Chapter 8 - Forty PercentFrank Dwyer called Levi six times that evening.
Levi answered the seventh.
“You searched my financial records?”
“They’re public.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
Levi stood alone in his dark office.
“The mistake happened eleven years ago.”
“MidState is an investment.”
“An investment that receives city impounds from officers you supervised.”
“I retired before Blue Lantern bought in.”
“Two years after Terrence’s arrest.”
“Correct.”
“Why that company?”
“Because it made money.”
Levi stared through the window.
“Did Dennis Jenkins offer it to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he needed capital.”
“Not because you protected his brother?”
Frank’s voice sharpened.
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“No. You’re angry.”
“I am also that.”
“You have no evidence of kickbacks.”
“Not yet.”
Frank went silent.
Levi heard faint breathing.
Then Frank said, “You need to stop treating me like the villain in some story your daughter will publish.”
Levi’s eyes narrowed.
“How do you know what Naomi is doing?”
Silence.
“Frank.”
“I read her work.”
Levi disconnected.
He called Naomi.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
His chest tightened.
On the fourth call, she picked up.
“What?”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Lock your door.”
“Dad—”
“Do it.”
She heard something in his voice.
“Okay.”
“Has Dwyer contacted you?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“A man emailed me.”
Levi went still.
“What man?”
“He says he worked for MidState.”
“Name?”
“Calvin Price.”
“What did he send?”
“Nothing yet. He wants to meet.”
“You do not meet him alone.”
Naomi exhaled.
“I’m a reporter.”
“You’re also my daughter.”
“And there it is.”
“This isn’t about control.”
“It always sounds like control when you’re scared.”
Levi rubbed his forehead.
“Naomi, please.”
She became quiet.
That one word mattered.
“Fine,” she said. “Tomorrow. Public place.”
“I’ll have someone nearby.”
“No uniform.”
“Agreed.”
The next afternoon, Naomi met Calvin Price in a crowded diner.
Levi sat two booths away wearing civilian clothes.
Calvin was fifty, nervous, with oil permanently embedded in his fingernails.
“I drove tow trucks for MidState fifteen years,” he told Naomi.
“Why leave?”
“Dennis stopped trusting me.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked why cops kept calling us when rotation said another company.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“What did he say?”
“That some friendships paid better than contracts.”
Levi listened.
Calvin continued.
“There was an envelope system.”
“What kind?”
“Cash.”
“For officers?”
“Some.”
“Which officers?”
Calvin hesitated.
“Crowe.”
Naomi waited.
“Mercer sometimes.”
Levi’s stomach tightened.
“Jenkins?”
“Brad? Yeah.”
“How much?”
“Couple hundred here, there. More when a car stayed long enough to rack storage fees.”
Naomi asked, “Frank Dwyer?”
Calvin looked around.
“That was different.”
“How?”
“He didn’t take envelopes.”
“What did he take?”
Calvin gave a frightened laugh.
“Ownership.”
Levi’s fists tightened beneath the table.
Calvin reached into his coat.
A flash drive.
“I copied dispatch sheets and payment logs before I quit.”
Naomi stared at it.
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against what?”
Calvin’s expression changed.
“Against what happened to Tom.”
“Who’s Tom?”
“Dispatcher.”
Levi had never heard the name.
Calvin lowered his voice.
“Tom noticed the towing assignments were being changed after calls closed.”
“What happened to him?”
“Fired for stealing.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Calvin looked toward the window.
“Because Dennis told me they had to ruin him before anybody believed him.”
Naomi touched the flash drive.
“What’s on this?”
“Enough to show MidState paid people.”
“Enough to prove who?”
Calvin swallowed.
Before he could answer, a police cruiser stopped outside.
Calvin froze.
“That’s him.”
“Who?”
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Calvin stared at the officer stepping out.
Lieutenant Paul Mercer.
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