by Lee Perry
“That’s great,” she cut him off, “then I suggest you call him so he can explain the legality of what we’re doing here today. I understand you’re upset over the loss of your mother, but you know what, Henry? You act like you have something to hide.” He was at least half a foot shorter than she was and she bent at the waist, her voice dropping to a murmur, “Is there something you want to tell me?” She looked deeply into his brown eyes and he looked away, still breathing hard. “Because the sooner you do, the better off you’ll be.” She straightened and peered inside the open doorway, “This is a really nice apartment, I know your mother intended to transfer ownership to you, it but the rent must be painfully high and now that her assets are frozen…”
“What?” He exploded, “You can’t! You have no right!”
She regarded him coolly, “It’s the law, Henry, someone murdered your mother, of course we froze her assets. And you… just a lowly bank teller; I’d think you’d want to help us as much as possible, the sooner we can close this case, the better, right?” She watched as he first used his lower lip to remove the sweat that beaded on the upper before he angrily swiped it away with the back of his hand.
“I have nothing to tell you.” He rasped, glaring down the hallway, “I have nothing to say.”
“That’s interesting, because I remember looking through that box and only finding the letters between her lawyer, Stiger, and the bank negotiating how much the jewelry was worth and how much the bank was willing to give her. He must have shredded the letters showing Campbell accessed the vault before Gary did and found it empty.” She heard Mattie shift the phone, “So it was the accountant, huh?”
“It certainly looks that way.” Catherine agreed. “But I have a feeling the bigwigs at the bank were only too happy to overlook the obvious and leave it for Stiger to figure out, especially if they had as strong an aversion to publicity as Helga. The super rich are bizarrely obsessed with keeping a low profile, aren’t they?”
“And don’t forget morally bankrupt.” Mattie agreed. “They’re too weird for me.”
Newburgh, NY
Jordan followed the navigation system in the car to Carroll Campbell’s house in Newburgh, an hour and a half drive from the bureau. She hunched her shoulders, rotating her neck and sighed audibly when she felt the vertebrae pop. She had fervently hoped the simultaneous searches of Hannah Babcock’s many residences would reveal one with blood evidence, left by Hannah’s nosebleed when she fell face first from the fatal blow to the back of her head. Nothing, she moaned silently, no cleaned blood, no suspect heavy object that could have been used to bash in the back of her skull. “Shi…” She stopped herself mid-curse when the navigation system instructed her to turn right, into the driveway of her destination.
In spite of Newburgh’s unfortunate reputation for being the gang and murder capitol of the United States, Carroll Campbell lived in a posh section on the outskirts of the city, and she sighed deeply as she drove up the winding drive, past sweeping snow-covered lawns that would no doubt be lush green in several more weeks. Not bad… and surprisingly classy for a registered sex offender. Catherine had researched his address and Jordan nodded as she pulled in front of the house; That’s it, a three-story Victorian Queen Anne estate, built in the late nineteenth century.
She parked the car and got out, patting her hands over her pockets and waistband as she climbed the steps. Badge, keys, phone, gun… She chanted silently and withdrawing her badge wallet, rang the bell, hearing the low chimes beyond the door. She waited several seconds then rang again and after several more long seconds passed, she returned to the car and rummaging in her shoulder bag for latex gloves, dragged them on her hands. Time to find out if he made a run for it. She returned to the front door, now impatient to discover if Mr. Campbell had skipped town with Helga Lynch’s jewelry so she could issue a bureau alert for him nationwide.
The front door was locked and she walked back down the steps, this time circling around to the back of the house until she saw a set of French doors. Shit, she swore when she saw one door standing open. She quickly pulled her service weapon and as soon as she stepped inside, she swore again, Now that fucking smell is unmistakable. Her nose wrinkled at the stench of decomposing flesh and she proceeded quickly through the house, following her nose. She had entered through a room Campbell probably called the library and holding her gun extended in front of her, tucked her nose and mouth against the upper sleeve of her jacket when she entered the tastefully decorated living room.
Helga’s accountant had been dead at least a week. In life, Carroll Campbell had been a large man but now, his hugely bloated body lay stiffly with thickened limbs that extended spread-eagle from the torso, grotesquely arched. Jordan carefully backed out and into the hallway, careful to retrace her steps lest she destroy any evidence, grateful she could avert her gaze from the swollen tongue protruding from the mouth and eyes bulging from their sockets. She knew he had been dead a week by the blistering on his face and hands, the skin blackened by the process of putrefaction. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and called 911, and then she called Stewart.
New York City, NY
“Okay, got it.” She murmured and clicked open the email. The bureau’s chief forensic pathologist, Dr. Samantha Lucas, had called to tell Jordan she had completed the Campbell autopsy and she hurried to open the attached document.
“So Campbell was bludgeoned to death ten days ago; he was struck nine times on the back of his head with a small bronze figurine.”
“Killed by the same person that murdered Hannah Babcock?”
“It’s possible. Hannah Babcock was so petite it only took one hard smack to kill her whereas the killer of Mister Campbell may have found it necessary to hit him several times to either subdue or deliberately kill him.”
“You mean, based on Campbell’s size?”
“It’s possible, he didn’t fight with his killer, his body had no defensive injuries.”
“He wasn’t expecting it, the killer grabbed that…” Jordan squinted at the photo of the murder weapon, “Is that a dog?”
“An Old English Sheepdog, sitting position, yes, the killer grabbed and held it by the head, using the bottom to strike Mister Campbell. Unfortunately, it was wiped clean.”
“So, no fingerprints...”
“No, but there were some smeared shoeprints, like he stepped in the pooling blood and immediately wiped his shoe on the carpet.”
Jordan sighed, “Okay, thank you, Doctor Lucas.” Jordan hung up the phone and Catherine looked around her monitor.
“No fibers or anything to point to the killer, huh?”
“Smeared shoeprints,” Jordan lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, “but that’s it so far.”
“Well, I’m looking at his financials and his mortgage was underwater at a million and a half and his credit report is pretty bad.”
“So the accountant for the uber rich was crappy at handling his own financial affairs…”
“I also hacked his home computer remotely and guess what I found there?”
Jordan looked hopeful, “I’m afraid to ask.”
“He tried to hide it in his hard drive, but I found a file for an online bank account he owns, and his last two transactions was a deposit for three hundred and twenty thousand dollars he then transferred the following day to an offshore account with the same name.”
She began to grin, “Don’t tell me, let me guess; the name on these accounts are Alton Matthews.”
“You are correct.” Catherine grinned, “Campbell had a nice collection of offshore accounts, and all his user names and passwords were there.” She clicked open Stiger’s client file for Helga Lynch. “Do you think Stiger knew Campbell stole not just Helga’s jewelry but her money too?”
“As soon as he was notified of the missing money he closed that account, he may have known it was Campbell and was just trying to stop him from stealing more without doing anything about it.”
�
��Because he got a cut?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan shook her head, “It seems like a paltry amount for Stiger, why risk it?”
They fell silent, thoughtful for a long moment before Catherine asked, “Could Stiger have confronted Campbell about the jewelry or money or something and killed him?”
“Something had to have happened; I’ll get a warrant to search his car…” Jordan grabbed her phone, “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
When Jordan presented William Stiger with the warrant to search his car, she was unsurprised when he shrugged and handed over his keys. She thanked him and motioned for him to precede her through his office door.
“Oh that’s alright,” he waved her off, “I trust you, I don’t need to watch the procedure.”
“I’m not inviting you to watch, Mister Stiger,” Jordan graced him with a thin smile; “we’re going to have an interview at the bureau while your car is being processed, I have a warrant for that too.” She silently credited him for maintaining a neutral expression and added, “This is just an interview, you may have an attorney present.”
He drew his head back and scoffed, “That won’t be necessary, Agent Hawkins, I believe I can represent myself in this matter.”
Then you have a fool for a client. She smiled sweetly and gestured to the door.
He sat in the interview room looking cool and unflappable and Jordan looked down at her notes, “Let’s return to the matter of your client file for Helga Lynch…” She settled in the chair, crossing one long leg over the other, “how is it possible you never researched for yourself, as Helga’s legal representative, the bank’s vault security video or sign-in book for Helga’s safe deposit box?”
“As I have already explained to you,” he said, his tone condescending, “once it was determined her jewelry was gone, Helga instructed me to settle privately with the bank because she abhorred publicity of any kind.”
“It’s interesting that your client file for Helga Lynch contained no letter from her bank informing you her vault had been entirely emptied of her jewelry…” She tapped up the letter on her tablet and turned it to face him, “and that they knew who the thief was.”
“That’s not true.” He said, not looking at the tablet.
“This letter from the bank’s official record shows they informed you that the last person to enter her vault was Carroll Campbell.” She watched him carefully for a response, “Their records clearly show he entered the vault on her behalf to supposedly inventory its contents.” She waited for a response but he remained silent. “Then Helga sent her assistant Gary Tauscher to pick up that jade bracelet and suddenly the vault was empty.” She sighed heavily, “You knew it was Campbell, Mister Stiger…” Her head tilted to one side and she added, “Bill… can I call you Bill?” He only folded his arms across his chest and she tapped up another letter, “Then hard on the heels of the discovery of that theft, Campbell suddenly and out of the blue, writes a letter to Helga explaining his guilty plea to a sex case involving minors…” She again turned the tablet to face him, “from a year and half before.” Her brow furrowed, “Why wait so long to tell her about that, do you suppose?”
A fine sheen of perspiration began to show on his already shiny forehead, “Really, Agent Hawkins, this is going nowhere, if you insist on…”
Her phone suddenly vibrated and she held up a finger, “I’m sorry,” she pulled it from her jacket pocket, “just a moment.” She saw the caller ID and answered, “Mare?”
“Found it; very small blood smears, probably from his right shoe, on the carpet and floor mat… driver’s side. I’d be shocked if it wasn’t from your victim. If you can get his shoes I’ll test them.”
Jordan inhaled through her nose, feeling her calm professional mask settle into place over the immense relief she felt. “Thanks, Mare, can I call you back in a few?” They rang off and she quickly composed and sent off a text before placing her phone on the table in front of her, “Okay, Bill, you really can stop the pretense now.” He only looked at her but she noted how the color drained from his face, “I just sent off a request for a subpoena to have your shoes examined for traces of blood, including the pair you’re wearing now… You’re not the type to throw out expensive shoes just because you got a little blood on them now are you?” She paused and added, speaking slowly, “There’s blood in your car, Bill… wiped from your shoe when you left Campbell’s house after beating him to death with that bronze dog figurine.”
He stared at her for a long time before he finally snorted and shook his head, looking off at the far wall and beyond. “I told him I knew he was the one who cleaned out her vault… But he knew Helga wouldn’t press charges so I told him he had to tell her about his sex offender status or I’d tell her about that and the jewelry too.” He shrugged, “It was a bullshit letter but he did it… And then he stole that three hundred and twenty thousand… but when I confronted him about it he said he’d tell Helga I was involved with Marvin’s death. She knew he had named both of us in his will and we had been accused of undue influence.”
Jordan pressed her lips together, feeling an eyebrow twitch.
“His version would have been ridiculous, but…” He gestured, helpless, “I was afraid she’d believe him and fire me, so I said I’d overlook it,” he suddenly jabbed his finger for emphasis, “but I still closed that account. She never used it anyway. I thought I could stop him from stealing more, but then he called me to his house to discuss an idea he had. He said he still had the jewelry and had a safe way to liquidate it but he needed my help creating new certificates of ownership.” He snorted, shaking his head, “Said he’d split the proceeds, sixty-forty. I said no and when I tried to leave he called me a pussy!” His face began to color and Jordan asked,
“You were so loyal to Helga, but you never tried to get it back for her.” Jordan shook her head, “Why?”
He shrugged, “She was never going to wear any of it again… she was so old by then…” He repeated, “And I knew she despised publicity of any kind.”
“Yes, everyone keeps saying that.” She wanted to remind him Helga sent Gary to the vault to retrieve a bracelet she intended to give away, but instead asked, “You knew she’d accept it was all gone so, what… you wanted a bigger cut, like seventy-thirty?” He was silent and she added, “You were going to make millions in fees as executor of Helga’s will, why wasn’t that enough? You could have walked away from Campbell, but you didn’t, like when you failed to remove yourself as a beneficiary from Marvin Womack’s will that you wrote.”
Stiger uttered something under his breath and shook his head from side to side, “We both visited him a lot after he retired, but I was the one who was friends with Marvin… for years.” He snorted in disgust, “I don’t know what he saw in Carroll.” He sighed heavily, “He was visiting Marv when he had his last heart attack, and… standing there in his house, after I said no to the jewelry deal he just suddenly blurted out he knew Marv was having a heart attack that day and didn’t call for help.” His eyes began to brim and he gruffly cleared his throat, “He said when Marvin fell to the floor he just watched him gasp for breath and die.” He licked his lips and folded his hands on the table, “He said he was better off.” He murmured softly, staring down at the hands. “He said it was kinder for everyone concerned to let him go… and then he jabbed that fat fucking finger in my face and said he had the stones to do what was necessary, and I didn’t back then and I sure the fuck didn’t now!” His shouted, looking away. “And I… just lost it. He had some hideous piece of shit sculpture on the mantle and when he turned away from me,” he shrugged, “I was so mad… so many years of covering for him… over and over… that arrogant fucking pervert. It was so easy, so quick. I just hit him as hard as I could, and it was so satisfying, I hit him again...” His voice faded and he shook his head again, as if to clear it. “He was such a low life.”
“Okay, now let’s talk about Helga’s day nurse, Hannah Babcock.”
He looke
d genuinely confused, “Why?”
“She was also murdered, Bill, the back of her head was bashed in just like Carroll Campbell’s.”
He shook his head, “I had nothing to do with that.”
You just confessed your ass off about killing Campbell, why stop now? “Bill, it’ll go much easier for you if we talk about her now.”
“No,” he shook his head, “I told you, I have nothing to do with her death.”
Jordan sat quietly with her legs crossed, hands folded neatly on her lap and she let a long minute pass before saying, “Alright then; William Stiger, you are under arrest for the murder of Carroll Campbell.”
He continued to stare down at his hands, “Alright… will I be allowed to post bond?”
“Bond?” Jordan was incredulous and she shot a look of shocked disbelief at the recording technician who looked as shocked as she did. “No, Bill, Carroll Campbell may have been a low life but you are not walking away from this.”
Millburn, NJ
Jordan finished her bedtime sweep of the house, making sure all the windows and doors were locked even though she checked them when they got home. She saw Catherine peeking inside Cameron’s bedroom and whispered, “Is he out?”
“Like a light.” She whispered back and quietly shut his bedroom door. “He had a lot of fun tonight.”
“So did I…”
“I thought you guys were building a zoo.”
“Nope,” Jordan shook her head, “it was a town where people and animals live together.”
“You have experience creating tiny towns populated with small plastic animals?”
Jordan draped an arm around her, “Oh yes, my brother preferred action figures so I got his army men. I had a collection of small animals and I used to set up elaborate… I guess they were kinda’ like Helga’s dioramas, you know? I’d use a pair of my jeans to make hills and build houses with small cardboard boxes or whatever and create little communities.”
