Double Trouble (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 10)

by Mike Faricy

  “I just have a couple of questions for you. Hopefully we’ll be able to get this cleared up and then you can be on your way.” It would have been the appropriate time to flash a quick smile, but she didn’t.

  I nodded. I could feel myself beginning to sweat and felt my heart rate kicking up a notch and so far, all she’d done was introduce herself.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not at this time,” she said which did nothing to ease my concern and in fact seemed to heighten my stress. “You apparently own a 2007 Chrysler Sebring, silver I believe, is that correct?”

  “Yes, well except for the trunk, right now that’s flat black.”

  “How long have you owned that vehicle?”

  “Maybe since February of this year.”

  “You don’t remember when you purchased your vehicle?”

  “No, not the exact day. It’s on my title, in the glove compartment. DMV should have that information. I got it at the police auction,” I said hoping that might add a degree of credibility to the vehicle.

  She flipped a page over in the rather thick file that lay open in front of her. She seemed to read her way down the top sheet, scanning information. “Do you own any other vehicles at this time, Mr. Haskell?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “When was the last time you owned another vehicle?”

  “The last time? Well, it would have been up until the time I purchased the Sebring, last February. I owned an Aztek, prior to that, what a disaster. The thing was just a money pit. One time….”

  There was a knock on the door interrupting me, then it opened and a guy stepped in. He sort of looked familiar, maybe, but I couldn’t place him.

  Dondavitch half turned, but didn’t seemed surprised. “Are we ready, Jerry?”

  “Yeah, anytime.”

  “Go ahead, then and bring it up,” she said then turned back toward me. “Mr. Haskell, we’re investigating a robbery that occurred two nights ago. I’ve got the security tape loaded. If you’d direct your attention to the screen in the corner,” she said and then moved her chair back so we could both watch a flat screen TV mounted up in the corner of the room. Even watching the Twins lose while sipping a beer down at The Spot was suddenly looking a lot better than this.

  “Okay,” she said and the screen came to life a moment later. There was a yellow digital readout in the lower left hand corner ticking off seconds. As soon as the video started it began counting down; 1:59, 1:58, 1:57.

  The black and white video was taken from inside some sort of store. From the angle of the film, I guessed the camera was mounted on the ceiling and maybe fifteen feet from the front door. The front door was actually two doors. The kind we’ve all been through millions of times. Metal frame doors, with full-glass panels and a horizontal bar halfway up the door that you’d push on your way out. The doors looked like they had the store hours painted on them, but since the camera was on the inside of the store the writing on the door was backwards.

  It was clearly dark on the far side of the door and I guessed it was the middle of the night. Detective Dondavitch was studying me, probably looking for some sort of reaction.

  A vehicle suddenly backed up to the door and a figure got out on the right side of the car, walked to the back and opened the rear door on the car. The door opened to the side rather than up toward the roof of the car. The guy tossed something out onto the sidewalk, reached into the back of the vehicle again then turned, took a step toward the door of the store and that’s when I saw the sledge hammer. He swung it twice. The first time he hit the glass on the left hand door it fractured from top to bottom. The second time he swung, the lower half of the glass shattered across the floor in a thousand little pieces.

  The guy reached inside, unlocked the door then picked up whatever he’d thrown on the sidewalk a moment ago. The yellow digital readout had counted down to 1:48, just twelve seconds had passed. When he stepped inside the store he had a stocking cap pulled down over his face with eye holes cut in it so he could see.

  The stocking cap had a Minnesota Wild logo, our NHL team. They probably sold over twenty thousand of the things each season, hell, even I had one. He wore a dark, hoody sweatshirt with a skeleton pattern on the front depicting rib, shoulder and arm bones and he had a pair of gloves on his hands with a similar bone pattern, sort of a unique outfit considering it was summer.

  The guy walked just a few feet toward an ATM that I noticed for the first time. He wrapped a long nylon belt around the ATM and cinched it tight, then stepped back and seemed to yell something.

  As the vehicle moved ahead the long belt grew taut and a second or two later the ATM was pulled onto its side. The guy in the hoody pushed the ATM out through the open door as the vehicle backed up. By the time he had the thing out onto the sidewalk the driver had joined him and together they lifted the ATM up against the back of the vehicle then seemed to effortlessly push the ATM inside. Something seemed to flash in my brain for a nanosecond, but I lost it just as fast. The digital clock in the corner had counted down to 0:53. A minute and seven seconds to take an ATM, lock, stock, and barrel out of that retail location. The second guy slammed the rear door closed, they high-fived one another then climbed in and drove away. I noticed they left the sledge hammer behind.

  “Mr. Haskell?” Detective Dondavitch asked as she turned and stared at me.

  “No offense, but what? What does any of that have to do with me?”

  “Jerry,” she said over her shoulder. “Back that up to thirteen seconds from the start.”

  “Detective, I have no idea what any of this is about.” The flat screen on the wall behind her was racing back through the security video. Jerry backed up too far, then went forward too far, then slowly backed up a second at a time until just thirteen seconds had expired on the digital readout and he froze the image. The guy in the skeleton hoody with the Minnesota Wild stocking cap had the door open and was about to carry the nylon belt toward the ATM.

  “Anything catch your eye here, Mr. Haskell?”

  “Actually, other than the fact that the sledge hammer is on the ground and they left it behind, now that you mention it, no. Nothing. You got a guy with his face completely covered, wearing that goofy skeleton hoody in the middle of summer. I’m guessing this happened somewhere in the city because your department is involved, but other than that nothing catches my eye.”

  “Okay. Maybe see if you can read the license number on that vehicle.”

  I looked back at the screen, and suddenly there it was in plain sight, so obvious no wonder I missed it. My license plate, BAF479.

  “Is that my license plate?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “But, how did it get there? Did they take my license plate? I’m not missing one, a license plate, at least I don’t think I am.”

  “And you don’t have any idea who that is up there on the screen?”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  “No idea how they got your plate?”

  “Yeah, I have an idea, the bastards stole it. But I think it’s still on my car, I didn’t notice it missing. In fact, I know it’s not missing, because the two guys who brought me down here, Farrell and what’s his name….”

  “Officer Simpson.”

  “Yeah, they saw the plate this morning, they saw it on my car. In fact, that’s probably why Officer Simpson called in, because it didn’t make any sense to him, didn’t make any sense to either of them, actually, I think.”

  “How do you think they got your license plate?”

  “How did they get it? If I had to guess I’d say they probably unscrewed it and then walked away carrying the thing. We just watched them steal an ATM from some commercial establishment. I’m guessing they weren’t really too concerned about unscrewing a license plate from the back of my car.”

  “Don’t you find it strange that they would return it, your license plate? That they would take the time to reattach it to your car?”

  “I do
n’t know, maybe they developed a conscience. Yes, I find it strange, but don’t limit it to just returning my license plate. The whole thing is strange. Is this the only incident?”

  “Actually it’s the third reported, but the first with a surveillance tape.”

  “Was one of the others a little Italian restaurant over on University?”

  “Yes,” she said drawing her response out as if to suggest, ‘How did you know?’

  “I was there for dinner the other night.” Something suddenly clicked in my head. “Let me ask you something, Detective. Did you notice anything strange about that theft?”

  “What do mean?”

  “That ATM is what, about five feet tall?”

  She flipped a few pages from the file in front of her, quickly read down using her finger. “No, it’s closer to six feet tall.”

  “Okay, and I don’t know what it weighs but it’s probably fairly substantial. So two guys hoist the thing up then push it effortlessly into the back of that vehicle and something that size, that long, fits without a problem?”

  “It was a station wagon, the seats were down.”

  “It wasn’t a station wagon. Have your guy run the tape to where they tilt that thing up into the back of the vehicle.”

  “Jerry.”

  “Yeah, okay stop it there,” I said a few seconds later. “You see it, notice anything?”

  “It looks like the ATM is heavy.”

  “Apparently not heavy enough, they got the thing out the door. But watch how they get it in the back of the vehicle.”

  “Okay, Jerry.”

  The two figures tilted the ATM against the rear of the vehicle. If you paid attention you could actually see the vehicle drop a bit from the weight of the ATM, then they sort of lifted and quickly shoved the ATM all the way in, slammed the door closed and high-fived one another.

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever loaded the rear of a station wagon, but even with the seats down something like a heavy ATM won’t slide that easily. And if there are seats in there, by the time you fold them down you’re sort of pushing a little up hill. That isn’t just any vehicle, Detective.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Well, actually, now that I think about it, it’s perfect for this kind of job. There’s a large roller installed right inside by that rear door and then more rollers further along the inside. Once they had the ATM on that first roller it was a simple push and the thing slid into place. It would save them ten to twenty seconds, not to mention a sore back.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I have a client who supplies mortuaries and funeral homes. I was just at his warehouse the other day and watched them loading up coffins. I don’t know how or why they took my license plate. I really have no idea why they put the thing back on my car once they were finished with this robbery. But, I’m pretty sure the vehicle you should be looking for is a hearse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I’d actually left Detective Dondavitch on a bit of a friendly note, sipping a cup of dreadful vending machine coffee with her and laughing about some mutual acquaintances.

  Now I was back at home rifling through my dresser drawers attempting to determine what, if anything was missing. I couldn’t find my Minnesota Wild stocking cap anywhere, but other than that I’d pretty much drawn a blank for the past two hours. Leo the locksmith was due late in afternoon to change the locks. He couldn’t get here fast enough for my tastes. I planed to stay home and stand guard until he arrived.

  My phone rang in mid-afternoon. “Haskell Investigations.”

  “Please hold for Mr. Baker.” It was Royal’s Keeper of the Gate, Marilynn, there were a couple of clicks and the phone began ringing.

  Royal picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Royal, Dev Haskell.”

  “Yes, Dev, thank you. I’ve convinced Ashley to schedule a fake appointment, hopefully for tomorrow evening if you can make it. With any luck we’ll be able to attract whoever has been following her around. It all hinges on your availability.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, we’ll set up an appointment at eight, if that works for you. That’s always been a pretty standard time for clients.”

  “I’ll make it work, are you going to do this at the Gresham, again?”

  “No, Ashley thinks there’s a better place, the Holiday Inn, out on 94. She says there are no gardens, nothing really around the place, well except for the parking lot, and it’s always quiet. If our guy is out there he should stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “I’ll be there early, before eight and get the lay of the land.”

  “I’m feeling pretty positive about this, Dev. Just one other thing, let’s not have a confrontation if at all possible. We’ll just get an image of this individual, hopefully a license number and go from there. The last thing we need right now is an incident.”

  “Sounds fine, Royal. If I might make a suggestion, have Tony drop her off right at the front door. That might just force our guy to hurry into the lobby if he’s lurking somewhere in the parking lot, or it could force him to wait in the lobby until she’s finished upstairs. Either way, it limits his options and might just make him stand out.”

  “Good idea, I’ll pass it on.”

  “Then, if you can just keep the two of them under control and off the hood of Tony’s car,” I said, half joking.

  He ignored my attempt at humor and said, “Ashley has your phone number, I’ll instruct her to communicate with you by phone.”

  “Let’s hope it works this time, Royal.”

  “Thank you,” he said and hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Leo the locksmith rang about half-past-four. “Yeah, Dev, I’m about fifteen minutes away, just enough time for you to shoo all those pretty girls out the door.”

  “I think I’ll just tell them to stay quiet and lounge in a bubble bath upstairs, Leo. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  Leo rang my doorbell ten minutes later.

  “Hi, Dev,” he said as I opened the door. “Step aside, I start charging you overtime at a minute past five.” Then he set down a five-gallon bucket with a bunch of tools in it and took out a drill. He had the lock in the front door changed in about ten minutes and did the back door in even less time. We were sitting at the kitchen counter sipping a couple of bottles of Mankato Ale while Leo wrote out his invoice.

  “Here you go, Dev. Parts and labor, let’s call it even at one-twenty, plus the beer.”

  “Thanks for coming over Leo. Let me just get my checkbook, how was the fishing up north?”

  “Bout what I expected this time of year, not so great. Course who the hell cares, three gorgeous days out on the lake, at night you could hear the waves. How the fish are biting is almost secondary.”

  I wrote my check out and slid it across the counter to him.

  “Thanks, appreciate it. I work with some of these youngsters nowadays, they’re amazed I don’t take credit cards or some sort of nonsense about transferring funds into my account, and then there are the ones with friend pay.”

  “Friend pay? You mean PayPal?”

  “That’s it, I think. I gotta tell you, I’m glad I’m not young.”

  “Leo, in your line of work, have you ever done anything with ATMs?”

  “You mean like at a bank? Those are contracted out to the larger firms, in fact it’s probably handled by a division of the manufacturer. Let me think, Diebold, Triton, Siemens, God, there’s lots of companies in that end of the business.”

  “What about ATMs in bars or stores?”

  “Same thing, the manufacturer would handle it, or some company contracted by them. Some guy like me wouldn’t be involved, I’m too small and frankly, I’m not interested.”

  “But you know something about them, the ATMs?”

  “Just what I read in the industry journals. What are you getting at? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of ripping off one o
f those things.”

  “No, but not far from the truth.” I went on to explain the video I’d seen yesterday compliments of Detective Dondavitch. I didn’t feel the need to mention I’d been hauled in for some polite questioning.

  “And they just tossed the damn thing in the back of a car and drove away?”

  “Yep, the whole operation, from the time they pulled up until the time they left took just a little more than a minute.”

  “Sounds pretty efficient, as far as it goes, of course you watched the easy part, they still have to get into the damn thing.”

  “But, they can do that at their leisure, say in a workshop and with all sorts of tools.”

  “Not quite, first off often times there’s some sort of tracking device in those kind of units. So, even if you grabbed the thing in the middle of the night you might be on a limited time frame and, you wouldn’t want to bring it anywhere that was going to be associated with you, like your workshop, a lake place, or your barn. The whole thing just sounds like a bad idea.”

  “How much money do those things carry?”

  “In a retail position, not that much, my thought would be those things usually dispense just twenties. Probably give you a couple of options when you use them, twenty, sixty maybe a hundred-and-twenty bucks. The bills are stored in a cassette, I think they can handle up to something like twenty-five hundred to three thousand.”

  “Dollars?”

  “No bills, so twenty-five hundred bills at twenty bucks a pop, do the math.”

  “Jesus Christ, five grand?”

  Leo looked at me for a long moment. “You’re probably not the guy I’m going to go to for my taxes, Dev. No, fifty grand.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. And the guys who did this, along with the tracking device, there might be some pretty serious dye packs in with that cash. They’re set to destroy the cash and coat whoever is nearby with some serious color. That said, depending on the location the thing might just have a couple of grand in it and none of the security devices.”

  “You can’t avoid the dye pack?”