That was two days before Efren missed his check-in. Ben changed tack a bit. “Do messages go back and forth every day?”
“Every other for me. Vine don’t do computers. He don’t even like phones. So one of his guys will give me a package, and I give the package to Raphael. I don’t know what he does with the stuff.”
“Do you ever interact with Crystal Benton?”
He gave a disgusted snort. “She’d be slumming to talk to me. But I see things.”
“What do you see?”
“She’s playing Vine dirty, I think.”
“How so?” Ben asked.
“Her and Vine’s main security guy, well, they’re a little too close, if you get my drift.”
“How is that playing Vine?”
“Crystal is supposed to be Vine’s main squeeze. She’s two-timing him. That kind of move don’t ever end up good.”
In the end, the interview was good news/bad news for Ben. The information about Crystal cheating on Vine was something new, but he wasn’t sure it deserved the weight Bucshon gave it. They had a file on Vine’s security guy. He was a jamoke named Peter Ludwig Grant, but everyone called him Plug. He had a record, mostly assault and battery, and he was certainly involved in illegal activity, but he was not the Bureau’s target. His boss was.
The little man also gave up the names of two hit men contracted to kill prominent Long Beach businessman Martin Straight, confirming something Efren had noted as a possibility in his last communicationbefore he went missing. Vine ordered the hit. Straight had made several complaints to the California attorney general about Vine. This led to a couple of investigators from the AG’s office visiting Vine. Ben and Efren guessed that had been what led to the hit.
The trouble was, even with Bucshon’s knowledge, there was no proof. The AG and local cops had been working the case diligently. Nothing Bucshon said could be used to convict Vine in court without some corroboration. And the murder of Straight was not the task force’s focus, though they would give all solid leads to LBPD.
All they knew now was that Bucshon was a low-level runner in Vine’s organization, his information was mostly secondhand, which meant that what he gave them was thirdhand. They needed hard, connecting evidence.
Ben had the feeling Bucshon knew more than he was saying. He seriously didn’t want to go to County, told them he would waive his right to a speedy trial and that he didn’t mind being held at Terminal Island. If Ben and Mark could get him a spot in federal prison, maybe that would loosen his lips a little more.
When Ben had pressed him harder about Efren, he coughed up a little more.
“Yeah, I seen him around sometimes. If he’s gone, maybe Vine sent him somewhere.”
“Vine sent him somewhere? Like where?”
“Up in the mountains, maybe. Vine’s got a summer place there. Maybe Efren is there to open it up, you know? Vine has a lot of cars. Some he keeps in the mountains. Maybe Efren went up there to clean up the cars for Vine.”
While Efren had never mentioned being asked to go to Big Bear, they did know about the summer house. They’d asked San Bernadino sheriffs to check it out. A deputy drove up to the place and found it was still closed tight. In the end, they got nothing new from Bucshon.
Because of the missing agent, Ben’s boss was able to work a deal with LBPD. They transferred Bucshon to LBPD for his arraignment, and after the judge ordered him held over for trial, they secured Bucshon in the federal pen on Terminal Island. It gave them a little breathing room.
After the interview, Ben got home late. Though he was assigned to the LA field office, he lived in North Long Beach. Efren lived in Lakewood, not far from Ben. There was a message on his home phone from Candy, Efren’s wife.
“Ben, please give me a call, even if it’s late. I need to hear something.”
The cry in her voice broke Ben’s heart. He hurt for himself because Efren was not only his partner for four years, but his best friend. Ben thought back to when they’d met.
“Hey, Legacy.” Efren had used the nickname Ben had been given in the academy because his father and grandfather had been in federal service. To him it insinuated that he had nothing to offer, that he’d skated by on his forbear’s accomplishments.
“Name’s Ben, or Agent Isaacs.”
Efren laughed. “You gonna be as stiff as your haircut, or are we gonna be the partners who get things done?”
At the spark of mischief in Efren’s eyes and his confident manner, Ben relaxed. This guy was not a stiff “Bureau man.” He wanted to be a working agent. So did Ben. They shook hands and over the years did good work together. The fear for Efren was a physical ache. Ben couldn’t imagine how Candy dealt with it.
He picked up the phone, but first, he prayed. “Oh, Lord, please give me the words to comfort her, to give her some peace.”
He made the call. She answered on the first ring. “Any news?”
