He was gone for a few minutes before coming back. The gates opened, and Max drove through and down the long winding driveway to the main entrance, where Maddie was waiting on the front steps of the residence.
Max stopped the car a few feet away from the steps.
“What do you need?” Maddie asked.
“One last question. Do you own any real estate?”
Maddie looked puzzled. “Like a home?”
“Right. Like a home?”
“No. Not even the house in Jamaica. If not for Mrs. Barrett, I never have a place like this to live. She was always good to me, buying me things all the time, but not the doctor. He’s good to me now, though.” Maddie looked confused. “Why do you ask?”
“Why do you think he’s good to you now?”
She shrugged. “He knows Mrs. Barrett always take good care of me.”
“I just wondered.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tuesday morning Max entered the evidence room. “Good morning, Jasper,” she said when she saw him. She’d always liked Jasper. He was a short, average-looking man she figured to be in his early fifties. He had salt-and-pepper wiry hair that, despite a short haircut, made him look frantic.
“How you doin’, Maximus?” Max always enjoyed it when Jasper called her a silly name.
“Good, Jasper. How are you doing?”
“If I was any better, I’d think I had died and gone to heaven.”
“That’s always good to hear. I need the Barrett evidence boxes.”
“All right. Just sign here on the dotted line, and I’ll let you know where you can find them inside the cage.” He keyed the information into the database and wrote something down on a piece of paper.
“We’re way in the back, I see,” Max said. “I thought you put the newer evidence in the front.”
“I changed the system,” he said walking out from behind the counter to the door of the cage. He removed the large key ring from his belt and unlocked the gate, allowing them access. “Aisle 29, row 233, boxes 1–20. I’ll call my guy and tell him to get the boxes down and deliver them to the room.”
“Awesome. Thank you. I’m sure you did a great job.”
“I did.” He grinned. “Wait until you see the new room. It’s a lot more comfortable and better looking,” Jasper said with pride.
Making her way into the room, she was surprised to see the new look. It was now set up much like a library meeting room, with three rows of mahogany tables that extended the width of the room, a nice change from the Formica tables they’d had before that always reminded Max of a prison visiting room. Max sat down on one of the benches when she heard Riley’s voice.
“You’re getting an early start,” he said before setting down two containers of coffee.
“We have our work cut out for us today, so why don’t you hang your coat up, then stop at your desk to get your laptop, a pad, and something to write with, because we’ll be spending most of the day in the evidence room.”
Riley snorted. “You’re a piece of work this morning,” he said. Riley looked around the room and groaned. “Methinks this is starting out to be another one of those highly caffeinated days, but not you . . . I think you’ve already had way too much caffeine.”
She released a snicker. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Max said. “I started at six o’clock this morning.” Riley frowned. “Hey, I couldn’t sleep,” she said, raising her palms in the air. “It’s a lot to undertake, but I’m anxious to get this show on the road.”
“I can see that.” He grinned.
“So after you hang up your coat, can you grab your laptop on your way back so we can check the database?”
Riley stopped short. “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted the same way Howie had done a million times when she was getting overly aggressive.
Max got the message loud and clear. She hadn’t remembered telling him that was the way Howie had let her know she was getting too bossy and wondered if he was feeling the same way. Maybe she needed to downshift just a little.
When Riley walked out of the room, she slid down in the chair, slipped out of her shoes, then lifted one leg up onto the other. Shutting her eyes, she inhaled deeply, blowing her breath out in a slow steady stream. Riley was right. She was getting way ahead of herself. She continued to control her breathing until she heard him walk back into the room.
“I just checked out Souley Regains, and there seems to be only one in the Bronx, but he’s been dead since 2012.”
Max humphed. “I figured you were going to tell me something like that.” She slipped back into her shoes and stood. “I’m really curious to find out if it was Jeffrey Barrett who opened this account to hide the money from his wife, or if it was Helen who figured this was a foolproof way to stop her husband from taking it away from her.”
“Don’t you think the doc would have noticed money missing out of their account?” His hand gestured. “Hell, I’d be all over it if it was my wife.”
“Yeah, but I can almost guarantee you Mr. Rich Guy doesn’t handle his finances. He pays someone to do that.”
“All right. Then if that’s the case, why wouldn’t the accountant bring it to his attention?”
Max’s face was covered in skepticism. “Maybe Helen Barrett wasn’t the sweet little thing people seem to think she was.”
“Meaning?” he asked.
“Meaning maybe she had something going on with the accountant and she schmoozed him into keeping it quiet,” Max said.
“Hey,” his shoulder rose in a shrug. “I guess anything is possible. But it could have been the good old doc who opened the phony account too.” Riley’s brows rose. “Especially if what we’re thinking is true about people being paid off to adjust medical records. He wouldn’t take the money out of his own account when he knows we’re watching.”
“I suppose. I do want to know what’s going in and what’s coming out of that account.”
“Yeah, and I checked the bank information on the house. It was a cash deal.”
“Hey,” Max said, “I just thought of something. What are Maddie’s sons’ names?”
“Mandu and Fejoku.”
“No Souley, huh?” Riley shook his head. “Is their last name Thomas?” she asked.
“If I’m remembering correctly, I don’t think so.” His finger slid down the information in the file. “Nope, their last name is Curtina.”
Max’s face screwed up. “So where the hell did this name come from? Did they do an eenie meenie miney mo from a list of obituaries?”
“Ha. I gave up a long time ago trying to figure out the human mind,” Riley said. “But I’m curious about what made you think the name was somehow associated with Maddie.”
“Because the name sounds Jamaican.” Max tilted her head back and pondered a thought. “I’m thinking of a few possibilities. Maddie is denying owning real estate. Helen Barrett bought it for her, or maybe the good doc bought it, and used her name, figuring she’d never know about it.”
“There’s no way she could afford the upkeep on the house,” Riley said.
Max’s hand flew up. “There’s no point in speculating, I’m going to call the woman and ask her.”
Max punched in the number while continuing her conversation with Riley. “I really don’t think Maddie would lie to me about that when she was so concerned about having a job after Helen Barrett died.” Max stared at Riley.
Maddie’s voice caught Max off guard. “Maddie, Detective Turner here. I have another question for you. Are you married?”
“Yes. My husband, Souley, he lives in Jamaica with my other children.”
“And his last name is Thomas?”
“No, Regains. I use Thomas for my work visa.” Max gave Riley the thumbs-up sign. “Why do you keep asking me these questions, Detective Max?”
“I was just curious. Okay, thank you.”
“But what does this have to do with Miss Helen’s death?”
“Probably nothing, but the que
stion was on my mind and I thought I’d ask. Thanks.” She disconnected the call. “All right, this is beginning to make sense,” Max said. “Helen Barrett probably opened the account . . .”
“Because she feared for her life or for monetary protection?” Riley said. “Because those are the only two choices.”
“No, they’re not. She could have bought it for Maddie because she was running off with Jack and knew Barrett would fire her.”
“Okay, good point, but why not give Maddie the checkbook when she set up the account?” Riley asked.
“Where do you suppose this Souley would have cashed a check in a third-world country?” Max asked.
Riley shrugged.
“When will you be calling Barrett down to the precinct to talk again?”
“Maybe sooner than you think,” Lieutenant Wallace said, hearing the question upon opening the door. “Barrett is here and wants to talk to you, Max. He’s already given me quite an earful. He said he had to cut his vacation short to come here.”
“Want to come with me, Riley?”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“He’s in Interview Room 1.”
“Let’s go make him squirm a little,” she said, walking toward the room.
“It’s your show, boss,” Riley said and opened the door to the room. Their entrance caused Barrett to stand erect.
“Detective Turner, what the hell is going on? You’re searching my home, my office. What is it you’re looking for and why?”
“I’m surprised to see you here when you’re so busy.” Max jabbed an insult in after all the times she’d been scolded by him because he didn’t appreciate her interruptions.
“You pulled me away from my vacation,” he repeated.
Max ignored his remark. “We’re still investigating the case, Dr. Barrett, and searching for evidence is mandatory. Just remember, nothing is ever sealed in stone until we’ve dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s in a case.”
“How many ways can I tell you? I did not kill my wife!” he said with emphasis.
“Dr. Barrett, you must know that we have to check out every avenue. Regardless of what you think of Jack Hughes, I want to be sure I’m sending the right person to prison.”
“Is there any doubt?”
“I’m working on that.”
“Can you share that with me?”
“Dr. Barrett,” Max said, slanting her head to the side. “You keep asking me to share confidential information with you when I’ve already told you I won’t disclose anything until I finish investigating the case. At that time, you’ll be given a full account of what we’ve done. Just know that by the time we’re done, the guilty party won’t have a chance in hell of beating the rap. Not everything is cut and dried, as laypeople would like to believe. In a high percentage of cases like this, it’s the spouse who’s typically the guilty party.”
Arrogance covered his expression. “So now you’re saying even though you’ve put Jack Hughes behind bars, you’re still checking me out?”
Max and Riley stared him down.
“Dr. Barrett, Jack Hughes is awaiting trial—he hasn’t been convicted. Anything can happen between now and then.”
“I can’t emphasize enough—”
“I know.” Max cut Barrett off and nodded in agreement. “But I have to wonder who you’re trying to convince. Me or you?” She’d heard enough of his so-called devotion to his wife.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
“That, if you’re not guilty, then you have nothing to worry about.” She stopped and stared at him. “Right?” Barrett’s eyes were averted. “Look, I won’t keep you, Doc. I’m sure you have plenty of patients to take care of, and you don’t need me taking up your time, especially when I don’t have much to tell you. I’ll catch up with you when I have more questions.”
“I really wish you could share some of those details with me now, but I guess if you thought I were guilty, you would have arrested me already.” He gave a surly grin.
“That’s an interesting thing to say.”
“I guess I just need something to make me feel better, but I have to trust your investigative skills to figure this out. Thank you for seeing me.”
“You’re welcome. Try to relax, Dr. Barrett. There’s no point in you losing sleep over this. We’ll let you know when we have something substantial to share.”
“Thank you,” he said at the door.
As soon as he was gone, Riley commented, “Nicely handled.”
“Yeah, I was pretty proud of that too. Here I was expecting him to be boisterous, like the lieutenant said, yet he was like a little lamb.”
“He’s getting nervous. I’m sure he’s worried we’re getting close.” Riley fired up his laptop and logged on to the database.
“Well, according to the bank papers,” Riley said, zipping through the various screens to see the documents for the real estate transaction on the New Jersey residence, “it looks like the attorney of record is a John Paterno, who’s located in the Bronx. I think I should call him to find out more, but maybe we should talk to Cory first to see if he knows the guy.”
“Good idea,” Max said. “If he does know him, he’ll probably be able to get more information out of him than we would. Why don’t you give the lieutenant the scoop on what happened with Barrett, and I’ll start searching the database to see what I can find out about Paterno.”
“Thanks, Max. I was beginning to think you didn’t trust me enough to update the lieutenant.”
“Good grief, Riley. Why didn’t you say something? That was never my intent. I guess taking the lead is just a force of habit. Sorry. I swear, Riley, it isn’t that I don’t trust you. I’ll try to refrain from being so militant.”
Riley held up his hand in gratitude. “Thanks.” He strode toward the lieutenant’s office with energetic steps.
Max reached for her phone and called Cory. “Do you know an attorney by the name of John Paterno? He’s in the Bronx.”
“John Paterno . . . oh boy.” Cory released an expletive.
“Is that a yes?” Max didn’t like the sounds of this Paterno, from the noises coming through the phone. “Shady guy?”
“To say the least.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I met him a few years ago at a Lions Club business meeting. He’s as crooked as the day is long. Unfortunately, no one has ever been able to prove it. He has a host of friends in the real estate industry, from title companies, to adjustors, to loan companies, giving loans to people who can’t sustain a mortgage. That’s the kind of crap that happened before the 2008 market crash and caused all kinds of havoc and foreclosures, but he manages to pull those closings off without a hitch. I had a client who had bad credit, was losing his house, and John got him into another mortgage before the bank took possession of the residence, because he wouldn’t have been able to buy another home or anything on credit for the next seven years.”
“But who gave him a mortgage?”
“One of Paterno’s friends holds the mortgage, and after the closing, he sells the mortgage to a bank, and that’s how the vicious circle begins again. If he’s the attorney of record, then you can be sure he couldn’t have cared less about who was signing the papers, so long as he got his money,” Cory said.
“He’s obviously not concerned about his law license either,” she said. Her attention was drawn to the door as Riley came in. “Okay, Riley just walked into the office after talking to the boss. Will you contact Paterno to see what he can tell you about that closing on the New Jersey house? I want to know who was there and who signed the papers.”
“Of course I will.” He sighed. “I’ll get back to you.”
“That’s fine. In the scheme of things, we’ve got plenty to do, so please keep it on your list of things, because I’ll forget.” Cory laughed. “Listen, I have to go. Catch up with you later.” The smile on Riley’s face made her curious. “How’d you make out, Ri
ley?” Max asked, clicking off the call.
“The lieutenant wants us to get the twosome gruesome in here as soon as we finish checking the evidence from their safes.”
“I don’t have a problem with that, so let’s get back to our evidence so we have enough to charge them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Entering the Interstate 495 east on Wednesday morning, Cory eased into the traffic and headed for Rikers Island to see Jack. He had expected the traffic to be heavy, but with the colder weather, not as many people were out riding the highways. It wasn’t long before he veered off onto Interstate 278 east. Thinking about all the things he had yet to do took his mind off the trip, and before he knew it, he was exiting the highway and driving right up to the entrance where a large white sign read City of New York, Correction Department with the words Rikers Island underneath and Home of New York’s Boldest. The sign always gave Cory an unpleasant feeling, especially after he’d borrowed money from his client’s fund. The firm’s partners could have easily voted to send him to jail. He could have been in a cell right next to Jack if his firm hadn’t agreed to the suspension instead.
Walking inside the facility, he showed his credentials and headed for the security line.
“Who ya here to see?” the guard asked.
“Jack Hughes.”
“How you doing, Mr. Rossini?” He heard Malcolm Wright’s familiar voice in the distance. “Going to see one of your clients?”
“Yes, Jack Hughes. How’s my guy doing?”
“He’s not looking too good these days. He doesn’t associate with anyone during meals and stays to himself even when he’s outside.”
“Thanks for sharing that with me. I’ll see what’s going on with him.”
Jack stood when he saw Cory. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Rossini. Thanks for stopping by.” They shook hands. “Got anything new to tell me?” Cory could see Jack’s complexion was sallow. He was tired and thin. “I hope you know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me, my friend, but honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to pay you.”
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