by Lisa Ladew
But he didn’t think about it long. Excitingly, he finally had positive evidence of several of Norman Foster’s misdeeds. Foster had erased files pertaining to the disappearance of a few vehicles and several hundred thousand dollars in cash from the impound lot and evidence locker. Those may or may not have had anything to do with Oberlin though. What Craig was really interested in were the 14 cases where Foster had tampered with files that pertained to the repeated arrest of a thug named Wayne Serg. Serg was a gun runner, but somehow he evaded federal prison again and again. Craig and Hawk’s investigation of Oberlin had yielded numerous indications of money laundering and bribery and some extortion and reasonable (they thought) ties to a few murders, but they’d always known there was something bigger, something more that was going on and until now, they hadn’t been able to find it.
Looking at these bits of information that had been snipped here, cut there, Craig had a pretty big hunch that the pièce de résistance to these horrors was going to be guns. And that made his stomach curdle, since he knew the Senator was running for president on an anti-gun platform. In fact, he was crying from the rooftops that he would bring about the strictest gun regulations the country had ever seen. And that under his rule, gun crime would become a thing of the past.
Of course, those in law enforcement could see that his policies would do nothing but explode the black market for guns. Americans loved their guns, and they would have them, regulations or no regulations, policies or no policies. Especially criminals. What the hell did a criminal care about regulations, registrations, and policies? Not a fig, that’s what. Craig wandered idly behind Lionel, who was digging into a secret database to restore some exact wording he had deleted 8 months ago, and thought about what all this meant. Money. It all came down to money for Oberlin. That much was obvious. But why would he care about the gun runner Serg? Unless? Craig thought hard and deep about Oberlin’s policies, and how they could benefit him outside of possibly riding them to the presidency. The dichotomy between protecting a gun runner, and pushing tougher gun laws. And then he knew. The pieces fell in to place. He thought of Lucy, and wondered for the billionth time, exactly what she’d seen, exactly what she’d run across that had cost her her life. He didn’t have the finer details, but he knew Oberlin was somehow profiting off the run on illegal guns. This was Oberlin’s big game soon to become bigger game if he managed to push through all of his policies. Everything else was secondary.
Craig peeked over Lionel’s shoulder. He didn’t know as much as Hawk about computers, but it seemed to him Lionel was doing exactly what he asked him to. Good. He needed to call Hawk.
He got out his throwaway phone, his only link to Hawk, and dialed. 7 rings, 8 rings, 9 rings. What in the world was Hawk doing that he was so far from his phone? A tiny worm of worry niggled into Craig’s chest. Hawk picked up finally at 12 rings, and he sounded out of breath.
“You ok?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Busy. What’s up?” Hawk was uncharacteristically short, even for him.
Craig relayed what he had found so far, and spelled out his theory.
Hawk livened up at once, taking the ball and running with it. “I bet you’re right. And here we’ve been focusing on what’s been going on in town forever. When it’s all likely small fry. No wonder we could never figure out where the money was coming from.” Hawk’s voice was taking on new excitement. But then it fell.
“Now that we’re starting from square 1 again, we’re going to have to uncover something big, fast, or we’ll never be able to put together a coherent, convictable case before he’s elected president, assuming that happens.”
Craig nodded. “Yeah, and if he does get elected it’s all over for us. We’ll be fired or dead before he finishes his inauguration speech.”
“Don’t I know it, partner. I sure would like to talk to him, interview him. Knowing his character, I think he’d fold pretty quickly. But I know that’s not going to happen any times soon. Ok, it’s time to get serious. I’ve got some angles to look up, but I can do that from here. What are you going to do with Erwin?”
“Lionel? Don’t worry, I’m going to take good care of him,” Craig said, and hung up.
Lionel called him over, showing Craig the latest results of what he had asked for.
“Lionel, how’d you get caught up doing Norman Foster’s dirty work, anyway?” Craig asked, generally curious. Lionel seemed like a nice kid. A good kid. Not a criminal.
Lionel shook his head, his lips pressed painfully together, dismay painfully etched on his face. Craig didn’t push. Not now. The kid looked like he was going to break if he asked again.
Instead, Craig looked around. The dark room was painfully devoid of anything except technological gadgets. There was one small couch, then two long tables with laptops and computers lining them. There were a few pictures on the wall right in front of Lionel but no other decorations. The first picture was of what looked to be a happy family. Lionel at 15 or so, and his mother, plus a young girl of about 7 in front of a picturesque mountain. Lionel’s sister? All had happy smiles on their faces. Another picture of Lionel and the girl when they were a few years older, the girl 11 or 12, with beautiful doe eyes and long brown hair. Lionel had his arm slung around her shoulders and she was looking at him with obvious affection and maybe a little hero worship. The lowest picture, right at eye level was a picture of just the girl, looking wasted and thin but with a sad smile on her face, in a hospital bed.
Craig’s heart hurt a little bit. He hoped desperately that he hadn’t just found the reason Lionel was caught up in this mess.
Craig walked over to the camera and pressed stop. He wanted to ask one more thing from Lionel before he talked to him about putting him in protective custody, at least until Norman was caught again. He couldn’t have the camera record this part though. Not unless he wanted to be put in jail himself. He’d thought long and hard on this over the last few days and had decided yes, it was worth the risk. Now he just had to see if Lionel would agree to it. He hoped so, for all their sakes.
Chapter 26
Craig paced the floor outside of their headquarters building, willing his phone to ring. He’d been on the line all day, alternating, with the DEA deputy administrator, and Hawk’s boss, the Western Regional Director of the FBI. He checked the time. 5:15. Emma was going to start freaking out soon. They were supposed to be at the Senator’s mansion in an hour and a half, and he hadn’t even left work yet. But he couldn’t leave. He was so close to getting the heat off Hawk completely.
Lionel had done great work the day before, assuring him that getting a peek into Special Agent Donahue’s personal banking records was no problem, and even that gaining access to his DEA files was doable. Then he’d proved it. Lionel hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary going on in his banking files. Craig was only partially discouraged by this. He could have easily been paid off in cash, if indeed he was the rat who had planted evidence and created files on Hawk. But Lionel had given him another idea.
Craig shook his head. Lionel was truly a genius, and what he could do with a computer was amazing. When Lionel figured out what Craig was looking for he wrote a program on the fly to search all available databases for a company or trust started by Donahue or Donahue’s wife in the last month in any state. After a few minutes of searching, his program reported that Donahue had started a corporation in Delaware called Arsenal Incorporated and $290,000 in cash was the only asset the company had. Craig had wanted him to see where the money came from, but Lionel hadn’t been able to figure that out. So far. Craig and Hawk owed him one already. Craig tried to start paying up by taking him to a safe house, with his computer, instead of just carting him off to jail for his protective custody. An FBI safe house that Norman probably didn’t know about, and if he did, he wouldn’t be able to get in. Craig almost liked Lionel, and when he had more time, he planned on finding out exactly what had turned him into a criminal.
Lionel also had spent most of the night workin
g on getting in to the DEA files. Craig had almost called him off around 2 in the morning, but Lionel wouldn’t stop. He had asked a few questions early on, and when Craig told him that this was part of an investigation into a dirty cop, Lionel seemed driven.
Craig had experienced a few moments of explosive irony and guilt inside his head, using the same hacker he was going to bust Norman Foster and Frank Oberlin with to dig into a few files illegally himself, but he squashed them. They would get the stuff legally once they knew what they were looking for, and if not doing it meant Hawk losing his job or going to jail, Craig knew the risk was worth it. He wasn’t beating people up or stealing their possessions or their lives. Anyone who wasn’t breaking the law and trying to personally screw over his best friend had nothing to fear from him.
At 4 in the morning he had called Hawk with what Lionel had found. He didn’t want to wake Hawk at that hour, but time was of the essence. Craig was about to sneak off and grab 4 or 5 hours of sleep and by the time he woke up he needed whatever Hawk had been able to drum up via legal channels. Hawk was on top of it as usual and had emailed him a ton of stuff.
Craig’s phone buzzed, yanking him back to reality. Richard Carr, Western Regional Director of the FBI. Craig said a little prayer and answered. “Hello Sir.”
“Masterson, I’ve just finished with the DEA. Kinkaid won’t have any more trouble with Donahue. His accounts are clear. And Donahue’s going to take permanent unpaid vacation, starting yesterday. Now you tell Kinkaid to get his ass back to work!”
“Yes sir,” Craig smiled, hoping that vacation was somewhere gray and dark and full of clanging bars, little rooms, and bad food. When he had more time (when Oberlin and Foster were behind bars) he would check in to see exactly what the DEA did to officers who were on the take.
The phone clicked in his ear. He grabbed his throwaway out of his pocket and called Hawk.
“’Lo?” Hawk answered, sounding relaxed and happy. Craig wondered if he already knew.
“Hey buddy, Carr says get your ass back to work. He took care of the DEA.”
Hawk didn’t reply, but Craig thought he heard Hawk whispering to Vivian with the phone covered.
Craig tried again. “You can come home man! Come home tonight! We’ll be at the Senator’s mansion by the time you get here but we’ll come see you when it’s over.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s great.” Hawk said into the phone, but he didn’t sound as happy as Craig thought he would. He sounded almost, disappointed? Well maybe he’s just tired. I did wake him at 4 in the morning, Craig thought.
“Ok, see you in a few hours.” Craig hung up, happy, but exhausted. Dealing with the brass always made him feel worn out like a used-up sponge. He climbed into his truck, wondering if tonight was going to be fun, or a total bore. He had no idea what politicians did at parties. He bet himself that it would be a snoozer and they’d never even get to talk to Oberlin.
Later, he would have time to think about that bet and desperately wish it had been true.
Chapter 27
Emma twirled in front of her only full-length mirror, unable to believe her transformation. She felt like Cinderella in this incredible gown. The color was an exquisite fuchsia with a halter top and a straight, flowing skirt under a diamond-sparkled silver belt. The gown dropped to the floor, but the very front came up to her knees, opening in a V and revealing a lovely cream color on the inside back of the skirt. The shoes matched the belt, also diamond-sparkled and silver. Vivian had bought it for her and had it sent to the house. Emma took one look and knew it was too elegant for her, but when she got it on, it took her breath away. How much had this thing cost?
Now to figure something out with her hair and makeup. She wished suddenly Vivian had sent her a stylist too. She sent Craig a quick text - Where are you? and then watched a youtube video on how to do an updo. She found one called Easier than it Looks Updo and gave it a go, elated when she managed it and her hair actually looked pretty. She wished someone were around to high-five, but Craig still wasn’t home. Good thing men didn’t take much primping. Makeup. She didn’t want to press her luck so she just did her normal eyebrows, eyelashes, and a bit of eyeliner, plus a red lipstick. She never did red lipstick and thought it made her look like a clown but Vivian had specifically said she should wear red lipstick, so she did. She was more concerned about looking out of place at this gala or whatever it was than looking like a clown right now.
She heard Craig’s truck pull in the driveway and ran out of the bathroom to meet him, holding up her skirt so she wouldn’t fall over it. He opened the door, and saw her, his eyes going wide. Her scolding we’re going to be late! died on her lips when she saw his face.
“What?” she said, taking a step backwards.
“Nothing. Just. You look amazing.” He stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him.
“Really? Are you sure? I don’t look like a clown?”
“You look like a princess,” he told her, bending and kissing her neck softly.
Emma shivered deliciously at his words and his kisses, relaxing into his arms.
A honk startled them both. She pushed the drapes open. “The limousine!”
“Uh oh, I guess we’re late. What am I wearing?”
“Here. Vivian rented you a tux.” Emma pushed a package into Craig’s hands and pushed him towards the bathroom.
She ran into the bedroom to grab her only clutch and saw her gun, in it’s holster, on the bed. She couldn’t wear it tonight, that was for sure. But she’d be with Craig so she’d be fine.
She ran out again, then stopped herself and took a deep breath. She was going to break her ankle if she kept trying to run in these heels. A knock sounded at the door. Damn.
She forced herself to walk to the door and tried not to feel too guilty for making the limo driver wait. A young man waited on her steps, dressed in a dark suit. He even had the limo driver hat, she noticed, smiling inwardly. “Sorry, we’re late, we’ll be out in a second,” she told him, then closed the door and headed to the bathroom to see if Craig needed help.
Finally in the limo, Emma relaxed against the leather seat and took another deep breath, trying to chase away her nervousness. She knew it was useless though. There was too much to be nervous about! She was headed to a mansion, for the first time in her life. She was going to meet her father, for the first time in her life. And she was going to some sort of a fancy, black tie event, for the first time in her life. She scooted closer to Craig. Boy did he look scrumptious in that tux. All of a sudden, she couldn’t wait to get him home and get that tux off of him. She snuggled into him and her nervousness abated a little at the thought.
“So are you going to tell Oberlin?” Craig asked her.
“I’m not sure. I guess I’ll just wait and see how it plays out. For all I know I’ll never even get a chance to talk to him.”
Craig nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too. We have no idea what this is going to be like.”
“I should have asked Vivian.” Emma mused.
“Yeah. Too late now! Let’s just try to have fun, no matter what.”
Emma nodded, “Good idea.”
The evening darkened into twilight, and the limo wound them just outside of town into a subdivision that Emma didn’t even know existed. Craig seemed very interested also and they both watched out the window, admiring the large, stately homes they were passing.
“Wow,” Emma breathed, as they drove past a well-lit up, palatial home towering over a wrought-iron fence.
Craig took her hand and ran his thumb across her palm, perhaps reminding her that money could buy a house like this, but that didn’t mean it bought the people inside happiness.
The big car pulled into the last drive on the road, and they both craned their necks to catch a full glimpse of their home for the evening. What Emma wanted was to get all of her ooohing and ahhhing out before she got out of the car. She was supposed to be Vivian, and Vivian probably grew up in a h
ouse just as gorgeous.
The driveway was circular, and lined with limousines already. The house itself was red brick, three stories, covered with ivy, and looked squat, elegant, and timeless. Emma wondered how many people it took to clean something this big.
Their limo pulled up to the front and the driver ran around to open the door for Emma, who was already climbing out.
“I’ll be waiting out here for you until you are done,” he told them.
Craig took Emma’s hand and led her into the mansion. At the door, they were stopped by security. Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Was she going to be discovered as a fraud already? Thrown out? Her cheeks flushed red. But the two security officer just waved her through a metal detector at the door.
Emma waited nervously for Craig on the other side, wondering what would happen when his gun tripped the detector. But it didn’t. He came through clean.
She asked him with her eyes how he managed that. He grasped her arm and whispered into her ear, “I didn’t bring it. I knew there would be security.”
A man arrived in front of them, one Emma could only describe as a butler, looking exactly like they do in the movies. He asked them for their invite. Emma handed it over. He nodded slightly and said “Miss Dashell, right this way please.” Now that Emma wasn’t terrified they were about to get thrown out, she looked around curiously. Just the foyer was gorgeous enough to blow her away. She took in the chandeliers and tiled floors, plus ornate fireplaces and elaborate rugs, and the bright pink-lined-with-gold runner heading up the marble stairs. Everywhere she looked screamed wealth, money, opulence. She had nothing to compare it to, but she wondered if all Senators had houses this … grand. She’d been curious so she’d done some research into what United States Senators make and it was only about $175,000 a year. Certainly more than enough to live comfortably, but not near enough to afford this kind of luxury.
She made a mental note to ask Craig where his money came from when she got a chance. For now, she just concentrated on not tripping over her own two feet. A small voice in the back of her head told her he’s your dad, this should be your money too. She pushed it away. Not only did she not want any part of this money, she didn’t even want to acknowledge that he was her dad. If she had her way, she would have just forgotten they ever found out about it. But she didn’t have it her way. There was too much at stake for people she cared about.