by Faith Wood
The man looked at the floor, then at his wife. “Last week.”
“Does he come every week?”
“He come every Friday for last five years. He tell me if I say anything, he hurt me and my family . . .”
Colbie cringed as the man’s posture slumped as if expecting the worst because of his telling the truth.
“Does he take money from you?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollar . . .”
“Every week? Does he have the same arrangement with other businesses on this block?”
“Five—five businesses. Every week.”
“Do you know if he collects the same amount of money from them?
“I don’t know. We say nothing.”
“I understand. Has the policeman ever hurt you?”
“No.”
“What does he look like?”
“Big. Orange hair.” Immediately Colbie knew he was talking about Alvin—his hair was the type of red that was more like bright copper than anything.
After a few more questions Colbie thanked them, leaving the couple standing behind the register, watching her as she walked out the door. Certain she was out of sight, the man picked up the phone, and dialed.
The restaurant was packed, and Colbie had to wait for a table. She preferred something a little more private, but wound up smack dab in the middle of the restaurant floor. It wasn’t the best choice—if Tammy decided to lose it, there could be an uncomfortable scene, but it was another risk she would have to take.
She did, however, have an excellent view of the Optimum Security building from her table. At precisely twelve-thirty-five, Tammy made her way across the busy street, checking her watch as she stepped onto the curb. She looks nervous, Colbie thought as she watched her check her cell—a fleeting smile as she read what Colbie guessed was a text message. In that moment, Colbie knew—she felt—Tammy was, indeed, a pawn. A brief image of a chessboard popped into her mind’s eye, large fingers removing each piece slowly and methodically. She watched as the fingers lingered over the queen, then flicked it off the board in swift, dismissive motion. Two pieces remained—the king and one pawn.
“Are you Colbie Colleen?” The vision dissipated at the sound of Tammy’s voice.
“I am. Please—have a seat.” Colbie gestured to the seat across from her, but Tammy pulled out the chair to Colbie’s right. Interesting—she chose to be closer to me rather than far away, she noted as Tammy hooked her shoulder bag over the back of an empty chair. It was an important tell—by choosing to sit next to Colbie, Tammy indicated she was a friendly person, and she didn’t perceive Colbie as a threat. She felt comfortable with her. Odd, because that’s exactly what Colbie didn’t want to happen. Maybe I misread her—maybe she doesn’t know anything.
Tammy’s body language convinced Colbie to change her tactic at the last minute. “I appreciate your meeting me—I know I came across pretty strong on the phone, but I’m concerned for your welfare . . .”
“My welfare? What does that mean?” Tammy pulled her head back, shifting her weight to the opposite side.
“Well—let me ask you this . . . how well do you know the people you’re working for?”
“You mean Vinnie?”
“Yes—Vinnie, and everyone else—how well do you know them?”
“Not well—why?”
“Because there are some things—illegal things—going on with Optimum Security. I can’t go into the particulars, but I need your help . . .”
“My help? How can I help you?”
“I need a list of Optimum Security clients, as well as all employees.”
“Are you kidding? If I get caught, I’ll get fired! I have a three-year old kid to support!”
Learning Tammy had a child caught Colbie off guard. “Let me put it this way—if you don’t help me, you won’t have a job anyway. Not to mention, if you don’t help me, there’s a real possibility you’ll go down with the ship.” Colbie looked directly at Tammy with a stone-faced look.
“But, I haven’t done anything!” Tammy’s eyes welled with tears.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know that—however, you might be able to convince me . . . tell me what you know about Optimum Security. Not the stuff the public hears—I want to know what happens when no one is listening.” Colbie watched as Tammy came to a slow understanding that she had to play ball. Tammy straightened in her chair, looking directly at Colbie.
“Let’s start with Vinnie Alberico . . .”
Chapter 18
Colbie gave serious thought about how she would broach the subject of Alvin’s corruption with Sarge. She really didn’t have concrete proof—only suspicion—and it would be the first thing he would call to her attention. He and Alvin were friends simply based on Alvin’s number of years on the force, and Colbie was clear Sarge would jump to his officer’s defense at the mere suggestion of corruption. She couldn’t blame him for his loyalty, no matter how misguided, for it was the way of the officer community. They treated each other as family, and there would be no shortage of colleagues who would step up for him. The question was would they step up for Alvin even if they knew the truth? And, perhaps, the bigger question—would they step up for her?
She made a note to call Sarge before the end of his shift to schedule an appointment and, in the meantime, she would comb over her conversation with Tammy. By the time they left the restaurant, Colbie had no doubt Tammy was a chess piece in the Optimum Security game—she didn’t know anything, but when Colbie pointed out she or her family may be in danger, Tammy was quick to cough up whatever information she had—information she didn’t know she had until Colbie adroitly extracted it. She also promised Colbie she would have a list of clients to her by the end of the day, and Colbie had to give her credit for recognizing she was in a situation over which she had no control. Would Al Vincent or Vinnie Alberico harm her or her family? Chances were against it, but Colbie couldn’t take chances with anyone’s life—especially a three-year old child.
It turned out Tammy was quite the fountain of knowledge when it came to Vinnie. When Optimum hired her, she was fresh out of college—no business experience except a brief stint at a law office. That job was okay, but when she saw the ad for the opening at Optimum Security, she jumped at the chance. Colbie asked her the starting salary, stunned when Tammy confided it was sixty thousand a year. For a receptionist who really isn’t very bright? It sounded fishy, but since she didn’t have any idea of what a receptionist should make, it was something she could quickly research. Still, the inflated salary lent credence to Colbie’s suspicion that Optimum Security was up to no good.
Around three o’clock, Colbie called Ryan to fill him in on what she learned that day. Her time spent at the dry cleaner’s and lunch with Tammy was the most interesting since Ryan didn’t have anything concrete for her.
“It was clear they’re scared witless of Alvin,” she commented after recounting her morning on the south side of town. “And, I wouldn’t put it past them to tip him off. They seemed to know the other businesses Alvin strong arms, so it makes me wonder if they have a network of business owners who keep their eyes peeled for something unusual—or, someone unusual. Like me.”
“It’s always a possibility,” Ryan agreed. “Even from a distance, Alvin seems like an imposing guy.”
“He is—and, he’s as nasty as the day is long. I’m going to have to be careful, and gear up the eyes in the back of my head when I visit the station within the next day or two. Which brings me to my next point—I tried to get in touch with Sarge, but he wasn’t in. Another case, I’m guessing . . .”
“How do you think he’s going to take your suggesting his officer is dirty?”
“Are you kidding me? He’s going to be pissed, and he’ll probab
ly take it out on me. He’ll want to see the evidence.”
“And, right now, you don’t have evidence . . .”
“True. That’s why I can’t wait to get my hands on the list of clients and employees of Optimum—Tammy has access to Vinnie’s office, and she knows the password to his computer.”
“What? How did she swing that?”
“I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. She’s going to meet me at five-thirty—after what I told her today, she’s scared to send anything from her work or personal email.”
“Can’t say I blame her—if I worked for those guys, I wouldn’t trust them, either.”
“I know—I feel like I’m getting her in a crapload of trouble, but what choice do I have? I have to find Brian, and I have to find out why Alvin is targeting me. Somehow, Optimum is involved—I just don’t know how.” Colbie paused, thinking about the trouble she brought into Tammy’s world.
“What about Brian? Do you know exactly where he is?”
“Remington told me they move him around—at first, they had him in the house on the outskirts of town. The one you investigated—you know, where the crazy lady with the dog lived . . .”
“Why didn’t Remington tell you about the other places? You know damned well they’re keeping him in an empty house on her realty radar.”
“That’s what I think, too. She assured me Brian is fine, and Alvin has no plans to take things further—but, I don’t trust him and, loose cannon that he is, he may change his mind. But, as far as her not telling me where the houses on rotation are, I think it’s because she doesn’t quite trust me, and she really doesn’t trust Alvin. Remember, she still doesn’t know he’s a cop . . .”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I’m not sure—I may be able to get around it by upending the Optimum thing. I have to see the client list first . . .”
Colbie and Ryan chatted and brainstormed for another half hour before Colbie realized she had to meet Tammy at the coffee shop. She hoped the information the receptionist was providing would unlock much of what she didn’t know. Yes, it was a crapshoot, but, right then, it was all she had to figure out the Optimum Security component of her investigation.
As she waited for Tammy, she thought about what the receptionist told her about Vinnie Alberico. When she first hired on at Optimum, he put the moves on her within the first couple of days. At first he seemed nice, but after she got to know him a little better within the office environment, he gave her the creeps. Tammy felt he had a mean streak a mile wide and, when Colbie pressed her as to why, she confided Vinnie forced himself on her in the parking lot one night when they stayed late at work.
Tammy’s confession about the sexual assault didn’t surprise Colbie in the least. Her body language at their first meeting was similar to Remington’s in that both hunched their shoulders forward, heads slightly down—classic postures for registering defeat. Psychology and police training taught her such postures were often referred to as ‘the turtle effect,’ and they’re seen in those who are humbled or lacking confidence. Tammy, however, exhibited more pacifying behavior by stroking her décolletage when she spoke of Alberico’s unwanted advances. Subconsciously covering her neck indicated to Colbie that Tammy was experiencing emotional discomfort, fear, or concerns right then. Why wouldn’t she be stressed, she thought as she swirled sweetener into her tea. Between Alberico and the news she may be in legal hot water, Tammy had plenty on her plate.
Colbie glanced up as the receptionist approached her table.
“Sorry I’m late—traffic was terrible!”
“No problem—how did it go?”
Tammy slipped into the chair across from Colbie, unaware of the recorder in the fanny pack on the table. She pushed it aside, making room for three manila folders.
“This is all I could get . . .” she commented, shoving the folders across the table to Colbie. “You’ll see right away which files come from Vinnie’s office . . .”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because some of them don’t make sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I looked through them, I noticed his transactions don’t match the transaction’s I have in my files.”
“Why do you keep track of transactions, at all?” Colbie thought it interesting that Alberico and the higher ups trusted a receptionist with sensitive material.
“Because they’re one girl short—Vinnie doesn’t have an assistant anymore, and I had to work on the files.”
“Why are they short-staffed?”
“The girl who left didn’t tell me, but I could tell she was scared of something . . .”
“Alberico?”
“Probably . . .”
Colbie sat back and sipped her tea, thinking about what Tammy just told her. She hadn’t considered Alberico’s being a serial rapist, but it did make sense—Alvin could have come across Alberico in his cop years, tagging him to be just what he needed. Someone who needed to make a deal . . .
“What’s her name?”
“Kellie Marchand—I wrote her phone number on the inside of the file folder.” She paused. “There’s one other thing . . .” Tammy’s teaser roused Colbie from her thoughts.
Colbie raised her eyebrows, and put down her cup. “What’s that?”
“Someone—I have no idea who it is—calls to speak with Al or Vinnie every Friday.”
“Do you know about what?”
“No—but it’s at the same time every week, and Al or Vinnie are always there to take his call. He says his name is Jim, but I’m not sure I buy it.”
“Really—why not?” It made sense that Al Vincent would be at the Optimum office on Fridays, one of his days off at the precinct.
“I can’t really say why—something just doesn’t feel right.” With that statement, Colbie renewed her trust and faith in the Optimum Security receptionist. Tammy had her eyes open wider than Colbie initially thought, and Colbie was beginning to think she could be of great benefit to her.
If she’s game, Colbie thought. If she’s game . . .
By six o’clock, Colbie was back at home, the files Tammy left with her on the kitchen table. Her Mr. Coffee was on its last legs, spitting water as she fired it up for a full pot—combing through each piece of paper was going to take time, and she needed to be as alert as possible.
While the coffee brewed, she separated the folders—two were from Alberico’s files, one was from Tammy’s desk. Excellent! She copied them! After spending time with her, Colbie recognized Tammy wasn’t a dummy, and she was no one’s fool—she made copies so she wouldn’t raise suspicion should Alberico or Vincent go thumbing through the files. Handing Colbie originals could have been the kiss of death for her, as well as Colbie’s investigation.
Sifting through Alberico’s file, she pulled out pages with the same or similar information in Tammy’s file. First up, Optimum Security’s client list—without looking at its contents, Colbie noticed Alberico’s list was two pages, and Tammy’s was one. The info was identical on the first page, but the second page included a list of handwritten names. It was possible, she supposed, the second page was simply missing from Tammy’s file—then again, it would be interesting to find out if Alberico added it himself.
She dialed Tammy’s personal cell from the Wal-Mart phone. Several rings later, she was about to hang up when Tammy answered, sounding out of breath.
“Tammy—it’s Colbie. Do you have a sec?”
“Uh, not really.” Colbie instantly tuned into the stress in the receptionist’s voice.
“Tammy . . . is everything okay?” Colbie paused, listening intently to the subliminal tells.
“Yeah—sure. My boss just stopped by, so I really don’t have time to talk.”
Colbie picked up on her s
ignal immediately. “Alberico is there?”
“Right. Do you mind if I call you later? I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Do you want me to call the police?”
Tammy’s voice caught as she answered Colbie’s question. “No—that’s okay. I really gotta go . . .” End of call.
Holy crap! Why is Alberico at Tammy’s? What could he possibly want?
Colbie could think of only one thing.
She led Brian, blindfolded, through the back door, and instantly he knew he was at the first house. It reeked of stale urine and mildew and, if he listened carefully, he could hear fearful scurrying of an occasional field mouse.
It took his eyes a minute to adjust when Remington removed the blindfold—scuff marks on the dusty floor were still visible, so not much changed since he was last there. After a while, days began to merge into each other, but he counted four moves within the last two weeks. Remington was always the taxi service, although he was well aware someone else was involved.
He still didn’t know why.
Remington stood in front of him. “What I’m about to tell you—well, you need to keep your mouth shut. Understand?”
What the hell is she talking about? Remington barely spoke to him whenever she was there, so why would she talk to him now?
“I know you don’t know why you’re being held here and, to be honest, neither do I. All I can say is you probably don’t have any reason to worry—your girlfriend is looking for you.”
Colbie? How does she know about her? Brian struggled to comprehend what he just heard.
“Did you talk to her?” He looked up at Remington, trying to decipher any emotion on her face. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he was doing exactly what Colbie was training to do for her career.