Tommy Lee rubbed his palm across his unshaven chin. “Right. It’s federal money administered by the state. See if James will kick in funds, if he has some discretionary pool that’s part of the Department of Agriculture’s own budget. I can add a little money. I’d prefer to fund the balance without actually drawing on federal SNAP money. God, a forest would be decimated just to create paper for the government forms we’d have to complete. Much better if you have a card that links to an account outside the real system.”
“Okay. I’ll talk it through with James. Once I’m going to these stores, I’ll want to let you know when and where I’m entering, in case I don’t come out.”
He shook his head. “No. Not me. I might be tied up. Make those calls to Marge, and if she’s not in, Carol or whoever’s on dispatch. Check back no later than thirty minutes after the call.”
“That might be a little tight for a productive conversation.”
“Forty-five, then. If we’re taking safeguards, then make them effective.”
“Which brings me to the trickiest part—how to make an overture to break the law.” I picked up my mug of coffee, signaling the sheriff I was through talking and wanted his suggestions.
He smiled. “Far be it from me, a lowly county sheriff, to tell a big-city-trained officer how to run his infiltration.”
Tommy Lee was teasing me about my experience as a Charlotte police officer before my father’s illness brought me back.
“Then what you’re telling me is you haven’t got a clue?”
“Here’s my advice, smart ass. Go into a store with the mindset to get cash or restricted items. You know you’re breaking the law, so you’ll appear a little nervous. That will make the play seem natural. A two-pronged approach might work. Mix in an item or two forbidden for purchase—a pack of cigarettes or six-pack of beer. See what happens. If he refuses, you can always say you forgot or meant to buy them with cash. If the purchase goes through, then a second approach could be to try to return one of the items for a refund. You could offer to accept less money if the return can be paid in cash rather than credited to your EBT account. Now he’s making money and you’re making money. Get several documented exchanges like that and then I’ll come in and we’ll try to flip him. Pressure him to give us someone higher up the food chain.”
I stared at Tommy Lee for a few seconds. “For a lowly county sheriff, you’re not as dumb as you look.”
“I know. People tell me I couldn’t be.”
“I’ve got the store I’d like to target with those techniques.”
Tommy Lee sat back and thought a second. “Man, I feel sorry for the guy, but you’re right, he’s probably the most vulnerable.”
I knew Tommy Lee had zeroed in on the same target—Wilmer’s Convenience Corner and the man whose little girl’s cat had been ruthlessly slaughtered.
“He might be afraid not to work out a cash-split,” Tommy Lee said. “You could be testing him, making sure he’s complying with whatever ultimatum a dead cat represented.”
“If he turns, we’ll need to protect him.”
Tommy Lee’s face darkened. “I’m not going to have another Sonny McKay on my hands. I swear to God, I won’t.”
I said nothing and picked up the list.
The sheriff glanced at his wristwatch. “If you don’t have anything else, I suggest you track down Commissioner James as soon as you can so we can get the EBT account rolling.”
I did have one more request, the one Susan had insisted upon. “I want a gun. Not my service pistol but a small concealed weapon. Can you make that happen?”
“You’ll have it this afternoon. Now go to work.”
I went to my cubicle. Seven-thirty. No one else was in the bullpen. Activity would pick up in half an hour. I took the commissioner’s card from my wallet. He said to call any time. He probably hadn’t thought it would be early the next morning.
I used my cell phone rather than go through the department’s switchboard. At this hour, voicemail was my likely destination, and I wanted James’ return call to get to me as soon as possible.
To my surprise, a hoarse voice answered, “James here. Good morning.”
“Good morning. This is Deputy Barry Clayton. Wayne Thompson’s nephew. Sorry to call so early.”
“No problem. I’ve been at my desk since six-thirty. You know how things pile up when you’re away. How’s your uncle?”
“Much better, thank you. Your visit perked him up.”
“Say nothing of it. He’s the reason I’m back at my desk. So, how can I help you?”
I briefly highlighted our plan for my undercover role and used Tommy Lee’s line about decimating a forest to satisfy the federal paperwork if we ran my EBT card through the official Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program.
The commissioner understood immediately. “Yes, coordinating that through SNAP would be a bureaucratic nightmare. Our I.T. people should be able to work that out. We’ll stripe an EBT card with a routing number and account in my department. I’ll authorize a thousand dollars. Keep me posted.”
“Thank you, sir. Obviously, we’re keeping this close to our chest. At this point we don’t know who might be involved. What kind of turnaround do you need?”
“I’d say two days. I’ll FedEx the card. You should have it Saturday or Monday. What name should I use?”
“Barry Clayton. I’m trying to keep this simple.”
He laughed. “My philosophy, as well. KISS. Keep It Simple Stupid. Every successful politician’s mantra. Good luck.”
I thanked him for his help and he asked me to give my uncle his best regards. We rang off and I looked at Tommy Lee’s list. My undercover work couldn’t begin until I had the EBT card. There was only one item I could begin immediately. Surveillance on Robert Sinclair. I realized I hadn’t heard Marge’s report on the Sinclair house, either an address or date of purchase. I buzzed Tommy Lee.
“What is it now?”
“Commissioner James is already at work. Card will come with a thousand-dollar balance either Saturday or Monday.”
“Great.” His voice perked up with enthusiasm.
“Meanwhile, I thought I’d see if I can do a little shadowing of Robert Sinclair. Did Marge get the information for the house?”
“Damn. I’ve got a mind like a steel sieve. Yes, I forgot to share it. The Sinclairs bought the home three and a half years ago. That fits within the timeframe of the Santona conviction. It could take the marshals several months to get the Sinclairs permanent residency. During the grand jury hearing and trial, they would have been shuttled between safe houses.”
“What’s the address?”
I heard him rustle through some papers.
“2235 Dogwood Circle. That’s in Arbor Ridge Estates, off Hendersonville Highway. There’s no mortgage lien on the property, so they must own it free and clear.”
“What would you think about tagging his car with a GPS tracker? We could use the one we had on Sonny.”
“No. Not yet. We don’t have enough for probable cause. I don’t want to go to a judge till we’ve got a more compelling argument. Do the best you can by sight. At this stage, I’d rather you lose him than get too close. We’ll ramp things up when Ferguson gets me the financials on Toby, Sonny, and Rufus, or if Roger or Archie come through.”
“Okay.”
“Remember, Barry, when you’re fishing there’s a time for action and a time for waiting. We’re in the part I hate. The waiting.”
Waiting. Two hours of sitting in my jeep at a side road about fifty yards from the entrance to Arbor Ridge Estates, waiting for either Janet or Robert Sinclair to appear.
I’d changed from my uniform into jeans and a polo shirt, driven by the Sinclair ranch-style house, and recognized the silver Mercedes Janet had parked at the funeral home back in July. The sedan was in a double carport
with a space vacant for a second vehicle. That was at nine o’clock and Robert must have already gone to work.
Now it was eleven and Janet hadn’t left and Robert hadn’t returned. I’d phoned Marge and asked her to run the Mercedes’ plate and see if that information led to the second vehicle. She discovered an Infiniti QX80 SUV registered to the same address. Both were leased by a company called Sinclairity Sales. I assumed Robert must have been a clothing rep who was basically self-employed and had set up a company structure for tax advantages. It might mean Archie’s plan could be easily implemented if a corporation already existed that could add the names of their former identities as officers.
For surveillance, Arbor Ridge Estates provided ideal conditions. It wasn’t a gated community and it had only one entrance. Unless I fell asleep, the Sinclairs couldn’t elude my tracking expertise.
At eleven-fifteen, the silver Mercedes turned onto Hendersonville Highway and headed for Gainesboro. I pulled out and quickly accelerated to the speed limit. Between the curves and rising and falling hills, the car was visible for only short periods. I trusted that as we neared town and traffic increased, I could move closer with less chance of being observed.
At the first stoplight, she made it through the yellow, while I got trapped by the red. Then a unibody truck turned on the road obscuring all sight of her. When the signal cycled to green, I could only cruise slowly and search for the Mercedes among the on-street parking and off-street lots. No sign of the woman. For all I knew she could have driven through town and gone to Asheville. I gave up and swung through the Bank of America branch parking lot, taking the shortest route to the funeral home. On the backside of the building, out of view from the street, I saw her getting into her car. She’d been in the bank. In her right hand she held a manila envelope that was fairly thick and could have contained documents, cash, or both. In those few seconds, I took close notice of her wardrobe—lightweight khaki slacks and a pink blouse. And I made a decision to drop the tail and let her go on about her business. My best move now lay inside the bank.
Across from the row of teller stations, three glass-enclosed offices offered private spaces for financial consultations. Two were occupied by bankers with customers. Cindy Todd, Fletcher’s fiancée, was in the third and alone.
She got up as she saw me approach and smiled broadly. “Barry, good to see you. Can I loan you some money?”
“You know we can always use money.”
Actually, that wasn’t true. The funeral home was marginally profitable, and I had my part-time deputy income and Fletcher had the backing of his family’s large funeral home corporation, a corporation that held a minority stake in our ownership and allowed us to get a significant discount on our supplies.
“What can I do for you?”
I shut the door behind me.
The young woman’s brow furrowed as she picked up the signal that this wasn’t merely a social call.
“Right now I’m not your future husband’s business partner. I’m a deputy sheriff and I’d like some information on whatever you might be able to tell me about one of your customers.”
She gave a furtive glance out the glass wall, then moved to her chair behind the desk and sat. She indicated I should take one of the two guest chairs. “We have pretty strict rules of confidentiality. I’m not sure how much I can help you.”
“This is a police matter, but I don’t want you telling me anything that would get you in trouble with your supervisor. Just a few basic questions and you can decline to answer whatever you feel you can’t say.”
She nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I can.”
I smiled, trying to put her at ease. “There was a woman who was just in here. She wore a pink blouse and khaki slacks.”
“Mrs. Sinclair,” Cindy volunteered.
“Yes, is she a regular customer?”
“She’s in several times a week.”
“Really? Is that kind of frequency unusual? I mean with all the online banking these days?”
“Not for a business with currency deposits.”
“Of course,” I said, as if I should have known that. “That’s for her Sinclairity Sales company.”
“I think that’s the name. I’ve only helped her occasionally.”
“For a loan?”
Cindy laughed. “I wish. Sometimes when we’re not busy, we help the tellers. We schedule them according to customer flow patterns, but a normally less busy time can suddenly be swamped.”
I looked over my shoulder at the counter across the lobby. Two tellers were on-duty, and each served a customer. “I guess that’s why your walls are glass.”
“Yes. We’re trained to be aware of what’s going on at the windows. In fact, when Mrs. Sinclair was here, I could see she was antsy. So, I helped her.”
“Just a few minutes ago?”
“Yes.”
“Deposits?”
“Not today. She has a safe deposit box. One of us needs to go in the vault with her. Just to sign her in. We don’t observe what she’s doing.”
“Does that happen often?”
Cindy shrugged. “I really couldn’t say. I’ve assisted her a few times, but I don’t think it’s as regular an occurrence as her deposits.”
“What about a personal checking account?”
Cindy looked uncomfortable at revealing personal customer information. “Maybe. But I’d better not go into her records without clearance.”
“Sure. I understand.”
“We aren’t her only bank,” Cindy said, anxious to be helpful. “My girlfriend Tina Logan works at the Wells Fargo branch on the other end of Main Street. She said Mrs. Sinclair has an account there.”
“How did that come up?”
“We were at lunch one day and ran into Mrs. Sinclair. We both said hello, and Tina told me afterwards that she was in her branch a few times a week.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But that’s not unusual. Business owners not only have separate accounts but often use separate banks to keep personal and company funds apart, especially if there are business partners involved.”
“Do you know who any of her business partners might be?”
“No.”
“Do you know Mr. Sinclair?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean he’s not on an account with her. Many customers just use the ATM for simple check deposits and withdrawals and rarely come in.”
I wanted to ask Cindy who might be on the signature cards for any of their accounts, but knew that would take this conversation into an area beyond a casual chat.
“Thank you.” I said. “Let’s consider this just between us.”
“Has Mrs. Sinclair done anything wrong?”
“Oh, no.” I flashed my most innocent grin. “The truth is Mrs. Sinclair promised a ten-thousand-dollar donation to the Boys and Girls Clubs, but we haven’t received it yet.” That part was true. “I was hoping maybe she’d come in to make those arrangements. I saw her get in her car with a large envelope, and, you know, it’s kind of awkward to put pressure on someone for a charity donation.”
Cindy seemed relieved by the lie. “She seems nice enough. Maybe that’s why she needed to get into the safe deposit box. You know, sell off some bonds or stocks.”
“You’re probably right. So, again, I wouldn’t want her to think I was checking up on her. It’s just that the Sheriff’s Department was a co-sponsor of the fund drive.”
Cindy zipped her lips. “Mum’s the word.”
As I drove away, I thought how nothing about Janet Sinclair’s business at the bank was suspicious in and of itself. But why would a sales rep’s company generate cash revenue to be deposited? I assumed Robert Sinclair would be paid a commission by check or wire. And what was in the envelope? That was at least a promising development because my guess and hope were Janet Sincla
ir had gone to the safe deposit box to retrieve insurance policies. Policies that she would be handing over to Archie Donovan.
Chapter Sixteen
After leaving the bank, I spent a few hours at the funeral home going through paperwork and catching up with Fletcher. I didn’t tell him about my conversation with Cindy and would treat it as no big deal if she happened to mention it to him.
Fletcher told me the double funerals for Toby and Sonny McKay were going to be held at Twin Creeks Baptist Church on Monday. There would be only a brief graveside service and the turnout was expected to be small. Fletcher assured me that he and Freddy Mott would be able to handle it.
We were wrapping up our business talk at the kitchen table when he abruptly changed the subject.
“Have you ever priced an elevator or chairlift for the funeral home?”
The question was so off-the-wall I could only stare at him.
“I mean for your mom and Wayne. We all hope your uncle makes a full recovery, but if his balance is a little shaky, Cindy and I worry about him on the stairs.”
I hadn’t thought about one of those wall-mounted chairlifts, but it was a potential option. An elevator would be pretty expensive and require a good deal of construction.
“No, I haven’t priced them.” I decided to share Mom’s declaration about possibly moving to the Alderway Retirement Community.
“That could be a good thing,” Fletcher said. “Especially while they both have their health and can establish some social connections. We had a tough time convincing my grandmother to move to a retirement center. After three weeks, she was mad at my mother for not making her move earlier.”
“Well, we’d need to work out the financing. The business leases the property from Mom, and I know she’ll need to get her equity out.”
Fletcher nodded. “That could be worked out. Why don’t you get three independent appraisals? That way a fair offer can be made.”
“But we have to decide if either you or I buy it, or we split it, or the business purchases it. What are the housing plans for you and Cindy?”
Secret Undertaking Page 14