Stone Investigations (Stone Series Book 4) by Bob Blanton (open ebook txt) 📗

was killed, the black Yukonpickup with the fake plates was seen on the street where Frye’s apartmentcomplex was.

It was another day before they found an address for HectorVelazquez.  He didn’t have a California driver’s license which was why it tookso long.  He was living in a small house in East Irvine.  He worked for aconstruction company that Graham used for his last real estate development.  Atfour o’clock, on Thursday, Agent Peters with two Irvine police officers went totalk to him.  Of course, Matthew and Emily tuned in.

Agent Peters had the two uniformed officers go around theback of the house in case Velazquez did a runner.  It was a small house, twobedrooms, no garage, and a small yard.  Not much for someone who was involvedin a multimillion-dollar drug ring.  Once the first officer notified her thathe was in place, she and the other plain-clothed officer knocked on his frontdoor.  Matthew, with Emily watching, zoomed into the house to find Hector andsee what he was doing.  They found him watching a soccer game on TV.  He fitthe description, a good-looking Hispanic male, very fit, but he didn’t ringtrue to Matthew.

A little girl, about seven years old, ran to answer the door.

“Hello.”

“Hello.  Is your father here?”

“Yes,” the girl answered.  She continued to look at AgentPeters waiting for her to say something.

After a minute, Agent Peters figured out that the girl waswaiting on her.

“Can you ask him to come to the door?”

“He’s watching the football game.”

“Tell him it’s important that we speak with him.”

“Okay.  . . .  papá, hay una señora en la puerta que quierehablar contigo.  Ella dice que es importante.”

Hector Velazquez looked worried.  He glanced at the woman whowas working in the kitchen, probably making dinner for the family.  Then heshrugged his shoulders and stood up.  Before he walked to the door he kneltdown next to the little girl.  “Eva, ve a buscar a tu hermana y llévala a lacocina con tu madre.  Esperame allí.”  Matthew’s Spanish was just good enoughto translate what he said.  ‘Eva, go get your sister and take her into thekitchen with your mother.  Wait for me there.’

The girl ran into the bedroom, grabbed a second younger girl,and dragged her into the kitchen.  Once they were there, Hector proceeded tothe door.  He flipped on the hall light before he reopened the door.

“Barb, that’s not him!” Matthew hissed into AgentPeters’ ear.

Agent Peters pressed her ear like she had an earpiece in it. “Are you sure?” she whispered to Matthew.

“Yes, and if you arrest him or even talk to him, it’llprobably alert the real Hector.  It’s probably already too late.”

Hector opened the door.  “Que?”

“We’re with the police, we’re looking for Hector Vásquez,”Agent Peters said.  She discreetly kicked the detective beside her so hewouldn’t correct her.

“Not me.  I’m Hector Velazquez,” Hector said in a stutteringvoice.

“Do you have some ID?”

“Sí.”  Hector returned to the room and grabbed his wallet. He pulled out an ID and returned to the door looking very relieved.  He handedit to Agent Peters.

“Ah, I see.  Must have been an error.  The names are close. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Velazquez.”

Mr. Velazquez closed the door and returned to his soccergame.

“What’s with that?  Where did Vásquez come from?” thedetective asked as Agent Peters led him back to their car.

“He’s not our guy.”

“But it’s the right name.”

“Yeah, but he’s still not our guy.  I want to figure outwhat’s going on before we do anything that might alert our guy that we know whohe is.”

◆ ◆ ◆

Later that evening Agent Peters met up with Matthew andEmily.

“That sucked,” she said.  “Good thing you alerted us.”

“So what did you learn about the other Hector?”

“That’s the address our Hector used with his parole officer. The electrician job is also the same one that was on file with the paroleoffice.  So it looks like our Hector pulled a fast one.  He’s living somewhereelse, free to move about while this other Hector is handling his paroleofficer’s visits and monitoring.”

“That’s a ballsy move.”

Agent Peters shrugged, “maybe not, parole officers are prettyoverworked.  These guys look almost identical.  By the way, how did you figureit out?  Besides the poor English, I wouldn’t have noticed a difference.”

“His eyes are farther apart.  Close but not the same guy. And he doesn’t match the photograph in Velazquez’s jacket either.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Eidetic memory,” Emily said.  “I bet you superimposed theimage over his face, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Matthew said awkwardly.  He didn’t like having hismemory come up making him seem different from everyone else.

“What are you going to do?  You could bluff Graham.  You knowthe details.”

“I might as well see what happens.  We might get a read onwhere Graham’s head is.  Nobody has really interviewed him yet.”

“No.  Aren’t he and his lawyer yelling their heads off?”

“A little.  The prosecutor has gone over most of the evidencewith them.  I think he’s going to try to pass himself off as the bag-man.  Hejust handled the money and had no idea that it was from drugs.”

“Is there a chance he’ll get away with it?”

“There’s always a chance.  But they don’t know we found thekeys or the pills, so he’s in for a rude awakening.”

“I hope so.  But you should wait to confront him until afterhis son’s next visit.”

“Why?”

“Because his son just told him on Friday that his offshoreaccount is empty.  On the next visit, he’s going to be telling him that hisoffshore corporation has a new owner and he cannot access the assets.”

“At which point he’s going to realize that he cannot affordthat fancy lawyer he’s got,” Agent Peters said.  “I like the way you think. We’ll make a real investigator out of you yet.”

Matthew laughed.  “I want to be a computer scientist, not acop.”

“Hey, everyone needs a hobby,” Emily said as she nudgedMatthew.

“Okay.  Let’s eat.  I’ll let you know when the kid’s nextvisit is.”

“It’s supposed to be on Wednesday.  Anyway, that’s the timethe lawyer asked for.”

Agent Peters shook her head.  “You’re a real smart-ass aren’tyou?”

“Better than being a dumb-ass.”

◆ ◆ ◆

“Well?” Graham demanded when his son sat down opposite him inthe visitor room at the federal detention center.

Jerome Graham shook his head.