“You mean you’ve got a date with a funnel cake and a corn dog,” said TP.
Undeterred, he moved past them with the excitement of cashing a handful of tickets. Lennie studied his pages, and TP focused on the program in front of him, calculating jockey percentages and thinking of pitches and strategies to get his guys more rides.
“Lennie, you know anything about Skype?”
He looked up at the tote board to check some odds. “Yeah, I have a couple of pals from the U.K. and Australia who call me on their Skype accounts. We keep an eye on large carryover pools—pick sixes, twin tris, you know. If we see one getting really large, we go in on tickets together.”
“You’re a real global enterprise,” said TP.
“I do what I can. These damn tracks conspire against the everyday gambler. If there’s an overlay out there, we gang up to take advantage of it, from anywhere in the world.”
“What kind of caller ID information do you get?” Dan asked.
“You mean the ID on the phone?” Dan nodded. Lennie fished his cell phone from his pocket and clicked a few buttons, then handed the phone to him. “Here’s Graham, my virtual track buddy from Edinborough.”
The caller ID was a series of numbers but didn’t resemble a U.S. area code and number.
“So, do they ever appear like a U.S. phone number?”
“I think they can, but my calls come from overseas, so they usually appear that way.”
“Can you dial them back?”
“Sure, just hit call when the number is up, and it dials right back. Why? You trying to move into the twentieth century? Upgrade your technology?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Can you trace the number?”
“I suppose. The number links to an account or a computer, so it has to tie to something or someone.”
Dan handed the phone to him, and Lennie went back to his sheets.
“How’s the filly doing?” TP asked.
“Doing great,” Dan said. “Can’t wait for Saturday. Don’t think it’ll ever get here. Excited and scared shitless at the same time.”
Chapter 43
“Mom, I really appreciate it.” Dan leaned back in his office chair with his feet up on the desk. It was just after noon on Monday, and she was filling him in on what he had asked about after finding the cell phone.
“You know, things were supposed to have improved in the aftermath of 9/11, but the agencies don’t share more now than they did then. I had Frank Matthews make a few inquiries since he’s been on some interagency task forces and knows people well at the FBI. I don’t like doing this.”
“I know, Mom, I’m just trying to piece some things together, and I need to buy a clue about the investigation going on at Fairfax Park.”
“Frank said there’s no investigation on file with the FBI. Now, he said that could mean a file is being created or that they’re seeking more information to decide whether to bring an investigation—but for now there’s no formal action.”
“How quickly do they typically move?”
“Well, if it’s like here, pretty fast. The speed of criminal enterprise doesn’t wait for bureaucrats to catch up. If they had valid information, they’d move on it in a heartbeat,” she said.
Dan sat upright, elbows on his desk. “What about the local sheriff?”
“Now, they do have a file, but they aren’t actively investigating,” she said.
“What do you mean, they aren’t actively investigating?”
“What Frank told me is that where jurisdiction overlaps the related agencies can make one primary and the other secondary. It appears that the private security has taken primary responsibility, so the sheriff’s office is standing down. Providing resources when asked but not leading the investigation.”
“How can that be?” Dan stood, pacing behind his desk, unknowingly testing the strength of the telephone cord. “Why would the local sheriff’s office defer authority to a private company?”
“Well, they’re a private company, but they have jurisdiction over park security. Fairfax Park is legally part of Manassas Park, which is federal property.”
“I still don’t get it,” he said.
“Think about going to the airport. The security is provided by a private company, hired by the government. Even though they’re private, they have jurisdiction over security in the airport. Now the fibbies or sheriff don’t take over the responsibilities at the airport, even though I suppose they could. In deference, they wait to be asked to help. Otherwise, they stand down.”
“But if an ongoing criminal enterprise was underway, wouldn’t they get involved?”
“They certainly could. I suppose it depends upon the information provided by the agency with jurisdiction and how much support the local agency requests.”
“Okay.” His mind raced through the possibilities. “Thanks a lot, Mom. I’ve got to go.”
“Dan, have you talked to Vickie?”
“Mom.”
“I just think if you—”
“Mom.”
“—talked to her, you know—”
“Mom.”
“You might—”
“Mom. Enough.” He softened his tone. She couldn’t understand the divorce, he thought. Her marriage ended with an Arlington police officer standing on her doorstep. The idea of ending a marriage by agreement must appear unfathomable.
“I just think you need to talk to her, Dan. She’s such a sweet girl, and you can work things out,” she said.
Should I tell her about Beth? What’s to tell? The idea of another woman in his life might suspend this line of questioning or at least divert it, but what did he have to tell? I met a girl? That would set her off in a whole new direction. No, can’t go there.
“Mom, we talk. It isn’t going to work. I’ve told you that. We’re both okay with it.” He stood and turned his back to the phone, twirling the cord with his fingers.
“But have you tried? Really tried? It’s not too late.”
“Mom, we’ve been all through this. I know you care about her.”
“I care about you. She was so good for you.”
“She’s a great gal.” Gal? Wow, where did that come from? “Mom, she’s great. We’re still friends.”
“Friends? Danny, honestly.”
“She really likes you, Mom, and you guys can still be friends.” He wanted to say “No one died here” but bit his tongue. “Heck, maybe better friends. You can compare notes on me like usual.” He chuckled, but the humor didn’t translate. “I still love her, but it’s not right. She’ll be happier, and so will I.”
“I just think—”
“Mom, I’ve got to go. Really. I’m kinda busy here. I’ll see you Thursday for dinner. Thanks for all the help. Love you.”
Chapter 44
aJ was waiting at his regular spot when Dan pulled up. With the exception of the run-in with Romeo and his bandits, Dan and AJ had fallen into a steady routine at the end of the work day. Tonight would be different.
“AJ, we’re going on a little mission tonight.”
“What for?”
“We’re going to do what you suggested. We’re going to watch what they do, not listen to what they say. But first, we’re going to get something to eat—then we’ll come back here.”
After eating, they parked just outside the main drive of Fairfax Park. They waited for Skelton’s white pickup truck. At ten minutes after eight, the pickup rolled out of the parking lot and headed north. Dan pulled in behind.
He’d never tailed anyone before, so his knowledge base was what he had learned in movies and on TV. Dan put two cars between his and Skelton’s truck and hoped he wouldn’t get left behind by a changing traffic signal.
Luckily, Skelton merged onto Interstate 66, headed toward D.C. Dan stayed well back from him in an adjoining lane. After about fifteen minutes he moved to the right-hand lane and got off at Highway 7100, headed north. Dan followed at a safe distance until Skelton�
��s truck reached a red light.
As they approached, Dan had AJ duck down in the passenger seat. Skelton might not even look back in the rearview mirror, but if he did, there was a better chance he’d recognize AJ than Dan. They waited for the green light.
Skelton pulled away and traveled about three miles before turning right off the highway. They followed as he entered an apartment complex. Skelton drove around to the backside of the complex, parked, got out of the vehicle, and entered the apartment building. Dan backed into a parking stall, and they waited.
Dan wasn’t sure what they were going to do next. Skelton probably lived here, but one thing was for sure; he hadn’t made a drop with the money. Things were starting to come together.
Just then Skelton came out of the building. He had changed clothes and was wearing a blue baseball cap. He walked over to his pickup but didn’t get in. Instead, he got into a dark colored Camry and drove off. Maybe he was going to make a drop, but why change clothes and cars?
Skelton got back onto 7100 and continued north. He merged onto the toll road toward Dulles Airport. He stopped to pay the toll, and rather than taking the chance of flying by him by using his easy pass, Dan stopped and paid the toll.
The toll taker gave him a confused look, apparently wondering why the guy would pay cash for the toll with an easy pass device on the windshield. Just past Dulles Airport they encountered another toll station. Skelton continued westward.
After a few more miles he exited onto Route 7 past Leesburg, Virginia, and into the countryside. Dan was becoming concerned because the farther they went, the fewer cars there were on the roads. It would become easier to notice Dan was tailing him, especially as he headed west on this two-lane highway.
Dan gave him some extra distance; in fact, he stayed back far enough that he could barely see Skelton’s tail lights as he continued west into rural Virginia.
Several miles past Leesburg, Skelton turned right onto a two-lane highway, proudly proclaimed to be the Berlin Turnpike. Despite the austere name, it was a pitted asphalt road that veered left and right through dark and heavily forested woods. They crept along at a top speed of maybe twenty miles per hour.
If he was making the drop, they wouldn’t see it. Then again, if Skelton made the drop, he would head back toward his apartment. Dan had come to believe there was no drop or at least none currently. They were watching what he was doing, not listening to what he said.
They continued north through the towns of Hampton Bridge and Wheatland. The scenery had changed from high-rise apartments and eight-lane roads to small subdivisions and four-lane highways to complete rural stretches along this two-lane blacktop road, with an occasional small town along the way. Homes or farmhouses were tucked back into the woods, barely discernable from the roadway as they crept along.
The twists and turns in the road diminished their speed further, and visibility was limited. After about two miles Dan lost the tail lights of Skelton’s vehicle.
He slowed down and looked for any sign of light. As they curved left around a bend, he spotted two tail lights moving away from the highway. Dan pulled past the intersection where Skelton had turned and drove up about another quarter mile. He executed a perfect boot leg turn on the roadway and headed back to the intersection.
It appeared to be a driveway rather than a road. Five mailboxes along the roadside indicated it was probably a shared driveway for several parcels of land. Dan pulled up about one hundred yards past the intersection and entered a side road. He stopped the vehicle and turned off the lights. AJ looked at him curiously.
“I’m going back to take a look. Here’s my cell phone. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, I want you to call Jake and tell him where you are.”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“You’re on the Berlin Turnpike about two miles north of Wheatland,” Dan said. AJ nodded. Dan showed him Jake’s number on the cell phone, so he could press a button to dial, if needed.
“And here’s the most important thing,” Dan continued. “Do not get out of this car. I don’t care what happens—you don’t get out of this car unless I’m here or Jake is here. Don’t trust anyone. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded again.
Chapter 45
skelton drove past the barn on the left and pulled the car up on the far side of the house. A faint light came from the small clapboard cottage. Tucked away under two massive oak trees, the structure showed the wear that came with a decade of forgotten maintenance. Curled paint chips were visible hugging the window frames. The fencing around the front porch was a mouth missing several teeth. A woman’s touch had not been present for ages. It was a guy’s cabin, a hangout, not a home.
Skelton grabbed the package on the passenger seat and walked up on the wooden front landing. He glanced through the window and saw the man in the cowboy hat standing near the back of the main room. He turned the copper knob on the front door and entered the house.
“What was the take?” said Belker.
“Almost twenty grand.” He threw the package on the kitchen table. Belker picked it up and began sorting through the bills.
“Who’d we get new?”
“Creighton, Keating, and Price, finally,” Hank said as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of the beers remaining from the twelve pack.
“I knew Creighton would see the light.”
“Yeah, I guess it helped when you blew the brains out of his best horse. What’s up with that?”
Belker laughed. “Some people just need to see the light.”
Skelton didn’t join him in the laughter. “That was stupid. We don’t need that kind of violence. For Christ sakes, you could have killed someone. Ever think of that?”
“What, you’re getting all soft on me? You have no problem plugging a horse with poison, but you get all weepy about shooting one? Don’t get all righteous on me.”
“We were making good progress with what we’d done. Didn’t need to escalate it like that,” Skelton said.
“Nearly pinned it on that stupid kid,” Belker said, chuckling to himself. “Actually glad they let him go. It could have cost us a bunch of money if we had to stop before the end of the meet.”
“It’s gotta stop, Tim. No need to hurt more animals. We’ve made our point, and the money is rolling in each week. I think we need to lay low for a while.”
“Damn, you are going soft on me. We’ve got half a dozen barns holding out on us. Now’s the time to ramp up, not slow down. Those punks owe us a bunch of money from the start of the meet. I’ve got a plan for this week. You leave it to me now.”
“This is getting crazy. We were just supposed to get the money flowing and—” Belker held his hand up at Skelton and rushed over to the window.
“Anybody follow you?”
“No way.”
Belker pulled back the tattered red, checkerboard drape and looked outside. “Sure as hell did.” He ran to the back door, pulled his gun off the kitchen counter, and disappeared outside.
Dan slid the heavy barn door open and peered inside. Four stalls lined the right side of the barn. The left side was open, containing feed, implements, and a rusted wheelbarrow. The barn felt cavernous, with hay bales strewn in one corner. A frail wooden stairway led up to several pieces of plywood laid on top of 2” by 8” rafters, a makeshift second story.
A horse’s head poked out the stall door and looked at him as it rustled the straw in the bedding. It had to be Exigent Lady. He pulled the door to close it and crept along the side of the barn to get a view of the house.
The Camry was parked on the side behind a Jeep Wrangler. Lights were on inside the house, and Dan could see a man with a baseball cap with his back to him. He couldn’t tell whether it was Skelton, but it had to be. He stayed in the shadow of the barn and moved to his right to get a better look. He was going to have to get closer to the house.
Dan moved to the right to get out of view of the window
and snuck up near the back of the Camry. If he could ID the man as Skelton, he could call the cops and get them out here before they could move the horse. That better be Exigent Lady in the barn, he thought, or he’d look like an imbecile bringing the authorities out. All he could prove is that Skelton went for a drive, hardly enough for the cavalry to be brought in. Dan had to get a look in the front window. Dan stepped from behind the Camry to get onto the porch.
“Hold it right there.”
Dan looked in the direction of the voice, and Tim Belker had a gun trained on him.
“Who the fuck are you?” he said. Then he caught a better view from the light coming through the front window. “You’re that lawyer who bailed out that kid. Get inside.” He waved the gun, indicating Dan should move onto the porch.
He followed Dan onto the landing and into the house. Skelton spun around and recognized him. “What the—”
“Yeah, nobody followed you,” said Belker. “Sit down over there.”
“That’s one of Gilmore’s owners,” Skelton said.
“Let’s have your wallet,” Belker said. He grabbed it from him and pulled out his driver’s license.
“Daniel Morgan,” Belker said. He threw the wallet on the table. “Dan and I are pals, aren’t we, Dan?”
Dan ignored him as he studied the interior of the house for escape routes. Scarred wood framed furniture adorned the living room, with a solid dining room table and six chairs. Clearly, early trailer court was the motif the designer sought. On the right a darkened hallway led to what presumably was a bedroom and bathroom. A solitary beer can was perched on the dining room table alongside what appeared to be a stack of cash.
“Dan called me a couple of days ago,” Belker said. “Wanted to know how he could help out with the investigation. Well, Dan, you’re going to be more helpful in closing this investigation than you ever imagined.” He turned toward Skelton. “Find something and tie him up.”
Skelton started rummaging through the kitchen drawers.
“You’re not going to get away with this. I’ve got people on the way,” Dan said.
Bullet Work Page 18
