by Sam Cade
“Jake, let me catch you up to speed on Green in Charleston and Clemmons in Colorado. John’s team has dug through the financials for both guys. Green has no money whatsoever going out of the country. And no other large unexplained banking transactions. But we did find an email asking for money, an investment. It had crystal clear overseas banking information and implications of a threat. Couldn’t find any money going to that account. And Green is dead. So, there you go.”
“Let me interject here.” It was John. “As Randy said, we found the investment emails sent to the lawyers. Both of the accounts and destinations were different. Banks were in Cape Town and Nevis in the Caribbean. Clemmons was supposed to send money to Nevis. They’re stonewalling us on bank info. Green’s bank was Capetown. Took us five weeks to find out it was opened with $250 bucks and no further money has come into the accounts or left. But here’s where it gets interesting. The name of the person opening the Capetown account is the name of the attorney being scammed.”
“Wait a minute. You mean for the Charleston guy, Braxton Green, the guy opening the Capetown account was Braxton Green?”
“Exactly what I’m saying. But it wasn’t him. We have copies of opening documents including ID photos. Photos and signatures don’t match Green.”
“I’ll be damned. Last week when I stopped in to speak to the Charleston detective, they were following a drug angle.”
Garrison answered. “You’re right. They glossed over that email, thought it was spam, like the Nigerians send. Right now, we’re letting CPD run with the dope play.”
“That’s good stuff, Randy. When I text the bank information, I’ll include the user name and password that will get you on a cloud site to look at Wild Bill’s files from the last three years. Bill has an oddball stepson that does research for him who put it together. Guy wears all black, sits in a dark room looking at three huge monitors, and looks like he hasn’t seen the sun since he was twelve.”
“Everybody has oddball stepsons. But, anyway, you’re on duty now, Jake. See if you can get some of this material in a hard report for us and give daily updates.”
“You bet.”
Jake stood after hanging up, chewed the last Fig Newton and swished it down with tea.
“Back on duty, Rowdy. Let’s get a walk in.”
64
Friday, June 14, 2019
A LIGHT, WISPY BREEZE COOLED Jake and Rowdy as they sat on the pier at Billy Rigdon’s boathouse, ninety-five yards from Bonnie’s place. Jake couldn’t think of anything else to do on a lazy Friday so he Googled Mayfield Engineering, the company Landry Parnell works for.
The company homepage was clean, sharp, professional. He clicked on About.
There was a black and white photo of a man in jeans, a white tee shirt with the sleeves cut off, and work boots leaning on a shovel staring at the camera. Nothing but a pile of dirt behind him and a sweat stained Bama ball cap on his head. His arms indicated he was no stranger to a shovel.
The narrative started.
In the spring of 1971, Harvey Mayfield started his company with a shovel, a used dump truck, a rented thirty-year-old bulldozer and $78 dollars cash.
Jake liked the sound of that from the first sentence. He downed two swigs of water and plowed on.
His cell rang at 4:21 It was the chief.
“Hey, Pike.”
“Good news. The judge granted a search warrant for Shedd’s place. We’re gonna hit it about 6:00 tomorrow morning, about ten minutes after sunrise. I’d like you at the station at 5:15 so we can go over everything with the team.”
Tatum continued. “Callwood got some interesting facts on Shedd from the military. Don’t know if you’ve met him, Foxie Callwood. He’s sly like that old Columbo on TV. Anyway, Foxy tracked down Shedd’s old commanding officer in an assisted living home in Colorado, a guy named Buddy Roper. He was career Army, then sold used cars for twenty years. He remembered Shedd after almost forty years and you won’t believe why.”
“Think I’ll like this. Why?”
“A woman reported to the base that Shedd was stalking her. She was a waitress at one of the bars the Army boys frequented. Roper got into Shedd’s face about it. Threatened to have charges brought up over the matter if it happened again. Roper said Shedd threatened to kick his ass, was hauled in, and ultimately discharged. But here’s the beauty part, something that happened the day after the discharge became official. Roper’s wife came home from the grocery store with their two kids in the car. It was winter, got dark early, and it was about 6:15. Ten minutes after the wife unpacked the groceries, the family Impala blew to shreds, right in their driveway. She was on Valium for a year and wouldn’t leave home without her husband.”
“Damn!”
“Roper says he’s absolutely sure it was Shedd. Had to be. Shedd had been in Nam and used C4 every day. Anyway, see you at 5:15.”
Jake did some time arithmetic in his head. He was planning for a long evening over beer and brisket with a hometown girl...and then who knows.
Chances are slim and none a smoky-voiced woman will leave much time for sleep.
65
Friday Night, June 14, 2019
JAKE PARKED A BLOCK AWAY FROM WILDFIRE, checked his teeth in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the Tahoe. He couldn’t smell himself unless he took a good sniff of his forearm. Perfect. Fresh but not overpowering. He wore a button-down light blue linen shirt in the untucked cut over stone colored shorts.
Inside, the place was packed. He let his eyes adjust just inside the door and glanced around. He didn’t see Kaitlyn. Something grabbed his eye immediately. Four football jerseys on the wall with a small cone of light focused on each of them.
Bo Jackson and Pat Sullivan from Auburn. Kenny Stabler and Jake Montoya from Bama.
He felt someone touch his arm. He glanced down. Kaitlyn. “Well hello big guy, you here alone?”
“Um, temporarily, I hope.”
Kaitlyn slid her arm into the crook of his elbow. “I’ve got a table, come on.” She wore a pair of trim black slacks, heels and a white sleeveless top. Jake thought, Game on.
Barely made it into the seat when a waitress laid two menus on the table.
“How ‘bout a drink, guys?”
“Bud Lite, please,” said Kaitlyn.
“Same here.”
“Jake, what’s the story on that shoot-out in Virginia Beach? Everybody saw it on the news. Still doing that hero stuff, aren’t you?”
“It’s Friday night. Why don’t you catch me up on some folks in town, first?”
The beer arrived in forty-five seconds. Kaitlyn picked up her bottle and extended towards Jake. “Cheers.”
“Cheers, Kaitlyn.”
She took a long pull. “Oh, man. That’s good, super cold. I’ve got all night to tell you about high school buddies, but that story there is the kind that gets my juices flowing.”
All night?
“Yeah, okay. But I’m not the hero, not even close, my dog, Rowdy, is.”
Juices flowing?
The noise level was picking up. You could barely hear George Strait singing “Write This Down”, a fine song to sing along to once lubed with a couple beers.
Kaitlyn leaned forward, looked him in the eye. “Can’t go wrong with the brisket.” She was halfway through her first drink, voice going smokier. “But tonight’s kind of special. I’m getting the Big Dick. And I’ve got a surprise for you, too.” She winked.
Jake froze like a statue, gave nothing away. What ever happened to the chase, the romance?
“Folks are happy to see you, Jake. I know I am.” Kaitlyn leaned forward again. “Starting to get a little crazy in here. I’m so glad I told Bonnie I couldn’t make it tonight. It’s a rare event getting together with you after all these years.”
“Bonnie? My mother, Bonnie?”
“Of, course, your mother. We’ve been in the same Sunday school class for the last ten years over at First Presbyterian.”
My moth
er’s Sunday school classmate?
The waitress was back with her order pad open. “Let’s do it, folks.” The waitress looked at Kaitlyn.
“Tonight’s a great night for the Big Dick,” said Kaitlyn.
A little smile crept across the waitress’s mouth. “When’s it not?” She cocked her eyebrows and slowly swiveled her head to look Jake in the eye. “Well, mister tall, dark, and handsome, what do you have to say about that?”
“I’ll take another beer is what I have to say. You can bring me a little brisket, slaw, and mac and cheese.”
Jake started to feel some pressure to be on his game tonight when a woman approached the table. She was tall, maybe five-eleven, slim, probably one-fifty-five, short dark shiny hair, wearing Warby Parker’s for the creative-types.
“Surprise, Jake! I hope you remember Ann Chambers. She was Annie in high school. You guys were in the photography club.”
“Sure, I do.”
Kaitlyn stood, hugged Ann, gave her a light kiss on the lips. Ann leaned over and hugged Jake as he sat, kissed his cheek. “You are still the best looking guy in the building, aren’t you?”
Ann skootched in next to Kaitlyn and leaned in to sniff Kaitlyn’s neck. “Oh, you smell good tonight. Girly girl smell.”
“Guess what, Ann?” Kaitlyn leaned in with her lips, whispered something in Ann’s ear.
Ann looked over to Jake as a wry smile came across her face. “The Big Dick? I’m definitely in for that. Been awhile for me. I’ve been in South America for the last month.”
Damn! In little ol’ Black Point?
Right then a guy bumped the table holding a tray above his head, a tee shirt slung over his shoulder and a smile that could light a dark alley. “Jake Montoya, how’s it hanging!”
“Dick Ray! How you doin’, man?” Jake surely recognized this guy, the most popular guy in high school. “Ah, hell, Dick, damn good to see you!”
Dick set the tray on the table, Jake stood up and gave him a bro hug.
“I didn’t know this was your place. It’s awesome.”
“I learned everything in Austin, Jake. I quit the government and told ‘em to shove it. No more talking, time to eat some hot chow. Oh, your waitress said you were too cheap to order the Big Dick. So, I brought it anyway. It’s the super platter, all-you-can-eat brisket, pork, and ribs. Enjoy! My treat.”
Jake eyed the food as Dick unloaded the tray. “Awesome! Looks awesome!”
He handed the tee shirt to Jake. “Wear it everywhere and make me famous.”
“Thanks, Dicky.” Jake unfolded it as Dick moseyed toward the kitchen. Dick’s WildFire. Smokin’ Q ‘n Sippin’ Bru.
“I want to brag on Ann a moment,” said Kaitlyn. “You probably didn’t know, but she studied photography on scholarship at Parsons School of Design in New York and has worked for some of the hottest graphics firms in New York and Los Angeles. Now she freelances for high-end magazines, publications with art-like photography and incredible stories.”
“Like what?” Jake forked a piece of brisket into his mouth.
Kaitlyn looked toward Ann. “You tell him, babe.”
“National Geographic, Another Escape, Surfer’s Journal, Outside, Architectural Digest, Travel +Leisure.”
“Big time! Way to go, Ann.”
“But here’s the best thing, Jake. I’m marrying Kaitlyn on Labor Day weekend and we’re creating our new lives together in Santa Barbara.” She leaned over and gave Kaitlyn’s neck a long, slow kiss.
A mouthful of brisket hit Jake’s stomach like a pile of rocks.
66
JAKE LEFT WILDFIRE IN A STATE OF MINOR DEPRESSION. He would have been just fine watching those two frolicking in a jello-filled hot tub, but no...
Rowdy greeted him with a wag at the bungalow. “Everything went sideways, boy. Almost stumbled into a buy one, get one free.”
Fifteen minutes until nine. Needed to be up by 4:30, grab a bite and freshen up with a quick shower.
The splash of Bonnie’s headlights brush stroked the living room walls as she pulled in the drive. He walked outside. “Need any help, Mama?”
“Not a bit. They ate every one of those ham biscuits like vultures.” Walking into the house she said, “Jake, how many bay sunsets have we seen, maybe thirty thousand? Well, this one was the best ever without question. It felt like Jesus himself was in the background painting a palette of a thousand colors. And the drifting clouds? Oh, my goodness! What a great night. Now, I’m going to take a bath, read my devotional, then ease out reading the new Nicholas Sparks book.”
He hugged her and felt a firmer squeeze from her tonight. For as long as he could remember, the bayside sunsets always made Bonnie emotional, thankful. He gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“So glad you’re here, Jake, so glad. As long as you’re here I want that little kiss every night. Even if I’m asleep, in my subconscious I’ll know.”
“You know I will, Mama.”
He grabbed a Rolling Rock out of the refrigerator and took his first sip in the kitchen. He broke out in a smile thinking about the scenario at WildFire.
His eyes caught the thirty-four-year old photo Bonnie kept on the windowsill above the sink in a small silver frame. It was her son Chuck standing beside his new mountain bike on the last day of school, third grade. His smile was huge, and for a moment the boy was happy, not an outcast. For only a moment it was one of the happiest days in the boy’s life.
Jake forced the memory away as best he could, traded the iPad for his laptop, kicked his shoes off, and sat in the easy chair. He left a small lamp on across the room, leaving the room dim and peaceful, then punched in Ann Chambers Photography on Google and had a page of hits instantly. Placing a wireless headset on his head, he clicked on a streaming jazz site. Hoping for some Diana Krall or old Billie Holiday, he was happily surprised with Norah Jones singing “Don’t Know Why.” Her voice was mesmerizing, sweet smoke layered with a tinge of spice. Made him want to walk around naked.
Bumped back to Ann’s business website and was gobsmacked with her talent. He remembered a gangly girl in high school with a mouth full of braces that looked like they could chew apart a truck bumper. Tonight, she was a chic, stunning, trim, highly talented lesbian with a premarital glow. He made a mental note to get with her on this trip and pick up some photography pointers.
Still hungry, he popped a quick bag of microwave popcorn and grabbed another beer.
Thought he’d go to bed after the beer, maybe think about what Kaitlyn and Ann were doing to each other right this moment, but just for the hell of it he went to claz.org to look at Toyota FJ 40 Land Cruisers for sale. He’d casually looked for one for a few years with little to show for his efforts.
On page three, he spotted a 1976 dune beige model located in Point Clear, Alabama. Three miles away! The side-on picture looked decent. Stock appearance, no he-man jacked up crap. The way he liked it.
Could this be a little luck blowing in on a digital breeze? The ad was placed yesterday.
‘Widow Sale. Nice Truck. Original.’ No name, just a phone number with an 804-area code. Virginia. But no price. Worrisome. A distraught widow was parting with her husband’s beloved toy at an outlandishly inflated price, had to be.
He eyed the time on the computer. Ten thirty-five. Screw it. He grabbed his phone, punched the phone number as fast as he could, or he wouldn’t sleep otherwise. Four rings and no machine picking up.
Six rings....and BANG! Answered.
“Hello. This is Hope.”
She sounded drowsy and younger than he would expect, not like some aging lady who would suck his bank account dry. Must be the daughter, he thought. The widow was in bed, probably sedated on Valium.
“Hope? My name’s Jake, and I’m trying to reach the widow selling the Land Cruiser. Is that your mom?”
“Kind of late, isn’t it? I’m the widow. I’ll sum it up. It’s in great shape, forty-two thousand miles, and meticulously maintained...just a nice truck. How �
�bout we talk tomorrow, I’m in bed.”
“Talk? Sure. Give me your address, I’ll come by your place at eight a.m.” Shedd’s place was likely only minutes from this Land Cruiser.
“No chance on that. I’m playing a round robin tennis mixer at Lakewood Tennis Club in the morning. Folks are coming from out of town and there could be some interesting guys there, so I’m not really sure.”
Jake’s lips moved silently, speaking to air. Interesting guys?
Husband barely in the dirt, dumping the old man’s toy, and she’s already looking for interesting guys. No concern for even meeting a serious buyer. Means she doesn’t need the money.
Thinking fast, he said, “Look, here’s some good news, some guaranteed news, I’m from out of town...and I’m interested...and you can set your watch by me.”
“I’m not quite sure you sound that interesting.”
“What do I sound like?”
“Desperate.”
“Okay, look, Hope, here’s the deal. The world is full of tire-kickers and lonely men that drive around on the weekend test driving interesting vehicles, pretending they’re buyers. It’s like Trump says...a hoax. Just tell me what time to show up and where.”
Hope smiled and listened through her drowsiness. Desperation sounded cute in the right moments.
“Oh, hey, one question. What’s the asking price?”
“Negotiable. I’ve got to do some jockeying on a final price.”
“Jockeying? Why?”
“Cause you’re the ninth caller. This thing might be worth more than I thought.”
Jake’s fists balled tight. “Okay, please let me see it FIRST. Just tell me when and where.”
“Lakewood Tennis Club. Twelve noon on the dot. Next guy’s coming at 12:30. Oh, where’d you say you’re from?”
“Georgetown, in D.C.”
“Okay, Jack from Georgetown. I gotta run, get some rest.”
The phone went dead in his hand. It’s Jake. Her nonchalance was not reassuring.