by Midge Bubany
He shrugged his shoulders. “No, sure don’t.” I detected some sort of regional twang in his voice.
“What’s your name?”
“Raybern Ginty.”
“Well, Raybern Ginty, you are under arrest for using a stolen credit card and identity.” He read him his Miranda Rights, Ginty waved them.
Then Nunn picked up his wallet. “Let’s have a look-see what’s in your wallet,” Nunn said.
Nunn pulled out several cards from the wallet and displayed them on the table.
“Let’s see. You have driver’s licenses and credit cards with three different names: John Adam Pencroft from Huntington Beach, California; Raybern Jerome Ginty, from Kansas City, Kansas; and Michael Thomas Hawkinson of Eden Prairie, Minnesota.”
“Huh,” he said, like it was the first he knew of it.
I moseyed over to look. They all had this man’s picture. I picked up the Minnesota license and changed the angle to see if the loon image seemed to sink before the surface as I moved it. It didn’t. Miller handed me a small ultraviolet flashlight, but I didn’t really even have to use it to know I wouldn’t see the seal of the state of Minnesota under the light. The card bore Ginty’s photo with Hawk’s information. This man was quite a bit shorter than Hawk’s six feet, four inches and 230 pounds.
Nunn picked up Ginty’s license. “So you’re saying you are Raybern Jerome Ginty from Kansas. You sure? You do not want to supply us with false information and add to your trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s me. I go by Bernie with an e.”
Nunn picked up the Kansas license and handed it to me. If this was his real ID, he was only thirty-eight years old—but he looked a decade older.
“Well, Bernie with an e, what’s your birthdate?” I asked.
“February the fifteenth, nineteen hundred, seventy-six.”
“How tall are you?”
“Five eight.”
“Weight?”
“One forty-nine.”
“Not one-fifty?” Nunn asked.
Miller snorted.
“This is a fairly good copy,” I lied. “Who does your work?”
Ginty rolled his head and looked off.
“Your Kansas driver’s license expired a year ago,” I said, as I passed it back to Nunn, who handed it to Miller.
Ginty closed an eye and pulled the same side of his face into a half-grimace. “It did? Huh. Haven’t been back there in a while, I guess.”
I stood behind Miller who had plugged the name into NCIC, the National Crime Information Center database. She glanced back at me gesturing with her head to look at what was coming up. Ginty was a frequent flyer. Since he was eighteen, he’d been in and out of the correctional systems in Kansas and Oklahoma; his latest conviction was for felony theft in Hennepin County, so we knew he’d been in Minnesota.
“How do you know Michael Hawkinson?” I asked.
“I don’t.”
Nunn fanned his hand above the licenses.
“You’re using other individual’s identities and credit cards in order to stay in the hotel and gamble,” he said. “Nevada doesn’t like that. And you used Michael Hawkinson’s credit cards. Deputy Sheehan and Minnesota don’t like that.”
Ginty laughed nervously and gave his chin whiskers a scratch. “Wasn’t me.”
Nunn said, “We have you on tape handing over the card. The desk clerk welcomed you as Mr. Hawkinson. So how did you come by Mr. Hawkinson’s credit card?”
He cleared his throat. “Okay… okay. A dude handed it to me and told me to have fun.”
I glanced at Nunn who rolled his eyes. “Where and when?” he asked.
A hesitation then, “In Minneapolis last Monday afternoon.”
“What did the guy look like?” I asked.
“He was a big white dude, dark hair.”
“Anybody with you at the time to witness this grand gift?”
“Witness? Nah.”
Nunn then stood and said to me, “I’m gonna take him in. Come with.”
Sydney wasn’t waiting in the lobby, so I left a message on her phone. Ginty was placed in the back of a transport van that had pulled around to the rear of the hotel. Ginty joined two other men in the van, also bound for the Clark County Detention Center.
Nunn’s unmarked Taurus was in the same lot. Miller sat shotgun. I crawled into the backseat.
Miller turned to look at me. “Tell us about Michael Hawkinson.”
After I filled them in, she asked, “Do you think he even made it out of Minnesota?”
“I’m beginning to think whatever happened to him, happened back home. I’ll check with Hennepin County,” I said.
Ginty was brought to an interview room, and while Nunn was setting up, I called CISA, Criminal Information Sharing and Analysis, Hennepin County’s own data center.
I was told Ginty had recently been released from St. Cloud Correctional after a six-month stint, and was in violation of his parole because he’d missed two check-ins, and left the state. The deputy told me they’d contact Clark County to sort things out.
He also shared Ginty’s known Minnesota associates: Roseanna Martinez and Nevada Wynn, a lowlife I’d encountered in the past. Wynn’s moniker was Snake because of his cobra tattoo running from his cheek, around his neck and down to his junk. A Hennepin County jailor said Wynn’s dick was the tail end of the snake. Who in their right mind would inflict that much pain to their penis?
Roseanna had been arrested for prostitution and possession of narcotics (heroin). Her moniker was Little Zanna. Raybern with an e had three: Ray-Ray, Bernie, and Gint the Flint. I can understand Bernie—but Ray-Ray and Gint the Flint?
Regardless of what transpired in Nevada, Ginty would eventually be getting a free ride back to Minnesota courtesy of Hennepin County because he had violated the conditions of his parole.
After I gave Nunn the lowdown on Ginty’s record, he nodded and said, “It was obvious it wasn’t his first circus parade.”
“And it won’t be his last.”
At two o’clock, Nunn got a call saying Ginty had been processed. He said I could have first crack at him. When we walked into the stark, interrogation room, Ginty looked up and gave us a shit-eating grin. He may be one of those guys who’s more comfortable wearing the orange jumpsuit.
“Mr. Ginty, to refresh your memory, I’m Detective Nunn and this is Detective Sheehan from Birch County, Minnesota. Deputy Sheehan has questions for you.”
“Mr. Ginty, what have you’ve been up to since you were released from Minnesota Corrections St. Cloud?” I asked.
“Trying to stay out of trouble,” he said, and snickered.
“Hanging with Nevada Wynn? AKA Snake?”
“Once in a while.”
“Is he still working at North Cross Warehouse?” I asked.
He made a face. “Far as I know.”
“So your story is that some random guy on the street in Minneapolis just hands over his credit card and driver’s license for you to use? I find that odd.”
“You know that old saying: Don’t look a gift horse up the butt,” he replied, giving a little grin, thinking he was cute.
“How’d you know the credit card was good?” I asked.
“’Cause I tried it out.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Target in Minneapolis, and I thought, hot damn why not use it to go to Vegas like the guy said.”
“And did you use the same card to fly to Las Vegas, Mr. Ginty?” Nunn asked.
“You obviously know I did.”
“Who came with you?” I asked.
“My old lady, Roseanna.”
“You’re married to Roseanna?”
He smirked. “Why would I go and do that?”
“Johnson.”
It’s Martinez, you lying sack.
“Was she with you when you checked in?”
“Nah, she was too anxious to get to the slots.”
“Where’s Michael Hawkinson?” I said.
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Sweat stains bloomed under his armpits.
My cell phone vibrated. It was Cat Hawkinson, so I told Nunn I needed to take the call. Nunn nodded. “Detective Sheehan is leaving the interview.”
I moved a few yards down the hallway. “Hey, Cat, what’s up?”
“Did you find him?”
“Not yet.”
I didn’t want to tell her anything until I had something more concrete.
“Well, this might help. Michael’s also been using his debit card. Three hundred dollars has been taken out every day since Tuesday, and he’s used his VISA card at Target, Caribou Coffee, and Sports Minnesota. He used the company American Express for Delta Airlines and the hotel. The airline ticket price seemed pretty high, but at the last minute rates are always highest.”
And when you purchase two tickets.
“Do you know when he left Minneapolis?”
“The charges were made on Tuesday, the thirteenth.”
“Did you close the cards down as I suggested?”
“Not yet.”
“Do it as soon as you hang up. Do you know which machines the cash is being withdrawn from?”
“No.”
“Call your bank and find out. Then call me back.”
“Okay.”
I summoned Nunn to the hall, so I could explain what I’d just found out.
“So how much of Ginty’s story do you believe?” he asked.
“Not a lot.”
Nunn and Miller waited with me in the observation room until Cat called me back ten minutes later.
“He used his debit card at Frank’s Plaza in Prairie Falls and then three hundred was withdrawn from the Wells Fargo in Prairie Falls, and the rest were all from the same ATM in Vegas. Find him, Cal.”
“I’m trying. Thanks for the info. I’ll get back to you.”
Nunn said they’d book Ginty on the fraud charges. He’d get a search warrant for the room Ginty rented and the ATM company.
“I’d like to see if I can get more out of him.”
“Go for it.”
I went back in and sat down across from Ginty. I restated who I was to identify myself on the recording.
“Before you left for Vegas, were you in northern Minnesota?”
“Nope.” He tightened the muscles around his mouth like he had when I asked him what Roseanna’s surname was.
“I know you used Michael’s American Express card to book a Delta flight to Vegas from Minneapolis and to pay for the hotel. You’ve been withdrawing cash with his debit card, so that means you know the password. How did you get it?”
He blinked a few times, then said, “The guy who gave me the card told me what it was.”
“I find it hard to believe Mr. Hawkinson handed over his credit cards and said, ‘Have fun, and by the way you’ll need my pin.’ Really?”
“Well, he did,” Ginty, said grinning at me like a damn fool.
“Are you and Nevada Wynn in the drug business together?”
Ginty’s smirk dropped off his face. “Okay, I think I’m done talkin’ to ya.”
“See you in Minnesota, Ray-Ray.”
Hennepin County would handle extradition for Ginty, but I had no idea if he was involved in harming Hawk or if he was just the beneficiary of the spoils.
Chapter 5
May 21
Nine days missing.
Sydney and I spent hours showing Hawk’s photo to casino employees, and no one remembered seeing him. By Wednesday noon, we were convinced he never made it to Vegas, so late that afternoon we caught a flight home. When we said good-bye at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, Sydney hugged me, and she said she’d be in touch.
I called Cat Hawkinson from the terminal and asked if I could drop by on my way back home. They lived in an Eden Prairie golf club community called Bearpath. As a wedding gift, Irving Ames gave them an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar four-bedroom house located on the tenth fairway. I hadn’t been there for years, so I needed the GPS to get me through the winding roads in the dark. The light rain didn’t help visibility.
It was ten o’clock by the time I arrived. When Cat answered the door, she was holding a longhaired white Persian cat, obviously Romeo. I’d never seen her without eye make-up, or with her chocolate-brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked softer, wholesome even.
I said, “I’m sorry, it took me longer to get here than I thought. It’s late. I could come back tomorrow morning.”
“No, I want to know what you found out. Please, come in. Besides, I don’t usually go to bed before midnight anyway.”
We proceeded through the expansive house designed with a modern, open concept.
“You’ve redecorated,” I said. “I like the gray and red.”
Their house had all the amenities: hardwood floors, large windows, granite counters, up-scale bathrooms, media room, bar, pool table—you name it; they had it.
“Michael actually helped pick out the new furnishings. It was fun. Join me in a glass of wine?” she said.
“Sure.”
“Okay, Romeo, down you go,” she said as she placed the cat at her feet. White cat hair clung to her yoga pants and black top with the plunging neckline. I tried to avoid staring at her cleavage as she bent over. But do women expose their breasts so we don’t look?
I followed her to a seating area. As soon as I sat in one of the light-gray leather sofas, Romeo sauntered over to rub up against my legs. Cat went to the kitchen where she poured me a generous glass of red wine and refilled a glass sitting on the counter.
She handed me the glass, then took a seat opposite me.
With worry lines formed on her forehead, Cat put her glass on the coffee table and said, “So tell me what you found out.”
With one smooth move, she lifted her legs onto the couch and sat cross-legged. Romeo jumped up and settled in her lap. He looked suspiciously at me.
“Your cat has one gold eye and one blue eye.”
“Yes.” She petted him in long strokes, and he closed his eyes and purred. As I chronicled what I’d found out inVegas, Cat listened intently.
When I finished, she said, “My God, and I thought he was having a premature mid-life crisis.”
Tears began to stream down her face, and she began to sob. I sat with my elbows on my knees and watched her. Her strong reaction half-surprised me because I was under the impression she didn’t give a shit about him.
She went to retrieve a tissue from the counter, dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose.
“So what happens now?” she said.
“We have to retrace Hawk’s steps and find his vehicle. Is he still driving the black Mercedes SUV?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll put out a BOLO.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Be on the lookout for.”
“In your professional opinion has something really bad happened to Michael? Be honest.” She emphasized Michael, letting me know I’d erred when I referred to him as Hawk.
“The longer he’s missing, the worse his odds are.”
“Michael’s mother said he was on his way to visit you, but never made it.”
“No, and he never called to cancel.”
“Did you try calling him, like right back?” She sounded a little pissy.
“Of course, I did.”
“Why didn’t you do the BOLO thing that day
?”
“People blow people off all the time, and we don’t issue BOLOs for that.”
She nodded. “Tell me. Was it Michael who used his credit card in Prairie Falls, or was it the guy you talked to in Vegas?”
“I’m not sure. Ginty says a man handed him the card when he was downtown Minneapolis, but in my opinion that’s all bullshit.”
“So, he could be anywhere between Brainerd, Prairie Falls, and Minneapolis?”
The reality of her statement took me aback. That was a huge area.
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it. I called the owner of the gas station where the card was used and asked him to save their security tapes.”
She nodded. “You’re not going back up north this late, are you?”
“Thought I would.”
“I insist you stay in our guest room.”
I could feel the wine because I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “All right.”
And as if she could read my mind, she asked, “Are you hungry? Do you want a sandwich… or cheese and crackers?”
“I am a little hungry. Fix whatever’s easy.”
“Get your things from your truck, while I fix you a plate.”
By the time I came back in she’d placed on the coffee table a royal-blue glass plate loaded with various cuts of cheese, crackers, and small, fancy sandwiches. She’d also refilled my wine glass.
“How did you do all this so fast?”
“My mom brought these things over this evening. I didn’t tell them you were stopping by, or they’d have insisted on staying to talk to you. When they left, I felt a little panicked, so I’m glad you’re staying over.”
The ice princess was showing a side I’d never seen. But ice melts under heat, doesn’t it? I wasn’t convinced she wasn’t involved in his disappearance.
“So, tell me what Michael’s been up to these days.”
“Work mostly. I never thought I’d say it, but I was happy he was taking time off to go fishing.”
“So, what about his relationships with other people. Any conflicts? Even if they seem minor, it could be important.”
“You know Michael. He gets along with everybody.”
“Have you ever suspected him of having an affair?”