Crime Seen

by Victoria Laurie

  ‘‘What was?’’ she asked, hovering over my shoulder.

  I didn’t answer her right away. Instead I scanned the loan application’s front page, then turned to the back page, then yelled, ‘‘Holy shit!’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Candice asked gripping my shoulder. ‘‘Tell me what’s going on!’’

  I grabbed her hand as much for support as for my sense of urgency. ‘‘Look at the name on the bottom of this loan application!’’ I said and shoved the paper at her.

  ‘‘Dillon McDaniel,’’ she said.

  ‘‘No!’’ I practically shouted. ‘‘Here!’’ I said, pointing to the small print by the loan officer’s signature. ‘‘Sound familiar?’’

  Candice squinted at the page and sucked in a breath. ‘‘No friggin’ way!’’

  ‘‘Way!’’ I said, scooping up the contents of my purse. ‘‘We have to go there!’’

  ‘‘Wait! What?’’ she asked as I hurried around the kitchen, dumping eggs into Eggy’s doggy dish, then grabbing my sneakers.

  ‘‘Candice, get your things. Bring your laptop and your spy kit. We can’t waste another second. It already might be too late!’’

  ‘‘Abby, why do we have to rush—’’

  ‘‘Bree’s there!’’ I shouted, interrupting her. ‘‘And I promised Selena! There’s no time to talk about it, Candice! My radar says we’ve got to go. Now!’’

  ‘‘Abby,’’ she said calmly as I shoved my feet into my sneakers. ‘‘Shouldn’t we just turn this over to your boyfriend?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, grabbing her hand and her purse and shuffling us to the door. ‘‘On the way there, we will definitely call in the cavalry. Now move!’’

  I called Dutch as soon as we got in the car, but I got his voice mail. I left him an urgent and lengthy message and told him that we were already on our way. I hoped that it was enough for him to send a legion of FBI agents after us. I also left my cell phone on so that if he needed to track my whereabouts he could.

  What I didn’t know was that at the time I left him that voice mail, he was in the SAC’s office getting his butt chewed out but good.

  ‘‘So what’s the plan?’’ Candice asked me as she sped through traffic on the way to the highway.

  ‘‘I have no idea,’’ I said. ‘‘I just know that Bree’s in serious trouble, that it’s all my fault, and that if we don’t hurry, both she and Lutz could definitely be goners.’’

  Candice drove like a madwoman and I held on tight and prayed a lot. She’s a good driver, but she’d be better on the actual NASCAR circuit, where speeding and swerving in and out of traffic is less of a hazard. When we were almost to our destination I knew I had turned a lovely shade of green, but there was no way I was going to attempt to slow her down.

  What worried me was the lack of sirens and the fact that Dutch hadn’t called me back. I tried him again, but his line went straight to voice mail. I tried the central line to the Bureau and was told that he was in a meeting and could not be disturbed. I begged the receptionist to sneak a message to him if at all possible, telling him that his girlfriend really needed to talk to him and that it was a true emergency. She promised to try, but the moment she heard the word ‘‘girl-friend,’’ her tone changed and I knew she wasn’t going to interrupt his meeting.

  ‘‘What’s going on?’’ Candice asked me as I growled and threw my cell into my purse.

  ‘‘I can’t get him,’’ I said.

  ‘‘You can’t get him?’’ she said. ‘‘Abby, how the hell do you expect to pull this off without the FBI?’’

  ‘‘I’m not sure,’’ I admitted. ‘‘But when we get in there, just follow my lead.’’

  Candice swiveled her head my way and gave me an exasperated look. ‘‘Follow your lead? Do you understand what you are having us walk into?’’

  ‘‘I’m aware!’’ I snapped. ‘‘Just give me a second to think.’’ I closed my eyes and called out frantically to my crew, who’d sent me on this wild-goose chase in the first place. When they gave me the answer, clear as day, I just smiled, then whipped my phone back out and began dialing.

  Two hours later, as I was nervously pacing in the lobby and Candice was looking for all the world like she’d rather be anywhere but there, the guard at the desk said, ‘‘The warden will see you now.’’

  Candice got up and I asked her for the tenth time, ‘‘What time is it?’’ I’d left my cell phone with its inboard clock in the Hummer, as Candice had pointed out that the GPS locator might work better from outside the prison walls.

  ‘‘Ten minutes later than the last time you asked me,’’ she said as we crossed to the guard.

  ‘‘We’re going to be cutting this close,’’ I whispered.

  ‘‘Don’t I know it,’’ she replied nervously.

  We followed the guard through the labyrinth of metal and barred doors, down long corridors, and up the flight of stairs to the double doors that led into the warden’s office. We were greeted by the matronly Evelyn again and told to have a seat. We waited another ten minutes and my foot began to tap anxiously. ‘‘No time for small talk,’’ I mumbled to Candice. ‘‘I’ll have to get right to the point in there.’’

  Candice also glanced at the clock, her mouth set in a grim line. ‘‘If we don’t get to see him soon, you can forget about talking and focus on running.’’

  Finally the phone on Evelyn’s desk rang and after setting it back down she showed us into the warden’s office.

  ‘‘Thank you, Evelyn,’’ the warden said to her as we entered. ‘‘Could you please run an errand or two for me?’’ he asked before she left.

  She looked surprised at his request, but recovered and said, ‘‘Of course, sir.’’

  ‘‘Wonderful. Here is a list,’’ he said, handing her a piece of paper. ‘‘After you complete it, you may take the rest of the afternoon off.’’

  When the doors had closed behind Evelyn, the warden sat down behind his desk and looked at us thoughtfully. ‘‘Ladies,’’ he said warmly, ‘‘I assume you’re here to find out what happened to Mr. Lutz?’’

  I opened my mouth to say ‘‘No,’’ but instead nodded as my right side felt light and airy.

  The warden shook his head. ‘‘It’s really very sad,’’ he said. ‘‘We see this type of behavior all the time, unfortunately. An inmate gets very close to parole and he begins acting out violently. Psychologists believe this is due to inmates’ subconscious belief that they truly belong in prison and against their better judgment they ensure that’s exactly where they’ll remain.’’

  ‘‘Are you saying Lutz got into some kind of fight and was hurt again?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Exactly. He began an argument with another inmate and before my staff could get to him, he was beaten to within an inch of his life. When he recovers, and it looks like he will, I’ll have to report the incident, as several of my staff clearly saw Mr. Lutz provoke the fight. It will have a very negative effect on his parole hearing, I’m afraid.’’

  Candice kicked me and motioned discreetly to the clock above the warden’s head. I gave an imperceptible nod and got on with it. ‘‘That’s too bad, but what we’re really here to discuss, Warden Sinclair, is how someone goes from being a loan officer at Universal Mortgage to being the warden of a maximum-security prison. Quite a career change, wouldn’t you say?’’

  To his credit, the warden didn’t look surprised. Instead he gave me a smile—of the crocodile variety. ‘‘I had no doubt you two would eventually make the connection,’’ he said smoothly.

  ‘‘Oh, we’ve made that and more,’’ I replied. ‘‘We know that you and Dick Wolfe are quite chummy. We know all about your early days in his organization, and how you and Dillon McDaniel were college roomies and best buddies. We know that with your degree in criminal justice and the fact that your father was also the warden here, that you were tailor-made to rise through the ranks here in Jackson and take your scheme to a level no one anticipated.’’


  Warden Sinclair looked bored, staring at me with droopy eyelids. He lazily waved his hand and said, ‘‘Go on, finish it.’’

  ‘‘First I’d have to start it,’’ I snapped, my adrenaline kicking in. ‘‘Let me see if I’ve got this story straight. You find out that Dillon’s received a large settlement after his car accident and you convince him to sink it into some rental properties. His credit is for shit, but that’s no problem. His dad’s credit is fine and he’s willing to sign on as co-borrower.

  ‘‘Next you tell Dillon about this wonderful insurance, called private mortgage insurance, that for very low monthly premiums, ensures that should either the borrower or the co-borrower die, the loan would be paid in full.’’

  The warden chuckled. ‘‘Stroke of genius talking him into that, wouldn’t you say?’’

  My hands clenched into fists, but I went on coolly. ‘‘And you had that little lightbulb because when big bad Dick Wolfe came to you and said he had a problem,that he was being investigated by a detective who had a personal connection to you, he asked you for help and information. He asked you for a time and place when this cop would be vulnerable.’’

  Sinclair snickered evilly. ‘‘And Dillon was only too willing to cough up that info. ‘My dad’s going on a stakeout!’’’ he mimicked in a high, squeaky voice that turned my stomach.

  ‘‘But Dick wanted you to show your loyalty, didn’t he, Warden Sinclair? He wanted you to pull that trigger.’’

  ‘‘We do what we must,’’ the warden said with a sigh. ‘‘It was too easy, really. He was sitting there in his unmarked car, staring down the street at Wolfe’s girlfriend’s house as Dick pulled into the driveway and I drove up and parked right next to him. He got out of his car to come over and warn me that it was dangerous to be there. I told him he didn’t know the half of it!’’ Sinclair smiled like he was recalling Christmas morning. ‘‘As I said, it was really too easy. He went down without even flinching.’’

  I wanted badly to leap across the desk and punch him into next week. Instead, I kept going. ‘‘So, after you shoot McDaniel, Dick realizes you’re too much of a liability, but you’ve been loyal and he sees the opportunity your degree and your connections can offer him. He has Lutz take the fall for McDaniel’s murder and while Lutz is here, he’s to continue working as Wolfe’s muscle, with the promise of riches once he gets out of prison.

  ‘‘Through a bondsman or two, Wolfe identifies people willing to put up their homes as collateral on the bond. When their family member ends up in prison, namely here, Lutz gives them a beating they won’t soon forget. Word gets back to the family member that they need to supply some dough—fast—and lo and behold, Universal makes it possible by giving them high-interest loans with ridiculous closing costs that they can’t possibly afford, turning the cash they get out of the refinance over to you.’’

  The warden beamed at me. ‘‘Very good—Ms. Cooper, is it? Now finish it.’’

  ‘‘When the family begins to default on the mortgage, Universal suggests they rent one of the other properties in the cache, thus keeping Dillon quiet, as he’s got renters for life and a steady stream of properties for sale while these families default on their loans and are foreclosed upon. Dillon gets a discount on the appraised value and buys the houses for cheap. Everyone’s hands get greased, everybody’s happy except one person, and that’s Lutz.’’

  ‘‘He was doing so well up until it came time for his parole hearing.’’

  ‘‘He wanted out,’’ I said flatly. ‘‘He wanted to get his parole and get out of the business, but his problem was that he was too good at roughing up the targets and you guys didn’t have anyone else in place to do his dirty work. So you gave him a taste of his own medicine. You gave him a good beating, and when it was clear that he meant to come clean to us, you beat him into a coma.’’

  ‘‘The man refuses to die,’’ Sinclair said as he looked at his nails.

  ‘‘And then when Wolfe discovered that Bree had been in your old loan applications, he had her brought here.’’

  ‘‘Did you know there are older sections of this prison that are no longer usable? Many of the cells in the basement area, for example. They were used for solitary confinement, but the state has deemed them too unsanitary for use. These old buildings are fascinating, really. No one ever goes down there, and you can scream for days with no one to hear your cries for help,’’ said the warden. ‘‘It is a gloomy place without much light, but I’m sure Bree will be delighted to see you two,’’ he added with a big, toothy grin.

  ‘‘I’m sure she will be,’’ I said. ‘‘And I’m sure she’ll feel a whole lot better once we get her the hell out of here.’’

  The warden laughed like I’d said something really funny. ‘‘And just how do you suppose that is going to happen? You’re in the middle of a maximum-security prison and completely at my mercy, ladies.’’

  I glanced at the clock again. I had only seconds. ‘‘Do you believe in magic, Warden?’’ I asked, as out of the corner of my eye I caught Candice reaching up to her lapel to pinch the fabric.

  ‘‘Magic?’’ he asked me, still looking amused.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘You see, I’m a magician, and with one snap of my fingers I can make the impossible occur.’’ And with that I held up my fingers so that he could see, counted down from three, and gave a loud ‘‘snap!’’

  The room was silent for five whole seconds. The warden gave me a look that said I was off my nutty, and began, ‘‘That was some magic trick, but I’m afraid I don’t have time—’’ when all hell broke loose. Alarms went off inside his office and his phone lit up with incoming calls as shouting rang out from the grounds outside.

  The warden jumped up from behind his desk and ran to the window, and just as he turned his back to us, I grabbed Candice’s hand and boogied to the door. We were out in a flash and bolting down the stairs when a shot rang out behind us. ‘‘Shit!’’ I said as I ducked low.

  ‘‘This way!’’ she said and pulled me down a corridor.

  ‘‘How are we going to get through the gates?’’ I asked as we ran headlong down the corridor toward the first set of security gates.

  ‘‘Leave it to me!’’ she said.

  The guard was already wearing a look of panic as he saw us running toward him. The alarms were ringing so loud that it was hard to think, let alone speak. Candice pounded on the door as the guard began to raise his walkie-talkie to his ear. She screamed, ‘‘Fire! There’s fire up in the warden’s office!’’ The guard’s eyes became huge and he hit the buzzer to let us through. When we cleared the other side, she worked herself into hysterics and said, ‘‘The warden! He’s trapped in the fire! You’ve got to rescue him! He’ll die, man!’’

  ‘‘Get down that hall and take a left!’’ he shouted to us as he hit a button on his console, then reached for his phone and punched in three digits. ‘‘It will lead you to an emergency exit and I’ve just unlocked that door!’’

  With that, the guard bolted through the door and ran down the hallway toward the warden’s office. The moment he was a yard or two down the corridor, Candice pulled her purse off her shoulder and ran the straps through the loop in the door handle, knotting them so that the door could be opened only about six inches.

  We took off running as hard and fast as we could and just as we’d covered about a hundred yards we heard, ‘‘Halt!’’ behind us. I looked back and saw the guard and the warden struggling to open the door.

  ‘‘Go!’’ Candice commanded, pulling at my sweatshirt and forcing me to run faster. I could see the emergency exit fifty yards ahead. I dug in hard and put on some speed as I matched her stride for stride. We were closing the distance when another shot rang out behind us and a window splintered off to my right. I ducked low but kept going. We were twenty yards away, then ten, then five, and that’s when the door opened and a huge, beefy guard stepped through, blocking our escape.

  I put on the brakes, but Cand
ice made a kind of growling sound and charged ahead. The guard barely had time to reach for his Mace before Candice was suddenly airborne. In a move that would have put Jet Li to shame, she karate-kicked him in the nose, which sent him spinning to the floor. We dashed through the emergency exit and out into the open, gaining ten more yards before a dozen rifles cocked and a booming voice yelled, ‘‘Halt! Get down on the ground. Now!’’

  Candice grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. We dropped facedown in the dirt, our hands over our heads. I was panting so hard and my heart was racing so fast I thought I was going to pass out, but something leaked through the fog of my exhaustion that made my skin crawl. I heard uproarious laughter.

  I wanted to turn my head to Candice, but I was truly too scared to move. The laughing continued. And then it sank in that I knew that laugh and knew it well. It was thick and throaty and oh-so-sexy. Very slowly I turned my head and looked up. Standing over me were six feet two inches of solid Greek god.

  ‘‘Dutch!’’ I yelped and got to my knees. ‘‘Ohmigod! Thank God it’s you!’’

  ‘‘Did you start all this?’’ he asked, pointing up to the sky, and I slowly took in the three helicopters circling the prison and an entire squadron of state and local police emptying out of police cars, not to mention the SWAT teams and FBI filing around the perimeter.

  ‘‘Me?’’ I said innocently and forced a laugh. Candice also got to her knees and looked up at Dutch. Turning to her, I said, ‘‘Can you believe this guy?’’

  She forced a giggle. ‘‘I know!’’ she said. ‘‘Thinking we had anything to do with a prison riot—that’s just crazy!’

  Dutch helped us both to our feet and gave a signal for the other FBI agents with their big scary guns to stand down.

  ‘‘Want to tell me what you’re doing here?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘Candice?’’ I said to her. ‘‘Show the man.’’

  Candice reached up to her lapel, turned it back to the tiny pocket, and pulled out her itty-bitty recorder. ‘‘It’s all on this microchip, Agent Rivers,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m pretty sure you’ll be delighted to hear that Warden Sinclair has confessed to killing Walter McDaniel, and you’ll also have enough there to put Dick Wolfe away for a very long time.’’