by Judy M. Kerr
Arty shuffled forward, stowing his keys in a big pocket of his overcoat. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?” He sniffled, sneezed, and groaned.
MC made a mental note that Arty had all the earmarks of being unwell, possibly even contagious.
Cam straightened from his sloppy lean against the Impala and put his fists to his hips. Scuffing a toe on the dirty concrete floor, he said, “Arty. Arty. Arty. You didn’t show up for the pre-meeting rundown this afternoon, and all hell’s broken loose tracking you down. What’s the story? I’m sure you have a really good excuse for not showing.”
“I called in,” he croaked. “I told my attorney I couldn’t do it today. I’m sick. I went to the doctor. I have strep and an ear infection. I feel like I swallowed glass and someone jammed a wad of cotton in my right ear.”
“Did you call anyone besides your attorney?” MC asked.
“Yes. I called Mike’s secretary, Linda, while I was at the pharmacy waiting for my prescriptions to be filled. I told her I have strep and the doctor recommended I go home for a couple days so as not to infect others. She put me on hold, and then Mike came on the line. I repeated the information and he told me not to worry, we’d do the meeting on Monday instead.” Arty coughed, a painful-sounding bark. “He said he and Gavin would take advantage of the change and make a quick trip to Las Vegas over the weekend. They’re lining up some cash with a couple of guys out there.”
Cam stepped forward leaning over the cowering man, finger poking in the air in front of his face. “You better be telling us true, Arty. Because if you back out now, it will not go well for you. You need to confirm the new date and time. Get the information to your attorney. Call us. Don’t mess with this, I’m warning you.”
“I swear.” Arty’s voice was raspy and nervous. He was speaking quietly, every word an infliction of pain. “I’m not messing with anything. Believe me, I’m done with all the conniving, falsifying, and lying. I want it to end as much, if not more, than you all do. In the weeks since we talked on Halloween, I recorded phone calls on the USB drive the FBI gave me. Calls with Mike. I am working on it.” Arty raised his hand. “But right now, all I want to do is go upstairs and take some medicine and sleep.”
Cam stepped aside.
Arty scooted past, hacking into a gloved fist.
“We’ll be waiting for your call, Arty. Feel better.”
Cam and MC climbed back into their car and drove out of the parking garage.
MC said, “We best give Oldfield the news in person.” She called Barb to let her know she wouldn’t be late, as originally expected. The news drew a happy response from her partner. At least something positive came out of the day’s clusterfuck.
Ghosts and goblins and monsters, oh my!” Barb removed Halloween decorations from behind the counter at Flannel and placed them in a cardboard box on a nearby stool.
Meg clapped her hands. “I like that.” She added an armload of decorations she’d retrieved from the front windows. “I can’t believe Thanksgiving is two weeks away. I’m glad you two were able to help tonight because I’m behind on changing the decorations.”
Dara and MC rolled their eyes at the antics of their partners as they drank cups of Flannel’s best coffee.
“MC, how’s the big case going?” Dara nudged her buddy with an elbow. “Give us the dirt.”
“You know I can’t talk about it.”
Dara sighed. “Company line. Spill it.”
“I will tell you this. We’re close.”
Dara said. “Who? What? Where?”
“I can’t give you specifics, but once things break, it’ll be all over the news.”
“Sounds impressive. Stay safe.” Meg sealed up the last box of Halloween decorations. “Barb, will you help me bring these down and haul up the Thanksgiving stuff?”
“You bet.” Barb pick up two stacked boxes.
“Do you need help?” MC asked.
Barb kissed MC on the cheek as she slipped past. “You help Dara wait on customers while we’re slaving away. Earn the free coffee you’re gulping down by the bucketful.”
Dara slapped a hand on the counter. “Slaving away. Ha! You both live for decorating for the holidays—every holiday. You’d decorate for each day of the week if it wouldn’t appear too obsessive.”
Barb and Meg presented Dara with their backsides. “Kiss my grits, Dara,” Barb said over her shoulder. They giggled and disappeared to the back of the shop.
“Those two would be entertaining in a burlesque show.” MC finished her coffee.
“Don’t give Meg any ideas.”
“Slow tonight.”
“Yes, but we were swamped all afternoon. Shoppers. Kids after school. Nonstop customers from before lunch until supper.” Dara poured another cup of coffee for herself. The wind buffeted the windows.
“Getting colder by the day.”
Coffee aroma wafted through the air, a warm invitation MC couldn’t resist. She held out her cup. “I dig this dark roast, rich and smooth.” She added a splash of cream and a packet of sweetener. “What are you and Meg doing for Thanksgiving?” MC dropped in a chair at a table close to the counter.
Dara sat across from MC and picked at a glob of goo stuck to the table top. “We’re biting the bullet and going up to New York Mills to my parents’ house. My sisters will both be with their husbands’ families, so Meg practically forced me to acquiesce to my mother’s insistent invite.”
“Your parents aren’t bad. They’ve come a long way over the years. They seem to really love and accept Meg.”
“I’m fifty and my dad still won’t say the word gay, much less lesbian. He’ll go to his grave without ever uttering either.” Dara got up and pushed chairs under tables and tidied up the shop. This was Dara’s go-to chore whenever she wanted to avoid a conversation about an uncomfortable topic. Back in her heyday, Dara would’ve resolved her unease by bellying up to the bar and pounding down whiskey. Those days were long gone.
Meg laid down the law about twenty years earlier—around the same time MC met Barb—either Dara stopped drinking and attended AA meetings or they would sell the shop and Meg would leave. Leave Dara. And leave the Twin Cities.
Dara was at an AA meeting the very next evening.
“Yo! MC!” Dara snapped her fingers in front of MC’s face.
MC batted her hand away. “What?”
Meg reappeared carrying two boxes with turkeys stenciled on the sides. “What are you two bickering about now?”
Barb set her boxes on the floor next to Meg’s. “You can’t be left alone for two seconds without sniping at each other.” She opened a box, pulled out a string of turkey lights, and stood on a chair to hang them over the front counter. “Dara, Meg told me the two of you will be spending Thanksgiving with your parents. I’m happy for you.”
MC said, “What she really means is it sounds better than what we’re doing, which is staying home and having a turkey breast and some of the fixings because we can’t go anywhere. I’m on call. And Barb’s brother invited her folks to Mankato, so it’s just us.”
“Which brother?” Meg asked.
“The priest, Father Tom,” Barb said. “He’s assigned to St. Ignatius parish in Mankato.”
“You’re both welcome to come along to my parents’,” Dara said, “but I can see that’s not an option. It would’ve been so much better with you guys along.”
“Barb, you could go with them,” MC said. “I’d miss you like a fool misses the point, but think how much you’d enjoy a fun family gathering on Turkey Day!” Her smile belied the truth. She didn’t want Barb to go. Barb was her family.
“Oh, hell yes!” Dara said.
“Thank you, Dara. But I’m staying home.” Barb gave MC her “do not dare question me” teacher face. “We’ll spend the holiday together. It will be a quiet one, but at least we have each other.” Her tone left no doubt in anyone’s mind that her decision was final.
MC said, “I know it’s not easy b
eing with me. The job gets in the way, as does my quirkiness about family. But you’ll be able to hit all the sales on Black Friday, and Meg will have to miss them.” MC’s attempt to cheer her partner was met with a frosty stare.
“There are more important things in life than shopping.” Barb pulled away and returned to decorating.
The response seemed odd to MC. Barb loved shopping, especially the sales. Something else drove this sudden brusqueness. Perhaps their recent discussions about a wedding were weighing on Barb. MC made a mental note to broach the topic when the opportunity presented itself, which was not at the moment.
Dara cleared her throat and went back to cleaning up behind the counter.
Meg lugged a box to the front of the shop and stuck decals on the plate glass windows creating a toasty, cozy world inside while keeping the cold dark outside world at bay.
MC wandered into the office and found the portable CD player on a shelf and dragged it out front. Determined to cheer the troops, she loaded an Indigo Girls CD. Soon the foursome was singing “Closer to Fine” at the top of their lungs. The music gobbled up all the bad mojo, and the boxes of Thanksgiving decorations came home to roost.
Chapter Four
Monday, November 17
Early in the afternoon MC grabbed her notebook and pen and strolled down the hall to Cam’s office, an almost exact replica of her own.
Roland Chrapkowski’s voice boomed from behind her before she’d reached Cam’s door. “McCall. My office. Now.”
MC swallowed a retort and wondered what she’d done to rile the old bastard this time. She stopped in the doorway leading into his office. “Yes?”
“Close the door and have a seat.”
Oh, crap, she thought as she settled in front of the gold nameplate with “Team Leader, Roland Chrapkowski” embossed in black lettering prominently set front and center on the tidy oak desk the size of a small island. Not a speck of dust or drip of anything marred the glossy finish. The persnicketiness of his office clashed with his personal appearance, which was disheveled and rumpled on a good day and gave the appearance he’d crawled out of a sewer on bad days.
Chrapkowski slid a file toward her. “This is shoddy work. Doesn’t surprise me, coming from you. How many times do I have to explain to you how to do paperwork?”
MC reached for the manila folder and opened it, thinking he’d never told her how to “do” paperwork. She skimmed the documents, which were standard forms along with a written summary signed by her and Cam.
“All the required documentation is here, along with the summary. Everything is digitized, too.” Why they were still required to do a hard and a digital copy of everything perplexed her. A couple years earlier, the agency had spent a lot of money in software upgrades. Witness statements, memorandums of interviews, investigative memos, affidavits, search warrants, arrest warrants, photographs and even handwritten notes were all scanned or entered electronically. This allowed for cross-referencing and case-sharing by all inspectors.
“All the required documents are there. However, the required documents are supposed to be in duplicate. My eyesight isn’t twenty-twenty, but unless I’ve gone completely blind, I’m not seeing duplicates. Care to explain?”
Shit. An oversight on her part? Then she remembered: Cam had taken the copies. She’d placed the originals in the file, but he wanted to read through everything one more time before providing the records to management, so he’d taken the dupes out. He probably forgot to put them back in, and she’d submitted the file this morning without double-checking.
Why was Chrapkowski concerned with these files? MC took it as another sign he didn’t like her, but she refused to allow him to see her discomfort. She’d play along. For now.
“Cat got your tongue, McCall?”
She swallowed the biting response clawing its way between her lips, thinking his ex-wife deserved more than half his retirement. “I believe Cam has the duplicates. I was heading to see him when you caught me. I’ll verify with him and get the paperwork to you ASAP.”
Chrapkowski stood and leaned over his desk. “Now, McCall. ASAP is now!” His bellow reverberated, and it was all MC could do to stop from fanning the rancid air. For God’s sake the man’s breath smelled like a stale barroom—all whiskey-soaked dead ashes.
MC shot out of the chair and yanked open the door. She stormed down the hall, stopped in front of Cam’s office, and took a deep breath. A sideways glance confirmed Chrapkowski stood outside his door, meaty arms crossed. She knocked.
Cam’s voice sounded. “Come in.”
MC entered the office and closed the door at the same time Cam set the phone handset back onto its base. “Sorry to interrupt.” Her voice shook, and she wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand, notebook and pen grasped in the other hand.
Cam slid his chair closer to his desk, wheels squealing in protest. “No problem.” He raised his head and did a double take. “You okay? You look heated.”
“The file I gave Crapper this morning. Do you, by chance, have the duplicates? The sonofabitch is on my ass because I gave him the file without dupes. Like this is the end of the world or something. Jesus flipping Christ.” She wanted to pace but there wasn’t enough room. Instead, she tapped the notebook against her thigh.
“My bad. I’m sure they’re here. Damn. I’m sorry. I meant to stick them back in the folder before I went home on Friday.” He dug through a stack of papers on one side of his desk. “Yep. Right here.” He handed her the pages, neatly clipped together. “I can bring them down to him.”
“No. If you do, he’ll find something else to get on my case about. I’ll be right back.” She opened the door as Chrapkowski waddled up. “Here you go,” she said, loud enough to warn Cam of Crapper’s presence.
“You might want to be more vigilant in the future, McCall. I don’t like when inspectors on my team do half-assed work. Keep that in mind.” He snatched the papers from her hand and stalked away.
Red-hot anger skewered her.
Cam came up behind her. “You really should report him to the Assistant Inspector in Charge out in Denver.” He stood aside, let her inside, and shut the door behind her. “Seriously. Or talk to Jamie. Do something. He treats you unfairly, not to mention unprofessionally.”
“I thought I could ride it out, but I think you’re right. I’ll talk to Jamie.”
“I’m here for you if you need any corroboration.” He sat down behind his desk.
“I appreciate your support.” She sighed. “Before we were so rudely interrupted, I was coming to see if you had any updates on Stennard.”
“I checked in with Arty. He’s feeling well enough to show up for this evening’s meeting.”
“Hopefully, he won’t have a relapse and send us on a wild goose chase like last week.”
They spent the next hour hashing over their individual caseloads. The inspectors in the Twin Cities Domicile were divided into two teams: a mail fraud and money laundering team, which Cam was assigned to and a miscellaneous team that worked all types of cases, but mostly mail theft, which MC was assigned to. Even though they were both working the Stennard case, which was time-consuming, they also had their own caseloads, fifteen to twenty cases apiece, varying from mail theft to narcotics and money laundering to dangerous mail, including violations like shipping guns via US Mail.
Once they finished, MC stood. “Can we meet at three?”
“Perfect.”
MC returned to her office, still stewing over Chrapkowski’s relentless harassment. She loved this job. And she was damn good at it. But when Chrapkowski got a wild hair up his ass she thought about a transfer to another domicile, or even considered applying to other agencies. But then she resolved to not give him the satisfaction of driving her out. She’d definitely find some time to meet with Jamie and report Chrapkowski’s behavior, though she probably should hash it out with Crapper first. If she was lucky the jerk would retire—or drop dead.
Cam merged o
nto the freeway and tucked the Ford Explorer in between a semi and a minivan. They were on the way to the meeting, and both of them were slightly nervous.
MC said, “I hope this meeting goes better than last time.”
“No kidding. I thought Arty was solid. Now I have doubts, even after his reassurances.”
“Something’s not quite right. I can’t put my finger on it, though.”
“Do you think someone spooked him? Found out he was working with us?”
MC thought about that. “I don’t know who could’ve found out. The whole team has been cautious. You and I are the only ones seen on Stennard property, as far as I know, and we had a plausible reason, but something is hinky.”
“Right?”
They made good time going across town and arrived at the task force command by four.
Oldfield granted them entrance. “Good afternoon. Go in and pull up a couple of chairs. Arty is due to be briefed in the van at four-forty-five, and by all appearances things are on track today.”
MC said, “That’s a relief.”
Cam added, “I’m glad he didn’t flake out again. I was seriously concerned he wouldn’t follow through. By the way, he mentioned last week he had a USB drive with recorded phone calls he’d be turning in. Has he handed it over?”
Oldfield checked a sheet on a clipboard. “I don’t see it noted on the evidence list yet. Braun?” He waved his hand at one of the four surveillance equipment techs seated across the room in front of a table lined with PCs.
Steve glanced up from a monitor. “Yes, sir? Hey, McCall. White.”
MC and Cam returned his greeting.
Oldfield asked, “Have we retrieved the thumb drive from Musselman and issued him a new one?”
“He was supposed to make the trade-off last week, but then things got hosed. My understanding is the guys will get it today. I gave one of them a fresh recorder before they left here earlier. Anything else?”
