Two Graves

49

THE CABLE STREET DINER WAS LIKE A TIME WARP, CORRIE thought. No retro Hollywood chain could touch it. It was perfect down to the broken jukeboxes at each table, the bubbled linoleum floors and Formica tabletops with their decorative peach and turquoise triangles, the fly-specked menus, and the bleached-blond waitresses belting out the early-morning orders to the fry cooks in the back.

At least the coffee was strong.

Corrie went to the ladies’ room, reached into her pocket, and threw away the wadded ball of latex gloves she’d worn when she broke into the dealership. She wondered what old Ricco would say when he found his files had been rifled. At least she could take the day off so she wouldn’t have to listen to him rant. Exiting the ladies’ room, she returned to the booth, drank coffee, and listened to Foote. He was angry, and the more he talked, the angrier he got.

“It frosts me,” he was saying, “that those guys can’t make an honest dollar. I’m the number two salesman there. And you know why? Because people sense that I’m not a cheater. I don’t need to run nickel-and-dime scams to make money.”

“I’m convinced they framed my father.”

“The more I think about it, the more I think you may be right. Jack was a good guy. Not much of a salesman, but he had integrity. Hard to picture him robbing a bank.”

A silence.

“So how do you make money if a guy wants a car two hundred bucks over invoice?” Corrie asked.

Foote sipped his coffee. “There are all kinds of honest profits in selling a car. Let’s say you sell one for seventy grand. First off, you’re going to get a three percent dealer holdback. That’s not deducted from the invoice price, and it’s twenty-one hundred bucks right there. Then you might get a spiff—that’s a dealer incentive—worth another one to two grand. And on top of that there’s a reasonable profit in honest financing. There’s no need to jack up the rate.”

He bit down on his toast with a crunch, his jaw muscles bulging.

“Anyway,” he continued after another gulp of coffee, “the credit cozen isn’t the only scam they pull. Sometimes they’ll actually sell one vehicle and then, if the customer is old or inexperienced, and if he leaves for a while and comes back to pick up the car, they’ll rework the paperwork and switch the car he bought with a cheaper one that looks the same. Twice I’ve seen salesmen fix up cars wrecked in a test drive and sell them as new. And the Riccos encourage it. Not directly—they’re not that stupid—but with a wink and a nod, if you know what I mean.”

Foote flagged down the waitress, ordered a second round of fried eggs. The man had an amazing appetite. He looked at her appraisingly across the table. “You absolutely sure your father didn’t rob that bank?”

“He didn’t,” Corrie said, flaring up. “I’m sure, damn it!”

“Right, okay, I believe you.”

Another silence.

“Maybe we could set a trap,” Corrie said.

“I was just thinking along those lines myself.” Foote finished his coffee, signaled the waitress over again, and pointed to the cup. “You know, maybe we could do more than just clear your dad’s name. Maybe we could bring down the whole rotten operation in the process.”

“How?”

Foote thought a moment. “We bring in a phony buyer. Wired up. Make sure Ricco himself handles the sale. Then we take the evidence to the police, get the place investigated. Once that happens, the cops will be a lot more receptive to the idea that your dad was framed.”

Corrie thought back to her courses at John Jay. “A wire? Without a court order, I don’t think that’s admissible. The cops couldn’t even act on it.”

“What about your dad’s alibi, then? Where was he when the bank was robbed?”

Corrie colored. “I never asked him about it. It didn’t seem… right.”

“He probably thinks he has a weak alibi, otherwise he wouldn’t have run. But he may be mistaken in that. If his cell phone was on, that could track his location. Maybe someone saw him, saw his car. He may have used his credit card around the time of the robbery. Or maybe he was online with his computer at home. These days, there are a million ways to pinpoint someone’s location at a particular moment. Jack might have an ironclad alibi and not even know it.”

Corrie thought this over. It made sense.

“Is there any way to get hold of your father?” Foote asked.

“No. I have to go to where he is personally.”

“I’ve got a car. We could go together.”

Corrie looked at Foote. He was an earnest enough young man. But she didn’t want to reveal her father’s location to anyone—not even him. “Thanks, but I don’t feel comfortable with that. I’ll take tomorrow off from work and go see him. Then I’ll give you a call.”

“That’s cool. Meanwhile, I’ve got a friend who I’m sure would be willing to wear a wire and expose those bastards. He’s a professional actor, and he just loves stuff like this. I’ll set it up. Maybe you’re right, maybe the cops can’t act on it—but it sure as hell will get their attention. If we let the DA hear it, he can get the court order.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, listen, I like Jack. I’d like to help him. But I’m no knight in shining armor—this is for me, too. Getting rid of those lousy salesmen will give me a crack at more clients, maybe even get me my own dealership.” He smiled. “But you need to find out about where your father was at the time of the robbery and call me. I’ll bet you anything there’s a way to prove he wasn’t there.”