Hunt Them Down(61)
“Drug deal gone bad?”
“Not sure yet, but édgar Pomar, the man they found unconscious, had a bullet in his right knee, among other things. And what’s even more interesting is that a company named BlueShade Rental, an LLC owned by Graham Young, owns the unit in which they found Pomar.”
“The name Graham Young rings a bell,” Steck said, staring down the highway with a thoughtful expression. “Isn’t he an attorney?”
Farrell acquiesced with a smile. She took a sip of her coffee and then said, “The Miami Herald once named him one of the top ten most influential criminal defense attorneys in the city.”
“How do you know all this?” Erica Eiderzen asked.
“I called the department and asked about the case. There’s a BOLO out on the SRT. I wanted to know why. Officer safety and all that, you know?”
Steck was impressed. Linda Farrell was a good cop. She had made the right decision to join the FBI.
“But you know what truly grabbed my attention?” Farrell asked no one in particular.
Knowing his protégée wasn’t one to waste anyone’s time, Steck was curious. “Tell me.”
“Young’s LLC owns eight vehicles and two properties.”
“Probably to host and drive his wealthy clients around,” Eiderzen offered.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You think there’s more to it than that, Linda?” Steck asked.
“I’m just saying, it’s kind of weird that an attorney owns two residences—in which he doesn’t even live—and eight vehicles.”
“What types of vehicles are associated with the properties?”
“Two minivans, two sports cars, two Mercedes SUVs, and two Ford panel vans.”
“Nothing illegal about any of this,” Eiderzen said.
“I know,” Farrell admitted. “I just find it strange. Why would he need panel vans? It’s not like he’s an electrician or something.”
“You believe it’s a front for an illicit business?” Steck asked.
“édgar Pomar has a rap sheet that includes drugs, car theft, and weapons charges.”
“He could be one of Graham Young’s clients,” Steck suggested.
“I’m sure he is,” Farrell replied. “I just wish we could investigate this further.”
“Not our jurisdiction,” Eiderzen said.
“That’s not true, and you know it, Erica,” Steck intervened. “We—”
His partner raised her hands in mock surrender. “I know, Ryan, I was just kidding. What I meant to say was that investigating these cases isn’t our primary mandate. We’re short-staffed enough as it is.”
Eiderzen was right, of course. Even though the troopers of the Florida Highway Patrol were state law enforcement officers and had the power to enforce state laws and make arrests, their main obligation was to ensure the safety of the highways and roads of the state.
“I understand this, Erica,” Farrell replied, “but that shouldn’t prevent us from keeping an eye out for the vehicles connected to Graham Young’s two residences, right?”
Eiderzen snorted. “No, I guess not.”
Steck wondered why Eiderzen was so pushy and was a bit surprised that she was giving Farrell such a hard time on this issue. As the second-most senior trooper of the team, she should be encouraging initiative among the junior members, not dismissing it as she just did. Maybe she’s a bit jealous?
“Anyway,” Farrell said, unfazed by Eiderzen’s criticism, “I emailed you a list of the license plates of the eight vehicles owned by BlueShade Rental.”
“The FBI will be lucky to have her, won’t they?” Steck grabbed Farrell by the shoulders and pulled her close. “Good job.”
Eiderzen rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. She asked Farrell, “Isn’t this your last shift?”
Farrell tapped the glass of her watch with her finger. “Yes, but there’s a few hours left.”
“All right, everyone, saddle up,” Steck announced. “Let’s finish this shift on a high note, and don’t forget to check the list Linda sent us.”
Just as they were about to break, a Ford panel van drove past them. It was in the middle lane, and Steck estimated it was driving at the speed limit. Steck tried to catch the license plate but only got a partial from the last three characters. D79.
He sat behind the wheel of his police cruiser and turned on the cruiser’s computer. Eiderzen took her seat and said, “You’d think Linda would have called in sick or at least taken the day off, this being her last shift.”
“Not her style,” Steck said. He compared the license plate from the Ford panel van he had just seen to the two license plates Farrell had forwarded to them via email.
I’ll be damned.
“One of them is a match,” Steck said, looking at his partner.
“What are you talking about?”
“The list Linda sent us,” Steck explained. “One of the Fords’ plates matches the panel van that drove by us a minute ago. Weren’t you paying attention?”
Steck made a quick executive decision and decided to pull over the van. He’d find a legal reason to do so later. He put the gearshift into drive and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. Dust and small rocks shot out from under the rear tires and peppered the concrete buffering wall separating the two sides of the highway.