full interview, but I guess Eddie’s spinning a story my buddy says he can’t wait to hear for himself.”
Mort thought it sounded as good a reason as any to avoid the budget folder. “What’s he saying?”
Jimmy leaned against the doorjamb. “Get this. According to my buddy, when the local gendarmes showed up at the address the tipster gave, they found Eddie. They had him dead to rights and he didn’t put up any fight. Calm as Sunday morning, my buddy says. But when Eddie’s lawyer shows up on the scene about an hour after Eddie’s hauled in, next thing you know all hell’s breaking loose.”
“What happened?”
“Turns out his lawyer informs him that when he tried to access Eddie’s bank accounts to make bail, and, let’s be honest, nail down his own retainer, there’s nothing there but dust. Eddie tells him that’s bullshit and to check another account.”
“How are you knowing this?” Mort asked.
Jimmy shrugged. “Apparently they’re not as keen on client privilege in the backwoods of Maine. Eddie and his lawyer are having this chat while the interview room’s still wired. The whole cop shop heard Eddie yelling about something. The particulars were caught on tape. So Eddie tells him to check a third account…then a fourth…and so on. Lawyer does and it’s the same thing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. The man’s been cleaned out. FBI swoops in and discovers all the money got wire-zapped out that afternoon. All in one press of a button.” Jimmy grinned. “And guess where it went?”
“Swiss bank account?” Mort asked. “Offshore bank where the deer and the dope dealers play?”
Jimmy pointed to his friend. “You, Mort Grant, are becoming cynical. I can’t say as I blame you. This job would turn Mother Teresa. But this time justice prevailed. FBI has no trouble finding the money. It’s all been transferred into the bank account of the dead guy’s wife. More than nine million dollars. Nobody seems to be able to track how it happened. Apparently they’re running into some sort of techno gizmo hocus-pocus that even the feds can’t track. Who cares, though, right? If some caped crusader wants to make things right for this guy’s widow, I say more power to him.”
Mort’s breath stopped and his heart raced in the same instant. He forced himself to inhale. Three deep breaths later he was able to feign a calmness he needed Jimmy to hear.
“That’s quite a story, no doubt about that.” He tapped the budget folder in front of him. “Let me get back to what they pay me to do.”
Jimmy pushed away from the jamb, his voice a gentle tease. “Don’t get too bored out there in the country. Remember you have people here who love you.” He turned and walked down the hall. Mort waited until the clicking of Bruiser’s toenails faded into the distance before he grabbed his phone. He punched number three on his speed dial, willing his body to settle. He waited until he heard the beep at the end of the announcement telling him to leave a message.
“Lydia, this is Mort. Call me. Soon.”
Chapter 8
“I can probably scare up some coffee.” Rita Willers closed the door and pointed to a setup at the opposite end of her office. Mort thought the table and chairs looked like they might have been sold at a garage sale by someone looking to upgrade their dining room. Or maybe the chief brought them in from her own house. Mort figured Rita Willers as the type who’d rather spend whatever limited budget a small-town police department had on equipment and training for her officers than on dressing up her work space.
Mort pulled a bottle of water from his jacket pocket and nodded toward his friend. “We carry our own. I probably should have brought one for you. Sorry. My gentleman skills haven’t been dusted off much lately.”
A muscle twitched in Rita Willers’s jaw as she looked up at Mort. “You can leave them dusty. We’re just a couple of cops here. Have a seat.”
Mort realized he’d again
Mort thought it sounded as good a reason as any to avoid the budget folder. “What’s he saying?”
Jimmy leaned against the doorjamb. “Get this. According to my buddy, when the local gendarmes showed up at the address the tipster gave, they found Eddie. They had him dead to rights and he didn’t put up any fight. Calm as Sunday morning, my buddy says. But when Eddie’s lawyer shows up on the scene about an hour after Eddie’s hauled in, next thing you know all hell’s breaking loose.”
“What happened?”
“Turns out his lawyer informs him that when he tried to access Eddie’s bank accounts to make bail, and, let’s be honest, nail down his own retainer, there’s nothing there but dust. Eddie tells him that’s bullshit and to check another account.”
“How are you knowing this?” Mort asked.
Jimmy shrugged. “Apparently they’re not as keen on client privilege in the backwoods of Maine. Eddie and his lawyer are having this chat while the interview room’s still wired. The whole cop shop heard Eddie yelling about something. The particulars were caught on tape. So Eddie tells him to check a third account…then a fourth…and so on. Lawyer does and it’s the same thing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. The man’s been cleaned out. FBI swoops in and discovers all the money got wire-zapped out that afternoon. All in one press of a button.” Jimmy grinned. “And guess where it went?”
“Swiss bank account?” Mort asked. “Offshore bank where the deer and the dope dealers play?”
Jimmy pointed to his friend. “You, Mort Grant, are becoming cynical. I can’t say as I blame you. This job would turn Mother Teresa. But this time justice prevailed. FBI has no trouble finding the money. It’s all been transferred into the bank account of the dead guy’s wife. More than nine million dollars. Nobody seems to be able to track how it happened. Apparently they’re running into some sort of techno gizmo hocus-pocus that even the feds can’t track. Who cares, though, right? If some caped crusader wants to make things right for this guy’s widow, I say more power to him.”
Mort’s breath stopped and his heart raced in the same instant. He forced himself to inhale. Three deep breaths later he was able to feign a calmness he needed Jimmy to hear.
“That’s quite a story, no doubt about that.” He tapped the budget folder in front of him. “Let me get back to what they pay me to do.”
Jimmy pushed away from the jamb, his voice a gentle tease. “Don’t get too bored out there in the country. Remember you have people here who love you.” He turned and walked down the hall. Mort waited until the clicking of Bruiser’s toenails faded into the distance before he grabbed his phone. He punched number three on his speed dial, willing his body to settle. He waited until he heard the beep at the end of the announcement telling him to leave a message.
“Lydia, this is Mort. Call me. Soon.”
Chapter 8
“I can probably scare up some coffee.” Rita Willers closed the door and pointed to a setup at the opposite end of her office. Mort thought the table and chairs looked like they might have been sold at a garage sale by someone looking to upgrade their dining room. Or maybe the chief brought them in from her own house. Mort figured Rita Willers as the type who’d rather spend whatever limited budget a small-town police department had on equipment and training for her officers than on dressing up her work space.
Mort pulled a bottle of water from his jacket pocket and nodded toward his friend. “We carry our own. I probably should have brought one for you. Sorry. My gentleman skills haven’t been dusted off much lately.”
A muscle twitched in Rita Willers’s jaw as she looked up at Mort. “You can leave them dusty. We’re just a couple of cops here. Have a seat.”
Mort realized he’d again
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