by Jay Giles
“Who did he see on a regular basis?”
“Well, just the people in the building, the people who worked for him—a cook, cleaning lady, guy who got him things.”
“Anybody you know who might wish him harm?”
“Bob? No. I mean, there might have been people jealous of his money, but I don’t think anybody had a legitimate ax to grind with him.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Costella. I appreciate you talking with me.”
Harry’s eyes suddenly turned hard, his lower lip quivered. “Find the bastard who killed him. Find the bastard who killed my best friend.”
CHAPTER 76
“Mayfield Clinic,” the female voice said.
“Maggie, it is Dieter. I trust doctor is available.”
“Yes, Mr. Albrecht. As you requested, he is ready to receive your call.”
“Thank you, Maggie, “Albrecht had time to say before he was placed on hold.
“Mr. Albrecht,” the doctor’s deep voice was tinged with annoyance, “Maggie said it was urgent we speak.”
“I apologize for drawing you away from your patients,” Albrecht said in a deferential tone, “but this may be our last conversation, and I wanted you to hear these things directly from me.”
“Oh?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news. I have not felt well for some time. My condition has been misdiagnosed until now but has been identified as pancreatic cancer.”
“My, God.”
“I am in the final stages. The doctors here have told me I don’t have much longer, a week or two at the most.”
“You must come here to the clinic, Mr. Albrecht. Let us look at you.”
“Thank you for that kind offer, doctor, but I no longer have the strength to travel. My final days will be here by the sea, my ashes scattered from the boat that has given me so much enjoyment.”
“There are treatments—”
“It has progressed too far. The important thing now is that Alma’s care continue uninterrupted. I have made financial arrangements for that, and I want you to know what they are.”
“Mr. Albrecht, you know Alma’s care—”
“Is expensive. I have made Mayfield Clinic the beneficiary of a $10,000,000 life insurance trust and I have named you, doctor, and Alma’s brother, Wilhelm, co-executors. Once I pass, that money will be deposited in a Swiss bank. A representative from the bank will contact you and make arrangements for meeting the costs of Alma’s care. Is this arrangement satisfactory with you?”
“Of course. It is more than satisfactory. I am not concerned about money,” the doctor said insincerely, “I am concerned about you. Is there nothing that can be done?”
“The doctors say not, and I believe them. My death is for the best. The cost of Alma’s care has taken all my assets. All I have left is the house. I would have had to put that up for sale. Soon that money would be gone, too. This way, the insurance will take care of Alma. She can continue in your excellent care, doctor.”
“Her care is important. She is in a very productive phase right now, making notable progress.”
“I am glad to receive such a glowing final report. This will be my last call to you. There are no phones at the hospice where I will be saying. Know that the banker will be contacting you shortly, and watch over Alma in my absence, doctor. She is a good woman. Good night.”
Albrecht replaced the receiver in the cradle, made himself a Scotch, took it up on deck to enjoy the harbor’s evening air.
He would miss this boat after he turned it in tomorrow. He would have a view of the sea from the house in which he would be staying, but it wasn’t as satisfying as viewing it from the wheel of a sailboat.
CHAPTER 77
Hanna left Harry’s apartment, rode the elevator to the penthouse level. As she doors opened, she saw a black body bag on a gurney, the M.E., an attendant, standing on either side.
“Hello, Hanna,” said Doc C., as the attendant pushed the gurney on. “I’ve done all I can here. Preliminary cause of death is asphyxiation, time of death—20-to-24 hours ago. I’ll have more for you tomorrow.” The doors closed, they were gone.
Hanna walked in the living room, found the crime scene team dusting and bagging.
Milt raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Learn anything interesting?”
“That he had emphysema, hadn’t left the apartment in years, was loved by everyone.”
Milt pushed his glasses up on his nose. “That clears everything up for me,” he said sarcastically.
Hanna wasn’t misled by his tone of voice. She knew he was processing puzzle pieces of information, trying to find a fit. “Milt, my gut tells me the answer to the whole thing—the kidnapping, the deaths—is here in this condo.”
Milt’s gaze danced around the room. “No doubt. The trouble will be finding it in all this stuff.”
“Is Sean here? Has he started on the computers?”
“You’d think he’d died and gone to heaven.”
Hanna found him sitting in front of one of the Cray computers, munching from a bag of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. “Hey, Hanna, pretty cool, huh? Cray X1 supercomputers. These babies fly.”
“It that the one with the financial information?”
“Yeah.” He pulled a cookie out of the bag, popped it in his mouth.
“Have you gone upscale, Sean? Since when have you eaten Pepperidge Farm cookies?”
“It was all I could find in the kitchen—”
“Sean.” Hanna smacked him on the shoulder. “You’re not supposed to raid the kitchen at a crime scene.”
“Had to. They hustled me out of the office before I could gather up a stash.” He looked at her, grinned. “You know I suffer from low blood sugar.”
“I’ll believe it when I see the note from your doctor.” She pointed him back to the monitor. “Keep at it. I need to know everything on that computer—every account, every amount.” This was Hanna’s forte. She was looking forward to analyzing Ruhl’s financial data.
“I’m going to need snacks to keep me going, like a two-litter of Dew. Dude had nothing to drink.”
“This is a crime scene, Sean. I’m not catering in Twinkies and Little Debbie’s so you can maintain a good sugar buzz. Get your work done, pig out on your own time.”
“Harsh, Hanna. Harsh.”
“Print everything out for me, Sean. Let Milt or me know when you’ve finished with this computer, then start on the Mac. You’ll like that one even better. I understand it’s strictly for online gaming.”
Sean eyed the Mac. “I’m all over it.”
“I’m going to want an analysis of what types of games he played, which specific games he played the most. In terms I can understand, Sean.”
“Might take me a while.”
“Remember, you’re an investigator, not a player.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Hanna. I am such a player.” He grinned, reached for another cookie.
Hanna was about to answer when her cell vibrated. She looked at caller ID. Miles. Hanna put the phone to her ear as she walked out of the study. “Hi.”
“It’s Miles, just calling to see what you’re doing.”
Hanna smiled, opened the sliding doors to the terrace, walked outside. She had a panoramic view of the Gulf. “Your friend, Ms. Silber has been busy. I’m at the scene of her latest victim.”
“Oh.”
“Multi-millionaire Robert Ruhl—he may have been the mastermind behind all this.”
“Ruhl? Why does that name sound familiar?’
Hanna watched two white speedboats race across the water. “The dead man we found with Beck on Lido was his son, Tom Ruhl.”
“Interesting. A father, son team. That has to be unusual?”
“You run across them from time to time, but it’s not common, no.”
“This is probably not a good time to ask—while you’re dealing with a murder—but I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tomorrow night.”
She’d be
swamped for the next 48-hours. Still, she had to eat. “Dinner sounds great. Let me call you tomorrow afternoon, if that’s okay, and we’ll figure out a time.” From behind her, Hanna heard someone calling her name. “Listen, Miles, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. She rang off, opened the sliding door, stepped into the living room.
“Hanna,” the voice called out in agony, “you can’t keep me here without nourishment.”
“Hate to say I told you so,” Milt Walger said as he lifted a fingerprint off the doorframe leading into the office.
Hanna watched him label the print, file it. “Sugar withdrawal is never pretty.”
Sean was oblivious to the sarcasm. “I’m dying here, people.”
“Milt, any reason Sean can’t take the computers back to the Bureau?”
Walger looked up from what he was doing, pushed his glasses back on his nose, shook his head. “I don’t have any problem releasing them now. We printed them before he got here. I was going to take them back to the shop, anyway, when we finished up.”
“Yes.” A yell emerged from the study. Sean waltzed into the living room playing air guitar and singing the opening from Stairway to Heaven: “Hanna’s a lady who shows all that glitters is gold. And she’s buying a stairway to heaven. When Hanna gets there she knows—”
Hanna silenced him with a look. “Sean, you’re not going anywhere until I have those printouts. All of them.”
He scurried back to the study, returned with a foot-high stack of paper, bowed as he presented it to Hanna. “For you, my lady.”
Hanna looked the stack suspiciously. “Take that back with you. Put it on Amy’s desk.”
“Your wish is my command.” He straightened up, looked around at the other techs in the room. “All the rest of you back to work, show’s over.”
It was four hours later, 2:15 in the morning, when Hanna unlocked her office door, moved the stack of printouts from Amy’s desk to her own. Much as she wanted to delve into them, she needed to be sharp. Ruhl knew his way around money. What he was hiding wouldn’t be found easily or quickly.
CHAPTER 78
Casper was lounging on his sofa watching the Devil Rays make the Yankees look like supermen. The game was only in the fifth inning. The Yankees had a commanding twelve to one lead. The Rays had more errors (5) than hits (2) and were on their fourth pitcher, the starter having been chased in the second inning. Casper felt an obligation to support the local team, but if the Rays continued playing like this, he’d have to rethink his local loyalty.
His phone rang. He clicked the TV to mute, got up from the sofa, walked to the kitchen, picked up the receiver.
“Hi, Dennis,” the female voice said. “Sorry I couldn’t call you back ‘till now. What’s up?” It was Mandy Coleman, one of the Bureau’s Duty Officers. Twice divorced. Actively looking for hubby number three.
Casper, however, wasn’t considering her for wife number four. Mandy was the office gossip. Casper figured if anyone knew what was happening on the Beck and Lohse matters, it would be Mandy. He also figured the way to find out was to ask her out.
“You probably know,” he said easily. “I’m on medical leave—I had a little heart procedure—nothing terrible, everything’s fine, I’m recuperating. But I’m getting cabin fever, want to get out of the house. Didn’t know whether you’d want to get together for a drink?”
“We could do that,” she answered drawing out the words. “Are you sure you should be drinking with a heart condition?”
“The only restriction the doc gave me was not to operate any heavy machinery.”
“So you need a ride, too,” Mandy said with a chuckle. “Well, I can swing by your place, pick you up. Just give me directions.” Casper did. Mandy repeated them back, said, “That’s easy enough. See you in half an hour.”
They went to a place called the Outlook Inn. It was a hole-inthe-wall bar with pretensions. New owners had added a menu of pub food, put framed European advertising posters on the walls, brought in a crew of scantily clad waitresses.
Casper slid into one side of a red leather booth, Mandy the other. A waitress appeared out of the gloom, put coasters on the table in front of them. She was a blond with dark roots, trendy glasses, and a tattoo on her neck that said Eve in script lettering. “What are you having?” She asked in a voice that made her sound twelve.
“Bourbon and coke,” Mandy told her.
Casper wouldn’t have figured Mandy for a bourbon and coke drinker. But, then again, he was seeing a whole new side of her. New front, too. She had on a pink top cut low enough that he could about see her navel. To go with it she had a skirt so short it barely covered her rear end. “Bud Lite,” he said.
Mandy leaned forward, smiled, her voice intimate. “I’m glad you called, I’ve missed you at the office.”
Casper seized the opening. “Feels like I’ve been away forever. What’s been going on?”
He had to wait to find out. Their waitress returned, served the drinks off a small round tray, watched Mandy take a long pull on her bourbon and coke. “I’ll check back in a couple of minutes,” she offered.
Mandy put her drink down, her eyes wide and bright. “Little Miss Numbers may have cracked the Beck matter. Can you believe that?” She dished it out—the ransom payment, identification of Marike Silber, Robert Ruhl’s murder.
Casper listened, his beer untouched, stewing on what he’d learned. “What’s the scuttlebutt on the new guy, Shuloff?”
Mandy drained the last of her drink. The waitress put another in front of her, removed the empty. She sighed, made a face. “From what I’ve heard, he’s a hardnosed butt buster.”
That’s who O’Neill would send. “Any clue when he’ll arrive?”
“Word is he’s got to finish testifying at some trial that’s draggin’ on.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it may be a couple more days before he gets here.”
After that, the talk turned personal. Mandy trying to draw Casper out, see if she could heat up a relationship. Much to his surprise, Casper found he enjoyed the banter. Mandy wasn’t his type, but the time he spent with her made him long for someone who was.
CHAPTER 79
Hanna was at the Bureau at 6:30 the next morning. She unlocked her office, went in search of something that would let her spread out the Ruhl printouts stacked on her desk. She found an aluminum folding table in the training area, lugged it to her office. Opened up, it gave her a twelve-foot working service. Judging by the amount of documents Sean had printed out, she’d need it.
Hanna pulled her desk chair over, sat, began by trying to get a sense of Ruhl’s banking and brokerage relationships. Carefully she went through each and every document searching out institutions and account numbers. Gradually, the single large stack became eighteen smaller stacks. As Hanna organized, she also diagramed her findings on a large white board. Quickly, the board began to fill with a complex diagram of multiple relationships, associated accounts.
It was noontime when Hanna finished the last document, made a final notation on the whiteboard, rolled her chair back over to her desk. While she’d gotten a lot accomplished, she hadn’t heard from Sean. Time to nag him. She picked up the phone, dialed Sean’s number, got no answer, decided to pay him a visit.
On her way to his cube on two, she stopped by the break room, got a cup of tea, carried it with her.
She found him, joy stick in hand, earphones on, engrossed in a video game. She tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped. Almost knocked the cup out of her hand.
“Jeez, Hanna, I was—”
“Sean, I need you to evaluate what’s on that computer, not play the games. As soon as possible, I need a full write up.”
“What a spoil sport you are, Hanna.”
Hanna turned to go. “On my desk by end of day, Sean.”
He groaned.
Hanna couldn’t help smiling as she walked back to her office, closed the door. She pulled her desk chair over to the aluminum table
of financial information, reviewed what she’d whiteboarded. Like many financiers Hanna had tracked, Ruhl kept accounts in different financial centers: New York, Zurich, George Town, London, Hong Kong.
The stacks of paper—sorted by bank—on the table in front of her detailed Ruhl’s most recent transactions. Hanna began whiteboarding all deposits, withdrawals, and transfers by the banks involved. As she worked through the stacks, she began picking up Ruhl’s rhythms of moving and manipulating money.
Disparate transactions on the whiteboard began to form a pattern. She could feel Ruhl managing his money.
Usually, when Hanna was in the groove like this she could uncover even the most skillfully hidden transactions. But after four hours of diligent investigation, there was no epiphany of discovery. Hanna could find no indication Ruhl had received a $50-million influx of cash. Even for someone as financially adept as Ruhl, with an amount that big, Hanna should have seen something. Like a bullet, it would have made a little hole as it entered his accounts and a huge, gaping wound as it exited.
Hanna might have missed the entry point, but she surely wouldn’t have missed the exit trail. If someone had killed Ruhl for the money, she should have seen the transfers. Silber wouldn’t have taken the time to conceal them. With a dead body in the room, she’d have made transfers quickly and gotten out of there.
Hanna stood, walked over to her desk, tapped an extension number on the phone’s keypad.
“Mrrumph,” said the voice on the other end.
“Don’t answer your phone with your mouth full, Sean. I need you to check something for me.”
Sean swallowed audibly. “Sure.”
“I need to know the exact time Ruhl last used each of those computers.”
“Sure, Hanna. That was all going to be in my report—”
“Just tell me now, Sean. It’s important.”
“Okay, well, he hasn’t used the G5 for over six months. That’s kind of interesting because—”
