“You don’t want to save this one for your wife?”
“It’s too slow for her. Agent Marshall, you want to tell me what that was all about in there?”
“Sure, I want to. But I don’t have anything for you. These guys are from Chicago, which means they think they are too important to share with the likes of us down in little ole Memphis. And even if they did, I still wouldn’t share with you, want to or not.”
“Fair enough. I appreciate your honesty.”
She smiled. “I like the way you handle yourself, Dr. McCain. Most people would be shitting themselves if they found out the FBI was asking them questions about organized crime and where their 1.27 million dollars came from. Not you. You held your own in there. No fear. That’s rare in a person.”
“Maybe I’ll break down later.”
“If so, please do it after I’ve left. I don’t want you to ruin the image I have of you right now. Off the record, I’m rooting for you. On the record, if you’re one of the bad guys, I’ll enjoy helping them bring you down. Let me think about the car and get back to you.
***
To say my visit with the FBI did not go as anticipated was a major understatement. I went into the meeting expecting to field questions about Marino because Boyd had said he wasn’t legit. I wasn’t convinced Marino was a mobster. He simply wasn’t tough enough. But if the men in the Lincoln were Marino’s associates, then he did make good on his claim to be able to make some calls. Yet, no mention of Marino. Instead, they are interested in any associations I might have with organized crime in Chicago. I found it interesting that most of their questions focused on Beyers and my inheritance money.
Mom started the divorce proceedings from Beyers last year, with the divorce being finalized about six months ago. I don’t know if she was ever truly happy being married to Beyers. If she was, it wasn’t the same as what she had with my father. Maybe he was good to her in the beginning, but Beyers did not light up my mother. Not like Dad did; she quit the ballet for him. What I did know was Beyers was a different man after serving his one term as Lt. Governor of Illinois. He had a taste of the power of a politician and that taste infected him. Mom said he constantly talked of getting the power back somehow. He wanted it back so bad he was desperate, and desperate people do desperate things. For Beyers, that meant forming relationships with the mafia organization inside of Chicago known as the Outfit.
I met Jessica for lunch so I could tell her about my visit with the FBI. She listened intently for several minutes without interruption.
“I’m confused, Legend, is all this attention about Marino or not?”
“I’m not sure.
“I only ask because do you think Agent Marshall was following you when she was at the restaurant?”
“I guess she had to be. Too much of a coincidence, otherwise. Odd surveillance technique, though. Purposefully confront the person, draw attention to yourself, even irritate him.”
“You said she seems smart. And she’s pretty, right? Maybe her approach isn’t so odd after all. Plus, she is a psychologist. Maybe she figured she could learn more about you by talking to you than by following you.”
“She is smart and might have a degree in psychology, but she’s not a psychologist for the FBI. I’d bet the farm she’s out there investigating with the big boys. And the whole thing seems like a game to her, Jessica. Funny thing, I think she knows that I know it’s a game to her, and she doesn’t care if I know. The conversations seemed almost fun to her.”
“She sounds like trouble. Are you thinking this isn’t about Marino, like maybe he’s a coincidence? Maybe they were already interested in you before you helped Boyd repossess horses from a gangster.”
“It seems that way.”
Jessica said, “If you are right, then why the interest to begin with?”
“It’s got to be related to that SOB, Beyers. He has stirred something up. Causing trouble because Mom divorced him and took all her money with her.”
“He’s an attorney, not a gangster.”
“He’s a politician in Illinois. Chicago, for that matter. Which makes him a corrupt, lying snake and definitely tied to organized crime. Remember he’s running for alderman this year. In Chicago. The epitome of the political corruption machine.”
“Lt. Governor down to alderman. How the mighty have fallen,” Jessica said.
“Maybe. It’s not like he had any real power as a Lt. Governor. He’ll probably have more as an alderman Or at least an ability to profit off the system.”
“So, what do we do?”
“For now, we contact Boyd and see if anyone has been following him. Make sure this is linked to me and not him. From there, I start making calls to people in high places. Maybe reach out to Larry in D.C.”
Jessica was not convinced Scott Oswald Beyers, the man I loved to call SOB, had anything to do with the FBI’s current fascination with me. For that matter, neither was I, but we both agreed reaching out to Boyd was the best next step. She finished lunch and resumed her duties as Memphis’ newest female real estate mogul want-to-be.
Boyd didn’t answer his phone at home, so I paged him. An hour later, my home phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number or even the area code on the caller ID.
“Hello, McCain residence.”
“Hey, L.T. No matter how many times you ask, I’m not taking that check back.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking. I already deposited it. The money looks great in my bank account. I’m calling because we might have a problem.”
“Oh, what kind of problem?”
I explained all the events of the last couple of days.
“That kind of problem. But I think the problem is on your end, not mine. No one has been following me. Trust me, I would know. After what we went through last year, I check for tails constantly. Just like in Missouri.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very. It sounds like the FBI is trying to build a case against Beyers,” Boyd added.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“By the way, how’s the new house?”
“Asshole,” I said. “Jessica already told me you were stalling me so she could get all my stuff moved over.”
“I thought you didn’t cuss.”
“I don’t cuss...often. I save up for special occasions, like this one.”
Boyd laughed for a few seconds, sounding pleased with his role in Jessica’s subterfuge. “You should check for bugs in the new house. Maybe the FBI is listening in.”
I said, “You’re kidding, right.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I didn’t mean I shouldn’t check. I’m saying I wouldn’t have the slightest idea on how to scan for bugs. That’s your thing, not mine.”
“Good point.”
“So when can you do it?”
Boyd replied, “I can’t do it. I told you I’m working on a big case. A missing person’s case. Good news, I think I cracked it. I should know more tomorrow. And don’t ask. It’s hush-hush.”
“Understandable.” I tried to hide my disappointment.
“Don’t worry, big guy. If I’m right, you’ll hear all about it soon. Something like this will be in the papers. The evening news. CNN. Fox.”
“Now, I’m truly interested.”
“I got an idea. Let me call over to MHN Innovations, where I used to work. I got a guy there who should be able to scan your place. It might be Friday before he can get there, so in the meantime, you’ll need to watch what you say.”
“You mean, unlike now. We’re discussing this on my home phone.”
“Too late now, L.T. I have to go. Wish me luck tomorrow. I’ll call you to let you know how it went and to let you know when my friend can come over. In the meantime, watch what you say.”
CHAPTER 7
Boyd didn’t call the next day. Nor did he call the day after that. I looked up the number he dialed from on my caller ID and called it. The number belonged to a payphone in a restaurant in Wis
consin. I didn’t start to worry until Friday. That kind of behavior was unlike Boyd. On a positive note, either the FBI had stopped following me or had gotten much better at it.
It was six o’clock on Friday evening when a nurse informed me Jessica had walked in looking harried. I had her usher Jessica back to my office. She walked in and motioned for me to sit down.
“Can’t this wait?” I said. “Only one hour left.”
“The nurse said they could cover for you for a few minutes. I want you to be ready to go right at seven if you can. No lollygagging.”
“We have plans?”
“Boyd’s friend showed up this afternoon. The one from Huntsville he told you about. Nice guy. About my age. Former Navy like you. Enlisted, though, and worked in nuclear propulsion. His business card says optical engineer, but there’s no such actual degree. He told me he has a B.S. in Optical Science. Oh, and he drives the coolest ‘66 Impala convertible. Metallic sky blue, white top, black interior. Fully restored with a 327 that doesn’t sound exactly stock.”
“Okay, Jessica, I know you’re a car nut. What did he find?”
“Nothing. Everything is clean as a whistle. He even checked our cars. He was checking for RF transmissions and infrared microphones aimed at the windows. The only thing he didn’t check was the phone lines. He said it was beyond his ability. He knew guys who could do it, but they were expensive and even then, it would be difficult. His advice was to avoid the phones if we are discussing anything we want to keep private.”
“Are we going out with him when I get off or something? Why the plans?”
“No, he’s hitting Beale Street tonight with a girl who’s coming over to meet him. You know how Boyd never called us back. Well, Boyd didn’t call him back either, so he called Virgil, who gave him our number. That’s how he found us. He’s worried about Boyd.”
“That makes two of us.”
“No, that makes three of us. I got to talking with Mr. ‘66 Impala. Boyd’s supposed to be in Wisconsin working on a missing person’s case.”
“How’s he know all this? Boyd and Virgil are my best friends, and he didn’t even share that with me.”
“I guess they get along pretty well. They go to the shooting range together every Wednesday. Boyd even tapped him for the Marino job before asking you. He was gonna do it but chickened out at the last moment. He figured anyone willing to default on 200,000 dollars might be willing to do dangerous stuff to protect his interests.”
“Can’t argue with that logic. Sounds like a smart guy.”
“Yeah. Anyway, once we both admitted we were worried, we got to thinking. Mr. ‘66 Impala and I drove to the public library and used the reference librarians to look up all the hotels and motels in the area of that payphone you called. We found Boyd. Or I should say we found the hotel he is staying in.”
“But you didn’t get a hold of Boyd?”
“No, the hotel manager was very helpful. It seems Boyd paid up through today, but no one has seen him since Wednesday morning. He was gonna call the police to see what he is supposed to do with Boyd’s stuff. I got him to hold off on that until we get there. And to leave the room undisturbed.”
“That’s our plan? We are flying to Wisconsin as soon as I get off?”
“We’re driving. It will take nine hours at regular speeds. I figure we can do it in eight. We’ll get in at three in the morning. Flying wouldn’t get us there any faster with layovers and rental car check-ins.”
“Why don’t I see if I can leave now. That will get us there by two.”
“I’m glad you said that. I’ve already taken care of it with Dr. Boyett. You are free to go.”
***
Jessica’s ability to guess my next move never ceased to amaze me. She had the Supra packed and gassed up, knowing I would want to leave for Wisconsin as soon as possible. Neither of us knew what to expect, and we were trying our best not to worry, but not hearing from Boyd was beyond bizarre. Jessica was right about turning the nine-hour trip into eight, meaning we arrived a little after two in the morning. We were in bed by 2:30 with an eight o’clock wake up call.
I was surprised to see Jessica already showered and dressed when I woke since she had done most of the driving. She pointed me in the direction of the shower and told me she was going out in search of a decent breakfast. I was dressed and ready to go when she got back with breakfast from a diner down the street.
“I’ve already met the hotel manager this morning,” she said. “He’ll let us in the room as soon as you’re ready.”
“You’ve been busy. You should have woke me.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You were tired. By the way, I’m pretending to be Boyd’s concerned sister.”
“Who am I supposed to be?”
“My husband, of course.”
“Alright, let me eat, then let’s do this.”
I gulped the Denver omelet down so fast I had no idea if it was any good before heading out the door. The hotel manager was a pleasant gentleman in his late fifties with a kind face and a genuine desire to help in any way possible. After introductions, he grabbed a hotel key and walked us to Boyd’s room. A Do Not Disturb sign hung from the door.
“Sir, has anyone been inside Boyd’s room?”
“Only yesterday morning. We thought maybe Mr. Dallas left without checking out. Once we noticed his stuff was still in the room, we backed out and left everything alone. Mr. Dallas has stayed with us before, and we thought maybe he simply forgot his actual check out date. And call me Philip.”
“Thanks, Philip. So, everything we find in the room has been untouched by you and your staff.”
“Yes.” He was quick to pick up on my tone and stopped opening the door to look at me. “Should I be worried?”
“No. I’m just wondering. Let’s take a look inside, shall we?”
He opened the door and moved aside to let us in. “See, just like he left it.” He wanted to make it clear to us no one from the hotel staff had touched anything inside the room.
“Thank you, Philip,” Jessica said with an exaggerated Southern accent and a gentle touch to his arm. With three little words, she made Philip feel special, like he was doing us a huge favor, while also implying we wanted to be left alone. She had a gift.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. McCain. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
We began our search of the room as soon as Philip left. The bed was unmade. His open suitcase, which contained a few changes of clothes, was resting on the dresser. His toiletry bag was in the restroom with the usual items lying around. Used towels hung on the towel rack. The room looked lived in but orderly — nothing out of the ordinary.
Jessica turned to me after a few minutes. “I’ve wasted our time. There’s nothing here.”
“Then, we focus on what’s not here.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“This is Boyd’s room. Our Boyd. What’s missing in a room you’d expect to belong to Boyd?” I didn’t wait for her answer. “There are no guns. No gun cases. No ammo. No gun cleaning kits. No sign of weaponry anywhere. And his pager is gone. All that’s here is stuff proving he was here but of no actual tactical value. Expendable items that can be easily replaced.”
Jessica looked around the room, shaking her head. “No tactical value; I see what you mean. None of this tells us where he is, though.”
“No. It only tells us nothing important happened here.”
“How can we sure?”
“No dead bodies are lying around. No blood anywhere. Did you know Boyd travels with a portable door alarm? He’s got one that looks like a door jam. Open the door and a 100-decibel alarm goes off.”
“Once again, I see your point. I have to ask, Legend. Are you expecting Boyd’s disappearance to be the result of foul play?”
It was the first time one of us had said it out loud. Partially, because neither of us wanted to entertain the idea, and partially because I didn’t figure there were many
people who could get the drop on Boyd.
“I guess I have to admit it’s a possibility. Besides, when you think about it, I mean really think about it, nothing else makes sense. He said he’d call. He didn’t. And since his pager is gone, then he has to know I’ve been paging him. Boyd wouldn’t let us worry without a good reason.”
“Then what now? There’s no sign of foul play here. That’s all we know.”
“We do what normal people would do in this situation.”
“Normal people; that’s funny. Wait a minute, what would normal people do?”
“Contact the police and file a missing person’s report.”
***
The police station was only minutes away and easy to find in the small town. Close to the post office, a bank, a small grocery store, and a bar. We parked the car in the street and walked to the front door of the police station to discover it locked. There was a list of phone numbers taped to the inside of the door along with the standard message to call 911 for emergency assistance. I was getting ready to write down the non-emergency number for the police department when a Crown Vic police cruiser pulled sideways along the curb.
The driver’s side window lowered, and an officer leaned out. “You the couple from the hotel with the missing friend?”
“Yes,” I replied.
He sensed the hesitancy in my voice. “Philip called ahead and told me you might be coming by. He said to look for a handsome looking couple. I have to admit I think he undersold it.”
I couldn’t help but smile back at the affable officer in his mid-forties with the warm smile and pleasant demeanor. He was exactly what I would want if I were hiring a small-town police officer.
“Let me get this thing parked, then we can go inside.” He backed up the Crown Vic and pulled into the parking spot nose forward. I watched him exit his vehicle, stretch his back with a grimace on his face, and walk toward us stooped over.
I knew that look and felt for him. Sitting in a cop car wearing those heavy gun belts with a sore back can make for a long day.
“I know, I know. How can a guy who looks this awesome have a bad back? I tell my wife it’s from carrying around all this responsibility. Officer Scott Albert.” He made a genuine effort to stand up straight while extending his hand to greet us.
Deadly Promise Page 9
