adrian Mazur.”
She took a literal step back. “The employee from the LLC paperwork? Whoa.”
She paced across the office and back, thinking about it. Frank had said Ralph was notifying the casino employee, telling them when a new delivery of Fentanyl arrived. And Ralph, aka Mr. Bad Guy Drug Supplier, was Mazur, who just happened to show up on a vendor record at the Quality Distributing warehouse. A record that might have been planted to implicate Tate.
In It For the Money Page 23