Flash Flood (10 page)

“Who hired her?” Dan was curious.

“The sheriff.”

“We're betting with Mr. Eklund's money and endorsement,” Tom chimed in.

“Are you sure?”

“Prisons are funny places. People hear things all the time. Sometimes the information's worthwhile,” Roger said.

“Seems like Miss Lott was sent to provide a little entertainment for Mr. Linden while certain people looked the other way,” Tom offered.

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“Miss Lott was encouraged to engage Mr. Linden in sexual acts.”

“While in prison?” Dan felt a twinge of sympathy for Elaine. The husband was a real winner.

“Yes. A guard was bribed to make such encounters easy. They all took place in the two months before he was released.”

“All to set up Mr. Linden once he got out? Set him up to be killed?”

“It would appear so.”

“Do you know whether he was killed because of the two million not being where it was supposed to be, or because of what he knew in general?”

“Both, maybe. We'd been keeping an eye on our friend Mr. Linden, given him ample chances to share what he knew. When we found the two million missing, we thought we'd have some leverage, but someone beat us to it.”

“What makes you think this Eric Linden knew something?”

“He used to do some part-time work for Mr. Eklund. Maybe once, twice a year fly livestock to South America, sometimes Canada. If not the whole bull, then semen from some prizewinner. We don't think it was an accident that Eric pulled time in a posh white-collar crime prison just two hours from Mr. Eklund's ranch. Somebody needed to keep an eye on him.”

Dan was thinking fast. Billy Roland had pretended not to know Eric Linden. When Dan had found the manila envelope beside the Caddy after the flood, Billy Roland had insinuated that he was just some drifter Andrea had given a ride. Why the lie?

“What's the FBI's interest now?” Dan knew they'd get around to it, but all this talk about Eric Linden and the two million was giving him a headache. It made Billy Roland out a liar, and it didn't make Elaine look like an innocent bystander, either. But, somewhere inside, even though he knew the consequences, he couldn't help wanting to protect her.

“Three months ago, there was a drug bust in Dallas, a big one, seemed like a new pipeline had opened up, a connection to South America that was capable of flooding the streets of major cities across several states. A flight plan was found that indicated the private air strip on Mr. Eklund's land had been used for refueling.”

“Have you questioned Mr. Eklund?”

“Doesn't deny the refueling. Says his people told him it was a handful of good ol' boys who strayed off course flying to a turkey shoot, said they stayed around long enough to toss back a few cool ones, then took off.”

“For a minute you sounded just like him,” Dan offered, but neither agent cracked a smile. “I guess I still don't see what this has to do with me.”

Roger swung a leg over a high-backed oak chair, straddling it and looking Dan in the eye.

“Frankly, we like the position you're in. You've got access to the Double Horseshoe and the books. As a matter of routine, you'll be running an inventory of stock. You'll be privy to what goes on out there.”

Tom leaned forward. “And, there's that little matter of Eric Linden's wife. We like your position there, too.”

Dan bit his tongue. God damned spies. Agency, my ass, they're just glorified spies. He didn't say anything. Let them make the next move.

“The proposition is this….” Roger had pulled papers from his briefcase.

Dan tuned out. He knew what was coming and knew that he wouldn't have the opportunity, the luxury, of turning them down.

He'd be working for the federal government and United L & C. But he knew right now which one took precedence.

“So, wine and dine Ms. Linden, you'll be on an expense account, wear a wire whenever possible, and check in at least once a week. We have a suggested itinerary.” Roger passed Dan a manila envelope. “Look this over, then destroy.”

No one wasted time with handshakes. The deal stunk. Dan was caught and they knew it.

***

Another morning and he hadn't called. Elaine had stopped crying just as the sun broke through the tangle of russian olive branches outside her bedroom window. Stopped crying and resolved to get tough. How could she have let someone get so close so quickly? Could she be that desperate? She splashed her face with water and walked out into the patio. The peach blush of dawn spread across the horizon. It was calming.

She fixed bagels and cream cheese, a pot of coffee, and sat at the patio table and contemplated the sabbatical. She needed to make a decision, but her thoughts kept straying to the evening with Dan. Maybe, he'd call. No, she'd seen the look on his face. He wasn't going to be eager to get involved with some ex-con's wife…almost former wife. Damn Eric. Would she ever get away from him?

What if she called Dan? Carolyn had said he'd gotten an apartment, sort of hinted that it was for privacy reasons. But what would she say? What was there to say? The roll in the hay was dynamite, sorry my old man was a felon?

This was the first time in forever that she'd been alone. Matthew was in Boston; she might not see him until Christmas. She had a year ahead of her all to herself. Could it get any better than this? But she knew the answer. Two weeks ago she would have said an unequivocal no, but now….

The flowers arrived about noon, at the house, an eye-boggling arrangement of orchids all in white. Sprays of Phalenopsis, Cattleyas, Dendrobiums, truly a conscience-provoked peace offering. The note read simply, “I'll call tonight.” Six more hours but Elaine couldn't stop smiling.

Chapter Four

At eight o'clock on Friday morning, a grease-stained sack of Spud-nuts sat in the middle of the front seat of Roger Jenkins' plain vanilla, not to be conspicuous, car that blended with the eight to ten other cars parked in front of the Circle K convenience store. Great place to people-watch, if Roger just wanted to kill some time. Which wasn't a bad idea.

He needed a little time to collect his thoughts, run some ideas past his partner. He watched as two cops pulled beside him and gave him the once over. Small potatoes, graduates of some po-dunk academy out here in nowhere. He'd even match 'em firepower, what he had in the trunk versus what they had. The cop who got out of the passenger side paused, rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, then walked on in the store.

Just a kid. Graffiti detail was probably the toughest duty he'd pulled. Roger watched a woman stop next to the gas pumps directly in back of him. She was having trouble getting her gas cap off. Roger was just about to offer his services when the two cops came out carrying cups of coffee. The young one seemed to know the woman and went to her rescue. In small towns these one-on-every-corner stores were magnets for human interaction.

Roger absently glanced at his watch. What could be taking Tom so long? He was going to take a dump, get two cups of coffee and a newspaper. Maybe the johns were busy. Being on the road was the pits. His own constitution was never the same. You didn't eat right, sleep right, it was irritating but maybe it'd be over soon. Either that Mahoney guy would come up with something quick or they'd pull out, chalk the Linden death up to tough luck and try another avenue. Still, the evidence implicated Billy Roland, the use of the air strip and all.

He'd worn a short-sleeved shirt, sans tie, and had parked his jacket in the back seat. Sweat still covered his face and neck with a fine, itchy mist. He envied indoor, air-conditioned work. And he envied the guys who drew the big jobs, a shakedown in L.A., or Seattle. Now there was one neat city. Water, cool weather, mountains close by. He wasn't going to waste time trying to think what amenities Roswell, New Mexico had. He didn't want to strain his brain.

Roger played with the folders in front of him balanced against the steering wheel and compulsively lined them up then fanned them out before he pulled them together to begin again. They were disappointingly thin.

“So, what do you think?” Tom Atborrough opened the car door and slipped into the front seat. He carried a large plastic covered cup with the Circle K insignia on the side and started to hand Roger an identical cup. Roger waved him away.

“You solved the world's problems yet?” Tom was busy emptying sugar and two creamers into his coffee.

Roger hated Tom's attempts at humor but aside from that he wasn't bad to travel with. “Any minute now.”

“Are we lucky to have this Dan Mahoney on the inside or is he just one more idiot to watch?” Tom had stopped fiddling with his coffee.

“Nice guy. Probably won't know what hit him if this thing breaks the way I think it will.”

“So he is a plant?”

“Yeah, you could say that. But I'm not sure why. His boss says Billy R. asked for him. Made it real plain that he was the man, no substitutes allowed. Asked him not to mention it.”

“You sure the old man isn't just concerned about his cows?”

“How long you been in this business? That's chicken feed. A few hundred thou doesn't measure up to the millions to be had on the street.”

“Okay, okay. Think Dan's going to be a team player?”

“Yeah, until all this hits too close to home. But he's the best we got.” Roger squirmed away from under the wheel and propped a knee on the seat. “I just hope he's not in it in some way with the Linden woman.”

“So we watch him. We're doing that already.”

“I think the question is what are we looking for?” Roger reconsidered the coffee and leaned over to pick the cup up off the glove compartment tray.

“With Linden out of the picture, we don't have anyone to squeeze.”

“What about his wife?”

“I still don't know that she knows anything. We got a tap on her phone and bugs in the house. So far, she's clean. Two more weeks and we pull out.”

“Hey, the sex was just getting good.”

Roger chose to ignore the invasion of privacy part of his work and let Tom's remark slide. “With her husband out of the picture…still, seven years ago I thought she knew more than she was saying, had some ideas about who suckered her husband into the drug deal.”

Roger shifted back to rest his forearms on the steering wheel. “Jeez, I gain weight just looking at these things.” He opened the car door and tossed the bag of doughnuts into a trash bin in front of the car.

“Wasn't there a chocolate one left?”

“Be my guest.” Roger watched Tom fish the sack out of the garbage and shake a few coffee grounds off the sides.

***

Dan had picked up groceries, lunch meat, cheese, quart of milk, and run home for lunch. The light on his answering machine was blinking. He halfheartedly hoped it was Elaine. Calling to say thank you for the flowers. Would he have gotten in touch if it wasn't part of the assignment? He didn't know. But he thought he might have. He pressed the play button. He was just putting the grocery sack on the counter when the message stopped him.

“Hear you sold out to the big boys. Dangerous game. I didn't find any firearms in your apartment; maybe you better get weapon. Wouldn't want you to try to save my life with nothing to back it up.” Maniacal laughter then, the click of the receiver. That was it. He played it again. The informant. He was vaguely ticked that the man had the audacity to let himself in and poke around the apartment.

But the advice was probably sound. Dan needed a gun. It wasn't standard issue for work in insurance fraud, but his new business arrangement put a different spin on things. He wondered if the expense account would cover it. He popped out the tape and slipped it in a drawer. At least the informant seemed to be a secret from the FBI. Wonder how they'd missed that one? Unless it was someone from the Bureau, protected by them, set up to use him because Dan had access…. He sighed. Just one more reason that retirement looked good.

The bulk of the gun felt odd. A bulge at the waist that he didn't need. But he had put a hundred rounds through it at the range that afternoon and the .38 was beginning to feel “like an extension of his arm” if he could quote the instructor, some yesterday Marine who probably led NRA sit-ins at the Capitol. Then there were the two new jackets, cut fuller to conceal the weapon, and some shirts, which led to matching socks and a tie. God, buying a gun could change your life. Not to mention…but he wasn't going to think about Elaine. It was business now. Cut and dried. But he was finding he had to keep reminding himself of that.

Carolyn called. Her choice of topic for the day, after she caught him up to date on Jason the wonder child, was the ominous decision of a nursing home future for their mother.

“I was out there last week. She simply can't live alone much longer.”

Dan chose not to answer. He'd visited Mom at Easter and had felt he'd interrupted her bridge routine. Five afternoons and two evenings of assorted foursomes crowding the living room and he'd stopped worrying. She was a little fanatical, not crazy or infirm. Her apartment in Scottsdale was in a seniors-only section; her life was good.

“I don't think a nursing home would let her keep that hair color.” The bottle of dye he'd found in the bathroom cabinet had read “Flame.”

“You belittle everything. What happens to my mother isn't funny.”

Dan almost smiled. Now that their mother had become the sole property of Carolyn, she'd drop the subject for awhile.

Actually, Carolyn was being civil, invited him to dinner on Saturday. Would he like to bring Elaine? He'd think about it. Then she said that Dona Mari was back. Said she'd seen him at the polo match. An inquiry about the investigation, and she hung up, friendly, a little sisterly curiosity.

Time to call Elaine. He couldn't kid himself; he was looking forward to seeing her again, excited about seeing her, even. He'd thought drinks might be okay, go easy, no sex, just get to know one another. Keep it simple and away from the home fronts, no temptations. A hotel lobby, maybe. He'd decide later whether or not to wear the wire.

She'd answered on the second ring, excited, breathless, obviously glad he called. He had a couple fleeting mental images of her legs, then stopped himself and concentrated on the conversation. They'd meet at the Radisson at eight. He'd just have time to shower.

At first, it was simple chitchat, tentative, self-conscious small talk aimed at masking the awkwardness. The orchids were wonderful; she had never seen flowers so beautiful; he had made a perfect choice; she'd never forget them. Then, back to safer ground, was the work going okay? Would he be staying at the Double Horseshoe? Would the investigation take a long time?

He had been enjoying how the silk skirt of her shirtwaist rode above her knees, billowed actually, as the deep cushioned lounge chair enveloped her in teal leather. Then he just said it, said what he was thinking, what he needed to know. What had been bugging him since the feds had told him about Eric and the sex in prison.

“Tell me about your relationship with Eric.”

She paused as he watched her; then, she met his gaze and held it. Deciding, maybe, to duck the request unless she saw some sincerity or could measure how much of the truth he really wanted to know? He couldn't be sure, but she must have seen some validation because she smiled one of those tentative half smiles and took a deep breath. “Any particular starting point?”

“Your choice.”

It took her a moment to begin. He almost said forget it when he saw the pain. But he didn't; he waited.

“We both lost our parents when we were young. It was a link, gave us something basic in common. He was raised by an aunt. I lived with my grandmother.” She paused to shake her hair away from her face. “We met in college. I was, uh, am—I can't seem to get the tense right now that he's dead.” A nervous laugh. “I'm five years older than Eric. Not a lot of difference but I've let it bother me.”

The way she said it made Dan think of other women, younger ones she assumed were competition, ones like the Lott girl, Andrea. He must have made younger women a hobby in prison and out.

“I got pregnant right away. I was twenty-eight. It seemed okay. I was very much in love.”

“Eric wasn't?” He wanted to grab the words back. She looked thoughtful and didn't react like the question was out of place. She just took a little more time before she answered.

“I wanted to think so.”

Dan listened as she talked about Eric at Yale. A friend of his aunt pulled some strings to get him in, but he just squeaked by. A lawyer was something he wanted to be, not necessarily work hard at. And yet people liked him, were always willing to bail him out, forgive him. Was she talking about herself? Dan didn't know.

After she took a sip of her drink, she continued. Flying was his passion. There had been a succession of small planes and money lost. The aunt bankrolled some of his ventures. She had been permissive, always hoping something would take. He'd find his calling, so to speak. But nothing did really. There was a long string of “sort of” successes, but more failures.

“Was he close to Matthew?”

“When Matthew was young, but he missed out on seven formative years.”

This might be as good an opening as he would get. Dan leaned back. “Did you have any warning that Eric was into something that was illegal?”

“I should have. I still can't believe that I just tuned out. Didn't see….” She stirred her drink.

“Didn't see?” Was he pressing too hard? Was that a flicker of suspicion when she glanced up?

“His recklessness, his desperation.” Dan waited while she took a sip of her margarita. “Actually, I've always thought his friends knew more than they said.” She absently studied something on the edge of the table. “I never thought he did it on his own, worked alone. I said that he did, I corroborated his story for the investigation, but I never believed it. Eric was a follower. He wouldn't have initiated such a thing.”

“Some kind of friends.”

She just nodded and finished her drink. “I suppose it's all right talking about all this now that he's dead. Actually, it feels good.” Her smile was radiant. Dan wanted to stop right there but felt he had to ask the obvious.

“Tell me more about his friends.”

Her look was disconcerting. Suddenly, after the self-purported cleansing, she was clamming up, looked uneasy.

“I wasn't thinking when I said that about friends. I don't want you to think I'm implying….”

“I'm lost.” And he truly was. She obviously thought he knew what she was getting at.

“Well, Phillip, Billy Roland….”

“Stop a minute. Phillip?”

“Carolyn's husband. Didn't you know he and Eric were inseparable? One of those male pal things. Because our children were the same age, it became a family thing.”

Had he succeeded in keeping the shock out of his face?

Was he glad he wasn't wearing a wire? Phillip. God damn it. She had just implicated his brother-in-law.

“I've said something wrong, haven't I?”

“No, I'm just surprised.”

“I guess what I should have said was that I always thought Phillip must have known, and should have tried to talk him out of it. I know Eric would have confided in him.”

“Did you ever confront Phillip?”

Elaine was staring into her drink, absently poking a bar straw through the holes in the ice cubes. He waited.

“Not really, I guess. We talked. Things were pretty strained for awhile. With Eric in prison, I didn't see much of them. Jason and Matthew were still pals and I saw Carolyn fairly frequently, but it wasn't the same, if you know what I mean.”