The Paperhanger ran to Ground – Part 7

AUTHOR NOTES: When I wrote the novel The Cross and the Badge, I had Andy and Will fly into Raton.

In real life we drove down there.

But what’s recorded below is fairly accurate. I repeated almost exactly in the novel. I have changed names on the majority of the players.

The Conclusion-

“You guys aren’t the only one’s chasing the guy,” Lt. Pacheco said when we arrived at the Raton Police Department. She handed me a copy of the computer printout. Iowa wanted him, too. And like us, they were willing to extradite. The big difference was they called him out by name.

I wondered how much trouble he was in there that they would come to New Mexico to get him.

“Wish we’d known about this,” Andy said. It might have made our jobs easier.

She told us to help ourselves to coffee and then we sat down around a table to discuss the case.

“Lana?” I asked. “What can you tell us about the take down.”

She laughed. “It was probably one the easiest arrests we’ve ever made,” she said. “We put out the plate and description of the truck. Inside of five minutes, one of our patrol spotted it at the Motel 8. They went in and confirmed the name and room number of the owner.

“Then they called me.”

Good thinking. A man knocking on the door might have raised alarm bells, but not a pretty Latina lady. 

 “Then what happened?” Andy asked.

 “I had the officers standing about a door down. They came up as I Identified myself and asked if I could come in. Our perp chuckled and said, ‘I was wondering how long it was going to be before the cops caught up to me.’ He stepped aside and said, ‘You might as well come in.’

 “We went in and he had a Royal portable typewriter on the table in the room.” She pointed to it on the inventory sheet, “and it had this money order,” she pointed to it, “in the carriage. He’d already begun altering it. We got a picture of it in here.” She indicated a couple of other money orders. “These two had been altered already. I got his driver’s license and then discovered he had a briefcase full of fake IDs. He assured us that this was his actual driver’s license. We’ve verified that.” She turned the page, and there was a photocopy of an Iowa State Driver’s License. “Your suspect’s name is Danny Kreps from Ottumwa, Iowa.”

 “Radar’s hometown?” Andy asked.

 She nodded, knowing the reference. “Kind of looks like him, too. Only older and going bald. Nice guy.”

 It was part of the game they played. Being a nice guy just caused folks to trust you a little more.

 “Think we’ll have any problems with a confession?” I asked.

 “I doubt it. We questioned him a bit and he answered all our questions without a problem. When we impounded and inventoried his pickup, we found several receipts that should be of interest to you, Rich.”

 “Receipts?”

 “He purchased twenty, fifty-pound sacks of potatoes from a La Jara Potato Coop in your county. The receipts are the same day he passed that money order. You can place him in the area.

 “He says he took the potatoes to Denver and sold them at the Flea Market off of I-76. I asked him how he’d purchased them and he said with cash obtained from cashing the money order at the Texaco and another at a Jack’s Market. It seems you’ve got another bad one floating around out there that you don’t know about.”

Andy leaned back. “We did get him! What am I going to do for a hobby now?”

“Try stamp collecting,” I answered with a chuckle. “Lana, I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

“Well, after we talk to him, you can buy lunch for me and the officers who helped with the takedown.”

A small price to pay, I thought. 

She made us copies of the reports they had and then let the jail know we were coming.

The Vigil-Maldonado Detention Center had been open for just a few years, Lt. Pacheco explained. It was named for both a long time sheriff and a longtime county commissioner. It was located on the edge of town on Hereford Ave, just down the street from the State Police Headquarters building. 

Like most jails, there was a notable lack of windows, lots of wire, and block-like construction.

It was also isolated. There was only a scattering of official-looking buildings and the prairie around it.

We parked, went in, and after checking our weapons, were escorted to a small room with a table and four chairs. A camera tucked up in one corner kept an eye on things.

A few minutes later, the door opened and a guard brought in a man dressed in an orange jumpsuit.

Lana wasn’t kidding.

The guy looked like Radar, only older with a receding hairline. He was also a bit taller and heavier. He smiled when he saw Lana.

“Ma’am,” he said and extended his hand to her. She took it and then introduced us.

“Danny Kreps,” he said, extending his hand. I took the offered hand, as did Andy. 

“Please sit down,” Andy said.

Kreps sat down, looked at us, and then cocked his head. “You’re the two who tracked me down. I was wondering if anyone ever would.”

 “I’ve been chasing you for five years,” Andy said. “Rich here has only been on your trail for a few weeks.”

 “How did you figure me out?”

“You screwed up, Danny,” I answered. “You flirted with a girl with an excellent memory.”

He chuckled and then closed his eyes. “Ah, yes. That little honey at the Texaco station?”  He laughed again. “Yeah, she’s a hot one, and I couldn’t help myself. But I’m not the first guy who’s dropped the ball because of a pretty girl. Just put me right up there with Samson and David.”

“You know your Bible!”

“I do. I spend a lot of time in motel rooms. Those Gideon’s do get around.”

It was a Gideon that gave me the Bible I took to Iraq. 

“Danny,” I said. “Do you want to talk to us?”

“Actually,” he said. “I want to play ‘Let’s Make a Deal.’”

“What’s your deal?” Lana asked.

 “You’re not the only ones with a warrant chasing me around. Iowa has one, also. I plead guilty to yours. I confess as much as I can remember on other crimes, and I plead out to the one in Iowa. I do my time in Iowa.”

“Why Iowa,” Andy asked.

“I’ve got family there,” he replied. “I might even get a chance to see them now.”

“We’ll have to talk with our respective DAs,” Andy said. “But I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t go for it just to put this thing to bed.”

“I’ll take your word you’ll do that then,” he said. “OK. Show me what you got. I’ll try to tell you everything I’ve done and as much as I can remember.”

“Fine,” I said. “But first I need to get this done.” I pulled out a Miranda Warning Form with his name typed on it. 

Lana started a small tape recorder and spoke the date, time, and location and then said, “This statement is from Danny Kreps of Ottumwa, Iowa, concerning a five-year career of purchasing and then altering money orders. I’m Lt. Lana Pacheco of the Raton Police Department. Present with me is Detective Andy DeShong of the Routt County Sheriff’s office in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and Deputy Richard Muniz of the Conejos County Sheriff’s office, Conejos, Colorado. Gentlemen.”

 “Danny,” I said. “I need to read your Miranda warning to you first.”

 “Go ahead.” 

 “Thank you,” I said and began reading to him from the sheet. “On this date, Deputy Richard Muniz of the Conejos County Sheriff’s Office, Conejos, Colorado, read me this Miranda Warning before questioning me.

 “I understand that I have the right to remain silent and not answer any questions. I also understand that anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law. I also understand that I have the right to speak with an attorney before questioning and have one present with me during questioning. I further understand that if I can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to me. I also understand that should I answer questions now, I can stop at any time and request an attorney. 

 “Danny, do you understand your rights?” I asked.

 “I do.”

 “Do you want an attorney at this time?”

 “No, I don’t.”

 “And are you willing to talk with us at this time?”

 “I am,” he said. “Give me a pen. I’ll sign the waiver.” I gave him my pen and he signed and dated the waiver.

 “Andy,” I said. “You want to start?” 

 “The first question, Danny,” Andy said, “is why?”

 “You mean what possesses a guy to write a couple of million dollars in bad money orders?” Danny chuckled. “Can we get some water, please? This is going to be a long story.” 

Lana called the deputy, who brought us several bottles of water in. She then re-started her tape recorder. “We took about a five-minute break to get some water brought in,” she said. “Danny, are you still willing to speak with us?”

“I am,” he answered. “Detective DeShong, could you re-ask your question?”

I thought it was kind of interesting how he put himself in the driver’s seat. He was enjoying this. But he was telling us what we wanted to know and that was just fine.

 “Danny. Why?”

 Danny leaned closer to the tape machine. “That’s a straightforward answer? Back in eighty-five, I lost my job. The company I was working for went bankrupt. It turns out the CEO was skimming off the top and drove it broke. He was also skimming off our retirement fund. What we’d paid into it was gone.

“By the time the news broke and the feds went looking for him, our beloved boss had already booked a first-class ticket to anywhere except here long before anyone came looking for him and his little wife.

 “Oh, so that you know, he’s still out there. He lives on some small island nation we don’t have an extradition agreement with. He has a beautiful house, a yacht, and one heck of a tan. With luck, he’ll die of skin cancer or a shark will eat him.”

 “How do you know that?” I asked.

 “Because I hunted him down. Even had a beer with him. He didn’t have a clue who I was. Good thing for him I’m a nice guy. I could have killed him and he’d never known what hit him.”

 “I admire your restraint.”

 “The Indians called it ‘Counting Coup.’ That I could have was good enough for me.”

 “And?”

“Anyway, I’m in the unemployment line. I’ve no job and no retirement. And I’m staring down the gun at sixty. I was counting on that retirement, you know.

 “Now I went looking for other jobs and I did find them. But none of them paid the bills and the ones that might have didn’t seem to be interested in hiring an old man. So one day, I bought a couple of money orders from the 7-11 to pay some bills. It occurred to me I could alter these things real easy like.”

 “What made you realize that?” I asked.

 “The typeface. We’re talking plain old-fashioned Pica type. It’s all done on a dot matrix printer, but a typewriter is close. I wasn’t too concerned with the stuff at the bottom of the money order. Most people wouldn’t even look at that. All I needed was a pencil eraser, a typewriter, and the rest was easy.

 “Erasers I had, and the typewriter had been sitting in the closet for years. I dusted it off and oiled it up. I was in business.”

Danny hadn’t said anything new. People had been doing this for ages. The FBI had chased some guy who had created Pan-Am checks that were so realistic that Pan-Am honored them. It was all about a story and looking credible. This guy was smart enough and likable enough that looking credible wasn’t a problem.

“So, what did you do,” Lana asked. He was giving them an introductory course in counterfeiting and me a refresher course. 

 “Well, I purchased a couple more money orders. I got out the typewriter and went to work. I’d bought three money orders worth three dollars. I made them worth three hundred. Then I cashed them at mom and pop’s under an assumed name, of course.”

 “And . . .”

He paused. There was sadness in his eyes. “My wife passed about two years later. She never knew what I was doing. I kept the roof over her head, the lights on, and the food and medical bills taken care of.

“When she died, I needed money for the funeral and so I altered and cashed more. I gave my wife a first-rate funeral for a twenty-dollar investment.” He sipped some water and then looked at the wall.

“I’m not lying. It’s a thrill. I mean, it’s the ultimate snow job. All I had had to do was be careful not to go to the same place twice or very soon.”

“Is that why you used names that might recognized?”

“Like Alan Hale Jr?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought of that, but maybe.

“The ones I liked to pass them to were those check cashing places. I mean, it was a little revenge. The average guy goes in there and cashes the check he worked all week to get. They give him the money back but keep a huge chunk of it. That isn’t right.

 “I was avenging the little guy by playing their game and screwing them with a piece of paper that was worthless.” 

 I wondered if he realized that by passing these bogus money orders, he wasn’t helping anyone. All they did was increase the rates to cover their losses.

 The next several hours were an odyssey across several states as he told us about places he’d been and what he’d done. As expected, what we knew was the tip of the iceberg. There were thousands of money orders he’d cashed still out there.

 We kept a rough running tab and Lana had been busy adding numbers. He’d written well over one and a half million dollars in forged money orders.

 What happened to all the money,” I asked. 

“Well, some of it went into living. Pickups need gas and tires, and I needed food and lodging. I went all over America. I lived off the land and enjoyed the retirement that was stolen from me. I did a lot of cool things,” he said, a smile on his face. “I rode the Mississippi on a paddle wheel steamer. I took cruises to Jamaica and Alaska. And would you believe I flew the Concord just to say I’d done it? I went to France and back. I even stayed there for a while. But most of it, I just gave away.”

“Huh,” Andy said.

“Panhandlers on the corner,” he said. “Or maybe I’d toss a grand into some church’s collection basket. Or some deserving soul would find a couple of hundred bucks lying in their path.

“I knew it was wrong, so I tried to do as much good with it as I could.”

I shook my head. “Mr. Kreps, I don’t know if I should just arrest you, give you a civic award or both.”

“Just call me Robin Hood,” he said with a grin.

“So you gave tens of thousands of dollars away? Can you prove any of that?”

 He shook his head and said with a smile, “Sorry. Robin Hood never got receipts. Neither did I.” 

I was sure he had a fair chunk of money squirreled away someplace. It wouldn’t be in a bank. More likely, a 50-gallon drum buried in the woods. 

 He leaned back, smiled, and said, “In the meantime, I’ve three hots and a cot. And I get free medical for a year or two.”

I shook his hand and said, “I know, you got to love it when a plan comes together.”

“Gentlemen,” Lana said after we’d left the jail. “Who says crime doesn’t pay.”

 “I agree. I’m sure he’s got money to burn out there. Assuming he ever gets any of it after the fed’s finish with him.”

There was that. Now that we’d cracked the case, it was a given the FBI would be interested in him. I’m sure they’d make him sorry he ever did what he did.

It’s just too bad they couldn’t make his ex-boss his cellmate.

AFTERWORD-As it turned out, the FBI was interested in Danny. He ended up doing a little federal time for his adventures. Near as I know, no money was ever recovered.

The detective I based Andy on retired and he and I lost touch. Years later I’d remember him and recreate him in my stories.

The girl who called us from the 7-11, received a five-hundred-dollar bonus for recognizing and calling him in.

Me? I spent a few more years in Law Enforcement and then hung up my guns and badge. I did my twenty and Julie wanted to stop worrying about me. Today, I work in IT and I’m trying to get my writing to the point where it pays the bills.