Casting Bones (36 page)

‘I
need the bank account numbers.' Paul Trueblood aimed the pistol in his gloved hand at the warden's chest. ‘Trust me, it will be a lot easier if you just give them to me.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

Garrett and Jakes stood plastered against the Jaguar, the garage feeling like a small morgue.

‘Your friend, Mr Garrett, he also is a culprit.' The man nodded toward Garrett. ‘One of the main players. We're going to close you down, Mr Jakes, Mr Garrett. I have the digital printouts, and that's just for this prison. I want the account where these deposits are made. Just need the numbers. I'll find them one way or the other.'

Jakes and Garrett looked at each other.

‘We give you the information and what do we get?' Jakes asked.

‘We'll work out something.'

Garrett stared at the man. ‘You're FBI? Seriously?'

Trueblood smiled. ‘Let's just say I do some work for them. Freelance.'

‘So we're screwed no matter what? No matter what I tell you, I'm going to do serious time, right? So why should I volunteer anything?' Jakes played with false bravado, but it was thin.

‘You're not screwed. Not if you give me the account number. Garrett? Jakes? If we can capture the money, then …'

Warden Russell Jakes was shaking. He'd always known it could happen, someone would figure out the scheme, but the Feds? That meant real time, Federal time. Jakes braced himself.

‘I want access to the account,' the man stated.

‘For River Bend?' Garrett was cautious. How much did this guy know?

‘For Secure Force,' he said. ‘For every prison. Just tell me where the kickback money goes.'

The guy knew plenty.

‘I'm not sure what you think you know,' Jakes said, his gruff voice sounding dubious. ‘What account do you …'

‘I know that you don't have half of the information that Mr Garrett has, Warden Jakes. And I know that Mr Garrett has pretty much everything I need. Lerner's printouts, they pretty much proved how extensive this operation is. Mr Garrett has the account numbers. Mr Garrett is responsible for the depth and breadth of this scam you all are running. So you're not that important to the business, are you, Warden? I mean, other people have this information, right? Sorry my friend. I know the records are stored here. Other than that, you don't seem to be that important to the entire case. Am I right? You protect this prison, but in the scope of things …'

‘Look, I can provide you with all kinds of information that you don't have. I can't do time, Mr Trueblood. Let me—'

‘I can get all I need from Mr Garrett. Probably from his cell phone. I would bet the account number, that this brilliant businessman has the information stored right in his cell phone. Mr Garrett is a bright man, but all bright people think no one will figure them out and they get careless. Now, one of you give me the account numbers and we can all relax.'

Jakes swallowed, a gulp of saliva. ‘I can't do time. I'd never last a week inside a prison. The convicts, man. Whatever you need to know' – the big man was sweating, wiping his brow – ‘I can give you whatever information you need, but you can't threaten me with prison. Oh, Jesus, please let me—'

Trueblood pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times and each exploding shot went through Jakes's body and into the Jaguar. Puckered holes dimpled the sheet of cream-colored steel covering the sleek frame. Each one was stained with bright red blood.

M
a was safe, she was sure of it. Matebo was recovering and would be fine. But Archer was in trouble. There were forces, multiple forces that were at play, all of them conspiring against the detective. River Bend Prison was the focal point, and it was clear to her that Richard Garrett was a primary player. She wasn't reading minds; she wasn't casting spells or throwing bones. She just knew.

Shivering even in the heat, focused on her purpose, she walked back to her shop, stopping half a block away to scope out the security. There was no cop out front. Probably had checked on her, found her missing, reported in and now possibly there was a citywide search going on. Or, maybe they realized she'd blown her detail off and they gave up on her. Whichever way it played, she had to get to that prison. She entered the shop, went to the back room and pulled the canvas tarp off of her seldom used Honda Forza. The sleek red body beckoned and she stroked the smooth surface. It was one small pleasure she'd allowed herself. A top speed of ninety, a cruising speed of sixty-five, and eighty-five miles to the gallon. She almost never brought it out, but it was perfect for running around town. The bike was also touted as a great little highway scooter. Solange Cordray put on her helmet, pulled black leather boots over her tight jeans and wheeled the bike out the front door, locking the store behind her, and turned the ignition. The scooter purred, ready for the road.

The cell phone rang and Trueblood stared hard at Garrett. The oil man's eyes moved between the bloody body of Warden Jakes, slumped on the ground, and the pistol in Paul Trueblood's hand.

‘Your phone, Mr Garrett.'

It kept ringing.

‘Answer it. Say nothing about our situation.'

Cautiously, Richard Garrett reached into his pocket and pulled out the iPhone.

‘Yeah.' His voice was a little raspy, a little tenuous.

‘I've got some new information on the Lerner murder case.'

Trueblood still pointed the barrel at Garrett's head.

‘Garrett, put it on speaker. Now.'

‘Hello.' The voice on the other end was clear and loud in the garage.

‘Go ahead.'

‘Detectives Archer and Levy have decided that River Bend Prison is a focal point in the murder. They're pretty sure they've figured out that Secure Force is kicking back money to judges in return for sentencing juveniles to their prisons. And they think that one of our detectives, who just committed suicide, gave the FBI files that contain proof. Then he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.'

Trueblood shook his head. Strand ate his gun. The poor dumb son of a bitch. And now the cops were on the prowl.

Richard Garrett looked at Trueblood with a question on his face.

Trueblood signaled to Garrett to wrap up the call.

‘OK, we'll make contact, Sullivan. In the meantime, keep your ear to the ground.'

‘One more thing, sir.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Archer and Detective Levy are on their way to River Bend now. I'm guessing half an hour away. Is that enough information for another payday?'

‘I'll get back to you.' Garrett terminated the call.

‘Well played, Mr Garrett. So you've got someone on the NOPD who feeds you information?'

Garrett kept staring at the gun. ‘You're going to kill me, right?'

‘Who's your contact?'

‘Dan Sullivan. He's a sergeant in homicide. He doesn't have a clue who I am or why I want the information.'

‘But he's selling it to you?'

‘You're going to kill me. Look, what do I have to do here? You know I've got money. More money than you'll ever need in a lifetime. I can write you a check and we can forget about all of this.'

‘You know we can't do that.' He nodded at Jakes's body lying on the cold concrete floor.

‘There's got to be a way.'

‘There is.'

Trueblood stepped behind Garrett, reached around and wrapped the man's right hand over his pistol. Before Garrett understood what was happening, Trueblood forced Garret to pull the trigger, the bullet punching Jakes's body with a bang.

‘Jesus.'

Wrenching the gun back from Garrett he pointed it at the man's head.

‘I work with the FBI, Richard. I've now got you, a man who just killed his business partner. The gunpowder residue from the gun is on your hand. Now, I can make this go away, claim that the warden appeared to be pulling a gun and I had to shoot him, or I can say that you shot him and you can be tried for murder plus your kickback scheme. I detect a life sentence, minimum.

‘You want the account numbers.'

‘I want you to release those account numbers to me. Release them, Richard.'

‘Jesus, man. You're crazy. Do you know how difficult that would be to—'

‘You contact the bank, you release those numbers. Right now. In my name. And if you don't, I promise you, you will be tried for the murder of Russell Jakes and a scheme to defraud the State of Louisiana and every other state that Secure Force works in.'

‘You won't get away with this.'

‘Neither will you, Mr Garrett. The only chance you have is if you give me those numbers.'

‘OK, I'll give them to you.'

‘No, you make the necessary transaction right now, on your phone. Release them. I want to see proof that the money is transferred to my name.'

‘I can't just—'

‘You've got a security code?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘You've got passwords?'

‘Of course, but it's more complicated than—'

‘You've got a second party?'

‘Mark McKinley, my accountant.'

‘You've got a code that allows him to second the transfer.'

‘You can't just take the damned money.'

‘You're a stupid man, Richard Garrett. Of course I can.'

Trueblood lowered the barrel and pulled the trigger, shattering the man's right tibia.

The surprise on Garrett's face was priceless as it turned to agonizing pain. Grasping at his leg, he crumpled to the ground, ending up on top of the bloody corpse of Russell Jakes.

‘Are you going to make that call and enter those codes and passwords, or am I going to continue to break bones? One at a time.' Trueblood smiled down on Garrett, aiming the gun at his arm.

‘No, no, please, don't shoot.' Garrett was screaming. ‘Not again. I'll do it.'

‘Quick, get your phone and let's get it done.'

The warden's house was much less secure than the prison. A lone guard gate protected the civilian buildings in the compound where Russell Jakes lived. An iron bar crossed the gravel driveway and the guard inside the small gatehouse simply pushed a button to raise or lower the bar. When Archer pulled up to the gate, he simply gave his name and told him the warden was expecting them.

A moment later the guard told him that the warden did not answer his call, and Archer and his companion would have to come back another time. Levy pulled his badge, showing it to the uniformed man. The guard shrugged.

‘Nothing I can do, man. No one gets through if the warden doesn't approve.'

‘Look, this is official business. There is supposed to be a search warrant already issued and sent here. Why don't you check? This could be a matter of life and death.'

‘I've got no search warrant, and as far as you getting in here, never gonna happen, Nola.'

‘Well,' Levy smiled at him, ‘I guess all I can say is, never say never.'

Detective Levy pushed the accelerator to the floor and the car leaped forward, snapping the crossbar as the vehicle cleared the line and entered the compound.

‘What you just did …' Archer said.

‘Yeah?' Levy was headed right for the house.

‘It's going to get us in a lot of trouble, Detective.'

‘And?' Levy braked and turned a hard right, heading toward the warden's residence.

‘And it's exactly what I would have done.'

S
he didn't travel the highway much. Her world was small, confined, and in many ways she liked it that way. Her comfort zone, for what it was, was familiar. And flying down a concrete slab at eighty miles per hour was a little frightening. The tinted face shield blocked the wind, the bugs and the burn as she leaned over the handlebars.

She went whizzing by cars, overtaking vehicles when she could, swerving and maneuvering her bike. She had no idea what she was going to do once she reached the prison. Pray, ask for intervention, give up her life. She knew it was dangerous and that her immediate priority was to alert Quentin Archer to the possibility that his life was in danger. Serious danger. Having her connections, having her powers, working with the skills her mother taught her was exhausting. She wondered what it was like to be a cook, a teacher, a nurse, a mother. Oftentimes those occupations seemed preferable.

The girl heard the horn blaring as a car cut her off. Frowning behind the shield, she muttered a phrase. The blue Mazda swerved as the right rear tire blew and the car skidded to a stop on the edge of the road.

Solange Cordray sped on by. There was work to be done.

Wincing in pain, faint from blood loss, Richard Garrett worked his phone, thumbs punching in codes and passwords. Trueblood never wavered, the gun pointed at Garrett's head.

‘If this doesn't work, I'm really not out anything,' he said. ‘You – you're out your life; but me – still got a job, still make a living. You know, Garrett, when this is wrapped up, they've even offered me a paid vacation. Pretty nice, eh? So if you don't get this money transferred, I'll have to kill you, but my life pretty much stays the same.'

‘Give me your account number once more. Where do you want the money transferred?' Garrett's voice was weak.

Trueblood recited the numbers, watching the injured man punch them into his phone. He'd been right. Richard Garrett had all the information on his phone. After all, who would ever think to look on Garrett's phone. He was just like all the dumb-asses who sexted, sent private emails and took dirty pictures on their phone, assuming it was all private business. They were certain they were protected.

Didn't they get it? There was a security camera on every corner, an alarm in every home and business and someone on the outside who could monitor what was going on in the inside. There was GPS on your phone, in your car, in your camera. There were listening devices that could pick up conversations half a mile away. The government monitored every keystroke on your computer and every call from your cell. Not one second of your private life was private anymore and there was a growing need from all sorts of organizations, private and public, to harvest all of that information.