The Eavesdropper

by Edward Trimnell

  I was going to protest that far from “invading” Donnie Brady’s home, I had been taken there at gunpoint; but I knew that even Sgt. Burke would dismiss that assertion as yet another lie from Frank Joseph.

  “Okay,” Sgt. Burke said at length. “But we’ll eventually need a statement from this Miss Cox about the incident. I want you to bring her into the station to make a report. And needless to say, if its something more serious, you’re to call nine-one-one.”

  “Absolutely,” Sid said. “Did you hear that, Donnie?” Donnie nodded. Sid was looking at him as if to say, go now and take care of things, before anything else can go wrong.

  This was the final part of Sid’s plan: Donnie would bring Bethany up to speed. They would all tell the same story, and I would have no means to refute their version of events.

  “I hate January,” Sid said, giving Sgt. Burke his best corporate manager’s smile. “Only a few more months until the Beechwood PD golf scramble, though. Have you been practicing your shots?”

  “Oh, I might just surprise you this year,” Burke said. He gave one of my shackled arms a gentle tug. I was a prisoner now, a step away from being mere cargo.

  From here Sgt. Burke would take me to the Beechwood Police Department’s station. Did the department have a jail? I didn't think so, but they probably had a holding pen.

  In the days ahead, my life was going to consist of a series of cells and holding pens. Then I thought of a new wrinkle: Would I have to post bail, and how much would that be?

  It was only days ago that I had promised my ex-wife that I would increase my contributions to Olivia’s school tuition costs. Now I was unemployed, and wondering how I was going to make bail. I had little in the way of savings.

  By now there was a small crowd gathered in the first-floor lobby. An employee (ex-employee! I reminded myself) of the company was being arrested. I had become a show, an object of gossip and curiosity. They would be talking about me for weeks, months in the future.

  “Well, Mr. Harper, we’d better be going now,” Sgt. Burke said. He turned to Donnie. “Remember what I told you, Mr. Brady.”

  Donnie, triumphant, was just about to take his leave and make his exit when there was a sudden commotion at the main entrance.

  A group of official-looking men, and a few women, were coming in. I could see immediately that they were armed. There was quite a crowd of them. Law enforcement. They had to be.

  They were wearing badges around their necks on lanyards. On their heavy windbreakers I saw the letters: FBI.

  The FBI? I wondered. Surely neither Anne Hull nor the security guards had contacted the FBI over a nonlethal workplace incident. Was I really in that much trouble?

  Anne Hull looked to Sgt. Burke for an explanation. Burke shrugged, the gesture signifying that he knew no more about these new visitors than she did.

  “What is this?” Anne asked. “What’s going on?”

  One of the FBI agents held up a paper. An arrest warrant, it had to be.

  “We’re looking for Sid Harper, Donnie Brady, and Bethany Cox. I have orders here for their arrest.”

  Suddenly, I understood, though I didn't understand everything yet.

  Ellen Trevor had come through for me—for us—after all.

  Chapter 87

  Sid’s reaction was immediate. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said indignantly.

  “Are you Sid Harper?” one of the female agents asked him.

  “Yes, I’m Sid Harper. Now, tell me what this is all about—”

  “You’re under arrest for embezzlement, criminal conspiracy, and multiple violations of the RICO Act. Please turn around.” She produced a set of handcuffs.

  Sid began to make insistent protestations of his innocence. He threw in a veiled threat to sue the federal government. His attorney would have him out of custody within a few hours, he declared.

  Donnie, on the other hand, wasn't going to hang around and make claims of innocence. And, as for attorneys: Had Donnie Brady ever known even a single attorney? As one of the agents made a move to handcuff him, he made a break for the door.

  Donnie didn't get far. Two of the agents grabbed him, one on each arm. Donnie continued to struggle, cursing at the men who restrained him. And I thought that I had put on a show.

  Within less than a minute, Donnie Brady was handcuffed, too.

  I counted at least ten FBI agents altogether in the lobby. They had already moved the general throng of Thomas-Smithfield employees back. One of the agents was talking to Anne Hull, but she was no longer in control here. A squad of FBI agents trumps a corporate HR manager. She was, moreover, extremely distraught. She had been willing to take in stride the arrest of a low-level employee whom she had just fired. A high-level management figure like Sid Harper was something else, entirely.

  It would take her some time to accept it all, I realized. But that wasn't my problem.

  Now that Sid and Donnie were in custody, the FBI was dividing up their tasks. One group of them was escorting Sid and Donnie out. There were others who had to attend to unfinished business here in the lobby.

  Sgt. Burke was finally taking stock of the situation. Like Anne Hull, he seemed upset by Sid’s arrest. This is going to change his plans for the golf outing, I thought to myself.

  Burke and two of the FBI agents sort of gravitated together. There was an exchange of official credentials, and a brief explanation made. Sgt. Burke shook his head at the FBI agents’ explanation. I’m sure he would have remembered my visit to the Beechwood Police Department, only days ago. But he had discounted my claims out of hand. Now the FBI was telling him that Sid had been involved in something truly rotten.

  As I was handcuffed and in Burke’s custody, the agents inevitably asked about me. Immediate recognition registered on their faces when my name was said.

  Unbelievably, Sgt. Burke’s first inclination was to continue with his original mission: To escort me down the street for booking on the assault charge. One of the FBI agents put a peremptory end to that.

  “Mr. Joseph isn't going anywhere with you. Mr. Joseph is a vital witness to an ongoing investigation of the FBI.”

  There was a bit more back and forth, but the final result was that the handcuffs were removed and I was no longer Sgt. Burke’s prisoner. A team of FBI agents trumps a sergeant in the Beechwood Police Department, too.

  Chapter 88

  I was no longer under arrest, but I wasn't entirely free. The FBI still wanted to talk to me. Another long day was beginning; but it was to be a different kind of long day.

  The agents asked Anne Hull if they could use a Thomas-Smithfield meeting room in order to debrief me. Of course they could. Despite her prior imperiousness, Anne had no stomach for standing up to the FBI. They could use whatever they wanted, essentially.

  Two of the FBI men accompanied me to a first-floor meeting room. They introduced themselves as Special Agents Kevin Carson and Michael Stewart. Special Agent Kevin Carson was African American, probably just a few years older than me. Michael Stewart was at least fifty. He had thinning blond hair, and a pinkish complexion.

  “How did you—” I had so many questions, but this was the first one.

  “As you’ve probably already guessed,” Special Agent Stewart said, “Ellen Trevor tipped us off, let us know that the situation here was becoming acutely dangerous.”

  They were giving me more credit than I deserved. I had figured that Ellen Trevor had done something to bring about my last-minute reprieve. But I didn't know what.

  They must have noted my dumfounded expression. I probably looked pretty confused.

  “Ellen Trevor has been working with us for quite some time,” Carson said. “She told us that this was all coming to a head, and that it might be an opportune time for us to step in. You know about the embezzlement scheme, obviously.

  “The FBI has been leading a multiagency task force to investigate the situation here at Thomas-Smithfield for quite some time now. So we accelerated the
timetable, was all.”

  It took me a few seconds to fully absorb what he’d just told me. Ellen and I had been doing this amateur investigation, risking our lives in the process. And all the while, the FBI had been carrying out an investigation, too?

  And what had he said? Ellen has been working with us for quite some time. That opened up a whole new list of questions. Just as I had suspected, Ellen Trevor had hidden things from me.

  But I had a more immediate concern.

  “Where is Ellen?” I asked.

  Special Agent Carson looked at Special Agent Stewart.

  “Ellen isn't going to be here. I don’t think you’re going to see her again, perhaps.”

  I felt my heart skip a beat inside my chest.

  “You don’t mean—”

  “No, no. She’s fine. But she’ll be moving on from Thomas-Smithfield, and well, probably out of the Cincinnati area, too.”

  I shook my head. What they were telling me wasn't making sense.

  “You don’t understand,” I told them. “Ellen Trevor and I were working together. She’s a part of this.”

  “She’s a part of it, all right,” Stewart said.

  I sensed some deeper, unwelcome significance behind that observation. But I let it pass. At that moment, I just wanted to see Ellen Trevor again. The Brown-Eyed Girl.

  Less than an hour ago, I had feared the worst: I had thought that Ellen Trevor was dead, and that my life was ruined.

  That total disaster had been averted. It seemed that Ellen should be here, with me. We should be celebrating our salvation—for lack of a better word—together.

  “Ellen helped me with the investigation,” I said. “Figuring this all out has been as much her work as mine. She should be here.”

  Carson looked at Stewart, and some wordless communication passed between them. Carson spoke.

  “You don’t know the half of what’s been going on. Mr. Joseph. We’ll explain it all to you; but not right now. This isn't quite over yet. We’ve still got to see to Ms. Cox, and Sid Harper’s Russian friends. And we need to get a complete statement from you, too.”

  I wanted to protest: tell me now. But I knew better than to push the matter.

  “Here’s what we need you to do right now. One of our agents is going to take you to the federal building in downtown Cincinnati. You wait for us there, and after we get the rest of this wrapped up, we’ll sit down and explain all of this to you. Okay?”

  I nodded. It was okay. What other choice did I have?

  Chapter 89

  After that, I walked out of Thomas-Smithfield with Carson and Stewart. So I did leave my employer under law enforcement escort—but also under very different circumstances.

  Carson and Stewart passed me off to one of the agents who had arrived earlier. Her name was Agent Pitts. Blonde, athletic, and somewhere in her forties, she reminded me a lot of Anne Hull.

  I spent most of the day in the federal building. I wasn't a prisoner under arrest; nor was I officially detained. Agent Pitts emphasized that I should hang out in the government building until Carson and Stewart had time to meet with me.

  I was fine with that. Just a few hours ago, I had been anticipating a much, much worse day.

  Agent Pitts passed me off to other people from the FBI office. I don’t remember any of their names. I took them for functionaries—bureaucrats—who mostly remained in the office while the field agents went out and made arrests.

  The feds gave me a visitor’s pass that enabled me to roam a limited section of the building: basically the lobby and the cafeteria. They gave me vouchers for the cafeteria, which was a nice touch.

  I kept thinking about the day’s chain of events. I had started out the day as Donnie’s abductee, then I had progressed to the prisoner of the Beechwood Police Department. Now I was a guest of the FBI, eating on a government tab.

  That all came as a welcome relief, of course. But I had more questions than I could count.

  Based on what Carson and Stewart had already told me, I knew that I was vindicated. There would be no penalty for my assault on Donnie Brady. Nor was it likely that I would be framed for knocking out Bethany Cox and tying her up.

  Late that afternoon—around the hour that I would ordinarily be leaving Thomas Smithfield—Carson and Stewart finally returned. Once again, I found myself in a meeting room with them.

  “First,” Special Agent Carson began, “tell us everything.”

  I told them everything. I began with my eavesdropping on that first meeting between Sid, Donnie, and Bethany, and how that had led me to believe that there was a murder plot to kill Ellen Watson. I recounted all of my clumsy inquiries and brushes with disaster over the past few weeks. I detailed my abduction earlier this morning. They had some information that explained the dark serendipity of the whole thing.

  “The conspirators believed that Ellen Trevor was about to turn them in,” Stewart said. “But they disagreed about what to do about her. Donnie Brady went to her condo this morning. He had planned to either intimidate her into silence or abduct her—we may never know which—but Ellen wasn't there and you were. So he decided to take care of you instead.”

  That made sense to me. But there was a huge aspect of this that still didn’t.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ve figured out that Ellen was working with you. But I still don’t know why—or how. Did she come to you, or did you come to her?”

  And that was connected to the big question—the one that stung of outright betrayal.

  “Why didn't Ellen simply tell me?” I asked. “She could have saved me a lot of grief, a lot of worry. For that matter, she could have saved me the ordeal of this morning.

  “It’s complicated,” Stewart said. “Brace yourself, now, and we’ll tell you the whole story about Ellen Trevor.”

  Chapter 90

  It was then that Carson and Stewart dropped their real bombshells.

  “Ellen Trevor was originally part of the embezzlement scheme,” Stewart said.

  “What?” I protested. This didn't make sense to me.

  “She was romantically involved with Sid Harper,” Carson added.

  My surprise must have shown on my face. Neither Carson nor Stewart could have had direct knowledge of my romantic interest in Ellen, though perhaps they had surmised as much.

  “But—but Sid was romantically involved with Bethany Cox,” I protested. “She was the one who hatched the whole thing, from what I gathered.”

  “You’re right,” Stewart agreed, “on both counts. Sid was involved with the late Ms. Cox, who—”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “The ‘late’ Ms. Cox? What do you mean? I—” Surely, I thought, Bethany hadn't died from the head injury she sustained when she fell backward against Donnie’s coffee table.

  Stewart held up his hand in a hold-on gesture. “We’ll get to that. But let’s take this one thread at a time. “Sid Harper was indeed involved with Bethany Cox, who along with Donnie Brady, set up the original embezzlement operation, on a very small scale. But Sid had a lot of—irons in the fire—if you’ll forgive the metaphor.

  “Sid was able to recognize that for the embezzlement plan to work, they would need someone in accounts payable, someone who could maneuver their way into handling the invoices for the bogus suppliers. So Sid recruited his ‘other’ girlfriend in the company, Ellen Trevor.”

  “But, Ellen told me that she happened across one of the fake suppliers’ invoices and challenged Sid,” I protested.

  “That’s partly true,” Stewart said. “What she might not have told you was that she and Sid were already involved at that point. The two of them had an argument over it. She eventually wore him down, and he told her about the whole plan to defraud Thomas-Smithfield. Then he recruited her. She actually helped them pay a handful of the fraudulent invoices.”

  “This was about the time that we approached her,” Carson said. “You might wonder why the FBI was even aware of an embezzlement case at Thomas-Smith
field.”

  I thought that I did know. “The Russian mobsters,” I suggested.

  “That’s correct,” Stewart nodded.

  I also saw a certain irony here. Sid Harper had brought in the Russian mobsters. This was partly to pay off his gambling debts, but also because he wanted to take the operation to a larger scale, to make it more “professional.”

  Well, Sid had outsmarted himself. The little two-bit embezzlement scheme that Bethany and Donnie had originally conceived might have gone undetected for years in a large company like Thomas-Smithfield, that processed thousands of invoices every week. But when Sid involved Sokolov and Kuznetsov, he also involved the FBI, which was constantly tracking the activities of the Russian mafia.

  “Our investigation identified Ellen Trevor as the link in the accounting department,” Stewart said. “So one evening she arrived home to find Agent Carson and I waiting for her. She was relatively easy to turn. As things worked out, she was having a falling out with Sid, for personal reasons. Ellen Trevor had thought she was Sid Harper’s sole romantic pursuit within the company. She had recently come to suspect—correctly— that Sid had something going with Bethany, too.”

  Carson smiled. “The FBI, of course, was able to confirm those suspicions. After that, she willingly went to work for us.”

  Ellen Trevor had told me something else, of course: She had claimed that after coming across a suspicious invoice, she had challenged Sid Harper, thereby provoking a clash of managers. In reality, the spat over the invoice had been an extension of a lovers’ quarrel.

  I remembered that night in her condo, how Ellen had expressed a specific interest in busting Sid down to size. It had seemed strange to me at the time, but I had simply let the observation pass.

  I had clumsily kissed her, and basically gotten nowhere. She was thinking not only about her unhappy history with Donnie—but also with Sid.

  Even as the embezzling conspirators had kept me at a distance with their elaborate machinations, so Ellen Trevor had kept me at arm’s length, too. Ellen had revealed her history with Donnie Brady; she had said nothing about her involvement with Sid.