by C. M. Sutter
Lutz walked to the back of the room and filled the empty coffee cup he’d been holding for the last twenty minutes. He raised a brow, indicating for me to join him. “I’ve been giving your idea some thought, and I’m on board. So long as John’s name never comes up and we act like we’re after Abraham Cruz for the murders of Hal Morton and the Vasquez brothers, the Feds can’t accuse us of interfering with their investigation.”
“That’s right, and we can keep the collar for ourselves. I worked the Vance case years back, and with the work we’ve put into it so far, it should be our takedown again. The FBI never had anything to do with the original sting operation and the arrests. So, if it turns out that the Vance case is somehow related to our investigation into Tina Morton’s murder, so be it. We had no idea.”
Lutz lifted his cup and blew over the hot coffee. “And you’re confident we can apprehend both of them?”
“Positive. I just don’t want the entire force to know my plan, only our team. The fewer people involved, the less likely for a screwup, or a leak, to happen.”
With a look of concern across his face, Lutz nodded. “We’ll dial everything in once they get closer to Chicago, but first, we need to figure out where they are so we’ll know when to expect them.”
Kip Murray hung up his phone. “This has to be it!”
Every eye turned toward him. Lutz rushed across the bull pen with me on his heels.
“What have you got?” Lutz pulled Kip’s guest chair alongside his desk.
“I just called Southland Rentals on King’s Highway. Their agency is near the airport and only a few minutes from Interstate 69 north, the direction Vance would take to get out of Texas, anyway. The agent didn’t have a single man rent a car after seven p.m. yesterday, but a man did call in two days ago and put one on hold, for an extra charge, to be picked up at a moment’s notice.”
I felt a questioning wrinkle cross my forehead. “That isn’t normal practice.”
“Maybe not unless you’re a criminal that has to boogie out of town in a hurry. The reservation was under the name Morgan Allen, and he said there’d be two drivers.”
I looked at Henry. “Pull up that name in the DMV and see what pops.”
He did and gave me a frown. “There aren’t any Morgan Allen’s in the DMV database that match either John or Curt’s description.”
I rubbed my chin as I thought. “Exactly, because it’s a fake driver’s license and isn’t in the real database. Somebody created it out of thin air, and chances are it could have been one or both of those border agents, and that’s why they ended up dead. Morrow said Ernesto Rodriguez was under investigation.” I took a seat on the edge of Kip’s desk. “Okay, when was the vehicle picked up, and what did he rent?”
“Would you believe a Porsche Panamera 4 Sport Turismo?”
Lutz jerked his head. “What the hell is that?”
I chuckled. “A very cool, expensive wagon. What was the amount on the bill, and how long was it rented for?”
Kip glanced down at his notes. “A five-day rental, a thousand bucks, plus three hundred more for the hold.”
“More importantly,” Lutz asked, “how was it paid for?”
“With a credit card, owned by Luca Vasquez as a matter of fact.”
Lutz slammed his fist on the desk. “Those two are smart, I’ll give them that. Did you get the plate number for that Porsche?”
“Of course, Boss, and I’ll put out a nationwide BOLO for it on your say-so.”
Lutz turned toward me. “It’s your call, McCord. A BOLO will give the collar to the FBI, or we can track the car’s movements ourselves with interstate plate readers.”
“We’re keeping their movements under wraps.” I glanced from face to face. “Anyone have a problem with that?”
Nobody said a word.
“Good, because we’ve been putting in a lot of man hours and footwork on this. We deserve the collar.” I tipped my head at Kip. “Nice work, buddy. Now you get to call the DOT and give them the plate number and car description.” I looked over my shoulder at my desk. “I have the sheet listing the interstates somewhere in that pile of paperwork.”
When he hung up twenty minutes later, Kip let out a huff. “Maybe we’ll get somewhere now that the DOT only has to track one license plate number. The agent I spoke with gave us several options.”
I looked away from my computer and glanced in his direction. “Like what?”
“Like, we can get updated twice a day on where that particular plate hit and the time it passed the reader, or with the chief’s approval and his personal call to the DOT, they’ll give us the log-in to watch every time the plate passes a reader in real time.”
Lutz snapped back his head. “No shit?”
“That’s what Agent Harkness said. He even gave me his direct line for the chief to call.”
I raised my brows at Lutz. “We need real-time action, Boss. We aren’t going to be ready for the Vance brothers unless we know when they enter the Chicago city limits.”
Lutz let out a sigh as he fished his cell phone from his inner pocket. “I’ve got no choice but to call the chief at home, given it’s a Sunday. This call means I have to explain why we want Vance instead of letting the FBI have him.”
I rocked back in my chair. “Tell him the truth, Bob. The FBI hasn’t dug in their heels like we have. Honestly, they don’t deserve being handed the credit.”
Lutz checked each of our expressions before dialing. “Are we all on board?”
Six detectives nodded.
“Kip, give me that name and number of the DOT agent.” With that in hand, Lutz tapped the chief’s number. “Okay, here goes.”
The call lasted ten minutes. Lutz offered up the most important bullet points and explained how we hadn’t deliberately hunted down Vance. It was purely by coincidence that Vance happened to be dealing with the same people we were investigating in the Tina Morton murder case. From our commander’s side of the call, it sounded like the chief was on board. I finally let out my breath when Lutz read off the name and number of the DOT agent then hung up. The chief was making the call. We were in business and could go forward with my plan.
Chapter 61
I was sure Vance would try to take out Bell first. Without police training or proficiency with a firearm, Jared was definitely a sitting duck in Vance’s eyes. Bell also had a family to concern himself with. He would be easy pickings, but we had officers watching the Bell home. We planned to let the scenario play out, and I knew once Vance realized nobody was there, he’d come after me instead. I looked forward to taking him down with the assistance of our entire detective force, who would be hidden in my home and ready to spring into action.
Potter was tasked with the assignment of watching the movements of the Porsche as it made its way north. “I’ve got the first hit!”
We gathered around his computer, and the Porsche had just passed a plate reader in Arkansas on Interstate 55.
“Somebody pull up a map of Arkansas. We need to see where that interstate is located,” I said. Since Interstate 55 wasn’t on my original list, that told me the Vance brothers weren’t taking side roads anymore and were traveling the fastest and most direct routes back to Chicago.
“Got it,” Frank said. “They must have come through Little Rock like you’d thought on their way south, cut northeast on Interstate 40, and just before Memphis, veered north again on Interstate 55.” Frank asked his phone’s app how far that interstate traveled through Arkansas. “Okay, there’s seventy-two miles of Interstate 55 in Arkansas. Now we don’t know exactly where that plate reader is located, but according to the map I’m looking at, I’d say due east of Poplar Bluff, in Sikeston, they’ll connect with Interstate 57, which will take them to 94 and into Chicago.”
I leaned over Frank’s shoulder as he pointed out the most logical route. “I agree with that. Let’s find out how many miles it is from the Arkansas-Missouri border to the Interstate 57 cutoff.”
Henry
calculated the distance between Blytheville, Arkansas, and Sikeston, Missouri, and came up with just under seventy-five miles.
“So an hour or so depending on where that plate reader was in Arkansas.” I called out to Potter and asked if the DOT feed showed where the plate reader was located.
“Give me just a minute here. It looks like it’s at the intersection of Interstate 55 and Arkansas State Route 312, which is a mile or so south of Blytheville.”
“Okay, good. We’ll stick with that hour distance to the cutoff on 57 at Sikeston. Now we need to know how far it is from there to Chicago.”
Henry checked that too. “Just under six hours, Jesse. That’s considering no stopping at all and driving the speed limit.”
I raked my hair with my fingertips as I calculated how soon they would arrive. “So seven hours if they don’t stop, and that’s to the southern city limits. We need to add another hour to the mix.” I glanced at the wall clock mounted above the door of the bull pen—11:14. “They should hit the city limits any time between eight and nine tonight. We’ll be stationed at my house and ready for him by eight. Better to expect him early and be ready than to be scrambling later on. Remember, everyone, my house has cameras and motion-sensor lights all the way around it and two monitors set up inside. We’ll definitely see them coming. I’ll leave my car in the driveway and have all the lights and the TV on. We’ll draw them in like moths to a flame.”
Chapter 62
They had passed St. Louis an hour earlier, and as five o’clock rolled around, John decided that Springfield would be their final stop. They would eat a decent dinner and gas up the car. John estimated they’d arrive in Chicago around eight thirty that night before surprising Jared Bell as he and his family settled in for a Sunday evening in front of the TV. John had other plans for him.
They walked into the truck stop restaurant and waited to be seated. After pleasantries from the waitress, she set down two glasses of water, took their order, and walked away.
John leaned across the booth’s tabletop, his elbows nearly at the halfway point. “We’ll take him by surprise and finish him off right in his own home. His family can watch or leave the room, makes no difference to me.”
“But they’ll be able to ID us,” Curt said.
John shrugged. “Then we’ll eliminate the problem.”
“You mean—”
John put his index finger to his mouth. “Shh… that’s exactly what I mean. It’s them or us, and believe me, brother, we didn’t come this far for it to be us.”
Curt kept silent when the waitress carried a tray to the booth and placed their plates in front of them.
“Anything else, gentlemen?” She gave them both a wide smile as she picked up the tray.
“More napkins and ketchup,” Curt said as he eyed his greasy double cheeseburger and waffle fries.
“Coming right up. Another beer, fellas?”
John nodded. “Two more. Thanks.”
Back on the road by five thirty, the men drove straight through to Chicago. As they neared Jared Bell’s block, John reached for Curt’s shoulder.
“Hold up and cut the lights. Hurry!” John peered through the windshield and watched. “They have a unit in front of his house. Look there.” John pointed at a dark sedan parked two houses away from Jared Bell’s. “See those two men? They’re sitting in there like idiots with the map light on.” He glanced toward Bell’s house. “The only reason there’d be cops watching the place when there isn’t a single light on inside is if they’re expecting us to show up.” He quietly opened the passenger door.
Curt snapped his head to the right. “Where the hell are you going?”
“To check the alley.”
“You got some kind of death wish?”
John shushed him. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t get this far by being a chicken shit. Ten bucks says there’s an unmarked car back there too. Stay put. I’ll be right back, and if anyone heads toward you other than me, shoot them.”
He took off on foot, staying away from the street lamps. Once he reached the alley, he clung to the sides of garages for cover and inched his way closer to the Bell house. Another unmarked unit was parked along their driveway.
Son of a bitch. Bell isn’t here, but I have to find a way to draw him out from wherever he’s at.
John returned to the Porsche and climbed into the passenger seat. “Back up until you reach the next block and then turn on it. Keep the headlights off until we’re completely out of sight.”
Curt did as instructed then hit the lights a block to their east. “Now what?”
“Now we check in to a motel for the night while I plan our next move.”
Chapter 63
We were in place and waiting. The Porsche passed the last plate reader on 57 where the freeway ended and Interstate 94 took over. They should be arriving at Bell’s house any minute. We were in constant contact with the officers stationed there, who would tell us how the plan was playing out. I didn’t want to keep Jared in the dark, but he was already teetering on the edge, and I didn’t want him to fall over it. I’d asked him earlier to give us another twenty-four hours. We were getting close to wrapping up John and Curt in two tidy bows made of handcuffs. I told Jared to come up with a reason to give his wife for why they were staying an extra day. I couldn’t do everything for him.
“What time is it?”
Frank responded that it was a quarter till nine.
“Where the hell are they?” I was getting nervous. Did I calculate the time wrong? Was my logic right? At that point, I wasn’t sure of either.
I radioed to the officers at Bell’s house again. “Have you seen anything at all? A car driving by slowly, anything?”
“Sorry, Detective, but no. It’s been pretty quiet, and it is a Sunday night. People eat, relax in front of the boob tube, and then hit the sack. Tomorrow is another workday.”
He didn’t have to tell me how everyday life worked—I was more than aware—and I wasn’t interested in what people were doing inside their houses. I needed to know if anyone suspicious was outside. I sucked in a deep breath. The officer was just doing his job. I thanked him and hung up.
“I don’t know what to say, guys. Maybe I’m completely wrong about this whole thing.”
Frank waved away my comment. “It’s him all right. The car didn’t get rented with Luca’s credit card by some strange coincidence. Maybe they decided to spend the night somewhere south of the city and head in tomorrow.” Frank double-checked the time on his watch. It was going on nine fifteen. “We’ll stick around until ten, and if they don’t show up here or at Bell’s house, we’ll call it a night and regroup in the morning. They’re close by. That’s a fact.”
The mantel clock chimed ten times, and one by one, the guys left my house. Our men surveilling Bell’s house said they hadn’t seen a suspicious car—let alone a Porsche Panamera 4 Sport Turismo—drive by.
Frank was the only detective remaining with me. He plopped down at the table while I cracked open two beers and took a seat.
“I was really sure about this, Frank. Now I feel like an ass.”
“We all do at some point in time.”
I groaned as I propped up my face with my hands. “If that comment was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t work.”
“Sorry, buddy, but you’re on the right track. We can wait him out or go ahead with the BOLO and get it over with. That vehicle is hard to hide, and it definitely doesn’t blend in with the crowd. Somebody is bound to see it and call it in.”
I sighed in disappointment. “Maybe we should have let the FBI or the State Patrol pick them up. I’m sure my ass is going to be on the line once the chief gets wind that we don’t have them in custody yet.”
Frank guzzled his beer then shook the can as if making sure it was empty.
“Want another?”
“Nah.” He pushed back his chair. “Tomorrow is another day, pal. We’ll figure it out, so don’t rack your brain about it. G
et some sleep.”
I laughed. “Easier said than done. Need a ride to your car?”
“I got it, and walking is good for my health.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you’re so concerned about your health, then toss those smokes in the trash can before you leave.”
“No can do. They help me think.”
With a headshake, I walked Frank to the door. His car, like the others, was parked on the next block. “Night, partner, and watch your back.” I stood at the door until Frank was out of sight. After I locked and dead bolted the door, Bandit returned to the couch and curled up. “Not happening, buster. Come on. Outside for the last time and then it’s off to bed.” After opening the slider, I let Bandit out then walked down the hall to brush my teeth. Moments later, with Bandit back in the house and in his favorite position at the foot of my bed, I gave the monitor one final look, turned off the nightstand lamp, and closed my eyes. I would have plenty to figure out in the morning.
Chapter 64
Lutz joined us in the bull pen after roll call. From the expression he wore, I could tell he was disappointed. I was, too, and I had to make it right, if nothing more than to prove my theory was logical.
Our boss took a seat in my guest chair and rolled his neck. Even though it was eight thirty in the morning, he looked worn down.
“Okay, run me through last night after you all gathered at McCord’s house.”
Henry was first to speak up. I didn’t need anyone’s help, but he came to my defense. We were on the right track, but the train went off the rails last night. Vance would surface—we just had to be ready when he did.
“I think we should chalk up last night to being a practice run,” Henry said. “It was the best plan of action, and he’ll come after Jesse sooner or later. Vance is here to take out Jared Bell first, so maybe he’ll be watching his office today. We can have unmarked units sit on the sidelines and keep their eyes peeled.”
