Cutting Loose, page 18
“Sure will. That’s why you’re wearing that duster coat in this heat. Can’t get warm.”
“Uh huh. And then there’s you, Noah.”
“You want to know how I found out ’bout you?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
“Just one thing intrigues me. I have a theory, Noah.”
“Yeah?
“Criminals are dimwits. That’s it. That’s the theory.”
“And I’ve seen plenty dumb criminals myself, Sol.”
“I bet you have. Let’s look at the situation. There’s a possible payday that’s got you in a high fever. You’re thinking to yourself this is too big to walk away from―whatever the risk. You’d be fixed for life. Reward money, and that’s just the start. Perspective gets lost. Has to, big sums like that. Scrambles the brains. Can you get the cheese? Or does the metal bar come down on your neck and end those beautiful dreams of lounging on a yacht in the Keys? So . . . how do you get the cheese? I’ll be frank. You don’t have the brains to pull it off.”
“That right?”
“Street smarts will get you so far―but not all the way. You have to con the Rangers and the FBI. You? Good luck.”
“There’s a way, Sol.”
“Mmm. Yes. You think I’ll lead you to Astaire. You shoot me, shoot Touchette because he won’t keep his mouth shut, the decks are cleared, and you hand her to the FBI. They’ll overlook your shenanigans just to clear the case. Trouble is, Astaire is dead.”
“I’ll take my chances on her being dead.”
“All these chances, Noah. Chances all the way.” Monckton turned and smiled at Touchette. “You’re toast, whichever way it goes. Your grave is waiting.”
“That’s a slick mouth you got on you,” said Touchette.
“I’m saying this to you because I’m dead too. And I’m okay with it. I know the presence of death and it’s on you, Touchette.”
“Shut your goddam mouth.”
“It’s right there, Touchette, hanging round you.”
“Touchette,” said Wetherspoon. “He’s doing a number on you. Be cool, my man.”
“Don’t turn your back on Noah, Touchette. When it comes to money, one’s company, two’s a crowd.”
Touchette made a move forward, and Wetherspoon held him.
“Torture me, maybe. Is that it? It would have to be, I guess. My state of health, you’d just kill me straight off. You two clowns? This is anti-climax.”
The slight smile never left Monckton’s face.
“Fuck this, sir,” said Touchette. “Let’s get him out.”
“Odds are the Rangers don’t know who you are yet,” said Wetherspoon. “Low-priority situation maybe, not expecting a dying man to pull a cute escape. So we’ll just walk out the back. We’re heeled, Sol. So be nice. Let’s go. Move it. Touchette, wipe that glass you used. And the bottle.”
The Nashville field office had a car waiting for Emmett and Travis at the airport, and soon they were in a Plymouth Gran Fury moving fast into the city.
Les Reeves, the Tennessee Ranger who led in Nashville, was there to meet them at HQ. In the elevator, he said, “Gil tells me this is big.”
“Biggest we’ll ever see.”
He was shocked into silence for a few moments after Emmett explained the situation. Then he said, “Last I heard, Appelbaum, uh, Monckton, was in an apartment owned by Jed Mead, that country singer.”
“Is the apartment covered front and back?”
“I’ll check.”
Once in Reeves’s office Emmett looked up Mead’s phone number in his notebook and dialed. There was no answer.
“Emmett,” said Reeves. “The back wasn’t covered, but it sure as hell is now.”
“Mead isn’t there. There was no meeting.”
“Shit. “
“Les, I don’t want to step on your toes―”
“Emmett, it’s yours. Tell me what you want.”
“I need three teams to go into Mead’s place, and Monckton’s office and apartment. Right now.”
Reeves, ashen-faced, said, “Sure.”
Emmett felt sick. Monckton would not be in Mead’s apartment; he had gone. Something had alerted him. His instincts would be so finely honed that the slightest hint would tell him it was time to run. Where, though, could a dying man run? He needed treatment at the Clinic and he needed his medicines; and, in any case, it made no sense. What would it matter to Monckton whether he died under arrest or not?
“Les, we need a forensic sweep at Mead’s place. And I want to know where Mead is.”
Emmett, with all his experience, decided to go with the team that raided Monckton’s apartments. If there was anything to be found, it would be there. Punching doors with a beam, they went up both staircases simultaneously, and entered both apartments, meeting in the middle. It was, inevitably, empty.
The place was immaculate. Emmett, walking around as the agents began their work, noted the discriminating taste. He ran his fingers along the LPs, looking at the spines. On a table was an LP called the Symphonie Liturgique by someone called Arthur Honneger.
“Emmett,” said Travis, “Les Reeves called, says Mead’s place is empty.”
“Sure.”
“Says, other team’s into Monckton’s office. They’ve arrested his secretary. She won’t say how to get into the safe, so they’re working on that right now.”
“Okay.”
Had he really fled? That did not seem likely. He had only a few months left, at the most. The only alternative was that he had been taken against his will.
It was possible that Moose’s contact in Belize knew the name that went with the photo and had sold the information to a third party; or perhaps someone Monckton knew was responsible for his disappearance. Who could that be? The list was not short.
“Emmett,” said Travis, coming out of a bedroom. “There’s a safe in the closet.”
“We’ll need Atwell to open it.”
“Sure.”
“And the documents in the study. Desk, files, the works. Every single one needs to be looked at.”
The guard outside the interrogation room unlocked the door as Emmett approached. Mead, white-faced, rose from his chair as Emmett entered, and the door closed behind him.
“Emmett, Jesus! What is this?”
“Jed, if you fuck with me, I can’t help you. You’ll go down.”
“For Christ’s sake, what?”
“Have you got drugs on your person, Jed? Do we need to strip-search you?”
“Drugs? This is insane.”
Emmett leaned in close to look at his eyes. “You’re high right now. If you have illegal substances on your person or in your apartment, kiss your career goodbye. There’s a team in there right this minute.”
“What? Emmett, I thought we were cool―”
“Right now, Jed? No. Not right now. Far from cool, Jed. Right now you are fucked worse than anything that ever happened to you. How’s about I read you your rights and you get yourself a lawyer?”
“Lawyer? Talk to me, Emmett. Tell me what this is about.”
“Do you want a lawyer, yes or no?”
“No. Jesus.“
Emmett took a card from a pocket and read him his rights. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Will you sign a waiver?”
“Yes.”
Emmett put a form and a pen on the table.
“Right there.”
Mead signed.
“Emmett, drugs? This is about drugs?”
“No, Jed. To be frank, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the drugs.”
“Then what?”
“Simeon Appelbaum.”
Mead leaned back with a blank face. “Sim?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m lost, Emmett. Sim?”
“Simeon Appelbaum who is not Simeon Appelbaum. Who is someone else entirely. Tell me his real name, Jed.”
“Real name? How the fuck would I know? What is this? Sim is the straightest person I know.”
“There’s a famous case, Jed. Let me refresh your memory. Bombers, terrorists, from, what, thirteen, fourteen years ago.”
“Panthers?”
“White. Max Lindemann, Carey Astaire, and Sol Monckton.”
Mead’s mouth hung open. “What does Sim have to do with that?”
Emmett took two photos from his case and put them on the table. “Two photos, same guy. On the left is Sim Appelbaum. And on the right, before he got a new face in Belize, is Sol Monckton.”
Mead’s eyes moved back and forth.
“Surgeon did a good job. But side by side, you can tell.”
“No.”
“No? Really?”
“I―”
“I what?”
Mead’s eyes came up slowly to meet his.
“Sol Monckton, that’s right. Let’s forget the Appelbaum handle. That’s history. Sol―your buddy. You were closer to him than anyone. Now he’s gone missing. Take a guess where he was, last time he was seen. Any thoughts? No? Your apartment, Jed. This morning. Yeah. To meet you. The shit is on its way, Jed, and there’s no time to duck.”
“Bu―”
Emmett, thinking Mead was about to faint, leaned forward to hold his shoulders, and shouted to the guard, who entered.
“Get a glass of water.”
“Sure. Does he need medical help?”
“Is there a first aid guy?”
“Sure. Gimme a moment.”
Emmett went round to Mead’s side and knelt beside his chair with an arm round his shoulders.
“Climb out from under, Jed. This is the time. Later won’t work. Tell me the truth.”
“What?”
“We can check phone records. Did you have an appointment with Monckton this morning?”
Mead began to shake.
“Now, Jed. Say it now. Tell me. Help yourself.”
“There was no appointment. I swear to God.”
“You want to stay with that story?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Where were you this morning?”
“I was looking round record stores.”
“Any proof of that?”
“No.”
“Any purchases?”
“No.”
“So how does Monckton get the idea he has an appointment with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he have keys to your place?”
“No.”
“So how does he get in?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s not looking good, Jed.”
“I swear, Emmett, it’s the truth.”
“Okay, Jed. You’re under arrest,” he said as the medic entered. “We’ll start with drug possession.”
“What have we got?”
“He’s high on something. That, plus some bad news.”
“Okay. He’ll need to be searched for substances.”
Emmett looked at the guard.
“Do it.”
In the corridor outside, Travis said, “We have Monckton’s secretary ready for you. Marcia Bailey. She’s in 5.”
She sat in the interrogation room with complete self-possession, her make-up in place and her expression calm.
“Marcia, sorry to keep you waiting. I’m guessing you’re wondering what this is about―”
“Hello, Emmett.”
“Sure, hello.”
He sat and put a notepad on the desk. “A few matters we need to clear up.”
“I don’t believe I can assist.”
“Well―let’s see, Marcia. It’s possible you can.”
“Am I free to leave?”
“No, I’m afraid you aren’t.”
“On what charge am I being held?”
“Suspicion of aiding a fugitive.”
“I see. All I can say then is I really don’t want to answer any questions, Emmett.”
He folded his hands on top of the notepad.
“Really? Marcia, do you know how big this is? And you’re right in the middle of it?”
“As I say . . .”
He paused, then said, “This is a major investigation.”
She said nothing.
“Why not help? I don’t get it. Clear yourself.”
“There are two situations where you don’t talk to the police. One, when you’re guilty. Two, when you’re innocent. I’m invoking my constitutional right to silence.”
“Your boss is on the FBI’s ten most wanted list, Marcia.”
There was not a flicker of emotion. Her polite manner was implacable.
“No questions, Emmett.”
“Okay, no questions, but I can state a few facts―”
”Not till you’ve read me my rights.”
“You may need to listen to a few things first, before I do that.”
“I appreciate the thought but no thank you. Read me my rights, Emmett. That comes first. Then I’ll need a phone. Oh, and Emmett, I’ve been held here for a while so a cup of coffee would not come amiss.”
TEN
“So we got him, then we lost him,” said Marvin Jacks, Assistant Deputy Director of the Texas Rangers. “One day he’s identified, the next he’s in the wind. This is some kind of record.”
At the table in the Tennessee Rangers’ field office in Nashville with Jacks were Gil Kramer, Mack Travis, Les Reeves, and Emmett.
“Therefore,” said Jacks. “First, Emmett―nice work. Second―what the fuck happened, and why?”
“This is a goddamned disaster,” said Kramer. “I can’t believe it.”
“Marvin,” said Reeves, leaning forward, “We had the job of surveilling Monckton. I’m not ducking it. We should have covered the back.”
“Last thing I want is to tread on Tennessee’s toes.”
“I get that and I appreciate it. Look, Marvin―the guy is dying. We just didn’t expect it. Plus, we didn’t know his true identity at that time. That would have put it on another level.”
“Who had charge of the operation overall?”
“That’s tricky,” said Reeves. “I guess Gil made it clear it was Emmett’s case, but we were asked to handle it, so the situation is far from clear.”
“Okay. Most important thing is, there’s no hassle between our two forces.”
“Sure.”
“But this is a major embarrassment, guys. I can’t pretend otherwise. Stuff has happened in the last few years in both our states that makes people look at us sideways, and this doesn’t help. We can’t duck the way we’re perceived. That goes with the territory. This will get out, this story. It’s human nature. Someone will talk, and the media will be all over it. When that happens, we have to be seen as the pros, not dummies who can’t find their ass with a flashlight. If the FBI were to find him now, when we’ve done the hard work, oh man, that would be a black eye. We have to fix this ourselves.”
Jacks had a clean rėsumė and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Right now, let’s talk about finding him. Emmett . . .”
“Sure. Les is being a nice guy, but it’s on me, too. All right, the only question is, why would he run? It doesn’t make much sense. Monckton knows he’s run out of road. So either he’s gone somewhere to die on his own terms, maybe end it, or, then again, maybe he’s been taken.”
“Taken?” said Jacks. “Really?”
“Well, it’s there as a possibility. In fact, the only other possibility.”
“So, someone entered Mead’s apartment, waited there, and kidnapped him? That suggests various things. Whoever it was knew Mead and Monckton, was able to set up an appointment that Monckton believed was bona fide, and knew Mead would be elsewhere. I can’t see it. Mead was party to it. Emmett, you talked with him.”
“Sure, and I gave him a scare. He came across pretty well, but who knows? Now, he’s lawyered up and isn’t talking.”
“How do you want to handle that?”
“His lawyer is saying, where’s the evidence? And there isn’t any. Odds are, we’ll have to let him go. Mead isn’t a strong person emotionally, he wouldn’t be running this. That flakiness could mean he’d do something stupid and lead us somewhere.”
Emmett had known Jacks for many years. It was Jacks who, many years before, had come to his door with the local sheriff when Emmett was a teenager to ask about a burglar Emmett had shot, and it was Jacks who had guided him toward the Rangers. Emmett had always treated Jacks with a certain formality, not wishing to capitalize on that early relationship, and Jacks himself had stayed on the side-lines when Emmett had run into trouble with the Estrada case.
“It’s possible the guy Moose dealt with in Belize has sold that information a second time―if he realized who Monckton was,” said Emmett.
“But how could we run that down? There’s very little chance. What else could we follow?”
“People in the alternative life, maybe,” said Travis.
“Monckton has played Mr. Straight for a long time,” said Jacks. “That world is a long way in his slipstream. But who knows? There’s always the possibility someone from his past realized who he was and decided to make a buck off of it. The trick is always to find some loose thread you can pull on. Which takes us to what we’ve found at the three locations. Les, jump in here.”
“Sure. There was no sign of forced entry at Mead’s place―not that the lock was tough to open―and no sign of a struggle inside. Forensics have been all over the place and they’ve found nothing. At Monckton’s office, everything was squeaky clean―nothing in his files or his safe that gives us anything. We’re still looking in the condo.”
“It’s Mead and Monckton,” said Kramer. “That’s the angle to pursue. Mead will give it up.”
“There’s another possibility,” said Emmett. “Noah Wetherspoon, a pusher I’m pretty sure is supplying Mead.”
“Mead a junky? Really?”
“There’s lot of it in that business.”
“Uh huh. Disappointing. So some lowlife dealer learns Appelbaum is Monckton? And then pulls off a kidnap? I can’t see it.”
“An investigation this size, we need to look at Wetherspoon.”
“An investigation this size? Sure. Speaking of which, we need a game-plan. Right now, it’s all over the place.”
Emmett glanced at Jacks, whose face was impassive. Kramer crossed those long legs.
