Max and Isabelle were huddled around the laptop on Holt’s desk when she entered. Neither seemed to notice Holt’s entrance, and neither flinched at all when she took up residence in the visitor’s chair next to the desk.
“Oh,” Max said excitedly, “another one there, one hundred fifty-six thousand, twenty-two, in two thousand and six.”
“What the fuck?” Isabelle said, anger infusing her voice. “This ledger is insane. Where is all this money coming from?”
“Please tell me you cracked that thing,” Holt said, making them jump.
“You’re kinda sneaky, boss,” Max said. “You should have knocked or cleared your throat or something.”
“It is my office,” Holt said, amused at the change in Max’s demeanor over the past few months. Gone were the days of Max cowering in anxiety and fear. Holt could still scare the hell out of her, but that was true with everyone. When she wasn’t tired, she was confident and contributing.
“I think you have a few years before you should be thinking of staging a coup, hotshot,” Isabelle said, bumping shoulders with Max.
Before Max could defend herself, or get more embarrassed, Isabelle launched into an explanation of what they had found.
“We started by comparing the legitimate paperwork I have for Decker’s businesses with this funky spreadsheet. Max noticed, quite brilliantly I think, that the numbers don’t add up on the weird spreadsheet.”
Max jumped in. “But then Isabelle noticed, even more brilliantly, that if you add in the legitimate income from the methadone clinic for the past six years to each yearly total of baseball, bubbles, and circus animals, you get the grand total noted for each year. Down to the penny.”
“Whatever Decker is doing illegally, it’s happening at the methadone clinic,” Isabelle finished.
“So what do all the other things mean? The baseball teams? The animals?”
“Hey,” Isabelle said, “Decker owns multiple businesses. We just narrowed it down to one. It’s not even lunch yet and we know what some of the bubbles are and where the shady stuff is happening.”
“Oops,” Holt said, enjoying Isabelle’s teasing annoyance. “My apologies. I didn’t realize the level of brilliance I was witnessing. I’ll step outside to not get in the way of the victory lap.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Isabelle said with a smile. “Otherwise, you would be an insufferable wiseass.”
*
Three days later, Holt decided to turn up the heat on Decker’s supporting cast. She had hassled Decker into an early return from vacation, but without more ammo, she was really just harassing him. Max and Isabelle swore they were close to having more information for her. Lola had been working on Parker Caldwell’s record in the House of Representatives, and for the past twenty-four hours, all three of them had been holed up in Holt’s office barely allowing anyone in.
“I think we need to implement the ‘general can’t trust his troops’ plan,” Moose said, ambling up to Holt who was at loose ends. Everyone else was working hard. “I don’t know if we’re going to get anything from the Three Musketeers in there. It’s a lot to ask in a really quick timeframe.”
“As usual, you were reading my mind,” Holt said. “I was going to pay a visit to Diamond and Gary Cappelletti. It would be really fantastic if one of them actually turned on Decker though.”
“It would speed up the process of pissing off the boss man, but you don’t need them to turn to make it work. As long as it looks like he can’t trust them, you’re golden.”
“What are you thinking?” Holt asked. She wanted to punch Diamond in the face until he told her anything she wanted to hear. She probably wouldn’t ever do something like that, but it didn’t make her want it less.
“Can you get Gary or Diamond to send you some e-mails or call you? We need some way of making it look like they’re buddy-buddy with you.”
“Can you get someone close enough to take some pictures without being seen? That might be a nice touch.”
“I like the picture idea. I’ll see who I can pull in. But, H, don’t lose focus on this one. I know it means more, but it’s not worth throwing out the rules of engagement here. You getting yourself killed won’t do shit to protect Isabelle.”
“Speaking of which, I was thinking the gala might be the time to make myself baitish,” Holt said. “We can control the conditions a little better there while still making me look nice and tasty.”
“That’s reasonable. Going to take a lot of setup. We’ve got less than a week.”
“Then get the camera ready, call Danny, and find Diamond. It would be nice to set up Gary and Diamond, but we have to go after the weaker of the two. We don’t have time to delay this. If you can find him now, I’m ready to roll out the door.” Holt ignored Moose’s warning. He was right; this one did mean more, and if she needed to rewrite the rules a little, she was going to do it.
*
“Where have you been?” Isabelle asked. She realized she hadn’t seen Holt in a while. Usually, she seemed to find a reason to be close to Isabelle every half hour or so.
Holt kissed her quickly. “I was out taking some photos with my new BFF Diamond. Speaking of which…” Holt looked around, clearly looking for someone. When she spotted Moose, her eyes lit up. “Did you get them? Did you get the pictures?”
There was a frenetic energy in the room that was making the otherwise bland office space buzz with intensity. It was heady and distracting. Holt looked unfocused, which wasn’t like her.
“Boss,” Max said, “Isabelle, Lola, and I found something.”
“Sweetheart?” Isabelle said.
Just like that, Holt was back, looking at Isabelle with a mixture of concern, tenderness, and lust.
“Are you okay?” Isabelle asked.
“Just waiting for an answer from Moose,” Holt said. “I’m hoping we have some more leverage to use against Decker Pence. Did Max just say something about you guys finding something?” Isabelle could tell Holt was trying to replay the last minute of conversation to catch up.
“Superheroes don’t always have great hearing,” Moose said.
“Probably from banging their heads through walls going after the bad guys,” Isabelle said. “It’s a flaw I can live with.”
Uncharacteristically, Holt’s face reddened. “What did you find, baby?”
“Have a seat. Max has something put together on the screen.”
“Okay. Before we start, Moose, tell me you got some good shots?”
“Looks like you guys are two old friends yucking it up,” Moose said. “The arm around his shoulders was a nice touch. In the still shot you can’t tell he’s shaking out of his boots.”
“Sweet,” Holt said. “Okay, start the show. Who has the popcorn?”
Much to Isabelle’s amazement, ten seconds later, Jose came hurtling around the corner from the kitchenette carrying two large microwave popcorn bags. They weren’t watching a movie; they were talking about life-or-death scenarios, but here they were eating popcorn. These guys really were cool under pressure. Everyone plopped down in nearby chairs, and Isabelle chose Holt’s lap as there was a shortage of seating, and Max began her presentation.
“As you all know, Decker Pence is a real asshole,” Max started, putting up Decker’s driver’s license picture and running through an exhaustive list of his vital statistics, most of which she had already shared with Holt and Isabelle.
“He owns businesses all over Rhode Island and property all over the state. Through some accounting mumbo jumbo, no offense to our genius Isabelle, our group figured out two important things about Decker Pence’s business dealings. First…” Max changed the view on the screen to show the ridiculous spreadsheet. “The bubbles are all properties bought in the past two years. When you take those out of the equation…” Max animated the screen and removed the bubble accounting entries. “And if you remove all these baseball teams and animals…” Max pressed another button on her remote, and the silly entr
ies evaporated. “You are left with this total for the past six years. Now, if you bring up his so-called legitimate accounting records that Isabelle had access to, does anyone see something that looks familiar?”
“I think Max has a future as a tour guide,” Jose said, popping some more popcorn in his mouth. “She seems to be enjoying the spotlight.”
“Okay, I see the reported profits from the methadone clinic line up with what’s left over on the childish sheet. You told me that already, Max. What’s new?” Holt asked.
“Getting to that, boss,” Max said. “Lola has been looking at Rep. Caldwell’s record in office for the past six years, the time that lines up with this spreadsheet. There are thousands of motions, votes, and bits of legislation that he had a hand in during that time. However, once we knew to focus on the methadone clinic, this pattern emerged.”
Max clicked again, and a history of methadone related public records attached to Parker Caldwell’s time in office jumped onto the screen. Starting about a year and a half ago, Parker Caldwell seemed to have developed a keen interest in methadone despite not having a single clinic in his district, and never having shown much affinity for substance use issues in the past.
Holt nearly dumped Isabelle off her lap she was so excited.
“Does this mean more to you than it does to me, boss?” Max asked.
Everyone looked at Holt, hoping she could see the hidden thread they were missing.
“Moose could probably explain it better, with actual numbers, prices, and profits, but yes. Looks like Decker has a pretty sweet racket going. My best guess as to what he’s up to is this. Parker Caldwell was bribed, probably with money or drugs, to send as many state-funded methadone slots to Decker’s clinic. Look at the pattern of funding on the screen. Almost all of the money the state is willing to pay for people’s treatment goes to Decker, but it’s supposed to be spread out among the various clinics in the state. I’m willing to bet that money never makes it to deserving people. This will nail Decker. Great, great work, you three.”
“Methadone, called ‘Done’ on the streets, is a flat fee for your dose each week when you get it from the clinic,” Moose jumped in. “Whether you’re on thirty milligrams a day or three hundred milligrams a day, you would pay the same. That’s not true on the street.”
“Right,” Holt said, her voice animated. It was obvious the hunt excited her. “You can get a lot more on the streets.”
“‘Done’ can sell for as high as a dollar per milligram. People are desperate right now with the economy, and legit methadone maintenance is expensive, sometimes more expensive than heroin.”
“I’ve helped him get away with this for years,” Isabelle said, horrified. “No wonder he has so much extra money I couldn’t account for. This is why he’s been after me, isn’t it? One stupid file and I was given the whole key to his operation. No wonder he wanted me intimidated, or dead.”
“You didn’t do any of this, love. He’s a criminal. They lie. It’s part of the gig. But I do take exception with him making your life miserable, and taking services away from people who need it.”
“That lying, money laundering, piece of shit, asshole.” She looked Holt in the eye and pointed her finger in Holt’s face. “You get him. Get him however you have to. I don’t like being played, and I really don’t like cheaters. I’d get him myself, but I don’t know how to kick ass. It makes me sick to think of all the innocent people he’s hurt.”
“Amen, Isabelle,” Jose said. Moose patted her on the shoulder.
“I’m gonna nail him to the wall, love.”
“Uh, boss, if we know what this spreadsheet means, can’t we just drop it off for the police?” Max asked.
“Probably, kid,” Moose said. “But cases like this are hard to prove. The guy at the top is usually pretty well insulated. Attempted murder is a bit more black-and-white. Besides, I don’t want to try to explain gas bubbles to the cops.”
“There’s a pretty good bet one of these unaccounted for expenditures is to pay off a few of Rhode Island’s finest. Ninety-nine percent of them are stand-up men and women, but all it takes is a couple,” Holt said.
“What’s the next move?” Isabelle asked.
“Next, we make this the worst week of Decker’s life,” Holt said. “Knowing what this means doesn’t guarantee anything, but it gives us the best shot. We need to make him angry enough to want to kill me himself.”
Chapter Sixteen
Decker was jumpy. Despite his best efforts to shake off Holt Lasher, she was starting to get to him. She had called or stopped by every day for the past week, and every day she seemed to know more and more about him. He knew very little about her. It was driving him crazy. Something had to be done. To make matters worse, Diamond had disappeared just when they were ready to repackage and sell the latest batch of Done. He had to admire her tenacity. He had been harassing Isabelle Rochat for quite a while.
The knock on the door startled him, and he jumped, which really pissed him off. Whoever walked by was going to get an earful. Hopefully, it was someone other than Gary, who had been getting more and more twitchy. Decker wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out against the pressure.
“Decker Pence, boy, do you have yourself a shit pile of trouble about to land on your head.”
Decker looked over the good-looking Latino man standing in his doorway. He was dressed in work clothes, and the grease stains on his hands were apparent even from a distance.
“Who are you?” Decker asked.
“Just a guy who has a problem with the same scum you do.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Decker said, trying to get a read on him.
“Of course not. How about I tell you a little of my troubles and you can tell me a little of yours? I’ve got a bounty hunter that thinks she owns this town and me. I’m a mechanic in a building she owns. You think I can make a decent wage though? Fuck no. She takes eighty percent from me. Eighty percent. I’m about ready for that shit to stop. And I happen to know she’s getting pretty tired of you and your gas bubbles, baseball teams, and Done ruining this town. I figure we can help each other.”
Decker’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Gary’s moronic spreadsheet and Done, but there was no way this guy could know anything about his business, right? “I still don’t know what you are talking about, young man. I think you have the wrong guy.”
“Right, there are so many Decker Pences in the phone book who own methadone clinics and launder money. Whatever, man. When you wise up, call me. Number’s on the back. Check out the photography. I did it myself.”
The man dropped a manila envelope on the floor of Decker’s office, just inside the door and turned and walked out. Decker thought about calling him back and making him sorry he didn’t show a little more respect, but it wasn’t worth it. The mystery mechanic obviously knew who Decker was, and apparently, a lot more about Decker’s business than he wanted to be public knowledge.
When he opened the envelope, three eight-by-ten black-and-white glossy photos landed on his desk. The pictures barely made a sound as they came to rest. Decker’s ears rang with the sounds of panic as he took in the images.
Decker picked up the phone and dialed Gary. It was time for Diamond to be located. The phone rang twice before a woman’s voice came on the line.
“DP, hey, buddy, how’s it going? Gary and I were just having a nice chat about the weather, baseball, and our favorite state representatives. Your employee has very good political sense. You must be so proud.”
Holt Lasher’s voice on Gary’s phone was more than Decker could handle. He threw his phone against the nearest wall, and then had the humiliating task of walking across the room to disconnect the call, as the wall hadn’t done that for him. Holt’s laughter taunted him until he hit “end call.”
“Fuck.” He didn’t even want to think of the ways Holt had for getting people to talk to her. Her success tracking criminals couldn’t all be legi
timately earned. “He better keep his trap shut.”
Decker considered the idea that Gary might be Holt’s willing guest. He looked at the photographs of Holt with Diamond, her arm around his shoulders, for fuck’s sake. Decker didn’t stop to think; he picked up his phone and dialed the number on the back of the envelope.
*
“Is this plan going to work, Holt?” Isabelle asked. She had finally convinced Holt to leave the office, and she was sitting at the breakfast bar in Holt’s condo worrying. Holt was making dinner, looking quite sexy in a white T-shirt, camo shorts, and an apron that said “Grill Sergeant.” She was whistling while she worked, and it occurred to Isabelle that Holt’s demeanor had changed significantly since they started unraveling the mystery of Decker’s business practices and Holt started annoying him.
“It’s not foolproof,” Holt said. “But I like it a whole lot more than the other possibilities on the table. We’re forcing the issue to keep Decker off guard. I don’t want him to have enough time to check Jose’s background, or think rationally. Sometimes, irrational can be predictable.”
“You like being the one he’s focusing on don’t you? Being the one in danger.” Isabelle was curious about this side of Holt. It was the part of Holt’s job that she liked least, and scared her the most. The time she had been in danger was the worst of her life, and she couldn’t understand how someone could thrive under that stress.
“Like? No, I don’t like it much at all,” Holt said, looking thoughtful. She held Isabelle’s eyes and continued. “It’s never comfortable knowing someone wants you dead. I’m realistic, though. It’s part of my job, people hating me. We all know that. I don’t like the idea of Decker scheming to kill me, but if I had a choice of you or me as the focus of his wrath, I would choose me every time. Same goes for my team. I would rather they stay safe, even if it means more danger for me.”
The Chase Page 18
