A Two Thousand Dollar Nebraska Land Purchase Leads to a Federal Fraud Case
“I know who you are, Arthur,” Reynolds said. He adjusted his glasses. “But the law is the law. If I go arresting people because a signature looks a little off, I would be in court every day of the week.”
“She took eight thousand dollars from Mr. Duca with this exact same setup,” I said.
Reynolds frowned, his hand moving over the accident reports. “Duca did not file a complaint.”
“Because he was afraid of her lawyers,” I said.
“Then he should have come in,” Reynolds said. “I cannot investigate a crime if the victim will not sign a statement.”
I took the paper back, the edges already softening from the dampness of my fingers. I wiped my palms on my trousers.
“Is that all you can do?” I asked.
“I can write a report,” Reynolds said, looking back down at his accident forms. “But it will just sit in a drawer until a judge tells us otherwise.”
I folded the sheet and put it in my shirt pocket.
The county administration building was three blocks down the street, a square brick structure with brown linoleum floors that had lifted at the corners.
