Kevin threw up his hands. “I’m wide open to ideas. If people are already looking for the boy, then Tyrell will be careful how he transports him. He’ll probably name a place close to if not the very spot where he’s holding the kid.”
“Maybe. Or maybe we can make that work for us. He’s banking Danny Swift is worth more to you than the money. But he also knows you’re now a rogue. Like him, you’re outside the law. So, our gamble is how much he thinks you’ll risk, that risk being the conditions for the swap.”
“You mean if I think it’s too risky, I’ll walk away with his cash?”
“Yes. And because that’s what Tyrell would do, he might not see it as a bluff.”
Kevin nodded. “You got a place in mind?”
I looked up at the sparkling pieces of blue sky appearing and disappearing as a breeze blew through the upper reaches of bamboo leaves. Then I eyed the pathway’s entrances at each end of the long strip of heavy growth. Kevin and I stood about a hundred feet from either opening. When I turned back to him, he grinned.
“I’ll be damned. You bastard. You’re putting me back in the jungle.”
I shrugged. “If the Viet Cong couldn’t kill you, what chance does Frankie Tyrell have?”
“When?”
“After dark. Two in the morning would be good. Tell him Danny’s too hot to be shuttled around in the daylight. Say you don’t want Danny to see you clearly because once he’s free you’re splitting.”
“All right. Let me work it out from this point.”
“No. We’re making a plan together and we’re following it. My neck’s sticking out as much as yours.”
“What do you mean?”
I stepped into the small enclave in the bamboo from which Kevin had emerged. “Because I’m going to be in here covering you. The weather’s clear and there’s a full moon. Under this canopy the brightest spots will be the entrances. Each of you will see the other’s silhouette. You’ll be alone, he’ll have Danny. Tell him to enter from the end near the Qualla Arts Center and the Museum of the Cherokee Indian. You’ll come in first from the opposite entrance closer to the Cherokee Agency for Indian Affairs. You’ll set down his satchel here. Tell him you’ll leave a flashlight by it and then you’ll back off twenty or thirty feet. Enough to make a pistol shot difficult. Then he comes in with Danny, checks the satchel and lets the boy walk to you. Everybody exits and nobody in the village sees a thing.”
“Except you grab Tyrell after Danny’s safe.”
“And we’ll have him for kidnapping. Where the ransom money came from will be irrelevant.”
Kevin looked skeptical. “You know he’s going to check this place out ahead of time.”
“I’m counting on it. So you need to watch it as soon as you’ve left your response at the hotel desk. I’m sure he’s watching you, so he won’t be surprised you’re watching him. I need you to let me know when he’s cleared this location. It had better be no later than dusk.”
“OK,” Kevin said. “Where will you be in the meantime?”
“Trying to find out who’s really behind all this.”
Kevin left the shelter of the bamboo first. From this point, we couldn’t take the chance of being seen together. All communication would be through texting. I insisted on being the one to inform Tommy Lee and said I would contact Kevin if there were any changes to the plan.
The isolation of the bamboo was as private as any place I could find. Even the murmur of traffic on the roads running parallel to each bank of the river was muted by the rippling sound of running water. I leaned against a wall of stalks and dialed Tommy Lee’s cell phone.
“What now?” he said.
“Tyrell’s got Danny Swift.”
“Christ almighty. How’d that happen?”
I gave him a summary of Kevin’s stunt to bring Tyrell after him. I neglected to mention I’d seen Kevin cracking the code to Tyrell’s room lock. I would confess later, but at the moment I didn’t need Tommy Lee second guessing my judgment.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “Two in the morning is too isolated a time. Any backup will be more likely to be spotted.”
“And that’s the reason Tyrell may go for it. We’re balancing risks to keep him in the game. One hundred fifty thousand dollars is a big pot to walk away from, but Kevin’s convinced Tyrell will do it if he thinks it’s too risky.”
“What’s the closest I could get?”
“Probably the parking lot of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. As long as it appeared empty, an official-looking vehicle could park there overnight.”
“How far is that?”
“Probably three hundred yards. We passed it when you missed the turn to the police station.”
Tommy Lee said nothing for a moment.
“This is about saving the boy,” I said. “I’ll take the chance.”
“OK.” The sheriff must have spoken to himself because he said the word so softly I hardly heard him. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I’ll borrow some kind of appropriate car. How’s cell coverage there?”
“I’m calling from the middle of the bamboo stand.”
“Good. Then make sure your battery’s fully charged. I’ll phone you no later than one forty-five. We’ll keep an open line because I want to hear everything.”
“All right. I’ll be in place long before then.”
A car horn sounded through the phone. “Where are you headed?” I asked.
“To the casino construction site for those soil samples. Have you asked Romero to prep the ones from Eddie Wolfe’s trunk and the artifacts?”
“No. I just finished with Kevin. I’ll have to contact Romero through their dispatcher. He’s probably still in the dead zone at Eddie’s trailer.”
“Well, make it as soon as possible.”
I decided it was time to ask Tommy Lee what had been gnawing the back of my mind. “How much do you trust Romero?”
“What do you mean?”
“That second casino represents a lot of money, not only to vendors and contractors, but the Cherokee per capita payments. Every institution, every individual will be touched by the outcome of this controversy.”
“There’s a difference between being touched and being corrupted. Hector Romero is a good cop. He’s as solid as he looks.”
“Then that’s all I need to know.” My phone beeped with an incoming call. Melissa Bigham’s name flashed on the screen. “Gotta go. We’ll talk later.” I switched over and said, “What have you got for me?”
“Well, hello to you too,” she said. “What have you got for me?”
“Nothing. But keep your phone by your bed tonight.”
Melissa eagerly jumped on my tease. “What’s going down?”
“I can’t tell you, but it’s more than Panther’s killer.”
“Then I’ll sit in my car with the motor running.”
“I’m serious, Melissa. Not a hint to anyone that something’s about to break. This is a heads-up only to you.”
“Should I hold the front page?” she asked.
“No. If it happens, it will be too late for your press run. I’m rewarding you in advance for whatever you’re about to tell me.”
“First of all, I only got two hours of sleep last night after working the Internet and then working the phones this morning.”
“You were careful?”
Melissa laughed. “As careful as you can be and still be a reporter. I said I was doing a profile piece on one of our senior legislators. And that’s what this might turn into if your investigation goes nowhere.”
I was getting stiff standing amid the bamboo and started walking to the police station. “Anything surface that looks unusual or questionable?”
“No hint of a scandal in Collins’ elections or his conduct in the state senate. He’s been careful to make
sure his construction company goes through open bidding for any state contracts, and he doesn’t bid on projects he supports in his own district.”
“What about the pending casino?”
“This morning I reached the chair of the senate committee overseeing roads and highways, figuring since that’s Collins’ primary business it would more likely fall under public scrutiny if tied to the road improvements around the new casino.”
“Who’s that?”
“Senator Gerald Eckles,” Melissa said. “He’s out of Wilmington representing several coastal counties and has no connection to the Cherokee. He gave the most pushback when I asked about Collins and state contracts related to the casino construction. He challenged the question as to being pertinent to a personality profile.”
“Was he defensive or just trying to write your story?”
Melissa thought a moment. “Neither. He was protective, either of Collins or their relationship. He told me the major road contracts were most likely going out of state and that Mack Collins hadn’t bid on them. Eckles said Collins was supporting the second casino on its own merits and refused to be considered for any opportunity to benefit financially.”
I couldn’t see how Mack Collins’ position was any different than his general policy as Melissa first described it. “Sounds like he kept everything aboveboard.”
“Yes. But Eckles went to such great lengths to champion Collins’ integrity that I wondered why he felt the need to go into such elaboration. Then Eckles said something that caught my ear. He said Collins won’t even talk to the Department of Transportation about projects he knows the state legislature is funding. He keeps his North Carolina company at arm’s length from any inside information he might have.”
“North Carolina company?”
“Yes,” Melissa said. “I thought that was odd too. So, for the last hour I’ve been researching any Internet links for Mack or Maxwell Collins to other construction companies. One of the paper’s database subscriptions kicked up a Maxwell Collins in New Jersey thirty years ago.”
“He’s from New Jersey. He told me himself.”
“Did he tell you he was indicted for a bid-rigging scandal?”
That stopped me right in the middle of the footbridge over the Oconaluftee River. “Our Mack Collins?”
“Yes. I saw the photo that ran in the Trenton newspaper. Definitely Mack, although he had to be no more than thirty-five.”
“Was he convicted?”
“No. The case never came to trial. Get this, Barry. The prosecution’s key witness committed suicide. Convenient, huh?”
My blood ran as cold as the mountain water beneath me. “And then he came here.”
“Not immediately. A follow-up article reported he closed the New Jersey company and returned to his business interests in South Boston.”
I whistled under my breath. “Hometown of Frankie Tyrell and Whitey Bulger.”
“Yep. And what better way to launder money than through a construction company. You can always be low bidder because you’re flowing extra cash through the project.”
“Why wouldn’t this have come to light during his election campaigns?”
“Come on. A local election of a state representative for rural mountain counties? By then, Collins had lived here twelve years. I’m sure the Vista didn’t do any deep background investigation of him. And after that first election, he’s run unopposed.”
My whole perspective of Mack Collins suddenly shifted. “Thirty years ago, Bulger must have sent him south to get out from under the microscope and start a new operation. Along the way, Collins pursued political clout as well.”
“A sweet setup,” Melissa said. “And it would explain why he’s never run for higher office. The Charlotte and Raleigh papers would have scrutinized everything from his birth certificate on. What are you going to do now?”
“That’s going to be Tommy Lee’s call. And you know what you’re going to do.”
“Who are you? My assignment editor?”
“No, thank God.” I heard the clatter of typing on a computer keyboard. “So, you’re on it?”
“Yes, Deputy Clayton. My task is to learn what out-of-state construction companies are finalists for casino-related projects and then uncover Mack Collins hidden inside one of them. Now let me go to work.” Melissa hung up.
I stood on the bridge, thinking through the implications of her discovery. Mack Collins knew Frankie Tyrell. He may have come to Cherokee with the satchel of cash to pay Tyrell off. If so, then why the argument witnessed by Uncle Wayne? At that point, Tyrell didn’t realize Kevin had stolen his money. Was it because Collins had expected Tyrell to leave immediately? That he didn’t want their paths to overlap any longer than necessary?
They say there are no secrets in a small town. Senator Mack Collins, the person respected by our mountain community for so many years, was at best a criminal and at worst a murderer. Would he also condone the killing of an innocent child?
I pulled the photograph Kevin had given me and studied it in the sunlight. My first look within the gloom of the bamboo had focused on Danny’s face, the sheer terror in his expression. Now I examined the whole picture. The colors were muted and blurry because the photo had been printed on ordinary computer paper. Danny appeared to be lying on a carpet. It wasn’t a carpet I’d seen in Eddie’s mobile home. The dark gray fell away into shadows like Danny was on his back in some kind of container.
In the lower corner, a bent piece of metal gleamed in the brightest section of the photograph. I held the paper closer. The partial view revealed enough for me to identify a tire iron. Danny Swift was in the trunk of a car. A large car.
I flashed back to Mack Collins at the funeral home, asking me to keep him informed of the progress of my investigation, asking as he leaned against the trunk of his big Lincoln.
Chapter Twenty-one
Conducting a funeral follows a procedure. I know the family is in a highly emotional state of grief, maybe even shock. My job is to walk them through a ritual which might have variations in its details but usually has the same destination—a country hillside cemetery.
Conducting a murder investigation follows a procedure. There is also a body and most likely a family in shock and grief. In this case, my job is to collect evidence, interview witnesses and persons of interest, and follow that evidence and those interviews wherever they may lead. At the beginning, I might have a hunch as to the final resolution, but twists and turns can bring me to a completely unexpected and unanticipated destination, one that I couldn’t have imagined. And instead of ending at a country hillside cemetery, this investigation began there.
Now an unpredictable yet inevitable showdown loomed—a showdown with a powerful state senator and a Boston mobster. At the conclusion of a funeral, the dead are remembered and buried. I was facing an unknown conclusion where life and death still hung in the balance, and the only certainty was that someone in the game was going to lose.
I slid the photo back in the envelope and hurried up the hill to the Cherokee Police Department. Although I would stay clear of Kevin, there was no reason for me to halt my investigation. On the contrary, if anyone were watching me, a sudden shift in my behavior could be alarming. I should be ignorant of the kidnapping, but moving forward with Jimmy Panther’s murder inquiry.
I’d become such a familiar face at the police station that I was buzzed through without having to say who I was seeing. I made my way to the dispatcher, a Cherokee woman in her late twenties, who looked at me with a harried expression. Her morning had already been a long one.
“Is Detective Sergeant Romero still at the Eddie Wolfe scene?” I asked.
Even though I wasn’t in uniform, she must have known my role.
“Yes, Deputy Clayton.”
“It’s urgent I speak with him. Can you patch the two-way through to my phone?”
I walked down the narrow hall to the office where Tommy Lee and I talked with Romero only two days earlier. I sat in the worn desk chair whose squeak was barely a whisper compared to the tortured screech under Romero’s weight.
The dispatcher’s voice came through the speaker phone. “Deputy Clayton, Romero’s on line two.”
I thanked her and punched the flashing button. “Hector, are you close to leaving?”
“Not really. What’s up?”
“An extremely urgent situation has arisen and I need to meet you as soon as possible.”
“What situation?”
I didn’t want to go into details on an open police frequency. “My sheriff has new information you need to see in person regarding Jimmy Panther. The timing is critical and he wants your eyes to review it in case there’s something his two eyes missed.”
The radio patch went silent a moment as Romero digested the obvious lie. Then he said, “OK. What if we meet someplace between us?”
“Sounds good. Where?”
“I’ll call you from the road in about fifteen minutes. Maybe we can make lunch.”
Romero understood something critical was in the air and a cell phone-to-cell phone connection would be the most secure.
“All right. My treat. See you soon.” I dropped the receiver on the cradle and realized my jeep was still back at the casino. Romero would need to pick me up, but we could work out those details when he phoned again. In the meantime, I’d walk down to the village and look for a spot we could rendezvous. And, more importantly, I’d call Tommy Lee and alert him we might be arresting one of Gainesboro’s most prominent citizens.
He answered the phone with an order. “You’re going to wear a Kevlar vest. I’ll bring it tonight.”
“All right. But you might want to delegate that errand. Our agenda may have changed.”
“I’m near the construction site,” Tommy Lee said. “Are you having trouble getting the soil samples from Romero?”
“I forgot to ask him.”
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