Death of a Bankster (6 page)

“From surveillance cameras here in D.C., I’ll try to identify the Pakistani with diplomatic immunity who had been passing cash directly to Sam Crawford for himself and Norbert. If that is how it went down. If we’re right about that, with Crawford dead, for the time being Norbert has no way to receive his booty. He’ll have to replace Crawford or begin making the D.C. runs himself.”

“I’ll make it a priority to help Norbert choose the right man to replace Crawford.”

“Okay, Ryan. Keep me posted. Anything you need from this end?”

“Absolutely, sir. Gene, the man heading up the surveillance team on Sam Crawford’s home, and the one who went to the Crawford home right after the shooting, presented himself to be SAIC Dennis Powell. The woman accompanying him used the name Agent Ann Withers. As Dennis Powell, he told the widow, Paige Crawford, the bureau had been keeping her husband under surveillance for money laundering. It might have been better had he not referred to the laundering, but time was of the essence. As you know, under such conditions the use of as much truth as possible reduces the amount of improvisation which must be formulated on the run. It was absolutely essential he take control of the situation to get the widow out of the house, take possession of Crawford’s computer and smart phone, search the house, and remove the body to give us time to plan the best course of action. A third man who was part of my team played the local medical examiner and took the body from the scene.”

“This was necessary?”

“My man on the ground made a snap decision of yes. I won’t second guess him. If he hadn’t done anything, the local cops would have had to come out to collect Crawford’s body. That would have put them in the middle of the scene. The locals would have ended up with the dead Crawford’s laptop and smart phone, and likely our operation would have been shut down. We saw keeping open our window into the movement of this money inside the U.S. as priority one.”

“Why did he take the body? Couldn’t he have gotten the devices without removing the body?”

“The way he did it, sir, the widow and a second witness agreed to remain quiet about the event for the rest of the weekend so, as they represented it, agents could approach neighbors and the employees at the bank without them having prior knowledge that Sam Crawford was dead. They promised to return on Sunday to bring the widow current on the initial work of the investigation. They promised to inform the local cops on her behalf, saving her from contacting the Phoenix PD. Gene promised her she would hear from them on Sunday. Our first objective was to scrub the scene of any reference to the terrorists and money laundering so as to keep the murder disconnected from our operation. On Monday, the widow, wondering why she hadn’t heard from the bureau or the locals, went to the Phoenix PD.”

“What happened then?”

“The widow told the local cops about the FBI being there, also gave them the card my man gave her showing him to be FBI working out of the D.C. office. The cops will want to talk to Agents Powell and Withers. When they contact the bureau they’ll learn there are no such agents. At that point, the bureau will and may already be dispatching a team to find those who falsely claimed to be agents of the FBI. That will put them in the middle of a local homicide case which has occurred right in the middle of our sting. They’ll hear money laundering and head for the bank where Crawford worked. The police will assume those imposters were the killers. The imposters were my team protecting our operation and securing the scene to remove Crawford’s electronic devices, not the killers as the locals will assume. I need you to shut down any such inquiry by the FBI. Keep them out of this matter entirely.”

“I’ll take care of that. The bureau will truthfully report to Phoenix that we have no agents by those names. The rest of it I’ll control through the CT division.” [counterterrorism] “Don’t worry. The FBI will make no inquiry whatsoever. However, I’ll need you to send back a detailed report as to what happened and why this misrepresentation was necessary.”

“Thank you, sir. My next report will come as scheduled.”

Chapter 8

Maddie spent part of Tuesday morning reviewing and bringing together the reports from Bill Molitor’s evidence work at the Crawford home. Another hunk of time was absorbed by a detectives’ meeting called by her boss, Lieutenant Adam Harrison. These meetings, which were held about once a week, were used, in part, to provide each detective the opportunity to maintain a superficial familiarity with the cases being worked by the other detectives. Maddie knew these meetings were worthwhile, but frustrating because they absorbed an hour or so of each detective’s time away from the cases each were working.

When Maddie’s turn came, Adam Harrison asked her about the sting she had planned for today at two in the afternoon. “Is that set? Is it going to work?”

“Yes sir. We fully expect it will. The Phoenix Suns have cooperated by letting us use their name and a friendly leasing agent is letting us set up in a vacant storefront. The Suns are providing paraphernalia so it all looks cool. Officer Gonzales is a real camera buff. He’s been going along, playing the cameraman for the Suns publicity department. He’ll take pictures of our suspect when he comes to pick up the two free Suns season tickets he thinks he’s won.”

“Seems like a lot of work for a simple arrest,” one of the detectives said.

“We haven’t been able to find this guy. One person told us he’s a real Suns fan and the witness who saw him run from the scene of the murder said he wore a Suns’ t-shirt. Detective Martin and I have been going around with Officer Gonzales carrying his camera. We lightly canvassed the apartment which is his last known residence, and went to his last known job. We passed out a couple free tickets, courtesy of the Suns, along with some signed autographed pictures of a few players. We had cards from the Suns publicity department made up with the number on a blind cell phone I’m carrying. We spread it around his old neighborhood and job that this was all we were going to do. If we didn’t hear from the suspect by five yesterday we’d draw another name to see who got the tickets.”

“And?”

“The suspect called me yesterday. He couldn’t meet then, but he agreed to be at our made-up Suns publicity office at two today. The guy’s a big Suns’ fan. He should be there.”

“Greed’s a wonderful thing,” Amun Grant said.

Maddie shook her head. “He said he wouldn’t miss it for anything. We plan to deliver him a ticket for a seat and a bed in a stadium he won’t be leaving for many seasons.”

“That’s what I call imaginative police work. Good job, Sergeant.” Then Lieutenant Harrison moved on. “People killing people never go out of season. We rely on it for job security.” After the polite chuckles died out, Harrison said, “Now, Sergeant Richards, update us on this Crawford case you just picked up.”

“The No-Corpse Murder,” Sergeant Doyle Brackett said with the disrespectful tone he used for most everything he said to women. Brackett loved the needle, but never more than when he used it to poke one of the female officers.

Maddie swallowed her desire to toss her coffee in Brackett’s face and kept her composure, at least outwardly. “Other than the blood traces that confirmed someone had bled on the ceramic tile foyer of his home, Bill Molitor’s people found little in the way of physical evidence. The prints they did find in the office in their home were traced back to Paige or Sam Crawford, Paige’s mother, Barbara Davis, or the neighbor, Carla Roth, who was there at the time of the alleged murder. All of these people provided their prints for the purpose of our identifying the latents. We’re currently working on linking the blood traces found to Sam Crawford specifically. Bottom line: we believe this went down the way the witnesses reported, but as of this moment it is still supposition.”

“Sergeant Richards, have you independently confirmed that Sam Crawford, if he is dead, was murdered?”

“Sir, my judgment tells me that Sam Crawford was murdered, but if you are asking if we can establish this with evidence? No. Not yet. Two eyewitnesses claim he died as reported, but we have no further corroboration.”

“Sergeant, you’re repeating yourself.”

“That’s because the question was repeated, sir.”

“Are we looking into these two witnesses to determine their credibility?”

“Yes. Both Mr. and Mrs. Crawford appear solid citizens, the same for their neighbor, Carla Roth. I cannot conjure up a reason for them to fabricate this event.”

“A life insurance scam?”

“They’re under no pressure for money. Credit’s good. Home mortgage current, etc.” The Lieutenant bobbed his head and shoulders side-to-side. His way of saying that Maddie should pick up the pace. That they were drifting into too much minutiae for this kind of meeting. “Sir,” Maddie said laboring the point, “I don’t see it. The only insurance on Mr. Crawford was his policy through his employer, the bank. The beneficiary on that policy is the bank. They have no kids, no dependents of any kind, so they never took out other insurance.”

“That comes from Mrs. Crawford, does it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Have your partner contact the state insurance commissioner for a list of life insurers authorized to sell in Arizona. Check ‘em all. Okay. That it?”

“Yes sir.”

“So,” Sergeant Brackett interjected, “you still got a maybe murder.”

“Okay, Doyle,” Lieutenant Harrison said, “can it.” Then the lieutenant turned to Maddie. “I’ll okay a couple more days. If you don’t have it nailed when you wrap up Thursday, Friday morning you’re to send the wife to missing persons. After that, I’ll reassign you and your partner to another case.”

“But Lieutenant—”

“No buts, Sergeant Richards.” His hand went in the air like he was stopping traffic at an intersection. “If it weren’t for the respect I have for your instincts, I’d pull you off this morning. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Keep me posted. The leash on this one just got short. As for your Phoenix Suns sting, let me know when that wraps.” Maddie nodded.

Next, the Lieutenant turned his attention to a rare homicide case within the vice squad headed up by Sergeant Doyle Brackett.

Brackett started with one last indirect dig at Maddie. “There’s no maybe about my murder. We found the corpse, a former local college hoops star, on the bed in an upscale hotel room. Based on the female lingerie he was wearing, his choice of a room with a queen bed had been appropriate. His days of running up and down the court are over. He had a rail spike through each hand pinning him to the nightstands left and right of the bed. This guy had a huge wingspan. I remember his playing days. He could palm a basketball in either hand, but ended up palming two rail spikes.”

Maddie stopped listening closely, returning her thoughts to her own case.

After Lieutenant Harrison’s meeting broke, Maddie filled her partner in on the Lieutenant’s order to pull the plug at close-of-business Thursday. “We got till then to prove we have a murder. I really can’t blame him, but my gut tells me Sam Crawford is dead and it went down just the way we’ve been told.”

Sue shook her head. “We need a body.”

“That’s about it. Nothin’ says murder like a dead body with a real bullet in the head.”

Sue had spent the morning setting up the murder book and attendant files on the Crawford case. They both knew that if they didn’t get lucky and quickly, they’d be stamping it: CANCELLED. REFERRED TO MISSING PERSONS.

Maddie hated the paperwork and recordkeeping associated with investigations. Sue, who prior to joining the force, had been in charge of case files for one of Phoenix’s most successful criminal law firms, maintained the files on the cases Lieutenant Harrison had assigned to Maddie. Sue quickly downloaded a list of life insurance companies eligible to do business in Arizona from the insurance commissioner’s website. After lunch, Sue started calling the insurers on that list. While she did, Maddie called and spoke to a deputy commissioner to be sure there weren’t any recently approved insurers not yet added to the online list, or recently decertified underwriters who had been dropped from the list. There were none of either.

Before leaving, Maddie stuck her head in Lieutenant Harrison’s office. “Sir, Crawford had no life insurance with any insurer licensed to do business in Arizona.”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Dark Thursday, Sergeant. That’s it.”

Maddie nodded and walked off. Back in her office she called Paige Crawford to arrange a time tomorrow morning when they could meet. Maddie needed to prepare the widow that homicide might be shutting it down Thursday night absent proof her husband was not just dead, but dead by foul means.

* * *

When the storefront door opened, Maddie said, “The Phoenix Suns thank you,” into a silent phone she had held so as to appear to be finishing a call.

“I’m Carlos Montoya,” the man entering said. “I was told you got two season tickets for me for the rest of the Suns’ season? I wanna get ‘em.”

“You won a drawing. Yes. I’m glad you got here.”
You have no idea how glad.
“At four, the rules would have required we draw another name.”

“Okay. Lemme have ‘em.”

Maddie came out from behind the long table she had stood behind when she hung up from her make-believe call and slid her backside onto the table in front of Montoya. “Sue, you got those tickets? This is Mr. Montoya.”

Sue came over with an envelope with the Phoenix Suns logo on the front. “Have you confirmed this is Mr. Montoya?”

“Oh, no. Thanks for reminding me. We need some picture ID, Mr. Montoya. Your driver’s license will do it just fine.”

“Why you need that?” Montoya asked. His hands drawn into easy fists.

“Anyone could come in here and claim they are Carlos Montoya. We mentioned your having won the tickets to several people while we were trying to find you. Gotta be sure, we need picture ID. No other way.”

Montoya reached into his back pocket and took out and opened his wallet.

“I need it out of your wallet, sir. I need to make a copy.” When Montoya hesitated again, Sue added, “After that, the Suns girls will come from behind that curtain,” she pointed. “We’ll take a picture of them crowded around you in their cheerleading outfits, handing you the tickets. Publicity, you know. That’s our game. It’s why we’re doing this season ticket promo.”

Gonzales, the uniformed officer who had been represented as the cameraman stepped closer. He put his camera on the table.

Montoya handed the license to Sue, who looked at it and said, “That’s good enough. It’s definitely you, no doubt.” When Montoya reached forward to take back his license, Sue slapped a handcuff over his wrist. “You’re under arrest, Carlos Montoya, for suspicion of murder.” Gonzales grabbed Montoya’s other forearm and brought it around behind him to finish cuffing him. Sue read the suspect his rights.

By five, Maddie and Sue had Montoya booked and he had called his attorney who agreed to get there at four-thirty. Maddie and Sue used the time to drive to the Suns’ real publicity office to thank them and return the paraphernalia they had used to stage the sting. When they got back to the station, the suspect’s attorney had arrived so they went through that dance, then she reported to Adam Harrison.

“Lieutenant, the Suns suspect, as he has become known, is booked on murder-one. His attorney has met with him. He squawked a bit about our method of capturing his client, but I could see he was trying hard not to laugh at his client’s gullibility, not to mention his stupidity at keeping the victim’s credit card at his house along with the victim’s underwear. We have two witnesses who have positively identified him, his fingerprints at the scene, and the other hard evidence you already know about. The D.A.’s got it. It’s a slam dunk.”

* * *

Wednesday morning, Paige Crawford called Maddie to move their meeting from ten to eleven-fifteen, claiming Carla Roth had given her a sleeping pill late last night which had made her oversleep and left her groggy. She needed more time to get herself together.

A hot dry wind was tossing Maddie’s hair this way and that when she and Sue left the station to drive to the Crawford home. The hot desert breeze was more like a tic on the corner of a mean mouth, than a real breeze, at least down low. Higher up, the tall palm trees on Central Avenue, reaching for the sky like giant giraffes, were swishing back and forth like tails on nervous cats. She had always marveled that more of them didn’t just snap off. They did sometimes, but it was rare. Survival instincts apparently applied even to tall palms. Thinking of survival, she now only had today and tomorrow to prove that someone had snapped off survival instincts for Sam Crawford.

* * *

When Maddie rang the doorbell at the front of the Crawford home, the door opened in the hand of an older, reedy woman nicely dressed in expensive black slacks, open-toed tan pumps, and a beige top with a modest cowl neckline. Her earrings, necklace, and bracelet were all copper embedded with small turquoise stones. She introduced herself as Barbara Davis, Paige’s mother. After a few minutes Paige joined them wearing an outfit similar to her mother’s, only featuring gold and dark brown. She wore a watch and her wedding ring, no earrings or other jewelry.

They all sat in the family room just off the kitchen. Barbara Davis, a woman who looked young to be the mother of Paige Crawford, motioned Maddie and Sue toward two copper colored leather chairs while she and Paige sat on a matching two-cushion couch. The walls were adorned with art by Bev Doolittle. The coffee table in the center of the sitting area held a carafe of coffee, a pitcher of iced tea, a plate of crackers and some slices of cheddar and pepper jack cheeses. The place held the visual enticement of a social gathering, amidst the emotional trapping of a wake.

Paige Crawford made a simple hand gesture to indicate Maddie and Sue should help themselves to the refreshments, then asked, “Sergeant Richards, have you found my husband’s body?”

Maddie looked down as she poured a glass of iced tea, and then sat forward, her knees apart as though they were a couple in the midst of an argument. She looked straight into Paige’s eyes and answered. “No. We have a working acceptance of his murder. But his body was taken by persons unknown and could be anywhere. I’m sorry to say it so straight out, but you asked directly so I assumed you wanted a forthright answer.”