Grave Consequences (26 page)

“Don't worry about any electronic surveillance. That's being taken care of,” Sheila replied. “My house is being swept right now.”

“Good.”

There was silence for a while, so Gordon found a gap in traffic, pulled out into the street, and headed by the best route to the street where Sheila lived.

Charlie spoke. “If this Matt character is on the run, who's still out there besides Sheila and Leroy? The guy doing the sweep? Who could that be?”

Gordon shrugged. “Maybe there's a live-in bodyguard or some assistant we haven't seen yet. I don't remember seeing a second car at her place. But then, she has a three-car garage and we've been watching Clarence's house, not hers.”

“Looks like that's about to change,” Charlie replied.

*   *   *

They were parked two blocks away from Sheila's home. The SUV was apparently in her garage now, so they'd kept well back. Leroy was probably keeping watch. Charlie suspected the man was a lot more dangerous than any of the Night Crew.

His phone rang and Charlie looked down, recognizing Nancy's private cell. “What's up, Sergeant Medina? Clarence spill his guts yet?”

“How'd you know I was calling about that?”

“He did?” Charlie replied, putting the call on speaker so Gordon could listen in. “Spill his guts?”

“No, that would be wishful thinking. The feds can't get anything from Clarence—he's lawyered up. Detective DuPree was hoping you might be able to loosen his tongue a little if you sat in on the next interview.”

“You mean get his blood pressure up.”

“Not the way I'd put it, exactly, but DuPree does know how you tend to set people off. Can you come down to the station now?”

“Actually, we've staked out a certain lady's house, hoping we can come up with a plan or learn something new that'll add to today's jail population,” Charlie responded, looking over at Gordon, who was using the binoculars. “We know she was behind the silversmith's murder, but knowing and being able to prove it are two different things. The feds don't have enough on her yet, or she'd be in jail by now.” Gordon nodded.

“I know. By the way, we have a team here watching you, Gordon, and the residence.”

Gordon checked the rearview mirror. “The cable van that arrived about ten minutes ago?”

“Yes, Gordon. But if you don't mind sticking it out alone for a while, I can come by and give Charlie a ride downtown. You'll have to circle the block on foot, Charlie, so I can pick you up out of sight of the subject's windows.”

Gordon shrugged. “I've got it here,” he said. “Go do what you can, Charlie.”

“Worth a try,” Charlie affirmed. “You still in your squad car, Nancy?”

“No, it's a faded gold Ford sedan, unmarked. See you in five?” she replied.

“Copy,” Charlie said, then ended the call.

“I'll call when I'm done, Gordon, and have somebody drop me by here again. With the bug we still have an advantage over the surveillance team when the SUV is used again. It would be good to know when Sheila and company leave,” Charlie pointed out.

“If they take the SUV.”

“Right. Stay safe, they're going to be gunning for us,” Charlie added, getting out of the pickup. “If you have to leave, text me.”

“Yes, Mother. Later.”

Charlie walked off without looking back. Today might end up being even more interesting than he'd expected, especially with Sheila on the warpath. The weight of the Beretta on his hip was particularly comforting at the moment.

When he reached the far corner and started down the sidewalk, parallel to the street where Fasthorse and his mother lived, he glanced up at the residence closest to him. It was also two stories tall with an upper-story patio leading out from what looked like a bedroom. This structure had iron railings and a tile roof, and was probably constructed by the same builder as Sheila's home. It looked virtually identical.

Charlie heard a vehicle approaching from behind and glanced back. It was Nancy. The gold Ford pulled up to the curb just ahead and he walked over. Nancy was seated on the passenger side in street clothes, as was the young man behind the wheel. “Good timing, Charlie. Hop in,” she called out. “This is Officer Spears.”

*   *   *

The downtown station was about five minutes away, a few miles farther south. The sedan stopped only briefly at the security booth before entering the underground garage beneath the multistory APD headquarters.

Charlie had only been in the building once before to give a statement on an incident that had occurred last year. As he climbed out of the car into the cool concrete structure, he wondered if this was the same route prisoners were taken when brought in.

“The detective is waiting outside an interview room,” Nancy announced as they walked toward the closest elevator and stairwell. Officer Spears followed a few steps behind, and hadn't said much more than hello. He looked barely twenty-one with the shaved head of a newbie, though his relaxed expression suggested he'd been on the force for a while. Since he was in plainclothes and driving an unmarked car, it suggested to Charlie that he worked undercover. Perhaps he'd been on the same team with Al.

They took the stairs and Spears led the way, Nancy beside him.

Once they were at ground level, Spears said good-bye and took off down the hall. They had to stop at a visitor's desk, where Charlie signed in, traded his firearm for a visitor's badge, then followed Nancy into the elevator. “We're going to the sixth floor, where there's a cell block, prisoner library, and two interview rooms,” she announced.

“I hope I never know my way around this place,” Charlie mumbled.

“Before we go into the interview room, take off your visitor's badge and put it into your pocket. Wear this instead.”

Nancy hooked her gold shield over his belt.

“DuPree's idea?”

“No, mine. If Fasthorse thinks you've been working undercover all this time, it'll beef up your authority.”

“Makes sense. But I should let DuPree do most of the talking, right?”

“He'll probably brief you before going into the interview,” Nancy replied.

They stepped out onto the sixth floor. There was a wide hall devoid of decoration except for a recessed fire extinguisher cabinet and painted lettering on the walls. Arrows indicated the direction of a library, holding cells, and interview rooms. A guard in gray uniform with a Taser, baton, and handcuffs at his waist nodded to both of them. “Detective DuPree is waiting at interview room A.”

“What's the prisoner library for?” Charlie asked as they walked down the hall. They passed a thick Plexiglas window that revealed a room containing several seated prisoners in orange jumpsuits. “Gives them something to do?”

“That's the idea. It's limited to inmates charged with nonviolent crimes who stay out of trouble. The prisoners can read, even play a few games, but they can't send or receive e-mail or get on social media. All they can do is take notes with pencil and paper. It's kind of like an old-school library without the books. It's all done on desktop computers. The keyboards are anchored down,” she explained.

They turned the corner and arrived at a door marked with an
A.
Nancy knocked, and Detective DuPree came out into the hall.

“Glad you could make it, Henry,” DuPree said, shaking his hand. “As soon as the prisoner arrives we'll let him stew awhile before going in. What's with the shield?” He looked at Charlie's belt.

Charlie took off his visitor's badge while Nancy explained her idea.

“Sounds good. Keep the bastard guessing,” DuPree acknowledged, then put his finger to his lips as they heard footsteps.

A corrections officer was leading Clarence, in handcuffs, down the hall toward them, and, at the same time, another officer, a sturdy-looking black man, was coming from the direction of the library. There were two inmates in front of the officer, one of them a Hispanic male carrying a yellow legal pad.

The officer leading Clarence stopped by the interview room door, waiting for the other inmates and the corrections officer to pass. Charlie watched as the other inmates approached. The Anglo prisoner was watching Nancy, the Hispanic guy ignoring them all, which to Charlie seemed odd. Nancy was a very attractive woman.

This prisoner, as he approached, subtlety switched the legal pad to his left hand, clutching his pencil firmly in his right, almost making a fist.

 

Chapter Twenty-two

Charlie stepped forward to block the move, thinking Nancy might be the target. The prisoner lunged at Clarence instead, jabbing him in the stomach. As Clarence doubled over the man grabbed his hair with his left hand and plunged the bloody pencil into Clarence's face with a right uppercut. Charlie had his hands on the attacker by then and yanked him back.

Chaos followed as DuPree and Nancy both jumped in to pin the man. Charlie already had him facedown on his knees, but the assailant fought back, punching and kicking, cursing in Spanish. Clarence's guard tried to protect his injured prisoner, who was thrashing on the floor, hands over his bloody face as he screamed.

“Down on the floor,” the black guard yelled at the other inmate, who'd already dropped back and was holding his hands up to show he wasn't part of this.

“Taser this guy,” DuPree shouted, still struggling with the Hispanic prisoner.

The black guard unholstered his yellow Taser and aimed it at the attacker, who continued to yell and struggle despite the fact that Nancy had his right arm wrenched around at an impossible angle.

“Now!” DuPree said, jumping back, along with Nancy and Charlie. The darts hit the man in the butt, and he screamed and jerked convulsively. Then he smashed his head against the wall. There was a dull crunch. His body stiffened and all movement stopped within a few seconds.

“Turn it off!” Nancy ordered, looking down at Clarence's attacker, who was unconscious now, or worse, and bleeding from the mouth. Corrections officers ran up from both directions, then stopped, looking down at the chaos.

“Get a medical team up here ASAP!” DuPree ordered, looking over at Clarence.

The guard who'd escorted Clarence stood, shaking his head slowly. “That isn't going to help. I think he's dead.”

Clarence wasn't moving now, sprawled on the tile like a carelessly discarded rag doll. His arms were splayed out from his body and his hands smeared in blood and gore. The flow of blood was trickling slowly from his punctured gut and around the pencil, still imbedded in the center of his right eye socket.

*   *   *

“What the hell was that all about?” Charlie asked Detective DuPree a half hour later as the officer entered the bullpen cubical.

“The screw-ups run from here all the way down to Mexico, Charlie,” DuPree answered bitterly, flopping down in his desk chair and spinning around to face him. “Apparently the Mexican federal police arrested the help but not the bosses in this vehicle theft ring. One of their leaders obviously managed to get word to one of their men here in lock-up.”

“The inmate with the pencil—now dead from a broken neck,” Charlie concluded.

“Yeah, he was Hector Archibeque, here legally but recently busted for, surprise—auto theft. Apparently Archibeque's lawyer spoke to his client about five hours ago.”

“Telling him to take out Fasthorse? Your timing is off, DuPree. Clarence hadn't even been busted then.”

“No, and here's why. The Mexican police jumped the gun and made their move early, hours before the feds here arrested what's left of the Night Crew. Word never reached Clarence that this was going down, obviously, but it certainly got to Archibeque's attorney,” DuPree explained.

“Archibeque was told to silence Clarence before he could cut a deal and identify his major contacts in Mexico,” Charlie said, nodding.

“That's what the feds think. Me too. The only good news is that we've plugged the pipeline at this end, at least until the Mexican gangs get someone else to provide them with stolen pickups and SUVs.”

“So what's going to happen to Sheila Ben?” Nancy asked.

“Well, unless we can nail her for the death of Buck and the casino manager, she's probably going to dodge any serious charges on the Night Crew carjackings and the local incidents. Clarence was her representative, and everything was done through him,” DuPree responded. “I doubt the Mexicans know she was involved, or she'd already be on the run or dead. But here's something interesting I got from the feds, who've already started to look at Clarence's financial records.”

“Not Sheila's?” Charlie asked.

“No. Apparently they haven't got that far yet,” DuPree responded. “What they did find, however, was a financial connection from the restaurant account to Cordell Buck that existed until just before his death. The silversmith had been getting a thousand dollars a month from Pi
ñ
on Mesa Inc. since April.”

“I find it hard to believe Clarence would be doing business with the man. It sounds more like blackmail payoffs to me,” Charlie reasoned. “That also provides the motive for Sheila now wanting him dead.”

“That's what I think, too,” DuPree replied, “though the entries were listed for ‘wholesale jewelry.'”

“That's still a pretty steep price for wholesale turquoise and silver,” Nancy noted. “Is there any actual merchandise to back up those entries?”

“Don't know,” DuPree answered. “But I'd like to be there when the feds interview Sheila, just to see her reaction when this detail comes up.”

Charlie shook his head. “The feds may never get the chance. That lady is a loose cannon, and once she finds out Clarence is dead, I've got a feeling she's going to blow. Revenge is her trademark.”

“Think she'll be going after the Mexicans who arranged the hit on Clarence?” Nancy asked.