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  Dan’s marriage was solid. “Sorry. No-can-do guys. Stacy wants us to go to Hill View’s football game this evening, to watch her and her cheerleader squad, and to meet her new boyfriend. He’s a wide receiver for the Hawks, a kid named Carl Manfred. He’s her age this time.”

  Gil grinned. “Did she tell him yet you’re a retired cop? Barb said her previous new boyfriend freaked out when he saw your ankle gun when you gave him that serious ‘Dad Talk’ at a track meet.”

  Laughing, Dan said, “I’ll bring it up if she hasn’t, but the previous guy was a nineteen-year-old senior, and last year Stacy was only seventeen and smitten with that self-absorbed shit head. His coach told me he had a reputation for other conquests from the cheerleader squad. I let him see the holster on purpose, while I discussed how much my little girl meant to me. It took all last summer for Stacy to forgive me when he moved on to safer prey. I’ll be gentle this time.

  “I won’t let her know I’ve already checked him out. May as well use my police connections for something personal. He’s a nice kid, from a good family. Besides, he’s after an athletic scholarship in track, and Stacy is in line for an academic scholarship. They’ll part ways for different universities a few months after they graduate next spring.”

  “Now there’s a crafty dad example for you, Roger,” Gill teased. “Have you and Sandy separated Jason from that girl that tried to get him to elope?”

  With a sour look, Roger said, “We didn’t have to. She dumped him when her true love came back after her period finally started. Jason was her safety net. Poor kid. At least he got some ass for his trouble. Otherwise, she couldn’t have strung him along.”

  “It’s Hell being a teen,” Gil acknowledged. “I’m not sure having my leg back would be enough compensation to go that far back in time.” He tapped the prosthetic lower limb. His leg and Roger’s bad back were why the two younger former cops were part-time investigators for Dan, supplementing their Duty Disability Benefits.

  Dan had a question before he took the day off. “Roger, who’s the guy you’re meeting in Jeffersonville? How’s he connected to your Louisville arson fraud case, and what’s your plan?”

  “I won’t call it a meeting. I’m checking out a guy named Dallas Collier. He’s known to be a middleman in setting up various insurance swindles, but nobody has ever testified to that. He has no arrests, but he knows a lot of people who do. People that have arson convictions, a reputed hit man for a life insurance payoff, auto accident fraudsters, phony health insurance claims, home property loss, and helpful doctors for workers comp fraud.

  “He specialized in staging small to mid-sized phony insurance claims in Jeffersonville in past years, but recently he’s apparently graduated to larger insurance frauds worth millions, and expanded his criminal contacts to include perps here in Louisville. One of his known associates is an arsonist, Barron Sheffield, who was supposedly a reformed firebug after his nine-year stint in prison. The arson squad spotted Sheffield on surveillance footage near that Louisville whiskey warehouse that burned in June. That was a big fire, but it blazed with less intensity than the arson investigators think that much bourbon should have generated. Collier also happens to know a shady whiskey distributor, a guy named Garth Arnold, who suddenly had barrels of good quality but cheaply priced bourbon to sell to bottlers last month. The Feds say he had tax stamps for his goods and supposed distillers that say they sold to him.

  “Anyway, I’ll see If I can trick some information out of Collier. He’s about to discover some outsider must know about Sheffield’s and Arnold’s involvement in that fire and their mutual connection to him. Then I’ll follow him later to see who he meets. I figure Collier works for someone higher up the food chain, since his financials prove he’s doing OK, but he isn’t getting rich. I think he put the cash-strapped warehouse owner together with the crooked distributor for a small fee, and for a bigger fee, he provided an arsonist to help the owner collect the insurance on a product he sold at a discount.

  “By the way, Collier doesn’t know me or know I’ll be there at one of his usual haunts, but it’s his other visitor that should rattle his cage. I happen to know when and where he’ll be eating lunch today. No way would he agree to meet with me without knowing who I am first, but his other visitor might pull out some information I can use.”

  “OK. Be careful. That was a sixteen-million-dollar fire claim. That’s plenty of motive to stop an investigation.”

  “I’m not worried. Collier has never been a violent type, and I’ll be armed anyway.”

  “Yeah? Well, his boss might be less peaceful.”

  “I just want to overhear what he says, and try to learn who his boss is, I’m not going to confront either of them.”

  Grayson shifted to the other part-time, junior partner. “How about you Gil? I’m sure you came in this morning for a reason. You have new leads in our three contract cases?”

  “I think so. You accepted the subcontractor deal from Calder Business Insurance when their primary investigator, Gerald Habersham, was killed in a bizarre traffic accident at a funeral. I’ve learned that Habersham’s boss didn’t tell you everything, and it’s all weird. I reviewed Gerald’s notes and saw his research on some large payouts on death benefit claims his company paid out last year.

  “Heads of three financially troubled businesses were killed as pedestrians in accidental traffic accidents, which had odd similarities. They were each hit and killed by drivers with clean driving records and no criminal pasts, who insist they didn’t know how the accident happened. Witnesses said the drivers appeared to have steered to run over the men intentionally, and in two of the cases, they also hurt other people.

  “Despite the insurance payments to the families or the partners of the dead guys, all three companies folded shop anyway. The beneficiaries, none of which appeared very bereaved to Habersham, pocketed much of the insurance money and sold off corporate assets to help pay off creditors and stop the losses. Then chunks of cash were withdrawn from the accounts of each of the beneficiaries, and that cash seems to have vanished. They apparently paid somebody off for their help.

  “Habersham’s notes said he’d discovered surveillance camera images of the same man that appeared to be nearby when each of the dead men was run down. He was trying to identify a tall, slender man seen near the intersections, and he thinks he spotted him driving away in an expensive car near the second fatal accident. He started out assuming the man was a witness, but that changed with the third case.”

  Grayson, like his two partners, was skeptical of a three times coincidence. “I doubt Habersham or anyone would think the man was just a witness by then. I’d think the guy has a connection to those three drivers. How else could he show up at all three locations?”

  “I agree,” Gil said. “However, after Habersham started trying to identify the man using police facial recognition software, or to locate a local owner of that relatively rare type car he may have driven, his boss at Calder Insurance received anonymous calls at home warning him to drop the investigations. Habersham’s ex-wife also complained to his boss that she had been threatened with harm if he didn’t stop something her ex-husband was doing.

  “It wasn’t a nice divorce, so Habersham kept investigating, with his boss’s approval. Then his ex-wife was killed in an early morning house fire a few days after she reported the threats. It was declared arson, and after the recent divorce, the title was still in her husband’s name even though he didn’t live there. Fortunately for Habersham, he had an airtight alibi for that night. I think whoever made the calls and set the fire thought that he still lived there and he was the real target.

  “Habersham then started working with LMPD to try to identify the man in the grainy pictures or to trace local dealers for that make of car. As a smart precaution, he moved into a new apartment, leaving no forwarding address.

  “Now, here are some of the other strange details his boss failed to share with you, Dan. Good old Gerald’s previous
apartment building burned down two nights after his former house did, and two upstairs residents died of smoke inhalation. He was in Indianapolis overnight that day, interviewing a specialty car dealer, trying to find the possible owner of the Aston Martin he’d see at one crime scene.

  “His old apartment was another case of arson. He took a leave of absence from work, moved out of his new apartment, and started living out of his car and used a couple of campsites in Jefferson County to avoid creating a fixed address. I think he was scared, and he apparently wasn’t being paranoid because dropping out of sight didn’t protect his estranged son. When he failed to help pay for or attend his ex’s funeral, his son, in his thirties, refused to have anything to do with his dad anymore. Next, his son was killed in a hit and run traffic accident as he walked out of work to his car.”

  Roger was shocked. “Goddamn. Calder Insurance has passed us a stinking pile of shit to work on for them. How in Hell much money was involved, to make these investigations worth all this trouble and risk to stop?”

  Gil shook his head and shrugged. “With all three claims combined, they’re worth less than your warehouse fire, just under eight million dollars.”

  Grayson was concerned for his friend. “Gil, who knows we’ve taken over that investigation?”

  “Habersham’s former boss, Oswald Grissom, knows our firm has the files and a contract to investigate, and he obviously told their legal department to draw up the contracts. I kept the appointment you made with him when he handed the physical case files over to us last month, so he knows you and me, and that Roger here is another partner in the firm. That was right after Habersham quit his job, and a week before he was killed.”

  “Crap!” Grayson looked worried now. “We get a percentage of the recoveries if we find evidence of fraud in any of the cases, and Calder will pay us reasonable time and expenses regardless, but these cases don’t seem worth the risk. What happened to Habersham? You called it a bizarre accident at a funeral. Was that for his son, since he didn’t go to the one for his ex-wife?”

  “Nope, and it gets worse when you know whose funeral he did attend. His elderly mother was found dead in her bed at an assisted living facility. No evidence of foul play, but considering the previous deaths and threats, that was when Habersham called his boss to tell him he was resigning and took an early and reduced company retirement. That caution didn’t save him if his death wasn’t an accident, and it sure seems as staged as the other accidents.” He explained.

  “His funeral home limousine was t-boned on the rear passenger door where he sat, by a cement truck at an intersection. A car had rear-ended another one in front of the funeral procession, forcing the limo to stop at that intersection for several minutes. The State Police charged the truck driver with vehicular homicide, but he claims he doesn’t know how he came to be so far off his normal route, driving miles away from the construction site where he’s delivered cement for at least a week, and why he was speeding up when he hit the limo. He couldn’t have been lost by that much. He’s awaiting trial in several months and has a preliminary hearing coming up soon, but I’m interviewing him at his work site today. I also have a contact in the city traffic division who will let me review the tapes from traffic cameras that should have recorded part of the truck’s route to the crash site.”

  Grayson expressed the disquiet he felt. “There have been too many fires and traffic accidents linked to those three cases. It’s like someone drew Habersham out of hiding by killing family members.”

  Roger stated the obvious. “Well, those type of fraud cases are mostly all we investigate. Are the events that far outside of normal for us?”

  “When there’s no additional profit motive for already perpetrated insurance frauds, and these all happened after the fact without added payouts?” Grayson questioned. “These are acts committed with the intent to block three investigations which sometimes don’t lead anywhere anyway, or the evidence might not be enough to prove criminal fraud was involved. The efforts to stop the investigations may be to hide something else that’s worth killing innocent people, such as someone higher up the food chain.”

  Gil shrugged. “You have to admit, though. For ex-cops, these are more interesting cases than videotaping some shirker that’s seen water skiing or lifting weights while collecting workman’s comp.”

  Grayson nodded but offered a caveat. “Shirkers are cheats and thieves, not usually killers. Don’t get complacent because our usual casework excludes deliberate homicide. It appears Habersham’s three cases are related, and the mystery man might not care who dies to stop the investigations. Nor do we know how he could have engineered any of the vehicular accidents. You said not one of the drivers involved tried to run or had a motive to commit the crimes.”

  After additional brief discussion, Grayson headed home to help his wife with a gazebo kit he’d promised to help her assemble. His two associates prepared to meet today’s investigative targets. A routine work day at the end of a routine week, before a normal weekend.

  ****

  Roger Billings approached the front of the German deli where he’d seen Dallas Collier enter a short time ago, following his weekly routine. The stocky man would be starting on his usual Friday lunch at one of his favorite eateries. He was a creature of habit when it came to food, and on Friday his most consistent stop was at this small family operated restaurant. Roger knew about this habit based on past police surveillance, which had noted his meeting with several of his criminal contacts here.

  Billings parked his van in the parking lot in back, where he placed a magnetic tracker inside a wheel well of Collier’s late model Cadillac. Finding the driver’s door unlocked, he put a small bug under the dash. Then he started his digital recorder in the van, with the Caddy and rear entrance of the deli visible through his windshield. Next, he walked around to the front of the small neighborhood restaurant.

  When he entered the aromatic deli, it was about half full at quarter after one, and many of the regular patrons had eaten lunch and departed. Collier was at his preferred table near the back corner, close to the rear exit to the parking lot, and isolated by an aisle for more private conversations. He always tipped the owner in advance to save that table for him at one PM on Fridays.

  Ordering a simple sandwich and beverage, Roger picked an empty table near the back where he could observe Collier’s table. Any moment now, his target would have an unexpected guest. He had his tiny earpiece inserted, with a small directional microphone clipped inside his jacket’s sleeve. He rested his left arm on the table, positioned so he could hear the slurping and chewing as Collier ate.

  Working his way through a plate of Rouladen, mashed potatoes, and red cabbage, Collier took a swig of his pilsner, casually looking around the room at patrons, showing no interest in any one person. That is, until five minutes later when a familiar face walked through the front entrance, causing him to frown. It was Barron Sheffield, the supposedly reformed and now the suspected repeat arsonist of the warehouse fire.

  Sheffield, sighting Collier at his table, bypassed the front counter and walked to the back of the twenty-table dining room. As he neared, he said, “Afternoon Mister Collier. Sorry, I’m a bit late, but I’m not hungry anyway.” He sat in a chair across from the other man, whose frown deepened.

  Billings had used his wife to leave a message for Sheffield with his landlord, asking him to drive over from Louisville for this afternoon lunch meeting with a man he obviously knew.

  Speaking low, Collier said, “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  Sounding flustered, Sheffield didn’t talk quite as low, but told him, “Your secretary told me to come. She said you had a lawyer that could help me and you would give me some money to pay him. The A-squad spotted me on two security tapes.”

  A-squad was his code for the arson investigation. He continued, “I need some help. I have a public defender, but he’s young and doesn’t know shit. I have a hearing in two weeks. I’m out on bail,
and I’m not even supposed to be in Indiana.”

  With furious suspicion, Collier said low again, “I ain’t got a Goddamned secretary, you moron. And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who sent you?”

  Shocked, Sheffield supplied the only information Billings wife had furnished in her phony message. “She said Mister Arnold would pay for my defense if I kept quiet.”

  Collier, looking wildly around the room, saw a couple of customers that had heard fragments from Sheffield, and realized they were looking at them both. Billings, with his sleeve microphone hearing and recording every word, wasn’t one of them, because he was studiously looking towards the attractive girl clearing tables near the front.

  Suspecting Sheffield was trying to set him up, Collier, voice still low lied and said, “I don’t know anyone named Arnold, and I hadn't seen you since before you got sent up ten years ago. I don't know what you’re trying to pull, but I suggest you get your ass out of here before I call your probation officer to tell him you’re not in Kentucky. I don't know what new trouble you’ve gotten into, but it doesn’t involve me. Get out of here and let me eat.”

  Confused, desperate, and pissed off, Sheffield warned in a louder voice, “Don’t threaten to call my PO. I’d hate to crack under pressure if he questioned me too hard. If you and Arnold won’t help, that’s OK. I got paid what we agreed on, but I was weak to go along, and I got careless. My fault, not yours. But don’t you screw with me again.” He pushed his chair back with legs scraping loudly, stood up and stalked out the front door.