At Large

by C. M. Sutter

  “That was me, and I placed the police report on your desk Thursday afternoon,” Henry said.

  I tore through more papers until I found it beneath others I hadn’t had time to look at. “Son of a bitch! Why didn’t I see that earlier? Sorry, Henry.”

  He shrugged. “Not a problem. Need help with something?”

  “Yeah, get over here and brainstorm with me.” I looked at the police report as Henry grabbed my guest chair and pulled it around to my side of the desk. “Okay, so it looks like four stolen vehicles were reported that night.” I slid a blank sheet of paper over to Henry. “I can read your handwriting better than my own.”

  Henry chuckled. “There was a new Pacifica stolen from a big-box store parking lot right in Poplar Bluff, a dump truck was stolen from a construction company five miles from town, an older Corvette was taken from a driveway, and a five-year-old single-cab Chevy pickup was stolen from a bar parking lot. Hmm… and I have my guess as to which one they took.”

  I raised my brows with surprise. “Really, that fast?”

  Henry snapped back his head. “It’s just common sense. If they were still carrying rifles and a grenade launcher, along with their personal items, they’d need a large vehicle.”

  I grinned. “So, the dump truck?”

  “Right. I’d say they took the blue Pacifica.”

  “I’m with you on that one.” I pulled up the map that I’d opened earlier on my computer. “We already know they removed the plates that were on the Odyssey and probably put them on the Pacifica. Before we get too invested in this search, why don’t you call the Brownsville PD to make sure the Pacifica hasn’t been found and returned to the owner.”

  “Sure thing.” Henry went to his desk and made the call while I plotted out the most direct route to Brownsville from Poplar Bluff. Other than several state highways, there were a few interstates they’d have to travel, and they would definitely have plate readers. Where is that Chicago list of stolen plates?”

  “That’s also somewhere on your desk.” Henry returned to my guest chair. “And the PD said the Pacifica is still missing.”

  I pressed my temples and swore. “Damn mess. I need a cleaning lady for my work space.” I rifled through the papers again and found the sheet listing all the stolen license plates on the same night the Odyssey was taken. There were twenty-nine in all.

  “That’s a lot of plates. Why exactly are you checking into this, anyway?”

  “Precautionary reasons.” I gulped the last swallow of soda and pitched the can into my wastepaper basket. “Just say John doesn’t return to Chicago like we’re hoping. We still need to know where he’s holed up so he can be brought to justice.”

  “But the FBI is working his case.”

  “And not doing the best job of it in my opinion. John and Curt are using fake IDs, so the FBI will never find them, because they don’t have that information, but we can, by following the bread crumbs they’ve left behind.” I enlarged the map on my computer and pointed at the interstates. “The most direct route to Brownsville, excluding the state highways, would be by traveling down to Little Rock and catching Interstate 30 between Little Rock and Texarkana. After that, they could have taken Interstate 49 through Shreveport to Mansfield, and then back to the state highways until they got close to Houston. From that point, it’s Interstate 69 and 691 all the way to Brownsville. I’ll give the DOT those stolen plate numbers. They can run them through their system for those interstates and see if they get a hit. It isn’t like they have to do it manually. Everything is automated thanks to Big Brother.”

  I made the call, explained our situation, and knew we’d have a wait before getting the answers we were looking for.

  The bull pen door opened and closed. Frank was back from Don’s office with the fake autopsy reports. He poked his chin in my direction. “Don did a damn good job on these. John Vance will never know they aren’t the real deal.”

  I stuck out my hand and took the paperwork for Maria Vasquez and Mark Conway from him. “Let’s have a look.” I called out to Potter. “Shawn, give Mike a buzz and see if he’s finished enhancing the photos.”

  “On it.”

  After picking up my reading glasses again, I slipped them on and reviewed the two autopsy reports. They were perfect. “Okay, our ducks are almost in a row. As soon as we have confirmation from Mike, we’ll head over to the hotel and have Jared send these documents off to that phone number John gave him. After that, it’s a waiting game to see if Vance takes the bait. Henry, call downstairs and see if Lee Judd has arrived and been processed into the system yet. If he has, he can sit and stew in a cell while we’re at the hotel. Once we get back, we’ll go downstairs and have a talk with him.”

  Seconds later, Potter hung up his phone. “Mike is bringing up the hard copies of the pictures. It’s better not to leave any trails from computers to texts and then to other phones. Jared can take pictures of the reports and photos directly and then send them off to that number.”

  “Yep, sounds good.” While we waited, I called Lutz’s office and updated him on everything. He said to call back when we were ready to head out. He wanted to come along to the hotel. With my phone still in hand, I made another call, this time to Jared Bell, and told him to expect us within a half hour and to send his wife and kids down to the pool or game room for at least an hour or longer.

  When the door opened again, I glanced over my shoulder. That time it was Mike, and he carried a folder with him.

  “Pictures are done, and I’ll admit, they look pretty convincing. If they pass my approval for what a dead person should look like, they’ll easily pass John Vance’s inspection.”

  The guys stood at my back as I opened the folder and reviewed the photographs one by one.

  Frank let out a low whistle. “Wow, those look like the real deal. Deader than a doornail, so to speak.”

  Mike chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I pushed back from my desk. “Thanks for the help, everyone. Now to see if our tactics will actually work.” I made a quick call to Lutz’s phone. “We’re heading out right now.” I jotted down a note to myself to follow up again with Lieutenant Cal Morrow about the local document forgers in Brownsville. I placed the note on top of the two-inch stack of papers already piled, and growing, on my desk. That way, I wouldn’t overlook it when I returned.

  Chapter 53

  Jared ushered Frank, Lutz, and me into the hotel room, and I was relieved that he was alone. I pointed at the couch. “Have a seat.” He did, and I handed him the folder. “The autopsy reports and photos are inside. We need you to take pictures of them and then text them to the phone number John sent you. Include a note that just says, ‘Job complete as requested.’ That’s it, nothing more. The ball will be in his court after that.”

  Jared’s hands shook as he flipped through the photographs. “And this is what he really wanted me to do. It’s frightening.”

  Lutz spoke up. “I’m sure he’ll contact you and want details. That folder also contains a cheat sheet with facts about strychnine. You’ll say you blew it in their faces, they inhaled the powder, and within minutes, they began to suffocate, which led to cardiac arrest. He may ask where you bought the poison, and you’ll say from the dark web. We’ve included a fake receipt if he needs proof.”

  Doubt covered Jared’s face. “I thought you said I shouldn’t talk to him except through text messages.”

  I cocked my head. “And you’re right, we did, but we don’t want to do anything to raise his suspicion. If he calls, act confident and say the cops haven’t talked to you about the deaths. You’ve covered your tracks well, and they have no proof of wrongdoing. Make sure to tell him you wiped off the victim’s faces and necks with sanitized wipes as a precaution. You didn’t want to leave any powder residue behind.”

  Frank gave me a back slap. “Nice addition, bud. That’ll make Jared seem thorough and competent.”

  Lutz pointed at the folder. “Let’s go o
ver to the table. The photos are numbered, but our forensic lead said to only use three pictures of each victim. That’s enough to give John an idea of how they looked when they were found dead. Go ahead with that and then take a picture of each autopsy and forensic report. That should satisfy Vance.”

  Jared tried to take the pictures, but with his hands shaking, the images were blurred. I took over and snapped off six pictures, two forensic investigation reports, and two autopsy reports.

  “There. Done and done,” I said. “Make sure to keep that cheat sheet with you at all times, but don’t let your family see it, and for God’s sake, if Vance calls, don’t talk to him in front of anyone.”

  Jared let out a long breath. The color had drained from his face, and his body still trembled. “I don’t know if I can—”

  Frank interrupted. “You don’t have a choice, Jared. It’s for the greater good and the lives of you and your family.”

  “Do you think he’s going to come after me next?”

  I gave Jared a wide grin and nodded. “We’re counting on it.”

  We left the hotel room with our guarantee that Jared and his family were safe, and other than us, nobody knew where they were located. We returned to the station, where Frank and I promptly turned right at the lower-level entrance. The cells were straight ahead.

  Tim’s curiosity was evident as he hinted for information. “This jail is the busiest I’ve ever seen it, and on a weekend? I wonder why.”

  Frank grunted as we headed to interview room one. “Damn criminals don’t care about weekends, that’s why.”

  We crossed into the room to see all of Lee Judd, not just the face of a man at night behind the wheel of a car. He wore a short-sleeved orange jumpsuit, and his bulging biceps and his full-sleeve tattoos on both arms were more than noticeable. He was a thug to the nth degree and probably had most of his black-hued tats inked in prison. I imagined his overly large muscles were developed at the same place. Frank and I pulled out the chairs across from him, and even though I’d always thought Frank was big, Lee Judd dwarfed him.

  I smacked his police folder against the steel table, and it made a whacking sound.

  “Pretty large file on you, Mr. Judd. Enjoying the thug life, are ya? In and out of prison like a revolving door. Guess it feels like your second home.” I passed the folder to Frank, and he took over. He opened it and ran his finger down the list of offenses Judd had accumulated over the last twenty years.

  “Looks like you got an early start. Juvy already at twelve. More in than out of there until you put on your big-boy pants and hit the prison system at eighteen.” Frank glanced up and locked eyes with him. “It appears that you like living off the taxpayers’ money. It’s not a problem to accommodate you again, but maybe a supermax is more to your liking.”

  Lee snarled at Frank’s attempt at intimidation. “Go for it, big guy. Nothing scares me.”

  I scratched my chin then cocked my head. “Nothing? I’m calling bullshit on that one.”

  I lifted the folder and slid out the one beneath it. “Enjoy stories?”

  He glared at me.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I opened the folder and began reading the laundry list of offenses committed by John Vance, which included torture, dismemberment, burying people alive, and of course, dozens of execution-style murders. “So you aren’t the least bit afraid of John Vance? He isn’t only a drug lord, you know. He’s way tougher than you and enjoys killing people slowly as a form of entertainment.” I smirked. “Just this week alone, he’s had a good half dozen people killed, some by his own hand.” I looked at Frank and laughed. “Hell, I’m even impressed. He did all that while on the run from the FBI.”

  Judd looked away, and Frank elbowed me. “I think you hit a nerve, McCord.”

  “We know you’ve been watching Attorney Bell’s house on John’s orders. He’s going to be pissed because you haven’t checked in with him. Our ears are to the ground, Lee, and a little bird told us that John is headed back to Chicago to clean up the mess his boys weren’t capable of taking care of. I believe you, and what’s his name, were supposed to take care of Bell as soon as John had confirmation that the two people in our jail system were dead. Am I getting warm?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Not a problem, but right now the topic is you. Who was the passenger in your watch car?”

  He tapped his fingers on the table. “Why does that matter to you?”

  “Plain and simple, it matters if you want to remain among the living. We take John’s men off the street, he returns to Chicago to reestablish his hold on his minions, and we’ll be waiting in the wings to take him down.”

  “And if he doesn’t come back?”

  “Oh, he’s already on his way,” I lied. “The thing is, we have a lot of confidential informants, and they can put word on the street that you ratted John out to us and that’s why you aren’t taking his calls. Hell, if we turn you loose, you’ll be dead before dinnertime tomorrow.”

  Lee groaned into his hands. “Fine. The guy’s name is Nick Taliento. He’s a local, and I wouldn’t doubt if he has outstanding warrants too.”

  Pushing back my chair, I joked with Frank as I stood. “Will you be okay alone with him?”

  “I think I can handle it, but don’t be long. Not sure if those cuffs can hold him.”

  I stepped out to the hallway and called the bull pen. Henry answered.

  “Hey, buddy, pull the name Nick Taliento and see what pops. I’ll hang on the line.”

  “Yep, give me a sec to get on the database.” Henry was back on the phone within a minute. “Looks like he’s spent a considerable amount of time on the inside.”

  “Anything outstanding at the moment? We need to pick him up.” I pictured Henry nearly touching the computer with his face as he scrolled down the list of offenses.

  “Here we go. Yeah, he has outstanding warrants on nine parking tickets going back two years that have never been paid.”

  “Good enough. And his address is current?”

  “Give me another second while I pull up his driver’s license.”

  I heard Henry tapping away at the keyboard.

  “Okay, address on his driver’s license is current.”

  “Thanks, buddy. We’re almost finished downstairs. Meanwhile, give Lutz a call and let him know the status on Nick Taliento. He can send a unit out to scoop him up.”

  “Roger that.”

  Chapter 54

  By five thirty, both Nick and Lee were behind bars, and we had, although reluctantly, been given six more names. Frank, Henry, Potter, and I pulled the sheets on each man, found their addresses, and planned to bring them in and hold them for forty-eight hours. That was all we needed to send John into fits of rage that nine of his men weren’t answering their phones.

  I made a call to my buddy Tommy Sanders from the Seventh District, whom I had worked with on the sniper case several months back. “Hey, guy, we’re overdue for a beer.”

  He laughed through the phone lines. “That’s for damn sure. What can I help you with, McCord?”

  I briefly explained our situation. “We need some of your holding-cell space for a couple of days. Seems that we’ve run out of room in our precinct.”

  “How many people are we talking about, and can they be in a group cell?”

  “Four men, and they have to be kept in separate quarters. We only have two empties left, and we’ll be filling them today. The guys will be questioned about John Vance and then left to sit until their forty-eight-hour hold is up, then they’ll be released. Hopefully by then, we’ll have John and Curt in custody.”

  Tommy agreed to check with his commander, see how many available cells they had, and get back to me before seven o’clock. I had a feeling it was going to be another long night.

  With the note I’d written to myself earlier front and center on my desk, I made the call to Lieutenant Cal Morrow in Brownsville to see if he’d learned anything about document forgers in his
area. With the phone pinned between my ear and shoulder, I pulled a clean sheet of paper from my desk drawer, hoping he’d have something to tell me. The phone rang on his end until it finally went to voicemail. With a discouraged huff, I left a message and assumed he’d already gone home for the day.

  Chapter 55

  John glanced at his watch as he arranged the food neatly on the patio table. Ernesto and Paulo, the guests of honor, would be arriving any minute. A feast of tapas, delivered earlier for the night’s dinner, was set out along with beans, tortillas, chips, green and red salsa, guacamole, assorted peppers, and various appetizers. A large tote near the pool was filled with ice and several varieties of beer, including darks, imports, IPAs, and the best Mexican labels. The outdoor kitchen’s countertop was stocked with liquor and various wines, and pitchers of chilled Sangria sat in the refrigerator. The dinner party for four was about to begin.

  John folded linen napkins and placed silverware on each one. “Do you have the zolpidem ready to go?”

  Curt pulled the small bottle from his pocket and opened it. “Ground up as fine as sugar. It’ll dissolve in their drinks without a problem.”

  John peeked inside and gave a nod. “Good. Beer while we’re talking, to get them primed, and then plenty of margaritas during dinner and at the pool. You’ll be the bartender. Say something to the effect that you used to bartend part-time when you were in college.”

  Curt chuckled. “Do I look like the kind of guy that would waste time going to college?”

  “No, but they don’t know our background. Just go with it and keep the drinks flowing until neither of them can form a complete sentence anymore.”

  Knocking sounded on the thick mahogany front door. Curt smiled. “Sounds like our guests have arrived.” He patted John’s shoulder. “Soon, when there’s nobody left on our list of people in the US or Mexico that helped you escape, or know where we are, we’ll truly be free.”