by Tony Wiley
The businessman was stuck. Morrison smiled to himself. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he said. “In the meantime, have some coffee prepared. I like mine with a bit of half-and-half. No sugar, please.”
There was another small pause.
Then Perkins sighed and said, “OK, I’m waiting for you.”
*
The secretary ushered Morrison in as soon as he arrived.
The office was spacious and airy. All glass and stainless steel. Steve Perkins rose from behind his desk to greet him. He was tall and athletic. Mid-forties but with the thick black hair of a guy in his early twenties. The businessman had taken him at his word. Two cups of coffee were steaming on a low table between a pair of plush leather chairs. The secretary left and closed the door behind her. They sat down.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Morrison said. “I really appreciate it.” He took a sip from his cup. The coffee was hot but really good. A dark roast.
Perkins sat back in his chair. Didn’t touch his coffee. He was calm and collected. All business. “You didn’t really leave me a choice,” he said.
“Right,” Morrison said. “I didn’t.” He looked around him. “Pretty impressive business you’ve built yourself. You’ve done really well, especially in the last three years.”
Perkins nodded. “We’ve never done better. Business is booming.”
Morrison tilted his head. “I wish I could say the same. For me, the last three years have been a big setback.”
Perkins frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. It’s very kind of you.” He drank another sip, then he put his cup on the coffee table and sat back. “The good news is, you can help me get back on the right track.”
Perkins frowned again. “How so?”
“I believe that three years ago, you made some withdrawals in my name. Now I’d like to have my money back.”
He watched Perkins furiously debate how he would answer this. The businessman was probably a good poker player, but not a great one. After a lengthy pause, Perkins said, “Are you wearing a wire?”
He smiled. “You’ve seen too many movies.”
“You don’t mind if I check?” Perkins asked.
“Not at all.” Morrison rose and fished his prepaid out of his pocket. Took out the battery and dropped the lot on the low table. Then he spread his arms and legs. “Here you go, help yourself.”
Perkins rose and came to him.
He began by patting both his arms in clumsy and hesitant moves. Actually, he acted like he thought he should be acting based on what you saw in the movies. Morrison didn’t mind. He let him proceed at his pace.
When Perkins was finished, both men sat back in their chairs. Perkins took a first sip of coffee. “What makes you think I may have some of your money in my possession?” he asked.
OK, preliminaries are over, Morrison thought. Time to show you know everything he did.
“That’s eight million dollars of me and my partners’ money,” he said. “But first, I must compliment you. To extract the encrypted data on that USB flash drive must’ve been really hard. I went to great lengths to ensure that the list of bank accounts and codes would stay hidden, but you are obviously very clever …”
Morrison described the whole setup: the four banks hit in the days following his arrest. The four hundred accounts at each of these banks. Where in New York City the withdrawals had been made. It was a very convincing case. For a good ten minutes, he walked Perkins, who remained silent and showed as little as he could, through all the maneuvers the businessman had coordinated to siphon the money he, Morrison, should have gotten himself if he hadn’t been arrested.
Which brought him to that junction.
“Man, if I hadn’t seen that personal connection you have with Sheriff Sanford, you could’ve gotten away with it. For a while, after I cleared my associates of any wrongdoing, I thought that she was the one who had stolen the money.”
Perkins broke his silence and immediately became protective. “Claire has nothing to do with that,” he said. “Leave her alone.”
“Oh, I will. Don’t worry. But you have to put yourself in my shoes. What was I supposed to think when I realized that she had put her hands on my USB flash drive? I didn’t have the details of our planned hits anywhere else. So I could only conclude that she had somehow found out about its content and decided to use it, however bizarre that may seem now. I couldn’t know that she was having an affair with you and that you would use that connection to put your hands on that USB flash drive. Actually, that’s the only part that’s still fuzzy for me—how you came to look into that USB flash drive. I’d be very curious to hear your side of the story.”
Perkins shook his head. He didn’t have anything to hide anymore, so what the heck. “We were in deep financial trouble at the time,” he said. “We were quite desperate, actually.”
Morrison stared around. “So all of this, that’s only a façade?” he said.
“No, no, not now,” Perkins said. “We’re doing really well now. That money is now irrelevant. But three years ago, we were stretched to the hilt. We’d just had a couple of really bad years and our credit margins were maxed out. I had to find a couple of millions, and fast, otherwise we were going bankrupt. So when Claire arrested you, I took notice. Your case was intriguing. Two million dollars extracted in a few hours through a string of ATMs, I thought that was impressive. And I thought there might be more, you know. Especially when I took into consideration Harris’s recent order. I mean, he was clever. He ordered a lot more stuff than what he needed for your ATM-skimming operation. But I could see that he had definitely put his hands on some of the stuff you would’ve needed to carry on that type of operation. And there was a lot more than what you were arrested with. So I figured that if you had at least one associate, and a lot more equipment than what had been seized, then you were probably planning to steal more money.”
“Well thought,” Morrison said. “But how did you learn that I had a USB flash drive to start with?”
“With Claire, of course. I asked her a lot of questions about you. I mean, I didn’t have to feign curiosity. I really was curious about you. To her, that was not a big deal. She didn’t think much of giving me some information on your case. Seemed harmless enough.”
“OK, so you learn that I had a USB flash drive on me, what do you do then?”
“I went to see her at the station and I managed to locate the key in the evidence room. Then I made a copy and brought it back to the office to look into it. Finding the information in the picture files was not that hard.” For the first time in their conversation, Perkins smiled, briefly. “I mean, it was clever of you to hide the data in those files, for sure, but it’s not exactly that hard to figure out either. You’re not the first guy who’s done that. But as far as Claire’s team was concerned, it did the job. They never saw a thing.”
“But you did, you acted on it and here we are.”
Perkins nodded. At least they were now both clear on the narrative. Except for one item, Morrison thought.
“A hacker was shot dead in his apartment two days ago. With his kid. Care to explain that?”
Perkins’s face became somber. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“But still, you know about it, don’t you?”
Perkins cleared his throat. “Shortly after we finished withdrawing all the money following your plan—which was really well mapped out by the way, great job there—I received a phone call from the head of IT security at Candela Bank. Sent me into a mad panic. I thought I was home free and now this guy calls me out of the blue, a bit like you did, with all the lowdown on the money we’d stolen from his bank. Somehow, he had managed to track me down, and he came to see me.”
“What happened then?”
“Turns out he was only interested in the money. He bargained for his silence. So we negotiated and eventually settled on a figure.”
“How m
uch?”
“One million dollars.”
“OK, I get it,” Morrison said. “Then, a couple of days ago, your security guy got wind of my hacker sniffing around in his servers, called to ask if you had anything to do with that and then took care of business.”
“Right, that’s it,” Perkins said.
Morrison nodded. “So in reality, you’ve pocketed seven million net, not eight.”
Perkins nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Morrison let out a long breath. They had reached a rare moment of clarity. Now was the time to strike a deal. He leaned forward in his chair and said, “OK, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to treat this whole affair like it was just a business deal between you and me. You had financial trouble at the time, so I made you a loan. Eight million dollars, of course, not seven. And now that you’ve put your business back on its feet, you can happily pay me back. With interest. Let’s say ten percent a year. Over three years, that’s thirty-three percent. How about we round that up to forty percent? To cover my expenses and the trouble I had to track you back.”
Perkins gave a quick nod. “Fair enough,” he said.
Morrison nodded in return. “Good, good,” he said. Then he rose. “I will pick up the money tomorrow morning. I’ll call you with the details of where we meet.”
He extended his hand. Perkins shook it.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Morrison said.
Perkins held on to his hand a little longer. “You know, whatever anyone thinks about it, I’m fine with what I did. I had to save my company. No matter what. I’ve got hundreds of employees, hundreds of families depending on me for their well-being. I couldn’t let them down. I did what I had to do, and I would do it again. Without the slightest hesitation.”
Morrison put his other hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I get it, Steve,” he said. “I totally get it.”
*
Morrison felt great.
His lean period was finally coming to an end. Tomorrow, a torrent of money would be raining over his head, as sudden and unexpected as a tropical downpour. With it, he’d be able to resume his life in style. Not pressured and constrained by the measly few hundred bucks he had in his wallet on the day of his release. No, he would be able to afford the greatest of luxuries, that of time.
Now that he thought about it, Mike’s intrusion didn’t seem so annoying. Of course, he had really resented being trapped like he was. But now, it was turning out to be a blessing in disguise. And besides, he wasn’t done with Mike yet. Oh, no.
Even though he was driving straight to Cowgirl’s house in the big black Navigator, he felt compelled to call her right away to share the good news.
But before he could even dial her number to expound on the deal he’d just struck with Perkins, he had to put the phone down.
A noisy siren had just erupted behind him.
Accompanied by a flurry of red and blue lights hitting his rear-view mirrors.
He took a peek back. Then he rolled his eyes.
Sheriff Sanford.
Their eyes met briefly. With a smug smile on her face, she pointed at the side of the road.
What was he going to do? He was not about to start a car chase. That would have been beyond stupid. So he sighed, put his blinkers on and pulled over to the shoulder.
Chapter 51
Morrison rolled down both windows on the left side of the car. Standard procedure when you want to help the cops relax. Offer a clear view of yourself. Appear calm, predictable, not restless or fidgety. That way, you stood a better chance of avoiding trigger-happy moments.
He followed the script by putting both hands on the steering wheel at ten and two. Then he waited.
While he kept his eyes locked on the side-view mirror, he wondered if his being pulled over had anything to do with his visit to Perkins. Was the businessman dumb enough to have informed Sheriff Sanford? He didn’t think so. Perkins had struck him as the polar opposite of stupid. A smart and thoughtful guy who had read his situation perfectly and cut a sensible deal. Calling Sanford would only have served to incriminate himself. So this had to have come from her. Whatever it was.
Sanford did not get out of her car at once. She stayed behind the wheel and began talking on the radio, her gaze fixed on him.
A second patrol car quickly appeared on the scene as backup. Morrison shook his head. She seemed intent on making a show of his arrest. Only when the guys from the backup car parked behind her did she get out of her own car.
She approached him carefully, pointing her service gun in his direction. Christ, he thought. He was not into violence, much less weapons. She knew that better than anyone else. What a masquerade.
Still, he remained quiet. His hands on the wheel. His head staring straight ahead.
“Remember what I said about arresting you myself?” she said when she drew up to him. “Well, here we are, Morrison. Get out of your car now. Nice and slow.”
The muzzle was two feet away from his head.
He slowly moved his left hand away from the steering wheel and pulled on the door handle.
“What’s that about, Sanford?” he said before pushing the door open. “Why do you come back at me like that?”
“Lie down on the ground and put your hands behind your back,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.
He complied and soon felt a pair of cuffs close around his wrists. She put them on tight. His hands immediately started to go numb.
When she was done, she bent down to whisper in his ear. “We found your prints at the apartment,” she said. “The lab had to run through a lot of ’em, but we finally got a good set.” She made a small pause. Then she added, “So much for not being a violent guy, Morrison.”
Chapter 52
Here we go again.
Back in interrogation room number two.
A deputy sat Morrison on the cold steel chair and cuffed him to the bolted table leg. Then he was left alone between the white cinder-block walls.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Twenty. Thirty.
Was it some tactic designed to build up some tension in him? To cause him to fret and worry in anticipation of what lay ahead? He didn’t know.
But one thing he did know was that he was in big trouble.
If Sheriff Sanford really had his prints, then she had every right to detain him. At least for a couple of days—enough time for the district attorney to debate whether those prints were enough to prosecute him or not.
Of course, he didn’t have anything to do with the murders, but they didn’t know that and, after all, he was a convicted criminal. The odds were stacked heavily against him. They would not give him the benefit of the doubt.
So that meant he could not attend to his deal with Perkins tomorrow morning and ride off into the sunset.
Unless he found a way to extricate himself from this delicate position.
There was a way to do this, of course.
But it was like walking on a tightrope.
You could do it, yes. Technically it was feasible.
But you were not allowed to slip. Better be careful and weigh up your every move before you proceeded. Because the slightest mistake would bring you down.
The heavy steel door opened. He looked up. Sheriff Sanford walked in. Alone.
“Want to call up that lawyer of yours, Morrison?” she said. “The one with the funky glasses? If you want to do it, now’s the time.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need him,” he said.
His answer surprised, and pleased, her. “Fine,” she said. She sat down opposite him with a notepad, a pen and a voice recorder, her back ramrod straight.
Take the initiative, he thought. You have to take the initiative.
He nodded toward the voice recorder. “Are you recording this?” he said.
“Not yet.”
“Great. It’s better that you don’t.”
“Why is that?”
He ignor
ed her question. “And you don’t have a video system, right? Nothing concealed in the ceiling filming us or anything.”
“No, it’s broken. That’s why I have the voice recorder.”
“Good. Don’t switch it on.” He paused for a moment. “You’re gonna thank me for this.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m gonna thank you, Morrison? Gee, you’ve got some nerve. I mean, for Christ’s sake, there are two dead bodies at the morgue because of you. One of them a kid barely two years old. I don’t think I’m about to thank you for anything.”
“I haven’t killed anyone.”
She tilted her head and gave him a hard stare. “It’s always the same with you criminals, isn’t it? You’ve never done anything wrong. It’s never your fault. How sick can you be?”
He restated the obvious.
“I haven’t killed anyone.”
“Then why have we found your prints at this poor guy’s apartment? Care to explain that, Morrison?”
It was so ironic. He had really done nothing wrong in that apartment. So he simply told the truth.
“He was my hacker. I’d given him some urgent work to do, but he wasn’t responding anymore. That worried me so I decided to go check on him.”
She gestured to start the recording device, but he held his hand up.
“Don’t,” he said, “or I’m just gonna shut up and call my lawyer.”
As she pondered this, he could see that he had hooked her. She left the recorder alone and nodded for him to continue.
“The front door of his apartment was unlocked,” he said. “So I simply let myself in.” He looked down at the table. “It wasn’t long before I saw him. Well, them. Someone had killed them both.” He shook his head slowly. “It was horrible. I was almost sick in there.”
“Then what did you do?” she asked.
“I heard some scratching at the front door, so I went to the fire escape and got the hell out of there.”
“We found your prints in the kitchen too,” she said.
“He was a hacker but I saw no computer. I just looked around to see if I could find anything, that’s all. I barely had a few minutes before somebody showed up.”
