Private Lies

by T. E. Woods

  Geneva stood, then bent over to pick up her briefcase. “We aren’t going anywhere. My job here is complete. Should there be complications, which I don’t anticipate, the district attorney will contact me directly.”

  “But what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

  The lawyer glanced again at her watch. “It was an experience meeting you, Mr. Vistole. It is my sincere hope our paths never cross again. However, rest assured that should you ever find yourself in need of an attorney, and should your employer see fit to hire me, I shall do my best to be at your service.”

  “But how am I supposed to get home? My car’s gotta be in impound, am I right?”

  “The terms of my engagement do not cover your transportation.” She took a step toward the door.

  “Wait! What about Ossie? Is he out, too?”

  Geneva stopped. “As your attorney, I can speak to your case. I can’t discuss the details of any other person. That’s true whether I represent them or not. Good day, Mr. Vistole. Enjoy your freedom.”

  * * *

  —

  Three hours later, Frank Vistole was wheeled out of the hospital. The nurse had been decent enough to give him a pair of scrubs to wear. She explained his jeans had been cut off him when he was brought in. She put his shirt in a plastic bag, along with some gauze, tape, and printed instructions on after-discharge wound care. Then she handed him his sandals.

  “You’re gonna have to give me somethin’ for the pain,” he insisted.

  She told him over-the-counter Tylenol would be best.

  When he had cleared the building, he instinctively reached for his cellphone. Then he remembered Geneva had told him the police had it, along with his car keys and wallet.

  Fuckin’ Madison, he thought. There’s gotta be like four or five cop shops. Which one’s got my stuff?

  He stood under the massive portico of University Hospital and pondered what direction he should start walking. He chose north, for no other reason than that it was the direction the steady stream of cars was coming from, and started walking. He hadn’t taken ten steps when he heard a horn honk three times. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw a black SUV idling at the curb. The passenger window was rolled down. Someone’s arm was stuck out of it, waving him their way.

  “Frank. C’mon, man. Time’s money.”

  He didn’t recognize the voice, but he’d seen the Illinois plates. And the voice sounded friendly enough.

  It’s Chicago, man! Frank thought. Of course the lawyer wouldn’t know what’s comin’ next. Probably standard operating procedure. No way Boss would let me hoof it back to Beloit. Not after I showed ’em all what a stand-up guy I am.

  Frank waved toward the SUV and sauntered over.

  I’ll move down there. Get me a place. Maybe one of them places over a pizzeria or somethin’.

  Frank thumped the rear passenger door before he opened it. He saw three men. One driver, one sitting shotgun, and one in the backseat. All were smiling.

  Yeah. They know the story. They know Frank Vistole made it right. Didn’t hesitate to take out that cop. Didn’t say a word about nothin’ while he was chained to that hospital bed.

  He nodded to each of the men, climbed in, and pulled the door shut.

  “Where we headed, boys?” He leaned forward into the space between the two front seats. “And I’ll follow you anywhere if we can stop and grab a beer for the road.”

  “Sure thing,” the driver said.

  “Anything you want, Frank.” Shotgun turned and gave him a grin. “We’re just glad to have you here.”

  Frank let out a hoot so loud he didn’t hear the rear-door locks engage.

  Chapter 29

  “My neck’s killing me.” Horst shifted his weight. “What time is it?”

  Rick checked the luminous dial on his watch. “Twenty past eleven.” He peered through the curtain of leaves enshrouding the porch Billy Tremble had called home. “You want a sandwich?”

  The two had climbed to the perch just before nine o’clock. Both were certain that if anything was going to happen, it would happen under cover of night.

  “I’m good,” Horst replied. “Stakeouts make me feel like a dog.”

  “A dog?”

  “Yeah. Did you know the average dog sleeps twenty hours a day? Twenty! They’re internally wired to be energy conservers.”

  Rick thought about Jocko. That animal loved nothing more than to sprawl, belly up and snoring, anywhere he could catch a sunbeam.

  “What’s that got to do with you and stakeouts?”

  Horst took a sip from his water bottle. “A dog can be sound asleep. But he hears a noise, boom! He’s alert and chasing it like a rocket. Jocko ever do that?”

  “Sure. Used to be he’d snooze in the back of the squad car, but as soon as I’d park, he was ready to go. Since he retired it’s all about the squirrels.”

  “So here we sit. Parked up here on our perch, conserving energy.” Horst nodded toward the parking lot. “But if something moves down there, off we go.”

  “Chasing squirrels.”

  Their conversation turned trivial. Horst asked Rick how he was healing. Rick told him he’d done his rehab exercises that morning. They talked about the Brewers, each of them complaining about the pitching staff and trying to calculate the likelihood of a division championship. They tried to talk politics, but each became so heated they mutually decided to switch topics. Rick suggested a television series Horst might like to binge-watch. Horst told him that if he was going to binge on anything it would be pizza or burgers.

  Each respected the other’s boundaries. Horst didn’t ask Rick about Sydney. Rick didn’t press for answers about what it was like to be at this building when Joe Richardson died.

  “What time is it now?”

  Rick checked his watch again. “Two-thirty-seven. Still thinking it’s tonight?”

  “Billy had fresh cash every Tuesday morning,” Horst reminded him. “Monday’s the payday.”

  They fell into an easy silence. Twenty minutes later the sound of a car approaching came to them as loudly as if they were standing on the street. Wordlessly, each of them peered down through the leaves. Rick reached for his camera.

  A dark SUV turned off the street. It stopped at the chain-link fence encircling the parking lot. Rick clicked several shots, then shifted his position and zoomed in for a picture of the license plate.

  Illinois.

  A man got out of the vehicle’s passenger seat, walked to the fence, and unlocked the gate. He pulled it open wide enough for the SUV to enter the lot. The car came to a stop directly below Horst and Rick’s aerie. Another man climbed out of the driver’s seat. He walked around to the rear of the car and lifted the hatch. By then, the man who’d unlocked the gate was standing beside him.

  Rick clicked several rapid shots, trying to frame as close a picture of the men’s faces as he could.

  Each man pulled a duffel bag out of the SUV. Without a word, they headed toward the right of Rick’s view. The same man who’d unlocked the gate now unlocked a double door on the side of the building. The two men entered the building. Less than thirty seconds later they reemerged, without the duffel bags. Rick clicked several photos as the men locked up and got back into their vehicle. They drove away after relocking the gate behind them.

  “Damn it,” Rick muttered. “What good is super hearing if they won’t say anything?”

  “It was good enough for us to hear them approach, wasn’t it? And just because they weren’t chatty tonight doesn’t mean Billy didn’t hear anything. You get what you needed?”

  Rick pulled the camera strap over his neck. “Got what I could. Lighting’s not the best, but I’ll lighten it up on the computer. Ready to head down?”

  Horst shook his head. “Let’s give it a while. See who comes
to pick the bags up.”

  An hour later Horst nudged his foot against Rick’s leg.

  “Screw it,” he said. “I’m getting cramped sitting in one place. Let’s go have a look.”

  Rick breathed through the pain as he climbed down the ladder after Horst. Once they were on the ground, both men checked their guns.

  “I thought you turned yours in,” Rick said as Horst tucked his weapon in the small of his back.

  “Service revolver,” Horst explained. “This one’s mine. Let’s go.”

  They crossed to the door the men had used. A large lock secured the hasp.

  “You got any skills in this area?” Horst asked Rick.

  “I could shoot it off,” Rick offered. “That should bring every cop on the road here in about three minutes.”

  “Yeah. And show our hand to whoever’s coming to pick up those duffels.” Horst looked to his right and left. “All these doors are secure.”

  “So’s the one in Billy’s crib.”

  “Only one thing to do.”

  “I’m thinking the same thing.”

  “You up for this?” Horst nodded toward Rick’s bandages. “You’re not going to bust any stitches or anything, are you?”

  “Let’s see.”

  They returned to the ladder and climbed back up to Billy’s perch. Once there, they hauled up the ladder and positioned it to climb to the overhanging porch above them. Only a few vines had made it that high.

  “More exposure here,” Rick noticed. “But a better view of the area.”

  “Billy wouldn’t have needed this much height for security,” Horst offered. “Besides, hauling that ladder every night would have been a hassle. But my hunch is he was banking on the same thing we are.”

  “That no one would secure entry this high up.”

  Horst nodded. He turned the rusted handle on the door. “Locked,” he announced.

  Rick stepped past him and tried the window. It took two tugs before it opened with a creak of wood against wood. Rick held his camera tight to his chest as he crawled inside. Horst came in behind him.

  “Don’t move,” Rick warned. He pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight app. He scanned the vast, empty space, finding nothing but pillars and cobwebs. Then he trained the flashlight on the floor. “Wood.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Sturdy.” He waited until Horst brought out his own flashlight before scanning the room again. They found four staircases, one in each corner of the warehouse’s third floor.

  Horst nodded to the one on their left. “Those guys were in and out. That’s the closest way down.”

  The men climbed down two flights. The first, connecting the third floor to the second, was wooden, rough on both steps and handrail. The next, leading down from the second floor to the first, was made of wider, iron-grid stairs. Once on the main floor, the men shined their lights around the area, illuminating dusty pieces of large machinery, wooden crates, and a multitude of hand tools, wheelbarrows, concrete mixers, and other tools of the building trade.

  Everything was covered with a heavy layer of dust.

  They walked toward the door the men had unlocked to enter. Here, the wooden floor gave way to concrete. Rick imagined this must have been where trucks pulled in with deliveries back in the day. He scanned his light across the hard surface, hoping to get lucky with a footprint. All he came up with was dust, dirt, and a large dark stain. At the end of the concrete pad were two duffel bags. He turned to nudge Horst, only to find him staring at the shadowy stain.

  “This is where it happened.” Horst’s voice was low and choked. “This is where Joe died.”

  Rick laid a hand on Horst’s shoulder. “Steady, man. Stay focused.”

  Horst nodded and pulled his gaze away. Rick trained his flashlight on the duffel bags and both men walked toward them.

  “Look familiar?” Horst asked.

  Rick nodded. It was the same shape and color as the bag Ossie MacDonald struggled to carry as he and Frank Vistole ran out of the convenience store. He bent down and examined it.

  “No tags. Looks new, though.”

  “Open it,” Horst said.

  Rick was surprised there was no lock on the zipper. Maybe whoever was making the delivery thought two men, probably both armed, a locked fence, and a fortresslike warehouse were enough to keep it secure. He pulled on the zipper and shook his head. He opened the second bag and found the contents to be identical.

  Stacks of cash. Lots of them.

  Horst knelt and rifled through several banded sacks. “All hundreds. Just like the ones Billy handed out.”

  “And just like the bag Ossie and Frank delivered.”

  Horst straightened. “You mean the one I’m accused of taking from the evidence room?”

  “The very one.” Rick bent down and zipped both bags closed. “This is what Billy saw. This is his payday.”

  “He probably figured no one would notice a stack or two missing. Not with a stash this size.”

  “He didn’t know that people who deal with this kind of money know where each and every bill is at all times,” Rick offered. “This is payment for something.”

  “Drugs?”

  Rick shook his head. “Somebody pays this much, they’re gonna want their candy in immediate trade.” He played the possibilities through his mind. “From what Billy told people about his paydays, the drops were made on a regular basis.”

  “Every week from the sound of it. An ongoing operation.”

  Rick nodded. “This warehouse is the main drop-off point. That’s why all the security is in place. Whoever’s making the drops found out about Billy skimming.”

  “And arranged to have him killed.” Horst seemed to be thinking the same way Rick was. “But the money needed to keep coming in while they were taking care of Billy.”

  “And that’s when whoever it was sent Frank and Ossie up to the convenience store. But why only one bag with them?”

  “Test run?” Horst asked. “ ’Til they could double down on security here?”

  “Makes sense. Could be they’d used Frank before. Maybe they’d just heard about him wanting to impress the boys in Chicago. You saw the Illinois plates?”

  “I did,” Horst answered. “The question is who. And why. And why get me involved with making it look like I stole the money?”

  “Is it time to bring in the boys in blue?”

  “Which ones?” Horst asked sourly. “You ready to take a gamble on finding a cop who wasn’t involved with setting me up?”

  Chapter 30

  “Have you heard from Horst?” Nancy Richardson asked as she walked into her daughter’s condo. “He hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

  Sydney wasn’t ready for this. She opted for a diversion. “You looking for him to help you out tonight? I’ll be at the Arbeits. Do you need backup for Hush Money?”

  “The day I need help running a restaurant is the day you better check your boots because you-know-where has just frozen over. Besides, Horst Welke wouldn’t know a spatula from a soup spoon.” Nancy crossed to the kitchen, pulled out a jug of iced tea, and poured herself a glass. “You want some?”

  Sydney shook her head. She had hoped to avoid any conversation about Horst. He was right. If her mother caught wind that he’d been suspended under suspicion of stealing more than a million dollars, she’d go full-on indignant, raging to the department, the press, the customers at The Ten-Ten, and anyone else who crossed her path. If Rick and Horst were looking for a dirty cop, they didn’t need Nancy Richardson warning whoever it might be.

  “So?” Nancy asked again. “Do you know where Horst is?”

  “It’s not my job to babysit him.”

  “Jillian came into The Ten-Ten last night. You know her sister got married?” Nancy shook her head. “Out in the d
esert. In Arizona. In July, for God’s sake. Who does things like that?”

  “What’s your point, Mom?”

  “My point is, I haven’t heard from Horst. So, I ask Jillian if she’s seen him since she’s been back. She rambles on about the wedding like a magpie who’s just learned to talk. Next thing I know, she’s finishing her beer and heading out the door. That doesn’t sound a thing like her.”

  She must have heard about Horst’s suspension, Sydney thought. Would her supervisor only tell her because she is Horst’s partner? Or does everyone on the force know?

  “Weddings make people excited,” Sydney said. “Like all big parties. She was probably wanting to share the details with you.”

  Nancy gruffed out a harrumph.

  “What?” Sydney asked.

  “Something’s not passing the smell test.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, if she’s in Arizona in the middle of July, why no tan? Jillian had nothing. Not even those goofy lines on the side of her head from wearing sunglasses.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe she uses triple-digit sunscreen. I can’t believe you’d wonder about something like that.”

  “A mother notices everything. Remember that time you and Ronnie snuck out of the house? What were you, sixteen? Next morning it took me all of twenty seconds to bust you both.”

  “No pillowcase crease marks on our faces. I remember.”

  “You wait ’til you have a kid or two of your own, Sydney. It’s like a superpower comes over you.”

  Sydney shook her head. “I gotta go. I want to be at the Arbeits no later than four o’clock to check out all the details.”

  “You’ll be fine. I swung by Hush Money on my way here. Windy’s got it all handled. Anita’s got the wine boxed and ready for you. She says to pick it up on your way over. The servers will bring the food at five. There’ll be some assembly, but you said Leslie’s kitchen can handle it, right?”

  Sydney was grateful to have her mother’s attention shifted away from Horst. “It’s enormous. I think the important thing is to have all the doings for the Arbeit party out of Hush Money’s kitchen before Windy has to start cooking for the dinner guests.”