by Dan Lawton
“I heard you.”
Frank looks like he wants to ask again, but he thinks better of it. It’s not long before Billy pulls up to the Topeka Police Department. Frank catches a glimpse of the illuminated sign hanging on the brick building and panics.
“Woah! What’s goin’ on, boss? What we doin’ here?”
“Relax, stay in the van,” Billy says as he turns off the engine and slides out the door. He creeps around the side and opens the rear doors. He points to me. “Come with me.”
Inside the station, we casually stroll past the empty desks and offices and slide into Billy’s cubicle. He waves to a couple of graveyard shift officers as they sip coffee in the office adjacent to his cube. He turns on his computer and we wait for it to power up. Billy’s cubicle is nearly empty and is impersonalized. There are no pictures of his family, no cute dog calendar, and no dirty coffee cup. The office necessities are lined up in a straight line, evenly spaced and dust free. The phone on the corner of the desk is blinking with a new message or two.
“What are we doing here?” I whisper.
“Don’t whisper, it’ll bring attention to us,” Billy responds. He enters his password when prompted and logs into a database from the icon on his desktop. “Ah fuck, he’s coming over.”
I slide up in my chair and peek over the top of the cubicle wall and see a uniformed officer walking toward us.
“Billy! How goes it, baby?” the officer says as he approached. He’s youthful and high on caffeine and clearly doesn’t have an issue with working the night shift.
“Hi, Dave, how are you doing tonight?”
“Doing good, man, slow out there tonight. What are you doing here?”
Dave slips his thumb into the front of his pants behind his belt. He holds a cup of steaming coffee with his other hand and blows on it. The aroma of freshly roasted hazelnuts makes my mouth water.
“I’ve got to take a look at my notes on this case I’ve been working.”
“Now? It’s one in the morning, man.”
“Yeah, I know. You know what it’s like when you have a breakthrough.” Billy smiles.
Dave takes a long sip of his coffee and nods his head in agreement. “Hey, I thought I heard you were off for a few days?”
“I was. I’m back now.”
Dave nods and takes another sip of his coffee. “Well, welcome back then. Have a good night.”
“Thanks. You too, Dave.”
Before leaving, Dave acknowledges me by giving me a subtle nod in which I gladly return. Billy turns his attention back to his computer and begins typing in the search bar in the database that has finally loaded on his machine.
A few minutes go by and he still hasn’t offered up any details on what he’s looking for. He has the torn up piece of paper from the safe on his desk and he types the numbers in different combinations in the database. I can tell by the way he holds his spot on the paper with one finger while typing one character at a time with another on the opposite hand. I do the same thing.
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” I finally ask.
Billy leans back in his chair, puts his hands behind his head, and sighs. He hands me the paper. “What do you see?”
I study at the paper. “What are you asking?”
“It’s not a trick question, what do you see when you look at it? What’s your first instinct?”
I study the paper again, not sure what I’m missing. “I don’t know. A code or something. Five numbers, two letters.”
“What has seven characters? I’ve scanned the entire police database for every license plate combination with these numbers in the whole fucking county.”
“And?”
“Nothing, fucking nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing useful. There was one Ford pickup that had six of the numbers, and a Volkswagen Beetle that had all seven, but not in the same order.”
“Okay, maybe that’s something to work with. The Volkswagen, I mean.”
“It’s registered to an 18-year-old girl, that’s not it.”
“What about the truck?
Billy enters a combination into the database and reads back the results, “1989 Ford F-250, registered to a Reginald Washington, 89 years old and white. Unless you think Snake is tight with an 89-year-old white guy, he’s not our guy.”
Point taken.
I lean back in my chair and try to come up with something else, but draw a blank.
We bounce ideas back and forth for nearly an hour, things like partial VINs, dates, and other personal references from Snake’s lengthy file. We scan through all of Snake’s known aliases, previous cellmates, family members, and his known associates for any link to the number combination.
Nothing.
We’re exhausted, out of ideas, and can barely stay awake anymore, so Billy gathers up all the files he can find and compiles them in a box to sort through again later. With the files in hand, we walk out the back door to avoid getting stopped and questioned by another officer. We make our way around the front of the building and slide into the van. Frank is passed out in the back, snoring like a buffalo. I sit down on the bench across from him and lean my head back as Billy reverses the van into the empty street. The plan is to just rest my eyes until we get back to the warehouse.
When I wake up it’s morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BILLY
I drop off Alicia just before 8:00 A.M. at the usual spot a few blocks away from City Hall. Once I arrive back home, I make a call to the electric company to turn the power on at the property. I tell them that I’m the Sheriff and that it’s for urgent police matters. The service representative asks very few questions and agrees to send a technician out to read the meter so they can turn it back on immediately. They promise that I’ll be up and running by noon. I give them my personal post office box number to send the usage bills to.
I receive a call from Alicia just before lunch telling me the city is sending someone to the property for a walkthrough and inspection. It’s standard procedure apparently before they’ll hand over the keys to a commercial property that’s owned by the city. Someone needs to be there to get the keys and to accompany the inspector on the walkthrough, so that sounds like a job for me. I go to my bedroom, now Alicia’s, and pull out my uniform from the closet. As I button my shirt, I catch a glimpse of Alicia’s bag resting unzipped on the floor next to the bed. An orange strap hangs out the side of the bag, and it tempts me to look through it. I lift the flap of the bag and look inside without touching anything. Various colors and styles of underwear and camisoles fill it, including an all-orange brassiere which caught my attention in the first place. I see nothing of importance, no weapons or anything, so I put the flap back where it was and leave the house, leaving Frank by himself inside. I hop into the van and head toward the property on 12th Street.
I park the van in a parking garage a couple of blocks from the property and head the rest of the way on foot, not wanting to pull up in a van and raise some eyebrows. I bring the van instead of my squad car so I don’t risk the GPS alerting dispatch that I’m in it when I shouldn’t be. As I approach the building, I see a tall white man with round glasses and a bald head holding a clipboard, waiting near the entrance. He’s looking up at the side of the brick building and taking some notes on the pad on his clipboard. He turns to me as I approach.
“Hello there,” he says, “you must be Sheriff Hearns.”
I take his hand and shake it firmly. “No, I’m not the Sheriff,” I say.
He makes a humming sound and looks down at his clipboard. “Oh, I was expecting the Sheriff.”
“Yeah, I know. He got caught up in something this afternoon, so he asked me to fill in for him.”
The man nods. “Oh, okay. Well, my name is Maury Levenestein. I’m one of the commercial property building inspectors for the city of Topeka.”
“It’s nice to meet you Maury. My name is Bill Lewis.”
Maury turns his head slightly and looks to be deep in serious thought. “Lewis…Lewis…that name sounds familiar.” Suddenly, he thrusts his hand in the air and points his pen at me. “Any relation to William Lewis? He used to be the Sheriff around here.”
“He was my father.”
Maury smiles to himself, this seemingly being a proud moment for him, then he seems to remember. “Sorry about your loss,” he says. “Your father was a good man. I never actually met him, but from the people I know who did, they had nothing but nice things to say about him.” He offers me a weak smile.
I appreciate his sincerity. “Thanks.”
Maury fetches a key from the string that is attached to his clipboard and motions toward the door. “Shall we begin?”
The old police station is dusty, cold, and likely full of mold. It’s been nine years since the city agreed to build a new station, and seven since everyone moved out. It’s a safe bet that no one has stepped foot in here since then. It’s been in possession of the city ever since the move, and there are no plans that have been made public to do anything with the building. It’s an eyesore to the already rundown area surrounding 12th Street, but it seems people have learned to ignore it. Everything about it makes it the perfect location for what we’re going to use it for.
There is a long corridor that is lined with old offices, meeting rooms, and interrogation rooms. Many of the rooms still have furniture that was left behind from before the move. At the other end of the hall is another door which leads to the garage in the back of the building. Arresting officers would bring in the arrestees through the garage almost one hundred percent of the time, enabling the front door to be used for all other non-criminal civilian complaints or public visits.
I follow Maury into the large holding cell room where he begins his evaluation. It’s not a holding cell like you would expect in a modern jail; there are no bars, toilets, or separate rooms. It’s one big empty room that used to house all of the accused while they awaited processing. The walls have been stripped of the benches that used to line the perimeter. The new police station is more traditional and modern, and I’m sure they used this room as a big reason why the move was needed. A wide two-way mirror rests in its original place between the walls across the room.
“So,” Maury says as he tries to make small talk while he takes notes, “what do you guys need to use this place for anyway? It’s been locked up for years.”
“Just a special project we’re working on. We need some more space.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“I can’t really say.”
“Are you planning to take down a big operation or something?” He chuckles to himself. “Maybe it’s the Mafia. That’s it, maybe there’s a branch of the Mafia in Topeka.”
He’s overly enthusiastic about the thought of this, and his face lights up at this possibility. He’s clearly searching for some excitement in his life. He wears a gold wedding ring on his left ring finger that looks rustic, so I’m guessing his wife of many years doesn’t put out anymore, based on his need for excitement. Poor guy.
“Something like that,” I say.
Maury makes his way around the perimeter of the room and stops at a faded water stain on the cement floor in the corner. He looks up and jots something down on his notepad. I follow behind him as he weaves in and out of the old offices, conference rooms, and interrogation rooms, making notes as we enter each room. After hitting each of the rooms, he leads me back out the front door and onto the sidewalk.
“Well,” Maury begins, “the place is filthy and disgusting, but it’s safe. I would advise to hire a cleaning crew before anyone moves in, but I can’t force you to. I’ll type up a full report and send it over to the Sheriff directly.”
“Actually, the Sheriff is out of the office this afternoon, and this is really of high importance. I need to swing by City Hall later this afternoon anyway, so would you mind just sending it over to the clerk there? I can pick the report up on my way through and will hand deliver it myself.”
Maury shakes his head in agreement. “That works for me. I’ll have the report completed and sent across by four o’clock this afternoon.”
“Perfect.”
Maury unties the loose knot that attaches the key to his clipboard and hands the key to me. I clench it tightly in my hand.
“Before I forget,” he continues, “you’ll need to ask the Sheriff to fix the leak in the ceiling in that open room. It’s a small leak, but it’s still a leak. I’ll be back in ninety days to make sure it’s done. It’ll be in the report in case you forget.”
“Okay, no problem.”
We shake hands and Maury slides into his Toyota that’s parked on the street in front of the building. He waves as he drives away. I unclench my hand and look at the key with satisfaction. Ninety days is more than enough time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GEORGE
It’s morning and we’re all in the one of the offices in the warehouse: Billy, Frank, Alicia, and me. Billy says he spent the early morning hours sorting through Snake’s files again but came up empty. A tabletop map of the county is spread out across the desk. The ripped note and the brass key from the safe rest on the corner of the desk while Billy closely inspects the map.
“There is no intersection between 282 West Street and 53 South Street anywhere in this county,” Billy says. “There is no 282 West Street period.” He bows his head in frustration. “Any other ideas?”
Billy looks to each of us, but no one answers. He stares right at me, but I pretend not to see him. Out of nowhere, he swipes his arm across the table and knocks everything on the floor, startling everyone.
“Ideas people!” Billy continues. “There’s ten million bucks out there somewhere that’s going to belong to me!” He looks around the table again and still gets no reaction. “I see it’s going to have to go another way then. Fine with me.”
He bends down and unzips the duffel bag that’s on the floor. He rises with a metal rod in his hand, the same metal rod that I used back at Snake’s house. He walks around the table and stands behind Alicia.
She’s reactionless as he wraps his arm around her neck and lifts her to her feet. Billy towers over her as he spins her around and leans her against the table so she faces him. She bends her head back and gazes at me, still without expression. Billy raises the bar over his head and winds up in the direction of her belly. Alicia clenches her eyes shut and braces for what’s about to come.
Frank covers his face with his hands.
“The key,” I say, holding off the assault. “There’s got to be something with the key.”
Billy looks at me but doesn’t lower the bar. “Like what?”
“What about a safety deposit box?”
Billy lowers the bar a bit and Frank widens his fingers so he can see through the slits. Alicia’s eyes are still clenched shut.
Billy asks, “Which bank?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough.”
Billy raises the bar back above his head and prepares to swing it toward my unborn child. Frank closes his fingers, completely covering his face again. Billy cocks his arm and starts to swing it toward Alicia. I jump from my seat.
“Wait!”
Billy rolls his eyes and lowers the bar. “What now?”
“Just hold on a second.” I brush past Frank, whose face is now uncovered, and walk around the side of the table toward the map. I pick it up from the floor and toss it on the table. I intently scan the streets of Topeka on the map until I find it. I spin the map toward Billy and point at the spot. “There.”
Billy lowers the rod completely and releases Alicia from his grasp. She finally opens her eyes and lets out a deep sigh of relief. Billy follows my finger on the map with his eyes.
“What am I looking at?” he asks.
“Right there,” I say, tapping on the spot repeatedly. “Shawnee County Savings Bank is located on 53rd Street.”
&nbs
p; Billy whips his head from the map and looks at me. He’s glowing with excitement. “And 282w would be the safety deposit box number?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Billy looks at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock, let’s go. They’ll be open by the time we get there.”
Billy and I start for the door. Frank pops up from his chair and runs after us. Alicia is left in the room mumbling something to herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BILLY
It’s been almost six weeks since everything was put in place, and I’m still waiting for the next job to go down. I’ve been back to work for just under three weeks now, and I’m trying to act as normal as possible. I’ve split my time between investigating a burglary on Chestnut Street and a bomb threat at the local high school. Sheriff Jack Hearns has kept me away from any homicides, but I always have one eye on what the Zved’s are up to. There was a suspicious murder in Wichita, a car bomb, and one over the border in Kansas City, a drive-by shooting. Both occurred last week, and I suspect the group is involved.
The Zved’s are back at it.
It is one of their patterns to back off for a while if the police are doing too much sniffing around, so they laid low for a while. It’s nothing new. Either they sense that the heat has cooled, or they are running out of cash. Either way, they’re back at it and I’m all over them.
Alicia has been doing her best to keep the deed transfer under wraps at the office, and she tells me that no one has been snooping around that she knows of. She received and immediately deleted the inspection report from Maury Levenestein when expected, and she cleans out her inbox’s recycle bin weekly to make sure it’s gone. Once the state gets wind of some sketchy activity internally, they’ll hire an IT contractor to look through all of the records. They will find it eventually, hidden somewhere on her hard drive, but it buys us more time.
