Virginia walked down the stairs, across the grass-covered lawn, and out to the ambulance. She felt a slight, uncontrollable tremor in her hand as she felt for the keys and unlocked the ambulance. It beeped twice and she slid the side door open.
She slipped the medical kit into the side compartment and dropped the biohazard waste bag next to the other two.
Greentree handed her the last medical kit. His eyes peered into the ambulance. She held her breath. It was an involuntary response, and she hoped he wouldn’t spot it.
“Thanks,” she said.
Greentree leaned into the ambulance, his eyes raking the pile of biohazard bags. “You’ve had a big day by the looks of things.”
She smiled. “You have no idea.”
Chapter Nineteen
Detective Eric Greentree looked around the room of the dead boy and then to his partner, Kay Armstrong. It occurred to him that what she lacked in frame, she made up in attitude. Her mousey hair severely gelled back into a tight bun made the thin-lipped, pencil brow features of her face seem marooned in the center. She impatiently rolled her palm up and eyed the patrolmen for him to see.
Reading her look loud and clear Eric spoke casually to the uniforms, “Ok thanks gentlemen, we’re pretty good here, we’ll catch up with you later if we need anything. “
The uniformed officer closest to him raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah, no problem, you guys have a great night, we’ll see you at the next one. We’re gonna be here a while anyway, waiting for the body snatchers. Not much to this one. You guys go, while we finish our paperwork.”
“All right. Thanks. See you around, Kay.”
“Bye guys. Thanks,” she replied.
Detective Greentree waited until the general duties police officers’ car disappeared down the street. He then finished searching the apartment.
When he was certain they were now alone, he turned to Armstrong. “So, where the hell’s our damned money?”
Chapter Twenty
Eric Greentree wanted to hit someone. He was normally a well composed man, who bottled up his rage and only used it out of necessity. It was a part of his job. The men who hired him to fix things expected him to be violent, but it was rare for him to lose control. Right now was one of those times. He let himself go, swearing and wrecking what little furniture was still intact.
He finished swearing.
Armstrong stared at him. Her hardened face was set with curiosity. It was one of the things he liked about her. She was tough and didn’t give an inch. He’d known men six feet tall and built like Sherman tanks who’d be frightened of him in his current state. Yet, she simply stared at him, her lips slowly curling upward into a wry smile.
He shook his head, expelling what was left of his rage. “What?”
She smiled. She’d worked with him long enough to know his whims. “I bet you the paramedic knows something.”
“Who?”
“The paramedic. Maybe she spoke to someone or saw something. Did you see her face and her hands?”
Greentree stopped. “What about them?”
Sensing an opportunity to impress her boss, Armstrong eased quickly into her theory. “She looked rattled, like something was threatening her. Her face was dripping with sweat, her eyes were darting everywhere, like a frightened child. You could see she was consciously trying to control her breathing and her hands had a fine tremor.”
“Maybe something about the job got to her?”
“No. If she’s responding by herself, she’s not new to the job. And any paramedic in New York will tell you they’ve been to a thousand overdoses. Run of the mill jobs. No way a seasoned paramedic would get rattled by it.”
Detective Greentree thought about that. “She said that she’d started working on the kid. They normally work in teams. Maybe it was more than she was prepared for. Besides, she said she was coming down with something.”
“That’s the other thing. Why did she start in the first place?”
“Why did she attempt to resuscitate the kid?” Greentree smiled. “It’s kind of in their job description.”
“When it’s possible. But you and I both know this kid was murdered hours ago. The paramedic would have taken one glance at him and realized there was no point starting the resuscitation attempt.”
That hit an important point inside Greentree’s brain. In an instant, he knew Armstrong was right. “Ah, Christ! I didn’t even get her name. She started telling me, but already I was planning how to cover the whole thing up, so I sent her home. She looked wrecked like she’d just worked sixteen hours straight.”
Armstrong shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Give the Central Fire Station a call. See if they can tell you who was on duty. The paramedic said she was due back on duty tomorrow morning. We’ll have a chat with her then.”
“You’re right.”
Greentree stepped outside, lit a cigarette and made the first of the two calls. A few minutes later he flicked his cigarette on the ground and walked back inside.
He looked at Armstrong. “I phoned the fire station. The night shift duty manager looked up the roster. He said he wasn’t a hundred percent certain who got called back in, but thinks the surname is Mercia.”
“That’s something, at least.” Armstrong looked up, having finished taking some photos of the scene. It was an easy case, and there was no reason to involve anyone else.
Her eyebrow cocked with concern. “Did you make the other call?”
Greentree lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. He’d been trying to quit, but needed something to calm his nerves and at this rate, lung cancer was the least of his worries. “Of course, I did. I didn’t want to. But you don’t put something like this off, do you?”
Armstrong’s eyes narrowed. “What did he say?”
“What do you think he said?”
Armstrong smiled as she removed her blue nitrile gloves and placed them in a plastic waste bag. “So, he said, take care of it?”
Greentree stubbed his cigarette out. “That’s right. Close all the loose ends and get him his damned money back.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam ate dinner alone at an exclusive restaurant overlooking the Hudson River. He was at a table for two, but the second chair was conspicuously empty. It was now late and the restaurant was empty. He was the last patron remaining, and the staff had left him alone.
His cell phone rang, and he raced for it. Tom’s name appeared on the caller ID. He answered it before it had the chance to ring a second time.
Sam asked, “Did you and Elise find anything about the Meskwaki Gold Spring or Stanford?”
“No to the first one, and yes to the second,” came Tom’s immediate reply.
“Tell me.”
“As far as Elise can find, the Meskwaki Gold Spring is nothing more than a legend.”
“What about Stanford?”
“That’s a different story. It turns out Stanford was a nobody in Minnesota until the sinking of the J.F. Johnson. After which, his entire fortune turned around. He became rich overnight, although there was no record of where his good fortune had come from. Most of his money was being funneled through local businesses, but there was no doubt on the local law enforcement agency’s minds that the money was dirty.”
“From bootlegging?”
“The police never found the connection. They once tried to make a circumstantial conviction, but the evidence just wasn’t there. In the end, Stanford had counter-sued the city of Duluth for harassment and won.”
Sam asked, “What does Elise think happened?”
“Her guess is that the Meskwaki Gold Spring never referred to Native American gold. Instead, it was a secret code for where, or how, they were transporting illegal contraband into the country. She asked the question, what if Stanford didn’t just get lucky with the sinking of the J.F. Johnson, but instead he caused it.”