by David Bishop
Carla nodded, and put her arm around Paige, who froze a bit as they started toward the door. “Let’s go this way,” Carla said, “out through your back door and across the patio. We can use the side gate to my place. Agent Powell, would you lock the patio door behind us? There’s a thumb turn on the deadbolt.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll lock up before we leave, and I’ll personally bring the key next door. I doubt we’ll be here more than two hours. Will you be up that long?”
“Paige won’t be. I’ll get her to sleep. When you come by Sunday afternoon, Paige may still be over at my place. If you don’t find her at home, come on over. Mine is the house on that side.” Carla pointed. Agent Powell nodded. “As for tonight, I’ll be up. Come by when you’re done.”
Chapter 5
Paige entered the kitchen and looked at Carla who was cutting something on the counter.
“Good morning, Paige. Have you been over to your place yet this morning?”
“I went over last night, after you went to bed. I was just ready, I guess. Couldn’t sleep so I went over, just to get it over with, I suppose. It was tough, but I got it out of my system, at least I did after a good cry. The house was, I don’t know, cold, just an empty house, not my home. I’m sure that sounds screwy.”
“No it doesn’t.” Carla stopped slicing a melon and stood with a knife in her hand. “I suspect that’s normal. Give it some time. You’re welcome to stay with me until whenever.”
“Thanks, Carla. Okay, let’s move on. It’s Monday morning and I haven’t heard from those FBI Agents. It’s been more than three days. Have they called you?”
Carla carried a tray with a carafe of coffee, two mugs, a plate of buttered English Muffins, and a bowl of sliced cantaloupe to the table. “I haven’t heard from them since they brought your key back before they left Thursday night. I just assumed they’d ring your cell.”
“They haven’t. Agent Powell did say he’d come by Sunday around noon. That was yesterday. I’m sure he said that, although I admit I was in a fog at the time. Did you hear him?”
“That’s what he said. He also spoke about a local homicide cop. Maybe they each thought the other would contact you. That kind of thing happens all the time at the hospital.”
“What do you think I should do?”
Carla poured coffee into the mugs. “You should go down to the Phoenix police department. For some reason I think the homicide department’s on Washington. Would you like me to go with you? I can get the morning off, if I call in right away.”
“No. I’m okay. You’ve been wonderful. You go on to work. I can handle it.” Paige sipped her coffee, wincing a bit at its fresh heat. “I’ll go over to my place. It’ll be easier the second time. I’ll get cleaned up there and check on the address on Washington. Don’t worry about me. I’ll fill you in, tonight.”
“You sure, honey? Here you should eat a little something.” Carla put a buttered muffin on one of the plates together with a few slices of the melon and set it in front of Paige.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You go on to the hospital, really. We can have dinner tonight. Okay?”
“Absolutely, we’ll go out and get something and wash it down with lots of booze.”
“Maybe, let’s see how I feel after you get home. Okay?”
They agreed on a loose plan to meet up around six in Carla’s house. “You come right in, honey, whenever you want. You consider this your home too. There’s plenty of room so anytime you don’t feel like being, you know, alone just come on over.”
* * *
Paige approached the officer on duty at the front desk. “My name is Paige Crawford. I’m here about the murder of my husband Samuel Crawford. I believe the FBI contacted you about it late last Thursday or perhaps very early on Friday.”
“Give me a moment, Mrs. Crawford. Let me find out which officer is handling that case.” After more time than Paige thought it should have taken, the officer looked back at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t show a homicide case under that name. Am I spelling it correctly? C-r-a-w-f-o-r-d. Is that right?”
“Yes. That’s correct. What do you mean you don’t show a case? My husband was murdered at our front door four days ago and you have no record of it? What is going on?”
“Please have a seat ma’am, ah, Mrs. Crawford. Let me get someone from homicide to come talk with you. It may not have been entered into the computer yet. These delays do happen, over a weekend particularly. They can be on the case, but late booking it in. Please. Over there.” He pointed. “Please. It shouldn’t be long.” Paige turned and walked toward the seating.
The desk sergeant picked up a phone and hit an extension. “Hello, Detective Martin, I’ve got a Mrs. Paige Crawford downstairs. She said her husband, Samuel, was murdered last Thursday. That the FBI was there, at her home right after the murder, and told her they would contact us. I don’t have any record of that in the computer. Do you know anything about it? … No. She seems a solid citizen. No nut job.”
Not more than five minutes later, a woman in a dark blue pant suit approached. “Mrs. Crawford?” Paige stood up. “I’m Sergeant Madeline Richards. This is my partner, Detective Sue Martin. You say your husband was murdered a few days ago, that the FBI was supposed to have contacted us. Is that right?”
“Yes. Don’t tell me they didn’t tell you? That was days ago. Special Agent Powell and Agent Withers, a woman, both working out of the Washington, D.C., headquarters were there. Your local medical examiner took the body.”
“Why would the FBI be involved in a local murder?” Sergeant Maddie Richards asked.
“How should I know?” Paige snapped. “You guys are the cops, not me. They were there in minutes. Not more than five minutes. They said they had had Sam … my husband, under surveillance for some time. That was the first I knew of it. They took his computer … his body. And now the local police know nothing about any of it?”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Detective Sue Martin spoke. “You said your husband was murdered. Where is his body?” Sue had a soft voice despite her powerful image. She was five-foot-nine, one inch taller than Maddie and about twenty pounds heavier, very muscular. Sue spent a lot of time in the weight room. She was a black woman with big biceps and broad shoulders. Sue, who had known Maddie since middle school, earned her detective’s badge and became Maddie’s partner after her former partner, Gil Ortega, had resigned to take a job as a defensive line coach at Northern Arizona University.
“I’ve already told you,” Paige Crawford said. “Agent Powell called it in to your local medical examiner. For Christ sake, he came and took Sam’s body away. Here. Look. Here is Agent Powell’s card, Dennis Powell.” Paige held the card in one hand while poking it with the index finger of her other. “The other agent was Ann Withers, I don’t have her card.” Maddie took the card and handed it to Detective Martin while still speaking to Paige. “This is the guy who came in right after your husband was shot?”
Paige nodded.
“Sue,” Maddie Richards said. Sue nodded and headed for the front desk, went through the opening in the counter and picked up a phone.
“Mrs. Crawford,” Maddie said, “please. I understand you’re upset. This is a difficult time for you. We only learned of it a few minutes ago. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Detective Martin is contacting the medical examiner’s office. We’ll get this cleared up, hopefully in a few minutes. I apologize for the impression this must be giving you. Please, let me sit with you. We should know something shortly.”
After a nervous minute or two of sitting together quietly, Paige said, “Ah, thank you, Sergeant Richards. I appreciate you being so generous with your time.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Crawford. Detective Martin and I are close to wrapping up a case. Plan to close it tomorrow afternoon, so we can start working yours in. We certainly have no shortage of cases. Then again, it guarantees job security, you understand.”
“I do, Sergeant Richards. The city has plenty of cases to k
eep you busy. Or so it would seem from what I see on the local news.”
“You got that right,” Maddie said as Sue Martin came around the station house counter and headed back toward them.
Sue stopped before Maddie who still sat next to Paige. “Sergeant Richards, may I speak with you for a moment?” She motioned for Maddie to come with her.
“Go ahead, Sue. Tell us what you found out. If you tell me, I’ll only need to tell Mrs. Crawford. Let her hear it firsthand.”
“The M.E. has no record of … anyone there with the name Sam Crawford. No record of any body coming in late Thursday. And no Thursday night call from the FBI to go anywhere.”
Paige covered her mouth with her hand. “Where is my husband? What is going on, Sergeant Richards?”
Sue Martin cleared her throat. “There’s more, Sergeant. I called the Phoenix FBI field office. They have no agents named Dennis Powell and Ann Withers in the Phoenix field office and no knowledge of any agents from the national office, working locally. Protocol would require agents from outside the Phoenix office to check in before working in the local area.”
“My husband is dead,” Paige squeezed the purse on her lap. “I saw it. I’m not crazy.” She lifted her purse before slamming it down against her thighs. “I saw him dead on the floor. Shot in the head.” Paige stood and screamed. “Now you’re telling me you’ve lost his body.”
Chapter 6
An hour later, Paige Crawford walked out of the police department filled with promises, but empty of answers. On the way home, she stopped in Applebee’s for a definite drink and possibly something to eat, although she doubted she could keep anything she might eat from coming back up. A moment after sitting at the bar, she noticed the man who had changed her tire come in to sit down alone in a booth for two. He looked over, smiled, and came to her. After a brief chat, she joined him in his booth and told him all that had happened.
* * *
Sergeant Madeline Richards and Detective Sue Martin used part of Monday afternoon putting the finishing touches on a sting they expected to net them a murder suspect. The sting was set for the next day at two in the afternoon.
To open the Crawford case, they reconfirmed with the local FBI field office that Sue had gotten the straight scoop when she called while they were with Mrs. Crawford. Maddie called a man for whom in the past she had strong feelings, but who remained a long-distance, part-time lover, Lincoln Rogers. Rogers was a big shot in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, currently assigned to Unit-1 of the BAU which concentrated on counterterrorism and threat assessment. She wanted to give Lincoln Rogers a chance to validate Agents Powell and Withers. If he did, she might soon learn why the FBI had Sam Crawford under surveillance. In two minutes, Linc had checked as an insider and reconfirmed what Sue had learned from the Phoenix FBI field office. The bureau had no agents named Dennis Powell and Ann Withers in the national office and no money laundering or other case involving Samuel Crawford of Phoenix, Arizona.
Maddie then called Rosemary Conner, the county’s medical examiner who had replaced Dr. Ripley the year before. It seemed a little odd to be rechecking Sue’s contacts, but not as odd as this case was quickly becoming. The collector of people killed by others had no corpse with that name, and did not have a body which fit the description of Samuel Crawford. The same story Sue had gotten from a staff member in the M.E’s office when she had called.
While Maddie had been speaking to Dr. Conner, Detective Sue Martin called the bank to see if Mr. Crawford had come into work today or when they had last heard from him. When Sue got off the phone she went over to Maddie and waited for her to finish her call to the medical examiner.
When Maddie hung up, Sue told her, “The executive office at the bank hasn’t seen Crawford or heard from him since before the time he was alleged murdered last Thursday. I even spoke to the Bank President, name of Maxwell Norbert. He gave me the same story and expressed his concern because Sam Crawford had neither shown up for work on Friday or this morning, and he had not called in. Mr. Norbert characterized that behavior not at all like Sam Crawford, a longtime, dependable executive.”
* * *
Later that day, Maddie and Sue stopped at Saint Joseph’s Hospital on West Thomas Road and interviewed a registered nurse named Carla Roth. Ms. Roth told the same story they had heard from Paige Crawford. All of it: The shooting of Sam Crawford. That she had confirmed he was dead. That FBI agents Powell and Withers had taken Sam Crawford’s laptop and his smart phone. That someone purporting to be the local medical examiner had shown up and taken the body of Sam Crawford. That SAIC Powell had asked both her and Paige not to speak to anyone about any of it before Monday. That Agent Powell had returned Paige’s door key, and that neither of them had heard from either of the FBI agents since.
After leaving the hospital, and briefly stopping back at the station, Maddie and Sue went by the home of Sam and Paige Crawford. They told Paige they had confirmed everything she had said with Carla Roth. They asked Paige if she had anywhere to stay for a day or two. They were going to button up Paige Crawford’s residence as a crime scene.
“Why? Agent Powell said that wouldn’t be necessary. That he had the entire thing on tape.”
“You’re forgetting there are no Agents Powell and Withers, and the medical examiner who came and took your husband’s body was an imposter. There’s no tape showing anything and, at the moment, no body.”
“Of course, how foolish of me, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“In your place,” Sue said, “I doubt I would be either. We asked Ms. Roth and she said you could stay with her as long as we needed your house. That you already had a key.”
Paige Crawford nodded. “That’s … yeah, okay, I’ll stay with Carla.”
Sue stepped forward. “If you will head over there right away, I’ll go about sealing up your house. After that you won’t be able to reenter for anything until we tell you we’ve completed our process. I’ll need to go with you while you gather what you need to take from the crime scene. Please try to move as little as possible before you leave.”
“Detective, I’m afraid I may have already contaminated, if that’s the word, your crime scene. I’ve been back and forth between here and Carla’s the last couple days. Most of what I’ll need is already over there, just a few more changes of clothes and some more cosmetics.”
“We can’t do anything about what’s already happened,” Maddie said, “but we can try to minimize any changes from this point forward. Your home just officially became a crime scene. So, now, we need to follow established procedure.”
A moment later, Maddie asked Paige, “Have you cleaned since Thursday? Washed counters, maybe swept or vacuumed floors, cleaned toilets or anything at all?”
“No Sergeant. My housekeeper comes every Wednesday, sometimes Thursday so all this has happened since her last cleaning. Carla did come back here last Thursday, after I went to sleep, to clean up … the area near the front door. I routinely do some picking up between my housekeeper’s visits, nothing all that much. Just to keep things neat as I go along, you know. Clean the bathrooms. Keep the kitchen up. But I haven’t even done that, so no, no cleaning. Why does that matter?”
“The phony agents spent a couple hours in your house last Thursday night after you left to stay with Ms. Roth. Treating your home as a crime scene may help us find the real identities of these imposters.”
“And they murdered Sam.”
“Possibly, Mrs. Crawford,” Sue said. Maddie then added, “We don’t know that yet. But they can certainly tell us why they were watching your house, and where the phony medical examiner took your husband.”
“I spoke to your husband’s boss.” Sue leafed through a couple pages of a small notebook. “Yes, here it is. A Mr. Maxwell Norbert stated he had not heard from your husband. Is that your husband’s boss?”
“Yes. He’s the top executive officer. Sam worked directly under and reported to Max. They’ve been friends since before Sam
and I got married.”
“Well,” Sue said, “all Mr. Norbert told me was that your husband had not come into work last Friday or since.”
“Well, of course he didn’t, Sam’s dead. But even if he were alive, why would he? Mr. Norbert had fired my husband.”
“What?” Maddie said. This keeps getting screwier.
Sue looked toward Maddie who kept shaking her head. “Mr. Norbert said nothing about having fired Sam. Everything he said was in the context of Sam Crawford still being employed at the bank.”
Maddie turned to Paige who also shook her head. “That can’t be right. Sam told me in no uncertain terms that he had been fired.”
Sue repeated, “Norbert clearly spoke as if your husband was still employed. Although, I admit I had no reason to ask him that specifically. You had not said anything about your husband having been fired. When did that happen?”
“That same day, Thursday, while he was at the bank’s holding company in Los Angeles. Sam told me on the phone while he was waiting in baggage at Sky Harbor. I can’t imagine Maxie Norbert not knowing about that. He is the president of the bank. Sam wouldn’t have been fired without Maxie having participated in that decision … No. Wait a minute.” Paige’s fingers disappeared inside her hair and then reemerged, her hands extended. “That’s not right either. Sam said Norbert had been in L.A too. That Maxie had been the one who actually fired him. He knew. Oh, yes, Maxie knew.”
“Holding company?” Sue asked, her face showing her lack of understanding.
“In banking, if a company owns a bank, with or without other banking interests,” Paige explained, “at least as I understand it, the parent company is often structured as a holding company. Meaning its only assets are the shares of stock it holds in the subsidiary bank. That’s about all I know, if I’m even right about that.” Paige smiled, tightlipped. Her raised eyebrows made her eyes looks unusually large.
“We’ll visit the bank in the morning,” Maddie said. “Talk to Mr. Norbert in person. I assume Sam had a secretary, what’s her name?”
