Double, Double Cross

I watched as she made a left on Division before we pulled out. When she hopped on I-90 north, I figured we were in for a drive. It was a little after five when we pulled into Rockford. I saw she stopped, most likely for a bathroom break. We did the same. I got my passenger and me a cup of coffee and saw Janet was on the move again when I slid into the driver's seat.

This time we were on a four-lane country road, so we had to make sure not to get too close. We had been driving for twenty minutes before we saw another car. By that time we were almost to the Wisconsin line. Just before crossing over, Janet turned left onto a two-lane blacktop. She drove a short distance, made one more turn, and stopped.

"We're there," I said.

"Where, I don't see anything but trees."

"There's a small lake just ahead. She stopped at thirteen-fifty-eight Pier Drive. It's right on the lake."

"Well, come on; let's go, the sooner we get this over with, the better."

We drove a little further until we spotted Janet's car. I pulled over and shut off the engine so they wouldn't hear us coming. We walked up to the cottage. I put my ear to the door and heard a man's voice. I slowly tried the doorknob, it was open. I gave my companion a nod and we burst in.

Janet screamed and I thought Richardson was going to crap his pants. He angrily looked at his girlfriend, "You led them right to me," he screamed."

She was at a loss for words. Her mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. It really seemed like their level of terror didn't fit the situation.

"Here," yelled Richardson's soon-to-be-ex, as she threw the envelope on the table in front of her husband.

I was watching to make sure Richardson didn't try anything and wasn't paying attention to the misses. As he removed the contents of the envelope, I noticed the supposed divorce papers were nothing more than blank pages. That was about the same time Mrs. Richardson reached into her purse and pulled out a chrome-plated, thirty-eight revolver. The next thing I knew, it was pointed at me.

"Now, real carefully, Blake, take your gun out using only two fingers. My first thought was to wonder if a classy dame like her even knew how to use a canon like that. As I slowly reached for my own heater, I had just about made up my mind to rush her when I was surprised by someone else walking in, Eric Wilson, Illinois Lieutenant Governor, and the source of many long hours of investigation. He had a shit-eating grin on his face as he walked up to Mrs. Richardson. "I'll take that, honey," he said as he took the gun from her.

I had no choice; I eased my Beretta from its shoulder holster and held it with two fingers.

"Now, set it down on the floor nice and easy, then step back," Wilson ordered. I did as I was told.

"Surprised?" he tormented. "Those tracking devices are really handy, aren't they. I've had one on your car the whole time. You found the bug I had in your office but never even checked your car." He saw the surprised look on my face. "I know, you thought it was Richardson who bugged your office. When Carla told me that, we both had a good laugh."

I looked at my former employer. "So, you didn't even go to Knutson's office?"

She laughed, "Why would I?"

"I thought sure you'd check your car next, but you didn't," Wilson scoffed. "That was very unprofessional of you, Blake."

"Hey," I said, a little too flippantly considering the situation, "even I can't think of everything."

Wilson laughed. He and Carla were having a good time. "That'll make a great epitaph for your tombstone, 'He didn't think of everything.'"

Mrs. Richardson was getting fidgety. "Come on, Eric, shoot him and let's get out of here."

"Hold on," I beseeched. "None of this makes any sense. At least tell me why I'm going to die."

"Just shoot him, honey." Beautiful or not, I really wasn't liking her very much.

A wide smile slowly stretched across the Lieutenant Governor's lips. "No, honey, he's right. He should know how he's been played. Get his gun, first though."

Mrs. Richardson picked up my heater and rejoined Wilson. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out you were investigating me? Come on, any two-bit PI would realize a man in my position has eyes and ears everywhere. I was about to have you fatally shot during a botched robbery attempt when Carla found the numbers to her husband's overseas bank accounts."

Shocked, Richardson turned toward his wife. "You found the numbers?"

The evil smirk on her face unveiled the facade and clearly showed the cruelty of the woman. "That's right, lammy cakes."

"Then why all this; why not just divorce me. You have more than enough grounds."

She chuckled. "Oh, Art, don't be stupid. Why take half when I can have it all."

I looked back at Wilson. "So, you and Carla are screwing each other?"

"Damn," he laughed, "McDaniels, you should have been a detective."

Art threw in his two cents worth again. "I knew you were screwing somebody important," he told his wife, "I just didn't know who. Tell me, why did you ever marry me in the first place? Our marriage was a sham from day one."

"Why, for the money, of course, Darling. You had more than all the other guys I was screwing at the time."

"Anyway," Wilson continued, "when she found the numbers we decided to do away with hubby here. Unfortunately, he heard Carla mention his demise over the phone and split. That's when I came up with my brilliant idea; a way to kill two birds at the same time.

"Hell, everyone knows there's no love lost between you and Art here. He made a monkey out of you in open court. So, when the cops get here, they're going to find you two shot each other. This gun," he said, slightly lifting it to indicate the one he was holding, "belongs to Art, here. He left it when he took off. So, first I shoot you with his gun, then I shoot him with your gun, simple. I can see the headlines now," he bragged while looking up as if reading some large, airborne lettering, "two-year vendetta culminates in shoot out, two dead. Ah yes, it's a thing of beauty."

"What about Janet," I asked.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said, looking at her. "You're what we call, 'collateral damage,' in other words, you're in the wrong spot at the wrong time."

"You'll never get away with this," I shouted.

"Sure we will, it's a no-brainer. Twenty minutes after you left your office tonight, I had a guy inside. He took the receipt you gave Carla for the cash and the contract you had her sign, so there's absolutely nothing to tie either of us to you.

"He also backdated a couple of threatening emails he sent from your computer to Art's personal email address. As soon as we get back, he'll hack Art's laptop and backdate the emails to correlate with when they were supposedly sent. Carla here will swear that you went to their house and threatened him in person. That's when he took his gun and disappeared. You obviously tracked him down to settle the score. It's foolproof, Blake."

Looking down the barrel of a gun is never fun, but I had to get the whole story. I turned my face slightly to the right and spoke into the mic hidden under my collar. "Did you get all of that, Lieutenant?"

"Every word," came a voice from the doorway.

Both would-be killers turned to see Lieutenant Dan Reardon of the Chicago PD, and several members of the Illinois state police holding guns on them. Eric's jaw dropped to the floor as Carla screamed.

"Hand them over," he demanded. Both Carla and Eric gave up their guns. Eric looked back at me with an expression of total shock.

"How? You couldn't possibly have known... it was foolproof. How could you possibly have known?"

I had to chuckle. "Actually, if you had told me you found those numbered accounts, I may not have caught on," I said, looking at Carla.

"Remember, I tried like hell to find the money your husband embezzled and came up with zip. I knew anyone that good at making money disappear without a trace would have no problem hiding it from a divorce court. He would have convinced the judge he was dead broke and you would have gotten nothing.

"I also thought it was a little strange that you didn't want to give me a check for my retainer. Not many broads feel safe walking around with all that cash in their purse.

"Then I found out you had lied to me. You told me you went to the cops and filed a missing person's report, but when I called to see if they were actively investigating, they told me no report was ever filed.

"When I put it all together, something just didn't smell right. I didn't have it all figured out, but I knew something was up. When you said only you could give hubby those papers, I knew whatever was going down would come to a head when we got here. I called the Lieutenant and told him about my plan. You," I said directing my attention to Eric, "weren't the only one following us."

By the time I finished my little oratory, Reardon had the two perps in cuffs. "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I answered as he handed my gun back to me and slipped the other one into an evidence bag. "I'll need a full, recorded statement from you as soon as possible."

"I'll be there tomorrow," I answered.

We all watched from the doorway as the cops put Wilson and Carla in different cars and drove away.

"I need a drink," Richardson announced, "how about you, Blake?"

"Yeah, I could use one, too... scotch, neat."

He looked at Janet who was sitting at a small kitchen table. "What about you, honey?" Without saying a word, she just looked up at him. That's when we both saw her hands shaking and the tears in her eyes. Richardson rushed over, knelt down beside her, and put his arms around her. "Oh, honey, honey, it's okay. You're all right."

She threw her arms around him and pressed her head into his chest. "I... I thought we were going to die," she sobbed. "I really thought we were all going to die."

While Richardson tried to comfort her, I walked over to where he kept the booze and poured three scotches. "Here," I said, setting two of them down on the table.

It took a couple of stiff belts and almost an hour of calming and soothing by her boyfriend before Janet could speak in complete sentences again. When she finally started talking again, she made a lot of sense, at least to me. I was getting ready to leave when she looked up at me. "Mr. McDaniels, we owe you our lives. I don't know how we'll ever thank you."

That didn't quite sit right with Richardson. "Janet, he led them right to us."

"Damn it, Art, they would've found us sooner or later anyway. You know that. When Carla found those accounts you were as good as dead. She couldn't draw from them if you were alive, but as your widow, she had legal access." Just then her face brightened with a smile. "Honey, I know how we can pay Blake back for saving our lives. Give back the money you embezzled from your old company."

"What?" Richardson yelled. "No way, honey."

"Art, you told me you're worth about nine million dollars. Was that the truth?"

"Yeah, but..."

"How much of that did you embezzle?"

"Four Mil," I interjected.

She seemed legitimately shocked. "Four million dollars?" she gasped, looking at Richardson. "Art, I am NOT going to live off of stolen money. Four from nine leaves us with five million dollars. That's more than we could spend in two lifetimes."

"Honey, there's a reason I embezzled that money."

"I don't care," she replied. "It wasn't right, it was illegal. I want you to give it back."

"And how would me giving the money back help him?"

"It would restore his credibility, that's how," she responded.

Again I had to put my two cents in. "Not to mention the ten percent finder's fee, I get."

She looked up at Richardson, "See," she sneered. "Honey, if you love me as much as you say you do, you'll give it back."

Richardson was obviously as good at smooth-talking dames as he was hiding money. I knew it'd be snowing in hell before he gave that money back, so I left them there arguing and headed for home. I was tired, hungry, and looking at spending the next three hours on the road. I stopped off at a quaint little country diner for breakfast before starting the long trek back.

On the drive, all I could think about was Stacy's proposal that we try it again. Being a bachelor was a two-edged sword. On the one hand, I had complete freedom to go where I had to go and do what I had to do. I didn't have to tell anyone or worry about checking in with somebody if I was gone for an extended length of time.

On the other hand, coming home to an empty apartment and eating TV dinners wasn't what I called living the high-life. I remember when she and I were married. It wasn't all fighting. We had our good times, too, really good times.

I kept going back and forth in my mind. I'd never tell a soul this. It's not something any hard-hitting gumshoe like me would ever admit, but I cried when we broke up. Maybe we could compromise.

It was a little after two in the afternoon when I walked back into my office. I was tired and aggravated. Not only did I miss out on the fifty-thousand dollar bonus, but I wasn't getting paid at all. Of course, the flip side was that the story was bound to hit the papers. That would be good for business.

I pulled a manila envelope from my desk drawer and wrote, 'Richardson/Wilson Case' on the front, then dropped a record of my mileage and some receipts inside for my accountant. Next, I went into my email and ran a search for Richardson's name. Wilson wasn't lying. There were the two backdated emails he talked about. I checked my filing cabinet and just as promised, both copies of the receipts I gave Carla and the contract she signed were gone.

I called the lieutenant and told him what I found. I asked if it was okay to just take a screenshot of the emails but he told me not to do anything until he sent a computer forensics expert over to take a look. He said it would be a couple of hours which meant I had to stick around and wait... just what I wanted to hear.

By the time the forensics guy had come and gone, it was closing in on six o'clock. I stopped off at a greasy spoon on the way home and went straight to bed as soon as I walked into my apartment.

The next morning, I awoke to my phone ringing. As I picked it up to answer, I saw I had slept through a couple of others. "Hello," I said in a voice that gave witness to me still being groggy.

"Mr. McDaniels, this is Eloise Dowling from the Chicago Tribute. I'm waiting outside your office. Will you be long?"

"What's this about, Ms. Dowling?"

"I want to interview you regarding your role in the arrest of Eric Wilson," she told me.

Okay, everything was coming back into focus. I assumed the calls I missed were also from reporters. I glanced at the clock. Shit, it was nine-twenty and I hadn't even had my shower yet. I also had to get down to the cop house and give my statement. It was going to be a busy day. I told Eloise to drop her card through the mail slot in my door and I'd call her when I had some free time. I grabbed a shower and some toast and coffee for breakfast. I was at the first district police station a little before eleven.

"What's that?" asked Lieutenant Reardon.

I handed him a two-inch thick, legal-sized envelope. "Wilson didn't pick me out of the blue, Dan. I've been investigating him on my own for the last six months. I don't have hard proof yet, but he's been laundering millions for somebody. He also has his hand in the cookie jar, enough so to warrant felony theft, larceny, and possibly racketeering charges. It's almost all there, but I've lost enough time and money on this case, it's all yours," I told him.

"Gee, thanks," he replied sarcastically, "as if we didn't have enough on our plate." We walked into an interview room where a videographer was all set up. They also had a tape recorder on the desk. After two hours of testimony, Reardon and I went out to lunch. I'd known him since he was a rookie cop and I was still working for a security company.

It was after three by the time I got back to the office and was thinking about calling Eloise back. I can always use some free publicity. It was either that or head over to Plato's.

I was still trying to make up my mind when I heard my door open. I looked up, thinking it was another reporter. Not many things surprise me anymore, but he sure did. I wasn't sure if I should reach for my gun or not. "Richardson, what are you doing here?"

Without saying a word, he slumped down in the chair and threw a letter-sized envelope on my desk. "What's this?"

"Two cashier's checks, the first is for three million, six hundred grand, made out to my former company. The other one is your ten percent finder's fee," he said. "Janet was worried Walker would screw you out of it, so she insisted on the two checks."

I wasn't buying it. "What's the gag?"

"No gag, what can I say, I love the broad."

"Forgive me for saying so," I said sarcastically, "but you don't seem like the type that could love anyone four million dollars-worth."

"Yeah, well, see... you don't know me as well as you think you do. I built that company, McDaniels. I created it using nothing more than my own blood, sweat, and tears. I was making a damn good living too. I was proud of what I'd accomplished. When I met Carla, I was on top of the world. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen and she was crazy about me... or so I thought.

"Anyway, after a year of marriage, I couldn't believe how much money she'd gone through. I should have put a stop to it, but I didn't want to take a chance of losing her, so instead, I thought about expanding the business. I met Walker at a party. We talked and he offered me the money I needed to grow my company. He was supposed to be a silent partner, but the next thing I knew he had an office next to mine. Then he started weighing in at business and strategy meetings. We suddenly started doing business with shady companies and changing vendors. He and I were constantly fighting. One day, I looked around and saw he had built his own little empire on the back of my company. The only reason he was keeping me around was because of my name, and I knew that wouldn't last forever.

"Walker's a snake, and I knew damn well I was going to get shafted. That's when I started putting my own golden parachute together. It took me only a year to drain off that four mil. My biggest mistake was underestimating you. You caught me dead to rights, but I knew you'd never find the money. How the hell Carla found those numbers, I have no idea. I know it had to be by some stupid freak accident."

"What about Janet? How'd she get mixed up in all this?"

"She was my savior. I met her about four years ago. By that time I knew my marriage was a complete sham. Carla had been seen running around town with a dozen different men. I would have divorced her, but with all the troubles I was having with the company, I just couldn't take the time. My life was complicated enough without going through a long, expensive divorce.

"When I met Janet things just seemed to fall into place. She was beautiful, kind and a good listener. She became my sanctuary. Eventually, we fell in love.

Now I was curious. "What about Cathy Hyer?"

"What about her? Cathy's a friend, that's all."

"Walker's secretary said you were banging her, too."

"Dorie always sees the worst in people. I guess she assumed I was banging Cathy because I sent her flowers a couple of times. Come to think of it, I also had her make dinner reservations for Cathy and me once or twice. The truth is, she was going through a rough breakup with her long-term, live-in, lover. She was getting down on herself so I was trying to show her it wasn't her fault, that's all.

"Anyway," he said, standing up abruptly, "now you know my whole life story. The cops don't want me to leave until the trial, so I guess I'll be around for a while, but as soon as it's over, Janet and I intend to spend the rest of our lives basking in the tropical sun somewhere. You take care, McDaniels," were his last words as he closed the door behind him. One thing I've learned in my business, there's no such thing as black and white, and there's always more than two sides to every story.