by Susan Slater
To say Stephanie looked smug wouldn’t quite capture it. Dan thought she’d be fighting the idea of panty hose for some time to come—even if the perpetrator was dead. There had really been no love lost.
“Let’s take a look.”
“I made these copies for you. This is Penny Kennedy’s account. All three times the checks went into her account. Each check to Gertrude Kennedy was signed over to her daughter—more forged signatures, no doubt. But this is the odd thing, the money was transferred out all three times within hours.”
“Any idea where it went?”
“Caymans.”
“Islands?”
“One and the same.”
“Penny Kennedy’s name was on the transfer?”
“Yes—along with our very own bank president’s name.”
“Lawrence Woods took the necklace to Santa Fe for the stones to be extracted and sold, then he helped Penny Kennedy transfer money to the Caymans, and made an easy ten grand for his trouble.”
Stephanie nodded and sat back arms folded across her chest. “And poor Mrs. Kennedy never had a clue. Is it any wonder that this bank was under investigation?”
“Wow.” It was tough for Dan to get his mind around a plan so devious—could Penny have been planning on a life that didn’t include Mom? He found that hard to believe. A spinster living with her elderly mother and a Chihuahua…not the profile of a criminal. Was Lawrence Woods the mastermind? Sell the diamonds but claim a loss for the entire necklace after the break-in? Or because Dan didn’t want to believe Penny could do something so ugly to her own mother, he was refusing to see the truth?
“Stephanie, do you have a copy of Penny Kennedy’s monthly statement for August?”
“I know what you’re thinking and you’re right—the deposits don’t show up. They’re only recorded on electronic bank totals as deposits for each of those days. Obviously for Ortega’s benefit. The jewelry store would have needed signed, deposited checks for their bookkeeping.”
Dan sat back. An interesting paper trail, to put it mildly. Certainly seemed to get Gert off the hook.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Elaine, holding two framed photos, stood behind Dan. “I think this is interesting.” She placed the photos in front of him. “Do you recognize anyone?”
Dan pulled the first photo closer. It was a picture from a newspaper of about twenty bikers lined up under a banner that read, “Bean Day Festival, Sept. 14, 1980.” There were an assortment of bikes, mostly Harleys with a couple Triumphs thrown in. The group looked young; several riders had passengers. Those were sure the pre-helmet days—a couple bandanas but nothing more substantial, Dan noticed.
“Do you see him?” Elaine was leaning over his shoulder. “There. Who does that look like?”
Even Stephanie came around the desk to look. “That’s Sheriff Howard.” Her index finger landed on a bike third from the left.
“A much younger sheriff but you’re right. I’m not sure I know what’s so unusual about the sheriff doing a little riding.” Dan wasn’t following.
“Wait. That’s not the interesting part. Take a look at this.” Elaine pulled the bottom framed photo out and placed it on top. “Who’s that?”
This time he recognized the person and understood Elaine’s excitement. Under a banner that read “Wagon Mound’s Biker Babes”—right in the center was Penny Kennedy. Astride a Harley, leathers, a bandana holding a head full of curls in check, young, slim—even a grainy photo couldn’t hide sheer youth. She must have been in her early twenties. And the man sitting on the bike behind her with both arms around her, chin touching the top of her head? Sheriff Howard.
“Did you ever hear that these two were chummy?” Dan turned to Stephanie.
“I was only twelve at the time. I have no idea. Sheriff Howard has been married all the time I’ve known him. Of course, until he lost his wife a year or so back. He was actually born and raised in Las Vegas, New Mexico. He’s not exactly a local.”
Dan guessed the term “local” was reserved for those being born within the city limits—didn’t seem to extend out into the county and certainly not to a neighboring town. There were rules and then there were rules. Out here they seemed pretty cut and dried.
Dan sat looking at Penny on a bike. Was she a rider? Or was this picture just posed for the photographer? And if she was a rider, what were the chances she could have pushed a piece of paper under his door and taken off on a Ducati? It’s not what you think. Was he just trying to read something in or did the line sound more like what a woman would say? Penny certainly had a reason for wanting him out of the way.
And the sheriff. Now there was a question mark. A few hundred thousand would buy a pretty nice boat and retirement home…keep milking the necklace and replacing the stones with fakes…but he had no proof that the once-happy couple were even back together. The photos in front of him were over thirty years old. And then the thought he didn’t want to dwell on—was Lawrence Woods’ death a result of getting involved with the necklace? Or the tunnel? Because it just didn’t feel like the two were connected.
He was bound to report what he knew—that the necklace had been looted to the tune of three hundred thousand dollars. This wasn’t the usual case for UL&C. Messy to say the least with criminal charges looming unless Lawrence acted on his own without Penny’s knowledge. But there he went again trying to excuse Penny. Of course. Penny’s name could have been forged on a check and a transfer to open an off-shore account. But that wouldn’t explain how or where the necklace was found. Who was telling the truth there? Dan only had second-hand information shared by a dead woman with her mother that Penny Kennedy just about drove her nuts asking to take the necklace out of safe-keeping because her mother was senile. And there were no notes or signatures in the log books to even see if the dates that the necklace showed up at Ortega’s were the same as when Amber was supposedly being pestered. The hard facts were Lawrence Woods and Amber Medger were dead. Both murdered. And even if his knowledge was inconclusive, Dan needed to let someone know.
Chapter Seventeen
“Are you saying we might have an entire day to ourselves?” Elaine looked elated.
“Looks like it. What do you want to do?”
“What if I wanted to go into Santa Fe and look at rings? I remember saying ‘I do’ the other night.”
“Perfect choice. Lunch, maybe a movie—” And then his cell rang.
“Sheriff Howard. Yeah, we’ll be here. Not a problem.” He turned the phone off and slipped it back in his pocket. He didn’t have to say anything. Elaine moved to hug him.
“It’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to shop. I’m going to take Simon for a walk. The sheriff didn’t say he wanted to see me?”
“Didn’t say what he wanted.”
“I won’t be long.” Elaine clipped the leash in place and was almost knocked down by an exuberant Simon who was completing a circle of half jumps. “We need to give you more attention.” She made him sit before opening the door.
Dan watched the two of them move across the lawn scattering leaves before stepping off the curb and heading down the street. Elaine not even limping with Simon glued to her side. That was one resilient lady. Funny, but moments like this were what made being alive pretty worthwhile. He leaned against the railing breathing in the crisp fall air and only went inside when they were finally out of sight.
Dan heard the sheriff on the stairs and turned and held the door open before he had a chance to knock. That was quick. Dan hoped this was a positive visit.
“Thanks. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Dan shook his head and moved back as the sheriff stepped inside, walked around the corner of the bed and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.
This didn’t look like a short visit or a happy one. The sheriff hadn’t cracked a smile. “Get you something?”
“No, on duty…t
hat is, if you were about to offer a beer—which sounds pretty good about now.”
“Fresh out. Iced tea?” The sheriff looked tired. Had he always had that furrow etched between his eyes?
“That’ll work.”
The sheriff waited until Dan had placed two glasses on the table, then he leaned back and stared at Dan full on. Dan knew enough not to flinch or say anything but he was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“What made you think there might have been something in those unused safe deposit boxes at the bank?” The sheriff’s stare was so intense Dan could feel it.
He cleared his throat, “A hunch. Nothing else added up. By reason of elimination, no one lost anything. That is, nothing was stolen due to a robbery but there was a painstakingly complete tunnel that said something made that kind of work important, maybe even necessary. Guess I’ve been toying with the idea that it could have been a drop for something. Drugs, maybe. We still don’t know how long the tunnel was operable. We just know they chose safe deposit boxes over a couple million plus in currency.”
The sheriff broke eye contact and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers.
“You were right. But I wish to hell you hadn’t been. I lost a good kid—a promising kid. Twenty-three years old, just graduated from college and all he wanted to do was get into law enforcement. Been a deputy just six months.”
Dan waited while the sheriff took a long swallow of tea and moved a napkin to soak up the ring the sweaty glass had left. “Now he’s dead. And there wasn’t one damn thing I could have done to stop it because I just plain never suspected.”
Dan was lost. Had the kid been in a car accident? He hadn’t heard of any but what did this death have to do with the unopened boxes?
“You’ve lost me.”
“I sent him in there to dust for prints and vacuum the insides of the boxes—the ones, as you pointed out, that hadn’t been opened. The robbery was an innocuous chore, a thankless one because I believed it was going to be a dead end, and it took his life. He went to Urgent Care three days later but they sent him home. Said he had the flu. His pregnant wife rushed him to the hospital yesterday morning and now he’s gone. In six days. Gone.”
Again, Dan waited. None of this was making sense. How or why were flu symptoms connected to the bank?
“You know what he had? What killed him just inside a week? What some sick, son of a bitch kept in those locked, unmarked boxes? Ricin.
Yeah, you heard me. Ricin. This kid breathed enough of the stuff he vacuumed up to contract ricin poison by inhalation. He never had a chance. You inhale the stuff and you’re a goner, check out within days. A little on the skin and you have a fighting chance.” The sheriff leaned forward elbows on the table. “I gave the order to use the vacuum. I sent that poor unsuspecting kid in there to check the boxes.”
Dan sat back. Didn’t this just about make the whole thing a brand new ball game? Who would keep ricin in a safe deposit box?
“I gotta quit hiding behind thinking that this is a sleepy little western town. I’ve lived in this area all my life. We don’t have terrorists, or murderers on the loose. Worst we ever get up here is discovering a pot farm in the national forest or somebody’s ninety-year-old grandfather dies of exposure bringing his sheep in in a snowstorm.”
Dan was pretty much speechless. Another death. He was feeling a part of the sheriff’s guilt—it had been his idea.
“Just a heads-up. The FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force and U.S. Department of Homeland Security are involved now. I don’t know who has first dibs on you, but you’ll be hearing from somebody. In the meantime I gotta help plan a funeral.”
The sheriff stood, dumped the rest of his tea in the sink, and let himself out.
Chapter Eighteen
“Terrorism? Terrorists in Wagon Mound, New Mexico?”
“I think the Feds have to allow for anything. Ricin has been a terrorists’ tool before. Doesn’t mean it was one now. And just for the record, I don’t remember the Unabomber living in a thriving metropolis.”
“So, who do we know who fits a Unabomber description?” Elaine handed him a second cup of coffee and joined him at the table.
“I think we can rule out Gert.”
“Dan, be serious.”
“I am, sort of. But by virtue of the necklace, Gert’s in the lineup. Personally, I think we can rule out Gert’s involvement with anything that’s happened—especially anything with the necklace. I’ve narrowed suspicions to Penny or the bank president or Penny and the bank president.”
“And your best guess?”
“Toss up at this time. Might not be too difficult to prove motive, though.”
“For?”
“Penny. A fifty-something spinster seeing her inheritance within reach with only a very robust mother in the way. And if you knew that whatever was taken would be replaced by the insurance company…Well, you wouldn’t really be hurting mom but more like helping yourself to what was already yours. And a bank robbery conveniently covered everything up. Of course, finding the necklace was a little risky. She obviously didn’t know I’d have it appraised.”
But ricin? Dan could understand Elaine’s problem with credibility. It just seemed so farfetched. Keeping a toxic weapon in a bank vault in Wagon Mound, New Mexico, made the questions of who did what to the necklace absolutely pale in comparison. Whatever was going on was a lot bigger than an insurance claim.
And the Feds seemed to agree; they didn’t waste time calling. He was commanded to meet them at the bank at nine sharp in the morning. Bring credentials, any notes, or photos, and be prepared to spend half a day. If he’d thought things were starting to fall into place, he’d been dead wrong.
***
The bank was positively bustling. A number of people, probably all locals, were wandering in and out. Dan guessed more from curiosity than any need to do business. The bank was open but chaos looked to be in control. Plain clothed guards seemed to occupy every corner including the front sidewalk. Dark glasses, dark suits, phones in their ears. It reminded him that the problem at hand was not simple burglary. The death of three people made it a lot more than that—was the death of old Chet number four?
Stephanie glanced up and gave him a quick smile over a stack of folders before Alice whisked him back to the prez’s old office. This time the room was without clutter and boxes with a couple half-way comfy couches. Looked like the Feds could command a touch of luxury. Ditch the Quaker austerity and add some overstuffed. It didn’t mean they were any more punctual. He glanced at his watch. A quarter after.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The man who stepped inside the room was more than a little overdressed for Wagon Mound. Some unknown salute to the recently departed but impeccably dressed former bank president? Dan doubted it but the crisp, pin-stripe shirt, and navy merino wool suit with power tie in red…pretty dressed up for this community. But the damnable thing was the man looked familiar. Dan knew he was staring but just couldn’t quite place the face. Unless…
“Yes, we’ve met before. If you could call it that.”
“At Jeeter’s place—the chop shop. Didn’t recognize you without the bandana and mustache.” Dan recalled the man who had stuck his head in the door but was now totally transformed into a Federal mucky-muck. Things were getting more interesting.
“You got it. Sorry I didn’t stop to introduce myself at the time. I actually am Will Ferris, Jeeter’s brother. Gives me first dibs on jobs out this way.”
Dan couldn’t be sure but he thought that was meant to be funny. Sarcastic, maybe? He offered a half-smile, “Good camouflage.”
“Yeah, works for this job anyway.”
Will took the chair behind the desk and motioned to one in front. “Coffee? Anything before we start?”
Dan shook his head and watched as Agent Ferris opened a manila folder.
�
�I need to ask some routine questions first—results of your investigation involving the item insured by United Life & Casualty. Where that investigation stands at present.” He looked directly at Dan and smiled. “I’m not going to remind you that anything you say could be held against you. You know that.”
“Am I under suspicion?”
“Of course not. Just a precaution until we cross the t’s and dot the i’s. I need to know what you know. You may think you have reason to be personally involved with finding the person or persons behind certain recent activities. The abduction of your fiancée, the rollover…am I making myself clear? This is federal territory now. I would remind you to stick with why you’re here. Respect boundaries. There’s some indication that that’s difficult for you to do.” A slight downward nod of the head toward the open folder. Then a stern countenance and stare, hands clasped.
They had a file on him. Dating from when? Probably longer back than he cared to know or cared for them to have. Fifty-two years of age and Dan felt like someone had just popped his knuckles with a ruler. Well, two could play this game. It was obvious there would be no give and take—what’s mine stays mine mentality was at work here. And that was just fine with Dan.
“Where do you want me to start?” Two could play this game, and Agent Ferris wouldn’t get anything that wasn’t public knowledge. Not unless he wanted to share.
“Let’s start at the beginning, Mr. Mahoney…your trip to Wagon Mound and why.”
The recorder was switched on and Agent Ferris leaned back in his chair. Yeah, this was going to be a long one, Dan thought. In fact it was a little before one when Dan finally left the bank. And didn’t leave anything behind he hadn’t wanted to. Just facts. He’d reiterated the saga of the necklace stopping short of sharing the pilfering of diamonds and possible fencing operation headed up by a disgruntled daughter and the local banker. Because, of course, that last was just conjecture and he needed to find out for himself. And soon.