by Nick James
He hurried upstairs to her den where he opened her computer, went onto her email site and sent himself a new copy of her file. Then he deleted the sent email, and shut the computer off. He walked down the hall, pulled open the dresser drawer with the sweaters and fished around for her envelope of cash. As he pulled it out it seemed to feel a lot thicker than he recalled, and he quickly counted out ten hundred-dollar bills. “Partial payment,” he growled to the empty room then stuffed the envelope back under her sweaters, gave the room a quick check just to make sure everything was in order before he left.
Chapter Fifty
He was more or less calm by the time he phoned Morris Montcreff later that afternoon.
“Yes,” Montcreff answered sounding a little impatient.
“Bobby Custer, sir. I have some general information on Mr. Denton.”
“Such as?”
“It looks like the firm is going to be getting two of the acquisition people back, someone named Jerry Downs and another guy named Chuck Larson. To be honest I don’t know either one. I also heard there may be a couple other people looking to return.”
“Really? All because of the unfortunate incident with that woman in Paris? What was the name, Sanders?”
“Saunders.” Bobby said thinking if you had her killed you might at least remember her name. “Actually there seems to be more to it than the Paris incident.” He went on to spin a tale about Angie Benedict and Nate Anderson running off together. He could see no point in mentioning Angie’s brothers.
“God, the stupid things people do,” Montcreff said.
“On another note, I had a long chat with the partners, they were fairly adamant that Mr. Denton won’t be coming back.”
“After all he’s done, he’s the founder of the damn firm, for Christ sake. Have they bothered to look at the Goddamn name on the door, he’s listed first. What in the hell are they thinking?”
“To be honest, I believe they’re thinking of the future…”
“The future?” he shouted.
“Yes sir. Mr Denton, even if he were to come back wouldn’t be able to do so for months. I talked to his doctors and the nurses, he’ll be lucky to even get out of bed within a month. They’ve no idea what his mental capacity will be after the blow to the head. Two falls injuring and then re-injuring his hip may require more surgery. Add to that the pending lawsuit with the Saunders family.” Bobby pictured Emily climbing into the back of the limo, landing in San Diego or wherever she was headed for her little love fest and suddenly felt a pounding in his head.
“Anything else?” Montcreff said bringing him back to reality.
“I spoke with Ms. Morales. She mentioned that the Drake body was recovered, but I haven’t heard anything on the news and I’ve been checking online. Nothing out there other than very general information.”
“They’ll be holding a press briefing at five this evening.”
“Oh, I must have missed that.”
“They haven’t announced it yet.” Montcreff’s information hotline in action.
“What else did Ms. Morales have to say?”
“Nothing much, we had a very short conversation, she was with her niece, Valentina.” Bobby suddenly wondered if he had already said too much and decided not to mention he’d actually met Camila in person. “She seemed to be anxious to get off the phone.”
“Interesting, her niece is here? In town?”
“At least that’s what she said, to be honest it may have been an excuse to just get me off the line.”
Montcreff chuckled at that. “Believe me, she’d have absolutely no problem just hanging up on you, Custer,” he said then promptly hung up himself.
Bobby drummed his fingers on the desk for just a brief moment then knew what had to be done.
Chapter Fifty-One
On his way to the pay phones in the First National Bank building he walked past the news stand where he had spotted Bennett Hinz the other day and scanned the headlines. There was nothing he saw suggesting a news conference of any sort, let alone one dealing with the bodies that had been found. He purchased a Snickers bar then hurried to the phones.
Camila answered on the third ring
“Yes.”
“Hi Camila, Bobby Custer.”
“Yes.”
“How is Valentina?”
“Fine, thank you. Was there a purpose to this call?”
“Yes, there is, actually, it concerns Valentina.”
“Oh?”
“I was just speaking with Montcreff concerning another matter, our office, actually. Anyway, he asked me about you, I told him I hadn’t seen you since the incident. He mentioned your niece was here. It may be nothing, but I just wanted to pass that on to you.”
“He’s aware that Valentina is here?”
“He certainly seemed to be.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry if I sounded in foul temper a moment ago, as you might imagine we are under some stress, here.”
“Yes, he also told me there’s a police news conference scheduled for five this evening. I checked and couldn’t find any announcement, but he seems to have an inside track to some of these things so you might want to check.”
“Thank you, you’ve been more helpful than you can know.”
“I would like to ask a favor.”
“Oh?”
Bobby glanced around for anyone listening. No one was in sight with the exception of an older couple just stepping onto the escalator taking them to the second floor. The woman was directing the man to hold on to the hand rail which made him immediately clasp both hands behind his back and look the other way.
“The little bag you had under the pillow in your dungeon.”
“Yes?”
“I wonder if I might trouble you for a small amount?”
“You surprise me, I honestly didn’t know.”
“Not for me.”
“There would be cost involved, we’re friends, but this is business.”
“I understand.”
“You remember the fountain?”
“On Kellogg?”
“Yes, be on the bench in one hour,” she said and hung up.
* * *
He’d been sitting on the bench for a good thirty minutes, watching the river traffic below and casting his eyes on a dozen different guys who looked like they could be drug dealers. They may have been, but none of them seemed the least bit interested in talking to him.
A young woman sat down on the far end of the bench, opened her purse and unwrapped a Subway sandwich on her lap. She was dressed in a conservative work outfit wearing black shoes with a two inch heel.
He was just about ready to move to another bench when the woman asked, “Is your name Bobby?” She continued to stare down at the river, then pulled a small corner of bread from the sandwich and placed it in her mouth.
He looked over at her, not sure he heard correctly.
“I said, are you Bobby?” she sounded a little more adamant this time and then quickly began to wrap the sandwich up.
“Yes, yes that’s me,” he said and started to slide toward her.
She turned and glared. “Are you fucking kidding me? Stay over there, damn it. Two big ones.”
“What?”
“Jesus, where’d she find you? Two hundred bucks, you did bring money, didn’t you?”
He remembered the money he had stolen from Emily’s dresser drawer and quickly pulled the wad of bills out of his pocket, and peeled two off.
“Give them to me,” she said and Bobby handed her the two-hundred dollars.
She took the money, stared at the wad of bills in his hand then wrapped her sandwich up and handed it to him. “You looking to party? I can be as crazy as you want,” she said and nodded toward his hand stuffing the cash back in his pocket.
“No, but thanks for the sandwich,” he said and winked.
She shook her head like she couldn’t believe it then stood and while still looking at the river said, “Someone will
make your delivery in the next couple of minutes so just stay here.”
“What if they don’t?”
This time she turned and looked at him with a disbelieving look. “You come highly recommended, if they don’t show up they’re dead,” she shrugged then calmly walked away. About three minutes later a boy on a skateboard came rolling down the brick pathway. He looked no more than twelve and the wheels on his skateboard seemed to click nonstop over the spaces between the bricks. Bobby flashed back to his childhood days skateboarding with a group of pals. Sunshine, skateboards, and the biggest problem was what was for dessert after dinner, the innocence of youth.
He smiled at the boy as he rolled past. The kid never looked at him, just tossed a small packet that landed on Bobby’s lap and kept on going.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The police news conference that Bobby couldn’t find any mention of was broadcast live just a little after five. He watched in his office on his laptop as the department spokesman stood at the podium and read a statement while the chief of police and ranking department officials stood behind him, one looking more grim faced than the next. An easel was positioned on either side of the podium holding an enlarged black and white photo. The image on the right was Agent Drake. It looked like an official photo, a much younger Drake in a dark suit and tie with a shiny shield hanging from the pocket of his suit coat. He looked nothing like the coked up bastard Bobby had shot in the face when he was beating up Camila.
The second image was clearly taken from a mug shot, three images actually, one looking forward and then a left and right side shot. A row of numbers ran across the bottom of each one of the images. Bobby thought the image looked familiar, but couldn’t begin to place him until he heard the name. Nicholas Rousch, Nick, Montcreff’s driver. The one who gave Bobby the cellphone to call Montcreff and the man who supposedly disposed of the same cellphone after Bobby shot Drake.
“… no relationship, at this time, to four recent murders in the area. All six cases remain open for investigation. We now have a brief moment to take a few questions.”
The assembled crowd of reporters and news people began shouting at once, and the officer pointed to someone in the middle of the room.
“Was this federal officer working undercover? And if so does this point to a much larger problem than even these recent murders suggest.”
“To the best of our knowledge the agent in question was not working undercover and, at this stage, would appear to be just an innocent bystander caught up in an unfortunate situation.”
The chief of police and a couple of the senior staff behind him seemed to look a little more uncomfortable. The noise from the press in the briefing room grew in intensity.
“What are the odds that a federal agent was just a random passer by?”
“Was he with the FBI or the DEA?”
“Has he been linked to a cartel?”
The officer signaled for quiet with his hands, then called on a woman in the front row. She stood and Bobby recognized her from one of the news crews, but couldn’t remember which one nor what her name was.
“The autopsy results, do they know the method used for decapitation and were there traces of illegal drugs found in his system?”
“To your first question, we are unaware at this time as to the exact method used for decapitation. I can state that it appears it occurred some time after death. We believe both individuals were killed at a location different from where their bodies were discovered.”
“And the illegal drugs?” she asked.
“Yes, tests were positive indicating the presence of illegal drugs.” At that point one of the officers behind stepped up and whispered something in his ear. He nodded then spoke into the microphone, “We want to thank you for your time. We will continue to do our utmost to keep you advised of any new information.” The noise from the crowd increased and he said, “This concludes the conference, thank you all for coming.” Then everyone hurried off stage just as quickly as possible.
The online newscast immediately went from there to a weather update. Bobby wondered what Montcreff’s driver, Nick had to do with it all, other than working for Montcreff. He Googled one more bit of information, then jotted a note and stuffed it in his pocket.
He drove past Emily’s building on the way home. It was dark and appeared to be unoccupied, if she was to be believed, a big ‘if’ in his mind right now, she’d be back the day after tomorrow. From there he drove into the lower end of the Highland Park neighborhood, with the note he’d jotted resting on the passenger seat. He drove down the block long street, Murray Ave., checking the addresses until he found the one he was looking for. The front door was open, although the screen door was closed and most likely hooked. The lights were on inside, and then he saw her stand up from the couch and walk into what looked like her kitchen. Emily’s mother.
He drove home, relatively calm and changed into some casual clothes, then sat at the kitchen counter nibbling from a bag of lime flavored Doritos while he scanned through the latest version of Emily’s file that he’d emailed to himself. He found the new name almost immediately, Gregory Lindgren. Another developer, as it turned out. He was a principle in a number of apartment building complexes and what appeared to be quite a few undertakings out in the oil fields in Williston, North Dakota. If it was the same guy, he was married and lived out in Sunfish Lake, a small community of large rural lots that Bobby had once aspired to before everything went tits up for him. The most recent version of Emily’s list just displayed his name without any images attached. Bobby figured the images just might be posted once she returned from San Diego. He’d have to ask her about it when they next got together.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Earl from Security House phoned the following morning as Bobby was opening his first Montcreff file of the day.
“Earl, nice to hear from you.”
“I’ll have those items you requested this afternoon and I’d like to drop them off.”
“The recording devices?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Earl said seeming uncomfortable even talking about them.
“Can you make sure they’ve got batteries I…”
“They’ll be in complete working order and ready to go when I drop them off.”
“I’ll need a lesson or two, I’m not really too technical when it comes to this sort of thing.”
“They’ll be perfect for you, there’s just an on button.”
“Four o’clock at my place work for you?”
“It does, eighteen hundred is your cost, that’s cash,” Earl said.
“See you at four,” Bobby replied, hung up and phoned Denton’s wife. “Hi Cori, Bobby Custer. Just checking in to see if you need a ride to the airport this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you. Actually I was hoping Addison wouldn’t mind,” she said in a tone suggesting that was a rather slight possibility.
“It’s not a bother, in fact it would be my pleasure. What time is your flight?”
“I’m booked on Sun Country for one this afternoon.”
“I’ll pick you up in about an hour if that works, my experience is if you get there in plenty of time you invariably pass through security in about five minutes. It’s only when you’re pressed for time that the lines seem to be long.”
“That would be wonderful, you sure you don’t mind, this is awfully short notice.”
“It would be my pleasure, see you in an hour,” he said and hung up. He hurried into the break room, opened the door beneath the coffee pots and pulled out the box of Saran wrap, tore off four lengths then hurried back to his office.
He closed the door and locked it, then took out the packet from Camila and carefully opened it. He sprinkled a small mound about the diameter of a nickel on one of the sheets of Saran wrap, then picked up the four corners winding them tightly together. He repeated the process three more times, each time reducing the amount of the drug by roughly half until the final portion wasn’t much l
arger than a Tic Tac mint.
He placed the largest portion in his suit coat pocket then placed the rest inside an empty paperclip box and locked it in a desk drawer.
“Will you be returning, Mr. Custer?” Marci asked as he pushed the down button for the elevator.
“I’m gone for about an hour and a half, Marci.”
“Enjoy,” she said and flashed her shark smile.
Chapter Fifty-Four
He drove home and grabbed the bag of bows he’d purchased the other day, then swung past Emily’s house. He parked the car, hurried over to her front garden, removed her spare key then drove over to Denton’s home. He pulled into the driveway and parked next to Addison’s pickup truck. Further down the driveway a dark green paneled van with the name Bearded Iris in yellow letters was backed up next to the gate leading to the back yard. He could hear what sounded like a lawn mower running.
He sat behind the wheel in the Mercedes and quickly attached one of the bows, a sky-blue colored ribbon, to the saran wrapped cocaine, climbed out and hurriedly placed it on the driver’s seat of Addison’s pickup.
Cori answered the front door a moment after he rang the bell. “Oh, goodness, you’re a little early, how about a quick cup of coffee?”
“That would be great, is that your only bag?” he asked, pointing at a small bright red suitcase standing at the door. The handle on the suitcase was wrapped with a yellow string of yarn, apparently to distinguish it from all the other bright red suitcases.
“Yes, limited space in todays world of travel, I’m afraid.”
“Let me just put that in my car,” he said grabbing the suitcase, it was substantially heavier than it looked.
“Thank you, let yourself back in, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Bobby placed her suitcase in the trunk of his car. He was tempted to open it, just to see what she packed, but feared he’d never be able to close it again if he did.