Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  MC nodded.

  Cam took off to the left.

  MC traversed the incline and peered through the gnarled gray-brown fingers of the shrubs. She was surprised to see the Escalade parked only twenty feet away with the driver’s window down. She went completely still and stooped as low to the ground as possible.

  Beyond the Escalade, the gravel ended and turned into a weedy flat area. More bushes and shrubs extended away, swallowed up by the night. The security lights inside the fenced area illuminated roughly half the gravel road. She focused on two men standing next to the Escalade, about ten feet from a small white SUV, a Ford Escape, maybe.

  A lull in the wind allowed MC to pick up some of the conversation. Lo and behold, the voice coming from the Escalade was Klein’s.

  “Gimme that.” Klein reached for some sort of case from one of the men. He stood next to the open window, the top of his head even with the top of the car, and he wore a dark knit cap pulled tight over his round head.

  Klein leaned out the window and poked a finger toward the two guys, but the wind gusted and MC couldn’t hear what he said. Then Klein rummaged around inside the cab before sticking a hand back out and giving Round Head a fist-sized object.

  The man stepped away from Klein and unfurled whatever he held.

  MC squinted, eyes watering from the wind.

  Round Head shifted to show the object to the guy he was with.

  Holy shit. It appeared to be a roll of money about four inches thick.

  He thrust the roll at his companion and pulled out a phone. He checked the screen and shoved it back in his pocket and pulled another from his other pocket. This one he clamped to one ear and slapped his free hand over his other ear, presumably to block the whipping wind.

  “Yeah!” he hollered. “I told you we took care of—” His words were swallowed by the squall. “—the fuck? I told you we didn’t find no phone. You were there, why didn’t you ask him first. You think—”

  Whatever else he said was blown away.

  The other guy fidgeted with the money roll and glanced between Round Head and Klein, who was preoccupied with something inside his car. He gripped the roll of money and wrapped his arms around himself.

  “Fuck!” Round Head returned to Klein’s car. “We done?”

  Without waiting for a response, Round Head spun around and grabbed his partner by the arm. “C’mon. We’re outta here.”

  Klein stuck his head out the window again. “You keep in mind what I told you. Wooly! You hear me? Yo, Wooly!”

  Round Head, or rather, Wooly, raised his hand in a wave, probably acknowledging he’d heard, loud and clear. The sidekick, a skinny guy a couple inches shorter than Wooly, wearing a hoodie under a puffy winter jacket, hustled to the passenger side of the white SUV and quickly climbed in. The driver hit the accelerator, spitting gravel, and leaving Klein sputtering in a gritty cloud.

  MC could see Klein was still absorbed with something before he closed his window.

  She trekked back to the tree, and Cam joined her moments later.

  “It’s Klein,” she said. “And I think he called one of the guys Wooly or Worly, maybe. Let’s roll. I think ol’ Len will be leaving any second.”

  Back in the car and shivering, they followed Klein to a condo complex in Spring Park less than a mile away.

  The red brick building and surrounding grounds of the complex were tidy and newer. An expansive turnaround driveway with a lighted fountain that still spouted water decorated the front.

  They watched Klein pull around the far side of the building.

  “Wait here.” She jumped from the Explorer before Cam could say a word and followed the driveway around to the right. She peeked around the corner of the building. Klein was leaning out the open window and waving a card in front of a reader posted at the top of a ramp that she assumed led to an underground parking garage.

  She jogged back to the car.

  “What the hell, MC? Give a guy some notice before you bail, huh?” His brows furrowed. “I can’t back you up when you take off like that.”

  “Sorry. Klein must live here. He rolled into a secured underground parking area.”

  “Back to the command center?” Cam still scowled.

  “Better hope your face doesn’t freeze like that.” MC suppressed a grin. “Don’t be mad.”

  Cam heaved a sigh. “Seriously, don’t jump ship again. Okay?”

  “Okay.” MC crossed the fingers of her right hand, which rested on the seat next to her leg out of Cam’s line of sight.

  “And don’t think I’m oblivious to your childish stunt of crossing your fingers when you agreed.” Cam fixed his gaze on her as he stopped at a red light. “I know you better than you think, MC.”

  When they pulled into Command it was after ten. Agent Braun let them in, and they joined a couple other agents at the PC table.

  Oldfield was on the phone behind his desk in his makeshift office. He quickly ended the call as they entered. “You’re back. Good.” He called out, “Braun. Roberts. In here. Bring chairs.”

  The two FBI agents dragged in chairs to flank MC and Cam.

  “Tell me you have good news.” Oldfield said.

  MC said, “No Arty.”

  “No one else has found him either,” Braun said.

  Roberts shook her head. “Not one peep out of him.”

  Oldfield leaned back and rubbed his hands over his fatigue-plagued face.

  “We did, however, see Len Klein.” Cam filled in the FBI agents on the details of the odd meeting between Klein and the two other men.

  Oldfield tapped a finger against his chin. “Wonder what that was all about. You’re certain you weren’t spotted by any of them?” He leaned forward, elbows on the desktop, and pinned MC with an intense stare.

  MC said, “One hundred percent positive. No one saw us.”

  “I didn’t notice anyone else in the vicinity,” Cam said. “I’m certain we weren’t seen at any point.”

  “I think we’ll call it a night.” Oldfield stood, stifling a yawn. “We’ll reconvene here tomorrow morning at nine. White, McCall, I’ll clear it with Sanchez and Chrapkowski. We need all eyes and ears on this until we locate Musselman. I can’t believe he rabbited on us.” Oldfield waved a hand. “Go home.”

  MC and Cam said goodnight to the agents and hustled from the building.

  “Arty didn’t rabbit. I’m sure of it.” Cam started the car.

  “I agree. Something, or someone, happened to him. And I have a terrible feeling Len Klein had a hand in it.” MC gazed out into the inky forbidding night. “And what was in the case Klein got from those two tonight? The roll of cash he handed over was thick. A giant fistful of bills.”

  Chapter Five

  Tuesday, November 18

  The blaring of the alarm woke MC at six a.m.

  “Is it really only Tuesday?” She rubbed grit from the corners of her eyes and rolled to spoon Barb from behind.

  “Yes.” Barb tugged the blanket under her chin and snuggled into MC. “Will you be late again tonight?”

  “Don’t know. Cam and I report to the command center this morning. Not sure what’s on the agenda other than tracking down our whistleblower.” MC let her eyes slip closed for a few moments.

  “I thought we’d have dinner with Dara and Meg tonight and help close up the shop.”

  “You know I’m all about hanging at Flannel.”

  “Unless you can’t get away from work. Big important case and all.” Barb disentangled from MC. “I’ll get the coffee started.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are.” Barb disappeared out the bedroom door.

  MC made the bed and hopped into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, freshly cleansed and dressed in a white button-down oxford shirt and black chinos, she padded down the stairs in stocking feet.

  Barb sat in the breakfast nook tucked in the corner of the kitchen. The bright yellow leather booth and retro Formica-topped table was one of
their favorite places in their tiny one-and-a-half-story bungalow. Barb sat with the New York Times spread open before her, a mug of coffee sending plumes of aromatic steam drifting upward.

  MC kissed Barb’s cheek. “Please don’t be mad. I promise I’ll do my best to be at dinner tonight. You know my family is important to me.”

  Barb grabbed MC’s hand and put it to her cheek. “I know. Sometimes the job seems to suck the life out of you. Especially your cranky supervisor. Misogynistic asshole.”

  MC cupped both hands around Barb’s face. “Ooh, them’s fighting words.”

  Barb knit her brows together, and a pinkish tinge crept across her rounded cheeks. “I don’t know why they don’t force him to retire.” She heaved a sigh. “His crappy attitude, no pun intended, is not your fault. You’re the best inspector in the damn agency. And I love you for being so dedicated. Maybe I have the pre-holiday blues or something.” She clasped MC’s hand and planted a kiss in her palm.

  MC’s hand tingled where Barb had kissed it. “How about some toast with peanut butter?”

  “I’d love some, but can I grab a shower first?”

  “Of course. Holler down when you want me to pop the bread in.” MC prepped a mug of coffee at the counter as Barb headed upstairs.

  She contemplated Barb’s description of Roland Chrapkowski. Aloud she said, “Truth.” Then she refocused her energies by grabbing the Times and reading a story about yet another corrupt New York City official.

  MC gathered the collar of her black wool coat tighter as she battled the frigid wall of wind and lurched from the parking lot to Flannel. The meteorologist on NPR had said the temp was twenty-three degrees, a record low for this date. Winter was definitely baring its icy fangs.

  Chimes announced her entrance to the crowded coffee shop. She waved to a flushed Meg behind the cash register and stepped into line, five not-quite-awake customers in front of her.

  She finally reached the counter. “MC, the usual?”

  MC handed over her travel mug. “Yes, please. Busy morning. I guess the huddled masses require your exquisite caffeinated blend to thaw their frozen bones.”

  Meg passed the cup to Dara. “Fill ’er up with the usual.”

  Dara propped an enormous silver tower into place on the back counter and flipped the tap open. “You got it. Whew. What a rush.” She took a blue bandana from the back pocket of her cargo pants and swiped her forehead. “And now I’m slaving away for the esteemed Inspector McCall.” She pressed the back of the hand holding the bandana to her brow in faux dramatic fashion. “Will it never end?” She stuffed the kerchief back in her pocket and held the mug in one hand and the lid in the other.

  “You’re hilarious, Dara.” MC reached for her coffee.

  Dara held the twenty-ounce silver travel mug out of MC’s reach. “In a hurry for your caffeine infusion? Let me make sure I’ve put in the right amount of coffee. Need room for cream. Maybe—”

  Meg slapped Dara’s shoulder. “Stop your blustering and give MC her coffee before you make her late for work.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make her late for her very important job.” Dara dumped in a half inch of cream and added a sweetener packet. “Here you go, Inspector McCall. May you have a safe and productive day.” She handed the coffee to MC and bowed.

  MC snapped the lid onto the cup. “You’re quite the comedian.” She took a cautious sip. “Delicious, as always. Thanks.”

  Meg smiled. “Will we see you and Barb for dinner tonight?”

  “Or will you be too busy hunting down the bad guys?” Dara did air quotes on her last two words.

  “We’ll be there, barring unforeseen circumstances.”

  Dara said, “I bet Barb loved that response.”

  MC narrowed her eyes. “Don’t go there. I’m already in the doghouse. I don’t need you fueling the fire.” She pulled the collar of her coat up around her ears. “Thanks again, you two.”

  “Be safe,” Meg said.

  A gust of chilly air billowed into the shop as MC pulled the door closed behind her.

  MC met Cam at eight sharp in the parking lot of the sandy-colored stone one-story annex building housing the Twin Cities IS offices.

  Cam dangled a set of keys from his right hand. “No need for you to go inside. Thought I’d save you the hassle of a run in with Crapper this morning.”

  “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ve got to bite the bullet and schedule a meeting with him, though. You don’t mind driving all the time, do you?”

  “I’m good with being your chauffer.”

  “Just say the word and I’m happy to take the wheel.”

  At the command center, MC and Cam chatted with Agent Braun before ASAC Oldfield pulled them into his office.

  Oldfield paged through a stack of documents on his desk. “Minneapolis PD found Arty’s car, or rather what’s left of Arty’s car, in Northeast Minneapolis. Corner of a parking lot in Ridgway Park near the Honeywell building.”

  MC scribbled the information in her notebook.

  “And?” Cam asked.

  “The car’s been stripped. Stereo. Wheels. License plates. The inside of the car was torn to shreds. Seats slashed. Papers strewn all over. Used the VIN to ID it as Arty’s.” He tapped a finger on the stack of papers. “No sign of Arty.”

  MC asked, “Any signs of foul play?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Shit.” Cam blew out a frustrated breath. “I knew Arty didn’t run.”

  Oldfield held up a hand. “We don’t have proof of anything. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  MC asked, “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “Too soon to tell. The MPD Crime Scene Investigators haven’t finished processing the vehicle.”

  MC asked, “Will Minneapolis PD let us have a look-see at the car?”

  Oldfield flipped another couple of pages in the file. “Minneapolis CSI hauled the carcass to the Crime Lab-Forensic Garage. They’ll go over it with a fine-tooth comb. I’ll call and ask if you two can take a peek.” He placed the call and waited while the phone rang.

  MC leaned toward Cam. “I know the Minneapolis team is good, but maybe we can find the USB drive. Or something. Anything.” She chewed on her bottom lip, and they watched Oldfield wait for someone to answer.

  “Hello, Chief? ASAC Oldfield. Listen, I have a team running an investigation in conjunction with the US Attorney’s office, and it seems your Crime Lab has possession of a vehicle belonging to one of our witnesses.” Oldfield switched the handset to his left ear. “A BMW found in northeast.” Long pause. “Yes. That’s the one. I’ve got two postal inspectors I’d like to send over to give the vehicle a once over.”

  MC’s eyes were riveted on Oldfield.

  Cam’s knee bounced like a pogo stick.

  “No, not at all. I know your CSIs are very thorough. We just want to doubly cross our T’s and doubly dot those I’s.”

  Oldfield’s brows rose. He glanced at MC and Cam. “Right. I agree. Sure do appreciate it.” Oldfield hung up the phone.

  “Are we good to go?”

  “Chief Morton wasn’t too keen on the idea at first, as you may have gathered.” Oldfield leaned back in his chair. “But she agreed you could take a gander. She’ll have one of the two CSIs who are processing the car meet you at the front desk.” He glanced down at his notes. “Sergeant Bonnie Wilcox.”

  “Hot damn! Great news.” Cam stood up and grabbed his coat.

  MC stowed her stuff. “We can head over now?”

  Oldfield nodded. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  In the car, Cam pummeled an erratic beat on the steering wheel as he waited for traffic to clear.

  “Maybe I should have driven.” MC eyed Cam’s hands. “You’re a ragtag bag of nervous energy.”

  “My gut is telling me something’s rotten in Denmark.” He glanced at MC. “You, on the other hand, are Cool Hand Luke.”

  “Time will tell us what we need to know. And believe me, I’m ha
ppy to be out of the office and away from Crapper’s critical eye.” She stared at the cluster of vehicles gathered like a steel herd on a blacktop ferry to nowhere. “We can only do what we can do.”

  “Philosophical pronouncements so early on a Tuesday morning.” Cam laughed. “I should take lessons from you, I suppose.” Traffic crawled along a few hundred feet and stopped again. “I swear we could walk to the Forensic Garage faster than driving.”

  Cam parked in the City Hall parking ramp. He fell into step alongside MC, their footsteps echoing in the ramp. Fog hung in dreary strips from the moisture in the cold air meeting the heat blowing from ceiling vents.

  They hustled to the smudged glass doors for the skyway across to the City Hall building. They quickly found the front desk and Sergeant Bonnie Wilcox.

  “Heya.” With a friendly smile, she introduced herself. “You must be the two postal inspectors.”

  MC assessed the cop, and her gaydar pinged. “Hi, I’m Inspector McCall and this is Inspector White.” MC jerked a thumb at Cam.

  Wilcox led the way through a maze of hallways to an elevator bank and once inside pushed the lowest level button. “Down to the bowels we go.” A grin split her round face, golden-brown eyes dancing with glee. “Heard you want to see the Beemer we hauled in. Mind if I ask what you’re hoping to find?”

  MC took an instant liking to Wilcox. “The car belongs to the missing star witness in a case being investigated by a joint task force from the US Attorney, FBI, and the US Postal Inspection Service.”

  “Wow, a lot of the alphabet agencies. And now MPD, too.”

  The elevator came to a jarring halt.

  “Here we go.” The doors slid open and Wilcox led them down a dimly lit hallway to a metal door, light brown ponytail swaying like a pendulum across her shoulders. She swiped a plastic keycard through a reader and a pea-sized light at the top of the white box changed from red to green, followed by a click.

  “C’mon in.”