Chapter Twenty-Four
FEDERAL PLAZA, NEW YORK CITY, MONDAY, JULY 15th
Erica interviewed Ted Marx inside a small interrogation room that had a camera and a one-way mirror. Across the hallway, Owens was speaking to Jason Warwick.
Erica was wearing a dark-blue dress. As she entered the room, Marx eyed her as if he were mentally undressing her. During her career with the Bureau, Erica had met a number of celebrities of one type or another, and without fail they were less impressive in person. Ted Marx was the least impressive of all.
“What did it feel like to be a has-been at nineteen, Mr. Marx?”
Marx frowned for a moment, but then the easygoing smile returned. “I was never a has-been. I’m Ted Marx, and I’ll always be Ted Marx. When I die someday far in the future, it will make news all over the world.”
“Is death something you think about a lot?”
“Not just me, honey, we all think about it, and it haunts us our whole lives. I only hope I don’t suffer when it comes for me. There may be eight million stories in the naked city, but they all have the same ending, everybody dies.”
“Not everyone is murdered, like say, Richard Behan.”
“That was a copycat murder, right? You’ve established that?”
“Why are you so eager to have it classified as such?”
“Who’s eager? I was just looking to get a scoop. The whack job killer hasn’t been sending me love letters lately and my numbers are starting to drop.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Richard Behan.”
Marx squinted at Erica as a look of puzzlement came over him.
“I had no relationship with Behan; I never met the guy.”
“So you say, but at one point Richard Behan owned an accounting firm that handled your money. That same firm was alleged to have mishandled your funds. I believe you had been taken for more than a hundred thousand dollars.”
“I remember that, hell, that was a long time ago. You’re saying that Richard Behan was the guy that stole from me?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. I don’t remember the name of the guy that stole the money. He was some loser with sticky fingers, and the accounting firm went bust afterwards.”
“Richard Behan owned a minority interest in that accounting firm, which connects the two of you. Tell me, Mr. Marx, what connects you to the other victims?”
“Not a thing, honey, except they’re part of the story I’m covering.”
Erica smiled. “If there is something, I’ll find it; you can bet on that.”
Across the hall, Owens was taking a softer approach to interviewing Jason Warwick. The true target of his questions was Ted Marx.
“How is Ted Marx to work for?”
“He’s a boss, like any other, they pay little and want much.”
“You don’t sound too happy about working for him.”
“You suspect him of something?”
“I suspect everyone involved in this case, Jason, including you, especially since both you and Ted Marx were on the scene when Luis Cantrell died in Pennsylvania.”
“We weren’t the only ones there.”
“Meaning?”
Jason hesitated, then blurted it out. “I think Heather was there too.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jason said, and bitterness was evident in his tone.
“Are you saying that you saw Heather Gray in Howesburg, Pennsylvania, on the day that Luis Cantrell died?”
“I think so, but I’m not certain, because I only caught a glimpse of the woman I saw that day… but she looked like Heather.”
Owens recalled the red hair that was recovered from the cardboard box, which the food was delivered in to the police station. The DNA results had yet to come back.
“What else can you tell me about Heather?”
“She’s sleeping with Ted Marx; I saw them together earlier today, and they entered his apartment building.”
“Were you spotted?”
“No, Mr. Marx had left something in my car this morning when I dropped him off. When I went around the block to bring it to him, I saw them together.”
“I thought she might be interested in you. That was the impression I got when I saw you two talking in the coffee shop, before you knew my partner and I were there.”
Jason shook his head slowly. “Heather, excuse my language, but she’s a bitch. When we were teens, she put me down every chance she got, and then yeah, lately, she pretended to like me. I don’t know why, Agent Owens, but I think she’s up to something… maybe she and Mr. Marx are in it together.”
“You believe they’re involved with the murders?”
Jason’s face twisted with anguish right before he buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to think, and Heather’s screwed with my mind.”
Beneath the table, Owens had taken out his phone and was sending a text to Erica.
ASK MARX ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH HEATHER GRAY.
“Heather, you know Heather?”
“Answer the question, Mr. Marx.”
“I know her, yeah, so what?”
“How well do you know her? Are you friends? Perhaps lovers?”
Marx recovered from his shock at Erica’s knowledge and smiled.
“I’ve been with Heather, yeah, are you jealous?”
“When is the last time you saw Miss Gray?”
“This morning, she stopped by to say hello.”
“I was under the impression that she might be dating your assistant. Are you saying that she’s dating both of you?”
“She’s been hanging with Jason for some reason, but I doubt she’s sleeping with him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she came to see me with some phony story about not wanting Jason to know about us. She’s probably hanging around him as a way to get back into my life. Like they say, once you’ve had the best, who needs the rest.”
Erica rolled her eyes as she asked, “Before today, when was the last time you saw Heather?”
Marx shrugged. “It had been a while, oh wait, I remember. I ran into her at a party I went to at Christmas. She was almost as drunk as I was that night.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“She was trying to be an actress when I knew her well a few years back. Now she writes business plans or something like that, and she grew up somewhere upstate, I think.”
“Upstate New York? Not here in the city?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what she told me once… why does that matter?”
Erica ignored Marx’s question and sent off a text to Owens.
ASK JASON HOW HE MET HEATHER WHEN THEY WERE YOUNGER.
“No, I didn’t say that we grew up together, Agent Owens. I said that we knew each other when we were teens. I also said that there was a time when I didn’t live in the city, and that’s when I met Heather.”
“Where was this?”
“Kingston, New York. After my dad died, my mom worked her ass off trying to keep the payments up on the apartment we owned. She did it too, but then she got sick later on and fell behind. After a few more years, we were foreclosed on and had to move out of the city. Mom declared bankruptcy and was helped out by an old friend from college who let us stay with her. That’s where I met Heather.”
“How long did you know her back then?”
“Less than a year, then Mom got a good job and moved us back to the city, in a much smaller apartment.”
“Tell me what you know about Heather?”
“We never hung out, so I wasn’t close to her or anything, and she was mean… she still is.”
“How is she mean?”
“She’s been playing with me emotionally, making me think that she liked me.”
“Teasing you?”
“Yes, and maybe it’s not her fault, maybe she’s just screwed up because of what happened to her when she was younger.”
“Something happened to her?”
“Heather was raped when she was fifteen.”
Inwardly, the revelation that a possible suspect in the murders of three child molesters was a juvenile victim of rape electrified Owens. However, he gave no outward sign that the news was relevant.
“Was her assailant ever caught?”
Jason made a slight shrugging motion with one shoulder. “I don’t know. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Owens knew the name of Craig Rubio’s victim, and it wasn’t Heather Gray. Whoever the man was, he could be in danger of becoming the next victim. Given the long red hair found in Pennsylvania and her history as a rape victim, Heather Gray was now Owens’ pick as a top suspect in the case.
“Jason, don’t reveal any of what we’ve spoken about today to Ted Marx, understand?”
“I won’t say anything, but do you think he could be involved with the murders somehow?”
“I don’t know, but you keep your eyes open and call me if anything unusual happens. Also, call me immediately if Heather makes contact with you again. Agent Novac and I will want to speak with her.”
“I’ll call.”
Owens stood. “Thank you for your cooperation, Jason. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else from you.”
“You won’t have to get in touch; as crazy as Mr. Marx is about this story, you’ll probably see us everywhere you go.”
“My partner will be thrilled,” Owens said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
WASHINGTON, DC, MONDAY, JULY 15th
If anything, the neighbors of Emily Tulane were more generous with their praise of Nikki Varona than the old woman had been.
Nikki had tutored their younger children for free, had shoveled the walkways of the elderly, and was always collecting money for one charity or another. As Mrs. Tulane had said, Nikki volunteered at a nursing home, the one where her grandmother had passed away.
All in all, they were not painting the picture of a blatant thief. Troy tried to keep an open mind, but he had difficulty thinking of Nikki as a suspect.
Still, the woman was on the run and she was seen taking the money and hard drive from the safe. Those were facts.
Damon Webb made contact in the late afternoon and asked to speak with them. Although he was around fifty, Webb looked like he could handle himself in a fight with two other men. His arms were huge, he was at least six-foot-six, and his shaved head gleamed under the stark lighting of the conference room they spoke in.
“I heard what Nikki Varona is being accused of,” Webb said. “I also heard that there was talk going around that I put her up to it.”
“There has been speculation, yes, given your past, and your current associations,” Colleen said.
Webb smiled at Colleen, revealing two gold teeth. “My current associations? Meaning that I hang out with brothers who are still in the gang? That’s true, and it’s because they’re my family, my blood. I’ve also kept many other members of my family from joining the gang, like my son, Hakeem. I think this is all a scam of some kind to make people believe he’s crooked.”
“Who would be behind such a thing, your son’s opponent in the race?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Do you know where Nikki Varona is, Mr. Webb?”
“I do not, and I’ve asked the employees she works with and they haven’t seen her either.”
“How did you learn about the theft?”
“Through my son. A reporter called and asked him to comment about illegal campaign contributions. The woman wouldn’t say who tipped her off, but she knew about the theft of customer files at that brokerage firm. She also mentioned that some cash was taken.”
Colleen frowned at that information. With the media sniffing around, the case could become news and draw more attention than warranted. On the other hand, if Nikki’s picture was shown on TV it would make it harder for her to stay out of sight.
“The amount of money stolen was small compared to the value of the customer files. I would guess you would know someone that could broker a deal for them.”
Damon Webb ran a hand over his face slowly; it was a gesture that spoke of his displeasure at being accused of involvement in the crime.
“I’m not in that world anymore, Agent Regan. I own a chain of fast food chicken joints. They made me a millionaire and I don’t plan to ever spend another day in prison. My son wouldn’t have anything to do with this either. If Nikki Varona took those records, she did it on her own.”
Colleen stood. “I want to thank you for coming in, Mr. Webb. You can tell your son that we’ll get to the bottom of this. If you and he are innocent, then you have nothing to worry about.”
Webb shook his head in disagreement. “Innocent or not, if the public thinks my son is stealing to support his campaign, he won’t stand a chance of getting elected. If the truth doesn’t come out soon, this could ruin my boy.”
Colleen and Troy walked Webb to the elevator after taking his contact information and leaving him a way to get in touch. Once they were back at their desks, they shared their impressions of the man.
“He seemed truthful to me,” Troy said. “And he didn’t have to come see us.”
“I was thinking the same thing. He also seemed concerned about his son.”
“If this case makes the news, Nikki’s reputation will be ruined along with Hakeem Webb’s,” Troy said.
“Maybe someone put her up to this to do just that. We need to find out if Nikki is connected to Webb’s opponent in any way.”
Troy puffed out his cheeks. “I still don’t see her doing this. We’re missing something.”
“We’re missing something all right, and it’s our only suspect, Nikki Varona. We need to find her. Whatever is going on, she’s the key.”
“Maybe it’s worth going back to the brokerage office and talking with some of her coworkers. I know she didn’t work there for very long, but it’s possible one of them knows something.”
“The police interviewed them, but yeah, it’s conceivable something was missed. While you’re doing that, I’ll try to find a connection between Nikki and Webb’s opponent.”
Troy grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the elevator. Nikki had to be found, otherwise, they might never get to the truth.
Troy was two blocks away from the brokerage house and stopped at a traffic light when he spotted Nikki’s boss, Guy Tyler. The young man was standing outside a restaurant and having an intense discussion with an older man dressed in work clothes.
Tyler looked about as if ill at ease by having the discussion out in the open. He was attempting to calm the other man down by patting the air with his hands.
The older guy, who was balding and wore a graying beard, kept talking. After the light turned green, Troy pulled to the curb across the street, took out his phone, then began filming the argument. It ended moments later when the older guy jabbed a finger at Tyler before turning and stalking off. The bearded man walked over to a blue van that had the name of a locksmith on its side, DC Lock & Safe. There was also a slogan. There’s not a safe we can’t open.
An open safe was at the center of the case, and one of the main participants in the drama was just observed arguing with a locksmith. Troy changed his mind about talking to the employees of the brokerage. He merged back into traffic and followed the locksmith’s van.
The locksmith was named Al Cooper. He was sixty-three, long-divorced, with one daughter, who lived in Canada. Cooper had done time for safecracking over twenty years earlier before becoming a locksmith.
Troy Carson knew none of this when he entered Cooper’s shop to talk to him. He also had little reason to suspect that Cooper and Guy Tyler were involved in anything shady. That all changed when he flashed his badge and asked Cooper to answer a few questions.
The color left Cooper’s face as he staggered back a step, as if his knees had gone weak. After swallowing hard several times, Cooper sa
id four words. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Troy gave him a puzzled look. “I haven’t accused you of anything, sir. I’d just like to ask you a few questions.”
“Not without a lawyer.”
Troy held up his hands. “Calm down, I’m leaving now, okay?”
Cooper kept staring at him, as sweat began to bead on his scalp and forehead.
Troy left the shop and returned to his car, where he called Colleen. When he explained to her what he had witnessed, along with sending her the short video of the argument he’d filmed on his phone, she said that it was interesting. When he described Al Cooper’s reaction, she agreed that it bore looking into.
“This doesn’t mean your girl will be off the hook; she still took the hard drive from that safe.”
Troy sighed. “She’s not my girl; she’s a suspect in an embezzlement case.”
“Uh-huh, I saw the way you were looking at those pictures of her.”
“You’re teasing me, right?”
Colleen laughed. “I am, but it’s all true too.”
“What can I say, the woman is beautiful. If she’s guilty, I’ll have no problem handing her over to the cops.”
“Okay, Romeo. Are you still going to reinterview the brokerage staff?”
“I think I’d rather talk to Guy Tyler again. I’m curious how he’ll react when I ask him about his locksmith friend.”
“In that case, I’ll meet you there. We should have info on the locksmith by the time I join you.”
“You don’t trust me to do the interview alone?”
“It’s not that, but I’d like to see Tyler’s reaction as well. Besides, I did all the talking the first time; having you come at him while I stay silent may throw him off balance.”
“You think he may not be the innocent victim he claims to be?”
“Let’s just say that I don’t like coincidences. The main witness in a case involving a safe who later has an argument with a man who specializes in safes, that’s a coincidence. Maybe it’s nothing, we’ll see.”
The Appointment Killer Page 11
