Half Past Dead (30 page)

J
USTIN WAITED
,
concealed by a stand of snowball bushes growing wild along the frontage road by the casino. Laden with white blossoms the size of oranges, the bushes were taller than the squad car that Sheriff Parker once used. Justin was driving the cruiser instead of his pickup to appear as official as possible. David's source claimed that on the nights following the state inspection, a lone car, one of the fleet of black Lincoln Town Cars the
Lucky Seven
used to shuttle gamblers to and from the casino, left without any passengers. It returned less than an hour later. Just enough time to drop the money counted and sorted by the casino's electronic machines.

His cell phone rang, and he reached across the high-powered field glasses to grab it. The caller ID told him it was Kat.

“It's me. I picked up Redd and we're at David's. He's fixing lamb chops for dinner.”

Relieved, Justin replied, “Good. Stay there. Lock all the doors.”

“We already have, but we'll need to go out with Redd and Max before bed.”

“Okay, just be extra careful.”

He hung up, recalling what Kat had told him earlier about the poisoning.

Kat's own mother.

He fondly remembered the loving woman who'd raised him. His mother would have killed herself rather than let anything happen to him. Life had cursed Kat with another kind of mother.

Motive and opportunity,
he reminded himself. Loretta had been determined to make Tori a Kincaid for over thirty years. It was demented, but Loretta had a definite motive for wanting Kat out of the way.

One loose end tied up. With luck, the other loose end would be taken care of tonight. This “end” was more like taking a tiger by the tail. It depended on a string of “ifs” almost too long to count.
If
his source was reliable.
If
the Town Car was carrying the cash. Most important—
if
he could get Cloris Howard to crack.

He'd prepared as best he could, considering the short notice. He had his badge on and his gun in a regulation holster at his hip. He'd asked Nora, the only person he could trust at the station, to handle the night shift.

A black car sped by him, and Justin leaned forward, ready to trigger the siren and activate the flasher on the roof, but stopped himself. It was a Taurus, not a Town Car.

He settled back, engine idling, and watched several cars zoom by. It was a little after eight. He imagined Kat helping David clean up after the lamb chops. Was he ready for a domestic scene like that? You bet. Time to settle down with the woman he loved.

Love? Where had that come from? He'd never uttered the word out loud. He'd never considered committing himself to anyone. He'd labeled his feelings for Kat as a challenge, attraction, desire, and lust. He'd even admitted he was crazy about her.

Don't lie to yourself! You do love her.
It was true, and if he were totally honest, he'd have to admit he'd loved her for some time. When it had happened he couldn't say exactly, but after she'd been missing, he'd been so worried that he hadn't been able to sleep. When he'd finally found her, every pore in his body had been filled with pure joy. He needed to sit down with Kat and tell her how he felt so they could begin to plan a life together.

First things first. He had to clear Kat's name before they could start over. And “starting over” might mean getting out of town, because he was about to break the law. Okay, maybe not break it but sure as hell, he was going to bend it. When this was all over, he might be out on his ass looking for another job.

Shortly before eight-thirty a black Lincoln Town Car drove past. It was traveling at least five miles under the posted speed limit, a disgrace for any red-blooded man in the county, but exactly what Justin would expect for a courier who'd been instructed not to risk being stopped by the authorities. Justin hit the siren button and the accelerator at the same time. The squad car shot onto the highway, blue-and-white lights flashing, siren wailing. He was on the Town Car's bumper in two seconds.

The car slowed, and Justin saw a pale face with dark hair checking in the side mirror. The car pulled over to the dirt shoulder. Justin drove up behind him, threw the cruiser into park, switched off the siren, but left the police lights flashing. He took his time getting out and sauntered up to the car, his flashlight in one hand, his other hand resting on the butt of his holstered pistol, a citation pad dangling from his fingers.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” The flip question came with an irreverent smile from a clean-cut kid in his mid-twenties, just the type the casino would use. One of Sartiano's usual goons would have attracted unnecessary suspicion.

Justin blasted him square in the face with the high-beam flashlight. “Let's see some ID.”

The guy shied back from the intense light and reached in the back pocket of his khaki trousers, smile still in place. The punk was a cool number. Made sense. They trusted him to transport the money. This wasn't his first job for the Sartianos, but he wasn't very far up the food chain either.

“Slow and easy,” Justin told him as if he expected the kid to draw a gun.

The kid's unflinching smile now held wariness as he pulled his license out of his wallet and handed it to Justin. He trained his flashlight on the ID but didn't bother to read it. He took the opportunity to covertly check what was in the backseat. Just as David's source claimed, a gray plastic container like those used by the postal service rested on the backseat. Justin didn't spot any bundles of money, but the bin was full with what appeared to be envelopes on the top.

Aw hell! Not regular mail or something innocuous, he prayed. The ball was rolling. It was too late to back out now.

“Step out of the vehicle,” Justin told the kid.

“Now wait a minute, I—”

“You heard me. Out of the car!”

The guy leaped from the vehicle. “What's the problem? I wasn't speeding.”

Of course not, and he would have an unblemished driving record, and the Town Car's plates in the state computer would be as clean as the day it had been driven off the showroom floor.

“I clocked you at seventy-nine,” Justin fibbed. “I'm gonna need to run your license and plates.”

“No way! Your speed gun must be broken.”

Justin walked around to the back of the sedan, aimed the flashlight on the rear plate, while unclipping his cell phone from his belt and hitting speed dial.

Nora answered before the first ring was over. “Run this plate number,” he said in a voice loud enough for the kid to hear, then he began to rattle off the letters and numbers in a lower tone. Could he help it if he accidentally transposed a digit so that this car matched one reported stolen?

Mistakes happen.

“Ten-four.” He snapped shut his cell phone and stalked over to the punk kid. “Turn around. Hands on the car. I'm gonna have to frisk you.”

The kid belligerently held his ground. “Why? I wasn't speeding.”

“I say you were, dickhead. Speeding
and
driving a stolen vehicle.”

“No fucking way!” The kid stared at him with the wild eyes of someone who couldn't quite believe he was in big-time trouble.

“The state computer is never wrong. You've got one second to turn around, spread your legs, and put your hands on the car, or I'll throw in resisting arrest.”

The kid turned, muttering under his breath, and Justin frisked him. He wasn't carrying much other than some loose change and a cell phone. “Okay, you may face me now.”

The kid turned, his eyes narrow slits.

“What's in the backseat?”

“You've got no right—”

Justin smiled at him. “A stolen car means I have the right to search for weapons or stolen goods. Want to tell me what's in the back seat before I look? The record will show you cooperated with authorities.”

The punk shrugged, maintaining admirable composure. “Nuthin' much. Just a delivery to the bank from the riverboat.”

“Really?” Justin feigned surprise. “Without an armed guard?”

“I think it's just checks.”

Checks? Christ! Justin hoped not. He was betting on cash being laundered, not checks. Then he considered a different angle.

“Wait a minute! Doesn't the casino do all its banking in New Orleans?” Justin asked even though he knew damn well a Brinks truck made a daily pickup at the casino before heading back to New Orleans.

The punk lifted one shoulder in a subtle show of defiance. “All I was told was some checks missed the pick up.”

“Where were you taking them?” he asked as if he didn't know.

“Mercury National's night deposit.”

Justin managed to conceal his smile. He and David had suspected all along that the money gathered by the drug operation was going to Mercury National. Now was his chance to prove it.

A lot was at risk. His career was over if anyone could prove he hadn't made an honest mistake. No one—not even David or Nora—knew he'd spent time at an Internet café in Jackson to prevent anyone from tracing his online activities. He'd searched the Patrol's database until he'd come up with a stolen Town Car matching the description of this one. Now if only his luck held, he'd be able to link Mercury to money laundering for the drug ring.

He'd been ignoring another, more troubling problem. This bust would piss off Mayor Peebles big-time. He'd been specifically warned not to go near the casino, let their security handle their own problems.

No doubt this kid's arrest would infuriate the Sartiano crime family as well. He'd dealt with them in New Orleans and knew how ruthless they could be, but he figured he didn't have any other choice. How else could he help Kat?

 

B
ACK AT THE STATION
, Justin threw the kid into one of their two cells. In his office, he inspected the bin full of envelopes. About two dozen computer-printed checks and deposit slips were on top of money pouches with the Mercury National logo embossed on the front. Justin didn't recognize a single name on the slips, but each one bore a similar notice in the “memo” section:
approved auto loan. Approved home loan.
A check of Twin Oaks' telephone directory confirmed his suspicions. The casino was printing phony checks and making deposits to hide the drug money, laundering it through supposedly legitimate loans.

Beneath the envelopes Justin found pouches of cash containing deposit slips from local business addresses that didn't actually exist.

Jackpot!

A classic case of money laundering. No wonder Ethel Nolan had been suspicious. By cross-checking records, the FDIC would easily uncover a scam like this. The bank had needed time to cover their tracks, so Kat had been framed for a robbery that never occurred.

Cloris had to be in on this. But who masterminded the scheme?

A
LITTLE AFTER NINE-THIRTY
,
Justin waited in the squad car outside of Cloris Howard's home. The brick mansion with its fluted columns proclaimed a romantic time in the past when gentlemen bowed as ladies in hoopskirts mounted the marble steps. He'd already tried the bell, but no one had answered and it was dark inside. He wondered where she could be. Twin Oaks had a lot of places where guys could hang out, and there were spots like Moonin' N Coonin' where a certain type of woman could go. Cloris was not that type.

Nora had said Cloris was having an affair with Judge Kincaid—risky business now that Kincaid was running for the senate. Could she be with him? Maybe they were still hot and heavy. No, a lot of guys thought with their dicks, but Justin didn't see Kincaid in that group. Not now. Not with so much at stake.

But he could be wrong, Justin mused. Look at him, putting his career on the line for a woman he hardly knew. Granted, Kat had proven herself in many ways, but the things she'd been through had to leave scars—and his experience with Verity Mason had proven he was no judge of women.

Headlights swept around the corner and Cloris's silver Lexus pulled up the driveway into the six-car garage. Justin waited until he saw the lights come on inside the house before walking up and ringing the bell. A few moments later, the front door swung open. Obviously, two murders and a poisoning didn't have Cloris frightened enough to ask who was at her door before answering it.

Cloris had a welcoming smile on her face as if she were expecting someone else. When her eyes met his, her jaw dropped slightly. She immediately recovered and asked, “Sheriff, is something wrong?”

Justin had already removed his hat like a true Southern gentleman and now he played the good ole boy to the max. “Yes, ma'am. I need you to come down to the station. I believe we've recovered some of Mercury National's stolen property.”

She stared wordlessly at him for a second. “Stolen?”

“Yes, ma'am. We need you to identify it.”

“What is it?” she asked, clearly suspicious.

“You'd better come and have a look.”

She appeared to be on the verge of refusing, but changed her mind. “I'll get my purse and meet you there.”

“I'll drive you. A deputy will bring you back.” The last thing he wanted was to give her the opportunity to call the guy behind the money laundering.

She hesitated, again seeming to consider whether or not to insist on using her own car. “All right,” she said with a sideways glance. “I'll get my purse.”

Justin followed her inside to make certain she didn't use the telephone. “Nice place.”

She glared at him as if he were some lower life form incapable of appreciating the grandeur of the home that had been in her family for generations. She finally mumbled a grudging “Thank you.”

Once they were in the car and on their way to the station, she commented, “I'm surprised you're working the night shift, Sheriff.”

“We're short-handed. I can't expect my guys to pull all the late shifts.”

They traveled the remainder of the short distance in silence, but the air in the car seemed electrified. Once they arrived at the station, Justin took Cloris inside and greeted Kyle Martin with a nod. He'd called in the deputy who'd been hired shortly before Justin arrived. Justin didn't trust any of his men at this point, but he figured Martin hadn't been around long enough to be taking bribes yet. Martin had been assigned the task of dusting the car for prints and gathering evidence from the vehicle.

“We stopped a car for speeding,” he told Cloris as they approached his office. “Turned out to be a stolen vehicle. In the backseat was a box of deposits for Mercury National.”

The color leached from her patrician cheeks and her blue eyes widened. He gestured toward the gray plastic box sitting on his desk. She stepped toward it, disbelief etched on her features like a death mask.

“Wait!” Justin grabbed a box of latex gloves. “We don't want to destroy any prints.”

She stared at the box of gloves as if he'd offered a can of worms. After a slight hesitation, she snatched a pair out of the box. It took her a minute to pull on the tight-fitting gloves. He could almost hear the mental gears in her brain whirling at breakneck speed, trying to figure out what was happening and how to play this.

“Where did you say these came from?” she asked a shade too casually as she began to inspect the contents of the box.

“A stolen car. They don't appear to have been processed. Could someone have broken into the night deposit box?” Justin delivered the information as if this were the holy writ, not pure bullshit.

She shot back a tight, “No!” Then added in a softer voice, “The second the alarm goes off, your station is notified, then I'm called.”

“That's what I thought,” Justin told her, still playing the dumb good ole boy. “I went by the bank on the way to get you, but the night deposit box didn't appear to have been disturbed. You never know. Electronics being what they are these days, the contents could have been removed without anyone knowing.”

“True,” Cloris reluctantly conceded as she peeled off the gloves. “I've heard of such cases in larger cities, but the night deposit vault at my bank doesn't receive large sums of money worth going to all that trouble.” Cloris was no fool. She smelled a rat, but didn't know where it was exactly.

“I noticed the security camera over the night deposit box isn't working.”

“Really? It must have just gone out or the security service would have taken care of it.”

“It's possible the thief disabled it.” Justin knew this wasn't true, but his check earlier in the evening had revealed the camera was out of order.

“These do appear to be our deposits.” Her brows drew into a tight frown. “What did the driver tell you?”

“Very little,” he hedged. “He's cooling his heels in a cell.”

“Has he called a lawyer?”

“No. He hasn't been charged with anything…yet.”

Right on cue, Nora, who was stationed just outside his door, interrupted them. “Sheriff, I have the Federal Prosecutor in Jackson on line two.”

Cloris couldn't disguise the glazed look of fright that came over her face. Justin pretended not to notice.

“Tell him I know it's getting late but I'll call him back,” he told Nora. She nodded and left.

“Federal prosecutor?” Cloris asked in a low, troubled voice.

“That's why the kid hasn't been charged. A stolen vehicle is the least of his problems.” Justin dropped into his chair and motioned for Cloris to have a seat. “As you know, stealing bank deposits makes it a federal crime. He'll have to be charged in Jackson by federal authorities. I guess he'll call a lawyer from there.”

David Noyes poked his head in the door. “Hey, Sheriff, I heard—”

Nora was right behind him. “I told Mr. Noyes you were busy, but I couldn't stop him.”

Justin jumped to his feet and did his best to appear angry. He'd called David and told him what to say. Justin was counting on the presence of the press and the threat of bad publicity to convince Cloris to cooperate. “I don't have anything to say right now.”

David ignored him. “Cloris, is it true? Were bank deposits found in a stolen car?”

Justin took David by the arm. “This is an ongoing investigation. I'll have a statement in the morning.”

He escorted David into the hall and Nora followed them. He whispered, “Is someone with Kat?” Even though he knew that Kat's poisoner was dead, the kingpin of the drug operation was still out there. Kat still needed to be very careful.

“I called Connie Proctor. She should be at the house by now.”

“Good. Stick around. I may need you again.”

David tapped the pad of paper he had under his arm. “I'll work on the story while I wait. I may want to put out an Extra! in the morning.”

Justin walked back into his office, shaking his head as if in disgust. “Police scanners should be outlawed. Every jerk in the county listens to our calls. The
Trib
's already here. In no time the media from Jackson will be camped out like pagans at the gates of Rome.”

Cloris gazed at him, her mouth set in annoyance—or apprehension. Justin sat down again, hoping this was a sign she was beginning to crack. His case was as flimsy as a house of cards. If Cloris didn't cooperate, he didn't have squat.

“Know what I find strange?”

“What?” she countered in a strained tone.

He held up a clipboard with a list written on it. “I wrote down the names and addresses of the depositors listed on the deposit slips. All of the addresses were in Twin Oaks. I've never heard of any of the businesses, and the people aren't in the telephone directory.”

He waited for some excuse, some denial, but Cloris was one smart cookie. She knew when to keep her mouth shut.

He rocked back in his chair and gazed at her for a moment. “Know what I think? Money's being laundered through the bank. That's why I don't recognize any of the names on the deposit slips. Those people, those businesses don't exist.”

She swallowed hard, but didn't say a single word.

He rose to his feet, walked around to the front of his desk, and stood right before her with his arms folded. “Let me be straight. As soon as I call the prosecutor in Jackson, the feds will swarm all over Mercury National. The investigation will be out of my hands.”

She inclined her head slightly as if to indicate she understood.

“I'm between a rock and a hard spot here.”

“What do you mean?” A thick chill hung on each word.

“In a few months, I'll have to run for office. I won't get any credit for this bust if I have to turn it over to the feds. But if you cooperate and I crack the case here before giving it to the feds, it's a win-win.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Here's what I'm prepared to do if you cooperate.” He shot her a penetrating look. “I'll investigate this under the assumption that you knew nothing about the money laundering. This bin of phony deposits is the first you knew of the situation. The money that passed through the bank over the last few years was handled by Elmer Bitner. He was the crook—not you.”

Cloris replied cagily, “What do you mean by cooperate?”

“I want to know who's doing the laundering.”

“The casino, I assume. This
really
is the first I've heard of this.”

Justin walked over and closed the door to his office. She was a tough nut to crack, but he felt a slight give in the way she was denying her involvement. “It's not the casino. They may be counting the money, but I've had a drop-off staked out. Couriers leave drug money from local sales.” He took his position in front of her again and leaned, half standing, half sitting against the desk. “I don't think you want the media raking your good name through the dirt and linking it with a meth lab, do you?”

She colored fiercely, the blood rising to her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“We've already learned this is a double-blind drug operation. The team making the meth in the backwoods and those distributing it don't know each other, and they don't know who the linchpin is. But you do.”

“I don't know—”

“Cut the crap. Cooperate. I'll see to what I can to see the crime is blamed on Elmer. What's the harm? He's already dead.”

She flinched, then said, “They'll kill me. All Elmer wanted was to be cashed out. He really was going to Guyana to start a mission. He was killed anyway.”

They?
Proof this was a wider ring than he'd thought. There might be one guy heading up the local operation, but others were involved. The Sartianos, no doubt.

Her voice faltered. “I need time to get away.”

Justin figured she was smart enough to have money in offshore or Swiss accounts. Apparently they'd been doing this for years. Who knew how much she'd stashed? She could disappear and live like a queen without even bothering to liquidate her assets here.

“I'll tell you who killed the Mexican woman and Elmer. Proving it will be your problem. Elmer did set up all the phony accounts. Before I made him vice president, he'd been a loan officer. There's nothing on paper that says I handled any loan—ever.”

“The idiot defense. Several major CEOs have tried it.” He didn't add that they'd been found guilty anyway.

“I'll need a little time or I'm dead.”

Wouldn't that be a tragedy? “Not a problem. I'll tell the federal prosecutor that I'll get back to him, and I'll just charge the kid with driving a stolen vehicle.”

Justin made it sound as if he were doing her a favor. In truth, he was already pressing his luck by holding the kid under false pretenses. “I have no reason to hold you, but I'll find one if you don't give me the name I want.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Justin stalked over to the door. He'd told Nora that if he closed the door he didn't want to be interrupted. He swung it open, and asked Nora, “What is it?”

“There's someone here. You need to see her immediately.”

“I'll be right back,” he told Cloris. “Don't touch anything. We don't want your prints on the evidence, do we?”

He didn't wait for a response. He followed Nora into the reception area. A wide-eyed young girl with red hair was standing in the reception area.

“She says her name is Abby Lester,” Nora said in a low voice. “She was in prison with Kat. She won't talk to anyone but you. She claims it's a matter of life and death.”

He walked up to the girl and Nora went back to the dispatch desk. “I'm Sheriff Radner. What's the problem?”

“I'm Abby Lester. I'm out of Danville Correctional Facility while I'm awaiting a new trial.” She gazed at him with troubled eyes. “I need to find Kat Wells. She's on furlough from Danville. I think she had to check in with you.”