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  Praise for Black Friday

  “Judy Kerr may be the new mystery kid on the block, but Black Friday is a crime novel you won't want to miss. This engaging debut will not only have you guessing as you move deeper into the story, but perfectly sets up the next in the series. Highly recommended!”

  ~MWA Grandmaster Ellen Hart, author of the award-winning Jane Lawless series

  “A gripping debut novel, expertly crafted and impossible to put down. I loved, loved, loved this book!”

  ~Pat Dennis, author of the Betty Chance mystery series

  “Black Friday is very good. Mainly it has that very important quality that keeps me wanting to read: wanting to know what will happen next. Second, it has loving relationships from the beginning. Usually we have to wait until the end. I think Judy Kerr has written a winner!”

  ~Sue Hardesty, author of the Loni Wagner mystery series

  “An exceptional debut novel from Minnesota author Judy Kerr. Deftly plotted with rich settings and well drawn characters you’ll come to care for deeply. I will be first in line for the next in this series.”

  ~Timya Owen, editor of Dark Side of the Loon

  “A story that will amuse you, touch your heart, and make you want to share a cup of coffee with cheeky Postal Inspector MC McCall, a woman committed to hunting down Truth, even through her own personal heartache. Dry humor and a strong sense of place add special sauce to this spirited adventure.”

  ~Michael Allan Mallory, co-author of the Snake Jones mysteries

  “In her debut, Kerr has penned a satisfying, suspenseful multi-agency police procedural with a protagonist touched by tragedy who has to battle her own demons while she fights for justice.”

  ~Greg Dahlager, Writer’s Digest award winner and contributing author of Dark Side of the Loon: Where History Meets Mystery

  Black Friday

  An MC McCall Novel of Suspense

  Book One

  Judy M. Kerr

  Launch Point Press

  Portland, Oregon

  A Launch Point Press Trade Paperback Original

  Black Friday is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Internet references contained in this work are current at the time of publication, but Launch Point Press cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained in any respect.

  Copyright © 2019 by Judy M. Kerr

  All other rights reserved. Launch Point Press supports copyright which enables creativity, free speech, and fairness. Thank you for buying the authorized version of this book and for following copyright laws by not using or reproducing any part of this book in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Launch Point Press, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and articles. Your cooperation and respect supports authors and allows Launch Point Press to continue to publish the books you want to read.

  ISBN: 978-1-63304-203-2

  E-Book: 978-1-63304-215-5

  FIRST EDITION

  First Printing: 2019

  Copyediting: Sue Hardesty, Sandra de Helen

  Formatting: Patty Schramm

  Cover: Lorelei

  Published by:

  Launch Point Press

  www.LaunchPointPress.com

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader: No law enforcement agency can provide all its investigative techniques and secrets to outsiders. I’ve taken liberties with duties and protocols of all the law enforcement agencies mentioned in this book. The agencies mentioned are real, but the circumstances, characters, procedures, and some locations are fictitious. While I did research, please know that any mistakes are my own. Fiction writers make stuff up and at the same time work to ensure believability—it’s what we do in the name of entertainment. I hope you are all entertained.

  Acknowledgments

  The US Postal Inspection Service (USPIS) is rarely mentioned in everyday life. Long known as “the silent service” by some and looked at as simply guardians of the US Mail by most, it’s past time that the hard work and dedication of the oldest federal law enforcement agency in the US be recognized. The value the USPIS provides to postal employees and customers is far-reaching. The US has over 200 laws regulating mail, and USPIS is responsible for enforcement of those laws. The inspectors work hard to keep the mail, employees, and customers safe. They investigate crimes such as identity theft, mail fraud, robbery, mailbox destruction, obstruction of stamps, and child exploitation. While much of their behind-the-scenes action and procedures must remain confidential, people should know about the great work the USPIS does.

  I thank USPIS Media Inquiries staff for providing me historical background and references to The Inspectors, a TV show about the USPIS. While they were not able to share investigative information or techniques, I appreciated that they took the time to respond to me at all, and I respect the need for them to remain tight-lipped about the inner workings of USPIS.

  Research in general is tough, but research in writing about a specific law enforcement agency brings more challenges. In order for my book to pass the believability test, I was lucky enough to have the help of a retired postal inspector. He shared background and basic investigatory information and allowed me to bounce scene ideas off of him to ensure I formed them into a plausible story. I am forever grateful for his time and patience in answering my many questions. Keeping in mind that this is a work of fiction, all credibility of detail is thanks to my resource and any mistakes are my own.

  I have a long list of people to thank for helping and guiding me down the long and winding road of writing a novel. First and foremost, I thank my family: my dear partner, JJ, who supported me, especially when I doubted myself. I love you. Also, our kids: Jeremy and Erin, you two are my heart and soul. I’m so proud of you and I love you so much. I feel lucky to be your mom. Rickey and Javi, you guys are so talented and have made this stepmom’s life a richer experience—love you both. And Mom, you’ve loved and supported me all my life. I love and respect you so much.

  Next, I thank my Minnesota Minions: Jessie and MB. You are shining examples of great writers, and I admire and love you. Thank you for reading many, many drafts and providing me with excellent feedback and “tough love” when needed.

  Thanks to Sue Hardesty and Sandra de Helen for timely and helpful editing and advice.

  And lastly (but not least), my editor and publisher—the guru of good writing—Lori L. Lake, thank you for believing in me and giving me a shot at this wild world of publishing.

  Judy M. Kerr

  Minneapolis, Minnesota

  June 2019

  Dedication

  Black Friday is my first novel, and I

  wouldn’t have even attempted to write at

  all without encouragement from my partner.

  JJ, this one’s for you.

  Chapter One

  Friday, October 31

  “White! McCall! Where are you?”

  The gravelly voice of her fearless leader (dreadful butthead, in Inspector MC McCall’s opinion) grated on MC’s last nerve. Roland Chrapkowski (pronounced Trap-kow-ski a/k/a “Crapper” to most inspectors in the office) was the last of the misfit toys in the USPIS or IS, otherwise known as the US Postal Inspection Service. The Twin Cities Domicile fell under the command of the IS Denver Division.

  Pushing sixty, Team Leader Chrapkowski sported caterpillars for eyebrows, and wiry sprouts issued forth from his ears. MC swore if he were tilted sideways, the sagebrush coming out of his ears could be used to scrub the tile floors. He was of the old guard and dis
liked women in law enforcement. The majority of her team’s work was mail theft and destruction cases and Chrapkowski rode MC’s ass every chance he could. More often than not, MC wished she were assigned to the other team in their office which was supervised by Team Leader Jamie Sanchez. His team handled mostly fraud and money laundering investigations.

  MC rolled her eyes at fellow inspector Cameron “Cam” White. “You’re lucky to be slotted onto Jamie’s team,” she said to Cam, then cringed when she caught sight of Chrapkowski steaming toward them.

  Her office was barely large enough to accommodate her desk, a couple of WWII-issue five-drawer metal file cabinets, an old wooden coat tree, and two chairs in front of the desk, one of which Cam occupied.

  Chrapkowski’s bulk filled her doorframe. “What are you doing?”

  “Discussing the possible next moves on the Stennard thing. And getting caught up on other work.” What the hell did he think they were doing, plotting world domination? MC hated the old dinosaur hovering, filling her space with his halitosis. She could almost taste the eau de stale cigarettes that oozed from his clothes, a skanky cologne.

  “That’s what I’m here to tell you, McCall.” He huffed a breath, and even from across the postage-stamp-sized office, MC swore it smelled like something had crawled inside him and died.

  “Both of you need to go to Wayzata.” He wheezed another breath, his five-foot-ten bowling-ball frame oozing out of his too-tight suit. “For some godforsaken reason, the FBI wants to send you into Stennard’s to talk to the staff. Apparently, the whistleblower is getting cold feet and needs some handholding or warm, fuzzy reassurances. Whatever. Meet Assistant Special Agent in Charge Oldfield at the Command Center, and he’ll fill you in on the particulars.” Chrapkowski coughed, emitting a sound like a grizzly bear clawing its way from his lungs, up his throat, and out his mouth. He waved a hand at them and disappeared, hacking away down the hall.

  MC figured Chrapkowski wasn’t long for this world. He wasn’t worth wasting another brain cell on. Time to get psyched for the day’s assignment.

  Cam grabbed the edge of MC’s desk and pulled up his six-foot-three frame. “I’ll grab the keys and my phone, then I’m ready to roll.”

  “Me, too.” She dropped her phone, a pen, and a pocket-sized black Moleskine notebook into her messenger bag.

  Cam liked to tease her about her special notebooks, but she had a thing for fine writing tools and stuck her nose up at the government issue stuff. She double-checked her shoulder holster to ensure her SIG Sauer and the three fifteen-round magazine clips were secure.

  Nerves sizzling with expectation, she snapped her ID badge to her belt under her jacket. Her mind whirred with questions and bits of information, working on the beginning of the puzzle, and oh, how she loved to solve a puzzle. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”

  Cam pushed a flop of sandy hair off his forehead and dangled the keys in front of her as they headed for the door. “Wanna drive?”

  “You’re losing that G-man image partner.”

  “I haven’t had time to get to the barber, so cut me some slack. No pun intended. You want to drive or what?”

  “Nah. You drive. I want to update my notes and jot down a few questions for ASAC Oldfield.” They exited to the parking lot on the west side of the carrier annex building in a suburb south and west of downtown Minneapolis.

  Inside the car, a dirty gray Impala almost as old as the building they worked in, Cam switched on the heater, which blew frozen air at them as exterior wind buffeted the car. “Damn frost. I’ll clear the windows.” He grabbed a scraper from the backseat.

  MC pulled out her notebook and turned to a blank page. She missed the parking at the old building. At least there they’d been out of the wind and didn’t have to scrape the windows.

  Cam hopped back into the car, blowing on his hands. He glanced at her. “Do you think it’s a waste of time writing down questions before we know what Oldfield has planned?”

  “Maybe. But I want to be prepared just in case.”

  “I’m worried Arty will flake out. I know he had the balls to come forward, but my first impression of him was he seemed squeamish.”

  MC considered Cam’s assessment of Arty, the whistleblower. “He’s bullish enough to handle the CFO job. Top dog in finance. Don’t let his mousy demeanor mislead you. The guy has been in the muck right along with Stennard and Thomson. He’s stronger and smarter than he appears. My two cents.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I’ll chat him up. Give him plenty of reassurance. Let’s push this plan with Oldfield. He seems like he trusts his team to do what needs to be done without micromanaging.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s rock it so I can get home to Barb and all the good Halloween candy—Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”

  “But doesn’t the chocolate and peanut butter combination give you cold sores?”

  MC whapped Cam’s thigh. “Shut up, Barb.”

  The Command Center they were headed to had been installed over the previous four days in a vacant end unit of a four-store strip mall off of Wayzata Boulevard. The whistleblower, Arty Musselman, CFO of Stennard Global Enterprises, had visited the US Attorney’s office in Minneapolis with his attorney to report his role in aiding Michael Stennard and his co-conspirator, Gavin Thomson, in a multi-million-dollar Ponzi scheme.

  Arty Musselman gave up the goods on his boss when he realized there was no way Stennard Global Enterprises would ever be able to come up with the funds needed to pay the investors. The scheme was about to crash and burn, and Arty decided to grow a conscience. His lawyer brokered a deal with the AUSA, Assistant US Attorney, in which only one charge would be filed against Arty—a charge for conspiracy—to which Arty would plead guilty. The maximum sentence was a seven-year prison term and restitution, with sentencing to be handled at some undetermined date in the future. Within hours of Arty’s agreement to cooperate, the AUSA brought in the FBI, the IRS Criminal Investigation Division, and the US Postal Inspection Service.

  The FBI was appointed to lead the task force, and in the spirit of covert operations, the storefront windows of the strip mall space had been covered with brown butcher paper and a sign on the front doors proclaimed “EZ Financial Planners Coming Soon.”

  The interior had been converted to a NASA-like operation. Hi-res flat screens hung from the ceiling, displaying surveillance video feeds of the exterior from Stennard Global Enterprises and several subsidiary operations, along with exterior video of Stennard’s home. The techies installed state-of-the-art sound and recording equipment in one corner.

  No vehicles were parked in the barren strip mall parking lot as Cam cruised past the storefront. They drove to the rear of the building and found several nondescript grimy sedans and a couple of panel vans parked in the loading area. Cam maneuvered into a space between a gunmetal gray Impala and a dirty white panel van with Office Supply Store logos on either side.

  MC opened her door. “Do you think people from the two businesses at the other end of the mall suspect the law enforcement presence when they see these cars and vans?”

  “Depends on who’s watching. If this operation were in the middle of Minneapolis, I’d say in a heartbeat everyone in a two-mile radius would know. But out here in the land of plenty, I don’t think anyone even drives past this mall, especially not the back. It’s like the slums of Wayzata, a place to avoid.”

  They climbed the flight of metal steps to the rusting delivery door.

  “Remember the secret knock?” MC asked.

  “Ha ha. Funny, Inspector Clouseau. Whaddaya think, I’m a rookie? Secret knock. Geez.” Cam pushed the white button next to the door.

  A tinny disembodied voice wrapped in static came through the speaker below the button. “What’s the password?”

  Cam faced MC, mouth agape.

  MC said, “What’re you looking at me for? You’re not a rookie, remember? I’ll let you handle it.” She hummed the tune from the game show Jeopardy.

&n
bsp; The voice squawked again. “I’m messing with ya, White.” The door opened and they entered another dimension.

  “White. McCall.” ASAC Philip Oldfield greeted them. “I couldn’t help but play with ya, White.” He clapped Cam on the shoulder and grinned. Oldfield was a black man with close cropped gray hair, who stood a couple inches shorter than Cam. He was strong and sinewy. Oldfield had been with the FBI since his discharge from the military fifteen years earlier. At age fifty-five, he could easily pass for forty. Oldfield was a brilliant leader, engaging his people instead of commanding them.

  “I heard McCall ask you about the secret knock, so thought I’d play along.” He led them to his makeshift office, which probably had been the store manager’s office at one time. “Grab a couple chairs and I’ll get you up to speed.”

  Oldfield settled into a creaky leather office chair which had seen better days. MC and Cam sat across the desk from him.

  He opened a thick three-ring binder and skimmed a couple of pages. “Arty Musselman, CFO. Old college buddy of Stennard’s. In fact, Mike, Gavin, and Arty all went to college together. As you know, he’s agreed to a wire and will attempt to convince his cohorts to spill the beans. Our guys will get him set up a couple hours before his scheduled meeting next Friday with Stennard and Thomson.

  “He’s a bit green around the gills and we can’t afford to have him blow it now. Things are moving quickly and we need to get as many conversations recorded as possible.

  “When I had you two here last Friday I’d hoped to send you out to the Stennard offices, but as I told you then, we had a conflict. Today should be much better for us.