Corridor Man (24 page)

Chapter Seventy-Four

Bobby glanced at his
watch a half dozen times as the elevator carried him up to the fourth floor. He unlocked the door to his unit, closed it behind him and turned the deadbolt lock. He hurried into the kitchen and pulled the window shade. He opened a cabinet door beneath the granite-topped island and pulled out Christine’s purse, dumped the contents out across the black granite counter and wondered
‘What the hell had he been thinking?’

He pushed her phone, a quarter and two dimes off to the side, grabbed a white plastic garbage bag and shoveled two tubes of mascara, lipsticks, a blusher compact, Tampax, eyeliner, nail polish, a broken nail file, car keys, children’s photos, two condoms and half a Milky Way candy bar into the trash bag.

He rifled through her pocketbook, her driver’s license was there along with a half dozen photos of two little boys and another photo that looked like her husband Daryl from about ten years ago. Bobby didn’t see any credit cards and there wasn’t a hint of the two hundred dollars he’d handed her that afternoon.

He turned his attention to her phone and scrolled through her text messages, there were close to a dozen. The ones from Daryl read: “Didn’t hear you leave…” “Running late?” “Where are you?” “Are you all right?” “I’m worried?” “You’re scaring the boys!!!” and finally “Fuck You”. They began a little after five on Friday morning and stopped shortly after midnight Saturday morning.

There were two other messages, both from Prez. The first one came early Friday morning, “Don’t forget the raincoat” it said. The time made sense but the message didn’t and Bobby tossed it back and forth in his mind for a minute before he gave up.

The second contact from Prez was a text message and read, “Party corner of Charles and St. Alban’s 5:30, treat for you!” It had been sent late on Friday afternoon, after Christine had met Bobby and before Bobby’s disastrous meeting with Prez.

Bobby thought back to that meeting. Someone had been in Prez’s car honking the horn. He figured it had been a woman, he just never dreamed it might have been Christine. Then Prez’s parting words drifted back, “Bobby, you think I just been sitting around like some stupid street punk you can screw whenever you feel like it. Fuck you, man, I got my own sources.”

He hadn’t stop thinking about it two hours later. He’d taken the trash bag with the makeup and the debris from Christine’s purse and tossed them in a dumpster behind the grocery store. Then he left the empty purse in a city receptacle for trash on a busy street corner.

Just now he was driving across the Ford Bridge, running over the Mississippi river between Minneapolis and St. Paul. The passenger window was down and at just about the point where he reached the middle of the bridge he slowed and tossed Christine’s phone out the window. It sailed over the concrete rail and down into the Mississippi below.

He drove on past the vacant industrial acres where the hundred-year-old Ford assembly plant once stood, then continued up the Ford Parkway hill and pulled into a retail area. He parked, climbed out of the Mercedes and walked over to a grated storm sewer. He stood over the sewer holding the small green SIM card from Christine’s phone between his thumb and forefinger. He centered his aim, then dropped the SIM card, watching as it bounced off the top of the storm sewer, fell through one of the gaps in the steel grate and disappeared from view.

Just on the off-chance, he drove past his old apartment. It looked like the kitchen light was on and shining out the window. He stared but kept driving, positive he hadn’t left a light on. It could mean only one thing, Prez. He checked his rear view mirror, but didn’t see Prez’s vehicle. He drove around the block, past the front of the building and couldn’t spot anything that suggested Prez was around.

He drove home, pulled into the underground parking and looked around carefully before he climbed out of the car, then he hurried onto the elevator and up to the fourth floor.

Chapter Seventy-Five

Bobby was deeply immersed
in more of Morris Montcreff’s files when his office phone rang.

“This is Bobby,” he answered.

“Bobby, this is Daryl Woodley.”

Alarm bells immediately sounded in Bobby’s head.

“Daryl, how are things?”

“Question for you,” Daryl said ignoring Bobby’s question. “Do you know anyone in Arizona or maybe New Mexico?”

“Arizona or New Mexico,” Bobby repeated cautiously. “No, can’t say that I do.”

“Ever been down there? Maybe a little week-long vacation or something just to get the frost out of your feet in winter.”

“Not a bad idea, but no I’ve never been able to do that. I guess I never had much of an inclination.” Bobby took a chance. “What’s this about Daryl? You got a condo down there?”

“I wish. No, nothing like that. I got a notification someone tried to make a couple of purchases, get a cash advance using our VISA card down there. I’m guessing whoever ran off with Christine’s purse got the cards.”

“And you’re thinking I did that?” Bobby conjured up a fairly strong indignant tone.

“That might be a bit strong, I just wondered is all.”

“A couple of things, Daryl. First, anything like that was most likely done online, probably no more than a mile or two from where one of us is sitting. Second, do you really think I’m the sort of individual who would do that? Let alone try and pull that stunt within a week of finding your wife on the street? Give me a break,” he said piling on more of the indignant tone.

“Just had to check, I don’t know, thought maybe you might have run into someone like that when you were vacationing up in Duluth,” he said and let that hang there.

Bobby felt his heart skip a beat and decided to go for broke.

“Yeah, that’s right, Daryl. I did four-plus years of a seven-year sentence because I mishandled a trust fund. I’ve paid my debt, I’m working, I’m trying to put my life back together. You know, like your wife Christine. Only I didn’t have someone hand me a blank check when I got out and tell me they would cover any expenses.”

“Damn it, my wife was assaulted…”

“Please don’t take offense, Daryl, or actually do, I don’t give a flying fuck. I found your wife on the street. I didn’t know she was a druggy. I thought she might be mentally handicapped. I did think someone had probably assaulted her and from what I could tell she was in need of medical attention so I took her to the nearest hospital and yes, I offered to pay the bill. Maybe next time I’ll know better. Anything else?”

“Look Bobby, I’m sorry if I offended you. It’s just, well, you have to admit it’s a little strange. Christine working for the County and all.”

“Offended me? Oh, no Daryl, you didn’t just offend me. You really pissed me off. You insulted me. I’m still not sorry I stopped to assist someone, in this instance your wife, who was in desperate need of help. Obviously that physical assault is the least of her problems and I wish both of you well on that score. Beyond that, I don’t think we have much to discuss. Was there anything else?”

“Bobby, I have to ask…”

“Daryl, I had better get back to work.” Bobby said and hung up. He waited for fifteen minutes to see if Daryl Woodley phoned back. Thankfully he didn’t. Bobby took out his cell and phoned Prez, he ended up leaving a message.

“Prez, call me. You’ve got a potential problem.”

He phoned again at the end of his work day and left the same message. His phone rang just as he was about to climb into bed.

“You plan on coming home tonight?”

“Prez, thanks for finding the time to fit me in.”

“You coming home?”

Bobby ignored the question. “You have a potential problem.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“It’s more of a who, actually. Christine Woodley.”

“Talk about crazy,” Prez half laughed.

“Yeah well, I hope it was worth it. She’s back in rehab.”

“How do you know that?”

“Her husband, who happens to be a cop by the way, a detective, told me. They’re looking for whoever kicked the shit out of her. Pretty safe guess they aren’t going to stop until they find the guy.”

“That wasn’t me who did that. She just got a little greedy is all and pissed someone off.”

“You dumb shit. You put her in the hospital.”

“I already told you it wasn’t me.”

“Where’s her car?”

“She traded it.”

“What?”

“You listening, she traded it, for crack and some meth. No one forced her.”

“You’re at my apartment, aren’t you?” He visualized Prez sitting in a chair tilted back staring out the window at nothing. He waited, but no reply seemed to be forthcoming.

“Prez, get the urn with your mother’s ashes out of there. Then get hold of whoever has that car and tell them to get rid of it. The police are looking for it, the thing belongs to a goddamned detective’s wife.”

“When you coming home?”

“Right now I think it would be a good idea for both of us if we didn’t see one another.”

Prez let loose with a long exhale into his phone. “Suit yourself, high and mighty,” he said, then hung up.

It only took Bobby a minute to come up with a plan.

Chapter Seventy-Six

“Mr. Custer,” Morris Montcreff
said into his phone and waited.

“Yes, sir,” Bobby responded. He set down the file he’d been reviewing and took a deep breath.

“Well?”

“I think it’s a discussion we should have in person, sir. Nothing concerning your contractual obligations by the way or anything I’ve come across thus far reviewing your files.”

“Oh?” Montcreff sounded halfway interested.

“Yes, sir.”

Morris Montcreff exhaled into the phone. It reminded Bobby of Prez doing the same thing the night before. “Okay, I can give you fifteen minutes. You know the Starbucks…” Montcreff proceeded to give Bobby directions to a particular location where they would meet at five o’clock, then promptly hung up without waiting for a reply.

Bobby was at Starbucks ten minutes early and went in to order a coffee. He was reading the menu posted up high on the wall when someone tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Mr. Montcreff will see you outside.”

Morris Montcreff was waiting in the parking lot. He was sitting in the back seat of a black limo with two formidable-looking body guards. While the man who tapped Bobby on the shoulder searched him for a weapon the guy in the passenger seat climbed out of the car and waited politely. He opened the rear door for Bobby once the pat down had been completed.

“No, I’m not interested in doing that,” Montcreff was saying into his phone and nodded as Bobby climbed in.

The air conditioning was a welcome sensation after standing out in the heat and humidity while some guy with a hook nose rubbed his hands between Bobby’s legs looking for a gun. Bobby recognized the driver as the same one who had driven the Humvee when he first met Morris Montcreff. The man sat behind the wheel and stared straight ahead.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” Montcreff said sounding like he didn’t mean a word of it, then disconnected his cell and turned toward Bobby.

“Sorry about that, afraid you’ve only got twelve minutes now,” he said without smiling.

“Not a problem sir, there’s something that came to my attention. I just thought you should be aware of it. Not sure it’s going to be a problem, but I don’t want to have either one of us surprised.”

“And this concerns what, exactly.”

“Two brothers named Dubuque and Mobile,” Bobby said, then counted to three giving the names a chance to have an effect.

Montcreff’s facial expression didn’t give anything away so Bobby gulped and forged ahead.

“When we were first introduced I mentioned that I had met and become acquainted with Prez Clarken through the death of his mother, Kate Clarken. I think I indicated my suspicion that he may have been involved in their demise. I…”

“May have been involved? No, you told me he killed them because they killed his mother,” Montcreff interrupted.

Bobby nodded and felt the sweat beginning to run down his back. “Here’s the thing, I filed some paperwork for Prez Clarken.” Montcreff suddenly focused more intently. “Nothing really complicated, just a power of attorney and a couple of other documents actually. I thought if I could help the guy out, I could gradually distance myself. Anyway, I needed a little help from a contact I had at the County, I put her in touch with Prez. One thing led to another, apparently he caused her to relapse, she’s back on drugs, crack cocaine. She was assaulted, ended up in the hospital and now I guess she’s back in rehab.”

“I don’t see how any of this has anything to do with me.”

“I’m not sure it does, sir. Unfortunately it turns out her husband is a cop, a detective actually. Guy named Daryl Woodley. He came to see me at my office yesterday. He didn’t have Prez’s name, I didn’t give it to him. But just looking down the road. If he get’s Prez, maybe puts some pressure on him, Prez mentions Dubuque and Mobile and possibly you by association, maybe just to save his own skin. Well, you can see how things could get out of hand rather quickly.”

“How did this cop end up on your doorstep?”

“She works or worked, at County. Like I said, I had filed some paperwork for Prez. I’m not sure if she mentioned me to her husband or they just went through a list of people she may have been in contact with through the course of County business. What worries me is if his wife did mention me, she may have mentioned this Prez character. After all he’s the one who supplied her with the drugs. If the police get to Prez and lean on him maybe he gives up Dubuque and Mobile….”

“They aren’t going to say anything,” Montcreff snorted.

“Yeah I know, but if he ties it into his friend Arundel getting his throat slit. His mother being shot…you see? It’s two and possibly four unsolved cases cleared up.” Then Bobby hastily added, “I’m sure you didn’t have anything to do with either situation but, well, do you need the police poking around?”

“You think he’d be that stupid, this Prez idiot?”

“I think I don’t know what he’d do under the circumstances. I do know there’s a cop, in fact a detective, with a wife who was assaulted. She was most likely raped after Prez got her back on the drugs. I think it’s fair to assume that detective could put a lot of pressure on a guy like Prez and then who knows? I’m just thinking forewarned is forearmed,” Bobby said, then hoped Montcreff didn’t give the nod to have
him
taken out and shot.