by Tony Wiley
Morrison filed out of the room with all the others, and the deputy with the buzz cut walked him back to the holding tank.
There was now an old man in there. He squatted on the far bench, resting his back against the corner walls. He was all disheveled. Wrinkled clothes. Wrinkled face. Bad haircut. Reeked of stale old sweat. And looked drunk as well.
“Hey, you got a smoke, buddy?” the old man said.
Morrison shook his head. “What are you talking about? They wouldn’t leave cigarettes to anybody in here.”
The old man scratched his head. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “Sorry.”
Morrison sat down on the bench in the middle of the place. All he had to do now was wait. He looked around and saw a clock on the far wall. Nine o’clock. This was going to be a long night.
“Why you here?” the disheveled old man asked.
Morrison looked at him. Despite his sorry state, his cell companion seemed to be in a talkative mood. For his part, he had plenty of time.
“Nothing. Just got into trouble at Flanagan’s. What about you?”
“DUI,” the old man said. “Again.”
Morrison had no trouble believing him. If he’d had a lighter, he swore he could have set the man’s breath on fire.
The old man shook his head. “Man,” he said, “I sure could use a drink right now.”
Morrison smiled. “Me too,” he said.
They kept quiet for a beat. Then the old man came back with a question. “Who is Mike?”
Morrison frowned. “Why do you ask me that?”
“Some deputies were talking at the desk before you came. They were saying, ‘Morrison is driving one of Mike Palmer’s cars,’ like it was a big deal. I figure you’re Morrison, but I don’t know who Mike is.”
Of course, they had looked up the SUV with his set of keys. That didn’t surprise him one bit. They would also probably examine his mobile phone to see who he had been in contact with. Johnson used a prepaid phone like him. But Cowgirl did not. He had called her on her regular mobile.
“He’s nobody in particular,” he said. “What did they say about him?”
The old man made a face. “Not much,” he said. “They looked surprised you had anything to do with him, that’s all.”
“Did they add anything?”
“No, they just said they were going to look him up.”
“Anything else you heard?”
The old man scratched his head again. “Nope,” he said. “It was all pretty quiet after that.”
Morrison nodded. He decided to lie down and close his eyes.
He was stuck in that holding tank. There was nothing he could do about it. No spin he could put on the situation, no pitch he could throw to anyone. Until 7:00 a.m. the next morning, he was Sheriff Sanford’s personal guest and that was that.
There were more than a few clouds hanging over his head. He had ample cause for worry.
That bloody couple. If they had recognized him, Sanford would be able to keep him locked up in here longer. A lot longer.
But Morrison decided to block out these negative thoughts.
There was no point wasting his energy, fretting about all that. For the time being, circumstances were simply out of his control. So he decided to do the only sensible thing—use the time to sleep. As much as possible.
For he felt he would need all the rest he could get.
*
Morrison woke up to a tearing sound that sent his heart racing.
He sat up on the bench, his eyes wide open. Then he turned his head toward the source of that horrible noise. The old drunk was snoring like a beached whale, just a few feet away. Had it even worse than Johnson. The old man was sleeping on his back and had one arm sprawled across the floor. Morrison looked around. The holding tank was still as brightly lit as when he’d arrived in the early evening even though it was now 2:00 a.m. Morrison stared down the corridor. A new deputy was manning the desk, a young fellow with short brown hair. Must have been a shift change during his sleep.
He yawned, stretched and reclined on the bench.
The old drunk was a bloody nuisance. But at least, by waking him up, he had helped him realize that five hours had passed since he’d gone to sleep.
Five hours during which they hadn’t come up with additional charges.
Just not yet anyway.
*
The next time Morrison woke up had nothing to do with the old drunk.
In fact, as far as he could tell, the man was already awake when he opened his eyes. The natural sounds signaling the end of the night had woken up Morrison. Some people shuffling around in the distance. The short bursts of faint conversation that went along. And the diffuse background animation coming from the street. He could hear some birds chirping, some cars going by on the main road.
Morrison looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:30 a.m. He got up.
His back was stiff from sleeping on such a hard surface, but his head felt crystal clear. He stretched his legs, arched his back and massaged his neck. All in all, he felt pretty good. Totally rested. And nobody had come to him with any new development yet.
He was also famished. “Hey, sergeant,” he shouted through the corridor, “have you got anything to eat?”
The deputy with the short brown hair turned his head toward him. “Breakfast’s at seven thirty,” he said.
Morrison nodded. He wondered what his chances of being released at seven looked like.
“Is Sheriff Sanford around?” he shouted back.
The desk sergeant shook his head. “No, she’s not here.”
Morrison smiled. Things were looking up.
If they were to come up with serious charges, he was pretty sure Sanford herself would be there to communicate them to him. Something she would enjoy, no doubt.
But of course, there was still a half-hour to go. So he made sure he kept his hopes in check.
The old drunk started to shift on his bench. “Oh boy,” he said, “I really need a drink now.” His hands were trembling, his face ashen.
Morrison smiled. “Hang in there, old man,” he said.
The other acknowledged the encouragement with a small gesture. After that, he didn’t say another word, just sat with his back to the wall and his eyes closed. Seemed to be having a really hard time.
The minutes began flying by.
Six forty.
Morrison was staring intently at the corridor. From time to time, other deputies were walking around the desk sergeant. They would exchange a few words, share some paperwork.
Six fifty.
Still gazing at the corridor. Nobody venturing in his direction yet.
Morrison went through the last ten minutes like it was a NASA countdown for a Space Shuttle launch.
Finally, at seven sharp, one of the officiating deputies came down the corridor. He held the key to the tank in his hand.
“Frank Morrison,” he said. “Come over here. You can go now.”
Chapter 44
As soon as he got his personal belongings back, Morrison walked out of the sheriff’s department station like his pants were on fire.
First thing he did was to call Cowgirl on his mobile phone. He let her know that he was on his way to her place. Second was to check the call log on his phone. While he was locked up, Johnson had tried to reach him. Twice. At five and six in the morning. Morrison called him back immediately.
“Morrison, finally,” the hacker said when he picked up.
“Sorry, man, I really couldn’t take your calls. Long story. Did anybody try to call you?” he said.
“No, why?”
“It’s OK. Don’t bother. So what do you have?”
“I’ve completed the audit on banks number four and five.”
“Let me guess: they were flushed two million dollars each.”
“Exactly,” Johnson said. “Just like the other banks. The amounts taken from each account match perfectly with those that were in your plan.”
He hung up and continued to walk. It was a bright early morning. No doubt the day would be hot. So we’re really talking about eight millions dollars, he thought. Bloody Sanford. That’s quite the jackpot for a simple sheriff. He saw Elena’s dark green awning up ahead and decided to stop and pick up something to eat.
Five minutes later, he returned to the sidewalk with a bagful of warm pastries and polished off two cinnamon buns before he even got back behind the wheel of his big black Navigator.
It was Sunday. The SUV sat alone in its angled parking spot. A ticket was pinned underneath the wiper arm on the driver’s side. Nice. Real nice. But it hardly mattered. If that was all Sanford had against him, he was happy.
He picked up the piece of paper, opened the door and stuffed it in the glove box. Then he eased the big SUV out of its spot and started driving on Main Street. He kept scanning his rear-view mirrors and the side streets in front of him. There was no movement around. Nobody was following him. Good. One less thing to worry about.
He made it to Cowgirl’s place in ten minutes.
The front door was still unlocked. He shook his head. That’s insane, he thought as he let himself in.
A great coffee smell drew him to the kitchen, where a steaming cup was waiting for him. He dropped the bag of cinnamon buns on the granite counter. Cowgirl stood in front of the sink with a steaming cup of her own. She was already dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She looked ready to play ball.
“What happened last night?” she asked.
Morrison told her about Angry Eyes’ unexpected attack in the bathroom at Flanagan’s. How it was really done in retaliation for him having knocked the guy out downtown two nights before. He also told her about the role Angry Eyes had played in Harris’s shoddy ATM-skimming deal. Cowgirl was surprised. She hadn’t known Harris stood behind that lousy operation. She was all ears, munching quietly on a cinnamon bun and drinking her coffee as he talked.
She broke her silence only when he was done telling her about how he came to suspect that Sanford was the real thief. The USB flash drive.
“I got busy on Sanford as soon as the lawyer gave me your message,” she said. “But I wanted to know why you needed to look into her. It sounded so strange to me. I couldn’t get my head around it. But now I get it. The USB key was the only place where all the information on these accounts was. And now she had it. Sanford and nobody else. So the only logical conclusion was that this USB key had been the gateway to the eight million dollars. Makes sense. Totally. But the other question I have is how did she manage to put it to use so fast? First Collins Bank was hit two days after your arrest. That’s a very short delay.”
Morrison shrugged. “When there’s a will, there’s a way,” he said. “Sanford is a smart woman. When she busted me, she saw that I had been able to extract two million dollars in a matter of hours from Chelfington Bank. I guess that was enough to make her wonder. Did we have anything more up our sleeve? When she interrogated me, she kept coming back with that question. Were we planning to hit other banks? Of course, I said no. I told her Chelfington Bank was the only one we had set out to hit. Obviously, she didn’t believe me. And she turned to that USB key to get her answers. With a spectacular success. I must confess some admiration for how she went about it.”
She shook her head. “Sheriff Sanford,” she said. “Who would’ve thought?”
“So, were you able to get anything on her?” he asked.
Cowgirl nodded. “After I got your message, I drove back home, switched to my service van and came to the station. It’s a white van without any marking that I use for the stable business. It’s very discreet. Anyway, I parked on the street a little past the station and I waited. She stayed in there a long time. It was 1:00 a.m. when she finally got out. At that point, she looked pissed. Mighty pissed.”
“That’s because she couldn’t pin me down. I can only conclude that the young couple wasn’t able to formally identify me in the lineup. And Sanford probably couldn’t get any prints from the crime scene either. That must be the reason. Otherwise, if she had anything she could use, I would still be locked up in the tank. I’m sure of that.”
“Right, makes sense.”
“So, where did she go then?”
“First, I saw her get into her car, a kick-ass Mercedes. That’s when I began to understand why you wanted so much to look into her. That’s a hell of a car for a sheriff, right?”
“Exactly.”
“So I started following her. From very far away, of course. I was cautious to the point of losing touch with her on a few occasions. But I did get to her place. And that was a surprise—even bigger than seeing her shiny new Mercedes had been.”
“How come?”
“She lives in a really big house on Wellington Road, out in the countryside. A two-story white mansion with columns set on a big property. You know, the kind that has a long driveway bordered with maple trees that look like they’ve been there forever? There were stacks of branches all along, like they had been cleaning up the winter’s damage. Very nice house for a sheriff, I thought. And again, very expensive.”
“Did you see anybody else there? Did she make contact with anyone?”
“I couldn’t drive up the alley, so I can’t tell you for sure. I stopped under a tree on the road and kept my eye on the mouth of her driveway for a while. At 3:00 a.m., there hadn’t been any movement, in or out. So I left and I came back home. And here we are.”
Morrison nodded. “That’s a start,” he said. “That’s a great start.”
“So how do you want to play this?” she asked.
“Well, we need to corner Sanford. And that begins with her entourage. It was impossible for her to act alone. No way. She must have had accomplices. At least one person she could put her full trust into to direct the proceedings. We need to find out who that is. To begin with, is she married? Is she involved with someone?”
Cowgirl shook her head. “No idea,” she said.
“We have to start with this,” he said.
Cowgirl agreed. “We should take the van to her place to sniff around. See what we can find out.”
“Good idea,” Morrison said. His mobile buzzed. He looked at the screen. It displayed a phone number he didn’t know. He answered anyway.
“I hear you were arrested last night, Morrison?” That was Mike. “Anything I should know?”
“How do you know that?”
“I had a visit from a sheriff’s deputy last night. Asking me all kinds of questions about you.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. But they asked me why you were driving one of my Navigators. That was a bit embarrassing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know about that. That I have many employees who could have lent it to you. You know I’ve got some heat on me right now, Morrison. I don’t need any more because of you.”
Morrison frowned. “Why are you calling me now? How did you know they released me?”
Mike chuckled. “I’ve got my sources,” he said. “Only an idiot wouldn’t. So tell me, what does Sanford now know about you that could get me into trouble?”
“Relax,” Morrison said. “She doesn’t know anything. She’s been fishing around, that’s all. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“Well, why don’t you come in here for a talk? These things are better done face to face. I got a couple more questions of my own.”
He was hesitant to go back there, not so sure it was safe for him at Mike’s house at the moment. Especially with that blond maniac still around.
The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to go back there alone.
But he had an idea. Something that could diffuse that risk. Something that had to be done anyway.
<
br /> “I’ll be there,” he said. “But I won’t be coming alone. I learned a lot about our busted operation these last two days, and I think it’s about time we had a partners’ meeting.”
Chapter 45
Cowgirl was skeptical.
“Why do you want all of us to meet at Mike’s place?” she asked.
“Mike’s a lot more dangerous than he used to be,” Morrison said. “I still don’t know exactly what he’s into. But these last years, he took a turn for the worse.”
He told her about the casual way Mike and his associates flaunted their guns. Told her how Mike had ordered the blond guy to kill the slicked-back hair guy because he thought he was responsible for the death of a rival they were keeping prisoner in their shed. When in reality the blond guy himself had killed the poor man and put his spin on the events to save his own neck.
There was now a hard edge to Mike. An atmosphere where problems weren’t thought out thoroughly but solved with quick fixes. Where violence sped up the process. Very different from the way he and Cowgirl and the others had always operated in the past.
“Mike has become very volatile,” he said. “I don’t feel totally safe around him. But if we tell him that we’ve just confirmed the eight million dollars we were targeting have been stolen, he will instantly focus on recovering that money. I know him. He will want to get all of that money back. Down to the last dollar. And for that, he needs my help. He needs your help. Even Harris’s help. That should calm him down and distract him from making stupid, impulsive decisions. Once he understands that, we can resume our efforts on Sanford right away without having to watch our back.”
Cowgirl nodded. “I see where you’re going,” she said. “The money as the carrot to force him to look beyond the tip of his nose.”
“Exactly. Use his greed to curb his irrationality.”
She tilted her head. “But don’t you think it’s only going to defer things?” she said. “If we end up recovering the money, he could decide to use his muscles to get it all.”
“That’s a risk,” he said, “but we’re going to deal with it when we get there. For the time being, we need to stabilize this situation. My arrest by Sheriff Sanford has clearly rattled him. I don’t want him to think of me as a problem.”