by Al Boudreau
“Eliminate the record keepers.”
“Exactly. And what position did each of our deceased victims hold?”
“Accountants,” James replied.
“Here’s another point to ponder,” I said. “Every now and then I come across a piece in the newspaper or online that talks about our national budget, the deficit, all of that dry financial gobbledygook. What if this guy is part of a scheme to rob-Peter-to-pay-Paul?”
“That would be big,” James replied. “The thought of it makes my stomach churn. It’s downright disconcerting when you start weighing the possibilities.”
“Well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time our government tried to appropriate funds from a source they had no business pilfering.”
James leaned back and closed his eyes. “Carter, what if you and Sarah stumbled into a massive hornet’s nest when you took on Rachel Webber’s case? This may sound a little alarmist, but what if your investigation of Webber’s wrongdoing was a catalyst for this entire series of homicides?”
The implications of James’s words hit me like a fastball in the eye socket. My head hurt as I realized Sarah may have been in far more danger than I’d ever imagined while in the company of the unidentified men who’d held her.
“How long before we land?” I asked.
“I’d say no more than five minutes, tops,” James replied.
“I’m going to call Sarah. Any way you can get a unit over to my place. I’m not feeling so good about her safety all of a sudden.”
Chapter 23
“Sarah’s not answering her phone,” I said to James as our plane touched down. “I’ve tried her three times.”
“One of my best officers is on his way to your place right now,” James said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine.”
I nodded, wishing I was as confident. “You mind driving directly to my house before we go to the station?”
“Absolutely,” James replied.
We climbed out of the aircraft as soon as the pilot shut down the motor. I tried Sarah’s cell again as we put the airport behind us, only to have the call ring and ring then skip to voicemail. I pocketed my phone when I noticed several vehicles ahead pulling over into the breakdown lane. “Are you running your blue lights?”
“You got a problem with that?” James asked, a trace of a smile on his face.
“Yeah, I feel a little funny about it,” I replied. “Getting to my house isn’t an emergency. I’m just concerned about her, that’s all.”
“It’s my job to protect and serve, Carter. I’m on the clock so I need to conduct myself accordingly. Besides, I hate having to follow slow people.”
I found myself leaning forward, willing James’s cruiser to travel faster as my imagination placed Sarah in the midst of trouble again.
A call came over the radio. James grabbed the microphone and took part in an exchange of police codes I didn’t understand. “Carter, no one is answering the door at your place. Do you want me to have my officer stay put until we arrive?”
“I think that would be a good idea.”
James spoke a few more words into the mike then said to me, “He didn’t see any signs of forced entry. Sarah’s probably just out.”
“Yeah, hopefully.”
James made a sharp right onto my street, and I spotted Sarah’s car parked in the same spot it had been when I left. We pulled in directly behind the Toyota and I got out, scanning each window of the house for any signs of movement.
We reached the front entry, and I unlocked the door. “Sarah?” I called out as I entered. “Sarah, you here?” I glanced over my shoulder and James had his gun drawn, heightening my unease. Room by room, I looked for any sign that something bad had happened. Our bedroom was the last space I checked.
No Sarah.
“I still say she just decided to go out for a while,” James replied, doing his best to allay my concern.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and let go a deep sigh when I heard a noise.
“I’m home,” Sarah called out. “Carter, you here?”
I headed down to the kitchen. “I called you a number of times. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” she replied, a look of concern on her face. “Jackie stopped by and offered to take me to lunch. We were parked in the underground parking garage. I probably had no signal when you called.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a moment to calm down.
“Want me to wait?” James asked. “Happy to give you a lift to the station so you can get your car.”
“No, go ahead. Thanks.”
After James left, Sarah asked, “What’s going on, Carter?”
I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. When I couldn’t reach you I feared the worst.”
“Why? What happened in Troy?”
“Roland Creitz and his lawyer think Dominic Caldwell may have played a part in getting Webber’s boss Shana Luke railroaded out of Hy-Tek Solutions.”
“So you’re still convinced Creitz was set up?”
“We’re thinking a cover-up. With Caldwell possibly working covertly for another agency, or for someone in a position of power. Anyway, James was thinking out loud during the flight home. He made a few points about the case that got me a little rattled.”
Sarah began nodding her head. “So, what, you got worried Caldwell might cause me harm while you were away?”
“The thought did enter my mind.”
“Aww.” Sarah moved in toward me and planted a kiss on my lips. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“James said something about us stumbling into a hornet’s nest by taking on Rachel Webber’s case, like maybe our investigation of Webber was a catalyst for these three homicides.”
“Oh, Carter, don’t even say that.” Sarah stared into my eyes with an intensity I hadn’t seen in quite some time.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said, hoping to backtrack and calm her down.
“If we share some responsibility in three innocent women losing their lives, we have to do whatever it takes to make this right.”
We stared at one another in silence for several minutes, me wishing I could turn back the clock and convince Sarah to pass on the Webber case.
“Is Dominic Caldwell married?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Where does he live?”
I shook my head. “No idea.”
“If you’re so convinced this guy is dirty, shouldn’t we be poking around?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. But I’ve got to believe Caldwell keeps information about himself and his family secret, agent being the operative term here.”
Sarah turned and walked away before I recognized my comment as being a bit condescending. Made worse when I considered her suggestion to poke around was probably the right one.
I grabbed my phone to give James a call and left a message on his voicemail concerning our desire to probe Caldwell’s background.
I looked at the clock. 1:45 pm. I’d never been much of a day drinker, but my nerves were teetering on a precipice. I knew there was at least half a fifth of bourbon inside the cabinet over the refrigerator.
I grabbed a rocks glass off the shelf and went for the bottle.
“Whatcha doin’?” Sarah’s voice startled me enough that I almost dropped both vessels onto the kitchen floor.
“Just thought I’d have myself a little medicine,” I said, hoping she hadn’t noticed me nearly jump out of my skin. “Care for a dose?”
“No, thanks. I don’t think it would go very well with my own medication,” she replied before bursting out, “That’s it!”
“What?”
“That’s how we can get the scoop on Caldwell. Hospital records.”
I sat down and pondered what she’d said.
“Pour yourself a glass of that stuff and drink it down,” she said. “Maybe it will snap you out of this funk.�
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I followed her advice and slugged one down, then poured another. “I think I grasp what you’re saying. You want me to get in touch with one of my associates and pull records on Caldwell?”
“It’s me you’re talking to, here, so call them what they are, Carter. They’re hackers.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said, a particular individual in mind. I’d become friendly with the kid back in my cop days. As far as I knew, he still lived in Southie. My bourbon and I went to my desk. I got my tattered notebook out of the drawer, along with one of my burner phones, and located the number.
The cell chirped out its staccato ring, trying to raise Stoney the Hacker. “Hold on,” an unfamiliar voice said. I tried to remember the last time I’d contacted Stoney, wondering if he’d moved on, when I heard him say, “That you, Slim?”
I laughed, having forgotten about Stoney’s nickname for me. “Yep, it’s me.”
“Post a message with what you need on Mickey Mat’s Job-Monster account. I’ll send your file to my Slippery Sam Ether-Safe. Leave me seventeen hundos in the usual spot. See ya.”
I grabbed an old netbook computer. The device was a true relic I used solely for times like this when I needed my identity to stay invisible. There were no less than half a dozen wifi accounts within range of my home, the owners not seeming to know or care enough to encrypt their internet connections. I took turns piggybacking off them so I wouldn’t load any specific person’s account up with too many suspect packets of information.
Within a few minutes time I’d put together my query on Dominic Caldwell, originally intending to have Stoney grab no more than a basic run-down of Caldwell’s history. But the price of doing business with my hacker friend had gone up since our last transaction, so I instructed him to give me all he could find.
“We should have a full packet on Caldwell soon,” I said to Sarah as I walked back into the kitchen. I placed my full shot glass of bourbon on the counter.
“Nice,” she replied, “but why are you carrying that shot of booze around like a pet?”
“I gotta pick up the Buick and mail the payment to Stoney, so one-and-done on the alcohol. Can you give me a lift to the station?”
“Sure,” Sarah replied.
I went to my safe and pocketed a stack of $100 bills, grabbed my jacket, and headed outside to the sunny June afternoon. Before getting in the car, I closed my eyes and let the sun’s rays wash over my face. It felt good to enjoy a moment of peace after the stretch of trouble we’d just been through.
I climbed in the passenger side of the car. Sarah swung open the driver’s door but failed to get in right away. I turned to see if someone she knew was approaching, or if a vehicle had blocked our driveway.
Nothing.
“Everything okay?” I called out.
“Yeah, fine, I guess,” she said after sliding behind the wheel. Once we were on our way Sarah asked, “What would happen to Caldwell if we could prove he had something to do with these murders?”
“He’d go to jail, I hope.”
“You hope?”
“You did say prove,” I replied. “But it’s tough to prove someone’s guilt, then ensure they’re handed a conviction. It usually boils down to how much money an individual has, who they know, or both. I’ve seen cases where I’d have bet my life a conviction would be handed down, only to watch the accused skate on some dumb technicality his lawyer dug up.”
I expected some sharp-tongued response from Sarah, but when I looked over at her she seemed preoccupied with the rear-view mirror.
“Got something in your teeth?” I asked.
Sarah failed to respond, a look of concern on her face. I turned and looked out the back window. “What’s wrong? The white car?”
“I’m not sure. That car was parked up the street when we left. There were two people in it. I could have sworn they were watching us when we came out of the house.”
“As soon as we get around this curve pull into Dippin’ Donuts. Don’t stop, just continue around the back side of the building. If your timing’s right we should be able to pull out directly behind them when they drive past.” Sarah followed my instructions to the letter, and despite having one arm in a sling she reentered the roadway no more than three car lengths behind the suspect white sedan. “Nicely done,” I said.
Sarah gave me the subtle smirk I recognized as an indication of pride. “I think the driver is watching us in – oh, shoot.”
My head nearly hit the dash as Sarah nailed the brakes. The white sedan collided with a massive trash truck. We watched the airbags inside the sedan slowly deflate. The trash truck operator emerged, arms and jaw moving a mile a minute.
“Start rolling slowly toward the wreck,” I said as the occupants of the twisted sedan climbed out. I grabbed my phone and placed a call to James.
“I know him!” Sarah exclaimed. “The guy on the passenger side. He’s one of the men who held me at the safe house.”
“Carter. What’s up?” James inquired through the speaker.
“We just had a couple guys tail us from my place. They were involved in a wreck south of Dippin’ Donuts on Gauge Street. Sarah recognizes one of them as half the duo who held her at the safe house.”
“It looks like they’re leaving the scene on foot,” Sarah said.
“Did you hear that, James? Be advised the entire road is blocked. Their car is wedged under the rear end of a full-sized trash truck.”
“Which side of the accident are you two on?”
“We’re on the north side.”
“Don’t try to pursue them. I’m on my way with backup.”
Chapter 24
A blue-and-white lightshow appeared from the north and south ends of Gauge Street. A substantial traffic backup had formed, the route being a well-known shortcut to get from one side of Bridgeport to the other. Five minutes had passed since the collision occurred, giving the two men a formidable head start in making a clean escape.
James maneuvered around Sarah’s Toyota and positioned his cruiser across the road, perpendicular to the normal flow of traffic. “What direction did those idiots take?” he asked as he approached Sarah’s window.
“They headed south down the railroad tracks,” Sarah replied.
James relayed the information to base, along with instructions to close Gauge Street at both ends. “This ought to screw up the afternoon commute real well.”
I got out of Sarah’s car and stood next to James. A number of drivers behind us were pulling U-turns and heading back in the direction from which they came, adding to the confusion.
“Those emails we requested from Creitz’s lawyer just came through,” James said. “Sorry to say there wasn’t much I’d deem useful. I forwarded the message to you.”
“What about Dominic Caldwell? Any info yet?” Sarah asked.
“He’s not married and never has been. He keeps an apartment in downtown Boston. Not too far from Causeway Place, in fact. The bulk of background information on Caldwell is classified. I’ve got to tell you, the chief seems quite reluctant to ask permission to access any of it. His exact words to me were We’ve made enough waves already. I get the impression he’s not prepared to jump on the Caldwell-as-suspect bandwagon yet.”
“Stands to reason,” I said. “If Caldwell ends up in the middle of this mess it’s not going to bode well for Chief Goodhue. He’s the one who pointed us in Creitz’s direction from the start.”
“Exactly,” James replied. “Which is why I wasn’t about to argue with him. I’d prefer to keep my job.” James chuckled, setting off a round of nervous laughter among us. “You two can turn around and head out of here if you want.” James started walking toward the accident.
Sarah jockeyed the car around to join the long line of traffic heading away from the snarl. “I bet James and the chief would like to ship us both off to Siberia right now. You said it yourself. Our initial involvement with Rachel Webber was probably the fuse that lit off this entire case. And let
’s face it, we just caused this accident to happen.”
“Don’t forget, we’re the good guys. People are losing their lives. And whether or not any of those three accountants were guilty of wrongdoing, whoever is responsible for their deaths needs to be brought to justice.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
I opened my email account during the ride back to the house and took a look at the file Creitz’s lawyer provided. Just as James had said, not much there. It got me thinking about Caldwell again. “Thanks, Sarah.”
“For what?”
“I’m glad you suggested hiring Stoney to dig up some sort of scoop. These Creitz emails aren’t telling us much, and after hearing about the chief’s reluctance to take a better look at Caldwell, I’m beginning to feel like it’s all on our shoulders to break this case.”
“We were the catalyst that got things rolling, so why not be the ones to close the case, too?”
“I agree. Let’s just hope my initial hunch about Caldwell is valid. The information on him is costing me seventeen hundred bucks.”
Sarah turned into the lot of the post office. “Carter, Chief Goodhue won’t be cast in a very favorable light if we discover Caldwell is dirty. How will we help the chief save face?”
I raked my fingers over the two days of razor stubble taking up residence on my chin. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
Sarah laughed. “Sure, put it all on me. Thanks a lot.”
I ran inside the post office, deposited Stoney’s payment, then hustled back to the car.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Carter,” Sarah said as I shut the car door and buckled up.
“For what?”
“For having my back. Strange guys following me, suspects shooting at me, losers kidnapping me … stuff like that can really rattle a woman’s nerves, you know.” Sarah kept a straight face for a few seconds before laughing.
“Yeah, well, I haven’t done the best job with having your back lately, but thanks for busting my chops.” I looked at Sarah and smiled. “In all seriousness, though, we really do need to talk about future cases.”
