Chapter 4

 

Beau stared at the banded stacks of money on his desk. Sequential numbers, new bills. This cash had not come from some drug launderer’s stockpile or the mattress hoard of an old dude. He’d spoken to an Agent Mike Frazer at the Treasury, read off some of the numbers and was waiting for a callback. Meanwhile, it would be a good idea to make calls to other law enforcement in the surrounding counties to see what info he might glean from them.

Movement outside the window facing the squad room caught his attention. A second later his doorknob jiggled and someone tapped. Sam’s face appeared at the window. He crossed the room and opened the locked door for her.

“Wow—did the county give you a raise?” she said with an impish grin on her face.

“I wish.” He offered her one of the guest chairs as he went back to his own seat. “Remember when Rupert called this morning—said something about found money?”

Her eyes widened and she remained standing. “Guess it was more than a lost wallet.”

“No kidding. I’m trying to track it down now.”

“Well, I can’t stay. Just wanted to let you know that we’re invited to Zoë and Darryl’s tomorrow night for dinner. I’m making myself a vow to leave my shop on time and not let anything interfere.”

“Sounds good.” His eyes went to the money pile again.

“Try not to let a new case tie up all your time,” she pleaded. “Six-thirty, tomorrow night.”

“I’ll plan on it.” He sent a reassuring smile her way. Surely, once he knew where the money came from it would mainly be a matter of turning it back over to the rightful owner. The least he could do was make time for dinner with his wife and their friends.

Sam circled his desk and gave him a kiss. “Gotta run. I’ll call you later and we’ll decide what we’re doing tonight.”

He stood and saw her to the back door, never quite taking his eyes off the loot on his desk. They kissed again, briefly, and she headed out. His phone was ringing when he got back to the desk.

“Sheriff Cardwell?” said a male voice with the right degree of authority to be federal.

“Speaking.”

“Mike Frazer with Treasury. We spoke earlier when you called about serial numbers on a set of bank notes. I’ve got some information for you.”

Beau reached for his notepad.

“All the notes in question were transferred from the Federal Reserve Bank in Dallas to the First Bank of Springer two days ago. That’s who you should talk with, to find out where the money went next.”

“Thanks,” Beau said absently, making notes.

Frazer ended the call. Beau wasn’t familiar with the bank the agent mentioned. The town of Springer was in Colfax County. But he did know the sheriff there—had, in fact, been about to call the man when Sam dropped by. He jotted himself a note so he wouldn’t forget the dinner she’d scheduled, then flipped through his contacts to find Tim Beason’s number.

All Beau had was the main number for the department, so it took a couple of re-routes before Beason himself came on the line.

“Hey Beau, how’s it going? I was just thinking about you, wondering if you’re going to the conference next month.”

Beau had forgotten all about the Sheriffs’ Association annual gathering. It served as an opportunity for colleagues to meet, to learn and mainly to establish the kinds of connections he hoped would help him today.

“It’s on my agenda,” Beau said. They exchanged a few pleasantries on the subject before Beau turned to the real reason for the call. “Listen, I had a weird thing happen this morning and just found out it’s somehow tied to a bank in your county.”

He explained about the black bag and how he’d traced the cash.

“How much did you say?”

Beau ran his fingers over the stacks, although he knew the amount perfectly well. “A hundred thousand dollars. Twenty packets of five-thousand each.”

If he expected surprise or hesitation from Tim, it didn’t come.

“So, that’s part of it,” the other sheriff said.

“Part of what? Who deals in this kind of cash nowadays?”

“Big armored car robbery this morning, early hours. A-1 Armored Car Service picked up a half-mil in cash from the bank and was in the process of taking it up to the mine near Questa. Yeah, I know, in a day and age when almost all money is just numbers on a computer screen somewhere, these guys handle certain of their operations the old-fashioned way. Cash money.”

“How the hell did they get robbed?”

“It happened in the canyon west of Cimarron. Lots of curves in the road along there. A gang set up a fake construction zone and stopped all the traffic, halted the armored car out of sight of the rest. Driver made the mistake of rolling down her window to see what the delay was about. They shot her in the face.”

“God.”

“She’s alive but in real bad shape.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Beau swallowed hard. “But the money—it would have been in back.”

“Yeah, well. One of the two men in back opened the door when he heard the shots up front.”

“Aren’t they trained not—”

“They are. We’ll be grilling the hell out of the two guards, trying to figure out whether one or both of them were in on this thing.”

“Someone got away with the cash, though.” Beau felt his mind racing.

“Yep. According to the guards, three men aimed high-power rifles at them. Disarmed them, grabbed five locked canvas bags and tossed them into a big black pickup truck. One guy was shouting orders the whole time, threatening to shoot anyone who moved an inch. Both of the guards agree—all three men were big and dangerous but the leader, the one doing all the yelling, he seemed crazy.”

The line went silent for a minute as both men thought through the facts.

Tim Beason spoke first. “You say the cash you’ve retrieved was in some kind of duffle bag?”

“Left behind at a local café by someone who couldn’t have been any of the men you described. This one was slight of build and very quiet.”

“But the serial numbers match.”

“According to the Federal Reserve Bank.”

“Dang. How’re we gonna figure this one out?”

“Can you fax me the statements you’ve taken?” Beau asked. “Now, go over the whole thing with me again.”