Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) (21 page)

The sheriff’s department
station was located on Acton’s main road, only a short ride away from
Flanagan’s. Three minutes after Morrison was pushed into the back seat, the
patrol car entered the front parking lot and came to a halt in front of a thick
hedge. The building was an old-fashioned brick structure with black window
frames and three tall flag poles. One for the American flag, one for the state
of New York and one for the county of Acton.

The deputy with the buzz
cut helped Morrison out of the car and ushered him through the automatic
sliding door. Just a few steps ahead, the tall lanky deputy was escorting Angry
Eyes.

“What do we have here?” the
desk sergeant said.

“No big deal,” the deputy
with the buzz cut said. “Just a bar fight at Flanagan’s.”

The desk sergeant looked over
at Angry Eyes first, then at Morrison. He sneered. “Doesn’t take a Ph.D. to
figure out who won,” he said. “Bring the tall guy in number one and the little
fella in number two.”

Morrison followed the
deputy to processing room number two. It was a small room with cinder-block
walls painted white. It had two chairs and a table, all steel, bolted to the
sealed cement floor.

It was the exact same room
he had been brought into after his arrest three years before.

While he stood up, the
deputy emptied his pockets. Removed his leather belt. Then he looked at his shoes
and sighed. “You’re not gonna strangle yourself with your laces, are you?”

Morrison chuckled. “Not
exactly what I had in mind for tonight,” he said.

“Good,” the deputy said.
“That’s what I thought.”

“Not that I mind, but isn’t
it against protocol?”

The deputy shrugged. “We’ve
had a long day,” he said. “And I don’t know why we’re taking you in to start
with. It’s just a bar fight, who cares? We’ve got more serious business to take
care of around here.”

The deputy uncuffed his
right hand, told him to sit down and locked the cuff around the steel table
leg. Then he left the room.

Morrison moved his right
wrist around to chase the numbing pain. He wished he could do the same with his
other wrist. That cuff was bloody tight.

The deputy came back shortly
after with a new property bag, a Sharpie and a form stuck on a clipboard. He
sat down and proceeded to write down the list of Morrison’s possessions. A
wallet with a few cards. A mobile phone. A set of car keys, some spare change
and loose dollar bills. His leather belt.

Again, Morrison didn’t
mind that the brass key remained safely tucked underneath his right shoe’s
inner sole. Didn’t mind at all.

While the long and slow
procedure took place, Morrison couldn’t help but think that this all looked too
familiar. Three years before, it had been done the exact same way in the exact
same room. Only difference was the processing officer.

Last time, Sheriff Sanford
herself, then a simple deputy, had processed him in the wake of his arrest. But
apart from that, it was all the same. Even the content of the property bag
looked eerily similar. Morrison squinted.

Except for an item, he
thought.

An item he’d completely
forgotten about.

Even during his
incarceration, he had never given it much thought.

The USB flash drive.

Three years before, he’d
had one in his pockets on his arrest. He had completely forgotten about it. He
had to be here today, cuffed to the same bolted steel table in processing room
number two, for it to spring back to his memory.

The bloody USB flash
drive.

Shortly after his arrest,
it had caused him big worries. It contained the list of all the bank accounts
they were going to hit next. Along with the user codes and passwords they were
going to use to access them. All in super-encrypted format, of course. The
encryption was tight. Above even military grade. And not only was this data
super-encrypted, it was also hidden. The streams of bytes were not stored in
separate files. He had rather elected to conceal them within ordinary pictures
files. If you looked at the USB flash drive content, all you saw were a bunch
of ordinary-looking pictures that he had taken on a trip to New York City. They
would look innocent enough to anybody. He had been confident that the true
nature of these files would remain hidden. But you never knew. An officer
cleverer than the rest could have taken a deeper look at these files. Could
perhaps have pierced their secrets with some help. It was a long shot, for
sure, but it was not impossible. That’s why, initially, these files had caused him
to worry a lot. But these worries had proved short-lived. In the multiple
interrogations he faced, nobody ever asked about them. And when his lawyer was given
the detail of the prosecution’s proof, that USB flash drive and its content
were nowhere to be seen. So Morrison had sighed and quickly forgotten about it
to focus on his defense.

Until now.

The USB flash drive.

All of a sudden, this
opened up a whole new array of possibilities. He figured he’d have to give some
thought to this.

The deputy finished drafting
up the inventory of his possessions. Then he flipped the notepad around and
asked him to review and sign the form while he put everything into the property
bag.

Morrison scanned the list.
It looked OK. He signed it and pushed the notepad back to the deputy.

“You said you had more
serious business to take care of,” Morrison asked. “What is that?”

The deputy shook his head.
“Double murder. Something we don’t see too often around here, thank God,” he
said. “Some young guy and his kid. Shot at point blank at their place. It’s
sick. Just sick.”

Morrison nodded. Said
nothing.

At this point, the deputy
was pretty relaxed around him, and he got up to unlock the single strand from
around the leg table. Told Morrison to get up too and put his hands behind his
back. Then he locked the cuff back on his free wrist, so lightly this time that
Morrison could barely feel the strands.

The deputy walked him to
the holding tank. It was an open space of fifteen by fifteen feet, set in a
corner with low benches coursing the two cinder-block walls and another one
lying in the middle of the tank. Angry Eyes was already in there, lying on his
back on the farthest bench.

The deputy unlocked the heavy
steel door and slid it open. Told Morrison to step in and stop right in the entryway.
Then he removed his cuffs, slid the door shut again and disappeared down the
hallway.

Angry Eyes looked up from
his bench, taking in his presence. Morrison went to sit on the lowlying bench bolted
in the middle of the place.

“Congratulations,” he said
in a low voice. “That was real brilliant.”

Angry Eyes sneered at him.
“It was only payback for what you did,” he said.

“And you decided to do
that at a function that the county sheriff was attending. Very smart, buddy,
very smart. Your mother must be very proud of you.”

Angry Eyes stiffened up. “Keep
on talking like that and I swear you’re gonna get some more,” he said.

Morrison ignored his
threat. “Now, how do you think Harris will react to this brilliant move, huh?” he
said.

Angry Eyes looked surprised.

“That’s right,” Morrison said,
“I know that your boss is Roger Harris. And I know him well enough to know that
when he’s real pissed at somebody, things don’t go down so easy. They really
don’t.”

Angry Eyes appeared
confused, unsure how to react. Exactly like at Flanagan’s. This was proof
enough for Morrison that the man was only a low-level operative. Barely one rung
above that of club bouncer or debt collector. A guy like that had no business
being involved in even the most basic ATM-skimming operation. Harris must have
been pretty desperate to rely on him.

Morrison continued. “I bet
you didn’t tell him I knocked you out the other night, right? You probably
cooked up some half-assed excuse to explain the ATM bust and why you couldn’t
do anything about it. But you sure as hell didn’t mention anything about being
knocked out by a small guy like me, huh?”

Angry Eyes looked away. He
cursed between his teeth.

“Now here’s what we’re going
to do,” Morrison said. “I’m not going to press charges against you. We’re both going
to say we’re sorry, that this was just a misunderstanding and be on our merry
way. And hopefully, I’m never gonna see you again.”

“It’s your fault we’re
stuck in here,” Angry Eyes said. “That sheriff, she’s got something personal
against you. It was obvious. Otherwise she wouldn’t have brought us in for a
stupid fight.”

Perhaps Morrison had judged
him too hard. The man was capable of at least making a little sense. “There may
be some truth to this, but I don’t suggest you pursue the matter,” he said.
“For the time being, just keep quiet and follow my lead. Understood?”

Angry Eyes didn’t respond.
He just reclined on his bench and stared at the ceiling.
Good
, Morrison
thought,
at least that’s settled.

From his position on the bench,
he had a clear view of the desk sergeant through a short corridor. The guy was
staring down, probably reading a newspaper or a magazine to kill time. He was
tempted to call out to him and ask for a section or two of his paper, but he
decided against it. It was better to lay low and keep quiet.

His thoughts went back to
that USB flash drive. That small device had cost him twenty-five bucks at the
store.

But with its content, it
was really worth eight million dollars.

And Sheriff Sanford was
the one who had removed it from his pockets and taken it away.

No one else.

Morrison drummed his
fingers on the bench. Up until now, he hadn’t had any incentive to remember the
USB flash drive because he thought that only his partners could have been guilty
of stealing the money. Only they knew enough about the planned hits to be able
to leverage them. Or so he had thought. Because now that he knew his partners
were clean, it only made more sense that the information embedded in that USB flash
drive would have been used to get to the money.

Suddenly, a lot of items
that appeared strange when considered separately were finding their place in a
cohesive narrative.

No wonder Sheriff Sanford wanted
to keep him behind bars for as long as she could.

No wonder she met up with
him on his release to tell him never to set foot within her county lines again.

No wonder she drove a
shiny Mercedes convertible. With eight million dollars, she could afford a
whole stable of them if she wanted.

And no wonder she put him
back behind bars so fast after a mere bar brawl.

Bloody Sanford
.

This all made sense now.

He heard some commotion
coming from the desk. He looked up. The sergeant was with the deputy with the
buzz cut. They were having a three-way conversation with somebody else on the
phone.

“Yeah, he’s still there,”
he heard the desk sergeant say. The two officers went silent for a beat, then he
heard the sergeant say, “Are you sure? … Release immediately? … All right.”

The officer put the phone
down and nodded in their direction to the other deputy. Angry Eyes heard that
too. They both got up. Looked at each other. Didn’t say a word.

The deputy with the buzz
cut walked up to them. There was something different in his attitude now.

Minutes ago, he had
appeared relaxed and almost friendly toward him. But now, his whole body had
firmed up. The deputy glared at him, his face closed and filled with contempt. At
the same time, he grabbed the key to the sliding door. “You,” he said to Angry Eyes,
“come over here.”

Angry Eyes stepped
forward. The deputy unlocked the sliding door. “You can go now,” he said.

Angry Eyes flashed
Morrison a sideways smile. Morrison started after him but the deputy stopped
him dead in his tracks.

“No, no, no. Not you.
You’re staying right there, Morrison. Sheriff Sanford is coming back to talk to
you. Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do.”

The deputy with the buzz
cut brought Morrison back to processing room number two. Somewhat roughly. This
time, his demeanor was abrupt and curt.

Morrison wondered what warranted
that change of attitude.

Unfortunately, he could
think of many reasons.

None of them to his
advantage.

The feeling that things
were taking a turn for the worse crystallized when, just before being ushered
into the processing room, he caught a glimpse of two persons making their way
into the station.

The young couple he had
walked into at the dead hacker’s place.

Shit
, he thought.
Shit,
shit, shit.

He hadn’t done anything
wrong over there. But try to explain this to that thief of a sheriff. Barely forty-eight
hours out of prison. Good luck.

After being cuffed back to
the table, he was left to wait.

A long twenty minutes that
seemed like an eternity.

Then Sheriff Sanford came in
through the door. She was still wearing that pretty black dress, but she was
all business. Just as she had been at Flanagan’s.

“There’s never a dull
moment with you, Morrison,” she said. “A lot of things have happened around
here since your release.”

“Are you talking about the
ATM-skimming operation that I graciously helped you to bust?” he said.

She shook her head.

“If it’s the fight at Flanagan’s,
then you let the wrong guy out,” he said. “He attacked me. It was not the other
way around.”

Sanford dismissed that
fight with a wave of the hand. “Couldn’t care less about that fight,” she said.

“Then what?”

She leaned toward him. Rested
her elbows on the table. Locked her eyes into his.

“My men collected two dead
bodies in an apartment building earlier this afternoon. A horrible sight. A
father and his young baby. Both shot through the heart.”

“I know, your deputy just told
me. But what does it have to do with me?”

“They spent the whole
afternoon down there. They’ve gathered some testimonies.” She paused briefly,
her eyes still planted into his. She didn’t want to miss his reaction. “Somebody
saw a small wiry guy, full of nerves, swiftly enter the building at about the same
time these murders took place. It’s an interesting description, don’t you think,
Morrison? Small. Wiry. Full of nerves. What do you make of it?”

Shit
, he thought.
Shit,
shit, shit.
But on the surface, he just shrugged. “I think your imagination
is running wild, Sanford. I’ve never killed anyone and I don’t plan on doing it
anytime soon. You know I’m not a violent guy. Three years ago, when you
arrested me, what weapons did I carry? Eh? Nothing, that’s right. Not even a
blade. And besides, I don’t even know those people you’re referring to.”

“My imagination has
nothing to do with this,” she said. “Somebody saw you down there, Morrison.
We’re going to nail you down.”

She paused again to let
that thought sink in.

There was a weird
expression on her face, behind the tough woman mask. Some kind of elation, like
she couldn’t believe her luck to be able to pin him down so soon for something
so serious. Something that would make him disappear behind bars for a long,
long time.

And leave her to enjoy the
fruits of her theft for an equally long time without fear of retribution.

“You know, you forgot to
mention something else that happened since my release,” he said. “Some poor guy
died in a motorcycle crash last night. Killed by you. I wonder what that is all
about.”

She firmed up. “None of
your business,” she said. This was getting personal. Big time.

He continued. “The guy was
speeding, he was trying to escape. Fine. But why ram into him? Why not let him
go? Speeding bikers are a dime a dozen in this county, especially on a Saturday
night. Was there something special with this guy? Maybe you’re the one who’s
got some explaining to do.”

“Forget about it,
Morrison. You won’t be able to derail this. Not a chance.”

There was a knock on the
door. “Come in,” Sanford shouted. The deputy with the buzz cut opened the door.
He was with a man in a dark business suit whom Morrison had never seen before.
The man immediately addressed Sanford. “I demand some time alone with my
client,” he said. “Please leave the room immediately.”

Sheriff Sanford stared
hard at him, then she nodded and got up. “Of course,” she said, “why don’t you
come in and make yourself comfortable?”

Cowgirl,
Morrison thought.
She
sent me a lawyer
.

Sanford and her deputy
left. The lawyer sat down. He was a fifty-something tall man with thick black
hair and a sculpted goatee. He wore blue-tinted glasses set in a black plastic
frame. He looked sharp. And somewhat hip for a lawyer.

“Can you get me out of
here?” Morrison asked.

“Not right away,” the hip lawyer
said.

“Then when?”

“They have the right to
detain you twelve hours, no questions asked.”

“On what grounds?”

“Disturbing public peace.”

“Just that? There’s no
other charge?”

“That’s what they told me
at the desk. Is there something else I should know, Mr. Morrison?”

“You heard about the
double murder earlier today?”

The hip lawyer nodded.

“Well, Sheriff Sanford is
fishing around. She’s trying to link me to that. Which is ludicrous. I haven’t
killed anyone.”

“Officially, you’re still
not charged with anything other than disturbing the peace. And from what I understand,
the other party in your little incident has been released, so I wouldn’t worry
too much if I were you. This won’t go anywhere.”

“But I still can’t get
out?”

The hip lawyer shook his
head. “No. They can keep you in here until 7:00 a.m. tomorrow if that’s what
they want. Sorry, I can’t do anything about that. But if they want to keep you
beyond that, they will have to come up with detailed and substantiated charges.
That’s where I’ll kick in if necessary.”

Morrison nodded. “OK,
makes sense.”

“Until then, just keep
your mouth shut, OK? Don’t talk to her or any of her staff unless I’m with you.”
Then he winked and said, “And I won’t be available until tomorrow morning at
eight. So in the meantime, just keep your mouth shut and sleep through the
night.”

Morrison thought about the
prints he’d left in the apartment. The young couple he’d walked into. The
witnesses who could’ve seen him flee the scene. Sanford had more than one way
to nail him down even if he hadn’t done anything wrong at the dead hacker’s
place. But at least he knew she would have to come up with the goods before 7:00
a.m. the next morning. He felt a tremendous amount of pressure, but apparently
he was not the only one.

The hip lawyer gave him
his business card. “Call me if they formally come up with new charges,” he
said, “but otherwise just keep your mouth shut until tomorrow morning.”

He picked up the card, a
slick black and blue thing. As hip as the man himself. “Thanks,” he said. “I
have a message for you to give to my friend.”

The lawyer nodded.

“First, I want to thank
her for sending you over here. I really appreciate it. And second, tell her to
start checking Sheriff Sanford out. She needs to find out where she lives, how
she lives. How big is her house? Is she married or single? How many cars does
she have? We need to know her whole pedigree. And we need it fast.”

The lawyer frowned. Like
he was skeptical. But Morrison insisted. “It’s important,” he said. “Tell her
to get started on that right away. She has to start digging tonight. It’s very,
very important.”

The lawyer shrugged. “OK,
fine, I’ll tell her.” Then he got up and knocked on the door. The deputy with
the buzz cut opened it and called Sheriff Sanford over.

She came up, still in that
lovely black dress of hers, but this time, she wore a curious expression on her
face as if she had something up her sleeve. She was very calm. The hip lawyer
repeated to her the instructions he’d just given to him. There would be no use
trying to fish around. Morrison would remain silent until the morning.

She listened patiently,
nodding along the way, and verbally agreed. Morrison kept his gaze focused on
her. For someone who had been so intent on fishing, this didn’t seem to trouble
her. Not in the least. From the look on her face, he suspected she was ready to
counterpunch.

Morrison knew he was right
as soon as she opened her mouth.

“No problem,” she said. “He
can keep his mouth shut all he wants. In fact, for what he has to do next, it’s
mandatory that he doesn’t speak.”

She turned to her deputy
and said, “Get him into the room over there. We’re gonna have a nice little
lineup with Mr. Morrison.”