The whole board has been fighting for the new sports complex, which will be paid for with a bond issue; the vote is in September. I have to believe that they plan a major rip-off on that thing.…
Conley’s note went on for a while, outlining a scheme, which, if it was actually occurring, would be one of the biggest public embezzlements in Minnesota history, Virgil thought. The photographs, Conley wrote, were taken from the system’s computer system, which he said he had hacked into. Virgil suspected he was lying about that, because the computer screens in the photographs looked nothing like Conley’s laptop screens. What he had done, Virgil thought, was find a way to break into the school system offices at three o’clock in the morning.
Virgil spent three hours going over all the material on the flash drive — skimming some, because there was just so much, and some of it would take an accountant to untangle.
One thing: he found no mention of Buster Gedney, although Buster’s wife, Jennifer, was mentioned frequently. Conley seemed to think she was one of the ringleaders in the scheme.
Virgil checked the time: he’d read into the late afternoon. He had to do several things — one was to get some backup. If not real-time, in-person backup, he at least needed to tell Davenport what was going on, and where he was headed. And he had to copy the flash drive and send the copy to Davenport for safekeeping.
Davenport was in California, delivering his adoptive daughter to Stanford University. Pacific time was two hours ahead of Central time, so Davenport should be up and moving around.
Virgil called, and Davenport answered: “I’m on vacation.”
“I know. I just want to tell you, I’m going to the post office and I’m mailing a flash drive to you. This is in case I’m shot to death or I disappear.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Davenport said, “You’re serious now.”
“Yeah. Tell you what, Lucas, I’ve come up with the damnedest thing.…”
Virgil described the contents of the flash drive, and when he finished, Davenport said, “First, send me the drive. Then, you’re going to need to harden up the information. Nail down what is what. Interview the people you can, without getting back-shot. Then find the weak sister—”
“I think I’ve already done that,” Virgil said, thinking of Buster Gedney.
“Good. I’ll ship Jenkins and Shrake down there, they’ll be there tomorrow morning. The three of you can squeeze him. Or her. Or whatever. In the meantime, this is going to be a big enough stink that the AG—”
“I’ve already talked to one of his guys.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him about providing a lawyer and a forensic accountant. We’ll keep them on tap, until you need them.”
“That sounds right,” Virgil said.
“And hey,” Davenport asked, “what about the dogs?”
“That’s a whole ’nother problem,” Virgil said.
Virgil went out to Blackbeard’s Steak & Brew for dinner. BS&B was a roadhouse a mile south of town, and probably the best place around, if you liked meat and beer. He was thinking about a second beer, and was picking at the remnants of a New York Strip, when Johnson called and said, “Darrell and Bill called, they were in the tent tonight and said that a truck pulling a horse van just busted out of Orly’s Creek and headed north on 26 at about a hundred miles an hour. The thing is, there’s no horses up Orly’s Creek. They called Ben and Winky — Ben lives up north of Orly’s Creek, and Winky’s down south — and they both hauled ass up and down the highway and they met up and didn’t see a horse trailer. Whoever it was, cut up through the hills.”
“Goddamnit. Maybe they spotted the tent.”
“That’s what we’re thinking,” Johnson said.
“What are they doing now? Your dog guys?”
“They got a couple more of the boys and they’re running all over the place looking for the trailer.”
“What if it was a decoy?”
“Well, Darrell and Bill moved out to the road,” Johnson said. “They, uh, they’ve maybe got some guns with them. They’re not gonna let anybody out Orly’s Creek without checking them out.”
“Aw, for Christ’s sakes. Johnson, somebody’s gonna get killed,” Virgil said.
“It’s got me worried.”
“I don’t want to go up there and bust your friends. You gotta get them to back off.”
“I already told them. They think the truck is owned by a guy named D. Wayne Sharf, who was pals with Zorn. Sharf wasn’t there when you guys hit that cookery. But we know he’s sold off dogs in the past.”
Virgiclass="underline" “What do you want me to do?”
“Well, you’re not going to keep the guys from looking for Sharf and his truck, but if you could talk down Darrell and Bill, that would be good. I’d meet you up there.”
“I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”
Johnson got there faster than Virgil, because Virgil had to get out of the restaurant and then head north through the entire town. When he arrived, the three men were standing behind Johnson’s truck. They didn’t show any weapons.
Virgil got out of his truck and said, “Guys, I know you love your dogs, and I really don’t want to drop you in the county jail, but if you go shooting at somebody, that’s probably what’s going to happen. The county attorneys around here don’t want to hear about dogs, if somebody gets shot. They got no patience for guns.”
“Not gonna shoot anybody,” Darrell said.
“Yeah? You’re standing here with your dicks in your hands, looking to stop cars coming out of Orly’s Creek. What are you gonna do if somebody does come out with a load of dogs? Throw rocks at him? Wave good-bye? What?”
“Talk to him…”
“Yeah? Want me to give you the dialog? ‘Get out of the truck, you motherfucker.’ ‘Fuck you.’ ‘Yeah? Fuck me? I’ll pull your ass out of that fuckin’ truck…’”
Bill started to laugh, and when Virgil stopped talking, said, “That’s pretty much how it’d go.”
Darrell nodded.
Johnson said, “Tell you what, guys. Virgil’s got an idea for tomorrow morning. If you want, we’ll just sit here in my truck, right on the road. I don’t think they’d try to run past us with a load of dogs. So, that’d probably keep them up the valley, at least until Virgil can get something going again.”
Darrell said, “I guess that sounds okay.”
Virgil slapped Johnson on the shoulder and said, “You oughta be secretary of state.”
Bilclass="underline" “Maybe not.”
Virgil took Johnson aside and said, “Keep talking to them. Keep them calm. Don’t go jumping into anything yourself.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to bed. I gotta be out here before first light.”
“Probably still be here,” Johnson said.
“Call me if there’s trouble.”
13
At five o’clock in the morning, Virgil crept up to Johnson’s truck and pulled in behind it. Johnson was asleep, but Bill got out, shoulders hunched against the early morning damp and cool. He scuffed dirt off the shoulder onto the empty road and said, “Nothing much. Empty pickups and a couple cars. No dogs. Didn’t see Sharf, either coming or going. God knows where he is by this time.”
“See any movement up on the hill?”