by Al Boudreau
“Did these alleged FBI agents show you their credentials?” I asked.
“Yes, right after they rescued me from Mike Webber. We drove directly to the safe house. They showed me their badges once we got there. You know, once I was out of danger. That’s when they had me send you that bogus text. To throw Creitz off.”
“Did they flash their badges, or did you actually hold them in your hand and study them?” James asked.
Sarah hesitated, and I knew the answer. “They flashed them,” she said. “I didn’t have any reason to doubt them. Those men saved my life.”
James and the chief looked at one another, then looked at me.
“What?” Sarah asked. “You guys are looking at each other as if I’m crazy.”
“That’s not true, Sarah,” I said. “It’s just that you don’t know the whole story.”
She threw her hand in the air. “Well? Tell me.”
Chief Goodhue jumped in. “Sarah, Rachel Webber is dead, along with two other female accountants from different companies. However, the firms those women worked for are owned by the same parent company.”
Sarah covered her mouth and rested her elbow on the table. “I can’t believe Rachel Webber is dead. Was she – were these three women murdered?”
The chief nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Now you know why I was so concerned about you,” I said.
Sarah’s jaw hung open as she processed the jarring news. “That’s terrible. Do you have any leads?”
“There’s an individual named Roland Creitz that ...”
“That name!” Sarah blurted out, cutting the chief off. “The FBI – or the two men in the house – they mentioned that guy’s name several times.”
“Do you remember what was said?” I asked.
“They told me their boss was keeping tabs on Cripes. That’s why they had me call you. They said Cripes would be listening and that they needed to sell the concept before he returned on Friday.”
I smiled and corrected her. “Creitz, Sarah. It’s Roland Creitz. Did they ever mention their boss’s name? You know, the guy keeping tabs on Creitz?”
Sarah was quiet for a moment. “It was odd, but … one of the men did mention their boss’s name just once. And the other man got really angry. After that they were careful not to use his name again. It was an odd name, too. I want to say it was Rod? Or Bon?”
“Dom?” James asked.
“Dom! That’s it. It was Dom.”
“Dominic Caldwell?” Chief Goodhue asked.
“I … I don’t know. He just said Dom.”
“About these two men that you were with. Did they look familiar to you?” James asked.
“No. Not at all. But they definitely looked like FBI. Like I said, I never doubted them for a minute.”
“Homeland,” I said.
“Yep. That’s my theory, too,” the chief added. “Classic misdirect. The question is why.”
I scratched my head. “Sarah, you said they needed to sell the concept before Creitz returned on Friday?”
“Yes.”
“That’s tomorrow,” James said.
“Did they tell you why they needed to keep you in a safe house?” Chief Goodhue asked.
“All they said was that Mike Webber was working with Creitz and that until they nailed him my life was in danger. They told me you were all on board with this. I wanted to call Carter to make sure he knew, but they shut me down. Said my safety would be compromised. I really had no choice but to believe them. And no good reason not to.”
“Do you remember anything else that was said? Anything at all that might be useful?” I asked.
“There wasn’t much else. To be honest, I did my fair share of napping.”
The chief looked at James. “Get in touch with Troy, PD. Let them know we believe Roland Creitz will be back in the area tomorrow, then head down to the hospital and take a look at those surveillance videos. Maybe we can get an ID on these clowns that were holding Sarah.” He turned and looked at us. “Sarah, Carter, go on home and get some rest. We’ll wrap up the remainder of this paperwork tomorrow. And we’ll call you if something breaks.”
Chapter 20
I woke from the deepest sleep I’d had in months to find Sarah propped up on her good arm, staring at me. “Who’s Peg?” she asked. My confusion must have shown on my face. “You were talking in your sleep,” she added. “You kept saying It’s Peg, it’s Peg.”
“Huh. There’s only one Peg I’ve ever had the displeasure of dealing with. I had a run-in with Peg Franklin in Boston yesterday morning. Bear in mind I’m using the term woman very loosely in this particular instance. She’s one scary piece of work.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Not particularly, but I will anyways. I went down to speak with the boss of one of the accountants Chief Goodhue told you was murdered. And … I ended up getting into a tight spot with a couple Homeland Security cops who seemed to be taking their orders from this Peg Franklin wench. I found out later that she’s the big cheese who oversees the finances of every one of the corporations our three murder victims worked for.”
“So she’s is in the private sector?”
“She is, but all the firms those three accountants worked for, including Cantor-Choy, the multi-national Franklin works for, recruit nearly all of their employees from the government. Peg Franklin oversees more than $13 billion in government contracts per year.”
“Wow. That’s crazy money.” Sarah got that far-off look in her eyes I’d seen many times before. It was usually an indication the wheels were turning inside her head, working every angle to come up with the answer to a puzzling situation. “These Homeland Security cops you mentioned … what are their responsibilities, exactly?”
“Well, the guys I tangled with yesterday were Federal Protective Service police. It’s their job to protect federal buildings and the occupants of those facilities. Funny thing about these FPS cops is that they don’t need warrants like regular cops do. They have less training but, in certain situations, more power.”
“Well that sucks,” Sarah said.
“Yeah, most state and local law enforcement folks I’ve known don’t think much of Homeland Security officers or agents.”
“Carter, when we were with Detective James and Chief Goodhue yesterday and I was telling you about the two FBI agents who were at the safe house with me, you all seemed convinced they were with Homeland Security. Why?”
“Dom, the one you told us you heard the two men talking about – it’s likely they were referring to a guy named Dominic Caldwell. Caldwell’s a Homeland Security agent, so technically he couldn’t be their boss. Plus, Homeland and the Bureau don’t play well together. It’s unlikely a Homeland agent would be sharing sensitive information with the FBI that way, especially in the middle of an op. Don’t get me wrong, they do share information at times, but begrudgingly so.”
“Well if they work together sometimes, can you really be sure my guys weren’t FBI?” Sarah asked. “Maybe when they said boss, they meant like a higher pay grade or something.”
“You said they got in a little spat when one of them mentioned the name Dom, right?”
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with FBI versus Homeland?”
“I had a little run-in with Dominic Caldwell right after you went missing. I drove down to Framingham to speak with Rachel Webber as soon as we discovered her husband had been shot and killed. I thought I could get some information out of her concerning your whereabouts. For reasons we still haven’t figured out, Agent Caldwell prevented me from speaking with Rachel Webber. Sarah, she was killed inside the prison that afternoon. Report said a fellow inmate was responsible for Webber’s death, but I’ve got to believe it was a hit ordered by Caldwell.”
“Carter! Oh my – what is going on?” Sarah collapsed back onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling for quite some time before speaking. “What about this Cripes – Creitz – whatever his name is? How doe
s he fit into this whole mess?”
“Good question. If you’re asking for my opinion, I can sum it up in two words: He doesn’t.”
Sarah sat up and positioned herself with her back against the headboard. “I don’t understand. I thought everyone was all gung-ho to find him and question him.”
“They are. As it stands he’s our number-one suspect, but every piece of evidence against him is circumstantial. No one has actually seen Creitz. Not one eyewitness can place him at any of the crime scenes. The guy doesn’t even have a criminal record.”
“Why is Bridgeport PD so hot on grabbing him?” Sarah asked.
“Because Creitz’s car was used to transport Mike Webber to the nurse’s house to threaten her, the same nurse who allowed Webber to abduct you from the hospital. Creitz’s car was also at the property where one of the accountants was discovered. The property is owned by Creitz. And when the forensics team went through his car, the deceased woman’s DNA was discovered inside of the vehicle.”
Sarah turned toward me with a look of confusion on her face. “And you don’t think he’s the guy? I mean, okay, the evidence is all circumstantial, but damn, Carter, that’s a lot of evidence.”
“I don’t know. My gut’s telling me it’s too easy. Like someone’s trying extra hard to set this poor shlub up.”
“You’re thinking he was framed.”
“I wouldn’t bet my life on it. But if it comes to pass, let’s just say I won’t be all that surprised.”
Sarah pursed her lips, then spoke. “I’m sorry, but as of this moment I can’t say I’m with you on this one. I say he’s guilty.”
“If I’ve learned one important lesson over the course of solving cases with you, Sarah, it’s that I can never discount your opinion. You’re right more times than not.” I cleared my throat. “And on that note I’m going to take a shower.”
“I wish you would,” Sarah said with a straight face before hitting me with a fake giggle that always made me laugh.
Damn, it was good to have her back.
I closed the bathroom door, then thought about Creitz and the evidence again as I was adjusting the shower. Sarah’s opinions often gave me pause when we were at odds over the details of a case. This was one of those times.
I stepped into the hot cascading stream and let my mind go blank for a few indulgent moments before I heard the hinges of the bathroom door creak. “Carter, Detective James is on the phone,” Sarah said. “Troy Police Department has Roland Creitz in custody.”
Chapter 21
I watched Officer Kent get out of his cruiser as we stepped out of our aircraft and onto Troy’s airfield for the second time in so many days. Detective James held his hand out to Kent. “Good to see you again. Thanks for coming to pick us up.”
“No problem,” Kent replied. “We’d better head downtown right away. Roland Creitz made a phone call shortly after we picked him up. His lawyer is due to arrive shortly.”
“Has Creitz said anything?” I asked Kent as I climbed into the back of the cruiser.
“He’s been calm and composed from the moment we picked him up. He seemed to show genuine concern for the vics and their families as soon as we arrested him. Yeah, he asked to call his lawyer, but never once did this guy hesitate to answer any question we lobbed at him. Fellas, I don’t think this guy is a guilty man.”
I sat back in the seat. I may have read the entire series of events with a fair level of accuracy. Not that a street cop’s opinion ever amounted to a case-closed situation, but at least my gut was aligned with another law enforcement individual’s assessment.
“Did he reveal where he’s been?” James asked.
“He was touring various prison facilities and looking at vacant commercial properties, here in the states and up in Canada. His itinerary coincides with the stack of flight plans we received from the FAA. And Creitz was with people the entire time. We were able to get signed affidavits from each one of them. So far it’s all legit. He has alibis out the wazoo.”
The three of us entered the viewing room. Creitz’s interrogation was now well under way. Roland Creitz and his lawyer were seated on one side of the table, a detective on the other.
Roland Creitz was impeccably dressed, wearing a suit and tie that appeared to be custom-tailored, looking every bit like a man who was worth well north of $35 million.
And nothing like a man responsible for ending the lives of three female accountants.
I listened to him speak, the subtle tinge of a German accent coming through with certain words. I heard the detective ask Creitz if he knew, or had ever been in contact with Rachel Webber, Rose Stanton, or Rita Bennett, to which he answered no.
I looked at James and Kent. “Would it be possible to have him ask Creitz a few specific questions?”
“Absolutely,” Kent replied.
I jotted down my questions and Kent brought them around to the interrogation room. James turned up the speaker so we could better hear Creitz’s answers.
The detective reviewed what I’d written, then looked up at Creitz and spoke. “Mr. Creitz, are you familiar with a woman named Peg Franklin?”
Without hesitation Creitz said, “Yes, I’ve had exhaustive meetings with this woman. Cantor-Choy, the company she works for, purchased controlling interest in my company, Cell Détente. We have … let’s just call it a challenging relationship.”
“How so?” the detective asked.
Creitz’s lawyer grabbed Creitz by the elbow, then leaned in and whispered something in his ear. “No, it’s okay,” Creitz replied. “Ms. Franklin has made numerous attempts to wrest control of the financial side of Cell Détente from me. However, this was not part of our initial agreement. I’m certain she believes that her strong-arm tactics will wear me down, but she is mistaken. The more she digs in her heels, the more I will dig in my own.”
“Do you know a man named Dominic Caldwell?”
Creitz turned to his lawyer and whispered something in his ear. The lawyer responded in kind. Creitz said, “I’ve never met, nor have I had dealings with Dominic Caldwell. However, I did receive an email from a former associate of mine, roughly one month ago, who mentioned Caldwell. She warned me to be aware of him. Apparently, he was involved in some difficulty she was having at work. It’s my understanding she no longer has a job, as a result of the machinations he set in motion.”
The detective asked, “What’s the name of this associate?”
“Shana Luke.”
James turned toward Kent. “Can you get us copies of any correspondence that exists between Creitz and Shana Luke?”
“I don’t know if Creitz’s lawyer will oblige, but I’ll certainly do my best,” Kent replied.
I stood up. “Much appreciated. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a piece of evidence in there that’ll shed some light on this whole mess.”
Chapter 22
“Do you think Officer Kent will be able to talk Creitz and his lawyer into handing over those email messages from Rachel Webber’s ex-boss?” I asked James during our flight home from Troy, NY.
“I think so,” James replied.
“Where’s your head at with Creitz?” I asked. “You still think the guy is guilty?”
“Man, I just don’t see it. Either he’s the world’s best liar, or he has no involvement at all. There doesn’t seem to be room for any middle ground.”
“What about Sarah’s so-called FBI agent that picked up her scrips down at the hospital? Any luck with video stills or an ID?”
“Stills, yes. ID, no. He wasn’t in any of the facial recognition databases the police department has access to.”
“What about Dominic Caldwell? What’s this guy’s angle? He shows up in Framingham and prevents me from speaking with Rachel Webber. Later that day she ends up dead. And the situation with the men who held Sarah. They slip up and mention Dominic’s name. Now we find out he might have been involved in getting Webber’s boss Shana Luke bounced out of Hy-Tek Solutions.”
James nodded. “Yeah, when you summarize every instance Caldwell has been near this case, it paints a pretty mind-blowing chronicle of involvement. Also, don’t forget, Caldwell is the one who gave Chief Goodhue those scrubbed documents.”
“I forgot all about the docs.” I let James’s reminder sink in for a moment. “Is it possible Caldwell could have redacted those documents? What if he figured the chief would arrive at Creitz as our prime suspect?”
“What motivation would a Homeland Security agent have in doing such a thing?”
“What if he’s involved in a cover-up?”
“Um, okay?” James stared at me for a few seconds as if he were expecting me to solve the entire mess right then and there. “What would he be covering up? And for whom?”
“I don’t know.” I racked my brain for a moment trying to come up with a plausible scenario. “What if he’s funneling money from these companies into a slush fund for someone in a high place?” I asked. “He has a mandate to protect government employees, right?”
James rolled his eyes. “Let’s not get too carried away, here.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll admit it’s a bit of a stretch. But think about it. Who better to redirect the spotlight from a guilty party to, well, to anyone else? Let’s face it, Homeland Security has some unbelievable powers. The Patriot Act took care of that in spades. C’mon, you said it, yourself. The rules changed after 9-11.”
James got quiet for a moment before continuing. “Okay, Carter, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Caldwell’s been tapped to run interference for, oh, I don’t know, a covert CIA program or something of that nature. You’d have to follow the money to pin it on the guilty party. Put together a paper trail. Or some sort of electronic record of transactions. A guy like Caldwell might be capable of preventing that from happening.”
“I like where you’re going with this. You always have to follow the money in order to trace embezzlement back to the source. So let’s say you were tasked with preventing an outside entity from being able to follow the money. How would you go about it?”
