by T. E. Woods
“Natalie’s a woman in love.”
“Natalie’s a woman who bores easily. And you strike me as someone who’ll be lucky to maintain her attention for five years. Make the most of them. What was your degree?”
“I’m a Brown man.” Brice’s pride was back. “Sigma Chi.”
“That’s not what I asked. Did you have a major? Did you prepare for a career?”
“Philosophy was my major. Graduated in the top third of my class.”
She shook her head. “Do you know how to get a philosophy major off your porch?”
Brice blinked his confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“I asked if you knew how to get someone who majored in philosophy—even at Brown—off your front porch?”
“No. I don’t.”
She smiled. “You pay for the pizza.”
Her insult knocked the smugness off his fresh-from-a-spa face.
“Use whatever time Natalie decides to spend with you to your advantage. Make contacts. Develop friendships. You’ll need a job when the marriage ends.”
“You fucking cunt!” Brice was showing his roots. “Who the hell are you to give me advice about how to run my life? You’d be nothing without York money behind you. Everybody knows you’re Alden York’s favorite whore. Maybe you should be asking yourself what you’re going to do when sugar daddy gets tired of his little cowgirl.”
Miranda didn’t respond to his slurs. She was a woman who had deliberately walked away from her man and her infant child. Caring what others thought of her was a failing she’d shed long ago.
“You’re not as smart as I’d hoped, Brice. I had been willing to offer a hundred thousand dollars for every year you and Natalie spent married. Now that pre-nup will read seventy-five thousand. Keep it up and you’ll be lucky if we let you leave with that spiffy blazer Natalie’s credit card purchased for you. Now, take a moment and reflect on what you’ve observed at the York household. Think of how you’ve seen Alden and Natalie interact with me. How they treat me. Then ask yourself if you think it’s in your best interest to listen to what I have to say.”
Brice was silent. His face was flushed, first with rage, then with embarrassment. Miranda waited until his expression registered submission.
“What do you want me to do?” he finally asked.
“What you’ve been doing. Keep Natalie entertained. Make her smile. Let her show you off to the girls at the club. Be a good little monkey on a leash.”
For a heartbeat, it looked as though he was going to unleash his anger again. But he caught himself. “You’re despicable,” he gasped. “But you know that, don’t you?”
Miranda took her time looking at him. There was no doubt about it, Natalie knew a handsome man when she saw one. It was more than his face. Brice’s body was trim and tight. She could imagine the long muscles of his arms and legs, strong and supple from hours spent in the gym or on the racquetball court. Her eyes traced down to his hands. Broad palms, long fingers. She felt a warming in her core.
“It doesn’t have to be all bad.” She dialed her tone to seduction. “You and I could learn to enjoy one another. We are alike, after all.”
She stood, keeping her eyes locked on his while she stepped out of her heels. She started to sway, ever so slightly, as though a soft samba played somewhere. His attention dropped to her hips.
Gotcha!
She brought her right hand to her neck and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. It draped open, allowing the black lace of her bra to peek out as she continued to move to some unheard melody. She saw Brice swallow hard as she walked toward him. She stopped at the sofa, her body inches from where he sat, and offered him her hand.
“I’ve been a terrible hostess. I haven’t given you the complete tour.”
Chapter 37
“How long have you two been following me?” Rick rode shotgun while the woman he now knew was Special Agent Ellen Delgrasso drove through the streets of Ann Arbor. He occasionally glanced in the side mirror and saw that her confederate, Avery Stanwick, followed close behind in her own government-issue Chevy.
“Since Madison sent you. Look, we get you’re investigating a murder case. We’re not unsympathetic. But we couldn’t risk your questions interfering with our investigation.”
“So you decided to babysit me to make sure I didn’t break any valuables or invite the crew over for a party while Mommy and Daddy were away.”
“Something like that.”
“You could have just clued me in. Saved all the cloak-and-dagger.”
“We couldn’t risk it. You might have interviewed some of our targets. It’s hard to let slip what you don’t know.” She turned up a street Rick knew.
“We’re heading to the cop shop?”
“Avery will have called ahead. Our offices are in Detroit. The Ann Arbor police are generous with their support. They’ll have a room we can use.”
They parked behind the headquarters of the AAPD. Avery Stanwick nodded her greeting as she locked her car and led them through a back door. Rick followed her. Ellen Delgrasso followed him.
I’m the meat in an FBI sandwich, he thought. Wait till Horst gets a load of this.
Mitch Calblonz stood in an open door halfway down a wide hallway.
“This is the best we can do, ladies.” He stepped aside to let Agent Stanwick lead them in. “Every other conference room is ocupado. I figure interview rooms would be too small, what with there being four of us and all. This okay?”
Rick glanced around the standard-issue government meeting room. Cinder-block walls painted Eisenhower green on the lower third, blah beige above. White boards mounted on all four walls. The only thing interesting in the space was the seating. Anyone entering this nondescript room would have expected low-bid conference tables surrounded by folding metal chairs. Instead, the room was filled with ten neon-orange individual modules. Each was on wheels and had its own chair and gray plastic desk that sprouted from the side and swung away to make room for the occupant. Rick figured whatever purchasing agent bought them must have imagined the flexibility of room arrangement the units allowed. But he’d spent enough years in police stations to know the most action these chairs would see would be when Ann Arbor’s finest raced these office chariots down the corridors.
Stanwick and Delgrasso each grabbed a chair and wheeled them next to one another.
“You gals want some coffee?” Calblonz asked. “Sheffield here’s already given me a blanket no-thanks, but I can get you two some.”
“No thank you, Detective Sergeant,” Stanwick answered. “I had a cup of your coffee years back. The memory lingers.”
Ellen Delgrasso declined, too. “Pull up a seat, Detective Sheffield.”
Rick wheeled an orange pod closer to the agents and took a seat.
“You ladies want me to stay?” Calblonz asked.
Stanwick shot a look to Delgrasso that Rick could only interpret as If he calls us ladies or gals one more time, you tackle him high and I’ll go low.
“Thanks for the space,” she replied. “We won’t need to bother you any further this afternoon.”
The large man seemed disappointed.
Rick waited until Calblonz was out of the room. “I’m all ears. I can’t wait to hear what was so damned secret you two had to tail me instead of just dropping by my hotel. I’m assuming this is about Miranda Greer’s murder.”
“Like many assumptions, yours is wrong,” Stanwick replied. “It’s inconvenient as hell she’s dead. Whatever lovers’ spat got her killed in Madison throws a wrench in our investigation here. But our work goes on. We needed to keep an eye on you. Make sure you didn’t inadvertently undo months of our hard work. Go ahead and solve your murder. We have bigger game to hunt.”
“You got any specifics you care to share?” Rick glanced toward Delgrasso. “Your sidekick here alr
eady told me you were afraid I’d let something slip. So putting two and two together, your big game hunt is about Miranda or ImEx. Our cases are, at the very least, peripherally connected. I’ve been here two days. Maybe I’ve picked up something that could be of help to you. Could be you’ve got a few leads that might make my job easier, too. What d’ya say we all show-and-tell and save some money for whichever set of taxpayers is footing our respective bills?”
Stanwick and Delgrasso exchanged a look Rick couldn’t decipher. He wondered if facial communication was something they taught at Quantico.
“Tell us what you know about Miranda Greer’s business,” Agent Stanwick asked. “Both here and in Madison.”
Rick shrugged. “From what I gather from Calblonz’s files, she spent a lot of years at ImEx. Climbed the ladder. Made her mark both at the company and in the community. Squeaky clean from all anybody can tell me. As dedicated to her church as she was her work. She was in Madison to help establish a local congregation of the church headquartered here in Ann Arbor.”
“What specific knowledge do you have about ImEx?”
“Let’s not waste time playing twenty questions.”
Special Agent Stanwick looked again to Delgrasso. Rick got the impression she wanted to make sure the younger agent was paying attention. “The company’s been in Ann Arbor more than forty years. Flower bulbs and shrubs were the mainstay of MidWest ImEx for decades. Trading partners were mostly European and Scandinavian. Nice little business.”
“Until Miranda came along.” Rick felt a growing impatience. “She grew it. That much I got.”
“Lawn equipment and finished goods were her first expansion. That led to building supplies. Then concrete and steel. Small shipments at first, but they grew fast. MidWest ImEx is now the largest importer of construction materials in the United States. Trading partners around the globe. Port operations on both coasts and the Gulf of Mexico. They lease a fleet of thirty-five shipping vessels and contract with hundreds more every year.”
“Sounds like Miranda knew her stuff.”
Stanwick nodded. “She was, as my father used to say, smart as a whip. She learned by doing, from all we can tell.”
“And why is it you have anything to tell? Does the FBI check into all successful businesswomen?”
“We do when we suspect the company they’re running is involved in a federal crime.” Delgrasso flipped open the file she’d pulled out earlier. “We got a tip last April that a certain nation had found a way to sidestep embargos the United States and fourteen other industrialized nations had placed it under.”
“Am I allowed to know the name of this clever nation?”
“You are not.” Delgrasso spit out the words with such force Rick felt them bounce off his chest. When she spoke again, however, her tone was more collegial. “Suffice it to say the embargo and sanctions were warranted.”
“Says Uncle Sam,” Rick noted.
“And fourteen other nations,” Delgrasso replied.
“You found this tip credible?”
“Enough to investigate.”
“And you found?”
“The investigation is ongoing.” Special Agent Stanwick resumed her role as chief storyteller. “The records are complex. Companies nested inside companies doing business as other corporations. The paper trail is difficult to trace.”
“But it’s what the FBI does best.”
“Yes, Detective Sheffield, it is. We have strong evidence indicating MidWest ImEx coordinated the shipments of embargoed material, including weapons-grade metals, electronics, guidance systems, and even fully assembled weapons to the bad-guy nation over a seven-month period.”
“That must have made the company very rich.”
Stanwick agreed. “But if you think shipments are hard to decipher when someone wants the paperwork hidden, it’s nothing compared to tracing monetary transactions. From all we can determine, MidWest’s earnings appear legitimate. We can account for every dollar on their financial statements.”
“At least the dollars they’re reporting,” Rick said.
“You are correct. Money can be hard to trace. Numbered accounts, offshore and out-of-country transactions. Lawyers, confidentiality. It’s time consuming. But someone’s using ImEx ships. Their ports. Their systems. It stands to reason someone at ImEx is pocketing the profit.”
“Or not. What if this person is doing it for political reasons?” Rick pressed. “Arranging clandestine shipments for the good of whatever cause got this nation in hot water in the first place. There’d be no money to trace, would there?”
“We’ve been monitoring communications tightly since our tip came in. Coordinating with Homeland Security. There’s been no chatter to indicate ImEx is a cover for any foreign political or terror interest. Like it usually is, this is all about the money.” Stanwick’s grim face indicated she’d seen this type of operation more times than she cared to. “We’ll find out who’s moving the contraband.”
Stanwick and Delgrasso impressed Rick as cops who didn’t stop digging until every bone in the graveyard was uncovered.
“You’re thinking it was Miranda Greer.”
“She’s on our list. Whoever it is needs executive capability,” Stanwick answered. “A midrange manager lacks the authority to redirect super freighters from their established shipping routes.”
Rick knew nothing about international trade, but the story these women told made sense to him. “What happened in November?”
The look the two agents shared this time was accompanied by a subtle drain of color from Ellen Delgrasso’s face.
“November?” Stanwick asked.
“Your tip came in April. Nine months ago. You tracked down seven months of ImEx involvement. So what happened in November?”
Neither agent said a word. This time they kept their eyes on him, leaving him without even a facial code to decipher.
Rick leaned forward. “Look, I have no intention of getting in your way. You got your job. Find the baddies willing to sell out their country for what has to be an unbelievable amount of money. It’s tough work, but my gut tells me you two are up to the task. I wish you all the luck. My business is simpler. Find out who murdered Miranda Greer. Now, something stopped those shipments. In November. The very month Miranda showed up in Madison with all her attention focused on doing God’s work. Coincidence?” He shrugged. “I guess it could be. If you’re the type to believe in such things. Or maybe Miranda was simply done. Met her goal. Maybe she’d feathered her nest with that evil money and figured she was out of it.”
“Would it be difficult to imagine how upset the people receiving the contraband might have been to see the shipments end?” Stanwick asked.
“Excellent point,” Rick noted. “So it seems to me the next step is determining what, if any, role Miranda had with this embargo shenanigan. What’s your take on the old man’s involvement? Alden York was AWOL around the time Miranda was murdered.”
This time Rick had no problem reading the glance shared by the two agents. He’d just given them news they hadn’t known.
“How did you come upon this information?” Delgrasso asked stiffly.
Rick smiled. “I’m sorry. I only share details with teammates. Is that what we are? Could be York was coordinating the shipments. Miranda found out. Threatened to call in you guys. Or maybe it was the other way around. York finds out what Miranda’s up to, is disgusted by what she’s doing, and kills her to save the company he founded. Or maybe there was a bunch of ne’er-do-wells involved and someone wanted to decrease the number of slices in the old profit pie.”
“Or perhaps the buyer was upset the supply chain ended. This investigation is ongoing,” Stanwick reminded him. “I’d urge you not to step outside your jurisdiction. Interfering with a federal probe can cost you your shiny new detective’s badge.”
“So now we’re playing poker,” Rick said. “And you’re hoping for an easy draw. You’re thinking you don’t need me and an obstruction of justice threat might be enough to warn me away.”
Stanwick’s eyes glinted like they were carved from ice. “I don’t have to remind you, Detective, that it’s far more likely Miranda Greer was killed by someone close to home. Stringing her up sounds more passionate than corporate. Your time will be better spent looking into lovers past and present.”
“I can walk and chew gum,” Rick said evenly. “And I’ve got a source on the inside. With full access to ImEx as well as the York household. Someone who trusts only me, but with information that might be the missing link each of us needs to solve our respective cases.”
“And you only share that information with teammates.” Stanwick.
“I love a federal agent who listens.” Rick held out his hand. “What d’ya say? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Stanwick held his gaze. He was certain she was performing a cost/benefit analysis on his offer.
“You’ll fill us in on everything this source of yours has provided you?” she asked.
“What I know, you’ll know.”
“Would your source be willing to take direction from us?”
Rick’s gut tightened. He’d been so eager to dismiss the information Sydney had given him. But with what he now knew about the FBI probe, Sydney’s knowledge could be a valuable asset to trade for whatever other evidence the agents might be able to provide. Evidence that could lead to Miranda’s killer.
And that killer may not be Clay Hawthorne.
He pushed that thought aside and focused again. It had been irksome when Sydney was nosing around, trying to drum up enough noise to distract attention away from the evidence piling up against her boyfriend. But to put her under the FBI’s direction, knowing damn well Stanwick and Delgrasso would want her to walk straight into their case, was more than irksome.
