by Bob Hamer
There was a loud knock at the door.
"Come," shouted Boris above the noise from the bar.
Jesse, Stump, and J. D. entered the room. Jesse and Stump betrayed nothing, but J. D. shot Matt a nervous look as he crossed the room. Stump was nursing a large gash on his left arm.
"Didn't your mother tell you not to play with sharp objects?" said Matt, referring to the cut.
Stump said nothing.
Even though Boris just paid for what he thought to be stolen merchandise and thus Matt was a coconspirator in some felony, he waved Matt out so the three could report.
Matt drew a long, slow breath, stood up, and walked out. "Sorry I couldn't stay for the whole play, Mr. Lincoln."
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Matt drove east a few blocks on Ventura Boulevard. His home was west, but he took a different route every time he left the Russian Veil. His routine was no routine: side streets, u-turns, exiting freeways and jumping right back on, never the same route twice. Caution was key. He checked his mirrors often, seeking a tail.
As soon as he was clear of the Veil, he tried Dwayne. Matt's call again went to voice mail.
He turned on the radio and had the music blasting; home was where he quieted his life. Now he was celebrating the rush of another successful meeting. Matt was singing along with Charlie Daniels. "Simple Man" would be his theme song when the Hollywood TV moguls came banging on his door seeking to make their next true-to-life, long-running FBI drama series. He sang it loud, "Panty-waist judges let the drug dealers go." His performance was interrupted by a single yelp from a siren. He looked in the rearview mirror. An LAPD patrol unit lit him up, the red and blue lights flashing.
Matt slammed the steering wheel. He couldn't walk a ticket in his undercover car. He would have to pay, and he doubted the Queen Mother would sign off on a reimbursement. Had he been in a Bureau car, wearing a weapon, and in possession of his badge, he would plead for professional courtesy.
Matt turned down the CD player and pulled over to the curb. He was still too close to Boris's place. Had he been on the other side of town, he might have asked permission to go to his trunk and take out his badge and credentials secreted in a specially built compartment. He rolled down the window. Through his mirror he saw the lone police officer unwind his massive body from the patrol car. Somewhere a circus is missing a trained grizzly.
"Good evening officer."
"License, registration, and proof of insurance."
"Can I ask what I did wrong, officer?"
"License, registration, and proof of insurance."
"Okay, my registration is in the glove compartment. I'll need to reach over and open it."
"So do it."
Matt cautiously reached across the front seat and opened the glove compartment. He removed a small folder containing the registration and proof of insurance and handed the documents to the officer. When the officer took the two pieces of paper, Matt noticed the man's fingers. The left hand had the letters R-A-G-E tattooed on the respective fingers. A partial tattoo could be seen above his wrist, but the rest was hidden by the long-sleeved shirt. The work was pure prison, done with a sewing needle and the ink from a ballpoint pen, San Quentin blue.
"Let me see your license."
Matt opened his wallet and showed it to the officer. The grizzly took the wallet and examined the driver's license. He then returned the wallet.
"Everything's in order."
"Thank you, officer, but why did you pull me over?"
"Your vehicle matched the description of a recent stolen car, and I just needed to make sure this wasn't the vehicle in question."
"Thanks, officer. Have a good evening."
Matt slowly put the documents back in the glove compartment and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. He waited for the patrol car to leave before he pulled from the curb. He drove several blocks, went down a side street, circled the block, and eventually made his way to the freeway. As soon as he pulled onto the Ventura Freeway, the 101, he called Dwayne, who picked up on the third ring.
"Did you get my message about J. D.?"
"Yeah, Matt, great work. We're getting a lot closer to solving this thing."
"Listen, I just got rousted by one of Boris's boys."
"What do you mean?"
"I got pulled over by a black-and-white. He claims he thought I might have been driving a stolen car, but he never unstrapped his holster and never asked me to remove my license from my wallet."
"Maybe he was just poorly trained."
"Yeah, maybe in prison. He had prison tats. No, this was a test and I passed."
"Where'd Boris get a patrol car and uniform?"
"Boris has his fingers into everything. He's probably got a contact at one of the studios. The Queen Mother almost blew it."
"How so?"
"I knew she'd never sign off on reimbursing a moving violation, and I almost tried to badge my way out of a ticket."
"Glad your integrity prevailed."
"Heck with integrity. I was just going to pump up my next voucher to cover the cost of the ticket, maybe a ghost meal here or there."
"La, la, la, la . . . I didn't hear that. Listen, something important came up today."
"What?"
"We had a Dawn Platt walk into the complaint desk at Westwood late this afternoon. She works at Valley General."
"Mickey Donovan's girlfriend."
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Stump told me. It was in one of my 302s. Check with Steve."
"I will. Anyway she came in and said Mickey asked her to get information about Lydia Mitchell. She thinks Mickey went to Bobby Himmler's to confront him about cooperating. She told Mickey about Bobby being in the hospital and gave him the Mitchell address."
"How'd she get the information?"
"I haven't heard. Steve is going to debrief her tomorrow. He was down at the U.S Attorney's office working on the wiretap affidavit when she walked in and wasn't able to interview her. Apparently she wants to go back to Texas and was hoping to trade the information for a plane ticket. She's cooperating so we should get everything in the morning."
Matt had a second call on his phone. "Hey, this is Boris. I need to take it. But we have to talk. I think the boys may have tuned up someone tonight."
"Okay, we'll talk later."
Matt clicked into the call-waiting feature on his cell phone. "Yeah, Boris, what's up?"
"I need to store something in your warehouse tonight."
"Tonight?" said Matt almost irritated. "Can't it wait until morning?"
"No, I need to store it tonight. We'll get rid of it first thing in the morning."
"Okay, what is it?"
"A car. Stump and Jesse will bring it over."
"Have them meet me there in thirty minutes."
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Matt made his way back to the warehouse and was waiting for Stump and Jesse when they arrived. He had the warehouse door open and they pulled in, each driving separate cars. Stump was driving a Dodge Ram, and Jesse was in a faded red Nissan Sentra with Texas plates. As Stump was maneuvering the pickup around the warehouse to pull out, Jesse parked the car against the west wall.
"I turned around on the freeway to come back here so you could park some beat up rice-burner in the warehouse overnight," said Matt.
Jesse was not in the mood for any of the typical Matt. "Boris needs this done. It's a favor for him. Don't ask questions."
"What's going on?"
"Matt, don't ask questions. Someone will be back tomorrow around ten. Be here."
With that Jesse climbed into the truck and Stump drove off.
Matt watched the pickup leave and remembered Lydia Mitchell's description of the truck on Mulholland the nig
ht of the murders. He lowered the warehouse door and was preparing to call Dwayne with this new fact but decided to give the Nissan a quick once-over.
"Hard to believe anyone is still paying on a car this old. What could it be worth to an insurance company? Even if you total it, we're talking less than a grand."
He grabbed his cell phone and called the office.
"FBI."
"This is DT7-13. Give me dispatch, please."
"Dispatch."
"Hey, Laura, it's Matt Hogan. I need a 10-28 and a 10-29 on a Texas plate."
In less than a minute Laura Langwell reported the results. It was getting late, but this newest problem needed resolution immediately. Dinner with Caitlin was off.
"NOW WHAT?" SAID DWAYNE as he answered the phone after reading the caller ID.
"We've got a problem. Stump and Jesse just brought a car to the warehouse. I ran the plate. The registered owner is an Elliot Platt of Houston, Texas. J. D. said Boris was upset with somebody. He must have learned Dawn came to the FBI."
"Is the car still there?"
"Yeah."
"I'll call Steve and we'll be right over."
"I've got more good news. I'm pretty sure there's blood on the driver's seat. Better bring ERT with you, and we need to work fast. I popped the trunk, and it was empty, but we may have a crime scene."
MATT ENSURED FROM THE outside the place looked deserted. He kept the lights off in his office and the shades drawn. The warehouse had no windows so even if a party were happening, only the noise would give it away. Dwayne and Steve arrived within the hour. A short time later Jennifer Spencer and two members of her Evidence Response Team arrived.
"That piece of crap looks like my brother's car," said Jennifer.
"I thought firefighters made good money," said Matt.
"They do, but when you are on marriage number three and both the formers are still on scholarship, the salary can look depressingly small."
Matt briefed everyone. Steve was concerned Dawn Platt may be the latest victim in Boris's ever-expanding criminal conspiracy.
"I better get over to her place."
"See what we have here before you make the run," said Dwayne. "I don't want to show our hand too soon."
The agents closely examined the car without touching it. Jesse left the front window down so Matt pointed out what looked like a bloodstain on the seat. It wasn't bright red, having been exposed to air, but it appeared fresh sitting on top of the fabric. There were no apparent spent rounds in the car so no one would hazard a guess as to the cause of the bleeding, if in fact is was blood. The ERT agents were putting on gloves preparing to process the car.
"Wait guys," said Matt. "We have a problem. In all likelihood this is a crime scene, but you have to process it without making it look like you've been here."
Jennifer shook her head and said, "Matt, you've been watching too much television. The powder residue left from lifting prints doesn't just blow away, and we'll need to rip out the seats to do this correctly."
"We can't let that happen. Boris said the car would be gone first thing in the morning. I can hold him off a little while with an excuse why I can't be here, but it will look suspicious. This obviously is more than an owner give-up. He's going to chop it or destroy it as soon as a yard is available," said Matt.
"Not much to salvage. I think this is meant for the crusher," said Steve.
"In any event the evidence goes out the door as soon as anyone shows up," said Dwayne.
Matt looked at Jennifer. "Can you at least do a presumptive test to determine if this is blood?"
"Sure," said Jennifer. "I can spray Luminol on a portion of the seat. If blood is present, even as little as one part per ten million, we'll get a read."
"Will that affect blood typing or DNA analysis?" asked Dwayne.
"No, it can interfere with some serologic testing, but I won't destroy the entire sample just in case we need more procedures."
Jennifer sprayed a small portion of the seat. Matt flipped off the warehouse lights, and in the darkened room the stains glowed a blue-white.
"You can flip the lights back on, Matt," said Jennifer. "You've got blood."
"I've got an address for Dawn. We should get over there tonight. It's looking more and more like they found out about her trip to our office and decided to silence her," said Steve.
Dwayne walked around the car again, "But what about the car? This is a crime scene."
Matt rubbed his forehead, pausing before he spoke. "I've got an idea."
"Let's hear it," said Dwayne.
"Jenn, you sure this is like your brother's car?"
"Same make and color. I'm not sure of the year. It's not like Nissan was trying to make a fashion statement every September."
"But it's close enough?" asked Matt.
"Yeah."
Dwayne intervened, "Matt, what are you getting at?"
"Let's call up Jennifer's brother and buy his car. We swap plates on this one. Pour something red on the driver's seat to simulate blood and hope they crush it before anyone checks the VIN."
"How do we pay for it?" asked Dwayne.
"I could phony up a bunch of meal receipts, or we could call the Queen Mother and get permission," said Matt.
Steve repeated the oft-said truism of the Bureau, "It's easier to get forgiveness than permission."
Matt jumped back in, "Let's give him mid-Blue Book, and after the car is crushed, we tell Her Highness."
Dwayne slowly nodded in agreement knowing his career was hanging by a thread.
"Then we're set," said Matt who walked over to the workbench and picked up a screwdriver preparing to remove the Texas plates.
"Do we need to take an oath of silence?" said Steve with a broad smile.
Dwayne was now shaking his head slowly. There was a thin line between initiative and integrity just as there was between stupidity and conviction. He may have crossed both.
Everyone in the garage knew Supervisory Special Agent Dwayne Washington was uncomfortable with the decision he just made, but no street agent would give him quarter.
"Manipulating the bureaucrats is almost as satisfying as locking up criminals," said Matt as he was removing the plates. "I can live with the consequences. I just finished paying off a car OPR said I was at fault for totaling. Caitlin and I are used to being garnished. If need be, we'll just extend the payments."
"We can process this back at our garage," said Jennifer getting back to the business of the Bureau.
"Call your brother," said Matt. "Tell him we're gonna make him an offer he can't refuse. Steve, how close are we to getting up on Boris's phones and a mike in the office?"
"This might put us over the top with the probable cause. I'll get back down to the U.S. Attorney's office first thing in the morning."
"You better take a run at the address for Dawn Platt," said Matt. "We may have another dead body on our hands."
All were in agreement.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The next morning SOG followed J. D., who drove the substituted Nissan from the warehouse to a salvage yard in Pacoima in the northeast San Fernando Valley. J. D. was inside the office less than ten minutes. When he exited, he hopped into the Nissan and drove around back.
Flip Mitchell's Sixties team was conducting the surveillance. When it was reported over the air J. D. drove around back, Flip jumped out of his truck and made his way through the scrub brush until he found a vantage point of the wrecking yard. He watched a machine turn the red Nissan, believed by Boris and his crew to be the crime scene, into recycled waste. No questions asked. No VIN numbers checked. No ownership documents exchanged.
J. D. ran around to the parking lot in front, jumped into Jesse's car, and the two returned to the Russian Veil.
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br /> JENNIFER SPENCER PROCESSED THE Nissan. She was able to lift latent prints from the vehicle tying Stump, Jesse, and J. D. to the car, not a major revelation since the video from the warehouse proved Stump and Jesse delivered the vehicle, but there was still no Dawn Platt. A spent round was found lodged in the backseat. It looked like a 9 mm, but the results from ballistics tests might be weeks away. So far there was no crime. Dawn failed to show up at work, and the parole officer violated her, at least allowing her name to go into the system. Steve Barnett set a lead for the Houston FBI office to interview the registered owner and was awaiting the results. Every piece of evidence has a voice, but the judicial choir only sings when all the voices come together. So far no song.
DWAYNE PULLED AN END-AROUND on the Queen Mother and briefed the ADIC, Jason Barnes, on the car swap before telling Pamela Clinton. Barnes was a decisive leader, a skill learned in the Marine Corps, and praised Dwayne's team for its late-night initiative. The euphoria was short-lived when Dwayne returned to his office and found that Clinton bounced Matt's latest voucher. He knew his undercover agent would not take the news well but picked up the cold phone in his office, refusing to postpone the inevitable.
Matt could handle the most dangerous situations. He was great at surviving the worst. He could face down the most hardened criminal without flinching, but his composure vaporized when confronted by administrative directives having no bearing on the prosecutorial outcome of the case.
As expected, the undercover agent exploded when he got the news. "What!"
"She kicked back the voucher. The cigars are a no-go."
"You have got to be kidding me!"
"Nope," said Dwayne. "Under her reading of the guidelines, cigars are a gift. Before a gift can be expended, you need ADIC and headquarters approval."
"That's not right. I've done it before!" screamed Matt.
"Not with her as the SAC."
"Then call it meals and entertainment," countered Matt.