Stone Investigations (Stone Series Book 4)

by Bob Blanton

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” Matthew said.

  “Well, let’s think of places to hide pills,” Emily said. “You checked all the plumbing right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So did I,” Matthew said.

  “What about inside the fixtures?”

  “Check.”

  “Under the toilet?” Emily asked giving them a knowing look.

  “No, I didn’t think about that. Let me look now.”

  Matthew used his portal to check the space under each of the toilets in the Graham house. “Nope, nothing there.”

  “Under the floorboards?”

  “I did look there.”

  “So did we. The house sits on a concrete slab, but we checked between floors and in the attic.”

  “What about the garage?”

  “First place we looked.”

  “Hmm,” Matthew mused. “Does he have any unusual tools?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, but something that would let him create a hiding place. Something that a normal homeowner wouldn’t have.”

  “Let me call.” Agent Peters pulled out her phone and put it on the table. She pressed a speed dial and waited.”

  “Jackson!”

  “Jackson, this is Peters. What kind of tools does Graham have?”

  “Tools?”

  “Yes, anything unusual?”

  “Not really. He does have a nice set of tools. Let me walk out and look again. We’ve got them spread out on the garage floor.”

  Matthew opened his portal and followed Agent Jackson into the garage. He looked over the tools as Agent Jackson perused them.

  “Nothing stands out. He’s got a nice power toolset. They look almost new. Standard saw blade in the skill saw. Drill bits. Metal set, a wood set. He does have a really nice set of auger bits, twelve inches. I’d like that, they must have been hard to find. I’ve only got a seven-inch set.”

  “What else?”

  “Good set of wrenches, both metric and English. Pipe wrench, channel locks. Pretty much the works, probably bought them at Sears along with the toolbox.”

  Matthew raised his hand to Agent Peters.’

  “Hold on a second,” she said as she muted the phone.

  “He doesn’t have any woodworking tools, but he has a full set of auger bits.”

  “So, that’s not unusual.”

  “But they are, they’re extra-long, he didn’t get them in the kit like the rest of his tools. He had to special order them.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “Those pills are less than three-eighths of an inch in diameter. You could fit a lot of them into a twelve-inch hole.”

  “Good point.” Agent Peters unmuted her phone. “Jackson, check places where he might have drilled a hole to stuff the pills down. It would only need to be three-eighths in diameter.”

  “Are you trying to show off again?”

  “Maybe. What does he have there that’s wood and you could drill that kind of hole in? Someplace reasonably accessible.”

  “We’ll look around. Not sure where we should start.”

  “Doors,” Emily whispered.

  “Check out his doors first. He got a nice set of wood entry doors. And the door to the garage is solid core.”

  “Got it. We’ll look. Do you want me to call you back?”

  “If you find pills, damn right I do. And if you find them, don’t touch them without gloves. I’m thinking about pills laced with excessive Fentanyl.”

  “You got it.”

  Agent Peters disconnected the call. “That was some good police work. We’ll see if it pans out.”

  “Matt, can’t you look?”

  “It’s hard, I need a gap, and if he’s sealed them in, which he would, then I wouldn’t have an easy way to find them.”

  “Let’s let Jackson do his job. Do either of you want dessert?”

  “I never say no to chocolate,” Emily said.

  “What she said.”

  After ordering three slices of German Chocolate cake and coffee, the three returned to their analysis.

  “Okay, so let’s assume he had pills at hand. How did he get them to Frye down here in San Diego?”

  “He wouldn’t have done it himself,” Emily said.

  “I agree. He’d have had someone deliver them for him. Probably the guy he uses to recruit his distributors,” Agent Peters said.

  “Do we know who that is?”

  “No, we come up dry. All we have is that he’s an attractive Hispanic male, height about five-ten and weight one-eighty.”

  “That sounds like Hector,” Matthew said.

  “Who?!”

  “Hector, the guy he handed his truck to when he drove to Dana Point. Same guy and same truck both times.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. I just remember him saying ‘Bye Hector, thanks for loaning me the truck.’ when he handed the keys to him.”

  “Okay, that helps.”

  “How?” Emily asked. “There must be thousands of guys named Hector.”

  “But there are a lot fewer Hispanic males named Hector than there are Hispanic males. Now, we have to do more real police work.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, we can’t all just pop in and look at places and people when we feel like it. We have to do research. Now we have a partial name and a general description, what else do we know about Hector?”

  “He’s good with people.”

  “He knows Graham.”

  “Yes, and who would Graham trust to be his recruiter? How did he find Hector?”

  “Oh, I bet Hector is someone he knows from his past,” Emily said.

  “And who would he know from his past with those skills?” Agent Peters asked.

  “He was in the army as an MP for six years. Then he sold real estate, he actually still does. He’s also involved in real estate development.”

  “But that’s just in the last two years. This guy has to be from before then. Sales is a good place to start. So real estate, financial broker, banker, they’re all good salespeople. What else?”

  “Isn’t that a good start? You’re going to search his background and see if there’s a Hector in it with some background in sales,” Emily said.

  “Ah-hem. How are you going to explain where the name Hector came from?” Matthew asked.

  “You keep helping with this investigation, but your help keeps pushing us into corners.”

  “I can quit helping.” Matthew was a bit miffed.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Just it’s complicated. But, I’ll tell you what, why don’t I give you access to the databases. Also if you want any information, just ask me and I’ll have one of my people research it. They don’t have to know you’re the ones putting it together.”

  “And they’ll think you’re some kind of superwoman. Sounds like fun,” Emily said.

  “Sure, but we’ve still got school. We can only do this part-time.”

  “Hey, nobody was looking before, so you two helping is way better.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The next day, Jackson found pills in a hole drilled in the door between the house and garage. It contained one hundred twenty-two pills. The pills were rushed to forensics and the team once again was amazed at Agent Peters’ powers of perception.

  Two days later they found Hector. It was Emily’s idea, but Matthew had to do the searches. She had him search for everyone who had a real estate license in San Diego, Orange, and Riverside counties. Those were the counties where Graham had been involved in sales, determined by another search she’d had Matthew do.

  “That’s him, Hector Velazquez,” Matthew said as they looked at his picture from his real estate license.

  “Okay, so what’s his background?”

  “Let me see if he has a criminal record. Peters gave me a login for that database.”

  Matthew ran the search; it came back right away.

  “His record w
as clean until May of 1999 when he was convicted of vehicular manslaughter. Let me pull the records of the court case.

  “He was driving in downtown Irvine when he sideswiped a car that had run a red light. He was barely over the limit, but they prosecuted him and sent him to prison. He was paroled three years ago.”

  “That doesn’t sound fair. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “The prosecution said that if he wasn’t under the influence, he could have avoided the other car.”

  “Sounds like they were just going for a conviction without caring about the facts. What else does it say about him? Was he married?”

  “Yes, married, two children.”

  “Divorced?”

  “Doesn’t say.”

  “Is he still on parole?”

  “No, his parole lasted two years.”

  “So how do we find him? I bet he’s in hiding.”

  “Let’s talk with Peters, maybe we don’t have to find him.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  They met Agent Peters the following day after school. She drove up to meet them in her agency car, feeling very proud of herself that she could actually get around without having to borrow a car.

  “Okay, do you two want something to drink?”

  “I’ll have tea,” Matthew said. When the two women gave him a look he added, “I’m trying to cut down on carbonated beverages. So tea, orange juice, or coffee. I feel like tea.”

  “I’ll have tea too,” Emily said. “We can pretend we’re British detectives.”

  “I’ll try not to take offense at that?”

  “I just mean, you always see them having tea while they discuss the case.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, so you found him.”

  “We figured out who he is, but we haven’t found him. Did you have someone look for his wife, they’re still married.”

  “I did. She lives with her two daughters in Thousand Oaks, northwest of LA. She sells real estate. We had a police officer do a drive-by, no sign of Hector.”

  “Did the forensics come back with the data on the pills?”

  “Yes, they are essentially identical to the ones that killed Frye.”

  “Yes, but the key word there is essentially.”

  “Yes. But if you told him that Hector Velazquez is willing to testify that Graham gave him a foil package and instructed him to put it on Frye’s car, maybe he’ll cave.”

  “That’s pretty vague.”

  “Well, why don’t we search the videos from surveillance cameras around Frye’s apartment and her place of work for the two days before she was killed. If we come up with the truck with the fake plates, then you’ll have a timeline. He would have driven straight down to take care of it.”

  “I should have had Vaughn doing that already. I’ll talk to him and get his team on it.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  On Friday, Matthew watched as Jerome Graham went to visit his father for the second time. During his first visit, three days before, Graham had given him instructions on how to find the offshore bank account. He gave him two fractions and two numbers, buried in their conversation. He then hinted at the right bank to check. As Matthew had deduced, what Graham gave his son was the account numbers and password based on a mathematical formula. A fraction that when divided gave a long decimal number, take the correct number of digits, and add the associated number to it. It was easy to verify since Matthew already knew them.

  “About time you got back,” Mr. Graham said as his son joined him. They were separated by glass.

  “Hey, I’ve got school.”

  “Yeah, right. How much are they giving you?”

  “I get an allowance of three K per month until I graduate, or until you get out.”

  “Generous of them when they took millions out of our home.”

  “Yeah. Well, there is a problem.”

  “What?!”

  “Your old bank account is empty.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, well it does have five thousand dollars in it. I left it there.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “That’s what I found. I checked the math twice. But there’s no way it would have yielded a different valid bank account with the right password.”

  “Shut up!” Graham snapped as he looked around. “They could be listening in.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “You’re so stupid.”

  “Hey, which side of the glass am I on, and which are you on?”

  “Quiet. This is going to be harder, but I still have some cards to play. Check these out and get back to me.” Graham drew two fractions on his hand. Then he gave his son two numbers. “Look that up on the corporate registry. You’ll figure it out.”

  Matthew laughed. Graham had given his son the access information for the digital corporation he had in the Cayman Islands. But, unfortunately for him, Matthew had taken control of that company and changed the password. Graham wasn’t going to be finding any pot of gold under that rainbow.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  It took three days for Vaughn’s team to find the video with the truck in it. On Monday, he reported to Peters that they found it. On Tuesday, September 14th, at 2:30 in the morning, four days after the incident at Starbucks and three days before Frye was killed, the black Yukon pickup with the fake plates was seen on the street where Frye’s apartment complex was.

  It was another day before they found an address for Hector Velazquez. He didn’t have a California driver’s license which was why it took so long. He was living in a small house in East Irvine. He worked for a construction company that Graham used for his last real estate development. At four o’clock, on Thursday, Agent Peters with two Irvine police officers went to talk to him. Of course, Matthew and Emily tuned in.

  Agent Peters had the two uniformed officers go around the back of the house in case Velazquez did a runner. It was a small house, two bedrooms, no garage, and a small yard. Not much for someone who was involved in a multimillion-dollar drug ring. Once the first officer notified her that he was in place, she and the other plain-clothed officer knocked on his front door. Matthew, with Emily watching, zoomed into the house to find Hector and see what he was doing. They found him watching a soccer game on TV. He fit the description, a good-looking Hispanic male, very fit, but he didn’t ring true to Matthew.

  A little girl, about seven years old, ran to answer the door.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello. Is your father here?”

  “Yes,” the girl answered. She continued to look at Agent Peters waiting for her to say something.

  After a minute, Agent Peters figured out that the girl was waiting on her.

  “Can you ask him to come to the door?”

  “He’s watching the football game.”

  “Tell him it’s important that we speak with him.”

  “Okay. . . . papá, hay una señora en la puerta que quiere hablar contigo. Ella dice que es importante.”

  Hector Velazquez looked worried. He glanced at the woman who was working in the kitchen, probably making dinner for the family. Then he shrugged his shoulders and stood up. Before he walked to the door he knelt down next to the little girl. “Eva, ve a buscar a tu hermana y llévala a la cocina con tu madre. Esperame allí.” Matthew’s Spanish was just good enough to translate what he said. ‘Eva, go get your sister and take her into the kitchen with your mother. Wait for me there.’

  The girl ran into the bedroom, grabbed a second younger girl, and dragged her into the kitchen. Once they were there, Hector proceeded to the door. He flipped on the hall light before he reopened the door.

  “Barb, that’s not him!” Matthew hissed into Agent Peters’ ear.

  Agent Peters pressed her ear like she had an earpiece in it. “Are you sure?” she whispered to Matthew.

  “Yes, and if you arrest him or even talk to him, it’ll probably alert the real Hector. It’s probably already too late.”

  Hector opened the door. “
Que?”

  “We’re with the police, we’re looking for Hector Vásquez,” Agent Peters said. She discreetly kicked the detective beside her so he wouldn’t correct her.

  “Not me. I’m Hector Velazquez,” Hector said in a stuttering voice.

  “Do you have some ID?”

  “Sí.” Hector returned to the room and grabbed his wallet. He pulled out an ID and returned to the door looking very relieved. He handed it to Agent Peters.

  “Ah, I see. Must have been an error. The names are close. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Velazquez.”

  Mr. Velazquez closed the door and returned to his soccer game.

  “What’s with that? Where did Vásquez come from?” the detective asked as Agent Peters led him back to their car.

  “He’s not our guy.”

  “But it’s the right name.”

  “Yeah, but he’s still not our guy. I want to figure out what’s going on before we do anything that might alert our guy that we know who he is.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Later that evening Agent Peters met up with Matthew and Emily.

  “That sucked,” she said. “Good thing you alerted us.”

  “So what did you learn about the other Hector?”

  “That’s the address our Hector used with his parole officer. The electrician job is also the same one that was on file with the parole office. So it looks like our Hector pulled a fast one. He’s living somewhere else, free to move about while this other Hector is handling his parole officer’s visits and monitoring.”

  “That’s a ballsy move.”

  Agent Peters shrugged, “maybe not, parole officers are pretty overworked. These guys look almost identical. By the way, how did you figure it out? Besides the poor English, I wouldn’t have noticed a difference.”

  “His eyes are farther apart. Close but not the same guy. And he doesn’t match the photograph in Velazquez’s jacket either.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Eidetic memory,” Emily said. “I bet you superimposed the image over his face, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Matthew said awkwardly. He didn’t like having his memory come up making him seem different from everyone else.

  “What are you going to do? You could bluff Graham. You know the details.”