“Yeah, give me a minute. We’ll get this done, then get the hell out of here.”
“Before that thing comes back looking for breakfast,” Carvelli said.
A few minutes later the excitement was over, the power booster was in place, and the three of them started back to Vivian’s. Leading the way, Carvelli waded three feet into the lake to throw off any scent. The other two followed him. Fortunately, the lake bottom here was sandy and the walking was easy. The only obstacle was the neighbor’s dock, which they went under. They made it to the far side property line away from Cal’s when a powerful light came on in Cal’s yard.
The three men had just enough time to scramble behind a large oak tree when they saw another four-legged bullet fly across Cal’s yard straight to the tree they had climbed. This time, the man who had let the dog out went with him. Using a heavy-duty flashlight to lead him, the man hurried after the dog. When he caught up with him, they could clearly see the unmistakable silhouette of a large Doberman Pinscher. He scurried around the area of the tree sniffing and obviously quite agitated. At one point he got up on his haunches and used his front paws to lean on the tree to look up into it. Stretched out like he was, the Doberman looked to be taller than the man. He dropped back to the ground and dashed about, then abruptly stopped at the water’s edge.
While the dog was doing this, the man used the flashlight to slowly look over the ground for anything that might show why the dog was acting up. He even looked up into the tree with it while the dog leaned on it. Satisfied, unseen by Carvelli or the other two, the man slipped the silenced Beretta .40 caliber handgun back into its holster.
“Come on, Zeus. Probably a deer or some kids,” he said.
Tony, Tommy, and Conrad would never know how lucky they were. The man’s name was Aidan Walsh, and he was the head of Cal’s security and a sociopath thug Cal had known back to his Boston days. He was also the man who had confronted Lynn McDaniel on the road by Cal’s cabin the evening of the Fourth of July. After which he had dragged her body into the bush.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Zeus got himself in a bit of an anxious state last night,” Aidan Walsh said to Cal.
“Oh?” Cal casually inquired as he set down the newspaper he was reading.
Walsh sat down at the white wrought iron patio table across from Cal. He poured a cup of coffee for himself, lit a cigarette, blew out a long stream of smoke, and continued.
“Shortly after three, we went out to check the grounds. He took off like a shot down to the shoreline at the property’s corner,” he said pointing across the yard to the spot.
“He ran around sniffing for a bit, looked back and forth along the shore, then settled down.”
“You see anything?” Cal asked.
“No, sir. I used the flashlight to look over the grounds, the trees, and the lake. Didn’t find anything. Could’ve been anything. A deer, raccoon, some kids, who knows.”
Cal thought about this for a minute or so. He didn’t like unusual events to mysteriously pop up when he was about to do a deal. Cal Simpson was not a big believer in coincidence.
“Okay, for the next several days, I want Zeus out on the grounds all night. And I want someone with him at all times. It was probably nothing, but we’ll take no chances.”
“Yes, sir,” Aidan replied. “I’ll see to it. Are we sending the package today?”
“We are,” Cal answered. Looked at his Rolex and said, “In fact, I’m going in now to get it ready. Come on.”
The two men went into the house and then to Cal’s office. Cal took the chair behind the desk and Aidan in front.
The first thing Cal did was pull on a pair of heavy surgical gloves. He lifted up a FedEx mailing envelope and showed it to Aidan.
“It’s clean,” Cal said. “Be careful with it.”
Cal then took out a multi-page document already folded into thirds. He removed a self-sealing letter-size envelope from the middle desk drawer. On it were a name and address neatly typed. Cal took a yellow post-it note, scribbled a few words on it, and attached it to the envelope. He placed the document in the small envelope along with a brief note explaining what the document was and that it should be checked for fingerprints. Cal then peeled the cellophane off of the adhesive and sealed it. He placed it in the FedEx mailer, sealed it and laid it on the desk.
“It’s already addressed,” Cal said referring to the FedEx mailer. “Just take it in, pay the fee in cash and let them have it. Be careful…”
“Not to touch it,” Aidan said finishing Cal’s sentence. Coming from anyone else, finishing a sentence for him would have elicited a sharp rebuke. Aidan drew a smile instead.
“We can’t be too careful,” Cal said.
“I’ll take it to Hudson,” Aidan said referring to Hudson, Wisconsin, a small city just across the St. Croix River border. “There’s a FedEx there. I’ll hold it with a cloth between two fingers.”
“Wear a hat and sunglasses,” Cal reminded him. “And I want this place swept for bugs, today. It’s been a while. Call and take care of that before you leave.”
“Are you seeing Maddy today?” Aidan asked. He knew Mrs. Simpson was at her sister’s for a few days and hoped to get a look at his boss’ latest arm candy, the lovely Maddy Shore.
“We’re going out on the boat. She’ll be here around five. She wants to see the house first,” Cal said.
“Good, I’ll get to see her again,” Aidan said with a smile. “She’s easy on the eyes.”
“Yes, she is,” Cal agreed. “But there’s something about her. She’s a little too cool, a little too confident. Like she’s been able to wrap men around her little finger since she was a kid. I do like her company. She’s smart, interesting and up on current events.”
“So, when you gonna get in her pants?” Aidan almost laughed.
“There’s the challenge, isn’t it?” Cal agreed.
Cruising in his year-old Cadillac, Aidan made the drive to Wisconsin in under an hour. As he passed over the I-94 bridge, he looked at the river, mildly surprised at the number of sailboats and expensive cruisers he could see. There must have been two hundred on each side of the bridge. He shook his head at the thought of so many people not at work on a weekday. With Labor Day barely two weeks away, a lot of people were grabbing every minute of summer that they could.
Aidan Walsh was born fifty-two years ago as Aidan O’Keefe. His father, Connor O’Keefe was a one-time associate of one James ‘Whitey’ Bulger. Connor O’Keefe, among others, had helped Whitey wrest away control of the Winter Hill Gang in 1979. Aidan, to the displeasure of his father, was an up and coming teenage gangster himself. Whenever the two of them argued about it, which was frequent, Aidan would remind dear old dad it was either the cops or the crooks for the Southie boys. The argument ended when Aidan was fourteen.
Responding to an anonymous tip, the cops were waiting for Connor and two others outside a small bank. A brief shootout occurred and although Connor had not fired his gun, he took a bullet squarely in the forehead.
It was shortly after Connor’s death that Aidan met a semi-legitimate gangster named Marty Kelly. With the blessing of Whitey Bulger—Whitey received tribute from Kelly—Aidan was accepted into a street gang associated with Kelly. Almost forty years later, Aidan was still with the man who had made him a millionaire many times over.
Aidan turned off I-94 at the second exit on the Wisconsin side. He drove north about a quarter mile and saw the FedEx store. He parked the Caddy two doors down from FedEx and put on a black, logo-free, baseball cap. He checked himself in the mirror and satisfied, got out of the car.
Aidan carefully held the mailer using a handkerchief and went inside. He hurried to the counter and quickly dropped the envelope on the counter so as to not be noticed.
Less than two minutes later, after being helped by a cheerful, pretty teenager, Aidan was back outside. As he backed his car out of its space, he muttered to himself, “What the hell is wrong with these people. It
ain’t normal for everybody to be this nice all the time.”
He took one last, quick glance at the FedEx store, shook his head while thinking about the girl then drove off.
The next day Darren Benedict was in his cluttered office; lived in he would normally describe it. He was about half-finished with his column for the next day’s business section when he heard a soft knock on his door. It opened and a mailroom clerk came in. He was holding a FedEx envelope addressed to Darren personally.
“How are you, Paulie?” the affable newsman asked the clerk.
“Fine, Mr. Benedict,” the young man replied holding the envelope out to Darren.
“What have we here?” Darren asked.
Receiving letters and FedEx packages was quite routine for any major metropolitan newsroom. Darren Benedict had been with Minnesota’s main newspaper, The Minneapolis Star Tribune, for over forty years. The past twenty he had been the number one columnist in the business section. Darren wrote three columns each week on almost any business-related subject he wanted.
By the time he had removed the letter-size envelope, the mailroom clerk was quietly closing the door. Darren read the message on the post-it note with a puzzled expression. Whoever sent it had warned him to be careful about leaving fingerprints.
Using a Kleenex to hold the envelope while he sliced it open, Darren carefully removed the document inside. He placed it on his desk blotter, carefully unfolded it using the tissue and read the typewritten note attached to it.
“Holy shit,” he said quite loudly to himself when he realized what it was. “What the hell…” he said much more quietly.
It took him the better part of an hour to carefully read the memo. When he finished, he leaned back in his chair thinking through what he should do.
“Aaron, I need you to come to my office,” Darren said. He was on his phone talking to his boss, Aaron Towns, a gruff, no-nonsense black man who was the business section’s editor.
“I’m busy. You come here,” he replied.
“I can’t, Aaron. Please, trust me on this. I’ve got a front-page, Sunday column sitting on my desk. Please.”
The phone went silent for a moment while Towns thought about this. He had known Darren Benedict and been his boss for years. His respect for Benedict was well-earned.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
A moment later, Darren saw his boss exit his own office and work his way through the floor toward him.
“Okay, what?” Towns said as he closed the door.
Without going into detail, Darren explained what he had been sent.
“You think it’s legitimate?” Towns asked.
Using the eraser end of a pencil, Darren pushed the note that was inside the envelope so Towns could read.
The note read: There are fingerprints from two lawyers of Everson, Reed who buried this report on it.
He looked at Darren who said, “I was in court the day the lawyers for Everson, Reed swore that Cannon Brothers’ had no knowledge of any defect in their skateboard batteries. That they had been duped by their Chinese supplier,” Darren answered.
“So, you believe this is genuine?”
“I don’t know,” Darren replied. “I don’t know any more than you do. Except, I know two of the Everson, Reed lawyers who were working this case were murdered around the Fourth of July…”
“I remember that,” Towns said. “You think it’s their prints on this thing?”
“Aaron, I don’t know anything. If they are their prints,” he continued looking at his boss, “then this thing will explode. Murder, conspiracy, fraud, you name it.”
“You realize Everson, Reed is one of the biggest firms in this state. They’ll sue our asses off if we’re wrong,” Towns said.
“Or, we win a Pulitzer and bring down the mighty if we’re not.”
Towns thought it over for a moment then said, “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll write it up for tomorrow morning.”
“Why not Sunday? It will make a bigger splash.”
“Don’t worry, once this hits the fan there will be plenty of follow-up for Sunday. But write it up as factually accurate as possible. A package was delivered to you with a note claiming this document to be etc.…”
“Okay.”
“I’m heading upstairs to talk to the higher-ups, including legal. Find out who the head honcho is at Everson, Reed. We’ll call him just before five o’clock for a comment.”
“So he doesn’t have time to run to court,” Darren said.
“Exactly,” Towns replied.
TWENTY-NINE
“He’ll have an office. Probably a large den with a big ass desk in it,” Conrad said. “Put one under the center drawer of the desk. Right where he’ll be sitting.”
Maddy, Carvelli, Conrad, Dan Sorenson and Vivian were in Vivian’s library. Maddy was about to go on another date with Cal. Dan Sorenson was to deliver her to Cal’s and pick her up later. Before they went cruising on the lake to go to dinner, Maddy would have Cal show her his house. The discussion was about where to place the bugs.
The devices themselves were state of the art. Half the size of a fingernail, they could pick up sounds up to twenty feet. Tuned into the signal booster in the tree on Cal’s property, they would send a clear and easily heard signal to Vivian’s boathouse. On the back of each was a small strip of adhesive that would stick to most surfaces. The micro battery would last for at least a couple of months.
“Where else?” Maddy asked.
“The kitchen’s always a good place,” Conrad said.
“And a living room area,” Carvelli said.
“If you can find a conference room and get a chance, that would be great,” Conrad added.
“That could be touchy getting in and out of there. He’ll most likely do conferences with other people in his office or living room,” Carvelli said.
Before Maddy could reply Dan asked, “You ready to go?”
“Yes,” Maddy answered.
“We’ll follow in the van,” Carvelli said.
“We have a couple guys on the lake,” Dan told her. “Different boat this time.”
“Be careful,” Vivian sternly told her.
Dan turned left onto Cal’s property and as they drove through the trees they saw activity in Cal’s driveway.
“Who are these guys?” Dan rhetorically asked.
“Don’t know,” Maddy replied from the backseat. Speaking so her friends in Conrad’s van could pick her up, she said, “There’s a plain, white Dodge van in Cal’s driveway. It has no markings or business logo on it.” She read off the license plate number as Dan pulled up and stopped.
Before Dan could get out to open her door, a tough-looking man with short-cropped mostly gray hair and hard shoulders opened it for her. While Maddy stepped out, he smiled and held out his hand to help her.
“Hello,” he pleasantly said. “We haven’t met. My name is Aidan Walsh. I’m Mr. Simpson’s head of security.”
“Nice to meet you,” Maddy said.
She looked toward the house and saw Cal hurrying toward them. When he reached her, they exchanged a brief cheek kiss.
“Escort Ms. Shore inside please, Aidan,” Cal said while indicating to Dan Sorenson to wait a moment.
While Maddy was being led to the house, Cal walked around to Dan’s side of the car. Cal peeled a hundred-dollar bill from a roll of money, pressed it into Dan’s hand and quietly said, “She won’t be needing you tonight.”
As he said this, what felt like a stone sank into Dan’s stomach. Cal’s implication was obvious; he expected Maddy to spend the night.
“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir,” Dan managed to mutter. He re-entered the Town Car and drove off. By the time he got to the end of Cal’s driveway, Dan was on the phone to Carvelli. He told Tony about being dismissed for the night and what they could infer from that.
“He expects her to spend the night,” Carvelli said.
“Yeah, now what?” Sorenson asked.<
br />
“Now we wait and play it by ear. We knew this was going to happen sooner or later. She’ll be okay.”
While Aidan was walking Maddy to the front door, the two men loading the van paused for a moment to watch them.
“What?” one of the men asked.
“She looks familiar,” his partner replied.
“Yeah, in your dreams.”
A few feet from the front door, Maddy said to Aidan, “That’s odd-looking equipment.”
Although she knew exactly what it was having seen Conrad Hilton use the same devices, she wanted Aidan’s answer.
“Mr. Simpson is a careful man,” he replied. “As head of his security, I have the house checked for bugs.”
“Bugs?” Maddy asked stopping at the door so Aidan could open it for her. “Like spiders and ants and…”
“No,” Aidan said with a laugh. “Listening devices.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry,” Maddy said tossing her head back and forth and rolling her eyes upward. “I can be such a ditz sometimes.”
Aidan opened the door, gave her a serious look and said, “I don’t believe that for an instant.”
He led her into a spacious living room with comfortable furniture. Aidan politely exited which gave Maddy maybe a minute before Cal appeared. She casually walked around as if checking the room then planted the first bug under an antique, French-style, rotary telephone. It was on an end table two feet from what Maddy assumed to be Cal’s chair in this room.
Five seconds later she heard, “Well, hello again.”
“Hi,” she replied.
He came forward, lightly held her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
“So, let me show you around.”
It took him a half-hour to guide her through the five-bedroom, three-story, and fourteen room mini-mansion. For most normal people it was magnificent. But Maddy had spent too much time with Vivian in the Corwin Mansion to be awed by this. She did an excellent job of acting and even threw herself on a king-size bed in one of the guest rooms. Maddy gave Cal a very brief come hither look just to distract him.
Insider Justice: A Financial Thriller (Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Book 8) Page 18