Shakedown

Chapter Thirty-six

I pulled into the driveway of Jill Rice’s house as the door to her three-car garage was going up. I waited while she backed a Mercedes sedan onto the driveway, braking just in time to avoid crashing into my Chevrolet’s grille. She laid on her horn and mouthed something in her rearview mirror that looked like asshole but could just as easily have been fucking asshole.

I was glad to catch her off guard and angry. That made it more likely I would learn something useful. I’d put on an old sport coat and tie that didn’t match. My attire was intended to depress expectations, another effective tool in lowering someone’s defenses. The more they looked down on you, the more likely they were to underestimate you.

I had slipped my Detective Funkhouser ID into the clear plastic slot of my wallet normally occupied by my FBI credentials. I knew the shelf life on my phony ID was running out, but I needed all the time I could get before Colby Hudson found out I was investigating him. I got out of my car, holding my ID in the palm of my hand, and approached her car.

“Jill Rice?”

She rolled her window down, her eyes obscured by oversized dark glasses. “Yes. You’re blocking my driveway. Who are you?”

“Detective Funkhouser. Kansas City, Kansas, Police Department.”

I?ashed her my ID. She took off her sunglasses, double-checking my picture against my face.

“I hope this is important.”

I stepped closer to her door. “Are you in a hurry, Mrs. Rice?”

“Yes, detective,” she said, one arm resting in the open window, the other on the steering wheel. “I’m in a hurry.”

She was an attractive woman, forty-plus, her tanned arms lightly muscled, her auburn hair cut short, her pink lip gloss gleaming, and her face unburdened by crow’s-feet, laugh lines, or other evidence of natural life. She was wearing a pale green, low-cut tennis top, and a black tennis skirt that was hiked above her well-toned thighs. Rice leaned forward just enough so that her top billowed out, offering me a fuller view of breasts that either defied gravity or weren’t original equipment, assuming the sight would either shorten our meeting or distract me from its purpose. I kept my eyes locked on hers until she straightened her blouse, which she finally did, neither of us blushing.

“I won’t keep you any longer than I have to.”

“What’s this about?”

“Your husband, ma’am.”

“I don’t have a husband, Detective. I have an ex-husband.”

“My mistake, ma’am. I apologize. I visited your ex-husband yesterday. He seemed quite worried.”

“I’m not surprised. Prison would make anyone worry.”

“You’re right about that, ma’am. Any idea what he’d be worried about, not counting the whole getting-raped-in-theshower thing, because I don’t think that’s what was keeping him up at night.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. What’s this got to do with me?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Mrs. Rice. I can’t share with you all the details of our investigation at this time, but it appears that Mr. Rice may be under pressure to authorize the sale of certain of his assets against his will.”

She shook her head. “Against his will?”

“What I mean, ma’am, is that he may be the victim of extortion, someone trying to take advantage of his incarceration, figuring he’s in no position to do anything about it. We’ve learned that you’re also the owner of those assets, so you can understand why I need to talk with you about all of this, even if you are in a hurry. I could have you come down to headquarters and talk there. We’d have plenty of time and no one would bother us. Or we could try and wrap this up now.”

Rice let out a sigh. “Thomas doesn’t have any assets. I got everything in the divorce.”

“Actually, ma’am, that’s only partly correct. I checked the court file on your divorce and it turns out that Mr. Rice gets half the proceeds from the sale of your house and he has to sign off on the sale price. We understand that you’ve agreed to sell the house at a price that’s well below market value, which means that Mr. Rice comes out the loser. If someone is using threats to make Mr. Rice sell cheap, that’s against the law. Both of you would be victims of extortion.”

She tossed her head back, laughing with disgust. “That little shit. He wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him in the ass.”

“And would you, Mrs. Rice?”

“Would I what?”

“Know the truth if it bit you in the ass.”

“Look, Detective. Thomas agreed to give me everything in the divorce. I thought it was because he felt so guilty, but that’s an emotion Thomas is not familiar with. He told me he made a deal that would help him get started when he got out of prison. All I had to do was sell the house and his car at the right price to the right person.”

“And you went along?”

“And I went along. He said that if I didn’t, he would fight over everything. I went along because I wanted to cut my ties with him as quickly as possible.”

“When did he tell you about this deal?”

“Right after he agreed to plead guilty,” she said. “He said we’d have to wait six months after he went to jail so my name would be the only one on the papers and the sales wouldn’t attract any attention.”

“Did he tell you how much to sell the car and house for?”

“He said the buyer would name the price.”

I waited a beat before asking the money question, afraid of being right. “Did he tell you who the buyer would be?”

“Not at first. He said he’d let me know when he knew. He called me a few weeks ago and asked me to come for a visit. It was the first time I’d been in a prison. It was awful. I almost felt bad that I had turned him in, but he was the one who cheated on me. So I went to see him and he said someone named Colby Hudson was the buyer. I sold him the car a couple of weeks ago and we closed on the house the other night.”

Rice’s eyes widened as she said his name, her hand suddenly covering her mouth. “Oh my God, I am such an idiot! He’s an FBI agent. I saw that on the forms he filled out. Was I wrong to sell the car and the house to an FBI agent? Did Thomas get me into another one of his messes?”

I sidestepped her question. “I can’t answer that, ma’am. Have you talked to Mr. Rice since then?”

“No.”

“Had you ever met Agent Hudson before? Maybe while your husband’s case was going on?”

“No. I mean there were a lot of agents at our house when they arrested Thomas, but I only met two of them-a man and woman. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember their names. Am I in trouble?”

Her concern may have been sincere. It may not have occurred to Rice that her husband was dragging her into yet another scheme until a police detective showed up and started asking her questions. Or, it could all be an act. She seemed too calculating a woman not to have questioned giving a sweetheart deal to an FBI agent so her ex-husband could get a fresh start when he got out of prison. I ignored her question again, sticking to my own.

“When you went to visit your husband, what was his mood like? Was he glad to see you? Was he worried or afraid?”

“He was pathetic. He whined how sorry he was and how much he missed me. All the usual crap. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. But then, Thomas was the best salesman I ever saw in my life.”

I studied Rice, not saying anything, waiting for her to volunteer something. She tugged at her top again and then checked her watch.

“Can I go now, Detective? I really am in a hurry.”