“It’s Gina.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Tech’s office, in the basement.”
“You get anything else from the photos Nick sent?”
“There’s something embedded in one of them, but our girl hasn’t figured out what it is yet. We’ve been doing a little research on Memory Lane Antiques. Our nerd is good. She’s already traced the IP to the real owner, and you’re going to love who it is.”
“Tell me.”
“Our own resident asshole, Ben Moore.”
C
age made it
back to the police station in record time. Karma was a beautiful thing, especially when it came back and bit a backstabber like Ben Moore in the ass. And if Ben had anything to do with Nick’s disappearance, Cage would be sure to take off his badge before he finally kicked his ass. “What do we know? Is the bastard coming in?”
“He’s on his way,” Gina said. “Surprised me I didn’t have to threaten him, but I guess he’s used to how I work now. As for Memory Lane, it’s got a range of items, fairly large. Most of them are Civil-War related or at least in that era. Lots of things dug up from battlefields. Or found in estates and surprise, surprise, old houses.”
Cage scowled. Well before Dani purchased Ironwood, Ben paid a couple of urban explorers to search the mansion for a cache of treasures and started a shitstorm of events that had nearly gotten both him and Dani killed. Cage wanted to whip him when he’d finally been released from the hospital, but Dani wouldn’t let him. Something about needing him at Ironwood instead of visiting him in jail. A few nights in the cell would have been worth it, but he didn’t want to lose his job over Ben’s scheming ass.
“Oh, it gets better,” Gina said. “See, the business isn’t owned by Ben himself. It’s owned by a dummy corporation, best we can tell. And Tucker Moore is the president.”
This kept getting more and more precious. “Ben’s dad? But he’s been dead almost seven years now.”
“Exactly. My guess is Ben’s using his social security number and may be collecting benefits. Grace was a mess when her husband died, and Ben handled everything. He wouldn’t be the first one to keep collecting someone’s social security after they’re dead. And even if he’s not, he’s using his father’s name as a decoy. Which means nothing he’s up to is any good.”
“Because most of his so-called relics are either fake or stolen.”
“I’m guessing so.”
Laura knocked on the door. “Ben Moore’s waiting for you.”
“You shouldn’t be in this interview,” Gina said.
“I promise I’ll be good. Will observe. Won’t antagonize.” He was pretty sure he meant it. They needed Ben to spill everything. Nick’s life was on the line. Cage could hold his grudge for that.
“One strike and you’re out.”
Sitting at the table, arms folded and a suspiciously calm expression on his face, Ben greeted them as soon as Gina and Cage entered. He even offered Cage his hand. What was he playing at? They’d always mostly hated each other. In the same crowd in high school, but everyone knew it was a friendship of tolerance and convenience. Most of Ben’s friendships in high school were a matter of convenience: he had the liquor hookup.
“You wanted to ask me about my antiques business,” Ben said.
Gina’s mouth turned up in a sardonic grin. “I’m so happy to see you’re cooperating.”
“I want to help.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter that there’s no legal precedent set for selling fake Civil War memorabilia,” Gina said. “When Lee Walker first approached me about the fakes circulating several months ago, I told him most law enforcement offices didn’t have time to track down on the sellers and that his best bet was a civil suit. Even then, he’d need to have a lot in damages. With the way our legal system works, creating these fakes is basically a legal way to counterfeit.”
“Small potatoes for the police,” Ben said. “After all, if any one of the buyers checked with an expert, they would likely save themselves the money.”
“Is that a confession?” Cage asked.
“Hardly. I’m just postulating on what Captain Barnes said.”
“We’ve traced Memory Lane Antiques back to you.” Gina shot Cage a warning look.
She’ll probably take my head off next time I open my mouth.
“To my father,” Ben corrected. “That’s why I’ve come in. He’s clearly the victim of identity theft. Someone’s using his good name to sell this junk.”
So that’s the angle he’s going to take.
Cage chewed his cheek to keep silent.
Gina started laying out the pictures from Jaymee’s email. “Have you seen any of these items?”
Ben’s shoulders came down, the lines between his eyes eased, and the faintest trace of a smile played at the corner of his mouth.
“Not these specific items, I don’t think,” Ben said. “Of course I’ve seen various Confederate buckles, and is that currency? Very interesting. Mom still has the ten-dollar note her great grandfather carried during the Civil War. It’s framed in her bedroom. She wouldn’t want tourists to see her still holding a torch for the Confederacy.”
“You don’t share your mother’s love of history,” Gina said.
Ben shrugged. “Yes and no. But I don’t have a romantic view of it. Doesn’t matter if we treated our slaves well. We still had them. Hundreds at one time. This whole area was built on the backs of slavery. Every one of these monstrous homes locals flaunt to tourists. The white man’s whip built them all. And a hundred years after the war, black people were still treated like lesser beings.” He sighed. “Still are, in some areas. And yet, most of these homeowners, including my mother, gloss over this part of our history. It’s embarrassing. But it’s fundamental. And playing it down is an insult to every person, white or black, who died for basic human rights.”
This guy was so full of sanctimonious shit. Cage couldn’t resist. “Yet, you didn’t see a problem with selling off historical land belonging to descendants of those slaves. Not if it meant an easy buck for you.” Gina kicked him under the table.
He didn’t get the flash of self-righteous anger he’d expected. Ben just shook his head, shrugged his shoulders. Almost like he was defeated. “Everyone has regrets.”
“You regret not getting Ironwood too?”
“Foster,” Gina warned.
“I regret ever bringing Norton down here,” Ben said. “It’s isolated me from my family, my friends.” He looked again at the pictures, his hand lingering over the photo of the fake money. “Amazing how one bad decision can turn everything to crap.”
“So you don’t like Senator Booth or Mr. Stanley?”
Ben blew out a breath, looking Cage square in the eyes. “They’re businessmen. Doesn’t matter if I like them.”
“Are they in on it with you?” Gina asked. “You make the fakes, they get a cut? Nick Samuels finds out, so he’s got to disappear. I’m guessing you all have something bigger going than the replicas, though.”
Ben jerked, looking nervous for the first time. “I had nothing to do with Nick’s disappearance. I can’t speak for Booth and Stanley.”
The unspoken accusation hummed in Cage’s ears as he watched Gina volley questions back and forth. Ben knew he wasn’t going to be prosecuted for the fakes. He insisted his father was a victim of identity theft and welcomed the Jackson police searching his apartment. He was too smart to get nailed for that. But every time the conversation came around to Norton or either of the executives, the asshole’s fists would involuntarily flinch, or his eyelids would twitch. His tone turned brittle. Never once did he say Booth or Stanley were incapable of kidnapping. Never vouched for their character. Cage could tell he disliked both men immensely. That stood out more than his guilt over the replicas.
“We’ve got the necessary warrants. The Jackson police are going to search your apartment today,” Gina said. “And I’ll need your laptop.”
“It’s in Jackson. I decided not to bring business with me on this trip,” Ben said. “I needed a break.”
Gina pressed him on Nick’s disappearance for a second time. Ben shook his head so fast his neck must have ached with the effort. “He pissed me off last year, yes. Nosed up to my secretary for information. But I’m the one who screwed up in the first place. Nick’s a good reporter. He knows how to get to the truth and get it out. I respect him for that.”
Cage could tell Gina wasn’t buying it, but he’d known Ben since they were kids. Once, they’d been real friends, at least until puberty and all its issues kicked in. Ben got real charming when he lied, playing up the righteous, wounded act in such a smooth way most people felt sorry for him. In high school, Ben once convinced the principal the teacher was at fault for Ben getting into trouble.
Cage didn’t think he was lying now.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it expecting to see Dani or Jaymee calling for news, but it was the Delta Correctional Facility.
The hell?
“Excuse me.”
An automated monotone
announced a collect call from an inmate. Cage accepted, trying to figure out why he’d get this call now.
“Cage, this is Penn Gereau.”
He’d figured as much. “You’re pretty much the last person I expected to hear from.”
“I don’t have a lot of time, so forgive me if I skip the niceties. Have you found Nick?”
“No.”
“I assume Jaymee told you she and her friend paid me a visit and asked if I could learn any information.”
“You found some.” A current of electricity streaked across the back of Cage’s neck.
“I did. Gilbert—the man the girls wanted me to find out about—likes to talk. Never ceases to amaze me what a man will do for smokes. Plus, he’s religious and feeling guilty and wanted me to absolve him of his sins. Apparently didn’t matter I’m not Catholic.” Penn barked a laugh.
“What did he tell you?”
“Quite a bit about the creation of the fakes. Buckles are easy—buy a reproduction, pee on it for a couple of years and boom! Looks perfect. Another trick is to bury it in a septic field. Or use acids, if you’re careful. He said there are more fakes out there than people realize and not enough experts to spot them.”
“How can people be so easily fooled?” Cage couldn’t believe it was that easy.
“How many people take the time to be educated on antiques? And how many people are damned good talkers? Someone wants something bad enough, they’ll believe anything. Gilbert claims he sold a Gatling gun reproduction for twenty grand to some guy with very little effort.”
Christ. Cage was in the wrong line of work. “So there’s big money in it, just like Dani said. Is that the most expensive thing he’s ever sold?”
“That’s when he started to clam up. He finally said selling the fakes is big money. Good storefront organization to have. Big enough the bigs from Appalachia are getting into it. He kind of jerked then, like someone had slapped him,” Penn said. “I pushed him more, and he kept saying he shouldn’t have mentioned Appalachia, that I’d better forget about it. The fakes were nothing compared to their other interests.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Whose interests?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. But what do you know about the Dixie Mafia?” Penn’s voice lowered.
“Before yesterday, not much. Today, a little more. What can you tell me?”
“They originated in the lower Appalachian states in the 70s. My aunt used to claim her cousin was a member, but we never had any proof of that,” Penn said. “They did their business in places without real law enforcement, like the small-town South.”
“Thanks,” Cage said dryly.
“We both know that’s how it used to be. They started all sorts of businesses as fronts, including using junk antiques to fence stolen items.”
“Okay, but you’re talking almost forty years ago. They’re supposed to have died out.”
“From what I’ve heard around here, they’re going strong, with their hands in all sorts of businesses.” Penn’s voice lowered so that Cage had to strain to hear. “Listen, it’s not about family with these people—it’s about whoever has the most money. That’s who rises to power.”
“Sounds like politics,” Cage said.
“It is. My time’s about up, but one last thing. I asked if the Dixie’s reach extended into the Mississippi Delta.”
“Jesus, Penn. You shouldn’t have said the name outright.”
Penn snorted. “I’m getting impulsive in my old age. Gilbert got right in my face. Warned me not to speak of that again, made a big show of yanking me up by my shirt before stalking off. I thought that would be the end of it. But I got a message last night from one of the prisoners who’s attached himself to Gilbert. It doesn’t make sense to me, but I’m passing it along to you anyway.”
“What was the message?”
“Just a name: John Wilkes Booth. What do you make of that?”
Instinct dropped through Cage like the stones he never could manage to skip over the pond, heading straight to the bottom and landing with a
plop
. His stomach turned with the unsatisfying feeling of getting something he really wanted only to realize the prize scared him shitless.
“I think you’ve given us a real lead. Thanks, Penn. Watch yourself in there.”
By the time
Cage returned to the interview room, jittery with adrenaline, Ben had stood to leave. “If I can help you any further, Captain, please call.”
“You’re awfully calm for a man whose apartment is about to be torn apart. We may not be able to arrest you for the fakes, but if you’re making money off your dead father’s name, that’s a whole other story.”
“Did the Dixie Mafia get in on your business?” Cage fired off the question, and Ben jerked as if a bullet had struck him.
His eyes skittered from Cage to Gina and then back to Cage.
“I’m sorry. I can’t answer that.” He halfheartedly tried to step around Cage. He didn’t move.
“Ben, if they wormed their way into your business, put pressure on you, we can protect you. Just tell us.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Nick was digging into your fakes,” Cage said. “If you were in bed with the mafia, and he found out, that’s the story he’d run with. And that’s what would get him in trouble. For all the nasty shit you’ve done, I don’t think you’re a killer. A coward for sure. Not a killer. And if Nick’s not already dead, he’s headed there. So if you know anything about anyone…”