by C J West
Brad strained to hear Herman’s voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the instructions he gave Russell. The car slowed and made a hard right turn into the long term parking area, passing the shuttle bus as they entered. It was a vast lot, open to the elements with a massive grid of cars stretching away from them in every direction.
“Why here?”
“Ask the boss.”
This would be their final meeting. Herman had changed Brad’s life forever. After skipping bail he could never return to his family or his country, but he had the wealth to retire happily in seclusion as long as he lived. He’d always thought he’d want to kill Herman at this stage, but right now he’d be satisfied to board the hop to LaGuardia and fly off to France. The past few days had degenerated into chaos. Herman had bailed him out, but Brad had made him rich. He deserved what little help Herman gave.
The sedan followed the edge of the lot almost to the airfield. Twin jet engines blotted out all sound as a plane thrust off the runway and up into the clouds. Russell stopped the car and pointed toward the door. When Brad closed it, Herman appeared from beside a boxy white sedan.
“Thanks for–” Brad began, but was cut short.
Herman barked as he closed in on Brad. “Never call me again.”
When he got close enough, Herman poked him hard in the chest. The force backed Brad up against Russell’s car. In the stillness between takeoffs, there was no one he could yell to for help. Brad’s chest hurt from the two-fingered poke. How much damage could Herman do with his fists? Brad had fantasized about meeting Herman man to man, but now, standing inches from the monster, he regretted ever having the idea.
“I needed help.”
“You think I didn’t know that?” Herman moved closer until Brad held his breath, expecting a fist to the ribs.
Herman watched intensely. “You couldn’t handle that little bimbo.”
Brad didn’t know where to look. “She was working with the cops.”
“After you let her get away.”
Herman was right. Brad had screwed up and nothing could change that.
“You need to disappear. There’s a passport and some cash in the trunk.” Herman stepped back and popped the trunk of the white car, never taking his eyes off Brad. “Don’t show up in the states again. Got it?”
Brad nodded, breathless, hoping the confrontation was finished.
Herman gestured in the trunk and Brad recognized his own brown leather bag deep inside. Russell had indeed handed over his real passport. Brad circled Herman cautiously. The bag was freedom if Herman hadn’t seen the contents. He stretched into the trunk for the bag, knees touching the bumper. He clutched the handle and pulled it toward him.
Crack.
A hole appeared in the trunk’s carpet and a rattle whizzed and clinked through the undercarriage. The ragged hole in the carpet stupefied him. Fire burned in his chest. He clutched instinctively and felt warm blood pour through his shirt and cover his hand. He coughed violently as the sticky fluid pooled in his lungs.
Crack.
The second shot struck bone in his ribcage, thrusting him, chest first, into the trunk and slamming his head into the lid. He collapsed inside and the pain was no more.
Chapter Fifty-nine
“Slow up,” Sarah said when Stan pulled a few feet ahead.
Rushing down Milk Street to meet McKenna, Stan was possessed by the challenge to solve this case. The relaxed happy-go-lucky dreamer was getting things done. He’d set up the sting in the park. Now his friends from the Boston PD were searching Brad’s apartment and nothing could keep him away. It would have taken Sarah a week to organize the search. Even her gait was holding him back. She knew now why female officers didn’t wear two-inch heels in the field.
Stan crossed Federal Street against the light and turned around on the opposite curb, frustrated that she hadn’t crossed behind him. He waited for several cars to pass and the light to change. Chivalry was winning out over eagerness, but just barely. They hurried up Devonshire together and turned into the bland ten-story block of concrete where Brad lived. When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor they were met by a large uniformed officer outside the door to Brad’s apartment.
“Sorry folks, official police business. You can’t go inside.”
Stan’s chest puffed out involuntarily. “I’m Stan Nye. Sergeant McKenna called me over.”
The officer left them standing in the hall and disappeared inside so quickly they couldn’t see past the door. McKenna must have been nearby. He popped into the hall almost immediately and shook Stan’s hand. “Some case you threw me.”
“What are buddies for?”
“Was this guy into anything else? Drugs maybe?” McKenna looked nervous. Strange. He’d been a Boston cop for years if he’d been in the academy with Stan. This white collar stuff shouldn’t spook him.
“Doubt it. What’s going on?” Stan asked.
“I’ll give you a look,” he said, pulling two pairs of rubber gloves from his pocket. “Put these on first.”
Stan took them without hesitation.
Sarah turned up her nose.
McKenna was adamant about the gloves. He was stretching the rules having civilians on scene, especially civilians with a connection to the crime. The internal audit roles meant nothing to McKenna or his superiors. If not for Stan’s relationship, they’d be suspects like everyone else at BFS.
He urged them not to touch anything and risk rubbing out a print.
They agreed, pulled on the tight-fitting gloves and McKenna led them inside. Nothing in the room had been left undisturbed. The couch had been sliced end to end, every cushion ruined, stuffing spilled all around. The coat closet was completely empty, its contents unceremoniously dumped in the corner behind the door. Stray items from coat pockets had been tossed in a pile a few feet away.
McKenna followed a winding trail through the debris and into the kitchen where every cabinet had been emptied. Cereal, crackers, uncooked pasta and sugar had been dumped on the floor, empty containers tossed aside. The refrigerator had been tipped over, its panels pried loose to prove there was nothing hidden in the insulation.
“What are you going to tell him when he comes back?” Sarah asked, stunned the police could do this sort of damage searching someone’s home.
McKenna laughed out loud. “We didn’t do this. I’d be docked ten years to pay for this. The place was trashed when we got here.”
Whoever tore this apartment to pieces had a secret he was desperate to keep. Erica had guessed they’d stolen two hundred million, enough motivation to rip the place apart and plenty of money to pay to have it done.
McKenna nodded toward the door. “It was picked, not forced.”
“Did you find anything?”
“A huge pile of everyday junk,” McKenna grunted.
The bedroom had received more severe treatment than the other rooms. The carpet had been sliced and pulled back on each side of the bed, clothes everywhere. Two phone cords dangled near the bed. One from the wall and one from the phone, but they were both male. They couldn’t have been connected to each other. Something had been there.
“I guess that’s what we’re down to,” Sarah said.
“What’s that?” Stan asked.
“What’s missing. Anything worth taking is gone.”
“Computer?” Stan asked.
“Didn’t find one. Not a single CD or a disk, not even a notepad. Someone made sure we weren’t going to find anything he left for us.”
Stan made a note to check with IT later. They’d check his computer, phone records and search his office if Marty would allow it. McKenna was eager for an invitation, but didn’t ask and they didn’t offer.
Whoever tore the place apart had taken anything Brad could have used to leave a message. They left no paper except a few magazines and they were ruffled as if they’d been flipped through to make sure nothing was handwritten in the margins. Any clues Brad left behind had been h
auled away. Any hiding place he could have dreamed up had been torn open or busted into. How much noise had these men made? They’d been inside for hours to be so thorough. These men were professionals and they weren’t afraid of being caught.
“Wasn’t his car impounded?” Stan asked.
Brilliant. They couldn’t have gotten into the car. If Brad had left anything behind it would still be there.
McKenna dialed his cell and made arrangements for them to see the car.
The threesome was gone within minutes.
Chapter Sixty
The shock of Brad’s release slowly lost its grip on Erica. If anything happened to her, the police would suspect him immediately. Trying again would only add to his sentence and he knew it. He’d be looking for a lawyer or a place to hide.
From her seat on the couch, Erica traced the veins that cemented the massive stone wall together. She had complete anonymity behind the wall, but her reason for hiding was gone. Her packed bag rested by the coffee table, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it up and go. The last time she went home, Brad chased her into the park and tried to kill her. Erica’s instinct told her Brad had a partner, a smarter man pulling the strings, one who’d kill her with the first shot. That feeling had her stuck on the couch.
Her hosts were becoming restless, too. Jan’s feet shifted in the doorway. Sam, the retired-cop-turned-volunteer-security-guard, reclined at his post in the hall and covered his dozing as best he could. A tiny earpiece squawked out the call of a ball game. Their protection deserved a woman who needed it and Erica hoped her stay wasn’t forcing a truly desperate woman to live in fear on the outside.
Jan came around to the couch and rested a feathery touch on Erica’s knee. “What’s got hold of you?”
“Who is more the question.”
“No need to rush out there before you’re ready.”
She’d traveled crowded city streets since birth, but now walking out in public was terrifying. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she’d be in someone’s crosshairs the second she stepped outside. This man would be a professional and he wouldn’t miss. Staying hidden seemed simple enough, but letting other people fight for her felt cowardly.
She picked up her cell and dialed Sarah for news, but Sarah didn’t answer. Erica left her number and dialed Gregg.
She eyed her bag as the phone rang. He’d be worried. He’d ask her to stay with him and she’d go. He made her feel safe. After witnessing the brutality between her mother and father, she never thought she’d run to a man for protection, but here she was, listening to the third ring, anxious to hear his invitation.
The phone connected, but instead of relief she was shocked into silence. “It’s about time you called. We were beginning to think you forgot about Mr. Handsome.” She didn’t recognize the menacing voice.
It was the right number. The caller-id at Gregg’s would show her cell number, but the man professed to have something far more important.
“Who are you?” she asked feigning confidence.
“That doesn’t matter.”
The voice didn’t sound like anyone from work.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Where’s Lover Boy?” Distant voices and a loud crack sounded over the line. Then a tortured howl faint at first then so piercing she yanked the phone from her ear. The sound was unmistakable. Gregg was in severe pain. She called his name, but his hoarse scream faded into the background.
There were at least two voices in the room with him.
“What are you doing to him?” she asked.
“No permanent damage. Yet. Cooperate and you’ll be together soon.”
“What do you want?”
“Unwavering Obedience. Do what I say and you’ll see him again. Get out of line and I’ll send him to you in small bloody pieces.”
The voice was steady and cool. Violence was part of his lifestyle. He’d have no qualms about hurting Gregg and the scream proved him capable. He must have gotten the gun away from Gregg. At least Gregg wouldn’t be tempted to pull it and shoot his way free. She doubted he could aim at another man and pull the trigger. He could shoot animals, but he wasn’t cruel. Pulling the gun would only get him killed.
She’d gotten him into this. He didn’t know anything about the theft. They’d taken him to get to her, but she had nothing to give them in exchange. Brad had already proved his guilt. Why did they need her?
“What do you want?” she prompted again.
“A little cooperation is all. Stay where you are. When we meet I’ll tell you exactly what you need to do. Until then, don’t call anyone, not BFS, not the cops and not the feds. Stay right where you are.”
The line went dead and Erica stood up.
She was safe. They couldn’t find her at Jan’s, but what about Gregg? She could be at his apartment in ten minutes, but what then? They’d overpowered Gregg and probably had him tied up. Even if she could surprise them, she couldn’t overtake armed men.
“What’s wrong with Gregg?” Jan asked.
The guard pulled off his earphones and stepped halfway in.
“They’re hurting him.”
“Who?” Jan asked.
“They’re working with Brad. They’re in Gregg’s apartment.”
The old man wouldn’t be much help against the thug on the phone. Even the three of them together would be helpless while Gregg was held at gunpoint. Gregg was being hurt because they wanted Erica. Adding the old man’s life and Jan’s to his was unacceptable.
Jan suggested the police.
The man had ordered her not to call, but what choice did she have? A hostage taker wouldn’t be good to his word. They were in Gregg’s apartment. In twenty minutes they could take him anywhere in the city and she might never see him again. Calling the police made her queasy, but it was all she had.
Erica wrote out Gregg’s address and Jan called a police captain she knew well. He promised they’d go in quickly and quietly.
Erica paced nervously as Jan hung up.
The police would be there in five minutes.
Chapter Sixty-one
Sarah’s hopes were dashed when they found Brad’s car showroom clean. It could have been that way when it was towed in, but more likely the men who’d ravaged Brad’s apartment had visited the impound lot. Even the glove compartment was empty. Sarah’s hopes were buoyed later when Pete Harrison arrived at the office. A substantial FBI agent with extensive contacts and the savvy to navigate a tricky political situation, he gathered more information in twenty-four hours than Sarah and Stan could have uncovered in weeks.
The trio made its way to Marty’s office to present what they’d found. Pete had convinced Marty to exclude Herman and Cathy from the meeting, something Marty would never have done for Sarah or Stan. Going without Herman felt right, but Sarah had a nagging desire to call him as they passed near his office. Herman had been driving for a quick conclusion to the case. Without him, they’d navigate a straighter path to the truth, but when he found out she’d gone to this meeting without him, there’d be trouble their working relationship might never recover from.
They settled around the boardroom table and Pete began.
Stan gauged Marty’s reaction as he listened. Stan’s contacts with the Boston PD had been indispensable and Sarah had to admit his insights had been right on from the start. He knew Erica was innocent. He proved it and he was big enough not to make points with Herman and Marty at Sarah’s expense, even after she’d been a jerk. He was a decent guy and he was good at his job, even if he spent most of his time goofing off. He’d swindled her into buying dinner for eight weeks. She’d dreaded the idea at first, but she knew why he’d done it and she was warming up to it.
Marty listened intently as Pete explained the complicated nature of the plot and why he assumed Brad had a partner. The accounts had been linked to social security numbers of people that had been dead for three to ten years. Regular deposits were made in their names all across the country. Pe
te handed over a long list of deposit dates in cities Brad could only reach by plane. Most of the dates were in red to indicate that Brad had entered the BFS offices at least once that day according to the security system. Pete’s team would visit the banks and view the security tapes to try and identify Brad’s partners, but that would take time. Brad could have sent the deposits by mail, but the three of them were convinced the amounts were too large to have been sent in unsupervised. In a few weeks, they’d have grainy photos of Brad’s accomplices.
Marty shook his head noncommittally. He may have been shocked that his brother-in-law had been stealing from his company. He may have had new doubts about his young wife. He may have been thinking ahead to the consequences for him. Sarah couldn’t be sure, but he was taking it in. Herman had undone her work with Marty twice before. This time they’d hammer it home until there could be no doubt in Marty’s mind.
Pete continued.
The money had gone from these bank accounts to a single bank in Turino, Italy, again suggesting a cohesive plot. The bank had been cooperative but unfortunately had little to offer. Marty crossed his arms as Pete explained how the withdrawal records had been falsified. Cashier’s checks had been written, but the check numbers had been dummied. Tracing the money would require finding the physical checks among the hundreds of thousands returned to the bank. Sifting through would take months. Getting access to the checks might take longer. To complicate matters, the bank manager had recently died when his car went off an embankment and exploded. Pete believed it was a professional hit to clean up the money trail.
Sarah pointed out Brad’s trouble shooting Erica and the likelihood that he couldn’t have killed the bank manager himself.
The steady drone of facts was irritating Marty. Whether it was the pace or the message Sarah couldn’t be sure. Undeterred, Pete dribbled out a monotonous flow, building his case piece by piece as he would for a jury.