Criminal Enterprise, page 6
The drive to Saint Paul took twenty minutes, downtown to downtown on I-94. Windermere passed the turnoff for Midway en route. She looked up and out of the Interstate trench and tried to figure out why the guy had chosen Midway, when every other job seemed to confirm Doughty’s theory that the suspect was a Minneapolis local.
She picked up her phone and called Doughty’s cell. Rang through to voice mail the first try, but he picked up the second. “Doughty, it’s Windermere.” She could hear a baby crying in the background, another kid yelling something. “Got a lead in Saint Paul. Check it out.”
She explained her findings, Prospect Park leading to Midway and the E-Z Park receipt. “We’re watching this guy evolve, Bob,” she told him. “He’s getting more and more dangerous as he builds up his confidence.”
Doughty yelled something at the kid. Then he came back on the line. “So what are you saying?”
“I think we should broaden our search for this guy,” she said. “Midway’s his first score, from what I can tell. It’s a rookie job. Could tell us more about him than anything later.”
“Most of his scores are in southern Minneapolis,” Doughty replied. “I’m making good headway with my local contacts.”
“This first job, though, Bob, this is the big one. It’s probably closer to his home base than those Minneapolis banks. Someone in Midway might know him.”
Doughty gave it a beat. “You tell Harris?”
“No,” she said. “I just thought of it now.”
“And you’re in the car already. Driving to Saint Paul.” Doughty sucked his teeth. “You should have checked with me first.”
“I’m telling you now, Bob.”
Another pause. The baby wailed in the background. “That’s not the point, Carla. Everything on this investigation’s supposed to go through me.”
Windermere rolled her eyes. “So all right. What do you want me to do?”
“Come back to the office. We’ll talk this thing over.”
“I’m halfway to Saint Paul.”
“So you’ll get to CID about the same time as me. See you there.” Doughty hung up before she could reply. She stared at her phone for a second. God damn it, she thought. She let her foot off the accelerator. Then she pressed down again. I can see Saint Paul up ahead. Damned if I’m turning back now.
She found the E-Z Park entrance beneath a high-rise office complex. It was a garage underground, and she parked in a no-parking zone at the top of the ramp.
Before she was out of the car, there was an employee bearing down on her. “No parking,” he said. “You have to keep moving.”
Windermere flashed her badge. “Your boss around?”
The man stopped like he’d touched an electric fence. Then he turned and hurried toward an office, pausing to look back at her twice. He returned a minute later with another man, slightly older, in a wrinkled brown suit. “Can I help you?”
Windermere introduced herself. Showed the man the photocopied Midway note. “I’m looking for a man,” she said. “He parked here once. In July.”
The man examined the photocopy. Shrugged and turned back to the office. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“I have some pictures, too,” she said. “Maybe they’ll help.”
The manager beckoned his employee over. “I spend my day in the office,” he said. “Sanjay works in the booth.”
Sanjay came over slowly, circling Windermere like a wary dog. Windermere held out the stack of security pictures, and the man paused before riffling through them. Then he shook his head and looked sideways at Windermere. “I don’t know.”
Windermere frowned. “Nothing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She wanted to press him, but the manager had returned, holding the photocopy and another scrap of paper. “This account was paid for by a credit card,” he told Windermere. “The credit card belongs to a man named Carter Tomlin.”
“Carter Tomlin,” said Windermere. “You know who he is?”
Both men shook their heads.
“He still park here?”
The manager shrugged. “Perhaps you could check with the credit card company.” He shoved the photocopy back at Windermere, and the scrap of paper, too. He’d written Tomlin’s name on it in block letters.
Windermere studied his face. Thought about telling him to go back and check for himself. Then she decided, why not go to the source? “Okay, boys,” she said. “Thanks for your time.”
The two men watched her climb into the car and drive out of the lot. They didn’t move until she’d turned out onto the street and was pulling away. Windermere watched them in her rearview mirror. Hiding something, no doubt, but they didn’t know squat about the bank robber.
Her phone rang. Doughty. She let it ring for a minute. Then she sighed and picked it up. “I got a name. Carter Tomlin, he’s—”
“Where are you?” Doughty’s tone was ice.
“Did you hear me, Bob? I have a lead.”
“I asked you to meet me at the office, Agent Windermere.”
She sighed again. “What’s your point?”
“My point?” Doughty’s voice lost its chill, replaced with barely throttled anger. “I’m senior agent on this investigation, Agent Windermere. That’s my point. Come back to Minneapolis, now, and we’ll talk about what happens next.”
Windermere mouthed a curse. “I’m stuck in traffic,” she said. “I’ll be there when I can.”
19
TRICIA SAID SHE had a friend, Javier, who could move the cocaine. “Good money,” she said. “No risk. He’s cool.”
Tomlin stalled her as long as he could. “He’s cool?” he said. “He’s a goddamn drug dealer. That’s cool to you?”
Tricia shrugged. “Why not?”
“How do you know this guy, anyway? I thought you were a student or something.”
“I’m a lot of things,” Tricia said. “What do you care? This guy, Javier, he’s my ex-boyfriend’s hookup. I used to see him three or four times a month, okay? We’re cool.” She cocked her head and smiled at him, confident. As though she brokered drug deals every other day. Maybe she does, Tomlin thought. She could be the pink-haired Pablo Escobar, for all I know.
“We doing this or what, boss?” she said. “Come on. Let’s turn that brick into cash.”
Finally, he gave in. Pull the trigger, he thought. Someone else finds those drugs and you’re looking at prison. Sell them to this guy Javier, and you’re paying your bills.
“Fine,” he told her. “Set it up.”
She smiled at him. “Great. Now, let’s discuss my fee.”
—
JAVIER LIVED IN an apartment by the university. He answered the door and smiled wide when he saw Tricia, kissed her on the cheek and ushered her inside. Then he looked at Tomlin.
Tomlin studied Javier as Javier studied him. The drug dealer was skinny, with a pockmarked face, probably in his mid-twenties. He had a scar above his upper lip, and though he smiled at Tomlin, his eyes were suspicious. “You’re Tricia’s friend.”
“Yeah.” Tomlin could feel the weight of the pistol in his coat, and he wondered how fast he could draw if he needed.
Javier squinted at him. “You a cop?”
“No. Hell, no.”
“Not that you’d tell me if you were.”
“He’s okay, Javier,” Tricia called from inside. “He’s my boss. The accountant?”
Javier looked at Tomlin again. “The accountant.” He laughed. “Fine. Come in.”
The apartment was empty except for a beat-up couch and a huge flat-screen TV. There were two men on the couch, watching a talk show. Neither looked up when Tomlin walked in.
Javier led them into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “Okay,” he said, watching them. “Let’s see what you got.”
Tricia opened her purse and handed him the brick. Javier looked at Tomlin. “Where did you get this?”
Tomlin shrugged. “Found it in a dumpster.”
“Whose dumpster?”
“What?”
Javier shook his head. “Save it. Just don’t tell them you sold it to me, got it?”
“Fine, Javier,” said Tricia. “Of course.”
One of the men from the living room walked into the kitchen holding a scale. Javier set the brick on the scale and waited a beat. Then he nodded. “One key,” he said. “As advertised.”
The other man produced a knife, and Javier split the package open. He dabbed a finger inside and tasted the powder. Then he looked at Tricia. “Ten thousand.”
Tomlin blinked. “Ten thousand dollars? It’s gotta be worth close to thirty.”
Javier turned and stared at him with his hard little eyes. “You can get thirty for it, go ahead. I’m paying ten.”
“Fifteen.” Tricia put on her ingénue smile. “Then we all go home happy.”
Javier studied her. Then he nodded. “For you only,” he said. “Fifteen thousand.”
His partner went back into the living room and returned with a bundle of money. Handed a thick stack to Tomlin. Tomlin flipped through it. “It’s all here.”
“Fifteen thousand dollars, my friend.” Javier looked at Tomlin and laughed. “Don’t forget to declare it on your taxes.”
20
TOMLIN DROVE TRICIA to her apartment and parked at the curb. He shut off the engine and took out the thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. Then he sat back in his seat. “Jesus Christ. That just happened.”
Tricia cocked her head. “It happened. You cool?”
“Cool?” He looked at her. “We just sold a kilo of coke to that guy. We just pulled off a drug deal. We’re drug dealers. Are you cool?”
Tricia shrugged. “Yeah, I’m cool. We’re fifteen grand up.”
“And that’s that.”
She looked at him. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s that. We walked in there with product. We walked out with cash. It’s not such a big deal, boss. Roll with it.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Roll with it,” he said. He counted out her take, seventy-five hundred, and handed it over. “To be honest, I thought we’d make more.”
“Whatever,” she said, slipping the money into her purse. “It’s seven grand more than I had this morning. So what now?”
What now? Tomlin thought. “Now you go inside,” he told her. “I go home to my wife and forget this ever happened.”
Tricia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“This is exciting,” she said, a smile in her eyes. “Let’s keep going. What other secrets are you hiding?”
He couldn’t hold her gaze. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“The drugs,” she said. “Where’d you get them? And don’t try and bullshit me with that dumpster crap, because you know I’m not buying.”
“It’s found money,” said Tomlin. “Who cares where it comes from?”
“It matters because I want to know what you’re into,” she said. “I saw the cash in that drawer of yours. You can’t tell me that’s all from doing taxes for grandmothers.”
Tomlin started the car. “Nothing’s going on. End of story.”
Tricia leaned forward. The top of her blouse fell open, and if he’d wanted, he could have had a good look at the tops of her breasts. He had a funny feeling she knew just what she was doing. “All right.” She smiled at him. “Let’s play a game.”
“I’d rather not,” Tomlin said.
“Too bad,” she said. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that a man asked his secretary to help him unload some cocaine. A lot of cocaine. How about that?”
Tomlin stared at her. “What the hell are you getting at?”
Tricia held up her hand. “Let’s say the secretary told the hypothetical man’s wife all about what had happened. With the cocaine and everything. Maybe she even hinted about an affair. What do you think would happen?”
“Don’t go there,” Tomlin told her. “Don’t even joke.”
“Who’s joking, boss?”
Tomlin pulled the pistol from his waistband. Held it to her face. “Don’t talk to my family,” he said. “Don’t go there. Understand?”
Tricia didn’t blink. “Just tell me what you’re into. You want to do more drug deals with Javier?” She studied his face. “Or maybe you want to make even more money. I can help you.”
Tomlin stared at her until Tricia pushed the pistol away. “Tell me where the drugs came from,” she said. “Then we can talk about what we’re going to do next.”
Tomlin looked from her eyes to the pistol. Then he lowered the gun. “I robbed a guy,” he said finally. “I needed a weapon, and he had one. The drugs were just extra.”
“You couldn’t just buy a gun?”
“Not for my purposes.”
“Your purposes.” She kept her eyes on him. “What do you mean?”
He wanted to impress her, he realized. He wanted her to see that he was more than some shitty accountant in some shitty office, that he was someone with power. He wanted to scare her a little. “Bank robbery,” he said. “I needed a gun to rob banks.”
Tricia sat straight up in her seat. “I fucking knew it,” she said. “I fucking knew you had secrets. How many?”
“Banks?” Tomlin shrugged. “Five or six.”
“Alone?”
He nodded. “I don’t know many bank robbers.”
“And you make decent money.”
“The money’s okay,” he said. Then he caught himself. “It’s pretty damn good, actually. Pays your wages, doesn’t it?”
She smiled, wide. “Badass.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Tomlin stared out at her ugly apartment complex, the rusted hulks in the parking lot. Then Tricia turned to him again. “You ever think of expanding?”
Tomlin frowned. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes were wide and excited. “You could do a lot better with a couple more people,” she said. “If you had enough guns, I mean.”
Expansion. She was talking about a crew. A professional gang, the kind the FBI couldn’t catch. He realized he’d been waiting for this kind of chance. “I have enough guns,” he told her.
She cocked her eye at him. “Big guns?”
“Big enough.”
“So okay.” She twisted in her seat to face him. “What if we made a little expansion?”
Tomlin frowned. “We?”
“You and me,” she said. “If you’re into it, I know a guy.”
Tomlin sat back in his seat and said nothing. They’d make more money, enough to take care of Becca and the girls for a while. Enough to buy time to get his little business on its feet. Hell, he already had the firepower.
He pretended to think about it. The way Tricia was looking at him, though, he knew he couldn’t say no.
21
WINDERMERE STOOD IN Agent Harris’s office with Bob Doughty beside her, Doughty glaring at her like she’d just killed his dog. Harris leveled his gaze at her. “Agent Windermere,” he said. “Agent Doughty came to me with a complaint about your behavior. What’s the story?”
Windermere held the SAC’s gaze. “Sir, all respect to Agent Doughty, but I have a lead on our Eat Street bank robbery. I’d like to check it out before it goes cold.”
Harris studied her face. He was a few years older than Doughty but looked younger. Trim and well dressed, handsome in an aging college athlete kind of way. He was a fair boss, Windermere figured. She got along with him most of the time.
Now, though, he was looking at her like the principal looks at a problem student. “Agent Doughty is senior agent in this investigation,” he said.
Windermere nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And he asked you to report to CID this morning for briefing. You drove to Saint Paul instead.”
Windermere could feel Doughty’s immense self-regard like a heat lamp. “I was halfway to Saint Paul already. As I communicated to Agent Doughty on the phone, I had a viable lead that I felt warranted investigation.”
“So you disregarded his instructions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve been here two years now, Agent Windermere, but you still act like an outsider.”
I could be at Carter Tomlin’s house now, Windermere thought. She swallowed her frustration. “Yes, sir.”
“You keep to yourself. You haven’t made any friends. You charge into investigations without regard for protocol or your other team members. You solved one high-profile case, and that’s great, but this is a team game, Agent Windermere. You’re still flying solo.”
God damn it. “Yes, sir.”
Harris stared at her for a long time. “What did you find?” he said finally.
Windermere blinked. “Pardon?”
“In Saint Paul, Agent Windermere. What did you find?”
Windermere glanced at Doughty. “I’m pretty sure our Eat Street ringleader has pulled solo jobs in the past,” she told Harris. “I have a bunch of bank jobs around Minneapolis that match his MO.”
“An earlier MO,” said Doughty. “There’s nothing in any of those cases about a team storming a bank with assault rifles and shotguns.”
“No.” Windermere nodded. “This is the first. I think he’s getting braver—”
“Or he’s a whole different person and your robberies aren’t related.”
Windermere gritted her teeth and focused on Harris. “Sir, I have enough information to make a link between the Eat Street robbery and these earlier scores, including a heist in a Bank of America branch in Midway last November. My suspect wrote his demand note on a receipt from the Saint Paul E-Z Park, and I’ve traced that receipt back to a man named Carter Tomlin.”
Harris glanced at Doughty. Doughty took the cue. “I have credible information of my own,” he said. “My contacts through Minneapolis PD tell me these guys are Eat Street local.”
Harris nodded. “You have names?”
“Working on it.”
Harris looked at Windermere again. “Carter Tomlin. Who is he?”
