Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5

by Renee Pawlish

  I nodded. “I’d rather be safe than sorry, though.”

  Willie popped her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, hon.”

  I walked over and gave her a big hug. “Have you been keeping an eye on our building?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see that guy with the big nose when you came home from work?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been quiet.”

  “I think he’s got his hands full tonight,” I said, thinking about Vanderkamp, “but I’d feel better if you stayed here for now.”

  “She can stay as long as she wants,” Darcy said. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Willie put her hands on her hips. “What’re you going to do?”

  “I’ll stay in the condo,” I said. “I’m trying to smoke this guy out so I can talk to him, so if he’s watching our place, he might try to talk to me.”

  Willie’s lips twitched into a frown, but she didn’t argue.

  “Do you work tomorrow?” I asked. It would be Saturday, but Willie had an odd work schedule, so I always had to be reminded about which days she worked in any given week.

  She shook her head. “I’m off.”

  “We can hang out here,” Darcy said. “Maybe do some shopping.”

  “Good.” I kissed Willie. “I’ll keep in touch.”

  “You better,” she said.

  I lingered for a while and talked with them, and then finally pulled myself away. I didn’t want to leave them, but I needed some sleep. And part of me hoped that the Slav would show up at the condo so I could confront him.

  When I got back to the condo, I went right to my office and called Cal.

  “What’s up, O Great Detective?” he answered.

  “If I give you a bank account in the Caymans, would you be able to access the money?”

  “You have the account number?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Now if you didn’t, that would be much harder. They have a lot of safeguards against hackers.”

  “I’ll email you the info,” I said as I logged onto my computer. “I may need you to transfer it into a different account.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I told him about my plan to scare up the Slav.

  “What if he’s not at the hotel?” he asked when I finished.

  I pursed my lips. “I don’t know.”

  “And if you do find him, and he tells you enough that you can go to the police, that’s it? He won’t come after you anymore?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

  “I have to hope so. I don’t have a lot of options here. I can’t go to the police, I don’t have enough for them to do anything, just what Bernie said, and he’ll probably lie to the police if they talk to him. There’s a dead body, but it’s in Tahiti and I have no way of proving Hinton’s death has a link to what’s going on here. I have no real proof of the Medicare scam, so I could report it to the authorities, but it’ll take the government a long time to do an investigation. And in the meantime, this guy’s already looking for me.” I told him about Ace seeing the Slav at the condo. “And he’s trying to kill Bernie and Marshall. If I don’t call him out, will he find and kill them, or me? Or Willie? I’ve got to get at him first.”

  “Hmm,” Cal said. “You are rash in your decisions at times, but I see what you’re saying.” Then he snorted. “At the risk of sounding like your wife, you need to be very careful in going about this. You’re still dealing with killers.”

  “I know. Maybe I’ll bring you in. You can be my lookout or the muscle.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said with a derisive laugh. “You know I’ll help in any way I can, as long as I don’t have to leave my house.”

  I laughed.

  He didn’t join in the laugh. “Send me that account info and I’ll make sure I can transfer it into another account.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Watch your back,” he said.

  “I will.”

  I ended the call and sauntered into the bedroom. I lay down and stared at the ceiling, wishing Willie was there beside me.

  The next morning was cool, with a stiff breeze blowing. I hoped I wouldn’t have to wait outside in order to find the Slav. At nine o’clock, I walked around the neighborhood to make sure he wasn’t around, then checked on Willie and Darcy, who were doing fine. I had breakfast with them and then left for the Westin.

  I parked at a meter, strolled inside and checked out the lobby and the Starbucks, but I didn’t see the Slav. I took the escalators up to the second floor and walked around, but didn’t see my quarry there, either, so I returned to the lobby and sat down for what might be a long wait. If the Slav had checked out already, this would be pointless, but since he had been at Vanderkamp’s last night, my gut said he wouldn’t leave the hotel just yet.

  I watched people coming and going, and I wondered where they were from and what they were doing. Then my mind wandered to film noir movies that involved a stakeout. He Walked by Night is a lesser-known police procedural noir, with the LAPD chasing a cop killer. Richard Basehart expertly plays a psycho-loner. I wondered if the Slav would turn out to be as dangerous as Roy Martin, Basehart’s character in the movie. I shuddered at the thought.

  While I waited, a valet eyed me a time or two, but left me alone. I frowned. I wouldn’t be able to wait too much longer before someone would ask what I was doing there. And then something that had been nudging the back of my mind came to the forefront. Bernie had told me one of the ways to get Medicare numbers was to pay homeless people for their numbers. The Slav was staying downtown, not far from many of Denver’s homeless shelters. Maybe that’s where the Slav was now. Should I drive by some of the shelters and see? It’d be better than being bored here, I decided, so I got up and left.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I drove down Lawrence to Nineteenth Street and worked my way to Broadway. I passed Colorado Coalition for the Homeless and Central Presbyterian Church, where I knew they served Denver’s homeless population, but I didn’t see the Slav or his black sedan. I drove around a bit and searched for the sedan, and then headed north to Park Avenue and took it west. I slowed down as I neared a two-story red-brick building with a neon cross above the door that read, “Jesus Saves.”

  Denver Rescue Mission is one of Denver’s better homeless shelters for men, where a guy can get a free meal and a bed, as well as emergency care. I’d volunteered there a few times over the years, and the experience had made me grateful for everything I had. Right now, only a few grizzled men in worn jeans and dirty jackets ambled along the sidewalk in front of the building, but later today there would be a long line of men waiting for a meal and a bed. I reached the corner, and then I saw a black sedan parked across the street from the entrance.

  I went around the block and back to Lawrence Street, then parked down the block where I could see the sedan. I reached around to the backseat for binoculars, then trained them on the sedan. A man was sitting in the driver’s seat with the window rolled down, smoking a cigarette. I watched him for a few minutes, and he finally turned and I saw his distinctive profile with the large nose. The Slav!

  I observed him for a few minutes. He appeared to be watching people walking around outside the Denver Rescue Mission. He finished his cigarette and tossed it out the window but stayed where he was. I kept my eye on him, and I soon wondered if he was as bored as I was. Then he sat up, alert.

  I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. A man I’d say was in his thirties crossed Park Avenue. He was blond with a stubble of beard, and his jeans and gray T-shirt were neat and clean, not like the other guys loitering around the mission. He sauntered up to the sedan and squinted down at the Slav.

  “Looking for a handout?” I asked no one.

  But no money exchanged hands. Instead, they talked for a minute, and the Slav kept nodding his head. Then the younger guy handed the Slav a piece of paper. The Slav looked
at it, then gestured toward the street. The younger guy nodded and then started walking back toward Park Avenue. I peered at him through the binoculars again.

  He crossed the street and began talking to two old homeless guys who were hanging around outside the mission. The wind whipped up some trash around them, and one held a grimy baseball cap down on his head. The young guy offered them cigarettes, then talked with them for a few minutes. He was animated, gesturing and waving his hands, and patting them on the back, as if trying to win them over. One of the homeless guys shook his head and moved off, but the other one kept talking. The young man pulled out a notepad and wrote down something as the old guy talked. The young guy nodded and pulled out a couple of bills from his pocket and handed them to the old man. The old man grinned, shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he’d just been given the money, and then wandered off.

  Buying Medicare numbers? I wondered.

  I put down the binoculars and grabbed a camera that I also kept in the car. It had a zoom lens, and I put it on and focused on the younger guy. He loitered around the mission, periodically approaching some of the older street people. Sometimes they waved him off, but other times they talked to him. And when they did, I took pictures of him, and I got some nice shots of him paying them. The pictures weren’t really proof of anything – unless they were indeed doing something illegal – but it might make the Slav nervous when I told him I had them.

  The young guy kept up his routine for another half-hour and then returned to the sedan. He gave the piece of paper to the Slav, and then went back to the mission. I kept the camera on the Slav. He appeared to be studying the paper, then he pulled out a phone and talked on it for a few minutes. When he finished, he went back to watching his cohort. I decided to make my move before the guy returned again.

  I put the camera and binoculars away and got out my phone. I opened a recording app that I have on it, and set it up, then got out of the car. Dark clouds were rolling in and the wind kept up. I left the car unlocked, in case I needed to make a quick getaway, and then walked down Lawrence. As I neared the sedan, I started the recording app and held the phone casually at my side.

  When I got within a few feet of the car, the Slav’s phone rang. He answered it, and I heard him talking in a foreign language. He noticed me and rolled up his window. I glanced across at the mission. The young guy was talking to a woman wearing three coats and jeans a few sizes too large for her. Then the Slav finished his call and put his phone away. I stepped up to the car and tapped on the window.

  He glanced up at me, then waved for me to move on. I shook my head. He glared at me, then reached over and pressed a button. A second later, his window slid down.

  “Beat it,” he said with a foreign accent, then rolled the window back up.

  I tapped the window again. He gave me a very put-out look and the window rolled down again.

  “I do not have any money for you,” he said, the accent thick.

  I bent down. “But I have some for you.”

  He turned his head and stared at me. His eyes were dark and hard, and I resisted the urge to gulp.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “I know where your money is,” I continued. Cars drove by on Park Avenue and I hoped the noise wouldn’t ruin the recording. I leaned my arm on the side of the car, the phone cupped in my hand.

  The only reaction was a flicker of his eyes. “My money?”

  “Yes, that Marshall Vanderkamp took.”

  “Oh?”

  He was acting very calm, and non-committal, so much so that he was coming across as exceedingly dangerous. For a second, I debated whether I should bag my plan. But I plowed ahead.

  “Yeah. I thought we could talk about a trade,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “I’ll get your money back, you agree to leave Bernie Shepherd and Marshall Vanderkamp alone.”

  “I do not know these people,” he said.

  “Yeah, you do.” I gave him a knowing look, then gestured across at the mission. “You’re buying Medicare numbers, aren’t you? And then you give them to Vanderkamp and he bills for services not rendered.” I paused for effect. “How many other doctors are you working with?”

  He shifted in his seat and gave me a long onceover. “Who are you?”

  “You already know.”

  He nodded slowly. “And you think you can hustle me?”

  “I’m not trying to hustle you,” I said, not answering directly. “I don’t care about what you’re doing. I’ll get you your money and you can disappear. I just want Shepherd and Vanderkamp left alone.”

  I kept bringing up their names and the situation, hoping he would admit something. But he was too cautious for me.

  “You think I can trust you?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Do you have a choice?”

  He considered that. “You are pretty ballsy.”

  “When I need to be,” I said, trying for my best Bogie imitation.

  “You know the Westin Hotel? Downtown?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “Meet me there tonight at eight o’clock, in the bar. It is on the second floor. We will talk.”

  “That’s a wise move,” I said.

  He studied me carefully. “We shall see what is wise and what is not.” Then he rolled up the window.

  I spun on my heel and trotted back down the street to the 4-Runner. I got in, locked the doors, and then wiped sweaty hands on my jeans. I let out a long breath to calm my nerves, but it didn’t work. Then I started the car, did an illegal U-turn so I wouldn’t have to pass the sedan, and got onto Twenty-Second Street.

  As I drove back to the condo, I listened to a snippet of the recording. It wasn’t the best audio, but I could understand the conversation. Too bad the Slav hadn’t given me anything concrete that I could take to the police.

  I put my phone away and mulled over what had transpired. I was sure that the Slav would spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what I knew, but he wouldn’t do anything to me because he would need to know what I knew about the money. But once he had his money, what would he do? I shivered. I needed to make sure he didn’t actually get the money before I turned him in to the police. But there was another problem. He hadn’t admitted to anything, so I didn’t have anything to tell the police yet. I needed more before I could make that call. And that meant I had to get the Slav to incriminate himself tonight at the hotel.

  What if I met him there? The hotel was in a public place, so if he planned to harm me in some way, he wouldn’t try anything there. But would he try to lure me somewhere else or follow me back home?

  I frowned. I was going to need to be very cautious tonight. And I would need to bring in backup.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Does everyone understand what they’re going to do?” I asked.

  It was six-thirty that evening, and Ace, Deuce, Willie, Darcy, Cal, and I were all crammed into Darcy’s small living room. I’d explained what was going on, and I’d outlined a plan for my meeting with the Slav at the Westin. Outside, clouds obscured the sun, leaving the room dimly lit by a couple of lamps. It seemed to fit the mood in the room.

  “I’m going to watch the front of the hotel,” Willie said. “If I see this man – the Slav – go in or out of the hotel, I’ll call you. If he takes off, I’ll follow him until you can get to your car and catch up. If you’re with him, I’ll follow. And I’ll call everyone and we’ll all make sure we don’t lose you. If anything goes wrong, call the police and Detective Spillman. Make sure to tell Spillman everything we know.”

  I nodded. “If you have to follow this guy, make sure he doesn’t see you. And if he does, you get the hell away from him. Don’t take any chances.”

  “I can handle it,” she said.

  Darcy was sitting next to Willie on a flowered couch, and she patted Willie’s arm. “You sure you don’t want me there to kick some ass?”

  Willie laughed. “No, I’ll be fine.
I’ve helped Reed before.”

  Ace gave Darcy a very serious look. “We’ll keep Willie safe.”

  I suppressed a smile. “And you two.” I focused on the Goofballs, Deuce sitting next to Willie, and Ace perched on the arm of the couch. “You’ll be at the back entrance of the hotel, and your job is the same as Willie’s. If you see this guy, you follow him, and you call everyone to let us know what’s going on. Cal’s got another camera that you can use to take pictures as well.”

  “Right,” Deuce said eagerly. “Can we have a gun, in case we need to stop him?”

  “No,” I said.

  Deuce sulked, his wish to handle a gun once again thwarted. “I’m a good shot.”

  “Yes, I know,” I concurred, even though he wasn’t. “I’m only trying to get this guy to tell me what he knows, nothing else. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” I turned back to Willie. “I’m going to give you my camera. If you see me with this guy, take some pictures, so we have documentation that I went with him. And the same with wherever he takes me.”

  “Okay,” she said. She was calm, but I knew that inside she was worrying.

  “What about me?” Cal asked. He was sitting with his arms crossed on a chair that Darcy had brought from the kitchen. He did not look pleased at being roped into helping, but I knew he would never tell me no. He was too good a friend.

  “You’ll be up in the bar,” I said. “It’s open up there, so you should be able to sit in a place where you won’t be noticed, but where you can see me meet with this guy. Take pictures, and if he and I leave, you follow. And keep your laptop handy, in case I call you to transfer money from Shepherd’s account.”

  Cal held up a hand. “What if he tries to harm you there?”

  I shook my head. “He’s not going to. It’s too public, and he won’t want to draw attention to himself.”

  “What if he takes you up to his room?” he asked.

  “You better make sure you find out which room,” I said, “and be prepared to call the police.”