“That’s absurd.”
“You paid cash, right?”
Denison didn’t say anything.
“The casket was stolen from a freeport in Charles Bay while it was in transit to the Peter Damascus Sculpture Museum in Los Angeles. It has to be returned. There’s an undercover FBI agent here who I’m retrieving it for.”
“That casket wasn’t stolen.”
“The guy you bought it from—bald, gray, wire-rim glasses. I don’t know what he told you, but his real name is Aaron Rickover. He’s an insurance investigator with Metropolitan Assurance. That’s how he got the information to steal the casket. Why do you think it was so cheap?”
“You’re going to tell the truth or I’m going to leave you with these guys.”
“You say there’s an FBI agent here?” Lee said.
“She’s here.”
“The FBI is supposed to notify us before they come to the city.”
Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“What’s her name?”
“Grace Mosley.”
Lee took out his smartphone and began tapping the screen with both thumbs. He looked up from the screen. “Grace Mosley is an FBI agent who specializes in art theft. Excuse me a moment. I have to call the city manager.” He put his phone to his ear and turned to the wall.
“This is unbelievable,” Denison said. “Just because there’s a FBI agent named Grace Mosley doesn’t mean you’re working for her and the casket was stolen.”
Lee put his phone away and turned back to them. “Ms. Benet, Mr. Rose is here asking for you.”
The door to the storeroom opened. The lanky Native American security guard pushed Ron into the room. “Mr. Rose,” Lee said, “I’m surprised you came here of your own volition.”
Ron spoke to Nicole. “Are you okay, Tracy?”
“Tony,” Nicole said, “I’ve told them the truth—that we’re helping Agent Mosley.”
Denison looked from one to the other. “All you’ve given us is a story. Where’s the proof?”
“Go online,” Ron said. “Go to the Charles Bay Gazette for two days ago and four days ago. The stories are right there. Late Sunday evening the casket was stolen. On Tuesday a man was murdered at a parking garage. Go ahead. Check it out.”
Denison took out his phone. “I don’t have a signal in here.”
“We have a secure net in the vault,” Lee said. “I’ll use my phone.” He looked up the Charles Bay Gazette. “Here’s the first article.” He handed his phone to Denison.
Denison read the articles and handed the phone back to Lee. “This is so hard to believe. I was just trying to do something nice for my wife.”
“It’s not your fault,” Nicole said. “You’ve been distracted because of your wife’s health issues. That’s what made you an easy target.”
Ron turned to Lee. “How about cutting her loose?”
Lee nodded to the security guard, who cut the plastic handcuffs at Nicole’s wrists and ankles. She stood up slowly, rubbing her wrists.
“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth to begin with?” Denison asked.
“Would you have believed me? Besides, we didn’t know if you were Rickover’s accomplice or not.”
Denison’s eyes lit up. “Oh, no. If this gets out in the media, my reputation will be shot. My kids, the foundation…” He turned to Mr. Lee. “You’ve got to find this Rickover guy.”
“One step at a time, Mr. Denison. We need to be absolutely certain that these two are telling the truth before we move forward. The newspaper describes a theft, but it doesn’t give very many details about the object. Let’s contact Agent Mosley and verify the information. If she is in the city, we’ll go together with the casket to meet her. We’ll be able to see her credentials and confirm that she is the same person as the one in the FBI database. If it all checks out, we’ll put out an alert for Aaron Rickover.”
“I need a change of clothes,” Nicole said.
Lee nodded. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”
Ron, Nicole, Denison, Lee and two security guards rode over to the casino hotel in a city SUV with tinted windows. The whir of the air conditioner fan was the only noise inside. They parked in a loading dock at the side of the building and entered the hotel lobby from the hallway to the elevators, the blue-suited security guards carrying the crate inside a large, black duffel bag. Mosley sat in the lobby on a sofa with her back to the wall, a red wheeled suitcase on the carpet next to her. She was dressed in her FBI uniform: black pantsuit, white shirt, hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. Mr. Lee led the way. Mosley stood up when they reached her. The two of them shook hands.
“Sit down, everyone,” Mosley said. She took out her ID and passed it to Lee.
He read it, nodded, and handed it back. “We have the casket.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.” She opened the red suitcase. “Could you have your men put it in here?”
Lee nodded toward the security guards. They took the crate out of the black duffel and placed it into the roller case. It was a snug fit.
“Sure that case is strong enough?” one of the guards asked.
“It’ll be fine,” she replied.
“Agent Mosley,” Denison said, “Why didn’t you just come to me when you knew I had the casket?”
“What if you denied you had it? You might do that even if you weren’t Rickover’s partner. There wasn’t enough evidence to get a warrant, not here—not with NewTrust fighting me every step of the way. And once you knew I was after the casket, I didn’t want to play cat and mouse. I’m sorry, Mr. Denison, but I couldn’t take that chance.”
“Where’s Rickover now?” Ron asked.
“And where’s my money?” Denison asked.
“Rickover’s already on a flight back to Charles Bay, where federal agents are waiting at the gate. I’m sure he’ll give up the money as part of the plea bargain, and then we’ll give it back.” She took a business card out of her handbag. “Here’s my card with my personal phone number. We’ll need to interview you about how the casket came into your possession, but that can wait.”
“When does the casket go to the museum?” Nicole asked.
“We’ll be in contact with Peter Damascus tomorrow at the latest. Then it’s just a matter of making arrangements.”
“So we’re done?” Ron said.
Mosley nodded. “As far as I’m concerned.”
“Agent Mosley,” Lee said, “the FBI is supposed to contact us before they come to the city.”
“Of course. But this was exigent circumstance. When I came here, I was one step behind the casket. We didn’t know then that Mr. Denison had it, and we couldn’t take the chance that Rickover and the casket would disappear while we made the usual arrangements.”
“Just the same, our city manager, Mr. Chen, will be filing a protest.”
“I understand. Anything else?”
“How much longer do you plan to be here?”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
Lee grunted and nodded. Everyone stood up, except for Mosley. Denison turned to Nicole. “I guess I owe you an apology. You’re one of the good guys. What I don’t understand is why once you knew I was innocent, you didn’t just tell me the truth.”
“I’m sorry about all that, James, but Agent Mosley couldn’t just take my word, so we had to go forward with our plan. It’s all lame, I know, but that’s how we ended up here.”
“So the time we spent together, me unburdening myself, the connection I felt with you, that was all—”
“That was all real, James. The facts weren’t real. I’m not divorced. I’m not a gambling addict. But the emotions were real. My empathy is real. I really do hope your wife gets better. I really do feel sorry about this horrible situation that you’re going through.”
“I hope you mean that. It’s hard to know what you actually feel when you always sound so believable.”
Lee and the security guards
started walking back toward the loading dock. Denison, Nicole, and Ron headed toward the front doors. Denison and Nicole were still talking. Ron drifted further back as they moved along. Mosley watched them all walk away. She didn’t want to make small talk, invent vague plans, or account for her whereabouts. After they had all been gone for a few minutes, she stood up and rolled the red suitcase toward the elevators.
Once she was in her room, she’d call Philips, and he could make arrangements to collect the casket. Then all she had to do was make a reasonable attempt to find Aaron’s money and she could go home. She’d tell her superiors she followed the casket here, but never found it. As she was waiting for the elevator, it occurred to her that the only people who knew she had the casket were people who couldn’t betray her without exposing themselves. The Carters didn’t want any law enforcement to know they were connected with the robbery. Denison didn’t want his reputation muddied by the press finding out he’d been involved. And Lee didn’t want anyone to find out that there had been an attempted break-in at the vault or that the vault had been sheltering stolen property.
The elevator doors opened. She wheeled the suitcase in. The door shut. Philips didn’t yet know she had the casket. She swiped her room keycard and pressed the seventh-floor button. The elevator rose.
She had three choices. One, she could return the casket to the museum, which was what she should do. It was stolen property. She had a sworn duty to return it to its rightful owner. But if she did, Philips would know that she’d betrayed him. He’d exert even more pressure on her; ask her to commit even worse crimes to prove her loyalty. And if she refused, he would threaten to expose her criminality, and she and Kelly would suffer.
Two, she could just follow the plan and give the casket to Philips and stay in his good graces. But she’d still be under his thumb. And he’d have another criminal act to blackmail her with. He was demanding and paranoid. He’d already pushed her from courier to accessory to kidnapping. There was no way of knowing what he might want her to do next.
Or, three, she could just keep the casket, lay low for a while, and then sell it. The money would pay for a lot of semesters at Clear Skies. Philips wouldn’t know she’d collected it if she didn’t return it to the museum. And there was no way the FBI could prove she had the casket without the testimony of the Carters, Denison, or Lee.
Could she manage to hold onto it? Could she sell it without getting caught? Aaron was probably dead. But Philips’s men wouldn’t dare kill her; she was an FBI agent. The weight of the world would come down on them if they tried. And if Aaron were dead, maybe there was a way she could connect Philips with his murder. She had a hard link between Aaron and three of Philips’s men—they’d taken him from her room. Philips had told her he was sending them, but that was just her word against his. If only she’d made a recording. She needed a hard link between one of those guys and Philips. Or a confession. It might be doable. If Aaron were dead. Then she’d have as much on Philips as he had on her. She’d be completely free.
She felt dizzy. She leaned her head against the elevator wall. God, what was she thinking? Had she really fallen so low? She should be hoping that Aaron was alive. She had delivered him to Philips’s men. If he were dead, it was as much her fault as theirs. The three choices flitted back and forth in her mind. The elevator doors opened at her floor. She couldn’t decide what to do. She pressed the lobby button. All she knew for certain was that she wasn’t going to stash the casket in her room, and she wasn’t going to tell Philips that she had it. The door closed. She had to take it somewhere else for safekeeping.
Denison and Nicole sat at a glass-topped table on the deck of the Sunburst Lounge with their drinks and their empty dessert plates. A jazz quartet situated just inside the restaurant was interpreting soul ballads, the trumpet player adding in some occasional scat singing. The sun had dropped behind the shrub-covered mountains, making the clouds glow red behind, and a cool breeze was beginning to flow down to the lowlands. The servers were moving among the tables, turning on the gas space heaters. Denison leaned on the table. “So why did Chen call you Tracy Benet?”
Nicole smiled. “We ended up in the ‘no gambling’ database on a different job. Casino management spotted us on their cameras.”
“So you were using aliases?”
“Yes.”
“And you work for the FBI?”
She shook her head. “It’s complicated.” She drank from her margarita.
He looked at her quizzically.
“Let me put it this way: we rob crooks.”
“Is that the truth?”
“What have you seen us do? You aren’t a crook, of course, but the casket was stolen. So we were going to steal it back.”
He pushed the tray with his signed credit card slip on it out of the way. “How do you tell if someone’s a crook?”
“Believe me, that’s usually the easy part.”
“And that’s how you make a living?”
“Yeah, that’s what we do.” She sipped her drink.
“So why did you agree to come to dinner with me? Why aren’t you off somewhere with Ron? Your job is done.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I really felt for you. The way you care about your wife—you’re an admirable man, James. I just want to help if I can.”
His phone rang. He looked at the screen. “I’m sorry. I need to take this.” He put the phone to his ear. “Yes?”
Nicole watched his eyelids flutter.
“Thanks. I’m coming right over.” He put his phone away. “Stacey has taken a turn for the worse. I’m going over to see her.”
They both stood up. “I’ll go with you,” Nicole said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. You shouldn’t be by yourself.”
Denison and Nicole zigzagged through the tables on their way to the interior of the restaurant and the elevator lobby beyond. He seemed lost in thought, and Nicole didn’t interrupt him. When they were out in front of the hotel, on the sidewalk walking toward the hospital, he finally spoke. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m okay.”
“She’s been sick a long time. Emaciated as if she’s anorexic. My son wants to have me declared temporarily incompetent if I won’t let her go.”
“It’s hard to know what the right thing to do is.”
“Yeah, it really is. I don’t blame him. I understand his feelings. He thinks I’m losing it.”
Outside of the hospital, Denison stopped on the front steps and took a deep breath. Then they went up to Stacey’s room. Stacey lay with her eyes closed, her breathing like a grating hinge, the machines near her head making their satisfied noises. He pulled the chair around next to her bed, sat down, and took her boney hand. It felt colder than it ought to. Nicole stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders. He sat for a few moments looking at Stacey, and then he reached forward and ran his hand down the side of her ruined face. “You’ve never seen what she used to look like, have you?”
“No,” Nicole said.
“God, she was so beautiful. And everything she touched she made beautiful.” His voice cracked. He got out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “We did a lot of good things in this world together. She was the one who got me started on mentoring the foster kids. I got all the credit, but it was really because of her.” He put his handkerchief in his lap. “But that didn’t get her any dispensation. Two years of increasing misery. And to end up like this.”
Nicole patted his shoulders. “You can’t make sense out of this. It’s just not possible. There’s nothing logical about it.”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say anything. I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
8
Plan B
In the early morning before the sun rose above the mountains, a couple walking their dog on the outskirts of the city found a body wrapped in a rug that appeared to have been dug up by a coyote. The body was taken to the emergency department
at the hospital. Fred Chen, the city manager, received a phone call from his security chief, Doug Wounded-Bear, while he was still getting dressed.
“Pick up the FBI agent, Rose and Benet, and Mr. Denison. Bring them to my office,” he said in his slightly Asian accent. “Be very polite, but don’t accept no for an answer.” He knotted his paisley necktie, sipped his coffee, and looked at himself in the mirror. Charcoal pinstripe suit, white shirt, and wingtip shoes. He looked like a man to be reckoned with. He put on a silver and turquoise bracelet. He was going to make this problem disappear before lunch.
He was sitting behind his antique oak desk when Wounded-Bear, a large man with chiseled features who could have been a retired wrestling coach, escorted Mosley, Denison, Ron, and Nicole into his office. Chen didn’t offer anyone a seat. “You’ve heard the news?”
They all nodded. He looked at Mosley. “So you put Mr. Rickover on a plane?”
Mosley frowned. “This is terrible. I’ve known Rickover for years. I thought I’d talked some sense into him. How was he killed?”
“We’re not sure of the cause of death just yet.”
“One of his accomplices must have caught up with him before he got to the airport. That’s the only scenario that makes sense.”
“So now you’re telling me there are killers in my city. You created this trouble by not doing your job. You should have taken him to the airport.”
“My job was to recover the casket, not babysit Rickover.”
“You’re bad for business. I want you gone, and I want your assurances that you won’t tell your superiors about this matter.”
“How can I avoid that?”
“You don’t tell about the murder, and we don’t tell about you sanctioning the break-in of our vault. Do we understand each other?”
She nodded.
He pointed at Nicole and Ron. “And you two have worn out your welcome as well. You’ll tell no one about this unfortunate incident, and you’ll never come back here. If you come back, you won’t leave, understand?”
“Loud and clear,” Ron said.
The Freeport Robbery Page 12