Lack of Jurisdiction

by G. K. Parks

  “Since when?”

  “Since I said so. Now stay put. I’m doing you a favor, so be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, I have an inquisition later, your majesty,” I teased as he shut the door and went to the elevator.

  There was no reason for me to follow. I didn’t have any pull on this case. My friend, Kate, was a forensic accountant, and occasionally, I could cajole some information out of the Interpol liaison assigned to the OIO, but that was about it. I didn’t cultivate too many relationships beyond working individual cases, and after vowing to give up this job only to strong-arm my way on to a case, most people with at least two brain cells avoided getting close to me. It was fine. I wasn’t exactly a people person.

  While I waited, I dialed Det. O’Connell again. After his out of office message played, I left an apology for being such a pain and hoped he would still consider passing along whatever information he finds since he was still my favorite detective, despite his lack of sharing.

  A few minutes later, Mark returned. “Are we set?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.” He turned the key in the ignition. “I figured the last thing either of us wants to do tonight is spend hour upon hour watching security cam footage and playing spot the crook.” Pulling out of the garage, he checked the time. “Let’s stop by and visit Eastman. Will he be at work, even though it’s Sunday?”

  “As far as I know.” I ran through what little I knew about him and told Mark about the personnel files I ascertained from the head of PDN. “Hell, maybe it’s even early enough in the day for him to be completely sober.”

  “Do you really believe he’s a functioning alcoholic? There was a time in my life people probably thought I had a drinking problem too. And you know Marty, never without his scotch.”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make a difference. Maybe the suspicion and questioning have just been making him overly nervous, so he’s imbibing more.” I shrugged. “All I know for sure is his hands were a little shaky, and a few minutes before Alvin Hodge’s body was discovered, he came into the control room, smelling like a distillery.”

  “How did he act after the discovery of the body?” Mark asked, the wheels turning in his head. “Maybe he was drinking because he just killed someone or was informed of the impending find.”

  “Hodge was DOA for a while. The Secret Service agent said the body was cold, so that probably means Eastman didn’t just kill him, grab a drink, and stop by the control room. But it’s possible the drinking was to keep his nerves in check. Hell, maybe it would be better if Eastman has a problem. At least then he won’t be the number one suspect for the murders.” Thinking about the few facts, Paul Eastman was the prime suspect. Frankly, he might be the only suspect. He knew Hodge personally. They were involved in numerous acts which were at least marginally illegal, and he was nervous before the body was discovered. To further complicate matters, he knew about the weakness in the basement doors, distracted me, and possibly even hoped to keep me out of the loop. By hiring me to clear his name, he might simply be attempting to throw us off the scent. I didn’t like it. “Do you think he’s playing me?” I asked, turning in the seat to face Mark. “It’s happened before.”

  “I don’t know, Alex.” He met my eyes briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “What do your instincts say? You know I’ve always valued them.”

  “This might sound crazy, but I think Eastman’s guilty of something else, not the murders.”

  “Let’s see what he says before you mail him your invoice for all these billable hours.” He parked the car and turned off the engine. “Do I get a consulting fee for the assist?”

  “We’ll see. It depends on what you find, but I’ll give you a bonus for sourcing out the video surveillance work.”

  We entered the PDN building, and Mark flashed his badge to bypass the receptionist and go straight to Eastman’s office. The only problem was he was gone. According to his secretary, the police stopped by early this morning and dragged him away in handcuffs. Thankfully, they didn’t do the same to me. After asking if we could search his office and being told to leave unless we had the proper legal documentation, we went back to the car.

  “I guess it’s time to drop off America’s most wanted,” Mark mused. “While you have a chat with Detective Jacobs or whoever wants to question you, I’ll see what I can find out about Paul Eastman and what evidence they have against him.”

  “Divide and conquer?”

  “Yep, just don’t piss anyone off. I don’t know that my vacation status has enough pull to keep you from getting arrested too.”

  After we arrived at the precinct, I went up to homicide and found an empty chair near Jacobs’ desk. Scooting it over, I took a seat and rested my elbow on the edge of the desk. He glanced up from his computer with a glare. Obviously, my cooperation wasn’t enough to put him in a good mood.

  “Parker,” he nodded, “do you remember the first time we met?”

  “I can’t say that I do.” He assisted on the first case I worked with Det. Heathcliff, and he popped up a few times on subsequent investigations and consulting gigs, but none of that seemed particularly notable.

  “You were still a federal agent at the time.” He sucked some air through his teeth. “I expected you to take over my murder investigation. An ADA was killed.” I shut my eyes and inhaled. That was the last case I ever worked at the OIO. It was Agents Carver and Boyle’s last case too. “But you surprised me. You didn’t step on any toes. You were willing to work with us and share information.” He shook his head and smirked. “The first time in history some fed didn’t try to run the cops off their own turf. I was amazed and maybe a little grateful.”

  “I’m not sure I remember getting a thank you card in the mail.”

  “The reason I’m taking this little walk down memory lane is because every time you’ve been involved in something, you always do the right thing. It might result in having a bitch and a half of paperwork, but you come through. Hell, even today, you still showed up without further prodding by a couple of bored uniforms.”

  “I’m not getting any younger, Detective. Can we skip all these compliments since I sense a but coming?”

  “Because of professional courtesy alone, it would take a hell of a lot for us to actually arrest you. And there’s no hard evidence indicating you’re involved in anything, but we brought Paul Eastman in this morning. And guess what we found in his wallet.”

  “I’ll be amazed if you say a magnum sized condom.”

  “Your business card.” He picked up a pen and flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Want to tell me about that?”

  “What’s to tell? I mentioned on Friday that he was looking to hire me, and we’ve already discussed everything I know relating to Eastman and the first dead body. I told you all about my affiliation with PDN and the Secret Service, so there’s not much left. Friday afternoon, Paul showed up at my office and asked if I would help prove his innocence.”

  “You could be construed as an accessory.” He shook his head, fighting the internal struggle of whether or not I was involved in the two homicides. “It’s all because of the damn doors.”

  “I thought they were a risk, and they were. I know how it looks, but I wasn’t there.”

  “Where were you?”

  It was ridiculous that I needed an alibi. What was even more ridiculous was the fact that he didn’t even give me enough information to determine what timeframe needed accounting. “You’re slipping, Detective. I don’t know a damn thing about the second body. Do you have a name? Or a TOD? Or anything?”

  “Fine, tell me what you did from the time you left FBI HQ on Wednesday morning until the police stopped by your apartment Friday evening.” I narrowed my eyes and saw the slightest victory reflected in his dark orbs. He was relieved that I lacked the pertinent information. “A general account should
do for now.” So I told him about Martin, my work at Martin Technologies, and my investigation on Friday.

  “If you need someone to verify my story, here are some names and numbers.” I scribbled Martin’s cell, the direct line to the MT security office, and Jablonsky’s number on a sheet of paper. “So who do I have to sleep with to get some information on the second body you found at the hotel?”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Once I verify your story for the estimated TOD and you are officially cleared from any suspicion, I’ll let you read through the open case file. Does that sound fair?”

  “I can live with that.” I stood, realizing I didn’t make much progress, but at least Jacobs was extending a courtesy and didn’t plan to put me in holding until my alibi was verified. At least he didn’t believe I was the killer. “But do you think you could put a rush on it? Apparently my client’s under arrest, and I probably need to get to work proving his innocence before the DA arraigns him.”

  “Do you think he’s innocent? When I talked to you Wednesday morning and again on Friday, you were ready to hang him out to dry.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ll let you know what I dig up, but only after you let me read through the file.”

  “Okay.” He made a note and jerked his chin toward the door. “You’re free to go, but do us all a favor and don’t leave town.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hey,” he stopped me halfway to the door, “O’Connell isn’t calling you back until you’re no longer a person of interest. Those were orders passed down from the brass.”

  “Right,” I acknowledged, continuing to the doorway.

  Before I even cleared the first flight of stairs, Mark appeared on the landing. He met my eyes. “Are you finished answering their questions?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then let’s go.” There was something urgent in his voice. “We have to get back to the OIO, the techs just called.”

  Fourteen

  “You’re shitting me.” My head was in my hands, and I was on the verge of a horrible migraine. “No. There’s no way. You have it wrong. Someone in this office has it wrong. Maybe the software is acting up.” I shook my head vehemently. “No.”

  “Alex,” Mark said patiently, glancing at the tech seated next to us, “you’ve already made Steve run the algorithm four times. We didn’t screw up. Someone at the Secret Service must have.”

  “Or at PDN,” I mumbled. “I didn’t see it.” I massaged my temples which were throbbing. “Are you sure the date and time are correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Steve Lawson, the OIO’s senior tech advisor, replied.

  “Now you’re just adding insult to injury. How long has he been on the watchlist?” I asked.

  “Stop,” Mark berated. “You’re acting like Osama Bin Laden waltzed into the hotel, and you didn’t notice. This guy isn’t some international terrorist.”

  “No. Instead, he’s just on the FBI’s ten most wanted list.”

  “On the bright side, it’s all white collar crimes, fraud, money laundering, embezzlement, RICO violations, and failure to appear. His only violent act involved evading capture. Face it, he’s the lesser known Bernie Madoff.”

  “Oh god, what the hell is up with everyone being named Bernie all of a sudden?”

  “His name is Frank Costan,” Lawson chimed in unhelpfully. “Ever since Homeland took control of the Secret Service from the Treasury Department, it’s been one thing after another. Kinda funny if you think that a money guy eluded some Treasury agents.” Giving him a dead-eye stare, he recanted with, “Well, they aren’t controlled by the money men anymore, so maybe that’s why.” After another moment of staring, he excused himself from the room.

  “It gets worse.” Mark drew my attention back to him. “You didn’t hear this from me, and whenever you get the official police version, make sure you act surprised, but he was found in the subway tunnel underneath the hotel. He’s our second DB. And before you ask, the basement footage didn’t show anyone entering or exiting. Maybe Russell was correct when he said the hotel wasn’t breached.”

  “Aside from the fact that Frank Costan was staying at the hotel and ended up dead underneath it.” I rolled my eyes and paced the room. “How could I have not noticed this? From the looks of things, the guy was traipsing around the hotel like he owned the place.”

  “That doesn’t mean you ever crossed paths. Plus, even if you did, you weren’t expecting to encounter wanted criminals.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize him since he’s no longer on the most wanted list. Maybe you should print out the updated one before anyone else drops dead.”

  Mark stood and slammed the door, and the vibrations reverberated in my skull. Blowing out a steady breath, he fought to hold his temper in check. The good thing about all those years being trained by Mark was I knew exactly when I pissed him off. Unfortunately for me, now was precisely one of those times.

  “Talk to me,” he urged, leaning against the door. “Two men are dead, and since Costan is one of the dearly departed, this is now officially a federal matter.”

  “Don’t give me that. It all depends on cause of death. Jacobs didn’t say a word to me about any of it, so it might not be your show just yet.”

  “It’s not my show. I’m on vacation this week, remember?” If steam could come out of his ears, it would. “You and I both know your client,” he practically spat the word, “is involved.”

  “This is a discussion for another place.” My eyes darted around the room. “This isn’t your assignment, Jablonsky. And I sure as hell am not a federal agent. Shouldn’t you be telling me this isn’t my business and to keep my nose out of it?”

  He came across the room and grabbed my shoulders forcefully. This was the first time he’d ever been so abrupt, and I was taken aback. “I’m sorry, Parker.” His eyes pleaded for forgiveness, and surprisingly, he hugged me. “For the past two years, I’ve been treating you like a yo-yo, and then I get irritated when you can’t make up your goddamn mind.” He released me and stepped back. “No, this has to stop now. No more fighting. No more telling you when you should or shouldn’t work an investigation. I trained you. I trust you. Now let’s get out of here so you can tell me what you think we should be doing.”

  “Mark?” Did he just admit he was wrong? The entire situation was surreal, but he turned as if nothing happened and left the room. Chasing after him, we were back in the car before I had any earthly idea what was happening. “My office,” I suggested meekly when he turned, waiting for a destination.

  Once we arrived and I opened the door, we went inside. He took a seat in my client chair and waited for an elaboration. I still couldn’t figure out the reason for the sudden shift in his attitude. Without a word, I turned on my computer, printed off a copy of all the information the criminal databases had on Costan, and grabbed a dry erase marker from the cup on my desk. Going to the whiteboard, I sketched out the hotel, the tunnels, the location of Alvin Hodge’s body, the locations I was positioned, the most likely spots Eastman would have been when he wasn’t in my presence, and the routes PDN and the Secret Service were supposedly taking to ensure the utmost level of security during the conference. When I was done, I found Mark skimming through the business section of the paper in search of details on the conference.

  “Ta da,” I said, drawing his attention away from the paper. “This is it. So in the event I’m arrested as an accessory, make sure you erase the damning evidence from the board.” He smiled, stifling a laugh. “All right, so this is what everything looked like. As you can see, I have no earthly idea exactly where Eastman was at the time of either murder, particularly since we don’t actually know when either of these two gentlemen was killed. I’ve told you exactly how the planning phase with PDN went and the background and interviews with the government. The only thing I haven’t mentioned was a follow-up I conducted the other night. Nothing particularly helpful surfaced. I spoke with one of the delegates represent
ing SMI in order to determine what Eastman’s obsession with Martin was. I still don’t know, but no one seemed to particularly care for Klaus Manufacturing or the claims Bernard Muller was making on their behalf.”

  “Hodge put Eastman in contact with Muller, right?”

  “That’s what Paul said.” Flipping the board to the other side, I formulated a new theory, and when I was done with my pictorial representation, I turned to catch the proud hint of a smile on Mark’s face.

  “It makes sense, but face it, you just pulled the entire thing out of your ass.”

  “Not to mention, it doesn’t help us identify the killer or killers either.” Working the kink out of my neck, I tilted my head to the side. “Honestly, it could be Paul.”

  “Talk it out.”

  “Okay. This was a huge international business deal, so it wouldn’t be strange for Costan to make an appearance. From the hotel surveillance, it appears he checked in two days prior to the conference. I can only assume he was there to make some type of deal. Maybe he wanted to pay off one of the rich moguls to smuggle him out of the country, or he wanted to filter some of his stolen funds through a corporation. Who the hell knows? I’m sure we can find a motive easily enough once forensic accountants start digging.” He nodded that I should continue. “Whatever the reason Costan was there, I’d imagine someone in the hotel must have known, even though Russell claimed no one on staff could identify the body. Costan is infamous or was, I guess.”

  “He could have paid a few key players off. We’ll worry about the details later.”

  “So Costan’s there, and Alvin Hodge must be aware of this fact. From the way Eastman described him, I’d say he knew everything that was happening inside the hotel.”

  “If Hodge arranged a meet between Costan and one of the business types present at the conference, it might explain the motive for his murder, maybe both murders. Costan probably didn’t want anyone to be the wiser when it came to his whereabouts. Hell, maybe Hodge threatened to blackmail him or sell him out to the feds if he didn’t pay through the nose to maintain his anonymity. So maybe Costan was responsible for Hodge’s death.”