TEST BOOK

by Camel Press

  “I see.”

  That narrowed the hot spots down considerably because Quinn didn’t fly. He had said it was because he didn’t like the invasive nature of airport security, but Cat figured it had more to do with a pathological need for freedom, which he was guaranteed with his motorcycle and the open road.

  “That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Can’t you give me a ballpark figure? Please?” She pulled the trigger on a begging smile and pleading eyes.

  “Damn it. That irresistibility must run in your family, you know it?” She held up four fingers. “I’m serious now. That’s all you’re getting.”

  “Four thousand dollars.” Cat shrugged at Benji. “How far could he get on that?”

  “No darlin’.” Webbs rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. “You got the four right, but keep going.”

  “Whoa. Forty thousand?”

  Webbs smiled, a big Julia Roberts at the Oscars kind of smile. She clearly loved every minute of this. “How about you add one more zero, and make it as wide as those green eyes of yours?”

  “Four hundred thousand?” She gaped at Benji.

  He didn’t notice because he was too busy staring at Webbs with his own gaping jaw. “Dollars?”

  Webbs laughed. “I don’t deal in pesos.”

  “Oh my God.” Cat scanned the room for the closest casino waitress. She needed a drink.

  “You think that’s bad? That’s peanuts compared to what another one of my clients won on the same game.”

  “Wait. I thought you said Quinn was the only guy betting against the hometown team.”

  “He was, until last night. Then another one came in for a lot more money than your brother was putting up.”

  “So someone else bet against the Soldiers with you?”

  “Well, not here but online. I run a gaming website, too. It has a different name but all the bets still come through here. Mostly for people who don’t want to be seen in this establishment.” She pointed to the craps table again. “Can’t say I blame them.”

  Benji put his hands on his hips. “And yet, you tried to convince us to get married here.”

  “Hey, if I had more yups like you around here, it might class up the joint.”

  Right now Cat couldn’t care less about the class of the clientele, she was too busy putting two and two together and coming up with four … hundred thousand dollars. She cleared her throat. “Webbs, I really need to know that name.”

  “What name? The online bettor?” She crossed her long legs, pointing her peep toe ankle boots toward the two of them. “Now that’s information I really couldn’t give you, even if I wanted to.”

  “But you know it?”

  “Of course.”

  “What if I guess it?”

  “I’m not really into playing Twenty Questions.”

  “I don’t have twenty, just one. Who placed that other bet?”

  “What’s going on, Cat?” Benji asked.

  She shook him off, wanting to keep Webbs in her sights. The last piece of the puzzle was in sight. As large as Quinn’s $400,000 was to her and Benji, that jackpot still wasn’t enough to pay off Damien, Joel and Adam.

  “You’re really piquing my curiosity and that’s not easy to do. Why do you want to know?”

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  Webbs cast a surreptitious glance around the room then waved them in closer, dropping her voice to a sultry whisper. “I don’t know the name, but bettors online place under usernames they select themselves. And before you ask, I don’t even remember it.”

  “But you could find out, right?”

  “I suppose, but there is a certain level of confidentiality I have to uphold.”

  “Webbs, I have to know if the name that placed that bet was Adam Alvarez or Joel Faulk.”

  Webbs pulled her head back. “The ballplayers?”

  Cat nodded.

  “You think they threw the game?” Her eyes danced at the notion. “That might explain Joel’s botched bunt. I thought the boy was having a seizure at the plate.”

  “That’s not all it would explain.” She cocked her head. “Please, Webbs, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t dire. I really need your help. Quinn really needs your help.”

  Cat hoped dropping her brother’s name would play on Webbs’ obvious infatuation for him, but it wasn’t just a trick. Finding Quinn would help him. If she could drag him to the cops and have him break the story first, they might cut him a deal in exchange for his knowledge.

  “Aw, shucks. Why do I have to be such a sucker for redheads?” Webbs hopped off the high stool, smoothing out her lacy dress before striding away. She turned around and waved her hand. “Come with me. You, too, Blue Eyes, we’re going on a field trip.”

  They followed her through sportsbook tables where giant screens flashed scores above a counter. She lifted up the counter breakaway and led them to a door labeled PRIVATE. There were two other tellers behind the counter, but their attention was focused on the baseball game. With all the Soldiers’ drama, Cat hadn’t even had a chance to pay attention to the other divisional series. Webbs pulled her ID card, dangling from a lanyard around her slender neck, and swiped it through the door lock. The door opened into a large office with drab eggshell walls, old steel file cabinets and metal desks. The florescent lights flickered above them. It was a far cry from the glitz on the other side of the door.

  “You’re lucky my boss is out today.” Webbs walked over to a desk and flipped on the computer monitor. “This here is an employees-only area. Snow Bird management doesn’t like customers to be anywhere they can’t lay down money.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not exactly going to blog about this.”

  Cat tore her eyes away from the dingy, coffee-stained carpet and eyed the computer keyboard with a twinge of envy. She hated being a backseat driver when it came to computer snooping, but this kind of cooperation was unfamiliar territory.

  Webbs typed a few things into the computer. “Okay, I got username. ‘Shotcallerballer.’ That mean anything to you?”

  “Not a thing. That could be anybody.”

  “Baller? Like baseballer?” Benji asked.

  “Maybe. Or just a guy who likes baseball. Or an egomaniac. Or a guy named Bob Baller.” Cat sighed. “I guess we’re back to square freaking one.”

  Webbs scooted her chair forward, toggling the computer mouse. “Slow your roll, girlfriend. We’re not done yet.”

  Cat perked up and came around the desk, peeking over Webbs’ shoulder. “We’re not?”

  “People place bids with their username, but those bids are backed with a form of payment. We can’t charge the credit card or bank account without a valid name and address.”

  “I just assumed it was a blind account.”

  “Blind? Hey, translate for the dumb.” Benji tapped on the desk to get her attention.

  “A third party payment processor that people use to send money, thereby doing so without revealing their financial information.”

  “Nope.” Webbs punched a few keys. “We only take direct bank transfers and credit cards. I’m pulling up the billing page now. Give me just a sec.”

  As the page displayed, Cat leaned over the back of Webbs’ chair and read the screen.

  “Oh my God,” they said simultaneously.

  “What?” Benji came around the desk and looked at the screen.

  “George Hudson.”

  “The team owner?”

  Webbs burst into laughter. “My horoscope said today was going to be a good day.”

  “This can’t be right,” Cat said. “How could he be so stupid?”

  Webbs hit a couple of keys and pushed herself back from the desk. “You don’t have to be smart to be rich, but you do have to be stupid to lose it. I see it day in and day out. If I had a dime for every fancy pants that came up here and walked away with empty pockets, I’d be rich, too.” She hopped out of the chair, danced over to the printer, ripped out the sheet
of paper and handed it to Cat.

  “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  Cat read it again. It was a bank transfer from Point Mutual, the team sponsor on the field and preferred bank off the field. In the left-hand corner was “George Hudson.” It even listed his address on Mulholland Lane. This was not a case of mistaken identity.

  “It’s him, no doubt about it. This is huge.”

  “Cat, screw Quinn’s side of the story.” Benji ran his head through his hair. “You’ve got to take this to the police now.”

  Cat met Webbs’ eyes cautiously. “They’ll probably come here and ask you some questions.”

  She shrugged. “I got nothing to hide. I card my clients. I pay my taxes. They can look at whatever they want to. Do your thing, chicken wing.”

  Chapter 23

  Cat stared up at the looming four stories of brick and mortar. The downtown precinct had been there for nearly a hundred years with no attempts at renovation. Amid the historical landmarks and innovative skyscrapers that surrounded it, the plain building was terribly out of place, yet it stood in flagrant indifference to their grandeur, as though taking pleasure in lessening their impact. Air conditioners jutted from every other window and broken, mismatched blinds filled the windows in between. The sidewalk around it was cracked and littered with coffee cups and candy wrappers. The building spanned the entire block, which was lined with an army of squad cars, gassed up and ready for action the second a call came in.

  Cat didn’t know why the mere sight of black and whites made her palms sweat. She obeyed speed limits. She always put an extra quarter in the parking meter, just in case. She didn’t even tear the tag off her mattresses. Yet still, unlike other law-abiding citizens, she imagined, she didn’t find the presence of police officers reassuring. The law enforcement she’d dealt with had been “serving,” not “protecting,” and not quite in the usual sense. Even though she’d never been arrested, she’d spent enough time paying bail or waiting for visiting hours to explain the knot she had in her stomach as she approached the uniformed officer behind the desk.

  A uniformed officer passed by her and hurried up the concrete steps. Fearing she was attracting more attention by standing outside, she followed him. He held the door open for her and she approached the manned desk, where another officer met her with a smile.

  “How can I help you, ma’am?”

  She paused for a second, nearly turning around to see who this “ma’am” was until she realized he was speaking to her. It didn’t matter how many suits she wore, how many bylines she had, or how many times a respected member of society such as a cop called her ma’am, Cat still felt like that helpless little girl with the dirty clothes and bad attitude.

  “Uh, I need to speak to Detective Kahn, is he working today?”

  The cop let out a snort of laughter, as though the question in itself was amusing. “Sure is. Let me get him for ya.”

  He picked up his phone. “Hey Detective, there’s a young woman out here to see you.”

  Cat stepped back from his desk and walked over to peruse the bulletin board. Her eyes scanned the drug awareness posters and then dropped to the mug shots of Buffalo’s Most Wanted. She double-checked for a tall, pale, strawberry-blond man who might or might not speak with a Scottish accent. Quinn hadn’t made the cut yet, but she wondered if he’d soon have a poster of his own. She opened up her purse, checking to make sure the printout that Webbs had given her was still inside.

  A minute later, she heard boots clomping down the hallway and then Detective Kahn appeared. He looked much more casual than in their other meetings, his sports jacket and khakis replaced by a navy blue thermal and jeans. His police badge hung from a lanyard around his neck and perched between his well-defined pecs. He grinned when he saw her.

  “Ms. McDaniel? I didn’t expect to see you … well, ever again.”

  “Hi.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  She gave him a shaky smile. “I’ve got something I think you’ll want to see.”

  “Sure, why don’t you come on back to my office?”

  “Uh … okay.” She took one last look at the lobby doors. She hadn’t wanted to stray too far from freedom, but Detective Kahn was waiting to escort her down the long, windowless hallway. He gave her a suspicious onceover. “You aren’t just paying me back for all those impromptu visits I made to your workplace, are you?”

  “I wish.”

  The hallway flooded into a large open office full of metal desks and thankfully many windows and even an emergency exit. He pointed to a chair next to the messiest desk in the room.

  “Okay, so it’s not an office so much as a desk.”

  “No, it’s … nice.” She tried to avoid staring at the mounds of files and loose papers. “You’ve seen the mouse hole that is my cubicle.”

  “Can I get you a glass of water or some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He shrugged and pulled out his desk chair. “So what brings you down here?”

  Cat shoved the printout sheet into his hands.

  His eyes darted around the page. “Snow Bird payout statement? What is this?”

  “Just read it.”

  He complied, his lips moving slightly.

  Cat clasped her hands in her lap, nibbling on her bottom lip as she tried to read his face.

  Finally his eyes widened and he looked up. “This is over a million dollar payout after last night’s loss. Shotcallerballer? What is this?”

  “Just keep going. His payment profile’s on the next page.”

  Cat took a deep breath as Detective Kahn licked his thumb and turned the page. This was it. There was no turning back now.

  Detective Kahn’s eyes slowly rolled up to hers. “George Hudson?” He slowly sat back in his chair. “The owner of the Buffalo Soldiers?”

  “One in the same.” She pointed at the address block on the statement. “I thought that maybe the name was a coincidence, you know, it could be common, but the credit card address, there on Mulholland Lane, that’s his. I was there for his wedding reception this summer.”

  He turned back to the first page and shook his head. “George Hudson, Buffalo billionaire, bet on his team to lose? Clearly, this is a violation of the league rules but as far as legality goes—”

  “There’s a little bit more.”

  He closed his eyes. “There always is.”

  “You remember our last conversation at the stadium?”

  Detective Kahn nodded.

  “Well, the other day I had found out Joel Faulk was having money problems and after the way the game had went—well, did you watch it?”

  “Only on T.V. Glad I didn’t waste my money on tickets.”

  “This morning I dropped by Joel’s house to ask him a few questions because he’d left the stadium last night without talking to the press. I ended up pressing him on what you and I had discussed, if he was covering up for something that happened on the balcony.”

  Detective Kahn sat up in his chair. “And?”

  “And … we had our wires crossed. He thought I knew the whole story—the real story—and he started telling me that he, Adam and Damien were being paid to play less than stellar. They threw the games so that the team would lose the series.” She deliberately left out any mention of the poker game and Ryan Brokaw. It was probably only a matter of time before he connected the dots back to Quinn but she couldn’t be the one to rat him out, at least not until she heard it from his own mouth.

  “Son of a bitch. So that little shithead Alvarez blew the game on purpose last night?”

  “Game one, game three and game five.”

  “Joel Faulk told you this personally?”

  “I was at his house this morning. Then I went to the Snow Bird and found out about George Hudson.”

  “You’ve been busy, huh?” Detective Kahn snapped his fingers at another police officer across the room, who came bustling over.

  “What is it, Hoss?”
<
br />   “Page Judge Davis and start the paperwork on a subpoena for George Hudson’s financial records.”

  “George Hudson the billionaire?”

  “No, the George Hudson who mops the floors down at the donut shop. What do you think?”

  The cop smiled and winked at her. “What crawled in his coffee today?”

  Detective Kahn handed him the casino printout. “This.” He turned his attention back to Cat. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a statement right now?”

  “Oh. I don’t really … I mean, I don’t have to until the prosecutor summons me, right?”

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “One of these days you’re going to tell me what your beef with the law is.”

  He’d seen her family’s records. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  “Don’t worry about it for now. I suppose you’ll have your own matters to attend to on this. What you brought me should be enough to get the warrant, but you will be asked to testify later on.”

  “Hoss, this is crazy.”

  Detective Kahn looked up to his partner. “Oh by the way, this is my partner, Will Dedeaux. Will, this is Catriona McDaniel, the reporter for the Buffalo Soldiers.”

  “The one you said was giving you all the problems with the Brokaw investigation?”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Let’s get back to the case at hand.”

  Cat inwardly smiled at his diversion. She’d said a few choice words about him behind his back, too.

  “I also want to work on getting the bank records for Joel Faulk and Adam Alvarez. If there are significant deposits that came from anywhere but the team, I want to know. In the meantime, we’re gonna get the boss himself.” He looked back at Cat. “I hope that doesn’t make things too tense for you around the office.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  She didn’t just mean the last week here in Buffalo. If Detective Kahn had done his homework on her work in Las Vegas or Santo Domingo, he’d have found out this wasn’t the first time she’d caused a tycoon to miss his tee time. But he didn’t seem to be aware of her recent capers, so perhaps he’d only versed himself in the McDaniel family shortcomings after all.