The CleanSweep Conspiracy (29 page)

CHAPTER 36

We Need a New Plan

M
att and Carling waited until the dim light of dawn made a slow transition into daytime. Streaks of sunlight had gradually become visible through a dusty garage window.

“How much longer do we wait?” Matt asked.

“There’s nothing more on the radio,” Carling said as he placed the handheld police set on the seat. “Same for the police calls. Let’s wait a bit longer.”

“Someone’s sure to spot us. What are we going to do when they come back this way? Won’t the cops recognize this car
—
and you?” Matt tried to keep the fear out of his voice.

“Look at me,” Carling said. “I didn’t spend time undercover without learning the tricks of changing my appearance. Only a handful of cops would recognize me like this, and those are the guys I trust.”

They were startled by a radio blast. It was just the police band, a routine traffic call.

“Like I tried to say,” Carling went on, “I’m counting on my looks
—
and the smell. They won’t invite anyone to get close.”

“You smell as bad as Stinky,” Matt said. He wondered where that man was this morning. “What about the car?”

“I figured if I was going to break the rules, it might as well be for something big.” Carling smiled. “I waited until there was a shift change in the station garage. I picked out this old car because I’d once used it for undercover surveillance. This piece of crap hasn’t been out of the garage in years. It was sitting in the back, covered with enough grime to give it character
—
wouldn’t you agree?”

Matt nodded.

“I’ve had my eye on this car ever since I learned about CleanSweep. I carried a can of gas in one day to make sure it was topped up with fuel. Luckily the battery was still charged. I had a dupe
—
you know, a duplicate
—
key made. The old
-
timer on security detail never even noticed a thing when I drove it out last night. It’s time to find out if we can skate by on our good looks.” He laughed at that remark. “But we have to do something about you first.”

By the time Carling had opened the garage door, Matt had also covered himself in grime until he was a good match to the detective’s appearance. The ten
-
year
-
old car was rusting in several spots; a long, angry crease marked the hood; and the windshield was cracked. In spite of its looks, the motor purred with a quiet fury. Matt guessed the undercover cops using vehicles like this depended on the car being in perfect running order, despite the look of the exterior.

“Get out and look down the alley. Tell me what you see.”

“Right,” Matt said. He got out of the car and tiptoed to the doorway as if expecting agents to be hiding in wait. He turned his head to the right first, then to the left. He listened. “Nothing but traffic at the end of the alley,” he said in a loud whisper. Finally, he turned, gave a thumbs
-
up sign, and walked back to the car. He was careful to shut the door with care, just in case.

Carling eased the car partway out. Matt watched him make a decision to turn to the right.

“Guess we have to find out sooner or later.” He didn’t sound encouraging.

It turned out to be another of those days of perfect weather
—
for anyone liking a cloudless blue sky and the temperature in the low sixties. Carling steered the car to the end of the alley and then paused with his foot on the brake. Glancing in both directions, he decided to turn right, away from Queen Street, where Matt’s apartment building was located.

“I saw a car at the corner on the left. I’m sure it was a stakeout car. I just saw the front, but it had to be. I’m not taking any chances yet.” Carling weaved through narrow residential streets, dodging parked cars and waste bins. Matt was trying to convince himself that they just might make it
—
get away.

“Where are we going?” Matt finally asked.

“I have a place in mind, but I don’t want to take a direct route.”

The smallest handheld radio crackled, and Carling turned the squelch filter.

“Status report.” Angela Vaughn’s voice broke through the noise.

“There’s nothing on Tremain! Nada! It’s like the guy is a ghost.”

“What area have you covered?”

“I had over a hundred agents on the ground. We covered it all. They didn’t find anything except for an old drunk sleeping in a garage. He puked all over Crandall’s shirt.”

“Did they bring the drunk in on spec? Did anyone question him? Don’t we know that Tremain was
with someone
?”

Carling and Matt heard a whimper in the reply to her question and knew the man called Bishop, the one she’d left in charge of the search, was going to lose his job.

“Williams, are you listening?”

“Yes, boss,” replied another, new voice.

“You’re in charge now. Take over from Bishop. I want as much of the area covered again as you can manage with a skeleton crew. I want people out of their cars, off their lazy butts, and walking the neighborhood. How could
—
?” There was no need for her to finish. “And have somebody bring in that drunk.”

“I’m on it, boss.”

“We’re shifting the focus to Payne and Remington. They’re going to try and meet up with Tremain. I’m sure of it. I’m putting out an all
-
points bulletin.”

It wasn’t long before the police scanner came alive. Everyone on patrol was ordered to action. “We are sending the photographs. They are all high
-
priority targets.”

Matt and Carling looked at each other. Carling pulled the car to a stop along the curb. “We’re still on a side street. Before we get into traffic, I need to think.”

“What do you have in mind, Detective?” Matt waited for an answer, but Carling just stared out through the windshield. Matt was hoping a plan was forming behind that stare.

“My name’s Wallace.”

Matt appreciated that he had just been given permission to cross a line
—
it was a courtesy Carling granted few civilians.

“My friends call me Brick, but my first name is Wallace. Don’t ever put that in one of your damn blogs.”

“Brick?”

Carling held up his hand to stop the question. “My buddies used to call me ‘Wallace.’ That changed to ‘Brick Wall,’ and then just ‘Wall,’ after my best friend, Scott, said the bad guys were up against a brick wall when they met me. Then someone called me ‘Brick.’ From then on, at least, that name was used with my permission.”

Both radios erupted with traffic. They were broadcasting the widening search for Matt, Susan, and Carl. It was apparent that they hadn’t pieced together Carling’s role in the story.

“Can you reach Susan and Carl?”

Matt stretched to reach into the backseat and get his backpack. “I almost forgot this. I don’t know what made me remember it, with all that was happening.” He pulled out two phones and looked at them, making a decision. “I’m going to try this one.” He started to punch in numbers.

“Wait,” Carling said.

Matt had been just about to press the Enter key.

Carling carried his cell phone in a holster. He used it to place a call.

“Scott. You know who this is.” Carling listened and then said, “Do you still have a friend working at the morgue?” He nodded and said, “I’ll call you back. I need your help. Thanks, Scotty, more than you know.”

He turned to Matt. “OK, call them and tell them to get to 66 Tilson Avenue as soon they can. Make sure they’re careful. Hell, don’t bother. They already know that. Tell them to park behind the building. The back door is locked, but they’ll find a spare key taped inside the electrical panel to the right of the door. It’s an abandoned day
-
care center. The owners lost everything in the riots. It’s called Tiny Tots, or something like that. They can’t miss it.”

Matt started to dial again when Carling muttered, “I may have a plan. It just might give us some breathing room.” Matt waited for more, but Brick didn’t offer any further information. He finally managed to dial the number and pressed Enter, then held the phone to his ear.

“Carl.” For some reason he was almost whispering. “It’s Matt here. How are you guys doing?”

He signed “OK” to Carling as he listened.

“It’s the same here,” he said, and he told Carl about their close call. Then he gave the directions to the day
-
care center.

“Carl’s north of the city,” Matt said, turning to Carling. Then he said to Carl, “Brick says to come down Leslie and turn at Eglinton.” He started to laugh. “Oh, Brick is Carling’s nickname. That’s another story. See you guys there. Wait
—
”

He looked at Carling, who was signaling to him not to hang up yet. He said, “Tell them to wait until it gets dark. Make sure they know there’s and APB out on them.”

Matt relayed the message and turned off the cell. “I know these things have GPS built into them. Can they really be traced?” Carling nodded yes. Matt took out the SIM card and tossed it through the window.

It was Carling’s turn to make another call. “Scotty, Brick again. How about the back of the theater? Right, that’s it. I’m going to ask for a huge favor. See you then. Oh, Scotty, I’m with someone, and we haven’t eaten since yesterday. One more thing,” he said, looking at Matt. “He’s about five
-
nine or five
-
ten, medium build. I’d guess large as his shirt size. We both need some clothes. Thanks, Scotty. You da bomb, my man.” He ended the call.

He turned to Matt. “We’re meeting him this afternoon. Now we need to take our phones apart. Take the battery and the SIM card out like you did on that other phone. We’ll toss them as we drive.”

Matt did as he was told, but said, “I’ll keeping this last one. It’s so old it doesn’t use a SIM card, so it should be safe to use.” He put it in his pocket. “Do you trust him, this Scotty?”

“With my life
—
and yours.”

Carling took his phone apart as he was driving. A dump truck was coming at them in the other lane. As they passed, Carling made a perfect three
-
point toss. His phone headed to the landfill.

Carling drove up a steep hill to a park Matt recognized. The two men spent the rest of the day there, sitting by a reservoir. “Hardly anyone ever comes here, and they never lock the door to the toilet. We need to rest,” Carling said as he backed the car between two large hedges. “One sleeps, the other stays awake. I’m not sure what good that will do. At least we’ll know when they find us. You sleep first.”

“What is this place?” Matt asked before he tried to settle in. “You said something about a theater.”

“It’s a cop thing. Scotty and I have our inside jokes. If we use the word
theater
, it means this reservoir park. All the cops have secret hideaways.”

Matt smiled at their attempt at small talk. “A doctor told me once about a code they used when he was an intern. When they heard a page for Dr. Better, they knew a poker game was on.”

He was trying to ease the tension, but it didn’t help much. He tilted the seat back and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, Carling was punching him in the arm.

“It’s my turn, Mr. Blogger.”

With Matt standing watch, Carling stretched and walked to the toilet. When he came back to the car, he got in the backseat. The next thing Matt heard was snoring, a sound louder than a jet trying to take off. He attempted to ignore the sound, but finally got out to sit on the hood of the car. Turning his face to the sun, Matt enjoyed the warmth. If he had any doubts about being able to stay awake while he was on guard duty, they were dispelled by the noises emanating from Carling.

The constant nervous energy
—
and running the night before
—
had taken a toll on Matt. His legs were cramping, and he felt a need to stand and walk. He circled the car but didn’t dare venture any farther than a few steps away. Even then he couldn’t escape the snoring.

Suddenly, he heard a car approaching
—
well before he saw it. There was a relatively steep grade leading up to the reservoir park, and it sounded like the car wasn’t up to the task. Finally, he saw it top the rise.

“It’s his personal car, a ’56 Peugeot,” Carling’s voice caused Matt to whirl around. “It makes an awful racket, but Scotty loves that car. Fortunately, it runs better than it sounds or looks. He knew this was no time for him to use a cop car, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

The car crunched over the gravel, and Scotty waved and gave a quick “hello” toot on the horn as he braked and opened the door. He was wiry, and looked like a man ready for a fight. Matt liked the man’s pugilistic countenance as he strutted over to where they were waiting. The two detectives embraced.

“Thanks, Scotty.”

Scotty looked over at Matt. “So you’re the guy we’ve all been looking for, eh? Public Enemy Number One
—
through Ten
—
and all at once!”

Matt felt uncomfortable until Scotty started to laugh and dropped his hand around Carling’s shoulder.

“If this man says you’re OK, you’re OK.”

The three men walked over to a picnic table. The wood was warped and weathered, and a wide variety of names and comments had been carved onto its surface.

“You two smell terrible,” Scotty said.

“You should have smelled him
before
he washed,” Matt said, pointing to the small building with the toilets.

“I didn’t forget,” Scotty said. He got up and walked back to the Peugeot. He reached into the backseat and picked up four large takeout bags, carrying them back to the table. “Here’s the food,” he said. Then he started pulling Styrofoam containers from one of the bags and setting them in front of Matt and Carling. From another, he removed cups. “Coffee,” he said. Matt watched the steam curling from the lids. “I wasn’t sure, so I brought this as well,” he said as he put two metal cans on the table. They both put the coffee down and lunged for the beer.

“This shopping bag has the clothes you asked for. I suppose a shower is out of the question, but you both could use one,” Scotty said with a laugh.