The Milk Wagon Page 12

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him I didn’t have any desire to go into his office, and I knew it was off limits. It was a lie, but it’s not like he’s been exactly honest with me through the years. Then he got in my face. He was off the rails crazy. He pushed me; I pushed him, and that’s when we fought it out. Vicky had to pull us apart, but not before I started windmilling on him.”

  “Atta boy,” Lance said.

  “He can’t hit me like he used to. Now that I’m as big as he is. Next time he comes at me, I’ll kill him.”

  “Did you ever tell him about the pictures?”

  “Nope.”

  “You going to give these to the cops?”

  “I was going to. But then my dad got arrested. Now I don’t need to.”

  “I’m just saying if the cops or the FBI saw these –”

  “I’m not going to turn these in now, Matt.” He turned back towards the fire again. “Not yet. Not until I figure this out.”

  “Figure what out?” Hop asked.

  “Trust me, guys,” Nate said, looking at me. “I will turn them in when the time is right.”

  “Hey, it’s your call, man. You know the situation better than any of us.”

  Nate pulled both hands down the sides of his face and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he was staring right at me. “The truth, Matt, is those aren’t all the pictures I found.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out another, older Polaroid. It was yellowed around the edges, and the thick border on the bottom had cracked.

  “There’s one more.”

  He looked at it for a brief second and handed it to me. I squinted up at the image. It had darkened over time, and the details were not as clear as the others, but it was not so bad that it had blacked all the way out. I could make out a woman sitting in a car. Her head was leaned over across a seat belt and resting on the steering wheel. Broken glass was all around her and a trickle of dark blood oozed out of her mouth.

  “This,” Nate said, but stopped when his voice turned husky. He cleared his throat and resumed. “This is why I was running Friday night.”

  I looked at the picture again, and while it was clearly disturbing, it was not nearly as bad as the others.

  “Why this one, Nate?”

  “Because this is a picture of my mother.”

  Chapter 30

  The Charlotte Gutherz who surprised Kathryn by arriving unannounced at the FBI office the Monday after the raid on Cedar Lake Internists was different from the person Kat and Ethan had interviewed just a few weeks before. When this new and improved version of Charlotte showed up, she exchanged pleasantries with the clerk, took her seat, and waited without any hint of anger or arrogance. Kat studied her and noticed Charlotte did not read any magazines, did not fidget, and only occasionally moved her hands. Judging by her body language alone, she seemed a bit tense, if not concerned.

  Kat had her own reasons to be tense, concerned, and if she allowed herself to take it one more step – angry. When her team showed up at the raid, they were met with a television crew – which made Kat so mad she couldn’t see straight. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out who tipped them off. It was a harbinger of what would become a very bad afternoon. The team came on too strong, and the waiting room turned into chaos in a matter of minutes once the marshals, guns visibly holstered at the hip, flashed badges and demanded access to Dr. Mayes and his records. Of course, the news crew ate it up, using interviews with crying patients and staff as fodder for their evening lead-ins.

  All of that would have been palatable if, at the end of the day, Kat had scored. When they entered, however, they found Dr. Mayes leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk. He was wearing his white coat reading a Sailing magazine, and when they cuffed him, he handed his lawyer’s card to the marshal taking point. He didn’t look the least bit surprised or concerned, and three hours later, Kathryn found out why. Her team did not find a single record that matched up with any of the Cape Island submissions Ethan had pulled.

  Still, Kat got the impression all was not right with the doctor. He was moving slowly and had a bandage covering a cut under his eye and what looked like a bruise under his cheekbone. When she asked him about it, he said he had taken a fall during his morning walk. He was lying.

  Kat brought over two cups of coffee. It was Kat’s third one of the day, and she had not ruled out the possibility of another. She was exhausted, didn’t even take the time to put on makeup, and drew on the influx of caffeine and her simmering anger to power the conversation. “Last time you were here,” Kat said, sitting down, “we had a long discussion, and you told me Dr. Bradford Mayes was the one.”

  “I know. I did.”

  “And I told you I would help you if you helped me.”

  “You did. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t crying, and she wasn’t mad. Very direct, though. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You don’t know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I busted up in that medical clinic with three federal marshals on one side and two FBI agents on the other, and I didn’t find a damn thing.” Kat snorted. “Not a damn thing.”

  “Look, I didn’t make any of that up. I have known Ford – er, Dr. Mayes, for a long time and, uh, I –”

  “Ford?” Suddenly the fatigue dropped off. “Did you call him ‘Ford?’”

  “Well,” she said, “he and I used to be close.” Now she took a sip of her coffee. “Real close.”

  Of course, Kathryn thought. Dr. Bradford – “Ford” (she hated that pretentious sounding name already) – Mayes would go for someone like Charlotte. Young, fit, and beautiful, she was the perfect trophy to feed his insatiable ego.

  “Remind me what you do now?”

  “I still work in sales, but not for a compounding group anymore. When Cat Island shut down, I got on with a pharmaceutical company - Samantof - mainly detailing statins to internists and heart doctors for their patients with high cholesterol.” She paused for a second. “Different than what I was doing for before – for Tom Chrestman.”

  “I would hope so. You like your job?”

  “I do.”

  “I assume you want to keep it?”

  “Look, Agent Cooper, let’s don’t play the ‘gotcha’ game again, okay?” Charlotte said. “No threats. I came here voluntarily. Cut the crap.”

  “You want to cut the crap? Then let’s cut the crap. When was the last time you spoke with Dr. Mayes?”

  “Probably a year ago.”

  “Are you his mistress?”

  “Was.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just as I said it. I was his mistress. We were involved in an affair for almost two years.”

  “Was he married at the time? To his current wife, I mean?”

  “Ugh,” Charlotte said. “Yes. What a bitch.”

  “What stopped it? Why did it end between you two?”

  “He ended it cold turkey when things started getting hot up in Hattiesburg last year.”

  “Hot?”

  “You know what I mean. You and your people started arresting pharmacists, nurses, and doctors right and left. Ford got scared. He wanted to cut anything that could remotely tie him to the investigation. I was –” Charlotte looked a little ashen but continued. “I was the first to go.”

  Kat tapped her pen on the table. Charlotte had essentially just admitted that she was at the least a potential co-conspirator to it all. This could be big, but Kat needed more, so she tried a different tack and dialed it down. Good cop time.

  “Charlotte, if you want my help, you have to tell me everything. We’re beyond holding back at this point.”

  Charlotte nodded and bowed her head. “Agent Cooper, you asked me to be honest with you, and I said I would.”

  “Yes.�
��

  “I will do it under one condition.”

  Kathryn wanted to tell her that she was in no position to be stating any conditions, but she let it ride. “What’s that?”

  “That you likewise be totally honest with me. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte said, “did you interview Ford? You know, after you arrested him?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Did he say anything about me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you say anything about me to him?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “So he doesn’t know I was the one who gave up his name?”

  “I don’t think so. I certainly didn’t tell him.” Charlotte closed her eyes, and Kat could see some of the tension melt away. “Why?”

  Charlotte stared past Kat, not saying a word. She cracked her neck and rubbed her hands together. “I thought when y’all picked him up, he would be in jail for a long time. Then I saw the news that he had been released, and I got a little nervous. That’s why I came in here this morning.”

  “Nervous? Why?”

  “Dr. Mayes is not a nice man, Agent Cooper. He’s got a mean streak, and when things don’t go his way, he is prone to lash out.”

  “Lash out? How?”

  “He’s rude. He’s a jerk. I have seen him dress down his employees and publicly shame his son for no reason other than sport. He’s a bully.”

  “What about physical violence? Has he ever gone down that road?”

  Charlotte grunted. “I’ve heard stories.”

  “What type of stories?”

  “Well, for one, his history of domestic abuse is well known in certain circles. As much as I dislike Vicky, I have seen her after a brutal weekend. Black eyes. Busted lips. Jumpy.”

  “What about his first wife?”

  “She died years ago. Freak car accident. Skidded off the road taking their son to preschool one morning. She was killed instantly, but the boy survived.”

  “You said your reason for being here is out of concern that Dr. Mayes may actually seek you out and harm you, right? If he knew you had given us his name?”

  “Yes and no. Do I think he would come after me? Yes. Do I think he would do it himself? No. Considering you presently have him under investigation, I don’t think he will step out of line.”

  “Then why did you come in if you’re not worried about him?”

  “Who said I limited it to him?”

  “Well who else, then?”

  “He has a man who will do it for him.”

  “A man?”

  “Yes. Someone to do the dirty work for him.”

  “Who?”

  “His smurf,” she said with a head tilt, “a junkie he refers to as ‘Fast Eddie.’”

  Chapter 31

  Most of the bank transactions Fast Eddie made for Doc Mayes back in the heyday of the Hattiesburg fix – and there were plenty of them – were done via after-hours deposit. The reasons were twofold; first, no one ever saw his face; and second, doing smurf work at night did not interfere with his day job. He did have one bank, however, where he actually went inside on occasion – and he risked exposure at that bank for the sole purpose of skimming. Sure, Doc Mayes paid him a cut out of every transaction, but the son of a bitch could also be a stingy bastard. Not once during their whole relationship did he throw Fast Eddie some extra change or even offer a kind word for a job well done. Fast Eddie’s day job did not support his preferred lifestyle, so he used the Bank of Wiggins when he needed to supplement his base, as it were.

  The exposure was actually pretty minimal. He grew up with Rachel Beckett, the bank manager, and knew her family. She was the first one from her bloodline to hold a job that was actually inside a building. She was a single mom with a penchant for alcohol, cocaine, and sex – not necessarily in that order, and Fast Eddie did his best to deliver on all three. He also provided her with a stipend large enough to cover groceries for that rotten ankle-biter of hers. In exchange, she looked the other way and let him move money in and out of the bank as he pleased. She also alerted him if she noticed any unusual activity regarding the account, which is why he rolled up to her office first thing Monday morning.

  The meeting started, like they always did, with him discreetly passing her an envelope and a small plastic vial. Her lack of caution bothered him, and he cringed as she tore the envelope open on her desk in plain sight. She slid the vial in her bra, presumably for a quick snort at her next bathroom break.

  “Welcome back to Wiggins,” she said. “I hope you will make this one an overnight. It’s been awhile. It gets lonely up here in Stone County.”

  He had no such intention. “No can do today, Rachel. Lots of irons in the fire.”

  She stuck her lip out in a pout. “Well, that’s disappointing. I hope you don’t make this a pattern. This bank account of yours isn’t the only thing that needs servicing.”

  “Sweetie, you know there’s nothing more I’d rather do right now than wiggle you out of those britches right here in this office, but if I don’t get back and take care of some things on the homestead, life could get ugly quick.”

  She studied him for a second. “Well, since you put it that way, I guess I’ll have to take a rain check.” She winked at him through hooker blue eye shadow and turned the monitor his way. “Now let’s get down to business. I’ve got the account pulled up.”

  “Yep.”

  “See where it shows a current balance just north of $275,000?”

  “That’s the one. I am quite familiar with it.”

  “Maybe so, but probably not as familiar with it as you think. This time last week, it had a balance of $284,000 and change. Not anymore.”

  He leaned over and frowned. He certainly hadn’t withdrawn any money, and he had never known Dr. Mayes to take any out – and he certainly wouldn’t right now, anyway considering he was under surveillance. “Who signed the withdrawal slip?”

  “Well that’s why I called you. No one. This was a wire transfer.”

  “Wire transfer? To who? Where?”

  Rachel typed something and pointed at her screen. “Went offshore to a bank in the Bahamas. Ring a bell?”

  “Nope. Can you follow up? Get any more information?”

  “I wish. Most people think only Swiss accounts keep things secret. Not true. Dominican Republic. Antigua. Nassau. Lots of Caribbean banks operate under the radar. We can’t touch them.”

  He leaned over and looked at the screen. “All they transferred was $9,000? Why $9,000? To get around FinCEN?”

  Fast Eddie was well aware of the federal reporting requirements – even Rachel couldn’t bypass them. Any deposits or withdrawals in excess of $10,000 triggered the filing of a currency transaction report, or CTR, to FinCEN – the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network of the U.S. Department of the Treasury. Which meant bad news for folks like Doc Mayes. That’s why they had smurfs making low-impact drops at banks all over the place. So long as they didn’t exceed the magic number, the principals remained virtually unnoticed.

  “No. We only have to do CTR reports with deposits or withdrawals of hard cash. Not wires.”

  “Really? What about I.D.?”

  “Hmm. Well, if you had the account number, the routing number, the PIN, and could verify some personal information – you know, social security number and whatnot, we can do the transfer in a matter of minutes.”

  “Over the phone?”

  “Yes. Again, we would verify, but yes.”

  “That quick?”

  “Knock the balance down to zero if that’s what you wanted.”

  “So why wire such a small amount?”

  “No telling. Maybe she was testing it, you know, to make sure the money would go through.”

  Eddie leaned up in his
chair. “She?”

  “Yes. She. Female caller.”

  “Did she leave a name?”

  “Uh, I’m sure she told me, but I didn’t write it down. Didn’t really need it, though, since –” His silence caught her off guard. “Did I miss something?”

  Of course she missed something, but now wasn’t the time to engage the stupid hack. He needed her on his side, at least for the time being. More importantly, he had to get back to Gulfport and fast.

  “No. Thanks for the heads up. I got to go, though.” He withdrew five thousand dollars on the way out – for his troubles – and headed back to Gulfport. But he wasn’t going to his house or his office. He had another stop to make. He just hoped he could get there in time.

  Chapter 32

  Charlotte closed the bathroom door and exhaled a long, slow breath. She had been doing her best to tell her story in a manner that would not arouse suspicion, and as she looked in the mirror, she allowed a bit of a smile. Not only had she been able to frame the narrative like she had originally intended, but she had done it in a manner that seemed almost, well, easy.

  Agent Cooper was clearly worn out and near the end of her rope, but even so, Charlotte was surprised by how quickly she bought the lie about the last time Charlotte and Ford spoke, not to mention the way she bit on nearly every affirmative nonverbal move Charlotte made. The wringing of the hands. The long pauses. Looking away before making a ‘confession.’ Every time Charlotte played an emotional card, Agent Cooper bought it hook, line, and sinker.

  Which was a good thing. In fact, the interview – at least to this point – had gone way better than Charlotte had hoped it would. Sure, Charlotte thought she might be able to plant a few seeds and gain some intel, but she had no idea she would get as far as she did – which is probably why she got a little careless with her overtures. Had she said more than she had initially planned to say? Probably, but sometimes you have to improvise, and in this case, she felt like it moved the needle. At least Charlotte now knew Ford Mayes had not mentioned, implicated or discussed her in any way, shape, or form.