That’s not all I know, she thought.
“We can work together. We have to,” Bates said. “Too much at stake. What do you say?”
“What about Lyle Deming and his father’s murder?”
“Like I told Max, I’m going to investigate every possibility. I have resources. As for Deming, I’d be careful. He’s a loose cannon.”
Chapter 40
Lyle tried to sort things out. He’d been trying since he woke up. He remembered the cemetery, the funeral, saying goodbye to his brother, an argument with Kate. He knew he and Nostalgia City were targets, but that’s where his logic ended. His thoughts were as piercing and jumbled as the lyrics to a rock song sung too loud in a club too small. At least one thing was clear: keeping busy was his best ally. Endlessly speculating and analyzing the situation was crazy. He knew that.
Thankfully, his taxi shift had started early that morning. He reported for duty at the transportation center before 8 a.m. His venerable Dodge was waiting for him outside the car-washing station.
Before he hit the streets, he called Maxwell’s office for an appointment. Max had already left five increasingly virulent messages for him over the previous few days. The president wanted to know what Lyle knew about FedPat, or anything else.
Next, as he gulped a cup of coffee, Lyle called the Phoenix police. Marko wasn’t in yet, so he left a message. The person who took the message apparently didn’t recognize Lyle’s name, so he escaped without needless small talk. He made a mental note to see Kate and apologize--and thank her for helping him.
Sitting in his cab was calming. He headed down the main drag in Centerville and noticed the new features at the cinema: Dirty Harry and In Cold Blood. Couldn’t someone have picked a comedy?
After a couple of hours of ferrying guests around, Lyle’s cab was idling at a taxi stand when he heard his cell phone buzz. It made him think of his father. Luckily, Lyle was alone in his cab. He really had no excuse now for carrying around a twenty-first-century phone, except it let him stay in closer touch with Samantha.
“Lyle, I got the information for you on Jones,” Marko said. “His name is Art Jones, but he has a couple of aliases. One is Kingman. That’s his prison name.”
“Prison?”
“Yeah. Just as you thought, he did time. A couple of years for robbery. He was paroled, but that’s over.”
“Other arrests?”
“Oh yeah. He was in the Army. Had Special Forces training. When he got out he thought he could beat up people for a living. He was arrested a couple of times in connection with shakedowns. For the past several years he’s been clean, far as we know.”
“What about his PO?”
“Knew you’d ask. His parole officer was Stan Dickman. I talked to him yesterday. He said Jones fancies himself as a soldier of fortune. Last job was working security for a trucking company.”
“Thanks. Appreciate the help.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m in my cab.”
“What are you planning to do?
“I dunno.”
As he hung up, he glanced at his outside mirror and watched a cab pull up a few car lengths behind him. A woman got out and walked toward him in the street. When she got closer, Lyle realized it was Kate.
“Kate, last night, I--”
“You don’t need to say anything.” She placed a hand on the sill of his cab’s window. “Just listen.”
***
Lyle called his dispatcher, told her he was taking lunch, drove to the Security Department building, and found his way to Clyde Bates’s office. All in just eight minutes.
Bates wasn’t surprised to see him. He tossed the bug on his desk as Lyle walked in. “Here it is. Who told you, Max or Ms. Sorensen?”
Lyle’s hand shook as he picked up the tiny electronic ear. His voice was flat. “One of your men found this on the floor?”
“I was going to tell you about this.”
“When, next year?”
“The decision was made to retain this, for now. I was going to tell you about it today. There was a chance that it either belonged to you or that the break-in was connected to an unrelated perp with a grudge against you.”
“Sure.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
Lyle wanted to punch him in the mouth. “Tell me about this.”
“It’s the only thing we found that didn’t belong at your place. It’s a good one. Good range. Expensive. Most casual users would buy something cheaper.”
“Was it working?”
“Uh huh. It had a battery.”
Lyle realized it was a stupid question. “Prints?”
“Not even a partial.”
Lyle threw the little black box onto Bates’s desk. It bounced and landed on the floor. He turned and walked toward the open door.
Bates hurried from around his desk, walked up behind Lyle, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, Deming, if you know anything about this, you have to tell me.”
That was it. Bates withheld the truth about his father and now he was telling him what to do? In a flash, Lyle turned on Bates and cocked his right fist, ready to swing. The former FBI agent still had good reactions. He saw Lyle’s move and jerked his head back.
Lyle held his clenched fist chest high. “Don’t touch me again.” He let his arm drop.
In the outer office, a security officer looked up and started to get out of his chair.
“We’re supposed to be working for the park, Clyyde--” Lyle dragged out Bates’s first name and made it an obscenity. “--but you’re just working for yourself.” He brushed past the security guard and left.
Maybe he shouldn’t have started to swing at Bates, Lyle told himself as he sat in the Maxwell Building executive reception area. Didn’t matter. Now he had other plans.
The moment he walked into Max’s office Lyle could see the boss’s eyes on him. Although Max offered his condolences before he had taken a seat, Lyle noticed an expectant look on the president’s face. Lyle could see he wanted to start firing questions at him but was working to keep his usual obtrusive nature under control.
Lyle glanced at the Spam painting on the wall then acknowledged Max’s expressions of sympathy. “Let’s get to it, all right? I’ll tell you what I know about the attacks on the park. My dad’s death was part of it, but you know that by now. Bates showed you the bug.”
“We know someone tried to bug your home. Just assumption beyond that, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. But why else would someone want to bug my condo? My life’s not that exciting. My guess is they were afraid to bug the offices here for fear the bugs would be found.”
Max remained silent.
“So they decided to bug my place instead, since I’d been checking out FedPat.”
“Can you prove FedPat’s involved in the sabotage?”
“Not yet. I need to go back to Boston and--”
“What did you find out the last time you were there?”
“I mostly hung around the offices. They have an operations center in Peabody and executive offices downtown.”
Max nodded. “Been there, downtown.”
“I saw a guy at FedPat I remembered from Phoenix, a hired thug.” Lyle explained Art Jones’s criminal record and his possible connection to Topaz Investigations.
“So what do you want to do now?”
“Go back to Boston and get evidence to connect FedPat Corporation with Topaz and whoever else has been sabotaging the park.”
Max shook his head. “This is delicate. FedPat is our friend.” He lapsed into silence for a few moments then said, “Clyde Bates tells me you had a disagreement with the Phoenix police.”
“Did he tell you they said I was crazy?”
“Not in those words.”
“I had a disagreement with them, yes. More accurately with a couple of other officers. In the end, I left because I didn’t want to be a cop any more. I told you as much when you asked me to investigate for you.”
“Are you crazy?”
“What do you think?”
“You really think FedPat is behind this?”
“Absolutely. Tell me, who negotiated the loan for FedPat?”
Max frowned. “Several people were involved.”
“Was Jason Bedrosian one of them?”
“Jason? Yup. He’s the COO now. He pushed the loan through. You suspect him?”
“He’s one of the people in line to take over FedPat when the CEO retires next year.”
“Could be a real fight for that position, from what I’ve heard.” Max paused, toying with a fountain pen. “We’d have to be very careful. We couldn’t accuse them of anything--”
“Without proof.”
“Right. Bates is trying to check out FedPat and their executives with his FBI contacts in Washington.”
“He can talk on the phone all he wants. I want to go to Boston and find out for myself. I’ll be careful, but we’ve got to move fast. I’d like to leave tomorrow.”
Max said nothing.
“You could always call the sheriff,” Lyle said.
“Okay. But stay in touch. I want to know everything you find out. Call me every day.”
***
Lyle’s plans for Boston filled his head as he left Maxwell’s office. When he stepped from the elevator on the ground floor, he caught a flash of someone going up in another elevator. Clyde Bates may have been able to see a punch coming, but he couldn’t keep from whining to the boss. Bastard.
A few minutes after Lyle got home, his phone rang. Max told him to postpone the trip.
Chapter 41
“Marko says you’re the best partner he ever had,” the heavyset Boston police administrator said.
“Best I ever had, too,” Lyle said.
Although Steve Travanti had gained weight since he moved to Boston, Lyle remembered him immediately. A sweep of light hair across his forehead and a hint of dimples gave him a boyish look, contrasting with his size--and the size of his office. Lyle glanced around the room and realized the guy actually was a big cheese.
“He gave you a big build up,” Travanti said, “but I told him it wouldn’t do any good because I used to know you.”
“That’s what my ex-wife says.”
Travanti was not part of the detectives, but he was responsible for a division that included the crime lab. He surely could help Lyle dig up a little information.
Lyle had arrived in Boston in the evening and had called Travanti first thing the next morning. In spite of Max’s admonition to sit tight, Lyle had immediately used his well-worn MasterCard to buy an airline ticket.
“Marko tell you what I was doing?” Lyle asked Travanti.
“Said you were working for that new amusement park, Nostalgia City.”
“We’ve had a series of sabotage incidents, maybe you read about them.”
“I think so. Didn’t you have a fatal crash?”
“Two of ’em.”
“Marko said your father was also killed. Sorry to hear that.” Travanti’s resonant voice had power, something that probably helped him climb the chain of command.
“That’s right. I think it’s connected.” Lyle saw that Marko must have told him everything, or at least as much as Marko knew. That was okay. If Travanti knew how serious this was, perhaps he’d be more willing to help.
“You working with law enforcement?”
“To an extent. San Navarro County Sheriff investigated the sabotage incidents. But they’re not equipped for something this broad or complex. I need to collect more information. Then we can decide if it should go to the feds, the state, or whomever. Indian reservation land is also involved, so it’s complicated.”
“You’re investigating the FedPat Corporation, right?”
“Yeah, and I’m not supposed to agitate anyone there until we have proof. You know the company?”
“I know of them.”
“They have a financial relationship with Nostalgia City that may be relevant.”
“FedPat is one of Boston’s big corporations. They’re very involved in the community.”
“I read that the current CEO is quite the philanthropist.”
“Donates to a lot to worthy causes. I think my wife met him once at a charity event. She’s human resources VP for a high tech company. Diane and I have lived in Boston for more than six years now. We’re trying to be a part of the community.”
“So here I am to investigate this fine, community-oriented company that I think is involved in corporate blackmail and murder.”
Travanti leaned forward, his arms on his desk. “What can I do?”
Lyle wondered what the transplanted Arizonan would want to do. “I’d appreciate any kind of information you can provide. I already checked with the state insurance division. Not too helpful. Could you find out if these FedPat executives have any kind of a record?”
Lyle handed him a list of six names and titles he’d copied out of FedPat materials. Travanti took the list and stared at it without saying anything.
“I’m not looking for the usual criminal records. Probably none of these people have any. But maybe you could ask around. See if the company has been involved in strong-arm tactics. Insurance companies hire PI firms to work fraud cases. Maybe someone FedPat hired has a history of assault complaints. One of the firms that works for them is Topaz Investigations. I’d like to know anything you can find out about them, too.”
Travanti made a note. “I’ll see what I can do. You’ll have to give me a few days.”
“Sure, whatever you can do.”
Lyle had debated about mentioning Topaz. If the company had hired any ex-cops from Boston, Topaz could have good contacts in the BPD. But time was too short. If Travanti could come up with something for him, it was worth any risk.
***
After he left Travanti, Lyle found himself driving across the Charles River in the direction of Topaz Investigations. Summer had arrived in Massachusetts with a vengeance. Boston felt like Hawaii without the palm trees.
Lyle parked across the street from Topaz and sat in nearly the same space he had occupied during his first visit to Boston. He spent a boring afternoon that told him practically nothing. Sitting there, however, made him feel he had some measure of control over what was happening--to NC and to himself. He still felt responsible for his father’s death. His foolish antics at the customer service office alerted FedPat that he was snooping.
Earlier, Kevin Waterman had told his superiors about Lyle. Those two circumstances, he felt--though he might never be able to prove it--brought the goons to his condo.
When he left Topaz, he drove back toward Peabody and stopped at the library where he logged on to see if anything new had been written about the competition for the FedPat presidency in the past few days. After an hour, he had a collection of recent news reports.
Lyle was focusing on FedPat’s Boston headquarters, but wanted to be near the Peabody offices, too. He checked into a hotel just outside Peabody. That evening he sat on his bed going over everything he’d collected on FedPat, including more reports he’d downloaded and printed at home. If Travanti didn’t come up with any leads, Lyle would need to generate something on his own. He started reading a story from a Boston newspaper. Apparently Stanley Shaw, the FedPat CEO, was playing it close to the vest as to whom he would support as his successor. The business columnist hinted that Bedrosian was the fair-haired boy, but would not be anointed by Shaw in case one of the other two presidents in waiting came up with dramatic and workable plans to boost FedPat’s sagging bottom line. Office politics. It was the same everywhere.
Without any new leads, Lyle was faced with the old problem: Max didn’t want him to alert FedPat--or Bedrosian--by asking questions. This might piss them off to the point they wouldn’t give NC any slack as attendance figures continued to fall faster than an Apollo capsule on reentry. But if the insurance company was behind everything, no one at FedPat would cut Max slack anyway. On the
other hand, if Lyle antagonized FedPat, the company’s hit men might respond with a big attack that could get someone else killed. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Regardless, Lyle would have to go on the offensive.
Chapter 42
“Kate, you need to get up here. We got a problem.”
That was all Max had said, all he needed to say. It was the start of the third day since Lyle had been in Boston and things had been quiet--until now. No one had heard from Lyle since he’d called after his first day to say he hadn’t learned anything.
Kate called him back twice and left messages. Bates had started implementing even tighter security all over the park. Max had been restless every time Kate had seen him. Attendance was still down. Now the phone call.
She took a couple of deep breaths and started for the executive floor. When she got into Max’s office, he was talking on the phone. Brent Pelham stood over him with an expectant look on his face.
Pelham walked over to Kate and spoke in a low voice, “Something happened at the McHale’s Navy ride. We don’t have all the details yet. One of the boats went haywire. Guests and employees are in the water.”
“This just happen?”
“A few minutes ago. We’ve got security, fire, paramedics, and engineers at the ride right now.”
“I’d better get over there. Don’t want to scare any more guests than we have to.”
Kate turned to go but stopped when she heard Max slam his phone down.
“Goddamn idiots,” Max said. “It was a false alarm. Nobody’s hurt.”
“What was it?” Pelham asked.
Max got up and walked over. “Some fool tourist decided to stand up in his boat. Tried to step off onto one of the islands and fell in the water. Apparently, his wife started screaming and flailing around. The boat got sideways under the waterfall and she got wet.”
Death in Nostalgia City Page 17
