Lightning Rider Page 3
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U.S. Forged Armored Inc., immediately activated its loss incident procedure, alerting a Las Vegas 9-1-1 dispatcher then Len Dawson, Forged’s manager for Las Vegas. He notified Wade Smith, his supervisor at headquarters in Kansas City. Smith warned Dawson he would, “have somebody’s head on a stick if we lost points”. Dawson drove to the scene calculating a multi-million-dollar loss with a severe detrimental impact on the company’s insurance rates. Maybe the casino could be nailed for partial liability? Dawson cursed the fact Gask’s crew had the truck with no electronic location finder. Scout’s well-being did not enter his mind as he monitored Forged’s attempts to reach her through the truck's radio and cellular phone.
Unit 1065 was not responding.
Las Vegas Metropolitan Police launched a bulletin across Clark County and the Valley. The Las Vegas FBI and Nevada Highway Patrol were alerted. Within two minutes, four marked Metro units arrived at the casino, followed later by an unmarked sedan and detectives Todd Braddick and Chester King from the LVMP robbery detail. Before they could enter the lobby, a crew from Channel 3 and Ray Davis, the Review Journal’s crime senior reporter approached them.
“Chester, you got a second?” Davis opened his notebook. “We hear it's an armored car heist with big numbers?”
King smiled. He was six feet six inches tall, a gentle giant whose confidence came from twelve years as a robbery detective. His partner was another story. Braddick had less than two years as a detective, yet he was a brash cock-of-the-walk. Handsome. Single. His laser sharp eye for detail was earning him a reputation as fast as his switch-blade tongue. He exhausted King. They tried unsuccessfully to blow by the reporters.
Davis said: “We heard three to four million, that right Chester?” King wouldn’t take the bait. Then Seleena Ann Ramone from Channel 3 thrust her microphone toward him: “Have you found the driver, yet?”
Braddick shook his head. “Give us a break, Hon.”
“Hon?”
“Folks, please,” King spread his hands apart. “We just got here. You know more than we do. We'll get back to you. Thanks.”
Inside, the detectives were directed to an office behind the main registration desk. Half a dozen people watched as Forged’s manager was going at it with Theo Fontaine, the casino's security boss.
“. . . this is on you, not the casino,” Fontaine said.
“Just answer me. Did you, or did you not, seal the perimeter of your facility once my people reported the theft?” Dawson said.
“Your people never breathed a word to us. It was Metro who called us, sir. Don't be putting this on us.”
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” Braddick said. “Metro Robbery. Braddick and King. We’d like to interview the armored car crew, please. My guess is that is you two?” He pointed at Gask and Perez. They nodded.
“Theo, could you pull all your recorded security video for us,” King said.
“Already on it, Chester.”
King nodded to Gask. “Sir, could you come with me. Detective Braddick will interview your partner. Theo, we're going to need separate offices.”
“No problem,” he led them away.
“Detective,” Dawson said. “I'd like a word with my staff first, if I may? I’d like to go over the log and drop sheets.”
“And you are . . .?” King said.
“Len Dawson. Manager of Forged’s operations here.”
“Mr. Dawson, once we’re finished, they're all yours.”
Fontaine led Braddick and Perez to a small meeting room. Plush carpet. Floor to ceiling one-way glass overlooking the outdoor pool. Big mahogany table. Thick leather chairs. Dark paneled walls. Gil Perez puffed his cheeks and exhaled as Braddick took his name and particulars, then asked:
“How much was in the truck when it vanished, Gil?”
“Three million seven hundred thousand. Unmarked non-sequential.”
“You sure about the number?”
“I'm the money man, the counter.”
“OK, tell me about the driver, Jessica Scout.”
“Jessie, was - ‑is a good person. She always defended me in front of Elmer. He’s our crew chief.”
“You needing defending?”
“He called us names. Called me Re-Fried. Called Jessie, squaw, Pocahontas. She’s an American Indian. She stood up to Elmer. He’s good at his job. Never had a successful hit on his watch. Retires this week after twenty-two years. He’s a very tough boss.”
“Gil, what was Jessie's demeanor today?”
“Same as any other day. She was quiet. Alone in her thoughts, she was a very quiet woman. What if she’s dead? What if she's been killed?”
“Gil, we don’t have any evidence of anything. We're only one hour into this. Do you remember anything unusual today?”
“Two guys.”
“What about them?” Braddick wrote carefully.
“At the drop before this one. Here, I wrote it on my drop sheet,” Perez handed it to Braddick, explaining. “Jessie said two rollers got too close to the truck. She sounded the horn to make them back off.”
“Maybe a distraction for something else?”
“You think so? What if they killed her, there was three point seven million left in the load. I was the money man today.”
“Yes, you said. And she was scheduled to drive?”
“Yes.”
“And the truck without the finder? You knew about that today?”
“Yes. Each crew is scheduled in advance to take it.”
“In advance?” Braddick continued writing. “How long has Jessie been with the company?”
“Four, nearly five months.”
“And you? How long?”
“Three years.”
“What do you know about Jessie? You two socialize after work?”
“No. She’s shy, quiet.”
“Any money problems? Debts? Drugs? Gambling? She living beyond her pay?”
Perez shook his head.
“You know what she does after work? Who her friends are?”
“Like I said, she's very quiet.”
“So you really don't know her at all, do you Gil?”
“I - I guess, I, man, I worked with Jessie four months.”
“Gil, tell me why you said she was so quiet.”
“I figure, by the little she told me, she’d had a sad life.”
“How?”
“She started to tell me once how bad things always follow her.”
“What bad things?”
“Death.”
“Death?”
“Detective Braddick, what if she’s dead already?”