by Judy M. Kerr
She snuck into the kitchen for another peanut butter cup, though she knew she was tempting fate. Then she grabbed her water bottle from the fridge and her laptop from her messenger bag and curled up on the couch. She wanted to go over the notes on the Stennard Global Enterprises case. The case was, without a doubt, the most complex she and Cam had ever worked. She was incredibly fired up about the collaboration with other agencies.
Even though Barb was fully aware of the case, MC liked to keep her time at home separate from her time at work. She usually tried to wait until Barb was asleep or away before poring through case files.
She double-clicked to open the file at the same time Barb’s voice floated down from upstairs.
“MC? Come back to bed. I know you’re on your laptop. It’s the weekend.”
MC hadn’t been quite as stealthy as she’d thought. She gazed longingly at the computer before shutting it down. She doused the lights.
“Coming.”
God, but she loved Barb. MC was skittish about loving anyone. Her track record was horrible—seemed if she loved people they were horrifically ripped from her life. Her older sister Cindy died when MC was not quite four and Cindy was eight. They’d been at a July Fourth picnic at Minnehaha Falls. MC remembered Cindy, her idol, skipping off with a group of big kids—MC too young to tag along. Soon traumatized kids screamed. Parents panicked. And MC was whisked away by a neighbor without explanation. She’d never seen her big sister again. A vacuous space took up residence in her stead.
MC didn’t hear the full story behind her sister’s death until she was almost ten. A classmate, Teddy, whose older brother had witnessed Cindy’s death, told MC that Cindy’s head broke open like a watermelon on the rocks. MC’s parents told her the whole story about Cindy falling from a bridge, an accident, nothing to be done but to move on. They never spoke of the incident again.
Fast forward to her parents’ tragic death in a car accident a year after she’d started working for the Inspection Service, and she feared she’d never again know the closeness of family. She’d lost herself for a while, searching for answers in bottles of vodka. Eventually she sucked it up and decided she didn’t need family.
Now her heart swelled, and she thought about how lucky she was to have spent the last nineteen years with the love of her life, and how lucky they were to have solid loving friends like Meg and Dara.
She hoped for many more years together, maybe even a summer wedding now that it was legal. Barb had been hinting, strongly, at the idea since the same sex marriage law passed. MC shied away, though. All the fanfare and crowds of people dropped her right back into that fateful July Fourth picnic memory. She had an irrational fear that Barb would be severed from her life, like Cindy and her parents had been. And she couldn’t bare that deepest darkest memory to anyone—not even Barb. No, Barb hadn’t a clue—in fact she believed MC was an only child.
If MC could convince Barb to keep the celebration small—very small, like the two of them and Dara and Meg—then they’d all survive. Maybe they could safely make plans.
Maybe.
Chapter Three
Friday, November 14
Mister Anal Retentive Early for Everything Cam wasn’t in the office yet. A miracle that MC beat him in.
She shook off the wisps of angst over Barb’s reaction the previous night to being told MC was on call during Thanksgiving. Normally, Barb took it in stride when MC had to work, even on holidays, so her cryptic reaction this time puzzled MC.
They’d helped Dara and Meg at the café, and later she’d tried to draw Barb out on the drive home to find out why she’d reacted so negatively. Barb changed the subject, which MC knew to be the end of any discussion until Barb decided otherwise.
MC had learned early on how Barb’s mind worked, percolating thoughts like fine coffee before laying them out like neatly organized lesson plans. The school teacher was used to dealing with second graders and she had the patience of a saint.
Gnawing on a thumbnail, MC powered up her desktop and pulled a stack of folders from a drawer in her desk. The Stennard Global Enterprises investigation file had grown over the past two weeks.
“Morning!” Cam entered MC’s smallish, utilitarian office. He dropped his coat into one of the chairs and paced back and forth.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” MC asked.
“Last I heard, Arty was going into a meeting with Stennard and Thomson late this afternoon. We’re to be at the command center by two, and we’ll listen in with the team.” Cam rubbed his hands together. “Should be good.”
“I hope Arty keeps it together.”
“He’ll be fine. He told me he’s really pissed off by the shit Stennard and Thomson have been doing, even though he’s been helping out. Swindling folks—retired folks, especially. They’re gonna go down and go down hard.”
“I can’t wait to put the assholes behind bars where they belong.”
Cam said, “I think about my own parents and how they could’ve been scammed by shits like Stennard. Offering huge returns on investments which never pan out. Burns me to think about the people losing everything. Life savings. Retirement.”
“We’ll get them. Even though those people probably won’t get their money back, at least we’ll put these guys out of commission and prevent them from scamming others.” MC deleted a couple emails. “I think I’m up to speed on my other work. Nothing needs attention today, anyway.”
“I told Jane I’d be late tonight.”
“I told Barb the same.”
“All right. Wanna grab lunch at Punch Pizza before we report to Oldfield?”
“You bet.”
MC and Cam pulled into the back lot of the command center. Bellies full of Punch salad and pizza, they were ready for the big show. The white panel van with the Office Supply Store logos was missing.
After one of the FBI agents let them inside the command center, ASAC Oldfield directed them to a rickety table. “Things are moving along. The team’s in place, and everything is set. If all goes as planned, we should get a good start on compiling the evidence needed to obtain search warrants.”
MC felt a thrill go through her. Shit was about to get real. She pulled up a metal folding chair and dropped her messenger bag on the floor.
Oldfield’s cell phone rang. “What? Where is he? Great. Just dandy.” He thrust the device into his suit coat pocket. “We’ve got a glitch. According to one of the agents on site, Mister Musselman has gone home sick and will not be attending the meeting this afternoon. Dammit all to hell.” He leaned on the table. The four agents working the equipment made themselves busy and stayed out of the way.
“Is he really sick?” MC asked. “Or is it cold feet—again?”
“Question of the hour. I’m tempted to send you and White to pay him a visit at home. Keep things unobtrusive. People seem to sniff out FBI from a mile away.”
MC grabbed her messenger bag. “We can do that.”
Cam said, “We’ll use the mail theft cover if anyone gets curious. I can’t believe he flaked out—if he did. I’ll get him to see reason.”
Oldfield said, “But if he’s already told Stennard he won’t be at the meeting and suddenly changes his mind, that could be problematic, create suspicion. The last thing we need at this point is to let the cat out of the bag and put Stennard and Thomson on alert.” Oldfield stopped, hands on hips.
MC said, “On the other hand, if Arty is sick, chances are Stennard will already be rescheduling the meeting.”
“True.” Oldfield sighed. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You two go to Arty’s home. If he’s sick, and I mean really sick, then find out if the meeting has been rescheduled. If he’s not sick, then I want you to drive home the importance of him getting back in the saddle.” Oldfield scrolled through his cell for Arty’s address and showed MC the screen. “He lives in a condo in downtown Minneapolis.”
MC typed the address and phone number into the contacts on her phone. She saw the m
ake and model of Arty’s car listed, so she tapped that in too. “We’re on it.”
Cam pounded a fist on the steering wheel. “Sonofabitch! I thought Arty was set.” He blew out a breath. “Shit. I get all turned around in downtown Minneapolis. I’m directionally challenged, according to my wife.”
“Relax. I got this. The Arch Lofts is over by the river near the Stone Arch Bridge.” She directed Cam to the quickest route and soon they were eastbound on Interstate 394.
“What’s Arty thinking?” Cam asked.
“Maybe the guy really is sick. ’Tis the flu season.” She took another peek at the address. “Swanky place he lives in. Not over the top, but definitely outside my price range. One of those complexes made to resemble old warehouses, but all new construction. Basically, wannabe lofts instead of the real deal.”
“Wonderful. Not how I wanted to spend my afternoon, in the lap of someone else’s luxury.”
MC glanced at the info on her phone. “Arty drives a light blue BMW 328i, four-door sedan. Funny, I envisioned Arty driving a Prius, not a BMW.”
“With the shitload of money he’s made, he could be driving a freakin’ Tesla if he wanted.” Cam switched into the lane for downtown Minneapolis and was soon approaching the neighborhood.
The four-story newly constructed lofts loomed in front of them. The Arch Lofts logo, situated over the front entrance, wasn’t fancy but was a rich gold color, perhaps an attempt at understating the real estate value.
“Underground parking,” Cam said. They parked on the street a hundred feet from the parking entrance. “Options for breaching parking security to check for Arty’s car?”
“We could wait and follow a tenant in . . . or call Arty’s cell.”
“Go with the latter. Gimme the number.” Cam pulled his phone from the breast pocket of his coat and as MC read him the number, he programmed it into his contacts. Then he tapped to call.
He mashed the iPhone against his ear. “Arty, this is Inspector White. Please call me ASAP. We need to talk.” Cam ended the call and tapped the phone against the steering wheel.
“Heads up. Car coming up the street.” A squat shiny silver Lexus sport utility slowed and signaled a turn into the parking entrance.
Cam put the car in drive. “Wait for it,” he said. The Lexus’s taillights flashed once as the vehicle entered the garage. Cam drove in behind the SUV. “Slick as frogshit. You watch the cars on your side, and I’ll check out those on mine.”
The SUV pulled into one of the first spots and the driver hopped out and hobbled to a nearby door. The woman had bags in both hands and struggled to get the door open before disappearing inside.
“She didn’t even notice us,” MC said. “I swear people are so self-involved, we could be axe murderers and they wouldn’t notice.”
He trolled through the dimly lit two-level garage. At the end he pulled into an empty numbered slot and left the engine idling. “Nada.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and find him as we go back up. If not, then we set up shop on the street. He’s got to come home sometime and there’s only one entrance to the garage.”
Cam pulled out of the parking spot. “Lots of empty spaces here.” He inched along the subterranean concrete cave toward the exit. “Have you noticed any security cameras?”
“No cameras. Hold it!”
Cam stepped hard on the brakes and leaned over to scrutinize the car MC pointed to. “Right color and size, but it’s an Audi.”
Back where they’d started, Cam navigated across the street from the garage entrance and put the car in park facing toward the river. He picked up his cell and called Arty again. He put it on speaker, and the sound of ringing mingled with the low rattle of the heater inside the car. Arty’s tinny voice came through telling the caller to leave a message and he’d return the call. Cam left another message.
“We should check in with Oldfield.” MC retrieved her phone from her messenger bag. “Maybe he’s heard something.” MC scrolled to Oldfield’s contact and reported in. After a brief conversation, she ended the call.
“What’s the scoop?” Cam asked.
“Someone called Stennard’s office and found out today’s meeting has been rescheduled for Monday the seventeenth. Oldfield wants us to sit tight and see if Arty shows up. Then we can nab him and find out what happened.”
“We cool our heels some more. That sucks. I want action.”
“Come on, Cam, it’s not that bad.”
MC took stock of their location. A new building one block down and close to the river boasted retail space for lease. A colorful neon Izzy’s Ice Cream sign lit one set of plate glass windows, and a more austere sign in the next space advertised a Dunn Brothers coffee shop. “How about some caffeine?” She pointed down the street.
“Good idea. Who knows how long we’ll be sitting here.”
“I’ll make the run. Coffee?”
“Make it a large. Black.”
“You got it. Call me if anything happens.” MC shoved her wallet and phone into her coat pocket and opened the door. MC entered the coffee shop, and the scent of warm java enveloped her. She took a deep breath and enjoyed the nutty roasted aroma. The barista took her order, and she was out the door in under five minutes. Filaments of steam led the way back to the car.
“You’re quick.” Cam accepted the cardboard cup from her. “Thanks.”
“Not much business at this time of day. Arty call?”
“Nada.” Cam sipped his coffee. “This is good.”
“Colombian. One of their better blends, in my opinion.” MC blew into the sip hole in the plastic lid before taking a cautious taste.
They chatted about coffee, about weather, about Arty. After almost an hour, three more vehicles had entered the garage, none of which were Arty’s.
“You don’t suppose he has more than one car?” MC asked.
“Nah. Oldfield had someone run his name through DVS. Unless he’s driving someone else’s vehicle.”
The thought hung out there and they continued to monitor the traffic.
“When do you think your supervisor will take a hint and retire?” Cam ran his finger around the rim of his empty cup.
“Not soon enough.” MC scanned the street. “I’m sick and tired of him in my face all the time. I swear it’s getting worse.”
“Have you considered asking him for a transfer to Jamie’s team?” Cam shifted to face her.
“I probably should, but I think he’d expect a woman to complain, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of fighting me. He’s so worthless it’s hard for me to believe he was ever a good inspector. Though Jamie tells some stories about the days when his dad was partnered with Crapper and they made quite the team.” MC couldn’t understand how anyone on the job could become incompetent, the way Roland Chrapkowski had. “Maybe the supervisory role flipped some kind of switch inside him.”
“I heard that his ex-wife will get half his pension when he retires. That could make for a cranky Crapper. And explain his attitude toward women, in general. Not that I condone such behavior.”
“Uh huh,” MC said.
Cam continued, “Could you talk to Jamie about transferring to his team? He’s a more effective boss than Crapper. And he respects you, at least in my estimation.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” MC was warmed by her partner’s opinion of her. “I know you guys were in training together. Was he fair and honest from day one? I’m curious about whether he’s a legacy because of his father. What’s his story?”
“Oh, man, Jamie, he’s always been at the top. One of those exceptional inspectors, great in the field and a phenomenal leader. He’s got the charisma and the brains. A guy you can count on as long as you’re on the right side of the law.”
“Good to know. The last thing we need is someone to follow the trail Crapper blazed. Whoa. Hold up. Check it out.” MC pointed to a car crossing the intersection and coming toward them. “Is that him?”
Cam le
aned forward, peering through the windshield. “Yep, that’s Arty’s car.” He reached for the gear shift, ready to drop it into drive. “Signaling to go into the garage.”
A sleek compact BMW the color of a cloudless winter sky glided into the downward sloping ramp for the Arch Lofts building.
MC buckled up. “Let’s do this.”
Cam waited until a Jeep flew past them on the street and made a quick turn into the ramp. The door shuddered as it began a slow roll downward. Cam hit the gas and the Impala slid under in the nick of time. “Holy shit.”
“Up ahead. To the left. A splash of red light reflecting off the cement.”
Cam accelerated.
A blue car backed out of a slot and pulled forward again, straightening its position.
“Got him.” They unbuckled their seatbelts in anticipation.
Cam pulled the car behind the BMW, blocking any chance of escape. He threw the gearshift into park, left the engine idling, and they exited, meeting at Arty’s rear bumper.
Cam leaned against the side of the Impala and MC impatiently tapped her thumb against her arm. The man shuffled like a sloth on Valium.
Arty pulled a battered brown leather briefcase from the backseat of his car and fobbed the locks. He pivoted and stopped dead in his tracks. “What?” He swiveled his head left and right.
MC wondered if he was searching for help or making sure no one saw them together. “Hey, Arty. What’s new?”