The Buick’s front door disappeared over the side as its rear wheel, rising higher, gave a last tug at the Jeep’s bumper and then broke free. The Buick’s rear bumper vanished over the side of the bridge.
Canty screamed until the car crashed onto the rocks.
I lay on my back, frozen in the new, sudden stillness, afraid to move. The rain beat down on me as the river frothed high beneath the planks. At some point I reached to touch my left arm and found sticky wetness. I’d been shot. I’d not ducked down far enough. I laughed.
After a time I stood up and walked along the center of the bridge, careful to look only forward until I got safely to the solid ground on the other side. Even then, I walked another ten feet before I dared to turn around to look at the river below.
The Buick lay upside down, pinned between two boulders in the churning, swollen water. Its roof had been crushed by the fall.
I am told that I pulled off my belt and cinched it around my left arm above where the blood was the stickiest. I don’t remember. Nor do I remember the man in the flatbed truck who slowed behind me as I wobbled down the middle of County M, by then a mile from the bridge. He saw the blood on my shirt and the vacancy in my eyes, and raced me to an emergency medical clinic in a town I’d never heard of.
SIXTY-FOUR
While I was being stitched up, an enterprising nurse thought to try the last numbers in the call memory of my phone. She got both Leo and Amanda. They drove up together and arrived at the clinic about the time the sedatives began to lift.
Amanda sat beside my bed and took my good hand. Leo sat in the corner, a blur of tropical colors.
‘I don’t know about your father,’ I said to her – but I did, or at least I was afraid I did.
She didn’t ask whether I was talking about Wendell’s whereabouts or his complicity in Arthur Lamm’s crimes. She merely sat for a moment, silently squeezing my hand like she was afraid of letting go. I told her to go find a sheriff’s deputy, to see if they’d learned anything. I wanted to talk to Leo, because I was running out of time.
Agent Krantz materialized in the doorway before I could say a word. He must have been lurking in a side corridor, waiting for Amanda to step out.
‘You got here fast,’ I said.
‘It is standard procedure to notify the sheriff about a gunshot wound. This particular sheriff remembered you’d stopped by, asking about Lamm and, more interestingly, your father-in-law.’
‘Ex-father-in-law,’ I corrected.
‘The sheriff also remembered our own inquiry about Arthur Lamm’s whereabouts, so he called me. I’ve filled him in with some particulars, but I’ve left my concerns about you vague. For the time being, he’s agreed to let me be your only law enforcement contact.’
‘Feds trump locals,’ I offered.
‘Every time.’
Leo got up from his chair and came to stand by the bed.
Krantz made a show of looking closely at Leo’s clothes. Leo was wearing an outrageous medley, a shirt of pink parrots and lavender orchids on a yellow and black background, lime green trousers, and brown-and-white wingtip shoes with orange soles. ‘You are?’
‘Mr Elstrom’s advisor,’ Leo said.
‘Advisor for what?’
‘Haberdashery.’ He fingered the hem of his shirt, having noticed Krantz’s scrutiny of his duds, and then said, ‘Along with everything else.’
‘Does this seem eerily familiar?’ I asked Leo.
Leo smiled, whitening the entire room with teeth. He, too, was remembering Sweetie Rose. ‘Same state, different cop.’ He turned to Krantz. ‘We’ve done this before,’ he said, signaling we had previous practice and were real sharpies at admitting nothing to law enforcement officers.
Krantz frowned and turned to me. ‘He’s quite odd,’ he said as Leo went back to sit in the corner.
I shrugged as best I could using only my right arm, the left having been shot. ‘I need him to speak for me because I’ve been sedated and can’t be responsible for anything I say.’
‘You’re worried about vehicular manslaughter?’
‘Nah.’
Krantz sat down in the chair Amanda had vacated. ‘We have no body.’
I started to sit up, but the torn ligaments in my legs, and my shot left arm, tugged me back like I was on a leash. ‘What the hell, Krantz?’
‘We found a handgun and an aluminum case full of money, but no sign of Canty.’
‘He was stuck half out of the driver’s window when the car went over.’
‘We don’t yet know if it was Canty, Lamm or Phelps who was driving that Buick.’
‘Why would I lie?’
‘To protect Phelps.’
‘Let’s not talk until you find Canty’s body.’
‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I believe you. That river is running fast from the storm, and it might take a while to find him downriver, or in one of the lakes that feeds off it. But when they do, they’ll compare his fingerprints to those on the gun they recovered. The bullet they took out of your arm also looks to match one found in a dead young man in Arthur Lamm’s cabin, and together they will tie to the gun. You’re in the clear, Elstrom, so tell me everything.’
‘I went to Lamm’s camp, looking for Wendell, and got clubbed going in the door,’ I said. ‘I woke up to hear someone firing a shot, but I was trussed and covered by a blanket. I couldn’t see anything.’
‘Why were you left alive, Elstrom? Why didn’t Canty shoot you, too?’
I’d expected he’d ask that one. I couldn’t admit it was because Canty needed to be certain I’d brought up the Carson cash, so I said, ‘Charm,’ because it was all I could think to say.
Only Leo laughed, from the corner.
Krantz pulled out his smart phone, selected a picture. ‘This is the young man we found in Lamm’s cabin.’
It looked like an Illinois driver’s license photo. ‘Delray Delmar,’ I said.
‘Richie Bales,’ Krantz said. ‘A small-time repo man out of Chicago Heights. He did collections and auto repossessions. Ring any other bells?’
It rang a big bell. ‘He must have been the “R.B.” on the calendar I gave you.’
‘Phelps hired Small, and Small hired Bales,’ he said. ‘For what?’
‘As I’ve told you, Wendell never told me who he hired, but I do believe it was for surveillance. Wendell’s friends were dying. His goals were noble; he wanted to stop it.’
‘Wendell Phelps killed Small, for what he found out.’
‘There you go again, fencing with me about Wendell. Someone else killed Small, for what he found out.’
‘Who?’
‘Either Arthur Lamm, because Small discovered his scheme, or Canty, on Lamm’s orders, or Richie Bales, to get Small out of the way so he could extort big money out of Lamm.’
Krantz reached for the little bronze-colored Thermos on my bed tray and poured coffee into the matching bronze cup.
‘No coffee, thanks,’ I said.
Krantz smirked and took a sip. ‘Arthur Lamm’s brokerage wrote insurance policies on the lives of Benno Barberi, Jim Whitman and Grant Carson, each in the amount of two million dollars. Remember who owns half of Lamm Enterprises?’
‘You told me in Amanda Phelps’s kitchen.’
‘Your father-in-law, Wendell Phelps,’ he said anyway.
‘Ex-father-in-law,’ I corrected anyway, adding, ‘Wendell’s the good guy in this, Krantz. I think he bought half of Lamm’s brokerage to help out an old friend who had problems.’
‘Money problems?’
‘IRS problems.’
Undeterred, Krantz went on ‘Each of those life insurance policies was from a different company, but they all named something called Second Securities as beneficiary. It’s not listed as a business anywhere, but I’m thinking you’ve heard of it.’
Once Krantz got a whiff inside Second Securities, he’d open up the small Ford, see he had another murder on his hands, and come at me like a locomotive if he suspe
cted I’d been there and hadn’t admitted it. And come at Wendell, because of his half-share in Lamm’s insurance agency, if Wendell was still alive. I needed to talk to Leo.
‘I’ve heard of it, yes,’ I said, feeding out some truth in case Krantz’s agents had already questioned the glittered receptionist.
‘Phelps told you about Second Securities?’ he said, watching my face, still testing.
‘I got the name from an insurance company contact.’
‘Did you get an address?’
‘I’ll check my file.’
‘Cut the crap, Elstrom. Second Securities is on Milwaukee Avenue in Chicago. They wired the Barberi and Whitman payouts to a bank on Grand Cayman. That money is gone. But the Carson check was converted to cash at an outfit laundry in Chicago.’
‘An outfit laundry?’ I asked, as though I’d never heard the term for a mob-controlled bank that converts checks into cash for people with connections.
‘We’re thinking that since Lamm’s been hiding out, it was likely his partner Phelps who ran the check through the laundry.’
‘You’re trying to pin things on the wrong guy, Krantz.’
‘If Phelps is so innocent, then where is he?’
‘Maybe dead,’ I said, thinking of the car at Second Securities. I really needed to talk to Leo.
A faint, smug smile had formed on his face. He might have had more against Wendell; he might have been bluffing. I wanted to smash that smugness with a hammer, but all I had were words.
‘You put a brick on Lamm’s passport?’ I asked.
His smile broadened from smug to obnoxious. ‘Some trouble with Homeland Security.’
‘Bricking Lamm’s passport was your way of preventing Lamm from going to Grand Cayman to get at the Barberi and Whitman payouts?’
‘Four million, total. Damned shame,’ he said.
‘When did you put the brick on his passport?’
‘First of this year.’ He wanted to crow.
‘Wait until Keller reports that you singlehandedly got Carson killed six weeks later. You made Lamm hang around to kill again – Carson this time – for new getaway cash. If you hadn’t bricked Lamm’s passport, he would have been long gone to Grand Cayman, and Grant Carson would still be alive.’ I smiled. ‘Details will be following.’
The maddening smile flickered, but not his self-righteous calm. His hand was steady as he poured himself more coffee. ‘About that Carson cash … that money I said we found in Phelps’s Buick?’
‘A million.’
Leo shifted abruptly in his chair, Krantz’s smile widened, and I knew, in an instant, that I’d slipped.
Krantz pounced. ‘I never said how much was in that case.’
‘I’ve been sedated,’ I offered, too feebly and too late.
‘I just told you the Carson payout was for two million, Elstrom. We found only half of that in the Buick. We’re thinking that was Lamm’s share, fifty per cent, which Canty got by killing Lamm. Question is: who’s got the other million? Answer: Wendell Phelps.’
‘Wendell doesn’t need a new million. He’s got hundreds of them already.’
‘It was Phelps’s car you pushed in the river.’
‘That day you called Wendell, to set up an interview?’ I asked.
‘He blew me off.’
‘How hard did you lean on him? Did you threaten him, tell him he would do time for Lamm’s crimes?’
‘I might have.’ Still the bastard smirked.
‘You set Phelps off like a live grenade, Krantz. He didn’t simply skip his appointment with you. Most likely, he charged right up here to confront Lamm, a man who’d been his friend for years, for setting him up. Knowing Wendell just a little, he probably planned on throwing Lamm in his trunk and driving him back to Chicago to deliver to you.’
‘Nice try, Elstrom. Phelps didn’t leave until two days after we set up our appointment. Phelps came up here to collect his half of the Carson payout.’
‘Then Richie Bales enticed Wendell to drive up to help his old friend. Remember, there was nothing on the news that Richie, the infamous Delray Delmar, was impersonating a Chicago police officer when Wendell took off from home. So far as Wendell knew, Delray Delmar was a real cop.’
‘You’re trying awfully hard to come up with excuses for your father-in-law.’
‘Find Lamm. And find Wendell, if you can find him still alive.’ I looked away.
‘We’re getting warrants to search Second Securities,’ he said, to the back of my head.
‘Enlightenment looms,’ I managed, through teeth that surprisingly had not started chattering.
Amanda came into the room.
Krantz, the gentleman, stood up. ‘Ms Phelps,’ he said.
‘Secret Agent,’ she said.
Krantz turned to me. ‘I’m going to think about what you’ve told me,’ he said. ‘Very carefully. I’ll be back tomorrow.’
He nodded at Leo and Amanda and started to leave. But he stopped at the door. ‘Any news about your father, Ms Phelps?’ he asked.
She frowned. He left.
‘There’s a ski resort two miles outside of Bent Lake,’ Amanda said. ‘Plenty of rooms.’
‘I heard it was closed,’ I said.
‘They were thinking about closing for the season, but changed their minds when I said we’d need lodging.’
Leo’s eyebrows rose.
‘Dek won’t be staying there at all,’ she said, mock-frowning at Leo, ever the romantic. She turned to me. ‘Leo and I will stay there tonight. The doctor said you can leave tomorrow. Leo will drive you home and I’ll stay on up here, until something is learned about my father.’
‘I’m getting out of here now,’ I said.
‘You can’t,’ Amanda said.
‘You’re nuts,’ Leo said.
‘I’m ready,’ I said, because now I had no choice.
SIXTY-FIVE
It was night, just past nine o’clock, before I got out of the clinic and then only with dire warnings of my likely demise from infection.
‘I expected Amanda would be hauling you back to Rivertown horizontally, like truck-smacked venison,’ Leo said, explaining the long Cadillac Escalade he’d rented for the drive up. Amanda had parked it behind the Jeep at the front of the clinic.
‘I don’t know if I trust you driving my Jeep back to Chicago,’ I said.
‘It’s a wonder it still runs,’ he said. ‘Or why.’
I maneuvered myself up onto the Cadillac’s passenger seat and handed him my crutches to toss in back. My wounds weren’t much – a gunshot that missed bone in my left arm and ligaments torn in both legs from straining to throttle the Jeep into the Buick while trying to lie beneath Canty’s gunfire. But working the Jeep’s clutch and shifter was out of the question for a couple of weeks.
‘You noted the extent of the Jeep’s damage?’ Leo asked, trying for light as I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to go away. ‘To restore it to its previous, uh, condition, you’ll have to find a used fender in cracked, faded black plastic; a used front bumper, also faded black, but in rusted metal. You’ll need a radiator cover and a hood in the same tarty red, if you can find one mottled with enough of the aforementioned rust to match the rest of your heap. The whole repair shouldn’t set you back more than two hundred bucks.’
Amanda would be coming out at any moment. ‘You forgot to take off the spare tire,’ I said.
‘Ah, yes, the spare.’ He left me to hustle forward in the Escalade’s headlamp beams.
Amanda came out of the clinic holding a big white envelope with my medical instructions and pills. She went up to Leo, who’d taken out a lug wrench and was removing the Jeep’s spare tire. He shook his head and jerked a thumb back at me. She shrugged, gave him a hug, and came to slide in behind the wheel of the Cadillac.
‘He won’t tell me what he’s doing,’ she said.
‘Putting my spare tire into the back of this thing for the night,’ I said.
He came back and to
ssed the Jeep’s spare in the back of the Escalade.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘The tire is out of air.’
‘Is that supposed to make sense?’ she asked.
‘Must be the meds,’ I said, patting my pockets like I was missing something. ‘I think I left my phone in my room.’
‘I’m not sure they should have released you,’ she said, managing a laugh. She went back inside.
Leo shut the rear door and came around to the passenger side.
‘You’re clear on what to do when we get to the ski lodge?’ I asked.
‘Let me do it alone. It’ll save me another round trip up here.’
‘The less you know …’
‘You’re being irrational. It’s Lamm in the trunk of that car at Second Securities.’
‘Who knows what Canty and Delray were thinking? I have to be sure it’s not Wendell, and if it is, I want him moved, away from such a link to Lamm.’
He gave it up. ‘That nurse that called Amanda and me?’
‘Yes?’
‘She also called Jenny’s cell number. Jenny called me from California, and made noises about flying in. I said you’d had a slight accident, nothing serious.’
‘I’ll call her when I’m done.’
‘If we haven’t been arrested.’
I held up my phone as Amanda came outside. ‘Had it after all,’ I lied, by way of explanation.
‘Meds,’ she said, accepting, and we drove away.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled to a stop under a stone-pillared canopy. The resort was old, made of logs darkened by tens of decades of winters and moss-covered, rough-hewn roof shingles. She told me it had gently sloping halls, a restaurant with wide booths, and firm leather couches that were easy to get out of. They were used to people on crutches.
‘I can bird dog the sheriff by myself,’ she said, for the fifth time.
And I agreed, for the fifth time, telling her I knew she was perfectly capable of harassing the sheriff until he found her father. Her worst fear, and my second-worst fear, was that Wendell was lying dead somewhere in the surrounds of Bent Lake.
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