Meeker reclaimed the Packard after her prize catch was taken into custody and headed to Urbana, Illinois. The task force was meeting at the police station there, and though she knew that they wouldn’t let her in on the questioning, she still wanted to hang close enough to get information from Reese.
The drive took her directly over the spot where she’d tied McGrew to the hood. She smiled as she traversed the railroad crossing at a much lower speed than she had earlier in the evening. Patting the Packard’s dash, she whispered, “Your brakes might have saved me tonight.” And that fact was true. Packard’s engineered safety and attention to detail, along with the FBI mechanics that reworked the sedan before she began driving it, might well have been the reason the stunt worked. She was sure that once McGrew had gotten far enough from the farmhouse and felt comfortable, he likely would have killed her.
Pulling up to the Urbana Police Department’s main building, she got out, stretched, and then, remembering that McGrew had brought something with him when he’d forced her to drive him away, threw open the back door. In the glow of a street lamp she noted the item on the floor—a bag.
Pulling the bag up to the seat she unzipped it and looked inside. What she saw was pretty much what she’d expected: clothes, ammunition, and cash. She grabbed the gun, dropped it with the rest of McGrew’s stuff, rezipped the bag and, after tossing it over her shoulder, made her way into the combination jail and police station. She flashed her presidential credentials to the desk sergeant and took a seat. Twenty minutes later, Reese walked in with Lepowitz.
This time the man actually talked to her without snarling.
Making a detour, he walked across the room, stood in front of Meeker, and announced, “You know how I feel about women working with men. It’s a distraction. The only reason you’re on loan to us is because of your family’s long association with Roosevelt. When he’s out of office, you won’t be anywhere near FBI work ever again. I will make sure of that. Do you get that? You got lucky when you captured McGrew, but that doesn’t change my opinion of women in the FBI or any other kind of law enforcement!”
“Yes, sir.” Her words were accompanied with a sly grin, which was not lost on Lepowitz.
“You should be dead right now. You know that? But nevertheless, what I heard you did with that bow and arrow, and the way you subdued McGrew shows me that working with Reese has taught you something. When this experiment ends, I’ll write you a letter of recommendation to anywhere but the FBI.”
“How generous you are, sir,” she quipped.
He glanced down at the duffel bag sitting beside the woman. “What’s with the bag?”
“This was what McGrew took with him,” she explained. “It was in the backseat of the Packard. There’s a gun, some clothes, a lot of ammo, and cash.”
The station door opened behind them, and four troopers escorted McGrew across the reception area and through doors at the back. The captured man glanced over toward Meeker and shook his head.
“I don’t think he likes you much,” Reese noted.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Meeker replied.
“He does make a good hood ornament,” Reese added.
“I thought so,” she shot back.
Lepowitz cut in, “Reese, you know as much about this guy as anyone here. You come in with me for the interrogation. And, Meeker, why don’t you find an empty office somewhere and count the cash in that bag.”
“That sounds like women’s work,” she noted.
“Yes, it does.” Lepowitz smiled. “I’m sure you’re suited for it.”
The desk sergeant escorted Meeker to the conference room and gave her a legal pad and pencil so she could take notes. Dumping the bag’s contents onto the table, she went to work. Her first chore was detailing the information on the manufacturer, make, model, and serial number of the firearm. She then recorded the information on the ammunition. She next went through the clothes, searching all the pockets and noting what was in each. Finally she turned her attention to the cash.
The money looked almost new. Though it was not crisp and it had a few creases, it was nevertheless very clean. Pulling off a rubber band, she thumbed through the cash. The bills were all one hundreds; while not startling, it was a bit strange. Most stores had a habit of carefully examining anything larger than a twenty, and so criminals liked smaller denominations as they drew far less attention when purchasing items.
The bills’ serial numbers were consecutive, indicating they likely had been part of a major bank heist. If this was true it would be a snap to link McGrew to that crime. She noted the starting and ending serial numbers on the pad then set about counting the C-notes. There were exactly one hundred bills and all, except for the last one, were in perfect shape.
She set the bills aside, picked up the pencil again, and began to record the information. Then lightning struck. Picking up the final bill, she studied it more closely.
“My Lord,” she whispered.
Pushing her chair back from the table, she rushed from the room and down the hall to where two agents were standing in front of a door. Instinct told her who was on the other side.
“I need to see Lepowitz,” she announced in a demanding tone.
“He’s with the prisoner, Miss Meeker,” the taller of the two explained.
“I know that,” she quickly replied, “but this is about the case. I have to see Lepowitz now. I have an angle that he needs to ask McGrew about. Let him know I’m here.”
“I can’t do that, ma’am,” the square-jawed man calmly but firmly replied. “Agent Lepowitz left instructions that no one was to go in until he was finished.”
“He did?” She turned on her heel, walked two steps back in the direction she came from then whirled and raced toward the door. Before the agents could react, she’d twisted the knob and charged into the room.
McGrew’s eyes found Meeker even before Reese or Lepowitz had a chance to turn around. The hood ornament barked, “Get her out of here! That woman’s crazy.”
“Meeker!” Lepowitz screamed as he rose from his chair. “You can’t be in here.”
Her eyes aflame, she shouted back, “I already am!” Shifting her gaze to the other side of the small wooden table, she waved the one-hundred-dollar bill and said, “Where did you get the money that was in your bag, McGrew?”
Lepowitz glanced toward the door and to the two men who had been guarding it. They stood open-mouthed, motionless. “Get her out of here.”
Meeker paid no attention. “Where did you get this cash, McGrew?”
As one of the agents laid a hand on her shoulder, she turned to Lepowitz and warned, “Get this guy’s hands off me. If you don’t let me get the answers I need, the next call you get will be from my friend and boss FDR. Do you understand?”
“You can’t do this to me,” Lepowitz warned.
“Try me,” she dared him. “I had the power to be assigned to the FBI when no other woman in the world could. Every time you’ve tried to turn me into a secretary, you’ve had your own personal fireside chat with the President. I want to know just one thing from this goon. That’s all! Then you can have him all to yourself, and I’ll be on my way back to Chicago. You can even take personal credit for arresting him. You can change the story so you tossed him over the hood of your car and brought him in. But you let me ask him where he got the C-notes!”
Lepowitz set his jaw as he reconsidered his options. Looking back toward the door, he waved the men out. He then glanced back at the prisoner. “Where’d you get the cash?”
“It’s not mine,” he spat.
Meeker looked over to Reese and nodded. Reese turned back to McGrew. “Was this what you were waiting for, and why you didn’t leave sooner?”
The prisoner sighed. “I had to have the ten grand to get to Mexico. There were going to be a lot of people I had to pay off along the way.”
Meeker moved quickly around the table, tossed the torn hundred down, and demanded, “Who brought it to you? Who was driving the maroon Sharknose Graham?”
McGrew shook his head. “I won’t tell you.”
Sensing a moment in which he could regain his authority, Lepowitz pointed his finger and hissed, “Tell us what we want to know or things are going to get even worse for you!”
“Worse for me?” McGrew laughed. “Excuse me, I’m headed to the death house. The only question unanswered is which state gets to do the honor and whether I’ll die using gas or electricity. Your threats mean nothing to me.”
Meeker cut in. “What if we could make it easier on you? Maybe we could exert a bit of influence and get you a life sentence. It’s been known to happen.”
The con shook his head.
“Can I talk to Reese outside?” Meeker asked.
“As long as you don’t come back in,” Lepowitz growled.
Picking up the bill from the table, Meeker opened the door and strolled back into the hall. Her partner followed along behind her. She led him around the corner where they could not be overheard and, leaning close, whispered, “You can work McGrew over all you want, he’s not going to give up the name.”
“You mean loyalty of thieves?” Reese asked.
“No,” she replied, “he has no loyalty to anyone. I found that out by the way he talked about the others at the farmhouse. He’d have rolled over in a second on them. However, that guy driving the Graham means something to him personally.”
“But why’s it so important?” Reese asked. “What difference does it make? We have McGrew.”
“I’m taking this bill back to Chicago with me,” Meeker explained, “to make sure my theory is correct. But I think the money that man gave to McGrew was a part of what Abbi Watling hid in the Packard.”
A look of disbelief washed over Reese’s handsome features. “What? How can you be sure?”
“A corner was torn off. I think the missing part was what Bobbs found in the seat cushion. So work your magic on McGrew, do whatever you have to to make him spill, see if he knows anything about the kidnapping, but my guess is he won’t open up no matter what tactics you employ. If we can somehow find out who he thinks enough of not to rat them out, we are likely a lot closer to the answers in the Rose Hall case.”
Reese stood silently, his hands in his pockets as he contemplated what he’d been told. Meeker gave him a few seconds before announcing, “I’ll give everything in the bag and all my notes to one of Lepowitz’s flunkies. I’m taking the hundred for our case. If he protests, tell him to call the President. I’ll see you back in Chicago.”