Doubleback: A Novel (16 page)

I repeated my name.

“And why are you here?”

I repeated what I’d said about interviewing them.

Then, “I don’t think we got much to say to you. It’d probably be best for you to leave.”

I couldn’t have felt more rejected than if Luke had turned away from me in bed. I swallowed my pride and sheepishly made my way back to Mac. The men at the table shot sullen looks my way.

Mac said, “Great job, Ellie. You really know how to get people to spill their guts.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Mac poured me more beer. As I reached for my glass, one of the church ladies leaned toward me. “Miss, I couldn’t help overhearing what you said.”

“It wasn’t one of my finest moments.”

“Well,” she paused dramatically. “There’s a reason why they don’t want to talk to you.”

“Beyond just being rude?”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “See, when Voss-Peterson decided to build that plant, they went around and asked the farmers if they’d be interested in selling their land.”

“To Voss-Peterson?”

She nodded. “Things were pretty depressed around here. We had floods, then droughts, and you could never really count on anything from year to year. Kids were leaving home in droves. People eked out a living. Barely scraping by.”

“So a lot of them sold?”

“They got good money.”

“Why are they still here?”

“Most of ’em made management agreements with VP. You know, to raise corn like they did before. Maybe take a little to sell on the side.”

“So basically they’re sharecropping their own land?”

Another nod. “They used to be landowners. Now they’re just employees. But Voss-Peterson took all the risk. At the time, it was a godsend.”

I made the connection. “But now the market has turned around, and the demand for corn-based products is going through the roof.”

The church lady shrugged.

“And, with the price of corn today, Voss-Peterson must be raking in astronomical windfall profits.”

“You got it.” The woman gestured to the men. “They sold their souls as well as their futures to Voss-Peterson. Now maybe you can see why they’re not real anxious to talk to you.”

•   •   •

“I can’t believe how I was taken in,” I groused when Mac and I were back on the road.

Mac didn’t answer.

“My father always says if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have. But I wanted to believe Voss-Peterson was on the side of the angels. Us, too.”

“In corporate America? You should know better. You want to create a higher quality of living, they want to create a higher return on their investment. There’s a fundamental difference in objectives.”

I scrunched down in my seat and stared out the window. We were passing the field with the barbed wire fence and the “No Unauthorized Personnel” sign. “I guess that’s some kind of military facility.”

“Because of the men at the bar?”

“They looked like soldiers.”

“There aren’t any bases here that I recall.”

“Well, maybe they built a new one. To keep the Heartland safe.”

“Maybe.” Mac’s tone was noncommittal. “I wonder—”

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a snippet of the Beatles singing “You say goodbye... I say hello.” Rachel had programmed my cell to play it when I got calls from people for whom I don’t already have ring tones. I checked the screen, but I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Ellie, it’s Georgia Davis.”

“Hi, Georgia. Everything ok?”

“Don’t you have a friend with a place in Lake Geneva?”

“Um, yes. Luke lives there. Why?”

“I’m with someone, and we need a safe house.”

chapter
19

I
f Luke Sutton’s home was any indication, Ellie Foreman had been holding out. Georgia wasn’t usually intimidated by the overt display of wealth; she’d seen plenty of it on the North Shore. Usually, though, she didn’t know the people involved.

This was different. Luke Sutton was Ellie’s boyfriend, and the mansion he lived in, a twenty-room estate on Wisconsin’s Lake Geneva, was beyond affluent. A red-brick structure, with four white columns supporting a large portico, it sat in the center of a circular driveway, well recessed from the road. A white dome sat on top of the house. As they trudged up to the front door, the glow from the setting sun enveloped the dome in molten gold.

Even Sechrest was subdued. “You know the people who live here?”

Georgia nodded.

Sechrest swallowed.

At least Ellie, who arrived a few minutes later, had the decency to act embarrassed. “Luke was going to sell the place, but then, at the last minute, he took it off the market.” She led them inside and up a circular stairway.

“How come?”

“Long story.” Which, from Ellie’s tone, she wasn’t about to tell. When she stopped in a carpeted hallway on the second floor and inspected Georgia and Sechrest, it was Georgia’s turn to be embarrassed. She hadn’t showered or changed clothes in over twenty-four hours. She knew she looked exhausted and disheveled. Probably smelled worse.

After she’d met up with Sechrest on the main road leading out of Castle Rock Lake, they’d driven like Nascar racers over rural Wisconsin roads. They seemed to have shaken their pursuer, but Georgia took precautions, in case the guy had police contacts and was somehow able to put out an APB on them. She thought about ditching the car altogether and renting one but didn’t want to risk being seen. Instead she removed the license plate from the front of her Toyota and muddied up the back.

She considered calling O’Malley but decided against it, at least for the time being. She trusted him, but not Robbie Parker or the other cops in the village’s chain of command. They might ignore Georgia’s theories and buck it back to the Wisconsin police, anyway. Just your run of the mill attack with an assault rifle, they’d say. No connection to Chris Messenger or George Emerlich.

She and Sechrest grabbed a few hours sleep in the car, then made a furtive run for coffee. But it wasn’t until late afternoon, after putting another hundred miles on the car, that she thought about Ellie and her Lake Geneva connections. Georgia didn’t want to put Foreman in danger, but they needed a place to crash, and a motel was too risky. She persuaded herself it would only be for one night. Once she’d figured a safe place to hide Sechrest, she’d go home. And face whatever—or whoever—was out there.

Now, Ellie opened two doors across the hall from each other. “Both these rooms have their own bathroom. I’ll grab some towels and extra clothes. Meet me down in the kitchen.”

As Georgia showered, some of the stress of the past twenty-four hours circled the drain with the dirt. After toweling off, she padded across the thickly carpeted room. Foreman had left a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on the four poster bed. She put them on. They were probably Ellie’s—they were a little loose on Georgia. But not much.

She looked around the room. It was bigger than her entire apartment. In addition to the four poster bed, the furniture included an antique-looking armoire and a white wicker rocking chair. Cheerful white curtains fluttered in the night breeze, and a chintz floral spread lay on the bed. She wondered whose room it was.

She made her way down to the kitchen. Sechrest was already there, her hair still wet. She was wearing oversized sweats, Luke’s probably, and a yellow t-shirt. Her face was pale and drawn, but the tense, panicky expression was gone.

Luke came in carrying a large pizza box and two paper bags. Foreman kissed him, took the bags, and removed salads plus a bottle of wine and pop. She bustled around the huge kitchen getting plates, napkins, and looking—despite her apparent discomfort earlier—very much at home. They sat at a round table by a large window with a view of the lake. A silvery moon threw slivers of light on the water, the waves breaking white against the inky dark.

Georgia was ravenous, and it was all she could do not to grab the pizza and cram it all in her mouth at once. She polished off three slices, plus salad and bread, but passed on the wine. When she couldn’t eat another bite, she sat back and took a breath. It had been a long time since anyone had fed her, clothed her, made sure she had a place to rest. She felt cared for. Her throat unexpectedly tightened. She eased it with a swallow of pop. “Thanks, Ellie. This was great.”

“Don’t mention it.” Foreman started to clear the table. “So. Why are you here?”

Georgia glanced over at Luke, who’d been sitting with them while they ate.

Foreman followed Georgia’s gaze. “He’s trustworthy.”

Georgia studied Luke. He had fair skin, reddish hair, and deep blue eyes that hinted both at laughter and sorrow. He was only two or three inches taller than Foreman, but his frame was solid, and she suspected he could take care of himself. It was because of his generosity that she and Sechrest had asylum at all.

The coffee maker beeped. Luke got out mugs and poured. Sechrest asked for sugar. Luke got it out along with the milk.

“So?” Foreman asked impatiently.

Georgia explained the bank service charges and the fact that Chris Messenger apparently opened and then closed an account into which the charges were deposited.

“How much was involved?” Foreman asked.

“Three million.”

“That’s not just spare change.” Ellie’s brow furrowed. “So Chris was embezzling money?”

“That’s what I thought... but Sandy doesn’t think so.” Georgia looked at Sechrest. “Tell them.”

Sechrest ran her tongue around her lips. “There’s more to it.”

Foreman gazed from Georgia to Sechrest. “Well?”

Georgia cut in. “Give her a minute. She’s been pretty freaked out.”

She explained about their escape from Castle Rock Lake. When she finished, Foreman got up and lowered the blind on the window, shutting out the view of the lake. Georgia telegraphed her thanks. She turned to Sechrest. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Sechrest nodded shakily. “Well, like I told Georgia, after I traced the service charges to the dummy account, I pulled up the account activity and saw the three cashiers’ checks.”

“Cashiers checks?”

She nodded. “At first I thought Chris might have sent the checks to herself. You know, embezzling money, like you said.”

“But?” Foreman asked.

Sechrest held up her hand. “The timing doesn’t work. The checks went out at the beginning of June. She closed the account at the end of June.”

“While her daughter was kidnapped,” Foreman said.

“They let Molly go a few hours later the same afternoon,” Georgia said.

“So,” Foreman said, “if she wasn’t embezzling money, somebody must have forced her to close the account, right?”

“But,” Sechrest went on, “The thing is, Chris had to have known—even if she was being forced—that closing the account wouldn’t make it go away.”

“How come?”

“We have all these systems to make sure no one’s engaging in any hanky panky. Plus, every time you go into the system to do anything, you leave your employee ID number. Chris had to have known her trail would be discovered. All she was doing was buying time.”

“How much time?” Georgia asked.

“It took about a week for the phone calls to start. She had to know a suspicious activity report would be filed shortly after that.”

“Who did the cashiers’ checks go to?” Ellie asked.

Sechrest shook her head. “The names weren’t on the reports I got. And I didn’t have time to check the scans.”

Foreman ran a hand through her hair. “Okay. Let’s go through the chronology again. Three cashiers’ checks for one million dollars each are paid to three John Does. Sometime in early June. Three weeks later Chris’s daughter is kidnapped. Chris levies a service charge and closes the account the money came from—”

“Except there was no money in the account.”

Confusion swam across Foreman’s face. “Excuse me?”

Sechrest explained how Messenger created an overdraft in the account she’d originally opened.

“An overdraft for three million dollars? How can that happen?”

“It’s not supposed to.”

“But...”

“But sometimes there are—situations.”

“Like what?”

Sechrest propped her elbows on the table. “Let’s assume, hypothetically, that you’re handling a customer’s account. A large customer. Maybe even the biggest in the bank.”

Foreman nodded.

“And let’s say they have ten, twelve, maybe twenty-five different accounts for various activities. One day they come to you and say, listen. I need a favor. I need you to open a new account with the following name and EIN number.” Sechrest paused. “Then I need you to draw three cashiers’ checks on that account. And mail them out per my instructions.”

Foreman cut in. “Isn’t that when you ask where the money’s coming from to pay for those cashiers’ checks?”

“The customer tells you he understands the checks will overdraw the account. But, he says, the daily balance of all their accounts combined is over forty million. So there’s plenty of money there. He asks you to approve the checks, and says that he’ll cover the overdraft in a couple of days.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Not exactly. A bank officer has the authority to approve overdrafts for a short period of time.”

Luke broke in. “She’s right, you know. It does happen. I’ve had similar accommodations from my bank once or twice.”

“Did Chris have the authority to authorize that kind of overdraft?”

“Well, she was a Vice President, as well as head of IT. But for that kind of money, no way.”

“Then who did? Emerlich?”

“No. The only person who could authorize that kind of overdraft would be our chairman, Thomas Pattison.”

“And did he?” Ellie asked.

“His signature was on the cashiers’ checks.”

Foreman and Georgia exchanged glances. Georgia looked at Luke. “Do you know Pattison?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“So,” Ellie picked up the thread. “Who is this very important customer that gets such royal treatment from your bank chairman?”

Sechrest turned back to Ellie. “That’s where it gets creepy. The account was opened in the name of Southwest Development, Inc.” Sechrest paused. “But we have no customer by that name. Their address and EIN number turned out to be fake, too.”