The Milk Wagon Page 21

  The more he talked, the more it made sense, but there was one important factoid missing, and I got the impression Nate was tiptoeing around it on purpose.

  “Nate, this is all well and good, but you said you needed us to help. If you’re withdrawing this money, where do we come in?”

  “That’s another great question.” Nate explained that while one withdrawal may trigger a singular alarm, it had the potential to get lost in the red tape, and of greater importance, potentially trigger a call to the local cops. To avoid that, he needed to have the money withdrawn from all of the accounts at or near the same time, to prompt an immediate, emergency action from the investigators at the IRS. Nate would personally light the fuse by calling each bank manager once the withdrawals were done to tip them off about what was going down. He planned to identify his father as the culprit behind it all, and once Doc Mayes got back on the radar, the authorities would really start swarming.

  “Well,” Mark said, “if I’m looking at all these banks, you’re going to need to cover several hundred miles back and forth. Could take three or four hours. How are you going to do that all at once?”

  “I’m not,” Nate said. “You are.”

  Chapter 58

  If the air in the Milk Wagon felt oppressive before, it turned downright suffocating when Nate threw down that gauntlet.

  “What do you mean we are?” Hop asked. “You’re the one who is on the accounts. If we do it, we could end up in jail.” There were some murmurs from Mark and Lance as well, but we all quieted down when Nate held his hands up.

  “Settle down, guys. I get it. You’re not going to go to jail, okay? If anyone does, it’s me. First off, nobody – not a soul at any of these banks – knows who I am. I have never set foot in a single one. So any one of you, armed with the proper I.D. and basic information – account numbers, passwords, whatever – can get in and get out, no questions asked.”

  “Fake I.D., you mean?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “That sounds like even worse. It makes more sense if you personally do it. Even if you can’t get them all done in one day, you can hit up at least three or four, right?”

  “You’re right, but I have to stay put – for two reasons. I already said I need to be on the phone calling these bank managers once I get confirmation that the withdrawal has been made. But that’s not the most important one. I made some calls after school pretending to update some of the accounts with our new Gulfport address – just to test the water. I learned the contact number the banks have on file for questions relating to the accounts happens to be the phone at the house in my dad’s office. If someone from the bank calls to verify the withdrawal, I need to be there to take it.”

  “Your house? Are you crazy? What about your dad?”

  “My dad and Vicky go to Destin each year over Thanksgiving weekend. And no, I’m not invited. I’ve never been invited. I will have the place to myself.”

  “You sure? We thought they were gone a few months ago when we went over there to play pool, but that didn’t end well.”

  “You’re right, but that was different. They’ll be out of town this time; I guarantee it.”

  “But aren’t we still committing a crime?”

  “In theory, perhaps, but no one will ever know you were involved. Plus, I’m hoping all sins will be forgiven at the end of the day.” Nate didn’t waver and he didn’t appear the least bit rattled by our pushback.

  “How so?”

  “I have reached out to Geoff Clarke, the lead reporter at the Sun Herald who broke a lot of the earlier stories. I told him who I was and shared with him some of the details he had not been privy to. He and I are scheduled to meet on Monday, where I’ll give him the full scoop – and I’ll get to tell my story, for once. My entire story. I will give him the photos and will tell him that I – me, Nate Mayes – withdrew the money from the banks to trigger the alarm, and that I am prepared to take full responsibility for that. Frankly, I think he and the public will be more interested in uncovering the corruption inside the investigation than in my actions. Especially if I give the money back.”

  “You plan to give it back, then.”

  “Most of it, Hop,” Nate said with a wink. “After a long day of work, we could use some of the funds to meet up at Gulfport Lake for a cold beer or two to celebrate.”

  “But it’s not your money to begin with, Nate,” Hop said. “That’s the flaw in this whole thing.”

  “At the end of the day though, the money is going to end up where it’s supposed to be. Speaking of which, I think once this is all said and done, we’ll get a reward”

  “Reward?” Mark and I both looked up.

  “FBI is already offering $50,000 for information leading to the arrest of those responsible. That puts us at $10k and change – each – if it goes down right, if not more.”

  “Seriously?” Mark asked.

  “Yep.”

  Reward money was certainly a new concept for me. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of dough. Certainly enough to finish out my senior year at St. John’s – and get a start on college.

  “No argument from me, brother.” Lance said. “If we do want to party down that night, just let me know. I’ll have my buddies get a fire started.”

  “Plan on it. Sounds like Lance is on board. Anyone else?”

  “I don’t know, guys,” Hop said. “Even if y’all are right and there is some fishy stuff going on with the police, that doesn’t mean it’s right. My dad knows a judge. I bet Nate could reach out to him. Just seems like there are other alternatives out there we should consider other than a backdoor bank robbery. I need to sleep on it.”

  “Okay,” Nate said, “but let’s keep the judges out of it for now. I understand this may not be for you, Hop – and no hard feelings if it’s not. But we’ve got to make a move and make it soon if we’re going to do this thing. Even though I bought a little time by picking up that call in my dad’s office, it won’t be too long before he and Eddie connect, so I have to stay ahead of them. Mark, Matt, – in or out?”

  Mark looked up at me, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

  “I don’t know, Nate. I just think, uh, there’s a lot at stake here, you know.”

  “Mark?”

  “Me too, Nate. Makes me nervous.”

  Nate leaned in. “You’re right. Both of you. There is a lot at stake, and I recognize that. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do. I admit, nearly all of my motives are selfish, and other than the reward money, there’s not a lot of payoff for you.”

  I agreed with him. The reward money was nice, but it would do me no good if I were locked up.

  “But if I do nothing, then my dad – and this man who killed Charlotte Gutherz – will walk off with a fortune they stole. That by itself is bad enough. But it gets worse. I’ve got skin in the game now, and when my dad eventually connects the dots and realizes I know everything, well, I don’t need tell you how that may end for me.

  I shook my head but didn’t say a word. No one did.

  “Look, guys, bottom line, I’m going to try it whether you are on board or not. Frankly, I’m not too worried about my well-being. What happens will happen, but if I don’t at least give it a shot, well, I will do wrong by her.” He pulled out the picture of his mom. “Although I’ll never know if my dad was involved in mom’s death, I certainly have my suspicions. Whether he was or wasn’t doesn’t matter, because he has made my life hell ever since. And I owe it to her to do what I believe is the right thing here.” We all sat there with our mouths closed. “So, win or lose, I’m not going down without trying.”

  I remembered the advice I gave Nate way back at the locker that morning about taking a stand. What would it say about me if I backed out now? There was not a better example of someone acting simply on principle, and I was not about to
let Nate and Lance go at it alone. I rapped my knuckles on the table.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Mark looked over at me and then back at Nate, then got a little throaty. “I hear you. I couldn’t live without my momma. I’m in.”

  Nate smiled. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, guys. Let’s meet up tomorrow after school at Justin Harrison’s house to get our documents in order.”

  Justin Harrison was the best fake I.D. maker on the Coast. His handiwork had been used at bars and convenience stores from the Flora-Bama to Pat O’Brien’s, and not once was anyone busted.

  “I’ll cover his fees. After we get that box checked we can circle up for more details.”

  “When do you plan on doing this, Nate?” I asked.

  “Like I said, I’ve got the house to myself over the holiday. I’m thinking the day after Thanksgiving. Crazy busy. Shoppers everywhere. Maximum distraction.”

  “That’s next week.”

  “Indeed it is,” Nate said, collecting the papers and the photos. “We’d better get rolling.”

  As I drove home, I had mixed emotions. Thankfully, they were more on the positive side than negative. A bit nervous, but glad to be on a team I really believed was doing the right thing. Plus, the more I thought about it, the more Nate’s plan sounded pretty solid. In and out in a few hours. No harm done. Bad guy put away. Retribution. Reward money.

  What could go wrong?

  Chapter 59

  It had been just under ten days since Kathryn Cooper stopped Nate Mayes in the gallery to discuss the investigation, and frankly, Kathryn was surprised and a bit disappointed Nate hadn’t called back. When they first spoke, he seemed eager to talk and even asked some questions, but she hadn’t heard a peep since.

  She thought she had one more chance of getting a private one-on-one with him before having to take a more formal – and perhaps adversarial – approach. There was another follow-up meeting with her gallery students coming up on Friday. Yes, it was the day after Thanksgiving, but schedule-wise, it worked best for most everyone. She had planned on pulling Nate aside during that meeting and asking him straight up if he was going to help out with the investigation.

  But all that was before the real story behind Charlotte Gutherz’s murder broke, and when the above the fold headline – with a full color picture of Charlotte – hit the front page of the Sun-Herald, the world suddenly knew there was more to the case than originally met the eye.

  It absolutely blindsided Kat, because there was no pre-publication buzz or chatter from her usual reporter contacts. When she arrived at the office the previous Wednesday, Geoff Clarke was holding a fresh copy. The story, citing an anonymous source, linked Charlotte Gutherz to the money-laundering case, and the accompanying multi-page story tied her to Ford Mayes – both professionally and personally. It also linked her to Joe Birdsall and Tom Chrestman, and in so doing, called into question whether their respective deaths came at the hand of the same individual. Although Kathryn repeatedly told Geoff she could not and would not talk, he was relentless, and by Friday, a whole gaggle of reporters, along with several cameras on tripods, made camp outside the FBI office. She knew it was bad when they catered lunch. She hoped that once Thanksgiving week started, they would back off, but they were still there when she pulled in on Monday. She couldn’t blame them, really. After all, a third death in a money-laundering scandal triggered all of the usual questions and headlines – each one a bit more salacious than the other. Was Joe Birdsall’s death really a suicide? Who killed Tom Chrestman? Is the mob involved? Was Charlotte Gutherz Dr. Mayes’s mistress?

  All of them except the latter were questions she, too, wanted answered. Of course the biggest question that remained was what were the Agency’s next steps to move the investigation forward? Charlotte Gutherz’s death cast a serial killer pall of danger over the community, and everyone was looking to Kathryn for some relief and assurance that she was on top of it.

  She had delayed putting out to her team what she had learned from Charlotte about Nate’s name being on the bank accounts. It was the one thing the press didn’t know about yet. Kat had hoped – through Nate – to run that lead down privately, but she could delay no longer.

  It was a holiday week, so she didn’t want to overload anyone too much before they peeled off for a day or two with their families, so she scheduled a meeting on Wednesday morning. That way, she could lay out what she knew, field the inevitable questions, and let everyone have a few days to let everything percolate before they got back on Monday and started to drill down – yet again.

  She thought about who should attend the meeting, and initially intended to limit it to her coworkers in the agency. In addition to Ethan, she would bring down some of the team from Hattiesburg, as well as some of the federal marshals who had assisted thus far. They had been publicly shamed, too, and would appreciate another chance in the box.

  Kat had also kept the information regarding Nate Mayes and the bank accounts from her new favorite person for what ultimately was the same reason, except this time, it was a little more personal. She didn’t want to look like a fool in front of him, either. If, however, they were going to go all hands on deck for one more push, the more eyes she had on it, the better.

  In the memo she drafted regarding attendees, she added one more line.

  Rick Papania, Chief of Police, Gulfport Police Department.

  She smiled and folded up the paper.

  He would certainly want to know about this.

  Chapter 60

  Fast Eddie left the FBI office a lot more anxious than when he came in. When Kathryn called the meeting, he expected a general update and some planning guidance to cover the gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas. He had no idea she had another name in mind and was frankly surprised she waited until then to spring it on him. The fact that she held back on him pissed him off, so much so that he was cursing out loud as he backed out of the parking lot. After all, she had shared everything else about the investigation ever since they got together.

  Or had she? He was also upset that he hadn’t thought of the young Nate Mayes as someone who could have pertinent information. He certainly should have because he was the one, a rookie cop at the time, who pulled the boy out of that old Cadillac DeVille when he was just a toddler.

  Memories of that day still haunted him, and not just because it was the first fatality he ever worked. As horrible as it was, he could have dealt with the death of Mrs. Mayes. What he didn’t expect was his supervisor making him change the accident report after the fact. Eddie was sure her husband, Dr. Ford Mayes, had been driving under the influence, and switched out Mrs. Mayes’s body for his after he wrecked the car. But Eddie was a naïve rookie, and when his sergeant told him to toe the line and keep his mouth shut, he did. When he later failed to protest after the Doc put a one hundred dollar bill in his pocket and thanked him for his service on the way out, he unknowingly and unwillingly took his first steps into a life of crime and cover up that he had labored under ever since. Now that he had finally stumbled on a potential way out, he certainly wasn’t going to let Kathryn blow it.

  She wanted to wait until Monday to make a move. He understood she was set to meet with the boy again on Friday at that lame-ass art gallery, and was going to put the screws to him then if he wasn’t helpful. He didn’t blame her for taking her time to try and bring young Nate Mayes around. That always seemed to work better with juveniles who were naturally suspicious of adults anyway. Fast Eddie was not, however, bound to her schedule, and he saw a fine opportunity to advance his own interests, but only if he moved quickly. If this boy, in fact, had pertinent information, Eddie could get everything he needed from him without Eddie even having to meet up with Doc Mayes. He could finally be free.

  No, Nate Mayes would most certainly not be making it to the Friday afternoon soiree with Kathryn. Not if Eddie got to Nate first.

/>   Chapter 61

  Thanksgiving was without a doubt the Ragone family’s favorite holiday. Food was, and always had been, an integral part of their lives, and when they weren’t eating, they were talking about eating. The fourth Thursday in November gave them a legal excuse – federally recognized, no less – to engage in their favorite pastime. It was un-American not to, Mrs. Ragone used to say, and we had no intentions whatsoever of dampening her patriotism.

  It had become their practice, much like a movie preview, to have multiple epicurean lead-ups to the big day. Mark’s mom started cooking the Saturday before, and she never stopped until the bird hit the table five days later. We, of course, were acutely aware of their schedule, which is why we happened to land there on Wednesday night hoping to gorge on debris po-boys served on French bread from Leidenheimer’s.

  We were sitting on the back porch, away from the rest of the family, admiring the fake I.D.s Justin had just made. They were masterpieces, wholly indistinguishable from the real thing. He even had bootleg copies of the sleeves used by the DMV that he laminated over his handiwork. All we had to do was show up and take a picture in front of a blue poster board. We provided Justin with the information we wanted on the license itself – including Nate’s signature done in our respective scrawls – and he took care of the rest. It was a good thing too, because Nate had the weirdest, loopiest handwriting I had ever seen. The hardest part to me was memorizing Nate’s social security number and address. When I looked at his date of birth, I did a double-take.

  “Nate, is this right?”

  “What?”

  “According to this, your birthday was Monday.”

  “Yep.”

  “Dude, why didn’t you tell us? We would have thrown a party. You can’t have a birthday and not tell us.”

  “It’s really no big deal. Certainly not at my house.”