Joel Goldman - Shakedown

Today was Thursday. Even if I waited until tomorrow, I still wouldn’t be on Rice’s visitor list and I had no idea if he would be willing to use any of his points to talk with me. Normally, I wouldn’t care about any of that since the visitor rules didn’t apply to law-enforcement personnel. But the visitation rules did apply to me because, without my FBI credentials, I was one of the unwashed, unknown, and unwanted.

My cell phone rang as I was considering how long it would take me to get arrested, convicted, and sentenced to Leavenworth just so I could have a conversation with Thomas Rice. A television show had already tested that scheme, one brother getting himself sent inside to break out his innocent brother before they were both killed. I doubted that my version would do well enough in the ratings to last through sweeps week.

“Nice call on the cash,” Ammara Iverson said.

“You found Oleta Phillips’s fingerprints?”

“On a couple of the bills so far, a thumb and index finger. It will take a while to check all of the money. Three thousand dollars in twenties is a lot of twenties.”

“A hundred and fifty, to be exact,” I said. “Who had her prints?”

“KCKPD. She’d been picked up a few times for soliciting prostitution plus she had a couple of misdemeanor possession busts.”

“What about the videotapes? Will Troy let Grisnik have a look?”

“He said we should do our own analysis first. Ben Yates is going to ask the KCK chief for a set of photographs for comparison.”

“Grisnik won’t like that. I get the impression he’s trying to keep this quiet.”

“Troy doesn’t care what Grisnik likes. He’s not taking a chance on anybody. If it will make Grisnik feel any better, tell him that I reviewed the tapes. I didn’t see anybody who looked like a cop.”

“I’m sure that will be a great comfort to him, since everyone knows that all cops look alike, especially when they’re out of uniform.”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Cops carry themselves differently. Same as we do. Doesn’t matter what we’re wearing. That’s what makes undercover so hard. You have to learn to be someone else.”

She was right. I wanted to ask Ammara about the results of the neighborhood canvass, find out if anyone had reported seeing someone leaving the scene, but I didn’t want it to be about me.

“Did any of the neighbors see Oleta that night?”

“If they did, they aren’t saying. We went back to her brother. He said the last time he saw her was when Marcellus gave her the money. We haven’t found anyone who admits seeing her after that. That was about twelve hours before the murders.”

“Did the neighbors see anyone else, maybe someone hanging around after the murders like an arsonist that likes to watch the fire?”

“I’ve got to tell you, Jack. You’re the only one anybody saw. LaDonna Simpson, Latrell Kelly, a few others. They all saw what happened to you in the backyard, but that’s all they saw.”

“I’m glad I put on such a good show for them. Did you take another look at Latrell Kelly?”

“Yeah, and there’s nothing to see. None of the neighbors have anything bad to say about him. He even brings his charcoal cooker whenever they have a block party.”

“Say that again.”

“I said they have block parties during the summer. He cooks the hot dogs. You think that makes him a suspect?”

If I told her yes and explained why, she’d agree that I was too close to this case to be of any use. “Remember what they taught you at Quantico,” I said. “Keep an open mind until the statute of limitations expires.”

“I’ll do that. In the meantime, things have gotten real tight around here since you left. Troy is having all of us take polygraphs to make certain no one leaked anything about the surveillance camera inside the house. They’re bringing in someone from D.C. to run the tests. You’ll probably have to take one, too.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Troy set them up on the hour. He’s going first at eight o’clock. I’m on for nine, Colby is at ten; Jim and Lani are at eleven and twelve. I’m surprised he hasn’t called you yet.”

“Maybe he wants to rule everyone else in or out before he gives me a turn.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Who knows? Maybe he thinks it couldn’t have been me since it was my show or maybe he thinks it had to be me because that would explain why I was shaking so badly. Either way, it would make sense for him to leave me for last.”

“I hate taking a polygraph,” she said.

“We have to take one every year just to make certain we’re still good guys. I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“I don’t know,” she said, sighing. “Those guys always make me feel like I’m guilty of something even if I don’t know what it is.”

“That’s what they get paid to do. Did you tell Marty Grisnik that you found Oleta’s fingerprints on the money?”

“That’s Troy’s call. I just report the news. How about you? Grisnik tell you anything else I should know?”

“I haven’t talked to him.”

“It would be convenient if you did,” she said.

“Yes, it would.”

Ammara didn’t know it, but she had just shown me how to break into the federal penitentiary. I didn’t know if I could be convicted for trying. Like all criminals, I knew that it wouldn’t matter unless I got caught.

“You want me to take you where?” Marty Grisnik asked.

I was on my cell phone, still at the restaurant. “Leavenworth. The federal penitentiary.”

“That good-looking Chevy of yours broke down?”

“Runs like a dream, but your big Crown Vic will make a much better impression on the warden.”

“Why would I want to take you to Leavenworth?”

“To make a new friend.”

“I don’t like the friends I have. I don’t need any new ones,” Grisnik said.

“You might like this one.”

“This friend of yours know anything about Oleta Phillips and her boy?”

“Doubtful.”

“Then I’m not going.”

“But he might know someone who does.”

“Who is it and what do you think he knows?”

“I’ll tell you on the drive over. And I’ve got something else for you. It turns out I do still have a friend at the Bureau. I’ll park in the city lot behind the federal courthouse. You can pick me up on the corner of Seventh and Ann in half an hour.”

“I’m going to quit taking your phone calls,” Grisnik said.

“Won’t help. I’ll sleep on your doorstep, follow you to work, and wait outside your office.”

“I may leave you in Leavenworth.”

“I’ll pack a toothbrush. There’s one other thing.”

I could hear Grisnik grinding his teeth over the phone. “What?”

“You still have that phony ID you loaned me when I served the fugitive warrant at Marcellus Pearson’s house?”

“I’ve got it locked up in my desk drawer. I’d burn it except I’m afraid I’ll be accused of destroying evidence.”

“Good. Bring it with you.”

“What for?”

“They won’t let just anyone into that prison.”

“The easiest way is to take I-29 North to Platte City, then pick up Highway 92 and take it straight into Leavenworth,” I told Grisnik.

He’d hung his suit jacket in the backseat, rolled his sleeves, and put the air conditioning on high. He furrowed his eyes and set his jaw like he wanted to pimp-slap me.

“You don’t think I know how to get to Leavenworth?”

“I’m sure you do. I’m just saying that’s the best way to go.”

“You gonna tell me how to tie my shoes and brush my teeth?”

“I don’t care about your shoes or your teeth. Do whatever you want with them.”