“Wait, it gets worse. The CIA, seeing an opportunity, tried to argue with Congress about the viability of continued development.”
Vic pulled herself up between us. “The CIA?”
“The agency’s position was that the weapon would be used for antiterrorism purposes, and in situations where foreign powers had magnetometer security, they could still get weapons into hostage situations.”
Vic laughed. “And vice versa.”
“It all got shut down eventually, but here’s an interesting tidbit: six weeks after the Department of Justice shuts Special Materials Division down for good in 1996, Bill Tichenor is found without a head or hands in a dumpster behind 4014 North Goldwater Avenue in Scottsdale, Arizona.”
“That’s where Dust Devil Development was working on the plastic gun?”
“Precisely. There was communication between Tichenor and Dust Devil, a go-between.” He paused. “That turned out to be Delshay Torres.”
I thought about the conversation I’d had with Lola the first time we’d met: “Chief cook and bottle washer of the Crossbones Custom bike shop somewhere in the Phoenix area.”
Stainbrook nodded again. “Maryvale, yeah.”
“So, I’m assuming that Delshay got involved, and therefore Bodaway, because he was familiar with the fabrication of different materials and not likely to notify the Congress of his advancements?”
The ATF man leaned back in his seat. “Not likely then or now—suspicious hit and run in Nogales, just this side of the Mexican border, last year.”
“So, what are the chances they’ve actually developed a fully ASP weapon?”
He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Since my man Post got his hands on that sample you found in his motel room? I’d say pretty good.”
“So that’s what the cube was, a sample of metal-tensile-strength advanced synthetic polymer?”
He nodded. “We’ve already got people in Cheyenne with your DCI, and they’ve confirmed that that’s what it is.”
Vic looked at the two of us. “So, how does a shitbird like Billy ThE Kiddo get involved in something like this?”
Stainbrook sighed. “Material fabrication at his shop.”
“We’ve been there.”
“Where?”
“The Chop Shop—Kiddo’s place in Rapid City.” I was aware that he was staring at me. “It was after hours. Not that I’d know the difference, but it didn’t look like they were up to anything that complicated, just the usual bodywork and paint.” I took a breath. “And there’s something more I should let you in on. Kiddo’s got an entire shrine in his back room that looks like the beginning of the Fourth Reich.”
He waved a hand at me. “I’m not surprised, and I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to appear callous, but when you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, you get used to seeing all kinds of bizarre stuff. I really don’t care what their screwed-up belief system is; I just want to keep dangerous weapons out of their hands.”
“And make sure that they pay their taxes.”
“Yeah, that, too.” He thought about it. “Billy ThE doesn’t strike me as being all that smart.”
“Well, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘fear,’ but then he doesn’t know the meaning of a lot of words.”
The ATF agent cocked his head and looked at both of us. “But he does know material fabrication.”
“Yep.”
Vic smiled. “Kind of a chopper savant?” She shrugged. “And muscle?”
He turned to look at her. “For who?”
She looked out the side window at the throngs of bikers down the street. “Good question.”
• • •
We parted company with Agent Stainbrook at the Hulett Police Department annex and were assured by DCI that Lola’s Cadillac would be released and sitting outside by the time she and the Cheyenne Nation returned from their round-trip.
DCI’s mobile lab unit was preparing to return to Cheyenne, and T. J. was helping pack up the equipment. “We don’t have the ability up here to match the slugs, but I already shipped the one you gave us ahead, so as soon as I hear anything I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good.” I glanced around. “Speaking of, has anybody seen or heard of the whereabouts of the presumed shooter, Billy ThE Kiddo?”
“You’d have to ask the locals about that.”
I nodded, and we shook. “Thanks, T. J.”
She held my hand. “You look like hell. I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you to head home and go to bed?”
“You know, women are always trying to get me to go to bed.”
The chief of the Wyoming Division of Criminal Investigation’s Lab Unit shook her head and glanced at Vic. “Take care of him, will you?”
She went out the door, and Vic stepped into my line of sight. “You know, if I wasn’t in the picture, I’ve got a feeling you could have a pretty active social life.”
I turned her by the shoulder, and we started toward the police department’s office. “I don’t think I’d have the energy for it.”
Pushing open the door of the HPD, we found Chief Nutter in a heated conversation with a couple of bikers. “Look, it’s not our responsibility to make sure your bike is safe if it’s parked in a questionable area.”
The leather-clad dudester howled, “It was parked on Main Street!”
Nutter shrugged. “What can I tell you? It’s a tough town this week.” He showed the disgruntled bikers the door and turned to us as they made their way out. “What do you want?”
“In the interest of interdepartmental cooperation, I was wondering if there had been any sightings of Billy ThE?”
“Probably back beneath the rhinestone-encrusted rock he crawled out from under.”
“So, that would be a no.”
Nutter glanced around. “Hell, find Deputy Dog; he’s making arrests at a banner rate around here. As of last night, I don’t have any more room in my holding cells. What’d you do to him, anyway?”
“Oh, just gave him a little confidence.”
The phone rang, and the chief answered. “Hulett Police Department.” There was a pause, and then he continued, “Well, when was the last time you saw your boyfriend? Really, that hardly ever happens during rally week. . . .”
I waved good-bye, and we made a hasty retreat outside, Vic looking past me and then down Main. “I don’t think Nutter is ATF, either.”
“Agreed.”
The streets were a little subdued, but it was still early as we made our way downtown, a half block away. Vic checked across the street for the possibility of a Kiddo sighting, and I kept an eye to the right, peering behind the tents that sold T-shirts, hats, jewelry, and biker paraphernalia. “How come you didn’t ask Stainbrook who his number two was?”
“It didn’t seem appropriate.”
“Not Billy ThE.”
“Probably not.” I shook my head. “Maybe rather than trying to figure out who’s undercover, we should be focusing on the case?”
She smiled. “My, aren’t we testy this morning.”
“I’m beginning to think that I can’t operate without sleep as well as I used to.” There was some noise coming from the area behind one of the tents on Vic’s side, and I could just make out the back of Dougherty’s head.
Vic was already on the move, and I did my best to keep up.
I figured we were going to have to do another intervention, but we were mildly surprised to find Corbin with a forefinger bouncing off the chest of a tall, skinny biker. “And if you don’t get your act together, you’re going to have to call your accountant boss on Monday and explain to him why you’re spending the workweek in the Crook County jail in Sundance, Wyoming.” The biker looked a little shell-shocked and started to say something, but Dougherty cut him off. “Not another word.” He pointed
down the dirt alleyway. “Go.”
He gestured in the other direction at another man, and I had to cover a smile while the entire crowd drifted away, having been denied the drama. He was turning to go himself when he saw Vic and me standing there. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” I nodded toward the dissipating crowd. “Looks like you’ve got things under control.”
He rested a hand on his sidearm and nodded. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
Vic put her hands on her hips and couldn’t help but smile along with me as we followed him back onto Main Street. He held a hand up and paused traffic as we crossed.
“Hey, troop, you haven’t seen Kiddo around, have you?”
“No.” He slowed and glanced at me. “I’d imagine as much trouble as he’s in, he’s probably going to lie low until his court date. Why?”
“Just curious as to where he’s hanging out and with whom.”
“Probably back in Rapid, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
He stepped up his pace, yelling at a guy down the block who had just shoved another. “Hey, knock it off over there!” He turned to look at us as he sprinted away. “If you find out anything, let me know.”
Vic stepped up beside me, and we watched him separate the two individuals. I glanced at her from the corner of one eye. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ve created a monster.”
“Hmm . . .” There was a buzzing in my jacket that I’d slowly come to realize meant either Bodaway Torres or I was receiving a phone call. “I’ve been meaning to hand it over, but I keep forgetting that I have it.” With Vic looking at me questioningly, I pulled the cell phone out, studied the screen, and hit the button. “Hello, Punk.”
“You owe me.”
“I always owe you.”
“Yeah, but you owe me big-time now.”
“Did you find out who sprung Kiddo?”
She readjusted her phone. “You don’t really owe me, Dad. I just went over to courts and mentioned your name and they made me a copy of the blanket bail receipt. If I’d known how much of an effect your name had, I’d have been throwing it around a lot sooner.”
“It’s only effective in certain circles.”
“The other thing I’ve discovered is that helping you with cases is a great way of getting and holding your attention.”
“So, who fronted the bail for Billy ThE?”
“I bought a new couch at Sofa Mart in Fort Collins—it’s called the Homerun Sofa. It’s a recliner in red leather with white stitching, and they don’t deliver.”
“Cady.”
“I need you and the Bear to go down and get it and bring it up the fire escape in the back. It’s kind of tight around the corners, but I think you can make it.”
“Cady, please?”
I could hear her rustling a piece of paper. “Does the name Robert J. Nance mean anything to you?”
14
“Why would Bob Nance put up Kiddo’s bail if he wasn’t involved?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s smart and at the same time dumb enough, with plenty of cash, to front an operation like the one that Stainbrook described.” She sipped her lemonade and watched the traffic two-wheeling by as we sat on the running board of the Pequod again. “So, why don’t we go in there and get the chief to look up his buddy Nance and see what he’s been up to?”
“Because he’s Nance’s buddy; so, I’d just as soon Dougherty assisted us with this.”
“You think Nutter is somehow in on it?”
“No, I just think it’s an uncomfortable situation with the two of them being so cozy.” I patted the fender of the military vehicle. “Nance bought him this battleship, among other things. I think if we’re going to make a run at Nance, then we’d better make sure we’ve got our ducks in a row.”
“Really.”
“He’s just the type to be able to buy or arrange a way to get out of this, and I’m not here just to get the outlaw bikers. If Nance is the money behind this operation, he’s not going to just let it go. If he’s using these fabricators to get a prototype together, then he’s likely to take it to the next level and become an arms dealer.”
“Internationally?”
“Just because the mainstream government doesn’t want the things made doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody else who wouldn’t.”
“Like the CIA?”
“Exactly.”
“So, we need a rundown on Bob Nance to see if there’s anything in his background that might connect him to all this before we do anything?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t think he’s crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s?”
“I’m beginning to wonder if anybody’s ever given him a good, hard look.”
“But this crap’s been going on since when, ’88 or ’89?”
“Yep, with Tichenor killed in ’96 and Torres Senior just last year.”
“That’s some pretty slow development.”
“Hard to get it done when no reputable manufacturer will touch it with a ten-foot advanced synthetic polymer stick.”
“And your technicians keep ending up dead.” She sighed. “When does the blue knight get off?”
I pulled out my pocket watch. “About five minutes ago.” Almost on cue, the young patrolman crossed the street toward us with a familiar man, his hands cuffed behind his back. “Speak of the devil and associate.”
Dougherty slowed as we stood, bringing Eddy the Viking to a stop with him. “Hey, any news?”
“Some, but we’d rather speak confidentially, if possible.” I glanced at the biker, who was, as usual, pretty well inebriated. “What’d Eddy do now?”
“Tried to get a random woman to show him some body parts, and when she wouldn’t, he showed her some of his in hopes of some sort of trade-off.”
I looked down at the man, who continued staring at the sidewalk, giving us the impression that he might charge us with his plastic horns. “Really, Eddy?”
He muttered. “I was set up.”
“How?”
“You should’ve seen those tits.”
I shook my head and turned to Corbin. “Hey, can we use one of your computers to hook into the National Crime Information Center and do a little research?”
“Sure.”
He disappeared inside, and we waited a few moments before Chief Nutter appeared and started toward Main Street without looking at us.
“Let’s go.”
The office reception area was overrun with the hired guns from other counties, towns, and the Highway Patrol. The only quiet place with a computer was Chief Nutter’s office to the left. “You mind if we use Nutter Butter’s office?”
He glanced up from fingerprinting the Viking. “Go right ahead.”
Once inside, I pulled the chair out and indicated to Vic that she should sit in it. “You’re a lot faster on these things than I am.”
“You got that right.” She eased herself into the rolling chair and began working her magic. “This is going to take a while with just his name. I wonder how many Robert Nances there are in the U.S.?”
I pulled out the borrowed phone. “Cady took a photo of the copy of the bail application, and I think that might have a lot of Nance’s pertinent info on it.” I handed her the phone. “I just don’t know how to get at it.”
She shook her head and brought the photo onto the screen. “You are so helpless.” She stared at it and began reading the information. “Oh, we can find him with all of this.”
As she worked, I glanced around Nutter’s office, taking in the photos and plaques that you accumulate over decades in law enforcement, and thought about how the stuff on his walls looked a lot like the stuff on mine, although a lot of mine was left over from Lucian Connally.
/> “Okay, nothing till ’97 when he was charged by a federal grand jury in California for conspiring to defraud the IRS and tax evasion that had to do with money owed for the two previous years. His wife was also charged.”
“He said they were divorced, and she’d gotten three houses out of him.”
Vic continued reading from the computer screen. “I can see how there was trouble in paradise. He sold a business in California, then didn’t report it, and then tried to conceal the two years of monetary installments by filing false tax returns.” She looked up at me. “It looks like he might have gotten his daughter to do it, too.”
“Uh-oh.”
“And then the whole happy family concealed the assets by opening a foreign bank account in a Caribbean island, using purported trusts. Over the next year or so he deposited more than six million into the account, but then they got divorced and I’m betting she dropped a dime on his ass.”
I rested my face in my hands. “Then what?”
“He sold his business, probably in an attempt to pay off some of the taxes and accrued penalties.” She looked up. “I mean, this guy was going to the big stony lonesome—Club Fed.”
Leaving my face in my hands, I spoke through my fingers. “What was the name of his business?”
She scanned the screen. “Doesn’t say.”
“Which California grand jury address?”
“Oakland.”
“Near Silicon Valley.”
She nodded and took in a deep breath. “Home of Special Materials, who first came up with the formula for this particular ASP.”
“Then what?”
Her tarnished gold eyes went back to the screen. “The next mention is when he wired the remainder of the proceeds to a law firm in Dearborn Heights, Michigan, but then he instructed them to wire 3.7 million to an account in, of all places . . .” She looked at me. “Scottsdale, Arizona.”
“Home of Dust Devil Development and the dumpster where Tichenor was found the year before.”
“Holy shit.”
“It’s all circumstantial.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
“Do me a favor? I’m curious about the Detroit connection, so type his name in along with Detroit and see what comes up.”
An Obvious Fact Page 22