Congressman Parnell.
Twenty-five minutes later, they arrived at the campaign office, on the ground floor in one of the high rises in the Financial District. For Lease signs plastered in the windows were now covered over with Reelect Parnell signs. Casey pulled open the glass door then held it for Al. Inside, a pretty brunette woman in her twenties sat at a desk facing the front door. “May I help you?” She smiled.
Casey glanced around the near-empty space. She was the only person present, although there were several desks besides hers in the room, but also a couple of closed doors at the back, possibly private offices. “We need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“That would be the campaign director, Roy Webber. May I tell him what this is regarding?”
“I’m Sergeant Kellog. My partner, Sergeant Krug. We’re here about Trudy Salvatori.”
Her pert smile faded.
Al’s expression turned sympathetic. “How well did you know her?”
“Trudy?” Her glance strayed to one of the empty desks, where someone had left a bouquet of yellow roses. “I know she worked hard on the campaign. Always the last one to leave. But other than that?” She sighed deeply. Then, as though remembering her job, she picked up the phone, keyed in a number, and said, “There are two police detectives here to see you.”
A moment later, a dark-haired man in his forties stepped out of an enclosed office from the back then crossed the room toward them.
Politician in training, Casey thought. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect tie, and perfect suit. And perfectly bland smile as Casey identified himself and Al to the man.
“Please. If you’ll step into my office.”
He led them back to his office, closing the door behind them. “This must be about Trudy. Have you made progress in the case?”
“Little by little,” Casey said. Then taking a lesson from Al’s playbook, he asked, “What can you tell us about Trudy? How well did you know her?”
“Oh. Well, she was a good worker. Devoted to the campaign cause.”
“Did she come in often?”
“During the week, yes. Usually late mornings. She handled the finances.”
“Finance director?”
“A fancy title for the person who issued checks, paid out petty cash, that sort of thing. But she also helped with fund-raising. Putting together dinners, gatherings. She worked tirelessly for the cause.”
“Did you ever associate with her outside the campaign?”
“No. Other than in here, I didn’t know her at all.”
“Mr. Webber, I hope you don’t misconstrue this next question, but do you know any reason at all why someone would have killed Trudy? Something that might have had to do with this office?”
“This office?”
“Yes.”
“No. Of course not. Everyone here loved Trudy.”
“There haven’t been any problems here? Nothing odd happening the days or weeks leading up to Trudy’s death?”
“I—I don’t understand,” he said, his gaze shifting from Casey to Al and back. “I mean, no. Nothing. But wasn’t she killed by that man at the Presidio? Are you saying someone else killed her?”
“We’re just trying to be thorough,” Casey said. He pulled out his notebook, turning to the page of notes from his bank interview. “Any chance you ever heard the name Margie Foulke?”
“No. It doesn’t sound familiar at all.”
“Marcie Foulke?” When he shook his head, Casey said, “She cashed several checks written on the campaign account.”
“A vendor possibly? We write a lot of checks. Carlotta would be better able to tell you.”
“Who’s Carlotta?”
“The treasurer.”
“Perfect. Can you take us to her?”
“Now’s not a good time. We’re extremely busy.”
Casey and Al glanced outside the office onto the main floor, where the receptionist was reading from a paperback novel, and Al said, “Doesn’t look busy.”
“Trust me. We are. Perhaps we can reschedule to a later time.”
“Who else works here?” Al asked.
“Ann,” he said, nodding out the door toward the receptionist. “And Carlotta Tremayne. The treasurer.”
“Then Carlotta would be the one who can help us go through the campaign financial records. Along with phone records and last but not least, a search of Trudy Salvatori’s desk.”
“Actually,” Webber said, walking over to a file box on a shelf against the wall, “everything from Trudy’s desk is right here.” He patted the top. “I emptied it out after…Well, it’s all here. You’re welcome to it.”
“Thank you,” Casey said, thinking this was going better than planned.
But then Webber said, “As for the rest of it…With Trudy gone, we’ve had to double up the workload. And the volunteers are due any time. Perhaps you could come back later in the week?”
Al looked at his watch. “Let me check my schedule. Gee, sorry. That’s not going to work. Give him the papers, Kellog.”
Casey pulled the warrant from his portfolio notebook. “The court orders, allowing us to search.”
Roy Webber took the papers, looking them over. He reached up, pulled at his tie as though it was suddenly choking him. “Search what, specifically?”
“As Sergeant Krug said, phone and bank records. I’m assuming there are some sort of check registers or accounting books?”
“There are. What, exactly, are you looking for?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
Al didn’t usually lose patience, but clearly that wasn’t the case here. “You did catch the part where we mentioned we’re running a murder investigation?”
“And I’m running a campaign office. Do you realize what that’ll look like to have you camped inside here?”
Al’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. “Take care of this, will you?” he said to Casey, then stepped from the office, saying, “Krug…Yeah. Hold on. Let me get to a place I can talk…”
The moment Al left, the manager crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry. I just can’t allow you to run about unchecked here on the premises. You have to understand how it will look.”
And Casey thought, What would Al do?
Unfortunately this wasn’t the sort of neighborhood where drug dealers hung out on street corners and one could threaten to send in narcotics. Political offices and the people who ran them were a lot more sophisticated.
And then it hit him. He offered what he hoped was a benign smile, the sort Al would give. “I understand,” he said. “We do try to be low key in these high-profile cases, so hopefully the press won’t pay much attention to us camping out front, waiting for you to close up shop. Then we’ll come back in after hours—well, after posting uniformed officers inside and out to make sure evidence isn’t tampered with or destroyed.”
The man looked down at the warrants. “Can you wait here one moment?”
“Sure.”
He opened his door, then crossed the outer office in several long strides, knocking sharply on a closed door before disappearing inside.
Al returned just then. “What’d I miss?”
Casey told him.
“Seriously? You threatened them with the press?”
“How’s that any different than the drug dealers on the corner?”
“Because the people in those cases weren’t personal friends with the captain who has the chief’s ear who can sign the transfer orders moving us from investigations to some godforsaken beat working midnights.”
“What would you have done?”
“Called for uniformed officers to stand by while we searched. Only I would’ve left out any mention of the press. That never goes well in these s
ituations.”
“Maybe he won’t notice.”
“The guy’s paid to notice that stuff. Let’s just hope he doesn’t mention it to the congressman.”
And no sooner were the words spoken than who should come walking in with the office manager but Congressman Parnell. “Sergeants Krug and Kellog, isn’t it? What’s this about notifying the press?”
Al said, “A bit of a misunderstanding, sir. What my partner was trying to say was that we were hoping to be discreet in all our dealings, so as not to cause your office any further—”
“Cut the bullshit,” Parnell said. “Tell me what you’re searching for, and I can save the trouble of hours of ripping my campaign offices apart. That way we can resume business, and you can get back to finding the real killer. Who is not someone in this office, I assure you.”
“We’re going to need the accounting books, financial records, et cetera. And phone records. It’s all in the search warrant we gave your office manager.”
“This way,” he said, then led them to the adjoining office, knocking on a closed door, then opening it. “Carlotta, sorry for the interruption. These investigators need to see the books.”
The gray-haired accountant looked at them over the rims of her gold-framed glasses. “Any particular dates?”
Casey said, “From the time this office opened and Trudy worked for you.”
“Trudy?” She appeared shocked, and her gaze flew to Parnell’s.
“It’s okay. Just give them what they need.”
“Of course. I’m just—That poor, poor girl…” She took a breath, then swiveled in her chair toward a shelf behind her where she pulled out two large green clothbound books. “These are the check registers Trudy kept. She would, um, give them to me after each day, and I would enter the expenses into the computer. Deposits and withdrawals I enter right into the database the moment I receive receipts, checks, or expenses from petty cash. I—You’ll just have to excuse me,” she said, her eyes pooling with tears. She grabbed a tissue from a box on her desk. “I’m normally very organized, but—You must think I’m heartless. Feeling sorry for myself when it was Trudy who was killed. She was such a sweet woman. Always so helpful…”
Congressman Parnell put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re all affected by it. Carlotta, though, worked very closely with Trudy.”
“I did. And now I need to replace her…I—I’m left trying to piece together her accounts and records. I don’t even know where to look…”
The tears started anew, and Casey realized he needed to distract her in order to get her back on track. “I’m sorry. What exactly is the difference between your job and what Trudy did?”
Congressman Parnell answered. “Trudy handled the day-to-day monetary issues. Petty cash, checks written to vendors, that sort of thing. Carlotta did the heavy banking. Expenditures and contributions that she reported daily to the FEC.”
“Daily?” Al said. “That’s gotta be time-consuming with that much money going in and out.”
Carlotta nodded as she dabbed the tissue at her eyes. “It is and there is,” she replied. “But it’s a rule, so that your opponents will know what you’re spending. Transparency.”
“Got it,” Al replied. “Which means you’d know if there was anything untoward going on with the money?”
“Well, yes. That’s my job, after all.”
“And you’d notice if someone, say, had skimmed off ten thousand dollars?”
“I think I’d notice that right away.”
“Anyone write a check for ten K?”
“I don’t believe so. I’d remember an amount like that.”
“Ten thousand?” Parnell said. “What does this have to do with Trudy’s murder?”
“Mr. Parnell,” Al said. “Is there anyone in this office who might have wanted to kill Trudy Salvatori?”
“This office? I was under the distinct impression her killer is lying in your morgue.”
“And we believe he is, too. Only he may not have been acting alone.”
“Everything here is transparent, including my accounting books. So what does Trudy’s murder have to do with my campaign accounts?”
“We believe,” Al said, “that someone paid Darrell Fife money to kill Trudy Salvatori. Possibly someone from this office.”
It was a moment before the congressman spoke. His gaze swung from Casey and Al to Carlotta, whose hand went up to cover her mouth. “This is baseless,” he told her. “I know it is.” And then to Casey and Al, he said, “What would make you think it came from my office?”
“Someone from the bank recognized a woman who we believe gave the killer, Darrell Fife, money that may have come from this office.”
Roy Webber pushed farther into the office. “That’s insane. No one from this office dealt with that man.”
“We’ve connected the money given to Fife to this office. She cashed checks drawn on the congressman’s campaign account.”
A vein pulsed in Parnell’s temple, but he appeared outwardly calm. “That’s impossible.”
“Sir,” Roy Webber said. “We need to speak privately. Now.”
It was a moment before Parnell moved, his gaze locked onto Al’s. “If you’ll excuse us,” he finally said. He followed his office manager from the room, leaving them alone with Carlotta, whose gaze lingered on the empty doorway
She finally turned her attention to Casey and Al. “No one here would do anything like that.”
“Ma’am,” Casey said, hoping to get what they needed before more interruptions. “Is there any way you can look up two things for us before you turn over the records? Any checks drawn for ten thousand dollars.”
“Of course.”
She booted up her computer, typed in the amount she was looking for. The search results showed no matches. “Nothing for ten thousand.”
Al said, “Maybe a couple of five-thousand-dollar checks?”
Again, nothing.
Casey opened his notebook and read the name given to him by a teller. “Any chance you know anything about a Margie Foulke? Or a Marcie Foulke?”
“The name’s familiar…” She entered that into the search bar, hit Enter. A list of checks written popped up onto the screen. “She’s a vendor. And it’s Margie. With a G.”
Casey scanned the totals. They all seemed to be for small amounts. Mostly in the one- or two-hundred-dollar range. “What’d she vend?”
Carlotta accessed a different screen. “Looks like mostly Internet ads.”
Al leaned over for a closer look at the numerous entries. “That all the checks written to her?”
“It is.”
“Any chance you can print that out for us?”
She did as asked, then picked up several sheets of paper from the printer, handing them to Al, who handed them to Casey. “What else do you need?”
Casey gave her a flash drive he’d brought for that purpose. “All the records, actually. And any written ledgers used for check-writing and accounting purposes.”
She inserted the flash drive into her computer, and he watched as she copied the files onto it right about the time the congressman returned.
“Gentleman,” Parnell said, “I hope you won’t misconstrue this as my not cooperating with your investigation in any way, but I’ve just spoken with my attorney on the phone, and he’s advised me and anyone from this office to end any discourse until he’s present.”
Casey glanced at the folder of text messages that Al was holding, wondering when the best time to bring that up might be.
Al, however, didn’t seem perturbed by the interruption. “No problem,” he said. “We’ll finish gathering the records, do a search of Trudy’s desk contents and anywhere else she might have worked, then get out of your hair. As long as you agree to have everyone come down to the Hall for an interview. Today.”
/> “Everyone?” Parnell asked.
“Everyone. Including you. Feel free to bring your attorney.”
THIRTY
Jenn was finishing her political roundup report when the phone rang. Already behind, she considered letting it go to voice mail but answered it at the last second. “Barstow.”
“It’s Ann. Check your texts.” The line went dead.
Jenn dropped the phone into the cradle, pulled out her cell, and stared at the blank screen, wondering, Ann Who? “That’s weird.”
Taryn rolled her chair back until she was even next to Jenn. “What’s weird?”
Suddenly Jenn’s phone screen lit up. She scanned the message, realized exactly which Ann it was, then read it again just to make sure she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
Taryn eyed her. “You gonna share?”
“The receptionist at Parnell’s campaign office,” she whispered. “The police just served a search warrant for bank and phone records on the Salvatori murder.”
“You’re kidding…”
Jenn handed her the phone.
Taryn read it. “Would she be willing to talk?”
“She’d so get fired if anyone found out.”
“Fired? Once this gets out, it’s not like she’s even going to have a job. Parnell’s election is over.”
This had to be related to what she’d overheard in that interview room while waiting for Casey yesterday. Just a few short seconds of conversation before he and Sergeant Krug closed the door to the adjoining room to speak with that witness. Ten thousand dollars hidden by the suspect’s mother. Which is why she wasn’t at all surprised when over thirty minutes later, she was still sitting in that room listening as people came and went next door, hearing the flash of a camera as a uniformed tech took photos.
She could well understand why Casey had forgotten she was there. Or why he’d sent another sergeant to accompany her to pick up the videos of Bella she’d saved to her laptop.
What she hadn’t dared do was mention to anyone here in the office what she’d overheard. Found money was one thing, but it did little good without linking it to someone in particular.
The Last Good Place Page 18
