by Todd Borg
“So your guys played it by the book and stayed put,” I said. “Smart.”
“Yeah. Jim immediately picked up the radio to call it in, but one of the robbers walked up to the windshield. He put a piece of paper against the glass and tucked it under the wiper. It said, ‘No radio, no cell phone.’ With his other hand, he held a smartphone against the glass. Then he held up another piece of paper that said, “Remove your weapons and get out of the truck, or we do this.” The paper had an arrow drawn on it. The arrow pointed toward the smart phone. Follow me?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“The phone played a video that showed a man holding a pack of what looked like three tubes wrapped in silver duct tape. The man on the video tossed the silver pack under a big truck. Then the man stepped behind a building, held up a little remote transmitter, and pushed a button. The duct tape package under the truck blew up in a huge fireball, shredding the truck. My boys said that the video looked like it was copied from a movie. Anyway, the message was clear.”
“Not good,” I said.
“Right. So, of course, the robber this morning pulled a duct-taped package out of his pack and held it up so that our men could see it was just like the one in the video. He tossed it under the lockbox, held up a remote for our men to see, then pointed to the paper sign that said they should get out of the truck.”
“Your men did as instructed?”
“Like I said, right out of our book. Removed their weapons and got out with their hands up.”
I thought about it. “Were the handwritten notes used because the men can’t hear from inside the truck?”
“Well, the armor makes it pretty soundproof inside. But we have mikes on our video recorders. The ones on the outside of the lockbox record sound with the video. Turns out none of the robbers said a thing. It’s like they knew that the hoodies and the hockey masks obscured their visual identity and not speaking obscured their audio identity. That’s my idea, anyway.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. “What kind of alarm system do you use?”
“We’ve got the Red Web Alert setup. It includes the system here at our HQ, as well as the mobile communication system on the lockboxes. It’s got the full internet connection with the auto-trigger if the connection goes down for more than five seconds. Each guard has a foot switch they can hit without any robber seeing it. Matt and Jim both stomped those babies when those robbers first stepped out. The system is monitored twenty-four-seven and dialed into the police. Cost us thirty-eight grand to buy and nine hundred a month service fee.”
“Money well spent?” I said.
“Maybe. Maybe not. The system rang the bells and sent out the auto-messages, but by the time the cops got there, the robbers were gone with the money.”
“What happened after your men got out of the truck?”
“The bangers patted them down, took everything out of their pockets. Cell phones, keys, wallets. Larry, who rides in back, was still in there. Matt explained over the intercom about the explosive under the truck, so Larry unlocked the cargo door and came out without his weapon. The robbers cleaned out Larry’s pockets, then had them all take a hike.”
“Where to?” I said.
“They split them up. Probably a psychological thing, right? They showed Matt a piece of paper that said to walk northwest until he got to Edgewood Golf Course, then wait on the corner for one hour. They showed Jim a piece of paper that said to walk southwest on Lake Tahoe Boulevard until he got to the Heavenly Gondola and wait there for one hour. The paper for Larry, the rear guard, said to walk east until he got to Van Sickle Park and wait there for an hour. The last paper said they had drones and accomplices and would be watching them, and that if any of the guards did anything before they’d been at their assigned places for an hour, their families would be killed. At the bottom of the paper, each of the guard’s names was written. Next to Larry’s name was his wife’s name. And under them, his daughter’s name in one of those family-tree drawings. Creepy, if you ask me. They’d obviously been studying our company and had made a careful plan.”
“How are your men taking it?”
“Matt and Jim seem to be fine. But then they’re single, and they always put up a macho front. So it’s hard to know what they really think. But Larry isn’t taking it too good. He’s stressing about his wife and two-year-old daughter. I told him he could take a week off when this is settled. From the look on his face when he left and went home, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to give notice he’s quitting. I think a job like this seemed reasonable only if the dangers were just, you know, in your mind.”
“Abstract dangers, not real dangers,” I said.
“Yeah. Abstract dangers. But now that they’re obviously real dangers, I think Larry would rather sell shirts at Target.”
“Understandable.”
“So can you fit us in? I’ve never hired a private cop before, so I don’t really know how it works. Do you charge by the day? Or is it a lump sum contract based on performance?”
“I charge a per diem plus unusual expenses. You can cancel at any time if you’re dissatisfied.” I explained the details.
“What do you do first?”
“I’ll come down and visit your company. I’d like to interview the drivers and look at the truck. Depending on what I find, I may want to talk to your other staff. How soon is good for you?”
“Well, I was told the Douglas County cops will be done with our truck in another couple of hours. So we should have it back at the garage late this afternoon. Would tomorrow morning work? Say, eight a.m.?”
“I’ll be there. You and I can talk. Can your drivers be there to talk, say, an hour after that? Nine o’clock?”
“Will do.”
“One more question. Have the cops looked at the explosive that was under the truck?”
“No. It wasn’t there. The robbers must have taken it when they left with the money.”
“Got it,” I said. “See you in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Bosworth hung up.
After I got off the phone, I called Diamond.
I said, “I just talked to Randy Bosworth from Reno Armored, and he told me all about the big stickup. You want to add anything to Bosworth’s version? The inside scoop from an official law enforcement officer?”
“Ain’t much to tell. Everything went down like you’d expect if the stickup were performed by Navy Seals. The timing was perfect, the method perfect, the result perfect. They left no evidence. We have no clues and thus, as of this moment, nothing to pursue.”
“Great. I should be able to bust this case wide open in no time.”
“Let me know what you find out.”
We said goodbye and hung up.
TEN
I was thinking that a major robbery the day after a kidnapping was very unusual in a relatively unpopulated place like Tahoe. I wondered if there could be a link. Maybe I should find people and ask questions.
I drove up to Tahoe Vista and got to Evan Rosen’s motel apartment at five in the afternoon. Evan was out. I took Spot for a walk down to the beach.
After a half hour, we about-faced and headed back.
Evan Rosen was still out. So we waited in the Jeep. Spot hadn’t napped for over an hour, so he seized the opportunity to address his enormous sleep needs.
At 6 p.m., an old beige Subaru turned into the lot and parked just down from Evan’s apartment. Evan got out of the passenger seat, opened the rear door, and helped Mia get out of the rear seat. A white-haired woman got out of the driver’s seat. Evan pulled out what looked like a thick wad of bills. Unless they were ones, it seemed like more money than a house cleaner would carry around. She peeled off some bills and handed them to the woman, then opened the rear hatch of the woman’s car and lifted out two five-gallon paint buckets in which were various cleaning supplies. She set them on the ground. Mia picked one of them up with her good hand. They carried the gear to the apartment and went inside. The white-haired woma
n went to hers, which was four doors down in the same building.
I got out of the Jeep and walked over.
Evan’s front door was still open. She saw me. “Mr… Sorry.” She paused and set down her bucket.
“Owen McKenna.”
“Right, Owen McKenna,” she repeated.
“You were able to get a ride today.”
“Yes. My neighbor Mattie bailed me out. She’s doing it again tomorrow. But she has a doctor’s appointment the next day, so I’m stuck. I can’t believe the cops still have my car. I checked with a mechanic in Incline and told the sergeant they could have the car towed there. But they haven’t done that yet. Do you know when that will happen?”
“I don’t know. I could give you a ride the day after tomorrow if you don’t have it back.”
Evan immediately frowned. She obviously suspected that a favor came with a cost.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“You answered our questions yesterday. I might have more questions I’d like to ask you. My schedule is free. It only makes sense that I return the favor.”
“You’re saying that answering questions to a law enforcement officer is a favor? Questions that I could be required to answer?”
“It’s a favor when any person cooperates with law enforcement.”
“Just what are you anyway? The sergeant lady didn’t say your rank.”
“I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired by an armored truck company to investigate a robbery.”
Evan raised her eyebrows. “The Reno Armored truck robbery? No offense, but what does that have to do with David Montrop’s murder?”
“We’re not sure, but my cop sense tells me they are connected. In addition, Montrop’s son was kidnapped. I think that’s connected too.”
“Mr. Montrop’s stepson was kidnapped?”
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
“No. Mr. Montrop mentioned a stepson a couple of times, but I never met him. I got the sense that there was bad blood between them.” Evan looked at me with skepticism. “You said you’re a private investigator. I thought PIs weren’t actual cops. You don’t have the powers of a peace officer, right?”
I was surprised. “You make an astute observation. I often work in conjunction with local law enforcement agencies. I spent twenty years at the San Francisco PD, retiring as Homicide Inspector. You know about peace officer powers?”
Evan shrugged. “Just, you know, basic cop stuff. Not just anyone can be a cop, right? It’s like not just anyone can sell insurance. You gotta get the education and the paper that says you have the qualification. It’s the power of the state. The state can give, and the state can take away, and if you think you can be a lone wolf and live life any way you want without government involving itself in your life, you can’t. The state is still always in control.”
“Wow, you could write an essay on the structure of government authority. Do you always think like that? When you’re cleaning houses?”
“No. It’s just… I don’t know. Kind of interesting, I guess. I get a lot of time to think when I’m scrubbing floors.”
“I suppose so,” I said. I turned and looked toward where the older woman had walked. “Should I plan on giving you a ride two days from now? It’s no trouble. But no pressure, either.”
She thought about it. I could tell she was weighing the pros and cons.
“Okay. But I’ll call you if I have my car back.”
I gave her my card. “If I don’t hear from you, what time should I plan to be here?”
She thought about it. “The day after tomorrow, my first house is the Olmsteads. They like me there by eight because Mrs. Olmstead heads out to her yoga class shortly after, and she usually has special requests.”
“So I should arrive here when?”
“The Olmsteads are on Dollar Point, fifteen minutes from here. So if you could come here at seven-thirty, that would give me time to load up and make sure Mia is comfortable with you and your car.”
I pointed to my Jeep. Spot was now awake, and he held his head out the window.
“My dog Spot likes to ride along. Do you think Mia would be okay with that?”
Evan looked over at the Jeep. “She loves dogs, but he’s bigger than any dog Mia’s ever met. I assume he’s friendly?”
“Very.”
“Would it be okay if I introduced Mia to him now? Then she can get used to the idea before you come.”
“Of course.”
Evan went inside and came back out with Mia.
“You remember meeting Owen?” Evan said, her hand on Mia’s shoulder.
Mia looked at me, and made a tentative nod.
I raised my hand in a little wave and said, “Hi, Mia.”
“Owen might be giving us a ride the day after tomorrow. He has a big dog named Spot.” She pointed toward my Jeep. Mia looked where Evan pointed. Her eyes widened when she saw Spot.
“You know how you like dogs, Mia? Would you like to meet Spot? Let’s go meet Spot.”
We walked over. When Spot saw us coming, he started wagging, his tail banging back and forth between the front and rear seat backs.
I grabbed Spot’s head to show that he was tolerant of any kind of touch. “Spot, meet Mia and Evan. Here, Mia, you can pet Spot. He loves it when you pet him.”
Evan knew exactly how to handle it. She stroked Spot’s head. “Oh, Mia, Spot loves a pet.”
Mia reached out, slowly. Spot’s head protruding from the rear window was at the same level as Mia’s head. Spot sniffed her hand, which made her pull it back. I put my hand over Spot’s muzzle so he couldn’t sniff her. She reached forward and pet him. He wagged. Mia made a huge smile.
“Spot likes pets,” she said.
“Understatement of the month,” I said.
Evan grinned, and I knew that Spot had once again given me entreé into someone else’s world.
“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow,” I said.
ELEVEN
In the morning, I took Spot with me in the Jeep, headed up and over Spooner Summit, cruised down to Carson City and then north to Reno on the freeway. The contrast from cloudy cool Tahoe to hot sunny desert was dramatic.
The Reno Armored company, northeast of the Reno Tahoe airport, was actually in Sparks, Reno’s twin city to the east. It didn’t seem fair that a Sparks company ignored its home territory and traded on Reno’s famous name. But then the Reno Tahoe airport, which itself was nearly in Sparks, traded on the Tahoe name and the allure of a mountain lake that was out of sight almost 2000 feet above and twenty miles southwest of Reno.
I pulled into the parking lot of a new industrial building that housed an auto body shop and a truck detailing store. Reno Armored was on the far right side.
I told Spot to be good, then walked to the entrance under the modern sign that said, ‘Reno Armored – Your Security is Why We’re Here.’
I pushed through the glass door.
The air conditioning inside was set to sub-zero. The thin young woman behind the counter wore a thick sweater over a long-sleeved blouse. A wool scarf was wrapped around her neck. Her lips were blue and her fingernails were purple underneath clear, glossy polish.
“Good morning,” she said, a hint of chatter in her teeth.
“Hi. I’m Owen McKenna, here to see Randy Bosworth.”
She looked down at an appointment book. “Yes, of course. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picked up a phone, dialed three numbers and spoke in a high voice with a tremor of shiver in it. “Mr. McKenna is here to see you.”
She hung up and said, “Mr. Bosworth will be out in a minute.”
“Thanks.” I turned and looked at a wall that had several large, framed poster prints showing a variety of armored trucks, painted with cool-tone grays and blacks. The framed prints were displayed with fancy lighting as if the pictures were of fighter jets. Each poster had a slogan at the bottom. ‘We Preserve Your World’ and ‘We Treat Your Money Like It’s Ours.
’
I heard the whoosh and click of a pneumatic locking system as a door opened.
“Mr. McKenna,” a voice said behind me. “I’m Randy Bosworth.”
I turned to see a young man with the skin of someone who’d spent all of his life in the desert sun without a hat and augmented his UV input with a tanning bed. He was only a couple of inches shorter than my six-six, and wide enough that he must have weighed 275 pounds. He wore navy trousers, and a white shirt with a stitched-on Reno Armored logo patch that looked similar to a sheriff’s logo. On his left hip was a holstered gun. He had on a narrow navy tie, loosened at the neck. Its presence suggested that Bosworth regularly met with clients or potential clients. Despite the early hour and the frigid indoor climate, his shirt already had sweat stains around his armpits. He contrasted with the frozen, skinny receptionist the way an arctic walrus would with a young fawn trapped out on the frozen tundra.
We shook hands. Up close, the pistol protruding from his holster looked like a .45 Smith & Wesson.
“Thanks for coming down,” Bosworth said, not sounding thankful at all. “Where should we begin?”
The man had a metallic, fiery breath that would blister stainless steel. If you mixed hot chili peppers with something radioactive, plutonium maybe, you’d get close. I stepped back. “Let’s start with the truck that was robbed. I’d like to look at it.”
“Our number two lockbox,” he said. “Come with me.”
Now that I was talking to Bosworth face-to-face, his faint accent was beginning to sound Australian.
Bosworth turned and walked over to a heavy door set into an unusually heavy frame. He punched a code into a keypad, and I heard a locking bolt slide. He led me through the door out of the office area into a large garage. As he walked, he said, “The Douglas County cops spent hours going over the truck. But it sounds like all they found were our people’s fingerprints.”
