by Rex Burns
“What’d they say about him?” asked Devlin.
“Nothing. Just a few things they let drop.”
“So drop them.”
The head wagged again. “They know somebody was running an investigation.” He held up the empty pitcher and called to Larry for a refill. “You people ain’t thirsty?”
“What did they say, Vinny?” asked Bunch.
“Nothing. They were too busy laughing at you clowns. Giving them some shit about being Mafia types or whatever— they were laughing at you, Kirk. Laughing about bringing in some dude who scared the living shit out of you.” He drank. “Serves you right, pulling that kind of amateur crap.”
“Did they say anything about Chris?”
Vinny glanced at Kirk’s face and shut up. “No. I just overheard them talking, is all.”
“What about Eddie Visser?” asked Bunch. “Have they heard from him?”
“I don’t know. Nobody’s said the name around me.”
A rattle of pool balls came from the table. “Who’d you meet in the park?” asked Bunch.
“What park? Where?”
“In Aurora just now. The guy with the sunglasses. Who was it?”
“Oh, him! You people were on me from there?”
“Who was it?”
“Hey, it was business, all right? I got a private business of my own I got to look after too.”
“What kind of private business?”
“Listen, I’m not your fucking slave! I do my job for you, you don’t tell me what to do on my own time.”
“You don’t have any time of your own. We’re buying your time—all of it. What kind of private business?”
“I don’t have to tell you shit!”
Bunch put both large hands on the table in front of Vinny. “You can tell us here. Or we can go to your place and I’ll squeeze it out of you.” The hands slowly folded into fists. “Like a goddamn tube of toothpaste.”
The man stared at the meaty fists for a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He—ah—he’s a dude I met. Before I took this job. Wants me to—ah … He’s worried about his wife. I told him I’d check her out.”
Devlin shook his head. “No other jobs, Vinny. You’re full-time on this one. That was the deal.”
“Yeah—I told him I was on a case. I said I’d check her out in a couple of weeks when I get off this job.”
Bunch slid out of the booth and Devlin stood too. “Time’s getting short, Vinny. Make your move on those people.”
“I’m doing my best!”
“That’s what we’re afraid of. You’ll want to do better than that.”
As they left, Vinny’s voice followed. “Jesus, you people not even going to leave the tip?”
Allen Schute wasn’t overjoyed that the Truman case was taking so long. But he was happy enough with the video of Zell to send Kirk and Associates another job. The morning telephone call was about an insurance company’s longtime customer who had been burglarized and who filed a claim of almost a hundred thousand dollars for missing household property. Since filing the claim, Mr. Ralph Eckles had taken another job and moved out of the Denver area. But the claims representative who handled the case hadn’t felt right about it. The value of the items listed as stolen seemed inflated, and the burglars had been erratic in what they took.
“And the claimant, he seemed almost too eager to help. You know what I mean?”
Devlin nodded, his pen busy jotting down items that the young black claims rep told him. The plastic nameplate on the desk said Clarence Hines. Though Devlin hadn’t worked with the man before, the small, almost bare office, the bulging briefcase at the wall, the filing cabinet, and the color-coordinated jacket and tie Hines wore all seemed familiar. Many insurance companies enforced a dress code for their field men, and all the claims reps were schooled to report any quiver of suspicion, especially with major claims. Insurance crime ranked second among violations involving fraud. First was tax evasion, but the feds didn’t need help from Kirk and Associates. “Do you have a copy of the police report?”
Hines did. He handed Kirk the thick manila folder labeled “Eckles.” “It’s all in there. Look through and we can make copies of whatever you need.”
“Know anything about this Eckles? If he’s been involved in other large claims?”
“I ran his name through the computer like we’re supposed to. It came out clean. I didn’t sell him his policy. That was”— he glanced at his notes— “one Daniel Lakonis. He retired four or five years ago, before I started to work for the company.”
“Do you have Lakonis’s address?”
Hines didn’t, but he could call the main office and see if it was on record. Kirk began scanning the papers while Hines dialed. By the time the rep hung up, he had a small stack of documents for copying.
Hines handed him a slip of paper. “He’s still in the state. Lives down near Durango now: phone and address.”
After making his copies, Kirk thanked the man and said he would be in touch as soon as he had something. Then he drove back to his office and began telephoning. The first call was to set up an appointment with Officer Cappiello, the burglary detective who had investigated the claim for the Jefferson County Sheriffs Office. Insurance investigators have better rapport with police agencies than do P.I..’s, and Cappiello invited Kirk to meet him late in the afternoon at the sheriff’s office in Golden.
His second call was to the retired insurance salesman, who said he did remember selling a policy to Mr. Eckles.
“Real nice man,” said Lakonis, voice hearty with a healthy, outdoorsy retirement and the pleasure of suspecting the company didn’t run as well without him. “Worked at the Johns Manville headquarters. No trouble with his policy, is there?”
“He submitted a claim for burglary loss. We’re checking it out.”
“Hey now. I may be retired, but claims aren’t investigated unless there’s some good reason. How big a claim?”
“The claim may be a little larger than it should be. Can you tell me anything about Eckles?”
The long-distance line gave that hollow, muted hiss. “Well, I guess it’s possible. It’s always that. But I wouldn’t think it likely of Eckles. He retired from the Air Force before he went to work for Manville. A colonel.”
“And he’s been insured by the company for a long time?”
“I sold him his first policy some, let’s see, fifteen, eighteen years ago. And I even sold his sister a policy too. He told her about me. Liked the way I did business.”
“She lives in Denver?”
“In Arvada. Basic household coverage with a couple increases over the years.”
“Can you tell me her address?”
Lakonis couldn’t. But he did spell her name for Kirk and mentioned a company telephone number that would provide the policyholder’s current address. In answer to more questions, Lakonis said no, he didn’t know of any other relatives or friends Kirk could interview. Yes, he would be happy to call collect if he remembered anything else that might be of use. “Well, Mr. Kirk, I tell you this, though—I’m glad I’m retired and out of all that. The fishing down here’s wonderful. Next time you’re down this way, give me a call. I’ll show you some real trout streams.”
Bunch came into the office before Devlin left for his meeting in Golden. He pushed a piece of paper across the desk and tapped it with a wide finger.
“What’s this?” asked Kirk.
“License number and owner for that BMW.”
Kirk looked at the name. “Columbine Auto Leasing?”
“Yep.” Bunch pushed a Xeroxed sheet over to Devlin. It was a copy of a lease agreement.
“You’ve been busy.” Kirk read the name. “Arnold Minz? Where do I know him from?”
“It ain’t the men’s room.”
Kirk searched through the names in his memory, knowing that he should be able to dredge up something. But the thread leading to the tickle was too frail.
Bunch finally helped
him. “He’s the guy who beat a heavy rap on possession with intent. Two, maybe three years ago.”
“A kingpin charge—right! But they couldn’t tie him to the cocaine in court.”
“That’s it. The old chain-of-evidence trick. Bring the guilty S.O.B. in for his fair trial and let him off.” Bunch shook his head. “Dave Miller was on that one—he told me about it. When he left the courtroom, Minz looked at Dave and laughed. Hasn’t been able to pin anything on Minz since then.”
Kirk toyed with the copy of the lease agreement. “Why would Vinny talk with a big-time coke dealer?”
“Who doesn’t have a wife to be worried about,” added Bunch. “One thing Vinny doesn’t have is the money to buy into a deal. And if he snorts at all, he’s just a recreational chipper, so Minz wouldn’t be his supplier.”
“Minz doesn’t deal on the street anyway.”
“Right. But it could be Vinny’s planning on finding a lot of coke soon. So much he’ll need somebody like Minz to move it.”
Pushing back from the desk, Devlin turned to stare out the arched window and across the flat roofs of the brick warehouses and converted factories. The continual flicker of cars through the distant trees along the South Platte River said that the afternoon rush was building along I-25, and soon the flicker would congeal into the purple haze of a ribbon of smog. “He’d do it, wouldn’t he?”
“You’re damn right he would,” said Bunch. “I think I’ll go unscrew his face and plug it in his rectum.”
“If it’s what we think, then he’s made a contact. A good one.”
“You’re telling me something, partner.”
“I’m telling you we let him run with it until he gives us a lead. Maybe put somebody else in to keep an eye on him.”
“Who? We can’t afford that, and Reznick’s not going to pay for it! What, you’re going to tell Reznick that our agent—that he’s already paying for through the nose—needs another agent to watch him?” Bunch’s fist thudded onto the desktop, a deep sound that Devlin could feel in the floorboards. “I say we pull the little bastard and turn him into peanut butter!”
“If we pull him, we lose the whole thing.” Devlin shook his head. “Now we know. Now we can make it work for us.”
“How?”
That was a good question and one Devlin was asking himself. “We sit on Minz.”
“What?”
“We sit on Arnie Minz. If it’s what we think, Vinny has to tell him when he’s ready to deal. We put remotes on Arnie’s phone, bug his car, tap his house. You’re the genius of electronic surveillance, Bunch. Start geniusing. Just make damned certain it’s nothing that can be traced to us.”
Bunch nodded. He didn’t want to spend time in a federal pen for the likes of Vinny Landrum either. But it was the kind of challenge he enjoyed. As Devlin left the office for Golden, Bunch was already rummaging through the shelves of the air- conditioned closet that served as his electronic armory. He didn’t even hear the rumble of the sculptress’s casters overhead.
CHAPTER 14
DETECTIVE CAPPIELLO WAS a balding man of medium height who looked taller because he was built like a Popsicle: narrow at the shoulder, wider at the waist, widest of all at the hips, and with long, skinny legs. The office was a cramped and smoky corner partitioned by a movable blackboard and made smaller by the photographs, notices, bulletins, and posters covering the walls.
“The Eckles burglary?” He settled back onto the worn cushion of his swivel chair. “Yeah—I wondered how long you guys would take to sniff at that one.”
Kirk looked up from the burglary report signed by Cappiello. “Why?”
“The place was too neat. That’s what struck me about it right off. The victim had been packing up to move. San Diego. He and his wife had the stuff stacked for the movers. The burglars had all night to take what they wanted. But they didn’t go through the effects, see? They just grabbed a few things and left.”
“You were the only investigating officer?”
“Yeah. There was only two of us in burglary at the time. I took the report, so I caught the investigation.”
“It says you found no signs of forcible entry.”
“That’s right. Now, the door lock could have been picked. The victim said they were away for the night at a motel because the furniture had been taken down. The beds and all, see?”
“Have you had any other burglaries using a lock pick?”
“Funny you should ask. No. Usually they lift a screen and break the window. Or pop out a glass next to the front door. Go in through a garage, something like that.” He ran a hand across his shiny scalp and added, “There was no dirt tracked in either. No paint chips around the door. No tool marks.”
Devlin read over the list of items claimed: jewelry, rare coin collection, sterling flatware, clothing, stereo components, valuable antique furniture. “Looks like they knew what they wanted.”
“They took some big-ticket items, sure. But they left behind a large-screen television and a boat and trailer. Both easy to take and worth a lot of money.”
“No suspects?”
Cappiello drew on the crackling cigarette and shook his head. “Lakewood was running a big sting operation. A lot of stuff taken from our area turned up there to be fenced, see? But not one thing from this hit. And none of the burglars we’ve arrested in the past few weeks have copped to this one.”
“How did Eckles behave?”
“You mean, do I think he’s guilty of insurance rip-off?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, Kirk. All I have is the facts, and some of them don’t sit so well. He was worried about the loss; he was eager to help if he could. He calls now and then to see if any progress’s been made on the case. But like I said, the books were stacked up carefully, the cardboard clothes hangers had been opened without damaging the contents, the boxes that had been packed already were unloaded, not just dumped out. Most careful damned burglars I ever heard of.”
“When did Eckles call last?”
“Couple days ago. I told him what I have to tell you: no suspects, no goods.”
“Thanks, Officer.”
“No sweat.” He inhaled on the cigarette again. “San Diego—a guy needs his boat in San Diego.”
In the Healey, Kirk located the address on his Denver regional map and drove slowly through the neighborhood. It was a spacious one, carved into the crest of a long ridge that gave views of the Front Range to the west and, to the east, of Denver in its wide, shallow bowl of prairie. The homes matched the scale of the development—multi-storied and sprawling, with heavy shake roofs, snug gables peeking here and there, lots of brick facades and arches, and an emphasis on thick wooden beams. Instant estate.
Eckles’s home sat at the end of a wide drive which arced to the three-car garage and was protected from its neighbors by hedges and strategically placed blank walls. The realtor’s For Sale sign tilted slightly in the long grass, and the window curtains had the airless look of a locked and empty house. Kirk rang the bell, not surprised that the muffled chimes weren’t answered. Then he walked across the wide lawn to the house next door. A woman in her late forties or early fifties—thin, with sculpted and frosted hair—answered.
Devlin showed his identification. “I’m investigating a burglary that took place next door. I wondered if you might remember anything suspicious that happened two weeks ago Wednesday.”
“A burglary? At the Eckleses’?”
“Yes ma’am. Did Mr. or Mrs. Eckles say anything about it at the time?”
“Two weeks ago? Well, no! They never told me anything about it.” Her brown eyes showed a mixture of alarm and worry. A burglary next door was a burglary very close. “Did they lose much?”
“They were hit pretty hard. This would have been the evening or early morning of the twenty-second. Can you remember anything at all—strangers in the neighborhood, unfamiliar cars parked next door, dogs barking? Anything at all?”
“The twenty-se
cond … . No, my husband and I were in Santa Fe on the twenty-second. We came back the twenty-fourth. We didn’t know a thing about it.” She frowned. “That would have been about the time they were packing to move, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“That’s all I do remember—the moving vans and all that. They did most of the packing themselves, I think, and rented a motel for a week while the movers came. Is that when it happened? While they were out of the house?”
“Apparently so.”
The woman shook her head. “With the turmoil of packing and moving, it’s no wonder Sharon didn’t mention a burglary. Still—” She had cooked breakfast for them the morning they left. Eckles had loaded his and his wife’s cars and then stopped by. Both of them were fine people. He was an ex-Air Force officer and she was just the sweetest thing. And the house had been vacant since. There had been other people driving up now and then—the realtor, she assumed; people looking at the house. The Eckleses had been trying to sell their home for a long time. “Houses in this price range aren’t moving very quickly,” she said with some expertise, “and the cost of money is so exorbitant anymore it’s a wonder anyone can afford a house.” But there was no one at all she remembered who looked like a burglar.
The other neighbors told Kirk much the same thing they’d told Cappiello, though one did recall a dog barking for a long time. It might have been the twenty-second or a day or two either way, he couldn’t be certain now. But none had heard of the burglary from Eckles. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone— which, one woman said, was like him. He was very military, you know; self-contained, efficient. When Kirk finally left the last household, the wide streets held only the light traffic of late afternoon, and kids on bicycles began to swoop down the sidewalks, burning off the energy pent up all day in school.
Bunch, too, had been busy. Now he watched the lowering sun through the office window as it burned the mountains into a black silhouette of ragged peaks. The final rumble of casters had long ago rolled away overhead, and his ear was hot from the rub of the telephone. He cursed Vinny and his greed that caused this extra work, and Vinny’s mother for spawning him in the first place. The early afternoon had been spent working on a listening device, the late part on chasing down information about Arnold Minz: home, business, family, frequent contacts, police records—anything that could be combed out of documents or Bunch’s acquaintances. Dave Miller would have saved him a lot of time. But then he’d want to know why Kirk and Associates was interested in Minz. Miller always wanted to know about anything involving Minz. As a friend, Bunch would have had to tell him. But they weren’t ready yet to alert the Vice and Narcotics detective that they would be poking around one of his favorite people. And violating federal law to do so.
