“When?” Deuce asked.
“Now.”
“Right on!” Ace grinned. “What do you want us to do?”
I explained about the phone call I’d just received. When I finished, I said, “I want you two to hang around outside the store.” I thought for a second. “This guy is paranoid and I don’t want to spook him, so I’ll have you two stay outside. That way he won’t know I’ve brought anyone with me. I’m going to try to bring him outside to talk, but if something happens before that, or if he tries something when we get outside, you call the police.”
“You want us to be the muscle?” Deuce asked. “We can rub this guy out.”
I stared at him. “Rub him out? Um, no.”
Ace snickered. “He’s been watching too many gangster movies.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “You two stay out of trouble, okay?”
“We could say the same to you,” Deuce grinned.
“Touché,” I said.
“Huh?” Blank expressions from both of them.
“Never mind,” I said. “Let’s go.” I slid off my barstool, left some money on the table, and we headed outside.
It took fifteen minutes to get from B 52s to the Twelfth Avenue Hotel. As we drove past it, I spotted the Corner Store gas station farther down the street, very near the Jonas Bros Furs sign that sat atop an old red-brick building nearby.
“I’m going to drop you off another block down,” I said, “and you can walk back to the gas station. Stay on the corner. If he’s there, I’ll bring him outside to talk, that way you can keep an eye on us.”
I passed the gas station, drove down to Ninth, and let them out. Then I went around the block and squeezed my 4-Runner into a spot next to a dilapidated house. I got out, locked the car, and walked back toward Broadway. By the time I neared the Corner Store, the Goofballs had positioned themselves at the corner. They did a decent job of loitering, and they wisely didn’t act as if they’d seen me. Across the street, people were going in and out of the Sports Authority, an iconic two-story building that looked vaguely like a castle, and I found myself wishing I were going there instead. But if this call wasn’t a sham, having work would be a good thing, so I squared my shoulders and went into the Corner Store.
I checked my watch. I was right on time. The store was busy, with a line of people waiting to pay, and a few more shoppers in the store aisles. A clerk as thin as a straw stood behind a counter to the left of the door, deftly ringing up items from customer after customer. I walked up and down the aisles and looked for a man with a Yankees baseball cap. But none of the patrons were my guy. I scowled, then contemplated the variety of chips and crackers while I eyed people coming inside. After a minute, I wondered if the clerk behind the counter would worry about me loitering, but he was too busy to notice. I switched aisles and went to the refrigerated beverage section, took out my phone, and found Pete’s number in my phone history. I dialed it, but he didn’t answer. I waited a bit longer, then finally strolled out of the store, disgusted. What a waste of time.
I spotted the Goofballs and signaled to them. They came running, with serious looks on their baby faces.
“What happened?” Ace asked.
“He didn’t show,” I said.
“Okay.” Deuce shrugged. “Can we go back and play pool?” The allure of this task was over for him.
“Sure.” I stomped around the side of the building and toward the sidewalk.
“Hey, I want a soda,” Ace said.
Deuce nodded. “Me, too.”
I was a touch grouchy. “I’ll meet you at the car,” I called over my shoulder.
They ran back into the store and I continued toward the car. I reached the back side of the building and heard someone call out to me.
“Hey.”
I whirled around, thinking it was Ace or Deuce. But instead, a man about my size in jeans and white shirt was standing at the corner of the building, near an alley entrance. A Yankees baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes.
“Pete?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you come into the store?”
“It’s too busy in there,” he said.
I waved around at the shadowy street. “This is better?”
“Yes.” He waited as a car drove by and then gestured at me to come toward him. “Come with me.”
“Forget it,” I said.
“I assure you, I mean you no harm.”
“We’ll see about that,” I muttered.
“I don’t want anyone to see me,” he said.
I glanced around. “Am I in some kind of spy movie?”
He shook his head.
“Why are you so worried?” I asked.
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
That got my attention, although I still didn’t know if I believed this guy. I studied Pete in the dusky light. Besides the surprisingly nice jeans and white Oxford shirt, he wore brown leather loafers. He was clean-shaven, with tufts of brown hair showing beneath the baseball cap. Not the typical clientele of the Twelfth Street Hotel.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
He started to approach, and just then Ace and Deuce headed down the sidewalk toward us. Pete ducked into the alley.
“Hold on,” I said to Pete.
“I can’t be seen!” he whispered over his shoulder.
By now Ace and Deuce had reached me. Both were sipping bottles of Coke.
“Thanks for waiting,” Deuce said.
I nodded. “Sure.”
I peered into the alley. Pete had disappeared. The Goofballs stared into the alley as well.
“What’re we looking at?” Ace finally asked.
“Why don’t you two go wait in the car,” I suggested, then handed Ace the keys. “You can watch me from there.”
“What for?” Deuce said.
“If anything happens to him, we call the police,” Ace said, talking down to his brother as if he were a dunce. Was that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?
“Oh, right.” Deuce grinned. “I forgot.”
Ace took my keys and they walked off.
I turned back to the alley. I suspected Pete hadn’t left, since he was so desperate to talk to me. But if he had been listening, it also meant he knew about the Goofballs, and he’d know I had backup.
“Pete?” I called softly.
Nothing.
I called his name again and waited.
“Why’d you bring them?” Pete’s voice suddenly echoed through the alley.
“Eh, just for some insurance.”
Nothing from that, either.
“Pete?”
“I guess I deserve that,” he finally said.
I heard soft footsteps and then he materialized from the shadows. His eyes darted past me and his lips were pressed into a grim line.
“Listen, Pete,” I said. “I’m trying to be patient, but enough is enough. Either you start talking or I’m gone.”
He held up a hand in protest. “All right, calm down.”
“How do you know someone’s trying to kill you?”
He hesitated. “A couple nights ago – Sunday – when I came home, I saw a man outside my kitchen window. He had a gun, and he was coming toward the back door. I grabbed my keys, ran to the garage and left.”
“Where do you live?”
“Near Chatfield State Park.”
“And this guy didn’t see you leave?”
“I didn’t pass by the door, so I don’t think so.”
“And no one followed you from the house?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone running after me, or any cars.”
“Wouldn’t this intruder have heard the garage door? Then he could’ve tried to stop you from driving away?”
He stared out into the street. “I don’t know. The kitchen’s at the back of the house, but the garage is down a ha
llway toward the front of the house. I don’t know if he could’ve heard the garage door.”
“What time was it?”
“About midnight. I’d just gotten home.”
“Were you followed to your house?”
“I didn’t notice anyone.”
I crossed my arms and watched the shadows deepen as we talked. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“I did. Then I just kept driving around the neighborhood until I saw a patrol car arrive at the house. I told them what happened and they looked around, but they didn’t see any signs of an intruder. I don’t think they believed me.”
“Where were you that night, before you came home?” I asked.
“At the office.”
“On a Sunday? And until that late?”
He nodded. “I had to catch up on some paperwork.”
“Where do you work?” I asked.
“Lakewood Medical Clinic. I’m a GP.”
A doctor. That explained the nice clothes and educated bearing, I thought. “And you didn’t see anything suspicious when you came home?”
“Like what?”
“An unfamiliar car parked on the street. A stranger walking around near your house, or somewhere on your block. A dog barking. Strange noises.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Had your house been broken into?”
His jaw dropped. “I hadn’t thought of that, although I suppose it’s possible. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary in the kitchen, but I don’t know about the rest of the house because I didn’t have time to go anywhere else.”
“Did you recognize the man at your window?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“You can’t describe him at all?”
He gnawed his lower lip, thinking. “He was a big, sturdy guy. I think he had a black beanie hat on so I don’t know about hair color.” He must’ve seen the frustration on my face, because he followed that with, “Sorry, it was dark out.”
“Forget it,” I said. “You haven’t been home since?”
“Correct.”
“What’re you doing for money?”
“I went to the bank and withdrew a bunch of cash.”
“Have you used your credit cards?”
He shook his head. “I watch enough television to know someone can trace me through my credit card transactions.”
“You weren’t worried someone would follow you to the bank?”
He shrugged. “I’ve kept a low profile.”
“I see,” I murmured. Watching those shows had given him a handle on cops-and-robbers lingo as well.
“What’re you doing for clothes?”
“I bought some new things.”
“And you’ve been in hiding since you saw this mysterious stranger at your house.”
“Yes.”
“How could you just leave your practice?”
“I’ve been on vacation.”
I drew in a breath and let it out slowly, giving myself time to think. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard a potential client speculate about someone being after them. I’d been suspicious of the story then, and I was of Pete’s now.
“How do you know the gunman you saw wasn’t just an intruder?” I asked. “Why are you so sure it’s someone specifically trying to kill you?”
He hesitated again. “I think one of my business partners is after me.”
“I’m listening,” I said.
He shifted from foot to foot and looked everywhere but at me.
“My clinic works with a lot of elderly people,” he began, “so that means a lot of our billing is for Medicare. A while back, I found out that one of my partners, Marshall Vanderkamp, has been scamming the system.”
“How so?”
“Billing for services he didn’t perform. And I think he might be getting someone to pay patients from homeless shelters and soup kitchens to share their Medicare patient numbers and then billing those numbers for bogus care. With the sheer volume of claims, and the government trying to pay them quickly, it’s easy for dubious claims to go undetected.”
“But you figured it out.”
He nodded. “I found out by accident, so I started going through Marshall’s files. If my calculations are correct, he’s made at least a million dollars over the last few years, maybe more. I’ve kept quiet while I did my research, but I think he’s onto me.”
“Did you report him?”
“I finally did, about a week ago, but it takes time for the government to do their investigation. I don’t know if Marshall suspects that I know what he’s been doing, or if I turned him in. Either way, I think he’s hired someone to eliminate me.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find out what Marshall knows, and if he has hired someone to kill me, talk to whoever it is.”
“Talk to your stalker? Why?”
“I’ll pay them more than Marshall not to kill me.”
“Why don’t you go after Marshall yourself? Or talk to the police?”
He threw up his hands in frustration. “I already talked to the police and they didn’t believe me. And I’m trying to hide out, in case someone is after me. If I show my face around the office, or I follow Marshall myself, I’m a sitting duck. Besides, I would assume that you, as a private investigator, can find things that I can’t, and I’ll pay you handsomely for your efforts.”
I took another long moment to mull over what he’d said. The light had faded and I struggled to see his face clearly. “Does anyone else have a reason to kill you?”
He snorted. “I’ve got an ex-wife who hates my guts.”
“Why?”
“I divorced her and now she doesn’t have any money.”
“Did she get any alimony or settlement?”
“Alimony, but...” He glanced away. “I got behind sometimes.”
“Does she inherit anything if you die?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“You don’t have any other enemies?”
Another headshake, and then he reached into his pocket. I braced myself and suddenly wished I had my Glock, but it was locked up in my closet at home. I generally don’t carry it with me, especially when I’m not on the job. But my worry was allayed as he withdrew a stack of bills.
“Here’s the thousand dollars I promised you,” he said. “Plus another thousand, just to see if I’m crazy or not.”
I’d accepted this kind of deal before, and the case hadn’t been easy. But as before, I needed the money. After all, I now had a wife and I needed to contribute to the household income.
Pete held out the cash. “For a few days’ worth of work.”
I finally took it and stuffed it into my pocket.
“You never told me your last name,” I said.
“Hinton.”
“And your partner’s name is Marshall Vanderkamp? With a ‘K’?”
“Yes.” He spelled out the name.
“What’s your address?”
“Why?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m going to go by your house and check out things. You know, investigate.”
“Oh.” He paused, then gave me an address south of C-470 and Santa Fe. I pulled out my phone and typed it into the notes app.
“It’s a house?”
“Yes.”
I glanced up at him. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be at the hotel if you need me.”
“Will you have the same cell phone?”
“Yes. It’s a prepaid one so it can’t be traced.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll do some checking around, and then I’ll give you a call. Make sure you answer this time.”
“Thank you,” he said, relieved.
Before I could say anything else, he turned to leave.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Hey,” I called after him.
He whirled around, panic on his face. “What?”
; “Not so fast. Tell me about Vanderkamp,” I said.
“Oh.” He looked around, then gestured impatiently. “Clinically, he knows what he’s doing, and he has a good reputation with other doctors. He has a way with the elderly, and the patients seem to like him.”
“What about you?”
He frowned. “When I met him, he had a thriving practice, and I respected that. At first, I had no quarrel with him professionally, until I found out what he was doing with Medicare. But he’s arrogant, and thinks he’s right about everything. It doesn’t matter if it’s his diagnosis or politics or sports; he knows. Because of that, I don’t socialize with him as much as I used to; we mostly see each other at the office.”
“How many other doctors are at your clinic?”
“There’s three of us: me, Marshall and, uh, Bernie Shepherd.”
“You don’t like Bernie?”
He arched his eyebrows. “Why do you ask that?”
“You hesitated when saying his name. Why?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Bernie’s all right.”
I studied him in the darkness, not sure what to believe. “You don’t like him?”
“He’s fine,” he said with even more irritation. “Marshall’s the problem here, not Bernie.”
“Okay.” A car drove by and Pete shrank back into the alley. I glanced over my shoulder. The car continued down the street. I waited for it to go around the corner, and then I turned back to Hinton. “When did you join practices with Marshall?”
He took a step forward, still looking around, still wary. “I first met Marshall and Bernie at a conference. We were all from Denver, so we naturally gravitated to each other. After seeing them again at a different conference, we chatted some more and then decided to play golf together, and the subject of our practices inevitably came up. We were all seeing Medicare patients, and we’d discussed the pros and cons of that kind of practice. Medicare’s not a very good system. The payments aren’t good, so you need to see more patients in a short amount of time, and the rules keep piling up. It’s frustrating. You care about the patients, but not the system.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I could go on, but anyway, after a lot of discussion, we decided to consolidate our practices into one, to operate more efficiently and save money.”
“Whose idea was it to consolidate?”
Road Blocked: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 13) Page 3