Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  MC withdrew the envelope. “Addressed to Arty but no return address. We’ll need to take this, ma’am.” MC dropped the padded envelope into an evidence bag, but didn’t seal it.

  “I’ll get the necessary paperwork for you to sign.” Berg hurried back to her desk.

  MC and Cam followed, waiting while she clicked on the computer, completed a form and printed it out. Cam signed and dated where Susan Berg indicated. She made them a copy, and handed it to Cam who stuck it in his coat pocket.

  MC asked, “Is there an empty office where we can have some privacy?”

  “Not out here, but the postmaster’s conference room might be available.”

  Cam said, “Thanks.”

  In the postmaster’s office they were greeted by the executive assistant seated behind a counter. “Hey, MC. Cam.” Her voice took on a pleased tone. “How can I help the two of you?”

  “Hi, Quinn,” MC said. “Can we borrow the conference room?”

  “Sure. The weekly managers meeting was canceled, so I know it’s free. Let me make sure it’s unlocked.”

  “How are the grandkids?” Cam asked.

  “Rambunctious.” She pointed to photos in silver frames on her desk.

  Cam leaned over the counter and admired the pictures. “They grow up fast.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Quinn stepped down the short hallway and stopped at the first door on the left, and opened it for them. “All yours. Please turn out the lights when you’re finished.”

  “You got it.” MC set her messenger bag on a chair and the evidence bag on the table.

  Cam closed the door and joined her at the conference table. “Let’s open that baby up.”

  MC pulled new gloves from her messenger bag and offered a pair to Cam. “Can I borrow your penknife?”

  Cam dug his keys out, flipped open the penknife on the ring, and handed them to her.

  MC slowly slit the envelope open. She tipped it upside down over her other hand and a USB drive slid into her gloved palm.

  “The elusive drive?” She handed the envelope to Cam. “There’s a sheet of paper in there. Can you grab it?”

  Cam used two fingers to slide the sheet from the envelope. “A handwritten note.”

  To Whom It May Concern: If you are reading this note then something has happened to me. Enclosed is a flash drive with phone recordings which are evidence of fraud committed by Michael Stennard and Gavin Thomson. I was supposed to turn the drive over to the FBI. I couldn’t meet at the assigned location and time. I’m afraid my associates may be suspicious. I am truly sorry for my involvement in this horrible scheme. So many innocent people were hurt by the actions of Stennard Global Enterprises.

  Sincerely,

  Arty Musselman

  Cam carefully stuck the sheet back into the envelope, his face gleeful. “I guess we have what we need for search warrants on Stennard and Thomson’s personal residences.”

  “Uh huh.” MC dropped the flash drive into the envelope and sealed the evidence bag. They both signed and dated the flap.

  Cam said, “Let’s get this to Oldfield so he can request the search warrants. And we’ll call Ferndale from the car.”

  “Right on,” MC said.

  They thanked Quinn as they hustled past.

  “Happy holidays,” Quinn called after them.

  “And to you,” Cam replied.

  In the pit of her stomach, MC felt a lump, like the one chunk of coal Scrooge allowed Bob Cratchit. Christmas was mere days away. Despite the constant reminders all around her she’d managed to ignore the fact. Quinn’s simple words hammered her with sadness, guilt, and a glut of other feelings. Barb had loved the holidays. MC dreaded them, now more than ever.

  MC was exhausted. She and Cam had traveled from Edina to Minneapolis to Wayzata and back to the Postal Inspection offices, and it felt like they’d flown around the world on the red-eye.

  They’d left the evidence bag with Oldfield. He lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree.

  Back at the office MC completed a few tasks on a couple open cases before she called it a day. She was packing up to leave when her desk phone rang.

  Oldfield wanted to let her know the flash drive yielded several recorded files of phone conversations between Arty, Michael Stennard, and Gavin Thomson, which was more than enough evidence to obtain search warrants for the personal residences and vehicles of both men.

  “Good work, McCall. Both you and White. We’ll let you know when the search warrants will be executed.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let Cam know.”

  MC caught Cam as he was leaving and locked up her office.

  What a long ass day. They hadn’t even had time to stop for lunch. With her messenger bag over her shoulder, she headed for her car. The frigid air whacked her in the face.

  Her mind hopped back on the rollercoaster of possibilities of what they might find when they executed search warrants on Stennard and Thomson. The fraud investigation was on solid ground. If they could only be as successful at reeling in Arty’s killer, life might be almost tolerable.

  Behind the wheel of her car, she checked her phone for messages. Sadness descended on her as she realized yet again there would be nothing from Barb.

  Ever.

  Tears filled her eyes and she swiped them angrily away.

  Instead of heading to her empty apartment, she decided to drive by the old neighborhood. The time had finally come for her to chat with some neighbors.

  MC passed the For Sale sign posted in the frozen yard and parked in the driveway behind the garage. A faint glow of light shone inside the house from a floor lamp set to a timer that illuminated at five each evening and switched off at eight in the morning. She wasn’t worried about anyone breaking in because the house was empty but decided to play it safe.

  She navigated down the alley and through her neighbor’s gate. Hank Schmidt had lived in the neighborhood since time immemorial and was always helpful and friendly. He was a seventy-eight-year-old widower who acted as a handyman for whomever needed him. A sweet concerned old guy, MC and Barb always loved him. His house was lit up, so Hank was probably home.

  MC knocked on the back door. After a minute or so, she pushed the glowing green doorbell button. She was about to give the button another nudge when the door creaked open.

  Hank’s slightly hunched frame filled the doorway. He unlocked the outside door and pushed it open. “MC? Is that you?” He squinted rheumy brown eyes under a flop of snow-white hair on his forehead.

  “Hi, Hank. I’m sorry to bother you. I hope I’m not interrupting your supper.”

  He stepped back and waved her in. “Come out of the blasted cold. You’re not interrupting anything. I was watching the news.”

  MC stepped into the narrow alcove which served as a mudroom, closed the door behind her, and slipped off her boots. Hank led the way into the kitchen, lit a buttery yellow by the overhead light.

  “Take off your coat and stay a while.” Hank pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Can I get you something?” His eyebrows, white furry caterpillars, crept upwards. “Coffee? Tea? Beer?”

  MC was dying for a drink. “Coffee would be great, if you have some made. Don’t to go to any trouble.”

  Hank crossed the kitchen and pulled a couple mugs from a cupboard and filled them from a silver thermal pot sitting on the coffeemaker. “I’ve always got coffee going. I live on the stuff, even though I probably should cut back.” He set a mug in front of her. “Help yourself to the cream and sugar there on the table”

  MC doctored her coffee and took an appreciative sip. “Thanks, Hank, this is the perfect end to a long day.”

  She tapped the voice recording app on her phone and set the device next to her on the table, the sleeve of her coat partially obscuring it from Hank’s view. She didn’t tell Hank about the recording, thinking it might upset him or maybe make him not want to talk.

  Hank wrapped his gnarled hands around his cup. “I miss you and Barb. Su
ch a terrible tragedy. I’m darn sorry. I never, not in a million years, thought something so awful could happen in our neighborhood.” He shook his head. “I noticed you got the place up for sale right quick. Can’t say I blame you. How are you holding up?”

  His voice conveyed the level of concern and caring she might expect from her dad if he were still alive. MC swallowed hard, fending off the tears that always seemed to lurk just beneath the surface.

  “I’m surviving, I guess. Work keeps me busy, but I need some resolution on a personal level. Do you know what I mean?” She stared at him. “I haven’t had much chance until now to speak with anyone in the neighborhood about what happened.”

  “I talked to the police. A detective, Sharpe I believe his name was, paid me a couple visits. Told him everything I know. I don’t know what more I can tell you.”

  MC gripped her mug, contemplating her approach. “Hank, I need you to tell me what you told Detective Sharpe. I know it’s redundant, but I need to hear it all and frankly the police don’t share their investigative information with outsiders. And I’m considered an outsider. I have to know the details.” MC folded her hands on top of the table and waited, working to remain patient with her favorite old neighbor.

  “The police don’t tell you how the investigation is going?” He sounded surprised. “But you’re all law enforcement.”

  MC tiptoed around the truth. “It’s like I said, they consider me an outsider on this—because I’m too close to the circumstances.”

  Hank reached over and patted her hand. “I understand.” He blew out a breath. “Let me think. I remember snow was falling to beat the band, the beginning of a good Alberta clipper. I went to get my paper off the front porch around seven, maybe seven-thirty that morning. No one was out front. I heard a couple pops. Louder than firecrackers. I asked myself, did I hear gunshots? I thought I heard muffled yelling, possibly male voices, then what sounded like a door banging closed.”

  MC hardly breathed. She was shocked that Hank had actually heard the attack on Barb.

  “You didn’t see anyone?”

  “No one was out front, so I went through my house and out the back. I noticed your gate was wide open and your outside back door was whipping in the wind. I didn’t see anyone. Then I heard an engine start, maybe in the alley or down the block, hard to tell because of the wind and snow.”

  He took a sip from his cup. “I know you and Barb kept the gate closed and the back door open was even more troubling. I went back inside and dialed 9-1-1, then grabbed my jacket thinking I should maybe check out your place. The operator told me not to go in. When the first squad showed up, I flagged down the young, red-haired officer and told him I’d called 9-1-1 and pointed out your back door. He told me to go back inside and he’d come talk to me later. I did as he instructed and stood watching inside my back door there.”

  Hank pointed to the alcove MC’d entered through earlier. “Before I knew it, there were cops and fire trucks and paramedics and whatnot everywhere in front and back. The red-haired officer appeared within a couple minutes and asked if I knew who lived in the house. I told him I knew you and Barb. I gave him the details of what I’d heard and seen. All he told me was a female appeared to have been shot. Nothing more.”

  “You heard a car engine though? Before the police arrived?”

  “Most definitely. But I didn’t see it. About thirty minutes after I spoke with the young officer the detective showed up and I told him the story, like I told the younger cop.” His crepey-hands shook as he drank his coffee. “MC, I’m so sorry.”

  His brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She felt bad for him. He’d been a good friend to her and Barb for many years.

  “Hank, I appreciate you telling me this. I know it’s difficult.” She took a swallow of her coffee to tamp down her own emotions. “Who else do you think I should talk to? Did anyone else on the block hear or see anything?”

  Hank dug a neatly folded white hanky from his back pocket and wiped his eyes. “Gladys Crandell.”

  “Please, anyone but her.”

  “She’s a bit of a nosy rosy, but she not only knows what’s going on in the neighborhood, she also has the gift of gab. I bet she has a story to tell.” He gave MC a half-hearted smile. “Grit your teeth and suffer through a short visit is my suggestion.” He patted her hand again.

  Thoughts buzzed in MC’s head like so many bees in a hive. All information was pertinent. She needed to suck it up and go see Mrs. Crandell. MC stood and reclaimed her coat. Phone in hand she hit the stop button and hugged Hank. “Thank you for being so helpful.”

  “Don’t be a stranger. Come see me anytime. And if you need anything, let me know.”

  MC headed for the back door and stepped into her boots. “Thanks for the coffee and the talk.”

  “Take care.”

  MC returned to her driveway. A quick glance at her phone showed it was still plenty early. She made the decision to continue on through the backyard and out to the front, crossed the street and hiked up to the white stucco bungalow diagonally across from her house. She pushed the doorbell.

  A slender, gray-haired woman came to the door. “Oh, goodness, MC, what a surprise to see you!”

  “Hello, Mrs. Crandell.” MC kept her voice polite. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  Mrs. Crandell unlocked the storm door and held it open. “Please, come in.” She stood back, rubbing her arms against the chilly air.

  MC stepped past and stood on the runner inside the foyer. “I apologize for stopping by unannounced, but I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d take a chance on you being home. Would you have time for a quick chat?”

  “Of course. Take off your boots and hang your coat on the hook there. Can I get you anything? Tea?” Mrs. Crandell slipped into the living room and muted the television. “Come. Sit. I bet this is a difficult time for you—the holidays.”

  Mrs. Crandell’s eyes were the color of a wintry sky, giving MC shivers that had nothing to do with the wind blowing outside. She followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa, again activating her phone’s voice recording app and setting her phone, screen side down, next to her on the couch.

  “No, thank you, on the beverage. I promise to not take up too much of your time.” MC was determined not to allow the situation to devolve into a gabfest.

  Get info. Get out.

  “Nonsense. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Of course, you do, MC thought.

  Mrs. Crandell settled into a glider rocker at a right angle to the sofa.

  MC gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. “Mrs. Crandell—”

  “Gladys. Please stop with the Mrs. Crandell. Good grief, I’m still stunned by the events. How are you doing? Has there been any news?”

  MC felt control slipping away. “Gladys, I was just over at Hank’s place, and he thought you might have information about the day Barb was killed.” Direct, no hedging, take control.

  “I didn’t arrive home from shopping until almost nine that morning. I don’t have any firsthand information.”

  MC’s heart sank. “I see.” She started to stand.

  Gladys waved her back down. “Now hold on. I didn’t say I don’t have any information. I did speak to the nice man who lives at the end of the block on your side of the street. I can’t remember his name right now, but it’ll come to me. He told me he’d been out walking his shih tzu. Early. He saw an SUV with two people inside, both wearing dark, maybe black, hats and jackets. The SUV came barreling out the alley and headed south toward Ford Parkway.”

  The words gushed from Gladys’s mouth like water spewing over Minnehaha Falls after a hard spring rain.

  MC leaned toward Gladys. “What time was this?”

  “He said it was early. Definitely before the police arrived.”

  “Did he get a license plate number? Or say what type of SUV?”

  Gladys tilted her head. “He didn’t mention a license num
ber, but he saw a smallish white SUV. Possibly a Ford or what’s the other brand? Begins with a K?”

  “Kia?” MC asked. A distant pinging sounded inside her brain.

  Gladys clapped her hands together. “Yes! A Kia.”

  “And you’re certain this happened before the police arrived? And the vehicle was a white SUV?”

  “Definitely before the police showed up. According to Mister Dogwalker. I wish I could remember his name. Can’t you confirm all this with the police?”

  “I don’t want to pester the detective with questions. He’s working a lot more than this one case.” MC hoped like hell she sounded official enough not to send up red flags. “The more I can find out on my own the better. More efficient.” The last thing she needed was Gladys letting Sharpe know she’d come around asking questions. She’d gotten all she could from the woman.

  MC checked her phone. “Gee. It’s almost seven o’clock. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time, Gladys.”

  “I’m glad you stopped by. Have they found any suspects?”

  “I haven’t heard.” MC hustled toward the door with Gladys hot on her heels. She pulled her coat on and slid her feet into her boots. With her phone tucked safely in her coat pocket, she reached for the door knob. “Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions.”

  “I’m happy to help. Would you like to leave your number with me? I could call you if I think of anything else.”

  “How about if I stop by if I think of anything?” The last thing MC wanted to do was give her number to Gladys Crandell.

  “I guess so.” Gladys sounded disappointed. “Happy holidays.”

  “Happy holidays to you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” MC got out of Dodge while the getting was good.

  Back in her car she replayed the recording of her conversation with Gladys. Something nagged at her, but she couldn’t put a finger on what.

  Safely situated in her tiny apartment, MC grabbed a crystal rocks glass from the cupboard and rewarded herself with a generous pour from the bottle of Grey Goose.