Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte

by Diane Kelly

  Looked like my aim had been a little off. “Oops,” I said. “Sorry.”

  Now it wasn’t just Claudia’s hands that were shaking. Her entire body quaked in fear.

  I shot Nick a look, hoping my eyes conveyed the message Calm down or you’ll freak this woman out. Still, I could understand Nick’s frustration. Without Claudia’s ID, we wouldn’t have probable cause to arrest Mendoza. We needed a link and we needed it quick.

  As much as I didn’t want to think about it, there was always the chance that Mendoza would skip the country and leave the funds behind. Although the amounts in Claudia’s accounts totaled over four million dollars, it was chump change to Mendoza. With his extensive illegal enterprises, he could easily replace the funds in a few months’ time. Still, we had to give this a shot. Claudia was the only chance we had of following the money trail, of tying the loose ends together, of finally getting enough evidence to constitute probable cause.

  I put a hand on Claudia’s arm, hoping the gesture would be comforting. “The man you’ve been dealing with may have told you his name was Ruiz, but his real name is Marcos Mendoza. The IRS has been after him for years.”

  She chewed her lip.

  I removed my hand. “You got his e-mail today instructing you to wire all of the funds in your accounts to an offshore bank?”

  Her eyes widened. “You know about that?”

  “We know a lot of things,” Nick said. “Now, tell me. When and how were you first contacted by the man you know as Ruiz?”

  “A few months ago,” Claudia said. “He telephoned my office and said he was looking for someone to do bookkeeping for him.”

  “Let me guess,” Nick said. “He made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

  Claudia nodded. “He offered me five times what I normally charge. He didn’t even ask about my usual rates.” She turned to me then, apparently expecting a fellow female to be more sympathetic. Or maybe she was just afraid to make eye contact with Nick. His intensity could be intimidating. “I’m a single mom. I got divorced a few years ago. My ex-husband has been out of work and can’t pay his child support. I’ve been having a hard time making ends meet.”

  The divorce explained the name change.

  “Did his offer seem suspicious to you?” Nick asked.

  Claudia averted her eyes, guilt emanating from her. “If I hadn’t been so desperate…”

  She left her sentence unfinished, letting us fill in the blanks. If she hadn’t been so desperate, she wouldn’t have been sucked into Mendoza’s schemes. But if she hadn’t been so desperate, Mendoza wouldn’t have targeted her to be his puppet, either. The guy knew how to choose his minions.

  We heard the slam of the van’s door from out front and Claudia’s boys came in with another load of bags. “That’s all of them, Mommy,” said the middle one.

  She forced a smile at her boys. “Thanks. You boys change out of your good clothes and go out back to play, okay?”

  The younger two darted off, but the oldest one stayed behind, eyeing his mother, worry on his face. “Are you crying?”

  Claudia made a choking sound. “Yes, honey. But everything’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”

  The boy gave us a suspicious look but obeyed his mother and went to change his clothes.

  “Go on,” Nick urged Claudia, eager to hear all the details.

  Claudia twisted the napkin in her hands. “At first he only asked me to do some bookkeeping for his business—”

  “What business?” Nick asked.

  “His furniture manufacturing company,” Claudia said. “He owns a factory in Arizona.”

  As if. The alleged furniture company was nothing more than a ruse.

  “And then what happened?” Nick prodded.

  “After a few weeks, he called and asked if I would open an account that he could put some cash in. He said he suspected his inside accountant had been stealing from him.”

  Aha! That excuse was the same one Mendoza had used to convince Andrew Sheffield to start laundering funds for him.

  “I didn’t want to do it,” Claudia continued, “but he said the money would be in the account for only a few days at most. He’d been so generous to me I felt like I owed him a favor.”

  Claudia described how things had escalated. Mendoza began having cash couriered to her office, instructing her to deposit it in her newly established business account. He then directed her to open two additional accounts at different banks. By spreading the funds around and keeping the balances lower, the transactions would be more likely to go unnoticed.

  “He insisted I give him access to the online account information so that he could make sure I’d deposited the funds he sent me.” She broke into out-and-out sobs now, gasping for breath between words. “I was so scared. He never threatened me outright, but he made it clear that I had no choice but to do what he said or bad things could happen to me and my boys.”

  From my file, I pulled the newspaper clippings on the suspicious deaths of Mendoza’s former employees, placing Andrew Sheffield’s at the bottom. “Bad things do happen to the people who work for Mendoza.” I handed the clippings to her.

  Claudia’s eyes scanned the reports. When she began reading the report on Andrew’s murder, she put a hand to her chest. “Oh God.” The hand moved to her mouth as she read on. She jumped up from the table, ran to the kitchen sink, and retched, tossing up her communion wafer and wine. I’m guessing she’d reached the part about Sheffield being dismembered. Hard to read that without becoming queasy, especially when you might be next on the list.

  Nick stood and walked over to the sink, snatching a kitchen towel from the oven-mounted rack and handing it to her. “We can keep you and your children safe,” he said, “but you’ve got to cooperate with us and help us catch this guy.”

  Claudia held the towel to her mouth, using it now to stifle her sobs, and nodded.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  What Goes Around Comes Around

  We’d taken Claudia and her boys to a safe hotel suite Sunday night. I slept on the foldout couch in the suite’s living room while Nick slept on a rollaway situated in front of the door. He wasn’t about to take a chance that Claudia might have a change of heart and try to escape. Nick had even confiscated her cell phone and laptop, and removed all of the telephones from the bedrooms. He wasn’t taking a chance she’d contact Mendoza and warn him off, either.

  First thing Monday morning, Nick and I took turns showering in one of the suite’s bathrooms. I dressed in loose tan slacks, a navy blazer over my shoulder holster, and an ivory silk tank, along with my steel-toed loafers, a look I referred to as business casual butt-kicker. Nick wore jeans, a dark brown western-cut shirt that hugged his shoulders and biceps, and his pointy-toed cowboy boots, looking like a regular old shit-kicker.

  We left the boys at the hotel under the supervision of Claudia’s sister. Claudia was too scared to allow the boys to attend school that day. The boys, on the other hand, were thrilled. Skipping school, swimming in the hotel pool, ordering pizza in? Heck, this bust was a vacation for them.

  While Josh kept an eye on Crescent Tower, I escorted Claudia to the banks. Claudia emptied each of the three business accounts containing Mendoza’s ill-gotten revenue, but she didn’t wire the funds to Mendoza’s offshore bank as he’d instructed in his e-mail. Instead, at my direction, she withdrew thirty grand in cash and transferred the remaining amounts to her personal checking account.

  An account to which Mendoza had no access.

  Once we’d completed the transfers, we drove to her office in her minivan. Nick tailed us as a security measure. He situated himself nearby, keeping an eye on the strip mall from the truck.

  Nick, Josh, and I had held a strategy session at the hotel last night. We’d made plans, backup plans, and alternate backup plans. Although Mendoza had instructed Claudia to delete their e-mail communications, she had kept copies in a separate file. Some part of her must have realized she could end up in trou
ble one day and that the e-mails could prove she’d been a mere pawn in his dirty, dangerous game. We’d read through all of Claudia’s e-mails with Mendoza, giving ourselves a better sense of their interactions and relationship. Basically, Mendoza had told her to jump and she’d asked how high. We couldn’t be certain how Mendoza would react to his funds being stolen, but his typical response had been to send thugs after anyone who dared to cross him. The only question now was when these thugs would show up.

  Would they come to Claudia’s office today? Or would they wait and go to her house tonight?

  Either way, we’d be ready for them.

  I forced back the thought that Mendoza might simply make a break for it and forfeit the money Claudia had taken. He had already made plans to leave the country tomorrow. Whether it was because he knew the IRS was after him again or for some other reason, I couldn’t be sure. But there was no doubt the guy was about to make a move.

  A move that could put him forever beyond our reach.

  The minutes crept by, delineated by the painfully slow ticking of the wall clock in Claudia’s office. Tick … Tock … Tick … Tock. My nerves were on edge and the clock wasn’t helping. It was all I could do not to rip the damn thing off the wall and stomp on it. Claudia attempted to work on some projects for her other clients, but quickly gave up, unable to concentrate.

  Two hours later, an e-mail from Mendoza popped up in Claudia’s inbox. As usual, the communication was in Spanish.

  ¿Dónde está mi dinero?

  Claudia translated for me. “He’s asking where his money is. What should I say?”

  Josh had furnished me and Nick with walkie-talkies so we could be in instant contact. I pushed the TALK button on my unit and told Nick about the e-mail. “How should Claudia respond?”

  After a brief discussion, we reached an agreement.

  “In your own words,” I instructed her, “tell him it seems that he’s cutting you off without warning and that you want to know what’s going on since you need his business.”

  In Spanish she typed: I’m very sorry, Mr. Ruiz, but I have come to rely on your business. It seems you are ending our arrangement without notice. Please explain.

  We waited for several long minutes before his response came back. Cariño Claudia. Please understand that I am not terminating your services. I need the funds to purchase a manufacturing facility overseas. The deal is scheduled to close tomorrow. The funds must be transferred immediately or the deal will fall through. The expansion of the business will provide new opportunities for both of us.

  A clever response on his part. Nonthreatening but urgent, placating Claudia’s concerns about the loss of his business and the revenue it provided her, hinting that the deal could bring her even more revenue.

  I rousted Nick again on the walkie-talkie.

  “Have her tell him she wants to meet with him in person,” Nick suggested. “Maybe she can lure him out here.”

  Claudia sent a response to Mendoza. Something this important should be discussed in person. Can we meet up today?

  Again, it was several minutes before Mendoza got back to her. I’m not in Dallas, he responded. An outright lie. Josh confirmed Mendoza’s car was parked in the Crescent Tower garage. The fact that Mendoza was sending e-mails from his office or penthouse, presumably from one of his own computers, indicated he’d become desperate. He seemed more interested now in making tracks than covering them.

  Again I consulted with Nick via the two-way radio.

  “Don’t respond,” Nick said. “Force his hand.”

  Over the next few hours Mendoza sent a series of e-mails that grew progressively more insistent.

  Don’t steal from me, Claudia. You are a Christian woman and you know stealing is wrong.

  Mendoza was going to bring religion into this? Seriously? What a hypocrite. Apparently he’d forgotten the whole “Thou shalt not kill” commandment.

  Claudia, why aren’t you responding? If you do not return my money, I will be forced to report this theft to the authorities.

  Nick and I got a good laugh out of that one.

  You are making a huge mistake, Claudia. If you do not transfer the funds immediately, you will regret this decision for the rest of your life.

  A life Mendoza would no doubt attempt to cut short.

  His final e-mail raised some possibilities. I will send my associates to discuss this matter with you. They will come to your office at nine this evening.

  “Associates” was no doubt another term for “thugs.” The fact that these alleged associates would arrive after dark when the other businesses in the strip center would be closed and no witnesses would be around was a clear tip-off.

  I pushed the talk button and read the e-mail to Nick. “What do you think?”

  Nick exhaled a long breath. “I’d rather Mendoza come himself, but he’d never agree to that. He’s too smart, too wary.”

  I mulled things over for a moment. “You think his thugs could provide the link we need, give us the probable cause to arrest Mendoza?”

  “There’s no guarantee of that,” Nick replied. “But, hell, I don’t see anything we can do or say at this point that won’t make him suspicious.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “We’ll have to be extremely careful how we handle things tonight,” Nick said. “It’ll be dangerous.”

  Claudia’s already round eyes grew rounder.

  “Piece of cake,” I said with much more bravado than I felt.

  “All right,” Nick said. “Let’s do it.”

  At my direction, Claudia sent Mendoza a final e-mail that said simply Sí.

  Claudia wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what Mendoza had in mind. She fell to pieces then. But better to fall to pieces than to be chopped to pieces.

  I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Claudia. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I wasn’t only trying to convince her. I was also trying to convince myself.

  I was scared absolutely shitless.

  But I wasn’t going to let a little thing like sheer terror stop me. Special Agent Tara Holloway had a job to do and, by God, she would get the job done.

  Or die trying.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  These Guys Put the Ass in Associates

  At eight o’clock that evening, we readied ourselves for the arrival of Mendoza’s goon squad. We left Claudia’s minivan in the parking lot and positioned Claudia in a rental car a block away, armed with a walkie-talkie. We taped the TALK button down on our unit and positioned it on a shelf to provide a constant transmission from her office. She’d been instructed to call 911 for backup if we said the code word “latte.” Also if she heard gunshots or screaming. Guess that kind of goes without saying, though, huh?

  After her breakdown earlier in the day, the woman had rallied, resolving to do all she could to help us nail Mendoza. She seemed to consider it a penance of sorts. She wanted to make things right, ease her conscience, even her score with the Big Guy Upstairs. Or maybe she realized cooperating with us was the best chance she had for keeping her butt out of jail. Either way, she was on our side.

  Josh continued to keep an eye on Mendoza at Crescent Tower. Nick and I weren’t sure how many thugs Mendoza would send to Claudia’s office, but since there’d been three at the Pokornys’ we wanted at least one more agent on our side to even the odds. Given that this was an unauthorized operation, we couldn’t recruit anyone else from the Treasury’s Criminal Investigations. Lucky for me, Christina was more than willing to help me out again. All she asked for in return was a margarita—served by Nick wearing nothing but the skimpy tiger-striped swimsuit she’d heard about. I readily agreed on his behalf.

  The three of us donned our ballistic vests under our clothes. Although my build better matched Claudia’s, my fair skin and chestnut hair would be a dead giveaway to Mendoza’s hit men that I wasn’t the woman they were after. Christina thus landed the lead role in our charade. In her attempt to
impersonate a bookkeeper, Christina had worn a black blazer over a white shirt and donned a pair of cheap reading glasses. She’d also pulled her long hair back into a bun.

  “Do I look like a financial nerd?” she asked, turning to and fro to model her outfit.

  “You look professional,” I snapped back.

  We moved Claudia’s desk back a few feet and rearranged her file cabinets to form a bunker we could hide behind should a gunfight break out. Better safe than sorry, right?

  Preparations now complete, Christina lowered Claudia’s chair so she’d appear shorter. She sat at Claudia’s desk while we waited for Mendoza’s “associates” to arrive for the scheduled meeting. Nick and I hid behind file cabinets on either side of the desk, guns at the ready.

  Christina pretended to be typing in data from a file on her desk, while in reality she played Farmville on Facebook. The second hand on the wall clock continued making its jerking rounds, the ticks and tocks loud and insistent, as if counting off the remaining seconds of our lives.

  A few minutes after nine, there was movement outside the front window of Claudia’s office. My entire body went on high alert. My gaze met Nick’s across the room. He gave me a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture and tried really hard not to wet myself.

  I peeked out of the narrow slit between the cabinets as the door opened. There were one, two, three men. Two white, one black. All in their early to mid-twenties. All big and muscular. The white guys had shaved heads and dark goatees, the black guy sported cornrows. These guys matched the description Darina Pokorny had given me of their attackers. They wore jeans and T-shirts, making no attempt to look like businessmen.

  The door swung shut behind them as Christina looked up from her desk. Though the thugs couldn’t see her right hand, I could. She held her loaded Glock firmly gripped in it. “Are you Mr. Ruiz’s associates?”

  The biggest guy chuckled, turning slightly to address the others. When he shifted, the lettering on the back of his leather belt became visible. Bubba. There was no doubt whatsoever now. These were the ass-wipes who’d put the Pokornys in the hospital.