Bad Seed (Jubilee, Kentucky #5)

Chapter 16

Biscuits were in the oven and Brendan was frying bacon when Harley walked into the kitchen. He paused long enough for a good-morning kiss.

“Hey, sleepyhead. How do you feel this morning?” he asked.

“Like a well-loved woman with a groove in her head should feel,” she said, and snagged a piece of bacon.

He grinned. “You’re welcome. Eggs? Scrambled or fried?”

“You make them, I’ll eat them. Just no runny yolks, please.”

“There you go again, darlin’, proving this was meant to be. I don’t do soft yolks, either. Coffee’s ready. Help yourself.”

She took a cup of coffee to the table and then held it between her hands, waiting for it to cool, watching the fluidity of his movements within a space most women were left to inhabit and thinking how much she loved him. But this man, her renaissance man, was also wild when it mattered, especially in bed.

Brendan caught her staring. “What?” he asked.

She blinked. “Er… I, uh, I was just thinking of what a well-rounded man you are. That’s all.”

He shook his head. “And I’m thinkin’ you just skirted the question with a well-rounded answer.”

“It’s all good, love… No, better than good. Fantastic. Aren’t those biscuits done yet? I dreamed about them when I had them at the hotel,” Harley said.

“Coming out now,” he said.

A few minutes later, he made their plates and carried them to the table, got butter and jelly from the refrigerator, and topped off her coffee before sitting down with her.

“Here’s to a good day with my Sunshine,” he said, and they began to eat, talking about everything from how she was going to get her things moved from Chicago to the time when their families could meet.

She laid down her fork and folded her hands in her lap, trying not to be despondent. “I hate that everything hinges around finding the rat in the barrel before we can get on with our lives.”

“The rat being the man behind the hits?” he said.

“Yes, and at this point, all of my hopes are pinned on the feds. It’s maddening not to know what’s going on, or if they’re gaining ground.”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. “It’s Aaron.”

Harley waved at him to answer and got up to refill her coffee.

“Hello.”

“Hey, little brother, I have something interesting to share. If you want your girl to hear it, put this on speaker.”

“Okay, just a sec,” Brendan said. “It’s on speaker, so what’s up?”

Harley came back to the table with her coffee, but instead of sitting in her chair, she sat in Brendan’s lap to listen.

“Your stalker, Justine Beaumont, has been arrested for the murder of her mother. I’d say that knife she pulled on you and the threatening note she left on your door weren’t as innocuous as we assumed.”

The skin crawled on the back of Brendan’s neck. “You aren’t serious.”

“Dead serious, just like the mother. Chief Warren told us at roll call. Apparently, the Dallas PD was running a background check on Justine. Something about the mother’s death was suspicious, and when they saw Justine’s rap sheet, they began following up. The chief said they called to ask about the incident at Trapper’s Bar and Grill. And then the chief found out today that she’d been arrested. From what I gather, she kind of told on herself. She’s crazy, as in psychopath crazy. You kept saying something was wrong with her. I guess you were right.”

“I wonder if Larry knows.” Brendan said.

“He knew Karen was dead, because the detective told him, and he knew they suspected Justine,” Aaron said. “I don’t know if they notified him of his daughter’s arrest or not.”

“And I thought we had a messed-up family,” Brendan said.

“We did, until they hauled Clyde off to prison. Hey, I gotta go. Yancy’s waiting for me. Take care. Hello to your pretty lady.”

The call ended, but Harley was still sitting in Brendan’s lap. She slid her arm around his neck and hugged him.

“She pulled a knife on you?” Harley asked.

He nodded. “She was aiming for my face. I ducked, and it caught the side of my neck instead, before I knocked it out of her hand.”

“Good lord! I know this is stating the obvious, but you sure dodged a bullet with that one,” she said.

He lifted a curl away from the healing wound on her head and then kissed her cheek. “Dodging bullets seems to be a thing,” he said. “But yours was real.” Then his phone signaled a text. “I guess this is the morning for news,” he said as he scanned the message and then handed her the phone. “Look at that.”

“Federal agents just arrested Larry Beaumont? Ray didn’t waste time nailing him to the wall, did he? I wonder how all that is going to play out now. No manager on-site and a new owner who has yet to sign final papers. Kind of puts you all in the twilight zone for a while,” Harley said.

“We’ll be fine. Liz will keep her finger on the pulse until Wolf can take possession.”

“What are we going to do today?” she asked.

“You’re going to lie around, watch movies, eat stuff, nap, take your meds, and heal.”

“And what will you be doing?” she asked.

“Ah, Sunshine…whatever your heart desires.”

***

Two days later, Wilhem Crossley woke up in the morning and realized that ever since the raid, he’d been coasting from the shock of everything Harley Banks had uncovered. Even the warning he’d given her had been a guilt-ridden impulse. He wanted to forget it had ever happened, but he couldn’t.

Things had been left undone. The head of the snake that had swallowed women and children whole and hidden them in his warehouse was still unknown. He needed answers, but no one was communicating. He feared it was because the federal authorities still viewed him with suspicion, and that alone made him sick.

Daily, he went over everything Harley had told him and shown him, and he was still puzzled by how long this had gone on right under his nose. The attention to detail had been meticulous. Fake companies, fake invoices, ghost merchandise, and money being funneled elsewhere. She had discovered the deceit, but not who was responsible or where the stolen money went. It was making him crazy, going through employee names every day, trying to make one of them fit. But none of them had access to all of it but him and his son. Who within the organization had the power and know-how to pull this off without rousing his suspicion?

It was with a heavy heart that he went down to breakfast. He was in the morning room with a waffle and coffee when he heard Tip coming down the stairs and talking on the phone. Wilhem couldn’t hear the words, but the angry tone in Tip’s voice was apparent.

***

“I don’t want to hear that! No, that’s not going to work! Never mind. I’ll deal with it myself, like I should have done at the outset,” Tip said, and hung up as he entered the morning room.

“Good morning, Son,” Wilhem said.

Tip didn’t even look at him. “For some, I guess,” he said, and poured himself some coffee. “There isn’t any bacon on the sideboard! You know I want bacon for breakfast. This shriveled-up link sausage isn’t going to fly, dammit!”

Wilhem frowned. “The staff knows it. They’ve gone to get more. Calm down and sit down.”

Tip didn’t see the look of disapproval on his father’s face and was still ranting. “Worthless bunch of employees! I’ve a good mind to fire them all!”

Wilhem slapped the flat of his hand on the table, rattling the fork on his plate. “That does it! Enough! I don’t know what’s going on in your personal life, but it’s nothing that happened under this roof, so shut it down. As for hiring and firing, you’re not in charge yet. You’re the one tripping off to the foreign market all the time. You don’t have the first notion of how the business here runs!”

Tip stopped, shocked by the chastising he was getting. “Sorry, Dad. It’s just a lot going on right now. All the merchandise we had on hand went up in flames, and I’m thinking I need to make another trip oversees to—”

“To do what?” Wilhem roared. “We’re short a warehouse as it is. The other ones are full. We don’t have a place to put new merchandise. And if we did, you don’t need to go on a buying trip. Just contact the prior vendors and reorder, for God’s sake. You keep saying you want to help, and then you talk about leaving? You stay put and run the business as is, or if you don’t want to take it over, I’ll sell! Either way, I’m not putting up with your shit.”

Tip panicked. “No, don’t sell it! I never meant to imply—”

“Then go to work!” Wilhem said. “Go to the office. Business is happening. Tend to it! Or not! Either way, I don’t want to see your face in this house before dinner.”

Then Wilhem got up from the table and stormed out of the room, leaving Tip in utter shock. But it didn’t take long for the shock to be displaced by frustration. Playing tit for tat, Tipton stormed out of the house, unaware Wilhem had gone to the library and was on the phone, calling Harley Banks.

***

Harley was in the living room with her feet to the fire, going through email on her laptop when her phone rang. She glanced at caller ID and frowned. Wilhem Crossley? Should she answer? If she did, would he tell Tip? If he mentioned it to Tip, and he was the one issuing hits, then he’d know she wasn’t dead.

So, she let it ring and wondered what he wanted. Whatever it was, she was done with him and his son. A few minutes later, fresh from a shower and shave, Brendan joined her.

“Did I hear the phone?”

She nodded. “It was Wilhem Crossley. I didn’t answer.”

“Good move. That would have been proof to someone that the hit on you failed.”

***

Wilhem didn’t know what to think when Harley didn’t answer, and then chided himself for even making the call. She didn’t know any more now than she did when she was debriefed by the special agents before the raid.

When he heard Tip leaving, and then the screech of tires on pavement, a sure indication of his displeasure at being called down, Wilhem sighed.

“Act like a fool, get treated like one,” he muttered. “At least he’s out of the house, instead of skulking around like he used to do when he’d been caught breaking rules.” And the moment he said it, a whisper of something dark slid through his mind, insidious even in thought, and so horrifying he couldn’t speak it aloud. But the longer he sat, the more impelled he felt to go look, if for no other reason than reassurance.

I’ll see for myself. Nothing will be off. And that will be that.

But his heart was pounding as he left the library and returned to the central part of the house, pausing in the grand foyer.

It’s not too late to let it go. Shame on me for even thinking it.

And yet he stood, considering the consequences that he might be opening a Pandora’s box of trouble.

To the right was the north wing of the mansion where Wilhem lived, and to the left, the south wing where Tip’s suite and office were located. He never intruded into Tipton’s world, and Tip never intruded into his. It had been an unwritten choice by the both of them when Tip moved back into the family home and went to work for his father.

But the longer Wilhem stood, the more random incidents he could recall that seemed odd at the time or seemed off. All of the times he’d ignored the obvious or taken Tip at his word, the more certain he was that secrets were being held under this roof. Unwritten rules or not, privacy issues or not, this was still his house. He turned to the left and walked up the grand staircase and into the south wing, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d set foot on these floors. He went straight down the long hallway and opened the door into his son’s space. He paused on the threshold, staring about the suite in shock before walking into the room.

The decor was pure luxury, with furnishings Wilhem had never seen. White drapes. White furniture. A clear, bloodred vase strategically placed on a small table in front of a window to catch the last gasp of sunlight from each day.

Glass-topped tables in shiny chrome frames. Fine art and ancient wall hangings displayed on every wall, and bookshelves filled with things Tip had obviously collected from his foreign travels, and ancient, illustrated books depicting graphic poses of sex and porn. A copy of the Kama Sutra bookmarked to a particular page that even shocked a man as old as he was.

His hand was shaking as he put it back on the shelf and moved into the bedroom. By now, he was beyond surprise as he eyed the opulence of the black satin bedding as more of the same and the largest flat-screen television he’d ever seen as overindulgence.

“What the hell?” Wilhem muttered. “Where did this come from? How did I not know this existed?”

He thought of all the long hours he’d spent at the business and never once thought of what Tip was doing on his own. The single, horrible thought that had sent him on this quest was growing into a possibility he didn’t want to consider. Taking care not to displace a thing, he left the suite and walked farther up the hall until he found Tip’s office. He reached out to turn the doorknob, and at the same time he realized it was locked, the door swung inward.

He frowned, looked down to see an oversized bulldog clip stuck at the corner of the door. It must have fallen from a file Tip had been carrying and had kept the door from going all the way shut.

Wilhem pushed the door open and turned on the light.

Multiple computers blinked on tables lined up against a wall. Images on video screens from multiple security cameras were running in real time in places he didn’t recognize, showing women bound and gagged being paraded through narrow hallways. He could see a massive safe inside a cloaked alcove and cabinets everywhere, all of them with coded locks.

In a sudden panic that he would show up somewhere on another video screen, he kicked the bulldog clip beneath a table, pulled the door shut behind him, and ran out of the south wing, scrambling down the stairs faster than he knew he could move. Grabbing his coat on the way out, he jumped into his car and started driving.

He couldn’t be there when Tip came back home. The look on Wilhem’s face would give him away, and if what he believed was true, he didn’t know to what depths Tip would go to keep his secrets safe. For the first time in his life, he was afraid of his son.

Wilhem was crying as he drove and finally pulled over to gather his emotions, then set his GPS for the FBI field office and drove through the city. Then the moment he arrived, he lost his nerve. He was shaking so hard he couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t run away. He couldn’t hide this. Not even from himself. Finally, he called the field office’s main number instead.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I direct your call?”

“My name is Wilhem Crossley. I need to speak with the special agent in charge of the raid at the Crossley warehouse that broke up a human trafficking ring. I may have new information.”

“Please hold.”

He sat with the phone on speaker and his head down on the steering wheel, trying not to puke. Moments later, a man answered. “Mr. Crossley. I’m Special Agent Jay Howard. How can I help you?”

Wilhem choked on his first words and then took a breath. “I’m in the parking lot in front of your field office. Late-model white Lexus. I have just discovered some very shocking evidence that may pertain to your case.”

“Come into the lobby. I’ll have someone waiting to escort you to my office,” he said.

Wilhem’s voice was shaking. “I don’t think I can walk that far. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Stay there. We’re coming to get you,” Jay said.

“Yes, thank you,” Wilhem said, then fixed his gaze on the main entrance and started counting the minutes and looking constantly to make sure he was still alone.

***

The minute Jay Howard took the call, he knew in his bones that was going to be the break they needed, and as soon as he hung up, he said, “Somebody! Anybody! With me now!”

Two other agents followed Jay through the building and then out of the lobby onto the sidewalk. “There! White Lexus,” Jay said, and they took off running.

Wilhem opened the door to get out and then staggered and grabbed onto the door to steady himself. Seconds later, the agents had their arms beneath his shoulders, steadying his steps as they walked him in out of the cold. Nobody spoke until Wilhem was safely seated at Jay’s desk, with the rest of the team gathered around him.

“Can I get you some water or a coffee?” Jay asked.

“Coffee would be good,” Wilhem said. “I can’t quit shaking, but it’s not from cold. It’s shock.”

A cup of coffee was put on the desk in front of him, and then they waited for the old man to get a few sips under his belt.

“We’re going to record this,” Jay said.

Wilhem nodded, and after that, he began to talk.

They listened without interruption, hearing the truth and the shock in Wilhem’s voice. Masking their emotions when he started talking about the office and all of the high-tech equipment and seeing the live videos of women bound and gagged.

“I guess there are none so blind as those who will not see, but I never once considered that he could have had anything to do with the theft from my company or using our property as part of trafficking humans.”

Jay leaned forward. “We had a tip from one of the people we arrested at the raid. He gave us the names of the two people closest to the boss. A man named Oliver Prine, and a man named Phil Knickey. Oliver Prine was killed in a shoot-out in Jubilee, Kentucky. The woman he was sent to kill took him out.”

“Oh my God! Harley Banks? Please tell me she’s all right!”

“Wounded, but recovering,” Jay said.

Wilhem covered his face and started weeping. “Because of me. Because of me. I got her into this mess when I hired her to audit my company. I will never get over this shame.”

“She wasn’t seriously injured and is as capable as advertised. She took him out with one shot. However, we did pick up Phil Knickey. He said he’s spoken to the boss more than once, although never seen him, so I’m going to ask you, sir… Do you know anyone by the name Berlin? Mr. Berlin?”

Wilhem frowned, trying to remember if he’d ever met anyone by that name, then finally shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Berlin doesn’t ring any… Oh God.”

“What?” Jay asked.

The stricken look on Wilhem’s face said it all. “When my wife and I were first married, we lived in Berlin, Pennsylvania. Tip was born in Berlin. My parents were German-born. My great-grandparents were Amish. My father left the sect after he and mother married. She didn’t want that life, and he wanted her enough to leave it. My wife and I moved away from Berlin when Tip was about three, maybe four…as he was getting old enough to begin school. She wanted him in bigger, better schools.”

Jay added another facet. “What we now know is that the money stolen from your company wound up in bank accounts in three different locations outside of the United States, all belonging to a man named Dale Wayne Berlin.”

Wilhem moaned. “I am Wilhem Dale. My son is Tipton Wayne. I can’t go home.”

“Where is your son now, Mr. Crossley?”

“I’m not sure. We had an argument this morning. I told him I was going to sell the company if he wasn’t interested in running it. He begged me not to sell it. I shouted at him. I told him to go to the office and work instead of hanging around me, and I didn’t want to see his face in the house before dinner.”

“You think he’s at the office?”

Wilhem shrugged. “I can’t speak for him anymore. I do not know who he is. But I do know our fight this morning was because of him talking about needing to make another buying trip. I told him we didn’t need more merchandise because we had nowhere to put it. But I would not put it past him to jet off somewhere anyway.”

Jay began issuing orders. “Get his picture up at all the airports. Do not let him get on a plane. Get some men over to the Crossley building and see if his car is there, and if it is, sit on it and him until we get there. Get a car to the Crossley residence in case he goes back there. If he’s in the wind, I want bulletins out on his vehicle. Find it. Find him.”

“We?” Wilhem said.

“You’re coming with me,” Jay said. “If he’s at work, he’s in your building. I need to know all of the exit points, and you’re going to help us.”

Wilhem nodded.

***

Tipton Crossley entered the company offices through the rear entrance and took the elevator up to the top floor where the main offices were. He nodded at Margaret, the secretary he and his dad shared.

She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, sir. I left your mail and a few messages on your desk.”

“Do I have any appointments this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. A new client for the company. Eleven a.m.”

“Do we have a file on him?” Tip asked.

“Yes, sir, on your desk.”

“Excellent. Bring me a cup of coffee and any sweet roll lying about,” he said, and entered his office, closing the door behind him as he went. He hung his coat in the closet, then sat down at the desk.

He stacked the mail into a neat pile for later and opened the file for the new client and began to read. A few moments later, Margaret came in with his coffee and a cinnamon twist on a paper plate.

“Thank you,” he said, took a bite of the sweet roll, then followed up with a sip of coffee, then wrinkled his nose. Too hot and a little bitter. It’s what he got for storming off without breakfast at home.

As soon as he was caught up on the new client’s details, he finished off the roll and coffee as he went through mail. There was a letter from the insurance company, informing him of a payoff date for the warehouse and a separate payoff for the loss of merchandise.

He nodded, and laid it aside for his father to see. Money in the bank was always good news. Once the mail had been dealt with, he turned on the TV. It was always on the local news channel, and after adjusting the sound, he went back to work. He focused better with background noise.

He was glancing toward the clock, making sure he had everything cleared from his desk before his eleven o’clock appointment, when regular programming was interrupted by a news bulletin. Curious, he turned up the volume.

“Unnamed source has reported that retired hockey star Phil Knickey was taken in for questioning by special agents of the FBI. Speculation is high as to what charges, if any, might be pending. In other news…”

“Holy shit,” he muttered, then jumped up and went to get his burner phone from an inner pocket in his coat and began scrolling through calls and messages. He didn’t have any new messages, but he did have four calls he’d made that were never answered or returned. He needed to lose this phone, and something told him he needed to disappear. He was standing in the middle of the room and staring out the window when the door opened behind him.

He turned, then frowned. “Dad, what are you…”

Wilhem stepped inside as four men walked in behind him, flashing their badges as two of them pulled Tip’s arms behind him and cuffed him, while Jay Howard flashed an arrest warrant.

“Tipton Wayne Crossley, a.k.a. Dale Wayne Berlin, I have a warrant for your arrest for fraud, human trafficking, arson, money laundering, theft of property, and with the possibility of further charges being added at a later date.”

Tip knew the Miranda warning, but he’d never had it directed at him before, and hearing it now was a death knell. He didn’t argue. He didn’t deny. He didn’t admit. It didn’t feel real until the handcuffs pinched his wrists.

“I want my lawyer,” he said.

Wilhem shook his head. “You don’t have one anymore, and I won’t share mine with the man who stole from me. Conflict of interest, and all that.”

Tip couldn’t look his father in the eye. He couldn’t argue with the truth.

“Mr. Crossley, a team is en route to take possession of everything in this office and everything in your son’s office at your home. Anything not pertaining to your son’s crimes will be returned at a later date,” Jay said.

Wilhem nodded, watching as the agents put Tip’s coat over his shoulders and walked him out of the building. He followed until he reached Margaret’s desk, and then stopped.

Margaret was stunned, but when she saw the devastation on her boss’s face, in a moment of empathy, she reached for his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Wilhem gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “So am I, Margaret. So am I.”