Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (36 page)

“Unbelievable,” Kirby said.

“Now do you understand the problem here? We have a situation where we’re closing in on this particular ring, we’ve almost got a handle on the leadership involved, we’ve got Hank planted well undercover—and then along you come to mess everything up! Even the leaks we’ve had from inside our own
agency were nothing compared to what you have almost done to our investigation.”

At that moment, the maid entered with a large coffee tray, which she set on the table in front of us. Kirby thanked her and she left, and then we all busied ourselves with fixing coffee. I had mine black, with a small slice of coffee cake on the side. I was smarting from their harsh words, and I was grateful for the distraction as I considered a new approach.

“So who killed Eddie Ray Higgins?” I asked finally.

“We’re not sure,” Hank replied. “But we do know he found out about the smuggling, and he was trying to blackmail Russell.”

“Did Russell kill him?”

“Perhaps, but we can’t prove it. That’s not what we’re after here, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re on an INS investigation,” Litman said. “Illegal immigration. As far as we can tell, the murder had nothing to do with the smuggling.”

“Nothing to do with it?” I cried. “Eddie Ray was blackmailing snakeheads—and then he ended up dead? Of course it had something to do with it!”

“Perhaps. But, again, unless some sort of direct evidence shows up linking the two, his death is not our concern.”

“Not your concern!” I repeated.

“Trust me, Callie,” Hank said, “we would love to find a link there. But so far there’s simply no evidence tying the murder to anyone except Shayna.”

I stood and began pacing, the coffee cake forming a solid lump in my stomach. I kept picturing Shayna, behind bars, the image of her fading as the clock ticked her chance at freedom away.

“What if I don’t back down from my investigation?” I challenged, hands on hips, my eyes locked on Agent Litman.

“Then we’ll bring you up on charges of obstruction of justice,” he replied calmly. “And, trust me, you really don’t want to go there.”

Forty

“I can’t believe they’re just going to hang Shayna out to dry!” I ranted, pacing the floor. The two agents were gone, and I was alone in the study with Kirby. Poor, tired Mr. Buchman had gone to bed the moment the agents left, but I was far too agitated to think of sleep.

“I can see their position, Callie,” Kirby said gently from his place on the couch. “What they’re doing here is a lot more important than just one dumb kid cooling her heels in jail. They’re trying to bust an entire smuggling ring.”

“I still don’t see why they think we’re at cross-purposes here,” I said. “It seems to me that each side of this investigation can only help the other.”

I plopped down on the couch next to Kirby and looked into the fire.

“They weren’t being completely honest with us anyway,” I said. “Acting vague, insinuating that one day soon this thing will come to a head.”

“So?”

“I heard it with my own ears, Kirby. Out at the island, when I was hiding on the boat behind the empty container. Shin told Russell, ‘We got one shipment left.’ That shipment’s going to be tonight. I think everything is coming to a head tonight.”

Kirby ran a hand through his hair, and then he stood and went to the fire, putting the screen to the side. He used the poker to stir up the embers, and then he carefully placed the poker back in the rack.

“Oh, no,” he said, once he turned and looked at me. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What?”

“I know where your mind is going, and you’re crazy.”

“What?” I asked again, trying to look and sound innocent.

“Callie, I don’t care how dedicated you are to learning the truth, you heard what Litman said. If you interfere, they will charge you with obstruction of justice.”

“But someone’s got to be there tonight for Shayna’s sake,” I said. “I wouldn’t get in the way. I just want to be there as an observer. To look out for her interests in all of this.”

“No,” Kirby said adamantly. “First of all, they’ve got that place too well covered. You’d be caught before you even got close. Second, it’s too dangerous. It’s bad enough what you did there already, sneaking around and stuff, but if there really is going to be a bust, then you’re talking about gunfire, tear gas—who knows what else? That’s no place for a civilian.”

I exhaled slowly, knowing he was right.

“Third,” Kirby said softly, walking to the couch and kneeling in front of me, “if you even try to sneak out there, I will personally—physically, if need be—stop you myself. I care about you, Callie. I will not let you put yourself in harm’s way.”

He reached up one hand and brushed it along my cheek.

“Then what do you suggest I do?” I asked.

“You’re a resourceful woman,” he said. “Think of something.”

He looked into my eyes, concern for me evident on his face.

“There are proper channels for this sort of thing,” he said softly. “Don’t you know anyone in the government? Don’t you have any contacts who might be able to work this from another angle?”

I looked back at him and took a deep breath, trying to think.

“Tom!” I said finally, my face breaking into a smile. “Of course.”

“Tom?” Kirby asked, rocking back on his heels. “Your boss?”

“Yes”

“He works for the government? I thought you said he was in computers.”

“He is. He doesn’t work for the government, but he’s got lots and lots of connections. I’m fairly certain his business dealings with the government go to pretty high levels. If anybody can make this happen, he can.”

Suddenly, I wanted nothing so much as to go home, call Tom, and set things in motion. I looked at my watch and realized that the sun would be up soon. I could leave a message on Tom’s voice mail now, and he could get back to me later in the morning, as soon as he had a chance. In the meantime, I would try to get a little sleep. Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, Kirby, but I’ve got to go,” I said, my mind already two steps ahead. Without waiting for his reply, I jumped up and gathered my clothes.

“Let’s go, Sal,” I said, feeling vaguely insulted when it looked as if she would rather stay there in front of the fireplace with Kirby than come on home with me.

“Come back for breakfast,” Kirby said as I shooed Sal out the front door to the driveway, where Litman had left my car.

“I’ll be sleeping.”

“A late lunch, then,” he replied. “Say, one-thirty?”

“Sure,” I agreed, holding the car door open for Sal and then climbing in myself. Right now, I just wanted to make my call and get to bed. I would’ve agreed to anything, I think, just to get out of there and go home.

Forty-One

I awoke at noon with a pounding headache and stiff, achy shoulders. I was a little surprised Tom hadn’t yet returned my call.
I snuggled under the covers and just played with Sal for a few minutes, wondering if the world would spin to a halt if I spent the entire day in bed.
Soon,
I told myself,
soon.
For now, there were still miles to go before I could sleep.

Finally, I got up, threw some water on my face, and then checked my messages. There was nothing from Tom, though I did have a disturbing call from Gordo Koski, the PI in Akron who was investigating CNA.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten me into,” his message said, “but there’s been a tail on me all afternoon. We’re hitting some nerves here, girlie.”

I picked up the phone and dialed his cell phone number, glad when he picked up on the first ring.

“You still have a tail?” I asked.

“I shook him a few minutes ago,” he replied. “But I’m sure it’ll pick up again once I go back to the office.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I asked somebody the wrong question, I guess.”

I felt bad, especially since Gordo was just doing me a favor. The case I had worked for him last year had never put me in any personal danger.

“Tell me what you’ve learned,” I said.

“Plenty,” he replied. “Miss Burnham might be working for a nonprofit, but she’s got some profit coming in from somewhere.”

“Go on,” I said, echoing Gordo’s favorite phrase.

“The lady has a taste for gold,” he said. “Not to mention diamonds and pearls and anything else that sparkles as it appreciates in value.”

“How do you know?”

“I got lucky. I was doing a drive-by of her house—very modest, by the way—when she got in her car, also modest, and headed off toward town. On a hunch, I followed her. She went to a jewelry store and made a layaway payment on a pearl necklace. I was right there in the store. I saw her hand over several thou
in cash
.”

“Maybe she’s been saving for a long time,” I said.

“Nah. Once she left I flashed the sales guy my fake police badge, and he told me she was one of their best customers. Always buys the big-ticket items, always pays in cash over time. Rubies, emeralds, you name it. Been coming there for a couple years.”

“Sounds like she’s doing some laundry to me.”

“Some folks swear by gold and jewels,” he replied. “And if you have to wash your dough, it sure beats real estate, because jewelers are willing to take cash.”

My stomach grumbled. I reached absently into the fridge and pulled out a stick of celery, which I rinsed under the faucet.

“What else have you got?” I asked.

“I sent you the data you were looking for. The breakdown of both income and expenses at CNA, divided out by division.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. How did you get that information?”

“You don’t really want to know. Suffice it to say, it should be waiting for you in your e-mail inbox.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “That’ll help so much.”

“Well, there’s more,” he said. “Names. I got a list of names for ya.”

I bit into the celery, trying not to crunch over the phone.

“Names?”

“Of companies. I haven’t found any donor brokers connected with CNA, but I did manage to get a list of the companies that donated money last year. The ‘sponsoring businesses,’ I think you called them.”

“How’d you do that? Nonprofits are allowed to keep the names of their donors private. They don’t have to supply that information anywhere.”

“Anywhere except to the IRS.”

I took another bite of celery and shook my head.

“Ah, Gordo, your endless resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, when I take this lovely IRS agent out for the steak dinner I promised her, I’ll send you the bill.”

“Oh, great. I don’t mind buying you a steak dinner, but don’t ask me to be a party to your questionable methods of investigation.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, here you go, the good conscience of the PI world.”

“Come on, Gordo,” I said. “If you’re crossing the line on my behalf, I don’t want to know about it.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Do you want these names or not?”

I waited while he dug out the list of businesses that his IRS contact had supplied. Then he read them off to me and I jotted them down, one by one. Smith Consulting. Freemont Ironworks. Townsend Financial. Nothing struck any chords until he got near the end.

That’s when he listed Manno Seafood.

“Did you say Manno?” I asked, heart pounding. “M-a-n-n-o? Here in Maryland?”

“Yeah. Why? That ring a bell?”

I sat down heavily, my head spinning.

“Say that again,” I told him. “Manno Seafood donates money to CNA for the support of nonprofits?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t say how much or how often, but they’re on the list of donors. I take it that’s significant to you in some way?”

My stomach lurched at the thought of the danger I had put Gordo in by involving him in this investigation.

“Gordo,” I said firmly, “I don’t want you to do any more work on this. I’m sorry, but I got you in way over your head.”

“Why? What is it?”

I hesitated, wondering what to tell him. I didn’t want to violate the confidences that had been shared by agents Litman and Quinn; on the other hand, Gordo needed to know the kind of danger he was now in.