Vanished: A Luca Mystery - Book 2

by Dan Petrosini

  Well, you’d be about as wrong as you could be for two major reasons. The first is greed—it infects even the wealthiest of us. The other, often underappreciated condition, is what I call the ‘insider game,’ and it’s directly related to ego. Some people have an insatiable need to be on the inside of things, to have connections and access that others don’t have.

  John Seymour understood this and exploited it to the tune of fifty million dollars. And he did it in record time. When I read the case file I had to stop myself from admiring him. While the incompetent regulators were watching for the next Madoff, this guy Seymour, who played up his Sacramento origins, was raking in cash to supposedly fund Silicon Valley startups.

  The problem was there were zero startups, and so all the investors got was to play cocktail braggadocio for several months. I’m pretty sure that even though the investors didn’t receive a financial return on their money, for some the social dividend was more than enough.

  That is, as long as news they were swindled didn’t leak out. Seymour knew this and deftly used it against the folks who lined up to give him money. It was the reason the fraud went on so long. No one would come forward. They were frightened that word would get out and their reputations would be tainted. Who knows, they might not get invited to the best parties anymore.

  However, one person did file a complaint, a feisty old lady named Martha Notingham. She lived in an older estate on the gulf and had given Seymour only, and I say this lightly, two hundred thousand. It was a drop in the bucket for Notingham, but she was miffed he rarely returned her calls. Who knows how long Seymour could have operated his little scam if he’d only sweet-talked her a couple of times?

  It was Vargas’s idea to have the two of us act as relatives of Notingham, looking to invest alongside her. I played her nephew, and Vargas was my wife. I didn’t know if it was that I’d never gone undercover before or that Vargas insisted on holding my hand during the meeting that made it surreal. Either way, it was greed on Seymour’s part that made him buy into our little show. It wasn’t clear to me if Notingham was being herself or acting her part, but she smelt like English royalty to me. She was one impressive lady, and there was no doubt she was relishing her role in beating Seymour at his own game.

  We turned the documents and wiring instructions Seymour asked us to complete over to the DA. They worked with Florida’s Banking Commission and Office of Financial Regulation to develop a prosecutable trail and quickly gave us the go-ahead.

  Dreymore, an assistant DA, Vargas, and I settled around a conference table. We hooked up the recording device and I placed the call.

  “Hello, Mr. Seymour. This is Jonathan Notingham.”

  “Hello, Jonathan. It’s nice to hear from you.”

  “As it is to talk with you. We’ve had the documentation reviewed by our family-office attorney, and though he thought we should change a bit of the language, I believe they’re minor modifications, and we’re comfortable going ahead with the paperwork as is.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear. I do have to say your timing is excellent. You’ll be a part of an exciting opportunity that was just brought to me by a long-time contact in the valley.”

  “Wonderful. They do say timing is everything.”

  “It sure is. I’d hate to have you miss out on this one. Will you be wiring the funds soon?”

  “I’ve already instructed our bankers. It’s being arranged as we speak, and if this delivers the returns you stated, additional investments will be forthcoming.”

  “It will, you can count on it.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Notingham, but I’m running late for an investment meeting with a couple of tech titans. We’ll speak soon, and do give my warm regards to your aunt.”

  I said goodbye and hung up.

  Vargas said, “Nice going, Mr. Notingham.”

  Dreymore said, “She’s right, he didn’t suspect a thing.”

  “It’s greed, it blinds most people,” I said.

  Vargas said, “You sure you’re able to keep our hands on the money? I would hate to think Seymour’s going to outfox us.”

  Dreymore said, “Don’t worry. We’ve alerted everyone along the chain, and the transfer is flagged. Anywhere the money goes, we’ll know. Even if it moves offshore, as we suspect it will.”

  I said, “What about if it goes to say the Cayman Islands or Isle of Man?”

  “It doesn’t matter, money haven or not.”

  “The banks are playing ball?”

  “They don’t have a choice; they’ve been served.”

  I pulled the tape out of the recorder, labelled it, and put it into the case file as Dreymore left.

  “Yo, Vargas, want to grab a bite at Chipotle? Catching crooks gives me an appetite.”

  “Chipotle? Mr. Notingham, a man of your means shouldn’t frequent such establishments.”

  “Forgive me, dear. Shall we visit Nemo’s.”

  “If you’re paying, I’m definitely in, that is, as long as we can get in.”

  “You know what? We deserve it.”

  I turned my phone back on and there was a voice mail.

  “I got a message from Bosco.”

  “What’s he say?”

  “The Gabelli tox report came back. He said there was no trace of amyl nitrite, but they found something else.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t say, said to call him.”

  I called him back, but he was in the midst of an autopsy.

  Chapter 49

  Luca

  The red light was on over the door to the suite used for examining infectious or burned remains.

  Damn, how long was this going to take? I peered through the door’s small window. Bosco was hunched over what looked like a burned body, speaking into a microphone as he sliced opened a charcoaled abdomen. I watched as he cut away a specimen and dumped it into a stainless-steel pan shaped like a kidney. It was slow going. I left to find a bathroom and a cup of java.

  When I came back, Bosco was pulling the sheet back over the body. He rolled the gurney over to a refrigerated chamber and made a quick call. He peeled his gloves off and began washing his hands so slowly that I banged on the door. He looked over, grabbed a towel and headed over.

  “Hiya, Doc.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank, I don’t have time.”

  “I promise this will be quick.”

  “You know I don’t work on just homicides, don’t you, Frank?”

  “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that your message left me hanging. You said something showed up. What was it?”

  “As I mentioned, there were no traces of amyl nitrite, but I widened the toxicology request and a fair level of terbutaline showed up.”

  “Terbutaline? What’s that?”

  “It’s a bronchodilator. It assists in opening a person’s airways to facilitate breathing. It’s prescribed for emphysema and asthma sufferers.”

  Asthma? A vision of Stewart sucking on his inhaler flooded into my head.

  “But as far as we know, Gabelli didn’t have any issues with his breathing, right?”

  “The victim had no known respiratory issues, and his medical records have no indications he was taking any prescription drugs.”

  “Is there any other reason why a person would take this stuff?”

  The doctor smiled. “The only other use I’m aware of is to delay labor.”

  “You mean when a woman’s giving birth?”

  He nodded. “In certain cases of preterm labor, doctors will administer it to delay birth in order to improve the health of a premature baby.”

  “I never heard of that.”

  “Sometimes it can delay labor for a couple of days, and that’s critical to a premature baby’s health. Of course, like all drugs, there are risks, especially for the mother.”

  “Is there any way you could get high off it?”

  “No. In fac
t, it can cause a heart attack when overused.”

  “How much of terbutaline would cause a heart attack?”

  “That’s difficult to say. It would depend on the health and body mass—”

  “Come on, Doc, we’re talking about Gabelli. How much would be needed to cause him to have a heart attack?”

  “I’m not an expert on this medication.”

  “Gabelli had alcohol in his system. Would that contribute?”

  “It couldn’t help, but again I’m not very familiar with the interactions.”

  “Thanks, Doc, really I appreciate it. I gotta run.”

  I punched a number in my cell.

  “Vargas, we got the break we’ve been waiting for. Bosco, bless his scalpel-wielding tail, ran an extra test, and bingo, some drug used for asthma came up.”

  “Gabelli had asthma?”

  “No, but his buddy Stewart does.”

  “You think he—”

  “It looks like it right now, but we’ve been chasing whispers and ghosts for so long that I got to try to keep it in check. Look, call our pharma guy and get as much on terbutaline as you can.”

  “How you spelling that?”

  “T-e-r-b-u-t-a-l-i-n-e. I’m on the way in.”

  ***

  I ripped off my jacket and tossed it on a chair.

  “What do you have, partner?”

  Vargas held up a sheet of notes. “Terbutaline opens up the airways to make it easier to breathe. It’s generally only prescribed when inhalers don’t work. He said it has a lot of side effects and definitely can impact the heart. It makes the heart race, and he said it was believed to weaken hearts, especially in pregnant women.”

  “What forms does it come in?”

  “Injectable and pill form.”

  “How much would it take to cause an overdose and prompt a heart attack?”

  “He didn’t want to speculate, but said it’s a very dangerous drug and should only be prescribed if there’s no relief from inhalers. Get this, he said that a mere five-milligram dose elevates the heart rate by thirty percent.”

  “Wow, and that’s a tiny pill. You should’ve pressed him.”

  “I did, Frank. He was noncommittal, so I asked him if someone were given five or ten times the dose, what would happen. He said that the injectable form works super-fast and would push the heart to its limits.”

  “Stewart could’ve stabbed Gabelli with a needle.”

  “Maybe, but he also said mixing it with alcohol would exaggerate the effect, called,” Vargas looked at her notes, “peripartum cardiomyopathy. Which could lead to a sudden cardiac arrest, a massive heart attack.”

  I felt a pinch in my side as I said, “I wonder what Gabelli drank?”

  “You okay, Frank?”

  “Yeah, why?

  “You winced like you just had pain.”

  “I got a little pinch in my side.”

  “This the first time?”

  I couldn’t lie. “Got it two or three times. It’s no big deal. What else did he say?”

  “Did you tell the doctor, Frank?”

  “They said it could just be some scar tissue.”

  As Vargas stared at me, my side felt like it got skewered. “Ouch.” I doubled over.

  “That’s it, Frank. I’m calling an ambulance. You’re going to the hospital.”

  The pain was searing, but I said, “No. I’ll drive there.”

  “You’re in no condition to be driving, mister.”

  I grabbed my side. “I hope there’s nothing wrong. It doesn’t feel good, Mary Ann.”

  “What’s the doctor’s name who operated on you?”

  Vargas called for an ambulance and let my surgeon know. On the ride to the emergency room I couldn’t shake the belief my cancer had come back. The pain felt bad, really bad. Seeing the trapdoor opening to take me off life’s stage scared me out of my mind. I reached for Vargas’s hand, pleased she was in the ambulance.

  Chapter 50

  Stewart

  “All the breaks you need in life wait within your imagination. Imagination is the workshop of your mind, capable of turning mind energy into accomplishment and wealth.” - Napoleon Hill

  The sun warmed my face as I bounded down the stairs. I felt really good this morning and was sleeping a lot better since breaking away from Robin. The decision wasn’t easy, but it should have been. The only thing we can’t make is time, and I knew you shouldn’t waste it. No more making mistakes with that.

  The Mustang wasn’t a Porsche, but it wouldn’t look good to be driving a 911 with a gal whose father owned a couple of Ford dealerships. It certainly wasn’t the money; they had plenty. Not as much as Robin after she got the insurance money, but Melissa had no brothers or sisters, so it was a pretty good fit for me.

  I didn’t know anything about the car business, but that didn’t stop Melissa, who was the general manager for all the showrooms, from hiring me as the assistant manager for the Bonita store. The best part was telling Greely I was sick of his bullshit and then quitting. I couldn’t resist taking a few shots at him as I left. It felt good to finally execute that plan.

  The first couple of weeks at the Ford place I didn’t do much, just getting acquainted with everyone, but it was a busy dealership and I didn’t like the hours. They were open from nine to nine, six days a week, and Sundays from eleven to five. That sucked a lot of hours out of whatever allotment anyone got in life. I’d put the hours in now, but in a couple of months I’d lean on Melissa to work on the old man. He wouldn’t want to deprive his daughter of a home life, would he?

  I had to keep reminding myself to stop comparing Melissa to Robin. The thing with Melissa was I had to play the long game. She didn’t have the cash flow that Robin did; I found out she was only making a hundred and ten a year. That didn’t go very far, and they were only paying me eighty-five. Her dad was a fit, sixty-six-year-old, so the payoff here was a long way off.

  The other thing that bothered me was that even though Melissa had grown up with money, she didn’t have Robin’s sense of style. In virtually every category, Robin outclassed her. Melissa didn’t dress particularly well. I hated the frumpy pantsuits she wore to the dealership. And it bugged me when she’d tell me to wear shorts when we went out to eat.

  Oh, there was one more thing: her house. Melissa lived in an old, low-rise building in Park Shore that was painted an embarrassing canary yellow. She said the place was comfortable, convenient, and debt free. You can add, furnished like an eighty-year-old lived there.

  I’d have to reevaluate the time line for this relationship. Maybe it’d take me a bit longer than I thought, but if I played my cards right and stuck to the plan, I’d find a way to flourish. First, though, I’d wait another three months and then tell her we should move in together. That way I could get out of my place and cut my expenses. I had diddly-squat as far as equity was concerned, but I’d come out with thirty grand or so to pay off my credit card debt.

  Then I’d work on her to upgrade our living quarters. She liked the location? Okay, we could move into one of those new high-rises. It’d be sweet, looking at the gulf shimmer with a cocktail in hand.

  Chapter 51

  Luca

  I could see Vargas whispering on a phone as they rolled me back in from a test. I gave her a thumbs-up and a huge smile.

  “It’s just a kidney stone.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “You’re telling me. I thought I was done.”

  “They going to break it up with ultrasound?”

  “Yep. Hopefully, with one treatment it will break up. Either way, I’m gonna get released after they zap it.”

  “Oh, Frank, I was so scared for you.”

  “Thanks, Mary Ann, I know what you mean. You know, I really thought the cancer had come back and it was game over.”

  “We didn’t need the drama, did we?”

  “I’ll say. But thanks for coming with
me. It was good you did.”

  “No thanks necessary. I’m just glad it was nothing serious.”

  “Not serious, but man, kidney stones are painful as hell.”

  “I know, my mom had them twice.”

  I adjusted my gown to cover my legs. “It’s freezing in here.”

  Vargas ripped open another hospital gown and put it on top of the sheet.

  “Thanks. So, where were we on the Gabelli med thing?”

  “Just rest today. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  “I’m fine, the painkiller worked. We can’t waste any more time. We’ve been working this case for far too long. It’s either Stewart stabbed him with a needle, or he crushed up a bunch of pills and dissolved them in whatever Gabelli was drinking.”

  “It had to be crushed pills.”

  “Why?”

  “First, he’d only get one shot at it. If he hit him with a needle, he’d have to be sure the entire dose got in. There’d probably be a struggle as Gabelli tried to figure out what was happening.”

  “Unless one vial would be enough. You said the pharmacologist said it would work fast.”

  “Stewart would have to know what a deadly dose was, and even our guy wouldn’t commit to it.”

  “You’re right, but he’s got asthma. Maybe he found out from his doctor.”

  “Hm. Maybe.”

  “But I agree, it’s probably easier and safer to pre-crush a bunch of pills and put ’em in his drink. But do these pills have a taste to them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Check it out and let me know. But either way, we got to drag Stewart in and get a search warrant for his place.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Now get out of here and get to work.”

  “You sure you’re going to be all right?”

  “It’s only a kidney stone. I’ll be out of here in a couple of hours.”

  Vargas left and I lay there thinking, make that obsessing, over the Gabelli case. So many pieces of promising information had led nowhere. A lot of that data had pointed at Stewart, but now this asthma drug was the string that could tie them all up.