The Breakthrough (15 page)

“No way!”

“Yup. First new car.”

“Your first and it’s one of those? What’d you do, win the lottery?”

“Matter of fact, I did.”

“Don’t think I ever met anybody who won the big one. One of my buddies won a grand or so once.”

“Can’t buy much with that.”

“Nope. Well, good for you.”

“Hey, you got change for a hundred?”

The cabbie laughed. “High roller now, huh? Nah. Can’t break bigger’n a twenty. Sorry.”

“Man, all I got is hundreds.”

“I can wait while you get change.”

“Ah, it’s okay. Let’s make it an even hundred.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, man. We’ve only got about another mile. Meter’s gonna say less than thirty bucks.”

“I insist.”

“Wow, thanks, dude.”

As the cops took positions inside, Tidwell and the techies hid their guns in their pockets and strolled around the showroom. They split up and told the salespeople they were just looking. When one salesman tried to show Tidwell “a ride that looks like it was built just for you,” Boone saw Lefty flash his badge and say, “Looking. Got it?”

Jack and Boone met with Phil, a fiftyish string bean, impeccably dressed and well spoken. “Do you always sweat this much?” Jack said.

“AC’s not that great in here. The customers sweat too.”

“As long as it’s not just nerves.”

“Well, I
am
nervous
,
but no. Sales is like acting, chief. I’ll play my part. You watch.”

Jack and Boone waited in the office of the sales manager—the aforementioned Biff—near the back of the showroom, sitting with their backs to the window but able to monitor the front door in the reflection behind Biff’s desk. They would be able to see when Mannock came in and watch what was happening in Phil’s office.

Biff, a young man in a dark suit, sat at his desk, fidgeting with a pen. “Haven’t had excitement like this in here for years,” he said. “Selling the Escalade was going to be the highlight of our week, but we’re not going to see that money, are we?”

“No, sir,” Jack said. “You’re not. But we sure thank you for your cooperation.”

“As if I had a choice.”

Boone shot Biff a look and saw his smile.

“Happy to help, really,” the sales manager said. “You’re not expecting trouble, are you? Fighting, shooting, hostages?”

Jack shook his head. “This is a bad guy, sir. But we won’t have any trouble with him.”

“Sort of a low-level crook?” Biff said.

“That’s for sure,” Boone said. “We will have to take him out of here in cuffs, though. We’ll try not to make a scene.”

“Would you mind taking him out through the back then, in case we have customers? I mean, Monday mornings aren’t usually busy, but you never know.”

“Back door it is.”

“I’m serious about waiting if you want to get change,” the cabbie said.

“And I’m serious about you keeping the change, my man,” Mannock said.

Boone hoped DeWayne was enjoying his last minute on top of the world. He glanced at Jack. “If he’d give me one reason to—”

“You gonna be able to deal with this, Boones?”

“I got it.”

In the reflection, Boone watched Mannock stride in, grinning like he owned the place, a heavy canvas satchel at his side. Phil immediately rose and left his glassed-in cubicle, meeting Mannock with a hearty handshake. “You look like a man who just bought a new car!”

“It’s gonna be sweet!” DeWayne said. “All prepped and everything?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can I see it?”

“Before we do the paperwork?”

“Yeah, that okay?”

Phil’s bravado seemed to have suddenly failed him. “Let me check with the guys in the back. Come into my office.”

“It’s always something,” Boone said. He leaned forward and whispered to the sales manager. “The car was prepped, right?”

“Yes, but after we heard from you guys we put it back in stock. I didn’t think the sale was supposed to get that far.”

“Neither did we.”

Biff peeked at his ringing desk phone. “That’s Phil,” he said.

“Make up a story. Stall.”

“Yes, Phil.”

“Hello, Service?” Boone heard Phil’s side of the conversation through Mannock’s phone.

“Yes, Phil. I’m with you.”

“Yeah, Service, is Mr. Mannock’s car ready for him to see? He’d just like to take a peek before we complete the transaction.”

“Well, Phil, as your
boss
has told you, that’s not customary. Mr. Mannock saw it when he was shopping, and we like to make a big presentation when we hand him the keys.”

“Okay, Service, I’ll tell him.” Phil covered the phone. “Mr. Mannock, they’ve, uh, they’re just, um, drying it now. Want to make it really nice for when we give you the keys.”

Mannock swore. “Well, what’s another couple minutes, eh? Let’s get this done.”

“Okay, Service,” Phil said. “Take your time.” He hung up and turned back to DeWayne Mannock. “This still a cash deal? I don’t need to get our finance guy in here?”

“Cash on the barrel,” DeWayne said, hefting the bag onto the desk. “You wanna see it?”

“Well, not only have I never seen that much cash before, but someone here is going to have to count it. That may take a while.”

“I know. It took
me
a while.” Mannock laughed loudly.

“As I mentioned, sir, I’m going to ask a security guard to take the money to our accountant while I’m printing out all the documents.”

“Sounds good.”

Phil dialed the sales manager’s office again. “Could you send security to my office for a cash delivery? Thank you!”

“Stay here,” Jack told Biff. “Boone, follow me.”

They headed toward Phil’s office, where Jack introduced himself as the sales manager. “Congratulations, Mr. Mannock!”

“Thank you!” DeWayne reached up to shake his hand.

“You are DeWayne Mannock, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to be very happy with your purchase.”

“I already am!”

“Before we have security take custody of the cash, could I see some identification?”

“You betcha.”

Mannock rocked forward to reach his wallet and showed Jack his Indiana driver’s license.

“Security,” Jack said, and Boone stepped out from behind him with a pair of handcuffs.

“DeWayne Mannock, please stand and turn around with your hands behind your back.”

“What the—?”

“You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Max Lamonica Drake—”

“Kidnapping! No way! I—”

Boone yanked Mannock up out of his chair and twisted him around, reaching for his hands. “Get ’em behind you, DeWayne!”

“C’mon, Drake! You know I—”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Jack said as Boone applied the cuffs and turned Mannock around. He dropped him back into the chair.

“I don’t need to remain silent. I didn’t kidnap anybody!”

So much the better,
Boone thought.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” Jack continued.

“Once you let me explain, there won’t be any court! C’mon!”

“You have the right to an attorney.”

“I don’t need one! Just listen to me!”

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Don’t provide me nothin’! Just hear me out!”

“Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

Mannock gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

“Come now, DeWayne. You know you have to answer these two questions. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

“I understand ’em! I just don’t need ’em!”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me? . . . DeWayne? Silence is not an acceptable response to that question. You told me you understood your rights. With those rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

“Will you listen?”

“Do you wish to speak to me?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes, I wish to speak to you.”

“That’s going to happen in Chicago,” Jack said.

“Oh no! Now, I’m buyin’ a car here! I got all this money.”

Boone leaned into Mannock’s face. “You’re riding into the city with us, DeWayne. Your money is evidence. The car stays here.”

“I’m not leaving without my car!”

“You won’t need it in Stateville, DeWayne. You know that.”

“Drake, listen to me. When you hear how little I had to do with any of this, how little I even knew, you’re gonna bring me right back here and let me buy my car.”

“We have to do the interrogation properly. Don’t start talking till we get to Chicago.”

“I’ll be talking all the way.”

“We won’t be listening.”

“Didn’t I just say that? I knew you wouldn’t listen!”

“When we get downtown, you can talk all you want, and we’ll record every word.”

“Well, you’re going to feel like idiots once you know everything.”

“Telling us everything is the best idea you’ve ever had, DeWayne.”

On the ride back to Chicago, when Boone could think over DeWayne Mannock’s incessant badgering, he allowed himself hope that finally, finally they had made some progress. With no ransom demand, the mystery deepened over what had become of Max. Boone had to push from his mind thoughts of the boy’s fear. He didn’t allow himself to think of injury—or worse—to Max, because Mannock had been paid as much as he had simply to be a finder, the boy was a ridiculously valuable commodity. But why? And to whom?

Boone’s phone vibrated, and he looked down at a text from Lefty Tidwell.
Mannock’s phone still transmitting. Mind if we listen in?

Suit yourself,
he texted back.
You guys must not get out much.

Not half the fun of you big city cops.

Sitting on his cuffed hands in the back of the squad, Mannock whined and cried and moaned. “C’mon! You can take the cuffs off! They’re killin’ me.”

“You think I want you comfortable?” Boone said. “Is Max comfortable?”

“Listen, here’s all I know about that. I—”

“Not now, Mannock!” Jack barked. “I told you. Downtown. You have the right to remain silent, and I suggest you exercise it.”

“Drake,
you
wanna hear, don’t you?”

“Put a sock in it, DeWayne,” Boone said, desperate as he was for any news. How a man could be involved in the kidnapping of his own biological son was beyond him. But the more they frustrated Mannock, the more they forced him to wait to be heard, the more they’d likely get from him. Hopefully he’d gush everything he knew. Plus they wanted the first interview in this case air tight, recorded, and with witnesses watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

“I’m tellin’ you guys! You’re gonna be apologizing to me. I was nothing in this, a pawn. None of it really traces to me.”

“Good one, DeWayne,” Boone said. “Tell you what: if you’re right and we’re wrong and we misunderstood everything we overheard you say the last eighteen hours, I guarantee I’ll personally apologize and beg your pardon.”

“You will?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll personally see that you get to keep your money.”

“And buy my car?”

“It’ll be yours to do with as you please.”

“You serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“’Cause that’s gonna be how it goes down. You’ll see I’m innocent. A hundred percent.”

Boone rested his hand on the butt of his Beretta, wishing DeWayne would give him reason to whirl and put one between his eyes. They already had more than enough on him to put him away for years. Proclamations of innocence were nothing new, but Boone was intrigued about what they’d hear once Mannock had been assigned an interrogation room.

“I’m tellin’ you guys, you’re gonna feel like fools.”

“I need to tell you something, Mannock,” Jack Keller said.

“What?”

“Are you listening?”

“I said ‘What?’!”

“I need to know you’re hearing me, so you don’t get hurt.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“I’ve never been charged with police brutality.”

“Well, I’ll charge you with it if you try something on me!”

“See? You’re not listening. What I should have said is that I’ve been
accused
of brutality many times—which goes with the job, doesn’t it, Chief Drake?”

“It does,” Boone said, wondering where Jack was going with this.

“But I’ve never had it stick. You know why?”

“I don’t give a—”

“Yes, you do, Mannock. Because today it may be your turn. You follow?”

“No! What’re you saying?”

“Just that if I hear another word out of you before we get to Chicago, you’re gonna feel like you’ve been abused.”

“You threatening me?”

“Yes. So you’re listening?”

“I am now.”

“It won’t be anything you can get a handle on. Maybe I squeeze your arm too tight when I pull you out of the car. Maybe I’m not careful enough to keep from banging your head on the way out. Maybe before I get the cuffs off you for fingerprinting, I mistakenly tighten them more first.”

“They’re already too tight!”

“Well, see?”

“You better not—”

“Have you heard about our famous garage elevator door, DeWayne?”

“What about it?”

“It’s the old-fashioned kind that doesn’t stop automatically when a light beam is tripped. It was made with one of those old rubber coated vertical bars that’s supposed to push the door back if it hits anything. But you know what? Some pranksters, maybe some colleagues of Drake’s and mine from the 11th, they removed that thing several years ago. Now when we take someone from the parking garage to the booking room, we have to be very careful to get them in the elevator before that door starts to close. It can leave a real bruise. Some guys have even been caught in there until we can find the Open button.”

“I’ll sue! You’ll lose your job!”

“For being careless? I don’t think so, DeWayne. Like I say, I’ve been accused a lot of times, but there’s never been enough to make anything stick. Wonder why? Because I’ve had such an illustrious career? Is it my reputation, DeWayne? Or is it because the accusations always come from lowlifes like you?”

“Maybe you just know how to get around the system and not make it obvious.”

“Bingo! You win the prize, DeWayne! So here’s what you do to make sure I’m extra considerate while we’re getting you to booking—listening?”

“Yeah.”

“You keep your mouth shut the rest of the way. If I’m tired of hearing you, I know Chief Drake is. Am I right, Chief Drake?”

“You’re right, Chief Keller.”

“So, not another word. If I hear one, even one, I can’t promise you’ll be as comfortable in the interrogation room as you are now. And you’re not really that comfortable now, are you?”

Mannock sucked in a breath through his teeth, as if preparing to say something.

“Ah-ah-ah, DeWayne,” Jack said. “Not another word.”

Octavia Frazier sat in her office in Calona, Michigan, putting the finishing touches on her monthly report for the city council that night. Two of her four police officers were on duty, and the civilian dispatcher-receptionist-assistant Madge poked her head in the door.

“Fed Ex for you, Chief,” she said. “You order something?”

Ms. Frazier held out an open palm without looking up. “Back to your desk, Madge. I’ll let you know if it concerns you.”

The small box was light, and the sending information had been blacked out. The chief tore it open to find what looked like a brand-new cell phone and a note that appeared to have been written by a child, or by an adult with his opposite hand.

Free phone just for you, Chief. All charged up and ready to go. Just use it to call Lieutenant Tidwell of the Hammond, Indiana PD, and it’s all yours. User manual available on line. Love ya. J.B.

“Madge!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How much is a phone call to Hammond?”

“Indiana? Can’t be that much. Why?”

“Darndest thing. C’mere and look at this.”

“You just banished me back to my desk, Chief!”

“Get in here.”

The women studied the phone and the letter. “On this kinda phone, it’s probably free,” Madge said.

Octavia turned on the phone and colorful icons appeared. “This is like a mystery, Madge. We haven’t had a mystery since that guy in County killed himself.”

“See whose it is.”

“How do I do that?”

“Give me that,” Madge muttered. “I shoulda been chief; don’t even know how to use a phone. Here, see? Oh, it’s blank.”

“Well, ’course it’s blank, Mrs. Smarty-pants. If they wanted me to know who J.B. was, they woulda signed their whole name.”

“You gonna call the number?”

“They didn’t give me a number.”

“They gave you a name, silly! You want me to get the number?”

“Okay, but let me make the call.”

Madge dialed information and asked for the Hammond, Indiana, Police Department. “No thanks,” she told the operator, “we’ll dial it ourselves.”

Lefty Tidwell sat in the passenger seat of the surveillance van on the way back to headquarters while one of his techies drove and the other monitored the equipment in the back. They had all enjoyed listening in on the conversation between DeWayne Mannock and the two Chicago cops. Tidwell had been hooting over Jack’s threats.

“Keller’s a piece a work, ain’t he? Huh? Am I right or am I right? Huh?”

“Whoa!” That came from the techie in the back.

Tidwell whirled in his seat. “What’s up?”

“Just got a ping on the phone used to send the picture to Mrs. Quigley.”

“AKA’s?”

“It’s on; that’s all I know. Pinging off a tower in northern Michigan. Way up there. Western side of the state. Now here’s a call. Hang on.” He turned on the speaker and heard a woman ask for the number for the Hammond PD.”

“Curious,” Tidwell said.

Two minutes later, Lefty’s cell chirped.

“Tidwell.”

“Got a call for you, Lieutenant. A police chief in Michigan.”

“Put it through.”
Click.
“This is Tidwell.”

“Yes, hello, sir. Chief Frazier here in Calona, Michigan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She told him the story of the phone. “. . . and that’s everything I know.”

“Have you touched it, Chief?”

“I’m afraid I have. It’s in my hand.”

“It’s evidence in an open investigation. Could you do me a favor and overnight it to the name and address I give you?”

“Absolutely. Um, we’re on a real small budget here, Lieutenant. There’s only six full-time people—”

“Just pop an invoice in there, Chief. Chicago PD will be glad to reimburse you.” He gave her Jack Keller’s name and address. “Now, Ms. Frazier, I’m going to read you off a list of names. If any one of them sounds at all familiar, stop me, okay?”

“Sure.”

“John or Johnnie Bertalay. DeWayne Mannock. Alfonso Lamonica. Florence Quigley. Kevin Kenleigh, that’s K-E-N-L-E-I-G-H. Jasper or Jammer Pitts.”

“Nothing, Lieutenant. Sorry.”

“Just trying to get a bead on why that phone would have found its way to you.”

“I haven’t the foggiest. I’m sorry.”

“But you’ll box it up for us?”

“And get it to Chief Keller in Chicago, yes, sir.”

“Anyone else touch it?”

“My dispatcher, yes.”

“Do both of you have your fingerprints on file there?”

“Only sworn officers, sir. Mine, not hers. You want me to fingerprint her?”

“That won’t be necessary. Pop a copy of yours in there, and we’ll know whose the others are. We’ll be hoping for one more, one that fits our suspect.”

While Tidwell was thanking her and hanging up, the techie in the back appeared between the front seats.

“What?”

“He’s playing us again, Lieutenant.”

“Who is?”

“AKA, or whoever he is this week. Take a look at this.”

Tidwell accepted a printout bearing the location of the cell tower that had picked up the phone signal. It read, “Calona, MI.”

“We already know that,” Lefty said.

“Read it closely, Lieutenant. He sent that phone all the way there, just because of the anagram. C-A-L-O-N-A-M-I. A little verbal raspberry right in our faces.”