T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality (21 page)

Bobby wanted to laugh, too, but didn’t want to further piss off Spud. He looked uncertainly at me, the corners of his mouth twitching. “They parked it about a block from where we originally left it. We had driven back to make sure it was good and gone before we called the cops to report it stolen, and there it was! They left the key in the ignition, but cleaned out the glove compartment and the trunk. Went through about half a tank of gas and dinged up the rear bumper when they took it for a joyride.” He ate a hush puppy and almost spit some out when he started laughing. “They took the twenty, too!”

Flabbergasted, I wondered if I was really Spud’s birth daughter. I tried to summon up some anger but Ox started chuckling and the laughter was contagious. Everyone joined in except for my father.

“Oh, to hell with you all! Every last one-a-yas,” Spud said as though we’d betrayed him. He reached down, feeling blindly for his cane. Sensing that my father needed some companionship, Cracker trotted up to him and pushed an exuberant nose into his hand, demanding to be petted. Spud scratched a spot behind the dog’s ears and mumbled something unintelligible about being unable to find decent thieves these days. As though he understood and was sympathetic, Cracker tilted his head sideways and studied Spud. The attention from man’s furry best friend had a calming effect and Spud scooted his chair back up to the table. “Guess they needed some written instructions,” he grumbled to nobody in particular.

“Good hoodlums are hard to find,” Ox said.

“Spud,” I told him, “cars stolen by juvenile delinquents are usually recovered within a couple of weeks. You should know that from your days on the force. Your insurance company wouldn’t have paid off until after their mandatory waiting period. Chances are, the Chrysler would’ve turned up before then anyway.”

He sullenly stared at the tabletop and I felt like a parent scolding a child.

“Jeez, we didn’t think of that,” Bobby said. “So then basically, Spud would have just loaned out his car for a month to some thieves? For free? Then it would turn up, like they’re giving it back to Avis or something?”

“Yep,” I said, and ate a hush puppy. It was still warm and melted in my mouth. Ox had a cook who made the batter with the usual cornmeal, but added beer, honey, and freshly grated sweet corn. The Block’s hush puppies were decadent. Spud methodically chewed one of the cornmeal morsels, concocting a new plan.

“I’ll just hire somebody,” he finally proclaimed.

“To do what?” Trip asked.

“Steal the car, that’s what!” Spud answered. “If your average street criminal doesn’t have enough brains to steal a car when it’s handed to him, I’ll find me someone who will. And pay him to make sure it’s not recovered.” Bobby nodded his head in agreement and Trip shrugged his shoulders as if to say,
why not?

“Don’t mean to be a spoilsport, Spud,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure that’d be illegal.”

“Illegal-schmegal! Not renewing a man’s license ought to be illegal, for crying out loud.” His face reddened as his blood pressure rose. I couldn’t argue with his logic and wasn’t sure I wanted to hear any more about his newest caper to rid himself of the LHS, so I left my father to consort with his buddies and found my best friend.

Ox gently turned my face to look at the side that had been hit. “A little red, but no bruise,” he said, giving my cheek a quick caress before bringing up the impending SIPA transfer date. I brought him up to speed on Barb Henley and her ongoing blackmail with Jared and we discussed Soup’s counterhacking skills.

“Good that the virus will be quelled, but you’ve got to find the kid beforehand,” Ox said. “I don’t know why exactly, I just know.” Maybe his protective spirits had followed the Chesterfield case. Or maybe he had some clairvoyant abilities. Either way, when Ox made a definitive statement, I treated it as fact.

The cordless phone behind the bar rang. Ox answered and spoke for a minute before handing it to me. It was Dirk, calling to inform me that the kidnappers had made contact with Chesterfield again. The caller was the same female as before and this time she gave instructions for a drop of the cash. Her stated place was near the museum at Fort Fisher, a Civil War landmark just outside of Wilmington. When the money was retrieved, Jared would supposedly be released in a nearby public place. The drop location
made sense since Fort Fisher was wide open and accessible by foot, vehicle, chopper, and boat.

“When?” I asked.

“Three days from now. Five thirty in the afternoon.” Right after the SIPA transfers were scheduled to finish. It couldn’t have been coincidental and confirmed my suspicion that the Social Insecurity creators were the alleged kidnappers.

“Why not sooner?” I said into the phone.

Dirk said that Chesterfield tried to schedule the trade for tomorrow, but the caller wouldn’t bite. Again, she let Jared speak briefly to prove he was alive and again, the call was made from a doctored, untraceable cell phone.

They were stalling. Fort Fisher was the perfect place for a drop that would never be picked up. It was all just a diversion because they had no intention of collecting a ransom. Why bother with three million when you thought you had fifty million coming? If Jared was a hostage, the kidnappers would have no reason to release him, either. He could ID them.

I passed along the information to Ox and he agreed that nobody would show to collect the ransom. The real issue was locating Jared. There was still the possibility that Jared was in on the scam from the beginning. But, more likely, the Social Insecurity creators snatched Jared to keep him from talking. According to the bartender boyfriend, Jared had given out a flash drive with Chesterfield Financial information to an old roommate, but then got it back. Which would explain the device I’d found hidden in the gym bag. But was he in on the plan? Had Eddie Flowers found out about the virus before taking a slug in the head? Had the secretary caught a whiff of the scam before dying of an overdose?

I finished my beer and grabbed a handful of hush puppies from Spud’s table as I walked out. I caught a snippet of their conversation even though I willed my ears not to hear. Bobby and Trip
were making arrangements to take Spud’s car back to J.J.’s repair shop to fix the bashed-in rear bumper and Spud said there was no need to fix it since it was going to get stolen soon anyway. Trip countered that no self-respecting car thief would steal an automobile with body damage, even if he was being paid. Bobby suggested that they sell raffle tickets at the senior center and give away the car as the grand prize. I made myself keep walking.

I headed to the agency to do background research on Barb Henley and learn more about Senator Ralls, his wife, and his pot-smoking son. Politicians with too much power have been known to develop a sense of omnipotence. Did Senator Ralls believe that he was entitled to take whatever he wanted? Had he lost the family fortune? Was it possible that the senator and his son were in on Social Insecurity together? Or was I completely in the wrong ball court? Maybe none of the Ralls family was involved. I had to get some answers soon. Jared was running out of time.

As I sat at my desk in the agency, contemplating life and my immediate role in it, Lolly appeared in the doorway.

“I wasn’t sure I’d catch you here, but I was out running errands and thought I’d stop by.”

“Lolly,” I said, surprised to see her. I wasn’t aware that she knew the address of the agency. It is unpublished and not listed on our business cards. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay, I think, considering everything,” she said, settling herself into a chair across from my desk. Despite her situation, she looked fresh and pampered, as though she had just departed from a day at a beauty salon. Her short blond hair had been recently styled and the white sundress she wore was crisp and unwrinkled. “I’m just worried about Sam. This kidnapping is taking its toll on him. And of course I’m worried sick about Jared. There’s still an agent always hanging around the penthouse. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Other than a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, I couldn’t ascertain what she wanted. There were plenty of other shoulders in Wilmington. “You’ll get through it, Lolly. Right now everything seems overwhelming, but we’ll get Jared home safely and put the bad guys in jail.”

She looked skeptical. “Have you found anything out? I mean, who
are
the bad guys?”

“You’re as up to date as anyone,” I told her. “I’m talking daily with your husband he’s keeping you informed, yes?”

“Sammy and I talk. But I think he keeps things from me so I don’t worry.”

“Such as?”

“What’s the real motive behind them taking Jared? Sam said something about it being odd that they didn’t jump sooner at the ransom money. If I kidnapped somebody, I’d want my money, you know?”

“It does appear that Jared’s disappearance may be a cover-up for something else that’s going on.”

That got her attention. She leaned forward and blinked long, mascara-darkened lashes over worried eyes. “Something else? I thought they were just after Sam’s money.”

“I can’t discuss hypothetical situations, but I can tell you that things are close to breaking wide open.”

“Have you told anyone else this? I mean, are you and the agents on the same page?” she questioned.

“I don’t have anything substantial to tell them, yet,” I said. “Besides, I’m not acting in any official capacity. I’m simply a hired hand, trying to help find Jared.”

“So Sam is paying you?”

“Of course. You didn’t know?”

“Well, no,” she said and tilted her head in thought. “It’s just weird how I hired you to follow Sammy. Well, I mean you did it
for free so I didn’t really hire you. But now you’re working for him.”

The comment struck me as odd. It would seem that since they were a married couple in the middle of a family crisis, I would be considered as working for them. Not
him.
I didn’t answer.

“I guess I’m just getting stressed out,” she pouted. “Not knowing what’s going on makes everything worse.”

“Lolly, you just be there for Samuel and leave the worrying to all the people working on this case.”

She peered at me through teary eyes. “Okay.”

“Before you go, I have a question. How well do you know Senator Ralls?”

“Senator Ralls?”

“Yes, Sigmund Ralls from Georgia. Samuel knows him quite well.”

“I’ve met him but I don’t really know him. His wife is nice.”

“What about his son, Walton, who attended the Citadel at the same time Jared did?”

She studied her shoes for a moment. “Same as the senator. I’ve met the boy but I don’t really know him. I heard he got suspended for smoking dope. Jared never mentioned him so I don’t think they were good friends or anything.”

I asked a few more questions that revealed nothing and eventually the conversation reverted to polite, small talk. I hate small talk. Lolly left with a dramatic, impassioned plea for me to save Jared.

One thing I
know from my time in the military is that it is tough to keep anything secret when you live in a dormitory environment. Near impossible, in fact. I drove Highway 17 down the coast from Wilmington to Charleston, South Carolina, and reached the Citadel in about three and a half hours.

The school has only two thousand cadets enrolled in any given year, but boasts a hundred-and-fifty-year history of prestigious higher education in South Carolina. There are four classes with the freshmen, or knobs, sitting lowest on the totem pole and the senior class ranking the highest. And while Charleston has a reputation of being one of the friendliest cities in America, the Citadel has a reputation for being one of last remaining good ol’ boys schools that take care of their own and discourage outsiders from poking around in academy business. Undeterred by the intimidating reputation, I waltzed
in, acting like I was a long-standing alumni, even though the academy hadn’t started admitting females until 1995, the result of losing a lawsuit.

After flashing a fake Federal Bureau of Investigation identification card to three different faculty members, I found myself waiting to speak with some students in the lobby of the admissions office. I possess stacks of identification that officially declare me to be anything from a cop to an inspector for the Department of Agriculture. All of my identification is to the exact standards—shape, size, and color—for that particular agency, so the trick is to have the attitude to back up the plastic. Today, I was a Fed investigating the Chesterfield kidnapping. The folks around the military college had already been questioned by several of them and one more was just another annoyance to be dealt with.

I explained that I didn’t want to speak with instructors or staff, but rather anyone who had been in the same dorm with Jared and Walton Ralls while they were roommates. I also wanted Walton’s previous roommate, if the boy was still enrolled.

An hour and a half later, I had spoken with four kids and hit pay dirt with the last, Michael Stratton. As a senior, he’d developed a cocky attitude and made it clear he didn’t like talking to me. He was a stocky kid with a baby face, shaved head, and green eyes. He wore the traditional military uniform that all the young Citadel men wore.

“Are you planning on going into the military?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Air Force. So?”

“So you’ll be working for the government. I work for the government. We’re all on the same side,” I told him. “No need not to help each other.”

“You’re the one asking questions. I don’t see how that’s helping me.”

“For starters, I won’t have to explain to your commanding officer
that you are an insubordinate little shit. Secondly, I won’t have to tell your parents that you purposefully impeded a federal investigation. That’s against the law.”

If anyone was breaking the law in this situation, I was. Impersonating a federal officer could land me in jail, but then I never had been one to shy away from a felony if it was for the greater good. Fortunately, the threat of talking to his parents got the boy’s attention and he instantly became cooperative.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I know you’re just doing your job.”