Rigged

by D P Lyle

  Becky’s head and shoulders sagged. “They walk the same way. The shorter one sort of marched around the room. Like that. The tall one had a slouch to him. Like that.” She pointed to the screen.

  “You’re saying these could be the guys?” Nicole asked.

  She sniffed, nodded. “I guess so.” She looked up. “I can’t be sure.”

  “She did very well,” Nicole said as we walked out to her car.

  “Amazingly so. Excellent recall of the entire situation.”

  “Something like that does make an impression.”

  “That’ll last forever.”

  I had read an article on this once. Yes, I do read. And sometimes remember. Pancake had given it to me. Said I could use the help. He’s funny. Really, he is. It was on how memories are made, stored, and recalled. Pancake read that kind of stuff all the time. One part talked about people in stressful or traumatic situations and how they process the details of the events. In such situations, a car wreck was the example given, the brain kicks into high gear. Gathers information very rapidly. Massive amounts. Then later, some subjects could recall even the most minute details. Often in slow motion. Things like seeing the cracks in the windshield appear very slowly like a creeping snowflake pattern and collisions that were more like deadened thumps rather than violent impacts. Others remember only chaos and can’t call up any details. Just noise and blurs of light.

  My experience with that was the night Nicole and I jumped in the Gulf from the back of Victor Borkov’s massive yacht. It was either that or ride an iron ring to the bottom. I remember it was frantic, me throwing baseballs at Borkov’s two thugs and the wind whipping and the waves churning, and us flying off the back of the yacht. Then, everything slowed. The fall seemed to take forever. Almost as if we were flying, not falling. When we hit the water, everything sped up again. The hard impact and its coldness seemed to flip a switch, turning the Gulf into a high-speed washing machine.

  Once we climbed into Nicole’s car, I called Ray. Told him that Becky had more or less ID’d Reed and Whitt as the robbers. Not completely, but close. Enough that I felt we were on the right track. Ray said he and Pancake would meet us at the hotel.

  I then called Chief Warren. Told her the same thing. She said she was prepping a warrant for Reed’s place. The judge hadn’t signed off on it yet, but she was working him. Said she’d call later.

  CHAPTER 57

  LATE AFTERNOON HAD begun to melt toward evening, the shadows long and muted, when Chief Billie Warren reached the Evergreen Apartments. It had taken a while to get the warrant. The judge, who she’d known for many years, wavered. Said that even with the wobbly ID provided by Becky Woodley and the fact that Jack Reed had a rather convenient but uncorroborated alibi, he still wasn’t sure she had enough probable cause. She reminded him that four citizens had been brutally murdered and a structure had been torched. She added that Jack Reed wasn’t likely to register a complaint given his history and current livelihood. As for him getting any evidence dismissed for unlawful search and seizure in a future trial, she said she didn’t give one hoot. All she wanted was to take a dangerous and armed thug off the street. The judge finally relented. After making her reword the application two more times. Aggravating, time consuming, but in the end, it worked.

  Now she gathered the troops in the parking lot down the way from Jack Reed’s unit. The troops consisted of Burt Moody, three uniformed officers, and a crime scene tech.

  “I don’t see his truck anywhere,” Moody said. “You think he’s out somewhere?”

  “Would make things easier,” Warren said. “Not have to deal with him while we do our search.” She scanned the faces of the three eager officers. “I want everyone to walk away from this in good order. Got it?” A couple of head nods. “We have to assume that he’s in there, that he’s armed, that he might resist. First order is to protect yourself, and each other.” She looked from face to face. “You’ve been trained in this. You know what to do. Any questions?”

  A few headshakes but no one spoke.

  “Let’s go.”

  Warren rapped on the door, announced herself. Asked for Reed to come out. Nothing. The place was dark. Obviously, he wasn’t home. Everyone reholstered their weapons.

  “Want to kick in the door?” Moody asked.

  “No,” Warren said. “I want you to go get a key from the manager.”

  “He won’t be happy.”

  “We’re not here to please the natives.”

  “Just saying, he’s a surly guy.”

  Warren pulled the warrant from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Moody. “Wave this in his face. That should do the trick.”

  Five minutes later, the door was open and they were inside. More shouting for Reed, more silence in response. Each room was cleared. Warren had the uniforms wait outside while she, Moody, and the tech searched.

  In the living room, a few grains of what appeared to be meth dotted the coffee table. A bong sat on the floor by the sofa, and a single 9 mm shell lay on the carpet, near the front curtain.

  The kitchen was messy. A pot with what looked like the remnants of canned soup and a bowl and spoon sat in the sink. Milk, cheese, bread, mayo, mustard, salsa, and three beers in the fridge. Cereal and canned soup in the cabinets. And a small bag of marijuana, mostly stems and seeds, in one drawer.

  The bedroom told the tale. The bed was unmade, sheet and blanket mostly on the floor. Another 9 mm round on the carpet. A partially smoked joint in a yellow Cohiba ashtray on the bedside table. The closet was empty except for a few hangers, and on the floor, sneakers that had seen better days, a pair of dirty blue socks, a stained and frayed white tee shirt. A small duffel held nothing of interest.

  “I don’t see any clothes,” Moody said, stating the obvious.

  Warren walked over to the three-drawer chest and pulled open each. Two mismatched pairs of socks, some underwear, another ratty tee shirt, a red baseball cap with an Atlanta Braves logo, and a few coins were the sum total.

  “He’s flown,” Warren said.

  “Looks that way.” She pulled her phone, then looked at Moody. “Get an APB out on his truck. Include Mississippi in case he heads that way.”

  “Got it.”

  She dialed.

  CHAPTER 58

  EARLIER, AFTER WE returned to the Grand Hotel, Nicole and I explored the brick pathways that wound through the wonderfully landscaped grounds, beneath Spanish moss–draped trees. We played with the very guest-friendly cats, nodded to other strollers, and ultimately ended up at the end of the pier, beneath the gazebo. We leaned on the railing and watched as the sun began its descent flaming the western sky.

  “I love this place,” she said.

  “What’s not to love?”

  “Can we come back sometime under better circumstances?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “You can hold anything you want.”

  She laced her fingers with mine. “I love that about you.”

  “It goes both ways.”

  “Speaking of which, how about a shower before dinner?”

  “Good idea,”

  It was. We had one of those showers that Nicole loves. Me, too.

  Afterward, I lay on the bed, while Nicole brushed her hair.

  “Sure looks like your idea was correct,” Nicole said. “Sean planning the robbery to pay for the murder.”

  “Sure does.”

  “That was very clever of you. Coming up with Sean’s entire cabal.”

  “I like that word. Cabal. Sounds so sinister.”

  “It is. And it was.”

  She spun toward me. She wore only the hotel bathrobe. It parted just enough to give me an idea.

  “Come here,” I said, patting the bed next to me.

  She did. Curled in my arm.

  “I guess our work is done here,” she said.

  I slid my hand beneath the robe and down her back. “Not even close.
”

  “I mean the case. It’s all up to Chief Warren now.”

  “Which means we don’t have any distractions. And can enjoy our last night here.”

  She rolled on top of me. “Sounds like a plan.”

  My cell buzzed. I considered ignoring it, but Nicole scooped it up from the bedside table, handed it to me. I said a silent prayer that it wasn’t Tammy. About now would be her kind of timing. It wasn’t. It was Ray.

  “Reed’s in the wind,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Warren executed the warrant on his apartment. He cleared out. Meet us in the lobby in five. We’re going to meet her at the station.”

  After we dressed and scurried downstairs, we found Pancake near the door, working his phone, Ray waiting impatiently.

  “Warren asked for our help finding him?” I asked.

  “We offered. She called to let us know he was gone. Said she has an APB out. I told her that we know where he is. She couldn’t refuse that.”

  “Pancake?”

  Ray nodded. “He put a GPS tracker on Reed’s truck.”

  “Of course he did.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were in Warren’s office.

  “Okay, where is he?” Warren asked.

  Ray nodded to Pancake. He turned his phone toward her. “Here.”

  I looked over her shoulder. A satellite picture. Rural area. Single house, nearby barn. Red dot in the middle of the screen.

  “It’s his uncle’s place,” Pancake said. “Guy named Kenneth Reed. You know him?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “It’s up just north of Daphne. Off Wilson Road.”

  “How’d you do this?” Warren asked.

  “Placed a GPS tracker on his truck when we visited earlier,” Pancake said.

  Warren looked at him. “Clever. And something I couldn’t have done without another warrant.”

  “We do have a bit more leeway.”

  Warren turned to Moody. “See if we have anything on this Kenneth Reed.”

  “You don’t,” Pancake said. “He’s a farmer. Same acreage for over twenty years. No criminal record. Not even a speeding ticket.”

  “Not sure I want to know how you uncovered that.”

  Pancake shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

  “Apparently. But how’d you do all this so fast?”

  “Only took about ten minutes.” He smiled. “If you know which rabbit holes to peek in.”

  “Okay. I’ll call the chief up there. Maybe the sheriff. Get some city and county backup and pay him a visit.”

  “Bringing in the cavalry could create a dicey situation,” Ray said. “Maybe a standoff. Could get messy.”

  “Don’t see any way to avoid that.”

  “Might I make a suggestion?” Pancake said.

  “Suggest away.”

  He jerked his head toward the door. “Step into my office.”

  Warren looked confused but joined the parade as we all followed Pancake to his truck. He popped open the toolbox, lifted out a bag, zipped it open. Warren’s eyes widened as he pulled out equipment.

  “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

  “Ray’s toy closet. We have night vision, thermal scanners, shotgun mics, and these.” He lifted a nasty-looking weapon, held it up. “Heckler & Koch HK419 assault rifle. Just in case.”

  “Looks like overkill to me,” Warren said.

  “It is,” Pancake said. “Unless it’s needed.” He hefted the weapon. “If it’s good enough for the Delta Force guys, it’s good enough for us.”

  Concern fell over Warren’s face. “This isn’t exactly a war we’re going to.”

  “Funny thing about wars,” Ray said. “No one ever sees them coming until they’re all over them.”

  Warren said nothing.

  Ray continued. “The best way to prevent a war is to have overwhelming superiority in information, mobility, and firepower. Seems to make folks much more polite.”

  The worry creases in Warren’s forehead deepened. “I don’t know about this.”

  “Look,” Ray said. “We can get in there. See who’s at the property. Maybe get to Reed, both Reeds, before they even know. End this quietly and quickly.”

  “And if it gets crazy?”

  “That’s what this if for.” Pancake nodded toward the rifle.

  Warren considered it. Looked at Pancake, Ray. “I take it you guys have done this kind of thing before.”

  “I could tell you a few stories,” Ray said. “Some of them anyway.”

  “Military?”

  Ray gave a quick nod. “You might say that.”

  “Can’t say I’m not more than a little curious.”

  “Later.” Ray smiled. “Over a beer. But right now we need to take Jack Reed off the streets.”

  She hesitated, nodded. “Okay. But I hope I don’t regret this.”

  “Always better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Pancake said.

  And we were off.

  Nicole followed Pancake’s truck, which followed Warren and Moody in Warren’s SUV. Made her crazy to bring up the rear. They were moving way too slow for her blood.

  My cell buzzed. This time it was Tammy. Her timing was a thing of beauty. And aggravation. I answered.

  “I’m a little busy, Tammy.”

  “Walter’s stay was extended. Another two days.”

  I guessed she missed the busy part.

  “Good for him,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Business must be good. More money for you.”

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  Of course she did. Money and Tammy were one and the same. Her main joy. Maybe even reason to exist.

  “But what am I supposed to do? Here all by myself?”

  “Go online,” I said. “Buy some shit.”

  “Why do you have to be this way?”

  “Bad parenting.”

  “That’s a given. But I could use a little sympathy.”

  “I’ll send some your way.”

  “You’re such an ass.”

  “I think we established that long ago.”

  “Are you in a car?” Tammy asked. “Sounds like you’re in a car.”

  “Nicole and I are headed to a shoot-out.”

  That stopped her for a couple of seconds.

  “I hope nothing happens to her.”

  “What about me? Don’t I get a little sympathy?”

  A sharp laugh. “They can shoot you in the ass for all I care.”

  “They just might.”

  “Since you’re all ass, it should be easy.”

  “Goodbye, Tammy.”

  “Don’t you hang up.”

  “Why not?”

  “What about me?”

  “Wash your hair. Do your nails. Wait, I got it, go buy one of those puzzles. One with flowers or beach scenes. Maybe a cat. Try to get all the pieces to fit without using scissors. That should occupy you until Walter gets back.”

  “Asshole.” She hung up.

  “I love her calls,” Nicole said.

  “I know you do.”

  CHAPTER 59

  KENNETH REED’S FARM clung to the north edge of Wilson Road. Couple of miles above and east of Daphne. The farmhouse faced down a gentle slope a good two hundred yards from the road. The grounds that fronted it were plowed and ready for winter planting. Pancake’s map showed that a pair of dirt roads bent off the blacktop and flanked the field’s east and west edges. The closest, left of the house, edged the furrowed soil, clearly visible from the house along its entire journey. It terminated near a barn, just behind the house. The other wound through trees, which protected it from view. We chose the later. Lights off, we crept up the rutted road until we were a hundred yards from Uncle Kenneth’s home.

  It was nearing 9:00 p.m. Dark, the sky mostly clear, the moon nearly full. Its glow silvered the trees around us.

  We gathered near Pancake’s truck. He looped a massive pair of binoculars
around his neck.

  “What are those?” Moody asked.

  “Pretty cool toy,” Pancake said. “Gives me night vision and infrared heat signatures.”

  Moody whistled. “Bet those were cheap.”

  “Not bad. No more than a couple of mortgage payments.”

  “More military-grade stuff?” Warren asked.

  “Sort of,” Pancake said. “Most of this stuff is a generation or two old but they work just fine for our needs.”

  “Where do you get this kind of thing?” Moody asked. “I don’t see anything like this online.”

  “It’s there,” Pancake said. “Even on Amazon. Maybe not exactly this, but some pretty cool stuff.” Pancake adjusted the neck strap. “We get most of our toys through friends.”

  “Some friends you have,” Warren said.

  “The best,” Ray said.

  Boy were they, I thought. That night. The one where Nicole and I leapt into the raging Gulf from Victor Borkov’s yacht. It was Ray and his friends who came to the rescue. With some nasty toys. Riddled Borkov and his crew with automatic weapon fire.

  “What’s the plan?” Warren asked.

  “You guys stay here,” Pancake said. “I’ll go take a gander.” He headed into the trees.

  I followed. He heard me and turned. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping you out of trouble.”

  He grunted, shook his head, moved on. He squatted near the tree line. I settled beside him. The house was single-story, white clapboard. Interior light fell through the front and side windows. Pancake raised the binocs, made a couple of adjustments.

  “Don’t see anyone inside.” Another adjustment. “Let’s make a thermal scan.” He did. Then, “I see you.”

  “They in there?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Both in the living room.” He scanned the surrounding area. “Pretty open. Not a lot of cover. Barn just beyond the house.” He lowered the glasses. “We need to get closer.”

  We returned to the group.

  “They’re both in there,” Pancake said.

  “Anyone else?” Ray asked.

  “Only two heat signatures. Both in what I suspect is the living room. Let’s move on up the road and get closer. See if we can get eyes and ears on them.”