Deadly Promise

by Brian Crawford

  “Don’t let your massive ego write checks your pint-sized body can’t cash, Mansfield. In other words, sit down and shut up. You might find the information I’m about to share with you particularly interesting. When I’m done, you can decide whether you want to run or hide.”

  Mansfield could not hide the anger and contempt he felt towards me at that moment. I imagined I was the only person in years to talk to him in such a demeaning manner. We stared at each other for several seconds — the rich man of privilege and power trying to intimidate me. I couldn’t help but smile, which did little to endear myself to him. A small bead of sweat was forming on Mansfield’s forehead, but otherwise, he demonstrated no sign of backing down. We continued the stare. Each man knew that whoever talked first lost the obvious struggle for power in the room. I considered giving him the small, mostly insignificant, victory, but then remembered someone had sent three men after Boyd and Shelley Baxter, and Mansfield was the most obvious suspect. My eyes squinted and my body leaned forward.

  He must have sensed my growing irritation. “It will be a cold day in hell before I run and hide from anyone. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in the purpose of your visit. Let’s sit down so I can hear what you have to say.”

  “Thank you,” I said, although I didn’t mean it.

  And Mansfield knew I didn’t mean it, but he’d saved enough face during the stare down that he wasn’t willing to push the point. He sat down and beckoned Agent Marshall and me to do the same.

  “Let me get right to the point. I’m sure you were already aware, but for the sake of clarity, we are extremely confident Boyd Dallas has found your wife.”

  “You sound much more confident this time around, McCain. May I ask why?”

  “We found a phone number we thought might be helpful. To our surprise, Boyd Dallas answered when we called the number. He thought we were someone else and let it slip that Shelley Baxter wasn’t available at the moment.”

  “I knew it,” Mansfield exclaimed. “The crazy bitch is still alive.”

  I thought about arguing the fact that he already knew she was alive since he sent men to kill her, but realized we’d already gone down that path.

  “So Mr. Dallas is working with my wife?” he asked rhetorically. “When you see your friend, let him know he’s fired. By the way, who did he think you were?”

  I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think you’ll find this amusing,” I said. “Boyd thought he was talking to Evan Baxter. We got the number from a phone Baxter used at a friend’s house. He called the number shortly after talking to you on Sunday night.”

  “I didn’t ta—.”

  “Don’t even try, Mr. Mansfield,” Marshall said. “We’ve got phone records. And before you go all D.C. lawyer on me and ask about a warrant, we don’t need one for call logs.”

  “We’ll see about that. The FBI might have a fight on their hands, Agent Marshall.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Marshall replied. “Thanks to Smith versus Maryland, the Supreme Court ruled in 1979 that law enforcement doesn’t need a warrant to obtain call logs. The court ruled that call logs are considered business records and are not protected by the Fourth Amendment. Look it up before you waste any time and money on a dead-end, Mr. Mansfield.”

  “It sounds like you are sharing your information with a civilian, Agent Marshall. I would eat you alive in court for that.”

  “If you must know, the civilian is sharing more with us than we are with him. It’s why he’s here doing most of the talking. Dr. McCain came to deliver a message we weren’t willing to deliver. I’ve got time on my hands, so I tagged along.”

  “I’d still make you pay in court, but I’ll humor you for the moment. Go ahead and deliver your message.”

  I smiled at Mansfield’s choice of words — how he appeared to grant me permission to continue even though it was obvious I had more than piqued his curiosity.

  “Two days ago, three unidentified bodies were found in Wisconsin in the same county as Boyd’s rental car. You know, the car I told you about. The one that was all shot up.”

  “Okay,” he said without blinking an eye.

  “The three men were victims of foul play. All three were shot. One was stabbed and shot.” Mansfield continued his empty stare. “If you remember correctly, Boyd stated you sent men after him and Shelley Baxter. I know you’ve told me you had nothing to do with that, but you should know two of the men were missing fingertips. Sound familiar?”

  Mansfield’s mouth tensed up momentarily. He started to speak, changed his mind, and then leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Sounds like Shelley wanted the men to be hard to identify. You know, like the body I thought was hers seven years ago. That still doesn’t mean I sent them.”

  “It doesn’t mean you didn’t either. If you did, then I’ll figure it out.”

  “You didn’t drive downtown and bring an FBI agent with you to tell me that.”

  “You are very astute, Mr. Mansfield. Think of what I’ve told you so far as the set up. I’m here to let you know Boyd and your wife are in the D.C. area. We traced them to a hotel in McLean to be more specific. They aren’t there anymore.”

  I stopped to let my revelation set in. To see how Mansfield reacted. His breathing changed, but no other obvious reaction.

  “I think I already know the answer, but is Boyd bringing Ms. Baxter back to you per your instructions?”

  “Of course not. I only hired him to find proof of life. Anything more might be construed as kidnapping,” he said in a notably sarcastic tone.

  “So, any ideas on why she might be back?”

  “You guys aren’t that bright, are you?”

  Marshall said, “Please, Mr. Mansfield, I’d like very much to hear what you have to say on the subject. The FBI wants to find Shelley Baxter. We don’t like to lose. And it now appears your wife fooled us seven years ago. There are some bruised egos involved at the Bureau.”

  “No offense, but I don’t give a damn about your egos. If you guys are so smart, if you can see that Shelley fooled everyone, if you realize she went to all the trouble to find a very convincing body double to kill in her place, then you tell me why you think she might be here.”

  This time Mansfield stopped to stare at us to determine our reaction.

  I said, “You were the one married to her. Tell us what you think.”

  “You know what I think. I think Shelley is crazy as hell. I think she faked her own kidnapping, ripped me off for three million dollars, and faked her own death. Now that she’s been discovered, she’s come back to snuff me out. And I can tell by the look on your face that you’re thinking the same thing.” He stared at Marshall and said, “I’ll bet the FBI isn’t offering to protect me.”

  “No, we’re not,” Marshall replied.

  “What about you, McCain? You were so confident I ordered an attack on Mr. Dallas. Now, it appears they are coming after me. Are you offering to help me? To keep me safe?”

  “No. I’m still fairly sure you ordered an attack on Boyd. Or at least on your wife, and Boyd got in the way. The purpose of my visit was to warn you. Boyd Dallas can be a scary individual.”

  “I was married to a psychotic bitch who faked her own death. I think I can handle myself against some gimpy ex-military cop.”

  “That gimp found your wife in a few weeks while everybody else failed for seven years. You might want to reconsider that statement.”

  “I’m not exactly without resources, Dr. McCain. Like I told you on our last visit, guys like me always win in the end. Intellect and money always do.”

  I thought back to the tall, lean man in the lobby. The brief pause. The way he eyed us. The way he walked. The way he looked. I suspected Mansfield might have hired extra protection. Now, he pretty much admitted to it.

  “How’d that intellect and money work out for you in Wisconsin, Mansfield? It seems like your men lost. Next time you
might want to avoid hiring discount mercenaries.”

  “I’ve told you for the last time; I didn’t hire any...never mind. If you two will see yourselves out, I would appreciate it. Good day.”

  I looked at Marshall and shrugged. She looked at me with a similar expression before we got up and left Mansfield’s office together. Neither spoke until we got in the elevator for the ride down.

  “Did you really tell him you’d turn him into flower fertilizer?”

  “I told him I’d turn him into a two-by-two spot in the ground where the flowers grow especially well.”

  “Damn, McCain.”

  “He pissed me off. Plus, I can’t let a guy like him go around thinking he’s hard when it’s obvious he’s not. He could get himself hurt.”

  Marshall laughed. “Your concern for Mansfield’s safety surprises me. So, did you get what you came for?”

  “He’s been warned.”

  “Meaning your conscience is clean from here on out?”

  “It was clean either way, Marshall. I wanted to see his reaction. I don’t know how this will all turn out, but one thing is for sure, George Mansfield is guilty of something. Now we have to figure out what. Oh, and I promised to tell you what was so funny.”

  ***

  I expected Jessica to bombard Marshall and me with questions as soon as we walked in the door. Instead, she exited Larry’s home as soon as we pulled into the driveway, running across the yard looking excited. “Y’all can tell me about your meeting on the way,” she said as she climbed in the back seat. “For now, Larry is expecting us at a coffee shop near FBI headquarters. He said Legend would know which one.”

  I pulled away from the curb and started the journey downtown. “What’s going on?”

  “Larry wouldn’t say on the phone. Just that it was big news.”

  Marshall and I told Jessica about our meeting with Mansfield and my belief that he was guilty of something. For her part, Marshall was still undecided.

  Special Agent Larry Armour was waiting for us inside wearing one of those smiles people always seem to wear when they have something they know you will want to hear. He patted one of the seats indicating his desire to get started. He was so confident his news was better than ours that he didn’t even ask about our visit with Mansfield.

  “I heard from Officer Albert again. It seems they’ve identified our men.”

  Larry was right; his news might be better than ours.

  “The two men with the missing fingertips have been missing for a couple of weeks. No one was looking too hard since neither man was exactly a model citizen. Steven Potter and Alex Rigdon of a small farming community in eastern Iowa. Cousins.” He stopped to let that sink in for a few seconds.

  Jessica said, “Eastern Iowa? Are you sure?”

  “Yep. There’s already been visual confirmation. Earlier this morning, a brother of one of the men drove over and made a positive ID.”

  Jessica said, “Who in the hell would expect a rich, East Coast guy like Mansfield to have low life acquaintances in Iowa? I’m starting to question what we really know about Mansfield?”

  Larry pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped some pages. “George M. Mansfield. Born in upstate New York. Parents are Michael Mansfield and Mary Mansfield. Mother is deceased. The father was a decorated Army officer. After the war, he sold insurance, lots of insurance. His mother was a medical researcher. Very intelligent. She had several patents. One brother, Roger, a retired Army officer. George was your typical brainy kid. Valedictorian. Scholarship to Columbia, where he studied economics. Then, to Columbia Law School. He graduated at the top of his class. Hired to work at Dornbracht and Villeroy right out of law school. Married once. No kids. Any of that helpful?”

  It was a nice breakdown on George Mansfield, but nothing helpful in linking him to two dead men from Iowa.

  I said, “Larry, you said they identified all three men.”

  “Right. The third man is Phillip Pomeroy. Former Army Special Forces. Other than honorable discharge six years back. He was living in Florida at the time of his demise.”

  “Florida? Let me guess; he worked as a private security consultant.”

  “Just because a military guy lives in Florida doesn’t mean he’s working as a private security consultant. Maybe he likes sunny weather.”

  “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Larry’s smile told me I was right. “Sometimes, I think you’ve missed your calling not working for the FBI.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got more respect for myself than that,” I teased.

  Jessica said, “I see what’s going on here. Private security consultants, we’ve been through this before. That’s a rich man’s luxury. That one works for Mansfield for sure. He was probably following Boyd while Boyd was looking for Shelley Baxter.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Mansfield probably hired them to find Shelley at first, but they weren’t smart enough, so they followed Boyd instead.”

  Jessica said, “And it looks like this Pomeroy asshole brought help. Maybe he knew one of the guys from the service or something. It sounds like Boyd’s lucky to be alive. No wonder he’s running under the radar. On the flip side, it looks like Boyd was telling the truth about Mansfield.” Jessica stared at Agent Marshall as she spoke her last sentence, the anger emanating off her like a bad smell off a skunk.

  “What about Shelley Baxter?” Marshall fired back at Jessica. “Let’s not forget she pretended to be dead for seven years. Why didn’t she go to the authorities during that time? Why hasn’t she gone to the police now that Boyd has found her, especially since it appears her husband sent men after her? We have no way of knowing for sure she’s an innocent party.”

  “If Boyd sided with her, then it’s good enough for me. I trust his judge of character.”

  “You once told me you don’t understand crazy, Jessica. Maybe Boyd is having the same problem. She’s conning him like she conned her husband seven years ago. Maybe she’s cutting him in for part of the ransom she kept seven years ago.”

  Jessica’s nostrils flared. Her spine stiffened. Her fists clenched under the table, away from Marshall’s view. “I have a question for Special Agent Marshall. What happens after I punch you in the face?”

  Marshall looked shocked by Jessica’s comment. “Hey, I’m thinking out loud. This is what we do in the FBI, Jessica. We look at all the options in front of us. It’s nothing personal. You have to go where the evidence takes you, regardless of who it might implicate.”

  The feud between Jessica and Marshall was getting out of hand. “Maybe we are looking at the wrong Baxter,” I said.

  The other three at the table turned to stare at me, wondering what I meant by such a strange comment.

  “Larry, the two cousins; how far from Dubuque did they live?”

  “I don’t know. About halfway between Dubuque and the Quad Cities, I guess.”

  “So 30 miles, give or take.”

  Jessica said, “Wait a minute, Legend. Are you implying Evan Baxter knew Potter and Rigdon, and maybe they brought in the special forces guy to help them? What for? To take out his sister?”

  “At this point, Jessica, I’m willing to accept about any answer in this frickin’ mess.”

  Marshall said, “It never donned on me the brother might be involved in any way other than helping his sister.”

  Jessica said, “This is crazy. Of all the ridiculous theories we’ve floated around, that one takes the cake.”

  “Does it? He was the beneficiary of a one million dollar insurance policy. Maybe the siblings weren’t as close as Mansfield implied. Or maybe sibling love has its limits. Plus, how do we explain all the calls between Evan and Mansfield? They seem to be warning each other or keeping each other informed. That doesn’t make you wonder?”

  All three looked at me like they expected me to start smiling at any moment. As if I was pulling their leg, but I wasn’t joking. I thought about the possibilities in front of us. Once I accepted th
e idea that Shelly Baxter was still alive, I had only considered her brother as a simple accomplice. Now, one could make a good argument that he was more actively involved. He had formed a relationship with Mansfield and nurtured that relationship over the last seven years. Why? Was he keeping tabs on Mansfield for his sister? Or was he Mansfield’s accomplice? Maybe Evan was the mastermind. Someone who convinced his sister to rip off her husband because of some story he concocted.

  “Since everyone is now a suspect,” Larry said, “who has any ideas on what we should we do next?”

  I replied, “Someone needs to see if we can find a connection between those men and Evan Baxter. Larry, can you convince the locals in Wisconsin to do that? It’s a homicide case, which means it’s their jurisdiction anyway. Maybe you can tell them Evan Baxter would make a good person of interest and point them in the right direction.”

  Larry said, “Evan Baxter is in the wind, by the way.”

  “I figured he would be.”

  Marshall said, “Not to rain on your parade, but what about Shelley Baxter? You want people to look into Evan Baxter’s potential involvement and whether Mansfield hired men to kill his wife, but you seem to be forgetting she pretended to be dead for seven years before Boyd found her.”

  “I haven’t forgotten about Ms. Baxter, but let’s face it, we don’t even know what name she’s going by. Our best bet on finding her is finding Boyd. Now, Larry, you look way too pleased with yourself. What else do you have?”

  “If you remember, you asked me to look into any missing women from around the time Shelley Baxter was kidnapped. At first, I didn’t find anything promising, so I expanded the search radius out to 200 miles. I found four likely female candidates matching our time frame. The first three were dead ends. One was the wrong race. One the wrong age. One was later found. The fourth one is a possibility. Right age. Right race. The body has never been found. And a natural redhead.”

  My pager went off as Larry was mentioning the red hair. I glanced at the display. “I’ll be right back. I need to call my mother.”