“Of course, I do, Mr. McGuire, but I highly doubt that care includes a sleepover in a home that belongs to Madeline Thomas, Dr. Barrett’s maid, do you?” She showed him all the photographs they had from their searches. “When we first questioned the senator and the doctor, they both made false claims about everything, including when they met, but now we have the proof.”
“You’ve obviously had Dr. Barrett under surveillance. Do you have any photographs of them in bed together?” McGuire asked.
“If I may intrude here, Mr. McGuire,” Riley spat out, “you’re passing this off as nothing by making an excuse for everything we have. Dr. Barrett may have you on his side right now, but I can assure you, we have enough evidence to put him away for a long time. Make no mistake: we will be taking advantage of the hours we have left to hold your client while we gather more incriminating evidence, even if we have to get an extension.”
“And what are the charges?” McGuire asked.
Max stepped in. “First-degree murder, fraud, conspiracy, and that’s just for starters. We’re not talking menial offenses here, Mr. McGuire, we’re talking major felonies.”
“And my client explained this to you, Detectives. This woman has tried every way to get my client into her life but hasn’t been successful other than having him care for her daughter.”
“Is that a fact? With all due respect, Mr. McGuire, that’s a fabrication and you know it.” Max displayed Helen’s handwritten note.
McGuire read the note. “Again, Detective, this proves nothing. You know the Barretts were having marital problems. Mrs. Barrett probably wrote this out of spite after my client froze their assets and simply forgot to get rid of it after she agreed to remarry my client.”
“I highly doubt that, Mr. McGuire, but just so you’ll know, we found a key to a safe deposit box, and I suspect we’re going to prove that the renewal of vows was simply a sham.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Barrett shouted. “Helen and I were madly in love that morning.”
“You mean, so in love that you couldn’t wait to buy another Lamborghini the day after her death, when you could have used her Mercedes that was unharmed in the carriage house garage? So in love that you went back to work that same day? Is that the love you’re talking about?”
“You don’t know what either of the Barretts felt,” McGuire fired back. “You’re playing a guessing game.”
“Well, you’ve got me there, Mr. McGuire, but this note confirms Mrs. Barrett wasn’t sure she could trust her husband, and this was her way of evening out the score. In addition, Mr. McGuire, did Dr. Barrett tell you he was skipping out of the city for the Republic of Macedonia, a country that has no extradition treaty with the US, and that he was impersonating Souley Regains on his passport as well as with a checking account? A checking account Helen Barrett had opened as insurance for her maid, Maddie, and her family’s future. She even purchased a home in New Jersey to go along with that insurance—the love nest where the doctor and the senator were shacking up.”
“Maybe the maid gave him permission to use it.”
“Mr. McGuire, Madeline Thomas has no knowledge of any of this.”
It was obvious McGuire’s patience was running thin by the way he kept glancing over at his client, then back to her. “You have to know, as a world-renowned surgeon, my client is recognized no matter where he goes if he uses his real name. He must use a false identity if he wants to enjoy himself when he travels. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Well, hell, that explains everything!” Max’s hand bounced off the table. “Unfortunately, using the Souley Regains identity wasn’t just for travel purposes, because Dr. Barrett used this identity for other things as well, like paying out a hundred grand to a fictitious company that was to have catered a political event for the senator, an event that never actually took place. Can you imagine our surprise when we found what we first thought to be a deposit from the senator’s campaign fund into the Souley account for this exact dollar amount, but now we’re questioning whether it was a double payment to M. C. Party Planners? We believe Dr. Barrett paid the M. C. Party Planners for killing his wife, and the senator paid the same party planner for fudging the records for the illegal heart transplant, all one day apart. How do you explain that?” she asked.
“I presume you have proof of this, Detective?”
“Not at the moment, but I will. You can count on it, Mr. McGuire.”
“Detective, tsk, tsk. You know better than to play this game with me.”
She chuckled as he held up her hand. “Oh, trust me. This is no game to me. By the way, Mr. McGuire, do you know who this Souley guy really is?”
“A made-up name, I presume.”
“Nope. It’s the husband of Mr. Barrett’s maid, who resides in Jamaica.” McGuire glanced at his client again, making it obvious he hadn’t been told about the things Max was presenting as evidence. Pursing his lips, McGuire held his hand up. “Detectives, can we reconvene a little later? I haven’t had much time to discuss your allegations with my client.”
“Of course.” She pressed a buzzer, and two uniforms entered and cuffed Jeffrey Barrett and escorted him out of the room. “Enjoy your evening, Dr. Barrett.” Max smirked, and Barrett’s expression threw daggers at her.
“Leigh,” Barrett yelled out. “Get me out of this hellhole.”
“Jeffrey,” McGuire warned, and nodded at the detectives on his way out. “Good day, Detectives.”
Max flopped into the chair and blew out a large breath. Riley was grinning from ear to ear. “You know, Riley, I used to hate it when attorneys would try to make me look bad when I was arresting their clients, but not anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“Because that sharp attorney who just walked out of here is the one who taught me a valuable lesson. I lost a case because he was fast on his feet and managed to shoot holes in my evidence. The case was lost, and the Mafioso I was trying to get convicted was released.”
She groaned and pushed herself out of the chair again. The two almost ran into Lieutenant Wallace as they headed out the door.
He was smiling at Jeffrey Barrett in handcuffs, walking down the hall with a uniformed officer and not looking very happy about it. “Well, it looks like you got your man?”
“Not completely. There are still some other things to check. We’re off first thing in the morning to get the heart transplant record boxes picked up.”
“I didn’t get a call from their legal department confirming that.”
“But your secretary did and called me.”
He shook his head, “Boy, I don’t know what I’d do without that woman. She runs a tight ship.”
“Yes she does!”
“Go sic ’em, tiger.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“You know you’re wasting your time, don’t you?” a well-dressed woman said when Max and three uniforms walked into the department and handed her the subpoena for all the boxes containing the heart transplant records.
Checking her nametag, Max realized she was talking to Melanie Chambers, who apparently had returned to work. “I hope you’re right, Mrs. Chambers,” Max said. “But that’s what we need to find out. Will you be around if I have questions?”
“All day, Detective. I have a lot of work to do.”
Max’s heart ached for the woman, knowing what she must have gone through after her daughter had been killed, but it didn’t change the fact that she may have colluded with Barrett. She’d be charged just like any other criminal. Max observed signs of strain and depression on her face. But it was her dark eyes that got Max the most. They appeared sunken, with dark circles underneath.
“This is nothing personal, Mrs. Chambers. We’re just doing our jobs—the same way you do yours. We’ll return these boxes as soon as we’re done with them,” Max said and turned to leave.
Melanie stepped back and simply stared as the uniforms placed boxes on his hand truck to carry out of the building. Melanie shook
her head in disgust as Max walked away. “What a waste of taxpayers’ money,” she said. “And what if I need something from the records?” she called out to Max.
“I’m sure you have a backup measure in place.” Max turned her attention to the uniforms helping. “Guys, make sure you get all the boxes from June 2012 to the current day.” Max gave Melanie a slight wave. Following the cart of boxes down the service elevator and into the parking lot, Max watched the uniforms load the boxes into a police van, when she noticed Riley on a call. He disconnected and walked over to her.
“I just spoke to the lieutenant, and he said a member of the Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network is en route to JFK International from Virginia to get involved with the transplant records. They think we’re on a fishing expedition.”
Max’s lip curled. “We can’t worry about what they think! Based on Helen Barrett’s note and the senator’s confession, we have a host of people involved in this conspiracy, and we’re going to jail every one of them. There’s no way just one or two people are involved in this ruse. You remember the saying no man is an island? Well, I’m pretty sure there are a few people shaking in their boots with our investigation.”
Riley nodded. “I agree, and I can’t wait to go through these records. Are we going to have help?”
“Probably not.”
Cory came to mind, and she wished he could help them go through the records, but she knew better than to ask. The fact that Cory had led them down the right path, opening avenues they probably would have found eventually but not as quickly without his help, had her a bit resentful. He deserved to be around for the final stages. She knew that was irrational thinking on her part. With all the evidence they needed to go through, she wouldn’t be able to see him for a couple of days. A churning feeling punched her insides, but she pushed it aside—she had more important things to worry about than her personal life. If she was supposed to have a relationship with Cory, then it would happen on its own. It wasn’t like she was going to fall apart if it didn’t work out. Hell, who was she kidding? For the first time in her life, she’d found someone who was perfect for her. Losing him would be devastating. They’d just have to learn how to work through their respective schedules and careers. She snickered, asking herself when she had become a lovesick puppy.
Max pulled into a space and cut the engine while the van pulled up to the entrance of the precinct.
“Where do you want us to unload these boxes?” the driver asked.
“Bring them to one of the interview rooms.” Max walked past them and headed toward the lieutenant’s office.
“I’ll get started while you talk to Wallace,” Riley said.
Max nodded and stuck her head inside the lieutenant’s office. “Got a minute?”
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
“We have a shitload of boxes and the better part of two days to complete our search. Who’s free to help?”
“I’ve been checking all morning and haven’t been real successful. We managed to get Fred Jones, and of course the doctor from the OPTN, but his flight doesn’t get in until later.”
“I just don’t know how we’re going to get it all done.”
“I wish I could pay someone to come in, but we’re already paying overtime for you and Riley. I don’t think I can squeeze any more into the budget. The captain’s already complaining that we haven’t closed the case yet. Why don’t you see what you can get done on your own? If things get tight, I’ll see if I can get approval for another expenditure.” His head tilted in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Max. I’ll keep trying to find someone. In the meantime, you’ve got Fred.”
“How about the rookie?” she asked.
“He’s involved in a robbery across town.”
Max sighed. “Okay, you know where I’ll be.” She left his office disappointed and tired of hearing about the damn budget constraints. She’d known better than to ask, but she did it anyway. Sometimes, she was her own worst enemy. Her negative thinking was making things worse. She needed to focus. What she feared most was not finishing their investigation before the seventy-two hours were up and Barrett fleeing to some foreign country. She had to make sure she had solid facts before McGuire shot her case to smithereens. She quickened her pace toward the evidence room. She didn’t have time for negative thinking.
Riley and Fred were well into reviewing each file folder. “Did they give you any trouble?” Riley asked.
“No,” she said, waving to Fred. “But Melanie assured me we weren’t going to find anything.” Max slipped out of her heels, ready to get to work. “She doesn’t know how relentless we are, does she, Riley?”
“She sure doesn’t, but she will.”
“I really felt for her today, though. She looked terrible.”
Fred looked up but didn’t ask the obvious question. Fred Jones had worked out of the precinct the longest of anyone.
“Thanks for helping us,” Max said.
“Happy to lend a hand.”
“And we’re happy to have you.” Max smiled to herself as she spoke. She’d always liked Fred, who was a fine gentleman with impeccable manners and kind words to say about everyone. Hearing about Fred’s journey to the NYPD was an interesting tale. In his younger days, his dream was law enforcement, but his strong Catholic family had other plans for his future and shipped him off to a seminary. After his ordination, he’d been assigned to a church to serve as pastor, but his dream of being a member of New York’s finest intensified, and he ultimately hung up his robe and enrolled in the police academy.
Fred concentrated on the file in his hand, his index finger on the side of his nose, reminding Max of Santa Claus. With white hair that glistened under the overhead lights and his rotund body, he was an easy double for Santa, and she could almost picture him flying through the air on his reindeer-driven sleigh.
“Is anyone else coming to help us?” Riley asked.
“No.” Max draped her coat over the chair. “The boss has been trying to find someone who’s free, but with budget constraints—”
“Yeah,” Riley cut in. “What is he waiting for? For the full seventy-two hours to be up without us finding enough to nail Barrett?” Max gave Riley the stare, and he knew to stop complaining in front of Fred.
“Let’s just think positive. The lieutenant has already extended the budget with our overtime. We’re going to find something soon.”
“Boy, some of these cases are pretty sad,” Fred said, changing the subject while pulling out a file folder. “The candidates hang on until the eleventh hour only to find out there was something wrong with the match. I can’t even begin to imagine what these families go through.”
“I’m sure. How are these boxes labeled?” she asked.
“Basically, by month and year—same as the other records.”
“No magic formula, huh?” Max said.
“Afraid not.”
Max looked through her notes to see when the senator’s daughter’s surgery took place, then sought that box out first.
“Are you cheating?” Riley asked.
Her face cracked into a toothy grin. She removed the lid from the box, pulled out the Stansbury child’s file and leafed through the papers. She wanted to understand the time frame of the girl’s surgery. “I can’t wait to find the file of the bypassed candidate so I can prove to the OPTN and McGuire that Helen’s note was factual.” Checking the dates on the lineup of folders, Max noticed that there were two surgeries listed for that day.
“I can’t see how Chambers wasn’t involved if she has the final say, but is it possible the technicians were the ones to fudge the records?” Riley said.
“That’s always a possibility,” Max said. “This case is like a ten-million-piece puzzle and sometimes the pieces fit, sometimes they don’t. I guess no one said it was going to be easy.”
Max turned back to the file and scanned the dates of care for Arianna Stansbury. She wrote down the particulars. “Okay, the kid’s first bout with
problems started in August 2012 . . . her surgery was on July 2, but if they were correct, there should be another file.” She flipped through the tabs on the file folders looking for dates. “But it’s not here.” Max checked her notes. “So if that’s the case, then where the hell is the file?” she asked aloud.
“What are you mumbling about over there?” Riley asked.
“I’m missing a file. Can you guys stop what you’re doing and help me search through these boxes for any files dated July 2014? I’m going to give the staff the benefit of the doubt here and say I think it’s been misfiled.”
Twenty minutes later, Riley was the first to speak. “There’s nothing in these file boxes.”
“Yeah, I’ve searched in my boxes and the only thing I’ve found is the Stansbury kid’s info. If she was the only candidate for that day, then why the rumors about a transplant being out of order? I would think there would have to be another file.” Max was beginning to fume.
“I can’t find anything either,” Fred said, shaking his head.
“You guys continue; I’m going to make another trip to the hospital.”
Max walked over to Stephanie, whom she’d seen earlier doing the filing. The young girl was a cute, stylish redhead with a bridge of freckles across her nose. She was very young, and her demeanor screamed first job. The young woman was still filing. She looked up when she heard Max’s footsteps.
“Hi, Detective. Did you forget something?”
“My boxes are missing a file for July 2, 2014.” Max felt like a skyscraper standing next to the short young woman, as she looked down to speak to her.
“All the files should have been in those boxes,” she said. “We have strict rules about everything being filed in their proper places at all times in case one of the surgeons wants to refer back to a case study.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do, but in the real world, not everyone follows the rules.” Max was getting tired of hearing how flawless the staff claimed to be, but there was a chink in their armor with this missing file. “Is it possible the last person to view it inadvertently filed it in the wrong box?”
Blind Retribution Page 28
