Taking Stock (45 page)

“We won’t know until we talk to her.”

“There’s much more to this than ten million dollars. Someone planted the money like they planted the gun.”

“Ludicrous! Who’d give her ten million dollars
?
Certainly not me,” Marty said.

“You think Brad gave her ten million
?
Sounds extreme. I know you want to believe her. And yeah, it’s easy to believe this is Brad’s fault. He’s a gruff character. Unfortunately, the facts say otherwise,” Herman said.

“Only your facts,” she blurted. In the open air the words had more stinging realism that she expected. The gun was found in the office with Herman in the room. The financial review was Herman’s doing. He was pushing
Eric
a’s guilt on Sarah and it seemed everything he touched pointed to
Eric
a. Sarah couldn’t believe Herman was involved, but his objectivity was doubtful. She imagined Brad and Herman were friends since they were both V.P.s. They’d stick up for each other no matter what.

Herman went silent.

Marty looked like John Kerry trying to decide which side of this issue he should jump to.

Herman didn’t wait to find out. He walked toward Sarah. She expected him to break into a fit of rage, but he stood back and crossed his arms.

He began in a gentler tone than she expected. “You need to figure out whose team you’re on. We’re trying to bring this thing to a close and we could use your help. I don’t know what she said to you, but shake it off. You need to wake up and take an objective look at the facts.”

Exactly what she thought he needed to do.

The lack of emotion in his voice was scary. He desperately wanted
Eric
a in the office. He wanted to scream, maybe even grab her by the throat, but he managed a calm, even voice that betrayed none of what he was feeling. She was more afraid of him now than when she came in. The bald-headed chameleon disguised his thoughts and emotions better than she thought possible. He was playing a game, justice was secondary. She couldn’t imagine what he’d do to
Eric
a if he got his hands on her.

 She took a deep breath and addressed Marty. “I think it’s time to call for help. We need someone who has the authority to track the money that left here and find out where it ended up. I can’t believe
Eric
a would do this, just like Herman can’t believe Brad would do it. I think we need to let the money – all of the money – connect the dots.”

Silence.

Neither man looked at the other, nor made the slightest of movements.

“Ok, Sarah,” Marty said after a long pause.

Herman gasped, incensed at being overruled again.

“We’ll get you the help you want. I’ll make the call myself if that will make you feel better, but I want you to talk to
Eric
a and see what you can do about getting her in here. Agreed
?
”

Sarah nodded, unsure how she’d deliver on her end of the deal or even if she’d try.

“I’m counting on both of you to keep this thing from exploding in my face. It this gets out in the wrong light, it will be catastrophic for BFS. This may be just a job to the two of you, but this company has been in my family for over a hundred years. You can’t imagine how important this is to me. I want to get it right no matter how many people we have to drag in here.”

The afternoon traffic was light south of
Providence
and soon the car circled along the exit ramp and sped down the access road to the airport. Russell picked up the phone and dialed. “We’re almost there,” he said without a greeting.

Brad strained to hear Herman’s voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the instructions he gave Russell. The car slowed and made a hard right turn into the long term parking area, passing the shuttle bus as they entered. It was a vast lot, open to the elements with a massive grid of cars stretching away from them in every direction.

“Why here
?
”

“Ask the boss.”

This would be their final meeting. Herman had changed Brad’s life forever. After skipping bail he could never return to his family or his country, but he had the wealth to retire happily in seclusion as long as he lived. He’d always thought he’d want to kill Herman at this stage, but right now he’d be satisfied to board the hop to LaGuardia and fly off to
France
. The past few days had degenerated into chaos. Herman had bailed him out, but Brad had made him rich. He deserved what little help Herman gave.

The sedan followed the edge of the lot almost to the airfield. Twin jet engines blotted out all sound as a plane thrust off the runway and up into the clouds. Russell stopped the car and pointed toward the door. When Brad closed it, Herman appeared from beside a boxy white sedan.

“Thanks for–” Brad began, but was cut short.

Herman barked as he closed in on Brad. “Never call me again.”

When he got close enough, Herman poked him hard in the chest. The force backed Brad up against Russell’s car. In the stillness between takeoffs, there was no one he could yell to for help. Brad’s chest hurt from the two-fingered poke. How much damage could Herman do with his fists
?
Brad had fantasized about meeting Herman man to man, but now, standing inches from the monster, he regretted ever having the idea.

“I needed help.”

“You think I didn’t know that
?
” Herman moved closer until Brad held his breath, expecting a fist to the ribs.

Herman watched intensely. “You couldn’t handle that little bimbo.”

Brad didn’t know where to look. “She was working with the cops.”

“After you let her get away.”

Herman was right. Brad had screwed up and nothing could change that.

“You need to disappear. There’s a passport and some cash in the trunk.” Herman stepped back and popped the trunk of the white car, never taking his eyes off Brad. “Don’t show up in the states again. Got it
?
”

Brad nodded, breathless, hoping the confrontation was finished.

Herman gestured in the trunk and Brad recognized his own brown leather bag deep inside. Russell had indeed handed over his real passport. Brad circled Herman cautiously. The bag was freedom if Herman hadn’t seen the contents. He stretched into the trunk for the bag, knees touching the bumper. He clutched the handle and pulled it toward him.

Crack.

A hole appeared in the trunk’s carpet and a rattle whizzed and clinked through the undercarriage. The ragged hole in the carpet stupefied him. Fire burned in his chest. He clutched instinctively and felt warm blood pour through his shirt and cover his hand. He coughed violently as the sticky fluid pooled in his lungs.

Crack.

The second shot struck bone in his ribcage, thrusting him, chest first, into the trunk and slamming his head into the lid. He collapsed inside and the pain was no more.

“Slow up,” Sarah said when Stan pulled a few feet ahead.

Rushing down
Milk Street
to meet McKenna, Stan was possessed by the challenge to solve this case. The relaxed happy-go-lucky dreamer was getting things done. He’d set up the sting in the park. Now his friends from the Boston PD were searching Brad’s apartment and nothing could keep him away. It would have taken Sarah a week to organize the search. Even her gait was holding him back. She knew now why female officers didn’t wear two-inch heels in the field.

Stan crossed
Federal Street
against the light and turned around on the opposite curb, frustrated that she hadn’t crossed behind him. He waited for several cars to pass and the light to change. Chivalry was winning out over eagerness, but just barely. They hurried up
Devonshire
together and turned into the bland ten-story block of concrete where Brad lived. When the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor they were met by a large uniformed officer outside the door to Brad’s apartment.

“Sorry folks, official police business. You can’t go inside.”

Stan’s chest puffed out involuntarily. “I’m Stan Nye. Sergeant McKenna called me over.”

The officer left them standing in the hall and disappeared inside so quickly they couldn’t see past the door. McKenna must have been nearby. He popped into the hall almost immediately and shook Stan’s hand. “Some case you threw me.”

“What are buddies for
?
”

“Was this guy into anything else
?
Drugs maybe
?
” McKenna looked nervous. Strange. He’d been a
Boston
cop for years if he’d been in the academy with Stan. This white collar stuff shouldn’t spook him.

“Doubt it. What’s going on
?
” Stan asked.

“I’ll give you a look,” he said, pulling two pairs of rubber gloves from his pocket. “Put these on first.”

Stan took them without hesitation.

Sarah turned up her nose.

McKenna was adamant about the gloves. He was stretching the rules having civilians on scene, especially civilians with a connection to the crime. The internal audit roles meant nothing to McKenna or his superiors. If not for Stan’s relationship, they’d be suspects like everyone else at BFS.

He urged them not to touch anything and risk rubbing out a print.

They agreed, pulled on the tight-fitting gloves and McKenna led them inside. Nothing in the room had been left undisturbed. The couch had been sliced end to end, every cushion ruined, stuffing spilled all around. The coat closet was completely empty, its contents unceremoniously dumped in the corner behind the door. Stray items from coat pockets had been tossed in a pile a few feet away.

McKenna followed a winding trail through the debris and into the kitchen where every cabinet had been emptied. Cereal, crackers, uncooked pasta and sugar had been dumped on the floor, empty containers tossed aside. The refrigerator had been tipped over, its panels pried loose to prove there was nothing hidden in the insulation.

“What are you going to tell him when he comes back
?
” Sarah asked, stunned the police could do this sort of damage searching someone’s home.

McKenna laughed out loud. “We didn’t do this. I’d be docked ten years to pay for this. The place was trashed when we got here.”

Whoever tore this apartment to pieces had a secret he was desperate to keep.
Eric
a had guessed they’d stolen two hundred million, enough motivation to rip the place apart and plenty of money to pay to have it done.  

McKenna nodded toward the door. “It was picked, not forced.”

“Did you find anything
?
”

“A huge pile of everyday junk,” McKenna grunted.

The bedroom had received more severe treatment than the other rooms. The carpet had been sliced and pulled back on each side of the bed, clothes everywhere. Two phone cords dangled near the bed. One from the wall and one from the phone, but they were both male. They couldn’t have been connected to each other. Something had been there.