I locked Mom’s arm into my elbow and walked her down the pier to the parking lot, disposable blanket wrapped like a shawl around her shoulders. She hummed happily; a blessing, I suppose. I hadn’t gotten anything coherent out of her since we’d been pulled out of the water, so I didn’t bother to try now.
Until we reached Molly, the M&Ms and Mickey flanked me like Secret Service agents around a VIP. I hadn’t the heart to tell them that was likely all for nothing; the assailants were gone, and would wait a while before trying again when they thought we’d least expect it. After I was safe in the driver’s seat, I sent them home with my thanks.
My mother’s dogs were ecstatic to see her. Snowflake, on the other hand, yowled his reproach from the top of the hutch in the hallway and didn’t come down until I opened a can of food. He didn’t much like the dry from the dispenser. QED the difference between dogs and cats. Cats hold things against you.
I couldn’t even call myself a cat person or a dog person, since the Pekes weren’t mine and Snowflake had been Sergei’s gift. I wasn’t a people person either. I think I’m more of a problem-solving person, a puzzle person.
After I put Mom to bed, I beat myself up for a few minutes for not trying harder to get in touch with her after she’d stormed off in a huff. The days had been hectic, but I should have taken the time to find her and warn her to stay away from home, what with the Old Maid looking for me.
Half a bottle of cheap wine later – I kept the best stuff in my office kitchen cabinet so Mom wouldn’t make it vanish – I crawled into bed, my mind disquieted. I stared at my phone, wondering if I should call Emmanuel about Thomas again, but I’d left my number as his contact and they’d reach me with any major change.
I felt like I should be doing something, even now when I needed sleep. Was this what PTSD felt like, all those folks coming back from the Middle East, hyper-vigilant from people trying to kill them all the time? I’d never been targeted by a dedicated assassin before, and it was making me paranoid.
Getting up, I checked all the doors and windows again, peering out past the blinds and curtains at the areas I could see, wondering if the Old Maid or one of her subcontractors lurked out there even now, watching.
I think it was at that moment, there in the middle of the night, with my lover lying poisoned in the ICU, my associates shot or beaten and my mother probably traumatized once her high wore off, that my resolve really crystallized. I’d been taking things as they came, doing my best to maneuver my way through this house of mirrors, making some progress – but all the while feeling like the end was receding from me: one step forward, two steps back, went the song.
I decided to set things in motion, start smashing some glass.
But first, I had to nail down some intel.
Chapter 18
I woke early to my alarm, something I normally hate to do, but today my crystalized anger and my desire to fight my way through to normalcy combined to get me out of bed with the energy of a spring chicken.
As soon as I’d checked on Mom – still sleeping – and brewed the first java of the day, I called the hospital to check on Thomas. They told me he was resting and out of immediate danger.
Then I phoned Ron’s cell, waking him up even with the three-hour difference. “Some FBI agent you are,” I said.
“What?”
“Only that you haven’t checked your voice mail telling you Mom had been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped!”
“I took care of it,” I said with elaborate nonchalance. Once he’d calmed down, I gave him a summary of the evening’s events.
Ron growled, “That tears it. Put her on a plane as soon as you can. She’ll stay with me until this blows over.”
“No. I’ll get round-the-clock protection here. You can’t watch her all the time any more than I can.”
“I’ll take time off.”
“Ron, I need you to stay on the job and stir up a hornet’s nest. I’m sick of this inaction from you people, inaction that got our mother kidnapped and almost killed.”
“You people? Hey, sis, I’m just as mad as you are about this.”
“I doubt it. You’re there, I’m here, and we never see you.”
“That’s unfair, Cal. I was finishing up school, I had the Academy, and now I’m barely out of my rookie year. I’ve been insanely busy.”
“Too busy to take a week? How long’s it been? Three years? Since I was in the hospital after the bomb?” That struck me. “Oh my God, it doesn’t have anything to do with me leaving the force, does it? That I’d be toxic to your career?”
“Get over yourself. The Bureau doesn’t care about one local ex-cop.”
Still, I thought I heard a false note in his voice. I let it go.
“Well they’re going to care about this one soon, Ron, because I’m stepping outside the box, big time. I’ve been a good soldier for the last three years, laying low, doing my best to do the job and mend some fences with local PD, but I’ve decided I don’t care. I can’t be a cop again, so I’m going to start doing what needs to be done and damn the consequences.”
“Which means what? Something illegal?”
“Too late.”
“I can’t hear this, Cal. I’m a federal agent.”
“Your family’s lives are at stake here. You’d better start letting your ethics flex a bit and take some risks. And the first one I want you to take is to lay your career on the line with someone above you and get some action started, right fucking now!” I pushed the end button, wishing I had an old-fashioned phone to slam down.
My next call was to Sergei, to ask him for one of his men to mom-sit for a couple of days, both for protection and to keep her out of trouble. I had no idea what state she’d be in when she awoke.
When Rostislav showed up, all four hundred pounds of him, he parked himself on the groaning sofa and took both dogs into his ample lap with a rare smile.
I handed him the remote control and said, “Mi casa, su casa. Whatever’s in the fridge, feel free.” I didn’t tell him that what he’d find there might scare him. He could always order in. Then I left out the back, hopping the neighbor’s fence.
At my office I typed up a summary of what I knew – everything that wouldn’t implicate me in criminal activity, anyway – and emailed it to Ron. Then I sent it separately to Cole Sage right before phoning him.
“Cole, you up on what happened last night?”
“I saw the police blotter. Figured you’d be calling.”
“I just sent you more info. I need you to get the feds off their asses, and that means your Houdini story being published. How soon can you do it?”
“I was aiming for right after Thanksgiving.”
“That’s more than a month. I could be dead by then, and so could my mother. And others,” I added.
Sage sighed, and I could imagine him pushing his glasses onto his forehead and rubbing his nose in thought. “A week, then. I’ll talk to my editor.”
“That’s too long.”
“Any sooner and it will be rushed and substandard. That’s not how I work, Cal.”
“You care more about another Pulitzer than the lives of your friends?” I regretted that as soon as it came out of my mouth.
“That’s a load of crap, Cal. You ever wonder why you’re not well liked in some circles?”
“I’m sorry, Cole, but I need action on this, today.”
Sage sighed. “I’ll get permission to send a courtesy draft to the FBI and the DEA, saying we’ll be publishing within a day or two and asking for their input. That should force them to get ahead of the story. They won’t want to seem clueless.”
“They’ll just say it’s an ongoing investigation and they can’t comment. Then they’ll stall some more.”
I could hear the schadenfreude in his voice. “Don’t try to school the master here, Cal. They’ll get moving, because I’m going to flay them mercilessly in the draft – especially the DEA, the FBI and the SEC. They’ll be screaming
at me within hours, and I’ll tell them to stick it. Then they’ll plead for more time, and I’ll tell them to stick that too. Then they’ll threaten to investigate me, or use the IRS against me, or get me fired, and I’ll laugh at them and threaten to expose their threats.”
“Doesn’t sound very productive.”
“It’s a negotiation. Eventually I’ll appear to back down a bit and tell them I’ll make them look good instead of embarrass them, if they’ll bring the heat sooner instead of later, and give me an exclusive on the bust. I’ll sell it as a win-win. We’ll publish the investigative report the day after the feds move against Houdini’s organization. It’ll top the news cycle for a week.”
“That’s what I need, Cole, if you can pull it off.” I rubbed my face. “Must be nice to have that kind of power. I think I’m in the wrong business.”
“No, Cal. You’re exactly where God wants you, as am I.”
Even though my childhood faith had long ago been bulldozed by life, his words warmed my heart. They made me feel like maybe things would work out. “Thanks, Cole. I’ll owe you.”
“Pay it forward, then.”
“I will.” Something occurred to me. “Back up. You said they’d move against the Houdini organization…but what about Houdini himself?”
Sage’s voice turned dry. “Like I told you, I haven’t identified him. You’re asking me to kick-start this thing early, so you’ll have to hope the feds can get some of the smaller fry to roll over and identify the boss.”
“Hope ain’t a plan. We can’t risk losing Houdini. He’ll run for a non-extradition country, and with that kind of money…”
“Can’t have it both ways, Cal. Go slow and do it right, or rush things and gamble, maybe miss the shot. Either way, though, the pressure will be off.”
“I’m not having this contract hanging over my head the rest of my life!”
“Then I guess you’d better get to work. Find out who Houdini is and it will all be over.”
“You think I can do what you can’t?”
“Only because Houdini seems determined to punch your ticket. If he’d ignored you, he’d be doing business as usual. You must have pissed him off royally.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Cole. See you on the front page.”
“Take care, Cal.”
That was an interesting question. How had I offended Houdini so badly he was willing to risk his empire to kill me? Or was this a case of hubris, thinking he was immune to repercussions and could get away with it? Sometimes reason went out the window when personal feelings got involved, even for powerful people with a lot to lose. From the outside it might not make sense, but from the inside…
I realized that was my only leverage over Houdini, really: his obsession with killing me. Punishing me, actually.
Just like Nina Stanger, and Jay.
Maybe Cole was right. Maybe I really did manage to trigger bad feelings in people.
So I had Ron pushing on his end and Cole on the other, trying to get the feds to move. But what could I do to rattle my enemies?
At a loss, I picked up the first of the thick folders Mickey had placed on my desk. Jerry Conrad. It hinted at his mob connections and relocation from Chicago, but the info was sparse. It didn’t look like a Witness Protection situation, so Jerry must have either made peace with his former associates…or he was still connected, if only tenuously. It was a cliché to say you never left the mafia, but it wasn’t entirely true. I’d known a few to slip away amicably, as long as they never ratted and did a few favors when asked. Favors like working with the local illegal enterprises.
It also occurred to me that, given Carol’s admitted affairs, Jerry had probably dipped his wick in a few local honeypots too.
Marilou was no doubt one of them, and her son seemed to have undue influence within the Forty-Niners motorcycle club, which like most outlaw MCs earned money by a mixture of licit and illicit business. And Marilou worked for the Sheriff’s department, which meant she was eyes and ears for Bartlett.
And Bartlett had the two dirty undercovers working drug traffic with the MC. Bacardi had admitted killing the tweaker that had stolen Jerry’s bicycle. He wouldn’t have done that unless he’d been ordered, or had been trying to curry favor with the bosses.
Then there’d been Jerry’s fake nephew Kerry, who’d been far too confident, and had run Jerry’s cover business, which…I made a note. What did they say? Follow the money.
I examined every relevant document in Jerry’s file – driving records, credit card statements, etc. – and at the end of it I had a page of instructions for Mickey, plus a theory.
Then I turned to Carol’s file, skimming through the parts I knew about. Her early, rebellious years were described in punctuated newsprint. A few documents added detail to her personal history up until a couple of years ago. Her high school and college transcripts, showing her to be a straight-A student. Her marriage license. Her California driving record, showing a few parking and speeding tickets, no more than usual.
Her credit card statements took me a while to go through, and her phone records. Mickey had really done a job on her and on Jerry too, all illegal, of course. Even if I found something, it wouldn’t be admissible in court. But an anonymous tip from me might give law enforcement probable cause to dig up the necessary evidence.
She and Jerry did seem to have a lot of money, by my standards. But then again, Jerry had that covered with his “made it in the market” story, Carol’s family was rich, and it wasn’t Houdini-extravagant. Tens of thousands, sometimes hundreds of thousands, not millions thrown around.
The next file gave me some background on Marilou Monroe. Worked for – and been fired from – Santa Clara PD ten years ago. The reasons weren’t specified, but no doubt it had to do with her big mouth. She’d moved out to Granger’s Ford with her teenage son Eric and taken her current job.
I heard the basement door rattle. “Mickey?”
“Hey, boss. How’s your mom?”
He was up early. Could he be turning over a new leaf, or was he simply energized by his first field operation last night? “She’s okay. I have someone watching her. Come up here.”
When he reached the top of the stairs I handed him some cash. “Run and get breakfast and coffee for you and me. When you get back, I have some assignments.”
He didn’t protest about walking a few blocks. That was unusual too. Maybe my boy was starting to grow up.
As he ran the errand I mulled things over. I attempted to turn my mind to Houdini, who must be sitting like a spider in a web that centered on the seats of power, money and influence in Sacramento. That meant he wasn’t too far away physically. Nobody could run an empire from a distance, not even in this new internet age.
But my thoughts kept getting pulled back to the whole mess up in the foothills. When I tried to pin down why, the only thing that came clear to me was that multiple power brokers – drug traffickers, corrupt law enforcement, the mafia, a wealthy political family – seemed to intersect disproportionately for such a small town. What was it I was missing?
Follow the money.
“Here you go,” Mickey said as he set a triple latte, a breakfast sandwich and a bear claw on my desk, ending my reverie. “What you got?”
I handed him my assignment list and the stack of files. “You did a great job digging up dirt on these people. Now I need you to map their money – investments, properties, cash flows, everything. Add in the Sorkins and the North Bay drug warehouse heist, Nina Stanger and her security business, Bartlett and the sheriff’s department, the Conrads and their connections to Sacramento and Chicago, everything.”
Mickey stared at me. “I’m a hacker, not a financial analyst.”
“I know. Stand by.” I picked up the phone and called Jindal, my day trader contact.
“Hey, Cal,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Morning, Jindal. You told me once you got your Master’s from Stanford. Economics, right?”
&
nbsp; “And business. Summa cum laude.”
“Want to earn some extra cash? I need you to help Mickey track money.”
“Money is my language. How much?”
I could be reckless with Thomas’ funds. I didn’t think he’d mind. I’d found over a hundred grand in cash in the bag he’d left in the rental car. “Ten thousand for a couple day’s work. Today and tomorrow. You’ll be back at your desk Monday morning.”
“That sounds underpriced for my mad skills.”
“I bet you can put the info to work in the markets and make ten times that.”
“That might be illegal.”
“When has that ever stopped a trade?”
“You have a point.”
“Come to my office as soon as you can.” I hung up. “There’s your teammate. I’ll leave you all the cash you need for take-out. Now get to work.”
Mickey shuffled his feet. “Um, boss…”
“Yes?”
He looked even more uncomfortable than usual. “Ten thousand?”
I got it. “He takes down half a mil a year. I have to pay him enough to get him to burn a weekend. But Mickey, I’ll take care of you. How about if I pay you the same?”
“That’s not it, Cal. I mean, where’d you get that kind of money? Just a few days ago you were borrowing to get your car back.”
I rubbed my neck, stretching. “I have a wealthy client.”
He stared at me a moment more. “Okay.”
“Stick with me, Mickey.”
“I won’t let you down, Cal. But we’re beyond P.I. stuff now. This is, like, a law enforcement investigation. Why aren’t they doing it?”
“Because those with the say-so haven’t said so. But by Monday morning, I hope Houdini will be at the top of the priorities list. Between now and then, I want to hammer at least one good nail into his coffin for the pain he’s caused me.”
“So it’s personal.”
“Hell yes, it’s personal. Kidnapping, hit men, hello!”
Mickey grinned, showing Diet-Coke-stained teeth. “Good. Let’s take these scumbags down.”
Jindal arrived half an hour later and they set to work.
Slipknot: A Private Investigator Crime and Suspense Mystery Thriller (California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series Book 3) Page 16
