Death of a Bankster (21 page)

“No sir, none, may I split now?”

“Yes. The officer at the corner will accompany you as I indicated. He will take down your name and address and driver’s license number. He will look in your car for another phone. If there is one, you will willingly give that to him as well. You can recover your property at the station on Washington tomorrow between ten in the morning and noon. If you do not show to reclaim them from me, I will throw them out without having booked them into our records. Your decision. Now get going.”

While Lieutenant Harrison dealt with the hooker, SWAT team leader Rocky sent his best sharpshooter to take up a position on the rooftop of a rental house on the street behind the building where Gibbons had his apartment on the second floor. A second shooter was dispatched to the roof of the parking structure. The two shooters had vantage points that covered the front door and the window at the back of apartment seventeen.

At six minutes before ten, Maddie knocked on the door to Bennie Gibbons’ apartment. She immediately stepped back near the railing so that Gibbons would get a full view of her by looking out of the peephole in his door. Gibbons would look every time anyone knocked on his door. Unless he had called a pizzeria, he’d be expecting a blond hooker to deliver hair pie, not pizza pie.

She felt his eyes on her through that little hole.

Maddie stood with her shoulders back. Her hands on her hips, near her Glock22, 15-round .40 caliber police-issue pistol secreted behind the broad black, patent-leather belt she had worn around her waist to match her shoes.

“Yeah? Who is it?”

As if you don’t know, jerk. You’re looking right at me.

“I was supposed to be here at ten,” she said loud enough to be heard through his door. “I’m two minutes early, so sue me. We gonna do this or not?”

* * *

Except for the lieutenant’s exchange with the real hooker, Ryan Testler had watched the entire event. He had taken a position in the upstairs bedroom of the empty house on the far side of the back street. He watched through the sight on his Walther WA2000. Ryan had used a variety of sniping rifles and while this one was a bit heavy at sixteen pounds, it was a favorite when the mission didn’t require him to carry it long distances. He had it loaded with Winchester .300 caliber.

Ryan had chosen the inside bedroom window anticipating that Maddie may well bring along SWAT personnel. This home was a perfect position in relation to Gibbons’ apartment. He would have preferred the ten-foot higher roof. But he had correctly anticipated a SWAT shooter would take up that position. It was the best vantage point and the police could put a shooter there without contacting the property owner as the house looked abandoned. He had heard the officer setting up, but things had been absolutely quiet on the roof for nearly five minutes. He was ready. SWAT was apparently ready.

Ryan couldn’t see Maddie through Gibbons’ front door, but he saw Gibbons approach the door from the inside, look through the peephole, and stand there talking. He saw the handgun Gibbons had nested in the back of his pants.

* * *

Maddie watched the door to Gibbons’ apartment swing open steadily, but slowly. He had stayed behind the door. She could not see him.

“Hey honey,” she said, “where are ya?”

“Come right in, darling, I’m inside waiting for you.”

“Uh-uh. I’m a girl alone here. I ain’t walking in without seeing ya. No way. Now, honey, I am what you want. The best you’ll ever have, but not this way. Not this girl. I got standards, you know. You could be some ugly dude I wouldn’t want. Lemme see you, baby. Get me in the mood. Ya know?”

The door swung open the rest of the way. Bennie’s vanity had made the strategy work. He wanted to prove he was no ugly dude. He stood full in the doorway, for a moment, then he pulled the door partway closed, the edge now down the center of his chest.

“Well, look at you, honey.” She leaned forward a bit and shimmied her shoulders. “Yum, yum, here I come.” Maddie stood tall. Leaned back a bit with her arms crossed behind her back, thrusting her breasts forward as she slowly stepped toward the door. As she did, she moved her hand just far enough to grip her Glock. Bennie kept his hand on the inside of the knob, the door opening still centered along his chest.

With one step to go, Maddie lunged forward, her lowered shoulder slamming into the door. Bennie staggered back enough to be off balance. Enough to allow Maddie the breath of time she needed to bring her Glock around and position it at Gibbons’ chest. Seconds later, Lieutenant Harrison and two of the SWAT personnel rushed into the room. Bennie Gibbons was relieved of the handgun at his back, and cuffed, his hands behind him.

* * *

Way to go, Maddie.

Ryan stayed in his position, waiting while the SWAT shooter took up his gear and left by way of his ladder against the back of the house.

Ryan was proud of Maddie. “For a moment he fantasized her finishing what she had promised, with her delivery made to him, not Benjamin Gibbons.
You’re quite a cop, Detective Sergeant Madeline Richards, quite a woman too. You just took down a professional killer, a trained assassin, alone, without firing a shot.”

Chapter 22

Maddie and Sue drove back to the station in their car and let SWAT, under the authority of Lieutenant Adam Harrison, take control of Benjamin Gibbons. They talked on the way.

“Sue, I want you to do a bit more digging on Paige’s father, Rodger Davis. About his death and any suspects or evidence they might have.”

“I can make the effort, Sergeant, but I don’t know what else to try. The State Department and the CIA have pretty much stonewalled me. National Security considerations, jurisdiction issues, and who knows what else. Technically, Davis either worked for the CIA as station chief or for the State Department as a security officer in a foreign Embassy. I can’t find a wedge to get anyone to tell me much beyond the fact that Rodger Davis was shot from a distance on the street in Paris, France. The French Prefecture of Police, ah, that’s the national police force which also provides police services in Paris, as I understood it anyway, left it to the U.S. to investigate under international protocols. It’s a dead-end, Maddie.”

“All right, let it go. But if you get any ideas on how to take it further, follow up on it.”

“I will. Now, may I ask you something?” Maddie gave a hand gesture that said okay. “How did we find Bennie Gibbons? That address?”

“An anonymous call. He gave the address and linked Gibbons to the death of Sam Crawford. We knew Gibbons carried on with the neighbor Carla Roth. He used that to help him get the lay of the land to take the shot.”

“Sounds like your caller is pretty familiar with Gibbons. Could have known him before Sam Crawford got gunned.”

“Sue, there’s another name I want you to run.” Maddie glanced at Sue as she turned the corner. “Ryan Testler’s the name: T-E-S-T-L-E-R.”

“Your anonymous caller?”

“If he were, the caller wouldn’t have been anonymous, would he?”

“No, Sergeant, I guess he wouldn’t.”

“Some things it’s best you don’t know. Not yet anyway. Just get it. Let me know right away.”

* * *

Ryan’s time to check in with his boss was upon him. He pulled his car into the outer parking area of the Ritz Carlton where he was staying and made the call on a throwaway cell phone. He needed to report on Gibbons’ arrest, along with why he had provided the local cops Gibbons’ identity and location.

He explained, “The local police were working a local homicide. They weren’t letting up. I determined Gibbons didn’t know who hired and paid him. Hopefully, with them having the shooter, I may be able to cap their investigation into the killing of Sam Crawford. Truth is Gibbons had become unreliable for our use in the future. One way or another, I hope to keep the locals from making the connection to the bank and the terrorists.”

“You think the banker or the terrorists hired Gibbons?”

“No sir, I don’t.”

“Excuse me, Ryan; I’ve got to go. Can you call back in, say, twenty minutes?”

“Yes sir.” Ryan hit the end button on his phone and proceeded to move his car into underground parking and went up to his room. He had switched from a higher floor just that morning, paying a young couple after they had checked in to take his room and give him theirs on the second floor. He took the stairs down and drifted outside to a gathering of lounge chairs at the far end of the pool. Exactly twenty minutes after ending his last call, he redialed his control and picked the conversation back up as if it had never paused.

“I could be wrong about the banker, sir, but I don’t think so. If they planned to kill Crawford, they wouldn’t have fired him. In fact, they’re playing it like they never fired him at all, so there was no reason to have done so. In fact, having fired him together with denying it afterwards, is one of the reasons the locals figure something squirrely is going on at Nation’s First.”

“What about the terrorists?”

“My guess is they would have pressed Maxwell Norbert to handle it. And, like I said, he would have fired him and paid him off. Maybe, in the alternative, paid Crawford to quit and relocate. A payoff rather than a bullet is more the speed of a bankster. Of course, that tracks only if they didn’t know he was cooperating with us. If they knew, they could’ve killed him to eliminate him as a witness.”

“Maybe this Norbert at the bank knew? Could be why he hired Gibbons to put him down.”

“Is it possible? Sure. I don’t think so though. I’m tracking things closely and nothing has changed. Norbert has hired our man who is now working inside the bank. The money is still flowing from Pakistan into the same account at the bank. If the terrorists knew, they would, one: stem the flow of funds, and two: transfer their people back to Pakistan and bring over fresh ones in case we had picked up their identities. Perhaps even find a new bank or some other conduit. None of that has happened. If Norbert knew, shooting Crawford would bring the authorities to the bank. No. I don’t see either Norbert or the terrorists being the ones who employed Gibbons.”

“Then who did?”

“Don’t know. Not my assignment, unless you tell me it is. I see that as local cop work. My only concern is keeping them from tripping over what’s going on at the bank. That would really muck up what we’re doing.”

“Can you prevent that, Ryan? Can you keep the local homicide department bottled up?”

Ryan looked around to be sure the couple approaching his position continued on by. They did.

“I think so. Problem is I can’t know every lead the locals find and which leads point toward the bank. As it turns out, our people telling the widow they had been watching her husband on a money laundering case brought the bank into focus for the locals. At the time, it was a fast improvisation. I don’t fault my people for that. They had to act fast. Make it plausible. Confuse the widow enough for her to let them take over her home. We had to take control of the residence to get Sam Crawford’s computer and cell phone out of the reach of the local cops. If the locals had gotten those, the laundering would have been discovered right then, that first night.

“We can use federal pressure to have the local case shut down.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Ryan said. “It may still be necessary. It would come at a price. The locals will know there’s a federal case involving the deceased Sam Crawford. They’ll learn something’s fishy at Nation’s First. They’ll be pissed. We would be too. Do they slip a hint to the banking regulators to do an audit? Does some local congressman or state politician try to make points with this information? Do the local cops, pissed that we lied to them, give an anonymous tip to the media? The voters are soured on bankers. They think they’re all a bunch of fat cat crooks. A politician can gain points by railing against dirty banksters. Using federal muscle to shut down the locals just trades our known set of risks for an unknown set of risks. I think it’s best to stay on the horse we’re riding. We lose a great deal of control if we get politicians and regulators involved.”

“Wrap it up, Ryan.”

“The killing of Sam Crawford came out of left field. I’m containing it. The locals now have the shooter. Gibbons doesn’t know who hired him. I still think there’s a good chance it may dry up right there.”

“Let’s hope so. I want to know if anything changes on this.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

The next morning, on the patio, Maddie approached her mother, sat down and poured some tea. “Good morning, Mother. So, Ryan ended up coming by yesterday to see Brad.”

“Yes. I’m sure you’ll hear about it as soon as you see the boy. He was on cloud nine all night after Ryan helped him. He is really a good man, Madeline Jane. May I ask where you think your relationship with him is going? Where you want it to go?”

“No. You may not. I can’t really answer that without making decisions I haven’t made.” Rita started to object, but at that moment Bradley came out ready to leave for the bus stop.

“I like your friend, mother. He’s really cool.”

“I take it he helped you with your slider.”

“He sure did. I can’t wait to use it in a game. I threw it for the other kids. I blew them away with it.”

“That’s great. I’m glad he could help.” Then Rita said, “Now, young man, you need to get to school. You don’t want to miss the bus.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brad picked up his book bag and headed for the door. Then he turned. “Mom, Mr. Testler is cool and not just because he helped me with my slider. I like him.”

After hearing the front screen slam, Rita turned to her daughter. “I agree with your son. Ryan’s cool and not just because he helped with the slider. I like him.”

“I think you two are in cahoots. That’s what I think. Now, I gotta go. I’m up to my elbows in this Crawford murder.” After she went to her room to get her purse and gun, Maddie stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. She stood there until Rita looked up.

“Mother, I don’t know where my relationship with Ryan Testler is going. I might want to marry him. I might need to arrest him. He might avoid my doing either. We need to let this thing run its course.”

* * *

Maddie stopped by Sue’s desk. “You got anything further on either of those names?” When Sue started to reply, Maddie motioned to follow her into her office.

“I called the guy again in the State Department who was most helpful the last time, without really helping at all.” Maddie motioned for her partner to pick up the pace. “Okay. Fast. Here it is. He would say nothing more about the death of Rodger Davis. That is a dead trail. At least it is without some legal authority or some friendly persuasion opening somebody up. As for Ryan Testler, your Mr. Anonymous,” Maddie frowned, “there’s nothing. The CIA shows him as a past employee without knowledge of his current activities. Same for the Department of Defense, however, DOD did acknowledge him as a former Captain in Delta Force. As for Benjamin Gibbons, they show him as a former Delta Force member who left the service to avoid being dishonorably discharged.”

“How long ago?”

“Gibbons about ten years. If you meant Testler, he retired from Delta about that same time, near as I can tell. Their file shows Testler went to work at CIA, but CIA claims he never actually came to work, but that he has done a few odd missions as a contractor. Those assignments, they say, were outside the U.S. of A and are all classified.”

“Testler sure isn’t outside the U.S. of A now,” Maddie said. “That’s for damn sure.”

“What does he say?” Sue asked.

“He’s says he’s on holiday. That he came to visit a friend, and do some sightseeing.”

“How nice,” Sue said, “who doesn’t like a holiday?”

Maddie snorted at her partner’s sarcasm.

“What about your friend in the FBI, can he get you anything more?”

“I don’t like making Linc feel he’s just a source for me to work,” Maddie said, “but, yes, I called Linc last night. He checked around and called me back about seven-thirty this morning. He’s in Virginia, so around ten-thirty his time.”

“And?”

“And, he could get nothing. To paraphrase Linc, the classified CIA stuff is not open to sharing with other federal law enforcement agencies unless that agency, the FBI for example, is working an open case which, to some degree, involves the same matters. Even some departments within the total FBI have the same classified mentality toward its other departments. Need to know kind of thinking.”

“So he couldn’t tell you with absolutely certainly there is no FBI case.”

“Not beyond a routine case. The counterterrorism division of the FBI, for example, doesn’t share much of anything unless, as I said, someone else has an open which involves the same people. And then they share only to shut down that other investigation under the rationale that national security considerations trump all other cases, at least in the short run.”

“So, we still have nothing that confirms or absolutely denies a federal matter, and nothing with any meat on it about your Mr. Testler. Right?”

“That’s correct,” Maddie said. “However, Linc checked with a pal in the Secret Service to see if they had a money laundering or maybe a counterfeit currency case involved either Sam Crawford or Nation’s First Bank & Trust.” Sue spread her hands and raised her eyebrows. Maddie said, “No. Nothing. It appears the federal government is a dead end to the Phoenix Police Department. Linc summed it up with, ‘Maddie, you got yourself a local murder and federal law enforcement has nothing they can or will share at this point.’”

Five minutes later, Charles Goins from the ballistics department leaned into Maddie’s office. “The tests have been run on that rifle you picked up with your suspect Gibbons.”

“Get in here, Charlie. Lay it on me.”

Goins came in and sat across from Maddie, Sue who had not yet left, moved over closer to the wall so Goins could sit near the door of Maddie’s cubbyhole office.

“A perfect match. It’s the murder weapon all right. No doubt. An exact match with the bullet Dr. Conner dug out of Sam Crawford’s brain.”