Risky Undertaking (23 page)

“I'm not worried about a warrant.” Tommy Lee leaned over the table and flipped up the photo of Danny Swift. “Not when it involves a child's life.”

Mack Collins stared at the image. His jaw dropped and his face paled as if every ounce of blood had drained from his body. “Who is that?” he managed to whisper.

“You don't know?” Tommy Lee asked.

Collins studied Danny's terrified face. He genuinely seemed confused. When he looked up, I saw fear in his eyes.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“A thirteen-year-old boy who witnessed something he shouldn't have. Your buddy Tyrell has him, and I'm taking your phone so that you have no chance to warn him that we're coming after him.”

Collins reached into his suit coat pocket. Tommy Lee and I stiffened.

He slowly laid a cell phone on the table. “Now I understand why you're doing this to me.” He pointed to the phone. “You'll find one call from an unidentified source. It was Tyrell and he said his phone was a prepaid. He came out of the blue.”

“When?” Tommy Lee asked.

“Yesterday morning. He told me to meet him at the casino. He had information he was sure I'd be interested in.”

“What information?”

“He didn't say, but that was Tyrell's code for something he thought I'd pay to keep quiet.”

“But you didn't pay before,” I said.

“I know. Back then I called his bluff. He would gain no advantage by floating some old newspaper stories. I suspect Whitey ordered him to back off and wait till I had something more to lose. Now Whitey's out of the picture and Tyrell's greedy. He's also stupid and arrogant. Thinks he can run some of Whitey's old operations.”

Arrogant. The same way Kevin described him.

“And what more do you have to lose?” I asked.

“Nothing. That's why I told Tyrell to leave Cherokee. I used a meeting with the gaming commissioner to explain my presence here.”

Tommy Lee confiscated the phone. “That doesn't add up, Mack. With a potential kidnapping and murder charge on the line, why would Tyrell risk bringing you into his game? He hasn't survived this long being completely stupid.”

Collins stared at Danny Swift's photo. “I don't know. Ask him when you catch him.”

Senator Eckles' words resounded in my head. His North Carolina companies.

“You do have something to lose,” I said. “You have out-of-state companies at play in the bidding.”

“Do I? That's news to me.”

Tommy Lee looked at me with surprise. Melissa Bigham hadn't gotten back to us with a name or proof linking Collins to any such company. I was flying blind. I wanted to say Senator Eckles had told me so, but Melissa and I had inferred that conclusion from his remark. Eckles had made no such accusation directly.

“Couldn't that be Tyrell's assumption? The revelation of which could both embarrass you and cost you money.”

“God damn it, I don't know what Tyrell's assuming. But I'm telling you my hands are clean.” He pointed to Danny. “And I have nothing to do with this child. I suggest you worry about his safety.”

I tried a Hail Mary pass as a last resort. “That child's in a trunk. Can we search your car?”

“Knock yourself out.” Collins leaned closer to the photograph. “The carpet in my trunk is beige. This is char—”

He stopped midword.

“What?” Tommy Lee prompted.

“It's charcoal,” he said softly. “Like the lining of Luther Cransford's Cadillac.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Luther Cransford's Cadillac. The vehicle he'd driven Sunday night when Jimmy Panther was killed. And now Luther was in Cherokee at the same time Eddie Wolfe was murdered and Danny Swift kidnapped. Had our investigation come full circle and wound up at our original suspect?

“There are other Cadillacs on the reservation,” Tommy Lee said. “Why would you think this is Luther's?”

“I hope it's not,” Collins said. “Were both the murdered Indians at Eurleen's funeral?”

“Yes,” Tommy Lee said. “And Eddie, Jimmy, and Jimmy's sister Skye came to the site of the Cherokee remains. Luther was there and saw them.”

“But that doesn't explain the connection to the boy,” I argued. “Tyrell had to be linked to Eddie Wolfe. If Luther's involved, what's his connection to Tyrell? Tyrell was in Cherokee before the funeral protest occurred.”

“We're not talking two things here,” Tommy Lee insisted. “I'm convinced it's one thing and it's one motive.” He leaned closer to Collins. “Does Luther have something to gain from the construction of the second casino?”

“Not that I know of,” Collins said. “Not Luther.” His eyes lost focus as some new idea crossed his mind. “Sandra,” he whispered to himself.

“Sandra Cransford?” I nearly shouted. “What's a dental equipment company have to do with anything?”

“Dental equipment?” Collins looked as confused as me. “G. A. Bridges builds bridges and roads. It's word play on Georgia bridges. You thought it was dental bridgework?”

“God damn it,” Tommy Lee said. “Reece screwed that up. Why didn't we double-check?”

I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “My fault. Wakefield checked her out, but just for her alibi. I didn't ask him about the business.”

Tommy Lee sighed. “And we weren't looking for construction companies at the time.”

“Her alibi held up and we moved on,” I said. “When you checked on Luther's claim that Sandra called him at nine thirty last Sunday night, did you pull GPS information on her location?”

“No,” he growled. “I was focused on Luther.”

“She could have left Gainesboro at three in the morning and still made her eight o'clock breakfast in Atlanta.” I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind racing. “Does Sandra know Frankie Tyrell?” I asked Collins.

“I never introduced them.” He paused. “But Tyrell made contact with my daughter at Wellesley. He sent me a picture of him, Cheryl, and Sandra. My daughter and Sandra were roommates.”

“What kind of picture?” I asked.

“They were at some Irish pub. Tyrell was sending me a message that he could touch my family any time he wanted.”

“So, Sandra's potentially known Tyrell over twenty years,” I said. “How did she get into the construction business? It's not the kind of career I'd expect of a Wellesley graduate.”

“She worked summers in my office. All through high school and college. I thought maybe she'd stay with my company since my own children weren't interested. She said she wanted a bigger city. Gainesboro couldn't compete with Atlanta.”

“Where'd she get the capital to launch her business?” I asked.

“Corrine and I gave her a personal loan. She said other funds came from friends and bank loans. I assumed Luther helped her. She paid us back within five years and I've never had any say or input into her company.”

“Could Frankie Tyrell or Whitey Bulger have been those friends?” I asked. “Could she have laundered money for them? What you refused to do.”

“Anything's possible. If they were moving some operations south, Atlanta's a logical choice.”

“And if you loaned Sandra money, she could stretch the truth and claim you were involved with her business,” I said. “Senator Eckles seems to have that opinion, and it had to come from someone.”

“Eckles knows I keep arm's length from state projects.”

“Yes. But if Sandra pretended to be your backdoor channel, would he nudge things her way?”

Collins' eyes narrowed. “Only if there was something in it for him. Eckles is slippery, especially if Sandra were making campaign donations to grease the process.”

I looked at Tommy Lee and saw his nod. He must have been thinking the same thing. One hundred fifty thousand dollars is a lot of grease. Kevin hadn't stolen Tyrell's payment for executing Panther. He'd taken the cash payoff for Senator Eckles and others like him. If Tyrell got that cash from his Boston loan sharks, then they would want it back with exorbitant interest. Everything depended upon winning that construction contract.

“Well, Darren claimed to have a connection to you,” I said. “Why wouldn't Sandra also try to exploit that?”

Collins licked his lips. He seemed shaken to his core. “She'd be looking at the largest contract the Department of Transportation would award. The road and bridge expansions slated to improve access to the casino.”

“Millions?” I asked.

“Multimillions,” Collins said.

“All in jeopardy if the Catawba succeed or the new Cherokee site becomes mired in archaeological controversy.”

“Yes,” Collins said. “And I expect this state contract is crucial. If Tyrell and Sandra are laundering money, then the company has to have work to generate the reportable income. The recession years have been tough on all construction. They might be close to broke and owe money to the wrong people. They're desperate.” Collins picked up Danny's photograph. “What about this boy? What's happening to him?”

His obvious concern lent credibility to his innocence. But he had the proven connection to Frankie Tyrell, and too much was at stake to take a chance.

“We have a plan,” Tommy Lee said. “At this critical point, I can't let you out of my sight.”

Collins hung his head. “You still don't believe me.”

“I believe you. But the circle of people involved is so small that if you're outside that circle and something goes wrong, you'll be vulnerable as the leak. This is for your protection as well as the operation's.”

“So, what now?” Collins asked.

Tommy Lee smiled. “We order room service, we rehearse, and we send Barry out as soon as it's dark.”

While we waited for dinner, Tommy Lee set things in motion to check Sandra Cransford's and Collins' phone records. He also instructed Deputy Wakefield to speak with the security guard at Luther Cransford's gatehouse to let him know if anyone signed in or out as Luther's guest. And to inform Wakefield whenever Darren's, Sandra's, or Luther's vehicles came and left.

I called Detective Sergeant Romero and we tested the three-way conference feature merging Romero and me with Tommy Lee. Romero assured us he would be in position without being seen and set to move at my signal.

At seven, the room service cart arrived with our dinner. Tommy Lee and Mack Collins had ordered the prime rib. I was too nervous for such a heavy meal and ate a grilled chicken salad. I hadn't wanted anything, but Tommy Lee told me the whole operation could be compromised if my growling stomach gave me away. I realized I was no longer a deputy. I was a member of his platoon.

Collins removed the silver cover from his plate. The prime rib and mixed vegetables steamed. “I must say you feed your hostages well.”

“You are a state senator,” Tommy Lee said. “And I hope you remain one.”

Collins sliced into the thick cut of meat. He looked up at me before eating. “When I saw you at the funeral home and asked for updates on the case, I set myself up, didn't I?”

“Not at the time,” I admitted. “But as the politics of the casino and the Catawba petition came to light, yes, your name started surfacing. I had to wonder if your interest was more than concern for Luther.”

“Well, I hold no hard feelings. I was angry at Darren because I think the Catawba casino is a mistake and a dangerous precedent. It's being spearheaded by a video poker mogul in South Carolina who can't get what he wants in that state. We have a good relationship with the Cherokee and they have a good casino operator in Harrah's. I have grave doubts about the direction the Catawba tribe is taking.”

I felt my phone vibrate. A four-word text message appeared. “It's from Kevin,” I said. “He reports, ‘Tyrell checked bamboo, gone.'”

“Kevin?” Collins asked.

“One of my men.” Tommy Lee clearly chose not to tell Collins that Kevin was from Boston.

“Finish your meal and then change,” Tommy Lee told me. “Tyrell will be back early and I want you in place.”

I ate rapidly while Tommy Lee and Collins made small talk over their dinner. I set my empty plate on the cart, and said, “I'm going to step out and phone Susan. Back in a moment.”

Tommy Lee nodded. Collins looked grim. Both understood I might be making the final call to my wife.

I walked to the stairwell from where I'd seen Kevin break into Tyrell's room. The Do Not Disturb sign still dangled from his door. On the fourth-floor landing, I leaned against the railing and speed-dialed Susan's number. Seven thirty. She should be home.

“Barry. Is everything OK?”

I could hear the TV in the background. Then Democrat's bark as he heard Susan say my name. I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I was scared. That I was going into the dark against a professional killer to help a rogue cop who had shot his own partner. And at the center of it all was a child I hadn't met and didn't know. But if “Protect and Serve” meant anything, it meant Danny Swift. I was ready and willing to lay my life on the line for him.

“Everything's fine, honey. I hope to be home tomorrow.”

“So, you've had a break in the case?” She sounded excited.

“A real possibility. We've identified a company that stands to make a lot of money from the new casino construction. We've uncovered some questionable practices and we're running phone and wire transfer checks that should tie everything together.” Truthful, yet vague enough to make the investigation appear to be nothing more than paperwork.

Susan audibly exhaled. “I can't tell you how relieved I am. The cold-blooded nature of the murder has set me on edge. And then after seeing Tyrell in person. Barry, I didn't want you to know how worried I was. I'll just be glad when it's over.”

“Me too.” I hadn't told her about Eddie Wolfe or Danny Swift. If she was worried before, that knowledge would ratchet up her fear exponentially. “I love you, Susan.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

***

I parked my jeep behind the Cherokee museum where it was out of sight of both the main and side roads. Romero had lent me a camera and large camera bag, and I looked like a photographer interested in some night shots of the village and river.

At eight thirty, the full moon crested the eastern ridges, and even though my afternoon run to a discount store provided me with black jeans and a black turtleneck large enough to fit over a Kevlar vest, I would be visible as a three-dimensional walking shadow.

Fortunately, I didn't stand out as an isolated figure because I wasn't the only person outside. Cars drove by, some headed to the casino, others returning to one of the many mom-and-pop motels scattered nearby. Couples strolled along, enjoying the fresh air and moonlit landscape. I crossed the footbridge and stopped midway to take a high-angle picture down the length of the island. With the Carolina moon in the upper frame, the scene was quite nice and I took several shots.

The island park seemed deserted and I was careful to project no particular destination as I walked along the shore. Up ahead, the tall stand of bamboo cast a long shadow from the low-hanging moon, and when I stepped across its dark edge and into its depths, I was confident I had disappeared.

I stayed close to the left edge of the interior path where I would be a less visible silhouette if anyone happened to look through the bamboo tunnel. Feeling my way along the wall of stalks, I trod softly on the carpet of brown leaves that had fallen from the canopy high overhead. As I reached the midpoint, I slowed, dragging my hand across the tightly packed bamboo. A gap opened just wide enough for me to slip through, and I left the path for the confines of a space not much larger than a casket.

I sat on the leaf-covered ground, opened the camera bag, and retrieved the camo-painted ground cloth Romero had supplied me. I set it aside and pulled out the nine-millimeter Glock Tommy Lee had given me. I'd brought a thirty-eight caliber service revolver for my shoulder holster, but he insisted I carry more firepower. Next I unpacked a high-beam flashlight, a black ski mask, and stick of black greasepaint both courtesy of Romero, and the coiled earpiece for my phone. Then I placed the camera into the empty bag and set it in a corner of my self-imposed prison.

Before donning the mask, I smeared the greasepaint around my eyes where the skin would still be exposed. With the earpiece and mask in place and the Glock and flashlight tucked close to my side, I lay down and spread the ground cloth over me.

Buryin' Barry was buried and would remain so for the next five hours.