by Al Boudreau
I leaned in and squinted, but couldn’t say if Sarah was right or wrong.
Iacona nodded. “Yes, that’s absolutely correct. In fact, he lost it in the process of making his escape. It’s my understanding the Bridgeport Police Department has possession of it in their evidence room.”
“Good pull, Sarah,” I said as I made note of it in my book, knowing I would never have been able to make that call. “Jay, I’m not hearing any audio. Do you have it turned off?”
“Our system is video only. Steele never included audio capabilities in the specs for their institution’s surveillance systems. Well, at least not in the office areas. Audio can be manually activated anywhere along the teller line by clicking on a foot switch. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help at all with our situation.”
“I think it would be helpful to watch the entire run of footage straight through, then go back and have you describe what was happening, and what was being said, while we watch it a second time,” I said.
“Certainly,” Iacona replied. “I’d prefer to let you and Sarah do so while I excuse myself for a moment.” The look on his face spoke volumes of the anguish he’d managed to mask leading up to this moment.
“By all means,” I said, Sarah nodding in solidarity.
“Just press play. It will take you through the entire collection,” Iacona said as he made his exit.
Sarah leaned toward me once our client was out of earshot. “I feel absolutely sick for Jay and his wife.”
“Yeah. He’s keeping a brave face. Knowing there’s a strong possibility of them losing their only child has to be borderline unbearable.” I hit play and the two of us watched as the event unfolded.
The first couple minutes appeared to be nothing more than a banker and his client discussing details of the business loan their scheduled meeting was supposed to be about.
What happened next made Sarah’s head snap back, away from the computer, while letting go a guttural sound. Her reaction made me feel sick in the pit of my stomach.
The suspect, with no visual indicators hinting at what was about to take place, opened the netbook, spun it around so Jay Iacona could see the screen, and brought up a video with what appeared to be an individual bound to a chair. Iacona shot up out of his seat and staggered backwards, inadvertently sending his heavy leather swivel recliner crashing to the floor.
Maybe it was my imagination, but … despite the lack of vivid color on the recording we were watching, I swore I could see Iacona’s face go completely white.
The camera view cycled again, the playback now showing a female bank employee standing in the open doorway of Iacona’s office, probably there to investigate the unusual ruckus made by the overturned chair. Iacona quickly got rid of her, nearly closing the office door in the woman’s face.
The cameras showed the suspect doing most of the talking for the next several minutes, Iacona’s attention locked on the small screen, with what appeared to be a combination of horror and disbelief written all over his face.
It was at this point that Iacona stood up, arms in constant motion as he looked to be arguing with the still-seated suspect. The next shift in camera angles showed the suspect holding a device in front of him, looking as if he were about to hand it to Iacona.
“What is he holding?” Sarah asked. “It looks like one of those video cameras people wear when they’re skiing and stuff.”
“Yeah,” I said, “except the device he’s holding looks twice as big.” Iacona took the object from the suspect and immediately began walking toward the office door.
The screen went blank for a few seconds then resumed, showing Iacona walking across the lobby toward the access door to the employees’ side of the teller line. He carried the device with both hands, holding it out at arm’s length directly in front of his face as he made his way through the bank’s busy public space.
The same woman we’d seen standing in Iacona’s office doorway approached him, her movements slow and tentative. He made what appeared to be a deliberate effort to aim the device directly at her face as they spoke. She turned, entered a code into the access door’s lock, and the pair continued through the doorway.
With another change in camera angles, we looked on as the pair walked up to the bank’s massive vault door. The woman inserted what looked like a key into the door’s mechanism, after which Iacona adjusted his body so he could look at the safe’s dial while maintaining his odd, awkward positioning of the device he’d been given.
Within ten seconds, Iacona had managed to unlock and swing the vault door open. He entered, while his female associate stood outside. The video feed now shifted quickly and constantly through four separate camera angles, allowing us to watch exactly what was going on inside every inch of the vault.
Iacona maintained his eye-level aiming of the device at his associate’s face with one hand, while filling what appeared to be currency transport bags with banded stacks of bills with his free hand. He looked to be concerned about certain stacks, leaving those particular bundles sitting off to the side, while others went directly into the bags.
Iacona filled three separate bags with cash, at which point he stepped toward his associate, handed the bags to her, and after a short conversation headed in the direction of his office.
That’s when the relative calm began to unravel.
No sooner had Iacona’s associate taken her first step inside his office when the lights and video began to flicker, which caused the robber to become agitated. He snatched the device out of Iacona’s hands, motioned for both employees to take a seat, and promptly closed the office door. Now it was the suspect’s arms that were flailing about as he spoke, dividing his attention between the employees, the lobby, and the parking lot outside Iacona’s window.
After a short period of what looked to be a heated debate, Iacona took his place behind his desk. The suspect placed his netbook computer down in front of Iacona, who started working the keys with feverish pace.
He stopped about a minute later, rose from his desk chair, and approached his associate. Whatever the topic of conversation was that then took place between the two, it was obvious, judging by the woman’s constant shaking of her head that she was not on board with it. Eventually Iacona dropped down on one knee in front of the woman.
“Is he pleading with her?” Sarah asked, startling me. The footage was so riveting I’d nearly forgotten she was sitting there next to me.
“Sure looks that way,” I replied.
We watched Iacona get up, walk back to his desk, and grab the computer. He placed it in the woman’s lap, and after a short back-and-forth conversation between them, she spent what was no more than a few seconds typing.
Whatever she’d done seemed to be the magic bullet. Iacona held his hands together high in the air—almost as if he were praying—while the suspect grabbed the netbook from the woman and began working the keyboard himself.
That’s when the video went dark. And stayed dark.
Chapter 3
I turned to say something to Sarah when I realized Jay Iacona was standing behind us. “Jay, for Sarah’s benefit, can you describe again what exactly caused the video to go dark?”
Iacona nodded with a frown. “Lightning struck just before the surveillance equipment stopped recording. The bank has a backup generator for power outages. Under normal circumstances, all of our systems would have continued to operate normally. Unfortunately, the strike caused a massive power spike through Bridgeport’s local lines. The surge overwhelmed Steele’s protection systems. As a result, nothing was isolated from that strike. We currently have people—the wrong people—trying to sort out what happened.”
“The wrong people?” I asked.
“Labor Day weekend.” He clenched his jaw tight before continuing. “You know, I have to give credit to whoever planned this nightmare, hitting us late in the afternoon on the Friday before a long holiday weekend.” Jay closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “Sorry,” he said after a fe
w seconds, “I’m sure you’re not thrilled to be working on a Saturday evening. Anyway, to answer your question, most of our best people are away. And won’t be back until Tuesday morning. Some are unreachable. The bank has been forced to use outside IT help to see if we can catch up. My fear is they’re going to end up doing more harm than good.”
“What exactly was going on in the moments just before the power surge?” Sarah asked.
“A transfer of funds. One million dollars, to be exact,” Jay replied as he walked around to take a seat at his desk.
Sarah’s hand shot up to cover her mouth as she gasped. “Oh my goodness.”
“You haven’t heard the worst part,” he said while tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling “I did everything he asked me to. For the sole purpose of ensuring my son’s immediate release and safe return. I initiated the transfer. And though Courtney fought it, she ultimately went along and validated the transaction.”
“What is Courtney’s official title?” Sarah asked.
“She’s my assistant manager,” Iacona replied, a far off look in his eyes. “I saw Courtney validate that transaction. I … I stood there and watched that transfer go through, exactly as specified, to an account in the Philippines. But as a result of the power surge, when this scumbag requested online confirmation it kept giving him error messages. One after another.” Tears began streaming down Iacona’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said as he rose from his chair, hands trembling. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
I leaned over toward Sarah once I knew Iacona was out of earshot, and in a low voice asked, “What’s your gut telling you? Would you consider him a suspect?”
Sarah looked into my eyes, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged. “Boy, I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Too soon to tell, as far as I’m concerned.”
“He’s clearly distraught. More so than he—w … what was that?” I asked, as a strange series of sounds from the lobby interrupted our conversation.
Sarah looked at me wide-eyed and shot up from her chair. “Jay?”
I stood up and followed Sarah out of Iacona’s office.
“Oh, no,” Sarah shouted as she crouched next to Iacona, who looked to have collapsed onto the hard tile floor. “He’s breathing, but … his pulse seems weak. Carter, call an ambulance.”
Chapter 4
I gave Sarah a look as she slid Jay Iacona’s computer into her shoulder bag, hoping the Bridgeport Police Department’s latest recruit wouldn’t notice and start asking questions.
“You folks don’t have to stick around,” the young officer said. “Chief told me to wait here until a rep from Steele shows to secure the place.”
“OK, thanks,” I replied before turning to Sarah. “Ready to get out of here?”
She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Not much point in sticking around now that Jay is on his way to the hospital.”
“Have a good night,” I said to the officer as he held the door open for us. Once we were a safe distance away from the building I reached out for Sarah’s arm and held her to a stop. “You sure it was a good idea to take Iacona’s computer?”
“He signed a contract with you this morning, right?” she asked.
“He did.”
“Well, this computer has evidence on it that we need to help solve this case.”
I began rubbing the razor stubble on my chin. “Yeah, but . . .”
“But what? We’re not doing anything wrong,” Sarah insisted.
“No way to be sure of that at this point,” I shot back. “Good chance that computer belongs to the bank. A bank that happens to be a multi-national corporation. And one who’s probably going to sue our client for using their funds illegally.”
“Which is a complete load of crap. I still can’t believe they have the gall to go after one of their own employees, under the circumstances,” Sarah said.
“Thing is, we don’t know whether or not Iacona’s innocent. Could be he masterminded the whole gig.”
“C’mon, Carter, seriously?” Sarah shook her head and continued on across the parking lot to my car. I began to follow when she stopped and turned toward me. “If you really believed Iacona was responsible, would you have taken this case just the same?”
“Probably,” I said. “But that’s not the point. Once we drive out of here with that computer and they lock up the bank, there’s no turning back.”
Sarah started walking again, leaving me standing there shaking my head.
“You really are stubborn, you know that?”
“One of the many reasons you fell for me,” she shouted as she climbed in the car.
I got my keys out, having to swallow the fact Sarah made off with property we probably shouldn’t have in our possession. I pulled my phone out to check the time: 9:10 p.m.
Sarah had a smirk on her face as I slid in behind the wheel. “You’re really something,” she said. “You know what kills me? If I hadn’t grabbed this computer and carried it out of the bank, you would have. I think you’re just upset I took it first.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself when I realized there was some truth to her statement, though I wasn’t quite sure it applied to this particular situation. “I’m not sure I like when you do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Make assumptions about what I may or may not do in any given moment.”
“Yeah you do,” she said.
“No … OK. I’m not saying you’re wrong. Maybe I would have taken that computer out of the bank. But not before weighing the pros and cons. Actions sometimes have consequences. It’s all about calculated risk.”
“Are you saying I don’t bother to calculate the risk?”
“Well … did you?” I asked. “In this particular instance, I mean.”
“Yeah. Well, maybe not as thoroughly as I could have,” she said. “I didn’t have much time.”
“The last thing I’m going to do is give you a lecture. You’re smart. And capable of making good decisions. I won’t say another word about it. You made the call on this one.”
Sarah reached over and shook my shoulder. “It wasn’t long ago when you were complaining about Richard, remember? How he didn’t have his head in the game when you two were working that case together in Hawaii. So don’t be complaining now about me doing things exactly the way you’d do them.”
I was about to retort with some smart-aleck comment, but realized in that moment just how happy I was to have her back by my side, doing what we do best together: solving mysteries.
“When you’re right, you’re right,” I said with a smile. “Maybe it just makes me uneasy when it’s you taking the risk instead of me.”
“What difference does it make? You take it. I take it. Same end result.”
I nodded. She was right again. “Yeah, yeah. I guess it’s an adjustment I need to make in my thinking.” I took a second to find the right words to tell Sarah what I was feeling. “In all seriousness, having you back working cases with me is more satisfying than just about anything. And speaking of cases, we’d better put our heads together and get a jump on this one before it gets away from us.”
“Do you know how much cash the suspect got away with?”
“Sixty grand.”
Sarah nodded. “And we’re fairly sure the million dollar overseas transfer went through?”
“Seems to be the case. Which is why Steele is so up in arms. Such a double standard,” I said as I started the car. “If they lose your money, no big deal. But lose theirs? Look out.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Sarah said. “Any thoughts on how we’re going to figure out where Jay’s son is?”
“Not exactly. It’s a little unsettling that these people already have what they want. Or at least we have reason to believe they do. I hate to say it, but generally, once you meet a kidnapper’s demands, a hostage is nothing more than a liability.”
No sooner had I put the car in gear and began rolling out of the bank parking lot when my phone
started chirping. I pulled off to the side of the access drive and checked the screen. “Detective James,” I said. James was a member of the Bridgeport Police Department and worked closely with Sarah and me on many of our local cases. “Evening, Detective. What stroke of misfortune brings your voice to my ear at this late hour?” I asked as I switched to speaker.
James let go a laugh. “Yeah, that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”
“Hey, Detective,” Sarah chimed in.
“Oh, hey Sarah,” James replied. “I want to let you know I just fielded a call from Nelda Iacona.”
“Wife of our latest client,” I said.
“She mentioned that. Which is why I felt comfortable giving her your cell number.”
I was about to respond when my phone indicated another call was coming in. “This must be her trying to reach me now,” I said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“You bet. See ya.”
I clicked over and answered the incoming call. “Carter Peterson.”
“Hello, Mr. Peterson. This is Nelda Iacona, Jay’s wife. I hope you’ll forgive me for dialing you up at this late hour, but I’m simply a mess.”
“Not a problem at all,” I replied. “How can I help?”
“Well, I was told my Jay is riding in an ambulance right now, so I’m fixing to get on down the road to the hospital. Please forgive me for asking, but I was wondering, Mr. Peterson, do you suppose you could meet me down there? I just need to know where we stand with finding my boy.”
“We’re on our way,” I told her. “My partner Sarah will be coming, too. See you shortly.”
“Oh, bless your heart. Thank you kindly, sir.”
I looked over at Sarah as I ended the call. She was staring back with one of her textbook expressions of bewilderment, a complete put-on, designed to make me laugh. “What?” I asked, knowing full-well where this was headed.
“I dunno. Guess I would never have put Iacona with a southern belle. He seems too business-oriented to be with someone so perky.”
