by C. M. Sutter
He took a seat, and I began with the notes I had taken last night. “I realize most of you weren’t involved in the operation we conducted yesterday with Attorney Bell, Maria Vasquez, and Mark Conway. Without going into specifics, I want to say the plan to lure Vance back to Chicago seems to be underway. We took his people off the streets, and our jail cells, as well as the ones in the Seventh District, are full. With nobody answering their phones, and Abraham Cruz, one of Vance’s head enforcers, missing in action after killing the Vasquez brothers, Vance has nobody to do his dirty work in Chicago. I believe he’s headed back our way, and we have to be ready and waiting his arrival. Bell called me at 2:13 a.m. and said he’d just gotten off the phone with Vance. He mentioned hearing another male voice and the sound of wind, possibly from an open car window to help John stay awake.” I lifted my coffee cup, scanned the crowd, and took a sip.
Officer Jefferson, who had been with us at the Cruz house when the Vasquez brothers were found, spoke up. “It’s pretty risky for Vance to return to Chicago, isn’t it? Why would he take that chance?”
I nodded. “Let’s just say he has some unfinished business here with Jared Bell, and none of his minions are available to take care of it. What we need to do is get ahead of him. As soon as this meeting is finished, I have to follow up with the DOT and see if any of the plate numbers I gave them came back with a hit. That’ll give us the vehicle Vance was, or is, still driving. If anyone else wants to take on that task, be my guest. I have plenty on my plate already.”
Potter caught my attention with a lifted hand. “I’ll do it, Jesse.”
“Thanks, pal. Lieutenant Cal Morrow from Brownsville was going to check with his team about local forgers in either Brownsville or Matamoros, Mexico, directly across the border. John and Curt Vance are getting around undetected, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they have fake documents. Border agents are well aware of the possibility of the Vance brothers fleeing to Mexico, and their names and photographs are at every border-crossing location. We need to dig into that fake-ID angle and find the people who provide them. We can use all the help we can get from CIs, primarily people that came from Texas-Mexico border towns or know people in that general area.” I nodded at Lutz. “That’s all I have, Boss.”
“Okay, and thanks.”
Kip called out to Lutz. “Commander, how does the FBI fit into Vance’s takedown?”
“If our instincts are right and we know definitively that Vance has arrived in Chicago, I’ll alert the local headquarters, and they can take it from there.”
Mutters of discontent filled the room. Lutz raised his hands and asked for silence. “I know it isn’t fair, but we don’t need the headache associated with pissing off the FBI. We’ll give them the collar, but we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing it was our department that lured John back to Chicago.” Lutz slapped his hands together. “First things first. We have to find them and set the trap. Okay, everyone contact your CIs and talk to forgers in the county lockup or in prison. Just stay busy and do whatever you can do. We’ll have another meeting later before the end of your shift.”
With our morning updates complete, I returned to the bull pen at a fast clip. Sitting at my desk, I pulled out the contact information for Cal Morrow and realized all I had was his direct line at the police station. He’d never given me his cell phone number, and catching him at work on a Sunday was highly unlikely, but I had to try one more time. If I got his voicemail again, somebody else needed to give me the answers I was looking for. I dialed the number I had written down, and the phone rang until his voicemail picked up.
“Damn it. I need something today.”
Waking up my computer, I did a quick search for the Brownsville PD’s nonemergency phone number. Once the number was added to my contacts, I tapped it, and the phone rang on the other end.
A friendly female voice with a definite Southern twang answered. “Brownsville Police Department, how may I direct your call?”
“Hello, ma’am. This is Detective Jesse McCord calling from the homicide division of the Chicago Police Department. I’ve been trying to reach Lieutenant Cal Morrow for several days and can’t seem to make contact with him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Detective McCord, but the lieutenant is out of the office at the moment.”
I sighed. “Lucky man, never having to work weekends.”
“Oh, no, that isn’t what I meant, sir. The lieutenant is at a joint crime scene with the Mexican police in Matamoros. Two dead Mexican-American border patrol agents were found there this morning.”
My mind flashed back to the news of the dead security guards found at the Rock Island arsenal base. “Is there a way to reach the lieutenant? It’s of the utmost importance and could possibly be related to the case he’s working right now.”
“One moment, Detective McCord. I’ll call his cell phone and patch you through if he’s available.”
I listened to hold music for nearly five minutes, but I didn’t have a choice. I could either deal with it or hang up and have nothing. I waited.
Moments later, the voice I’d been hoping to hear spoke through the phone lines.
“Lieutenant Morrow speaking.”
“Lieutenant Morrow, it’s Detective McCord from Chicago.” Knowing he was probably knee-deep in his investigation, I cut to the chase.
“Yep, Detective, what can I do for you?”
“You were going to find out about the local document forgers for me. The Luca Vasquez murder, remember? It’s related to the John Vance escape.”
“Yes, I remember, but I’m right in the middle of a double homicide right now. Bad timing, you know. Hold on.”
I waited again while I heard the lieutenant yelling to somebody in the distance. He returned to the phone a minute later. “I really can’t tal—”
Needing answers, I pleaded for him to give me five more minutes, and he reluctantly agreed.
“Run me through what you’re looking at right now. It could be relevant to John Vance’s escape.”
“All right, fine. The border agents’ bodies were found in a tote and jammed in an entryway closet. It looks like a party had been going on in the home. Lots of food left out on the patio table, along with booze, expensive cigars, and plenty of beer. It appears that somebody left in a hurry.”
“What led you to the scene to begin with?”
“Wife of Ernesto Rodriguez called the PD and said he never came home last night. He was invited to a dinner party at the home of a… hold on, I have to find his name. Ah, here it is, a Manuel Cortez.”
I jotted that down.
“Our department and the Mexican police have been watching Mr. Rodriguez and the other victim, a Paulo Juarez, for some time now. Word has it they were both living well beyond their paychecks and could be involved in smuggling illegals into the United States. We placed a tracking device on Mr. Rodriguez’s SUV several weeks ago, and when the call came in that he didn’t go home last night, we pulled up his location and found him and Mr. Juarez dead in that house.”
“What about the vehicles?”
“Mr. Rodriguez has a late-model white Escalade, and inside the garage is a silver Camry that looks to be between five and ten years old.”
I wondered what the deal was with Escalades. “So two vehicles at the premises, but Manuel Cortez isn’t there?”
“That’s correct, Detective McCord. The SUV is blocking the garage door, so I’m assuming that’s why the Camry was left behind. We found the keys to the Escalade at the bottom of the swimming pool, which leads us to believe both men had been drowned. The bodies will be transported back to Brownsville once the coroner is done with his field exam. Now I really ha—”
“Just one more question and I promise I’ll let you get back to work. Can you read the Camry’s license plate number to me?” I heard an impatient sigh on his end. “Please?”
“One second while I cut back through the house.”
I heard footsteps, then he spoke up agai
n. “Okay, are you ready?”
“Yes, shoot.”
“Illinois plate number L27-9160.”
My heart pounded a mile a minute as I read it back to him. He confirmed the number was correct, and with a thanks, I hung up and rifled through my ever-growing stack of papers for that list of plate numbers.
Chapter 58
“There it is!”
Perching my reading glasses on the bridge of my nose, I ran my index finger down the list of twenty-nine plate numbers. I pounded my fist on the desk. That plate number was on the sheet and had been reported stolen off a Volkswagen Beetle last Sunday. Now it was attached to a silver Camry that was parked in the garage of a Manuel Cortez in Matamoros, Mexico.
“Son of a bitch! I found it.”
Frank snapped his head in my direction, as did everyone else in the bull pen.
“The vehicle John has been using is in the garage of a home in Matamoros, Mexico, where law enforcement just found two dead border patrol agents. The plates attached to the car are on this list.” I waved the sheet of paper over my head. “That means it was John and Curt who killed Nubby and Lon. They transferred those original stolen plates to the Odyssey, possibly the Pacifica, and then to the Camry.”
Frank bounced his pen up and down on his desk. “Okay, so that definitely tells us John and Curt killed their drivers and two border patrol agents, but if they’re on their way here, what are they driving now?”
Henry began tapping away at his computer. “You said the house is in Matamoros?”
I nodded.
“Who owns it?”
“Allegedly, a man named Manuel Cortez is the leaseholder. That has to be John’s alias.” I pointed at Henry. “Pull up US passports that are issued to every Manuel Cortez and see what pops.”
Henry got to work and then groaned. “There’s hundreds of them.”
“Okay, can you narrow it down by the most recent ones?”
“Maybe.” He got busy again then shook his head. “We’re missing something, Jesse. The most recent US passport issued to a Manuel Cortez was over six months ago, and the face on his ID page isn’t John Vance.”
“Damn it!” I rubbed my temples as I thought. “Okay, then we’ll follow some more bread crumbs. John and Curt killed the border agents yesterday evening. According to the wife, Ernesto Rodriguez was going to that home for a dinner party. Lieutenant Morrow said there was food and beverages left behind as if the killers scooted out of there in a hurry.”
Frank added. “And without a car, which means they needed a ride across the border back into the good ol’ US of A.”
“Right. Finding a driver that picked them up at that house will be impossible, and I sure as hell don’t speak Spanish.” I looked at each detective, and everyone shrugged. “I guess that means none of us do.” I glanced at Henry, whose hands were still on his keyboard. “Pull up every rental car agency in Brownsville, especially the ones closest to the border.”
“Sure thing.” Henry turned his laptop toward me. “Take your pick. Looks like most of them are at the airport, but there’s a few others scattered around the city.”
“Okay, divide them up between everyone. We’re calling all of them.”
Potter frowned. “Whose name are we going to ask about? Manuel Cortez?”
I had to slow down—my mind was going in every direction. “We’ll try that first, and if we don’t get a hit, we’ll narrow it down to a time. Let’s go with seven p.m. until midnight, male customers only, and one or possibly two men. After we compile that list, we’ll compare notes and tweak it some more. Let’s get busy.”
Every detective in the bull pen gathered at the back table, divided up the car rental agencies, and began working. I excused myself to let Lutz in on our findings. I caught him just as he was pulling his office door closed.
“Boss, I have news. Are you going somewhere?”
Lutz tipped his head toward our cafeteria. “Nope, just grabbing a coffee. Come on. I’ll buy you one, and you can tell me what’s happening.”
Before the coffee even filled my cup, I began explaining what I’d learned in the last half hour. “All we need to do is find out what he’s driving.”
Lutz scratched his balding head. “So, we’re still in the same boat we were an hour ago.”
I felt deflated. “Well, if you put it that way, I guess you’re right. What we do know is he doesn’t have a US passport under the name Manuel Cortez. He’d have to show a driver’s license to rent a car, so he must have a fake driver’s license under an assumed name since his own would be flagged.”
“Right, so chances are he has two identifications and passports—Mexico ones for Manuel Cortez and US ones with an American name on it. He could be acting as though he’s a Mexican National living in Matamoros when he’s in Mexico, and a US citizen when he’s in the states. It covers him in both countries.”
I sighed. “That makes sense, but the US name is the missing part we need. I have the guys checking every car rental agency in Brownsville. We’ll begin with the name Manuel Cortez and see if we get a hit. If not, we’ll go the long route.”
Lutz raised his left brow. “Which is?”
“They scan driver’s licenses at rental agencies, so we’ll narrow down the places that rented cars to any single male or two men between seven p.m. and midnight and then ask to see copies of the driver’s licenses. Who knows? We might get lucky.”
“And you have everyone working on it?”
“I do.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in a bit to see how it’s going. Nice follow-up, Jesse.”
Returning to the bull pen, I saw everyone hard at work. Phones were wedged between ears and shoulders while the detectives jotted down information. I imagined different scenarios of how Vance would be taken down and wondered if we would be a part of it at all. If Lutz was willing to hand the case over to the FBI, then we’d have no say in anything, unless—
I dialed Lutz’s office phone. “Boss, I have an idea, but I need to speak to you privately about it.”
“Okay, meet me in the conference room next to the bull pen. I was about to head in that direction, anyway.”
Chapter 59
They’d just crossed into Arkansas. John suggested a stop for gas and a bite to eat.
“I need to stretch my legs, and then you can take over the driving. Texas is a real bitch to get through.”
Curt smirked. “Yeah, it’s like driving through three states. So, what do you think of these wheels?”
John shrugged. “Unless it’s a Ferrari, Lambo, or an Aston Martin Vanquish, it’s just a car. Why?”
Curt chuckled. “Come on, brother. It’s a decent set of wheels. Maybe I’ll buy one, you know, as Morgan Allen.”
They both laughed. “Morgan Allen sounds a hell of a lot better than Donald Hendricks,” John said. “Seriously? Donald? Paulo could have chosen a different name. It reminds me of Donald Duck. That ass deserved to die just for that reason alone.” He grinned at Curt. “So you like the Panamera 4 Sport Turismo?”
Curt ran his hand across the butter-soft leather. “What’s not to like? And a thousand bucks for a five-day rental? We have a quality vehicle here, dude. Plus, the burgundy-red color reminds me of a bottle of fine wine.”
John turned in at the first gas station-fast food shop he saw. “Speaking of fine, how about some fine dining?” He pulled in and filled the car with premium gas. Then they parked and went inside, where they ordered four breakfast wraps and used the facilities.
Sitting outside at one of the three umbrella tables, Curt bit into his first bacon, chicken, and cheese wrap. With a mouthful of food, he asked what the plan was once they’d arrive in Chicago.
“It’s simple, bro. We have two main concerns, and then we’re heading back to Mexico for good. One is Jared Bell, and we’ll eliminate him quickly.” A wide grin spread across John’s face.
“And the other? Are we going after Cruz and the guys that were watching Bell’s house?” Curt slurp
ed his iced tea and waited.
John swatted the air and grumbled. “They’ll get theirs later. Believe me, they have a lot of explaining to do. After Bell, we’ll take care of Jesse McCord. That’ll be a longer, much slower process, if you get my drift.”
Curt’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, I get it.”
“Good. Jake deserves justice, and as his brothers, we’ll torture and kill Jesse McCord together.”
“I’m on board with that.” Curt glanced at his watch as he finished his second wrap and balled up the bag. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed everything in the trash can. “Let’s head out.” He rubbed his hands together then tipped his head toward the parked car. “Besides, we’ve got a long road ahead of us, and I need to get behind the wheel of that beauty.”
Chapter 60
The brief meeting between Lutz and me had ended, and we entered the bull pen together. The commander called the room to attention. That approach seemed faster than asking each detective how they were progressing.
“Okay, I need an update. What are the car rental agents telling you?”
Potter started. “Nobody named Manuel Cortez has rented a car from the airport’s Enterprise kiosk in the last twenty-four hours.”
Henry had the same report after talking to Hertz. One by one, the detectives said nobody using that name had rented a car from any of the airport rental agencies.
I was frustrated. We hadn’t had any luck with the name Manuel Cortez at all. “Okay, scratch that name off your list. He has to be using a different alias that’s likely US based. What about other agencies outside the airport location?”
Henry spoke up. “There’s one near the airport but off site, and three more on the north end of Brownsville.”
“Check all of them and ask about men only, no women, no families, and after seven p.m.” Lutz jabbed the air with his finger. “Henry, you and Potter take care of that. The rest of you call the airport locations again and ask about men only after seven o’clock. That information shouldn’t take too long to get.”