by P Gaseaux
Chapter Four
Somewhere in inner-city DC…a cheap dwelling…it was late. Special Agent P. Kelvin Tanaka of the bureau’s ‘financial’ section was jolted out of a fitful sleep by the ring tone.
Dammit, teach you not to switch the thing off. What are they going to do anyhow, fire you if it’s switched off? After a night out sleep is precious; you’ve got to value it. Three in the morning’s an unholy hour for anybody.
It was his government-issue cell phone, worse still who would be calling him at this hour? Since transferring to Financial Crimes he was not used to being called any hour of the day and night. Different to other sections. The trouble was he was broke and living in a seedy place he could barely stand in since he moved away from the family home last year. Unreliable hot water, no car and eighteen hundred dollars a month to his ex like clockwork. And yet he worked in excess of seventy hours a week chasing down and locking up crooks worth millions; he’d seize their mansions, luxury cars, motor launches and even got the wristwatches off their arms. Those sorts of people were at the top end of the scale. At the bottom end you got Nigerians…
With Thanksgiving just gone, ‘PK’ as he was known to his friends, had met up with some colleagues from the bureau and spent the evening at his favorite bar, then continued after closing time alone in his one-room apartment with a six pack and a late movie. It had been a monumental evening and they’d served a fine turkey main course which topped off by copious liquor that had left him worse for wear. Return to duty tomorrow. The ex down in Orlando; it had just been him and his circle of buddies from work, washed down with beer.
“Department of Justice; Special Agent Tanaka speaking.”
The voice on the other end sounded like it was in the room next door: “Hey, Tanaka, glad I caught you. I had to let you know as soon as I heard.”
“Who’s this?” Tanaka grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Got any idea what time it is, it’s three in the damn morning, this better be good.”
“Jackson…Agent Mike Jackson from the Manila Legal Attaché’s office. Apologies buddy, but I’ve got to let you know before the directors get hold of it.”
“Great,” Tanaka said in a dispirited voice. “Get a hold of what?” He heaved a sigh. “Why at this ungodly hour?”
“Tanaka, surely you have my reports. I’m looking at the transmission right here. I’m still at the embassy. Sent ‘em through five weeks ago, regarding the business at the air freight company. Tanaka, you sent it up the line, tell me you have already…” A pause. “Tanaka, you with me?”
His mind whirled, through all the beer: That report from the Philippines; possible case of financial impropriety. Air freight…dodgy goods being shipped. Possible money laundering, that’s how we got involved. “Yeah, of course; sent all of it up to the station super, briefed her but I’d need to check my diary. Can’t it wait ‘til the morning?”
“Sure as hell hope you’ve forwarded it, at least I hope you did for your sake, buddy,” replied Jackson, half a world away. “The informant, he’s showed up dead in downtown metro. Murdered. Had his neck crushed, dumped in the old section, barely a block away from the embassy where I’m at. You know, it took the authorities down here a whole day just to section the place off.”
Any hope of catching more sleep evaporated.
“Tanaka! Still there?”
“Er, yeah…You’re kidding me. How do you know it’s the informant?”
“It’s him alright. I got the statement from him a few weeks back. He came up to my office,” replied the field agent. “I’d recognize his face or at least what was left of it.”
“When? When did you find out?”
“Just spent the morning at the morgue. He turned up few days ago. The authorities here released his remains and I’ve got the handover and the police report,” replied Jackson. “If I were in your shoes I’d get to your workstation as soon as you guys open up. The press on both sides of the Pacific are gonna have a field day with this.”
How’d we become involved in the first place? The financial aspect of the case? Illegal dealings? They’d all checked…nothing came of it. Crossed his mind; financial crimes seldom ended in murder. They called it ‘white collar crime’ for a reason.
“Jackson I’ll get to the office first thing, talk to you later on.”
Tanaka ended the call. In the mirror he looked at his reflection -- he was disheveled and still had the black pants and loosened tie he was wearing on his night out with the boys. That evening the barmaid was asking if he was dressed up as Jake of the ‘Blues Brothers’; surely she’d been too young to know who those guys were; they belonged to his generation. He always wore that black suit.
He made a special effort to arrive early at the bureau only to discover the system had jammed up over the long weekend, somehow.
Something to do with cyber-threats; now that was a section he’d never get sent to…
In the hour and a half before IT arrived he pored over his confidential notebooks and re-read the case file. When his domain was accessible he was able to access the notes, Agent Jackson’s record of interview, and finally the local police reports on the case along with a death certificate forwarded from Manila.
According to the transcripts, the victim had arrived at the embassy six weeks ago after making an appointment to see Jackson at the embassy. The communication log and record of interview stated the victim had intended to report possible corruption and financial mismanagement in the air freight industry. The now-dead informant had arrived with documents including airway bills and letter of credit extracts he’d gotten his hands on. All about possibly overpriced articles including second rate digital cameras as well as knock-off copied cell phones. Basically the field agent had done everything and then forwarded the report which had landed in Tanaka’s lap. Back then it was a financial crime. Now it had evolved into murder.
When the body was discovered a week ago it had been collected and jurisdiction handed to the National Bureau of Investigations, the Philippines equivalent of federal law enforcement. The NBI had done little except compile a report of sorts complete with crime scene stills. Tanaka removed a page toward the bottom, this time drafted by some low-placed police inspector, was the only thing made any sense. This report proved to be the most fruitful; it was here the victim’s identity was revealed. They’d located some copies of the passport. No other info. It was a start. PK Tanaka made damn sure to underline the officer’s name: some guy called Police Inspector R. Guinhava, Philippines National Police. A grassroots officer…
He made a bee-line for the land line; no luck as he had to gain authority for overseas calls from the station super, so the call was blocked. He tried his own cell. When Jackson did answer his voice was drowned out by what seemed to be a big night, complete with music, clashing glass, squeals and shouting…
Nice work if you can get it, Tanaka thought. Sounded like a wild party. Did the math; Manila was maybe ten to twelve hours ahead of the Atlantic Coast. Be evening there. At least Jackson was taking calls.
”Jackson, Agent Tanaka speaking. Where are you right now?” Only more noise. “Can you hear me? Jackson!” He terminated the call and redialed. When the Manila agent answered a second time there was only marginally better reception. “Mike Jackson…Agent Jackson! Are you free to talk? What’s going on over there, how come I never got an invite?”
The noise sounded more like riot in a crowded bar or nightclub; not a party. More noise, then some yelling on the other end. He could hear Jackson better now; he must have gone into a room and locked the door.
“Tanaka speaking -- about the Hatfield case, that’s if it really is the guy. You sure?”
“I told you before, it is him,” replied Jackson. “I spoke with him and took a statement. Read the report I filed. Read the death notice and the stuff from the PNP.”
“Jackson I’ll keep it short. I’ve go
t the paperwork. You stated, however, he did bring in and show you some items -- cell phones and cameras. Did you keep anything?”
“How can I take stuff? You know I can’t do that. Different story if they’re copyright violation,” he yelled over the noise. “To keep the guy happy I swabbed ‘em and we even Rapi-Scanned ‘em all. Came up with squat. No trace; narcotics, nothing. You know the phones he showed me wouldn’t even switch on. Only thing of interest was how much they cost -- things were worth a fortune. He’d gotten hold of some financial transcripts. Some fool in Egypt had paid two hundred K for a pallet-load of this junk!”
“Don’t suppose you thought something unusual about that?” asked Tanaka. “What would that kind of thing be worth…a fraction of that; if that?”
“Sure, I ran the details, not a thing out of place,” Jackson replied. “Usually there’s a problem where expensive shit is ‘misdeclared’. You know…undervaluing goods, tax evasion; that kind of thing. I checked it all out, nothing untoward anywhere. All tariffs paid. Like I said Tanaka, these were just some electronic items. No copyright issues, no money laundering, no nothing. The authorities in Egypt weren’t interested.”
In the background behind the voice Tanaka heard the song ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’. Distracted him. Who listens to that stuff nowadays? Took him back to his days at college.
“Okay, talk soon. Gotta go, gotta refer this one up the chain…”
Jackson was right about one thing at least: overvaluation of goods was odd. Meant there were extra taxes, insurance and excise. Unless they were attempting to launder ill-gotten gains; it was a clumsy attempt.
Tanaka spent the rest of the morning attempting to contact the station super who was out chairing meetings and interviews. Printed and pinned everything before searching for the victim’s next of kin. The name would need to be released. Need to liaise with State on that one.
Better to do the groundwork now, before the poor guy’s family hears about it from some other source.
The supervisor was one in a batch of bosses who were shuttled around the bureau sections like musical chairs characters. A career bureaucrat younger than many of the experienced agents, she had been in this acting position for several months. More ‘acting’ these days in the federal government than Oscars Night, one had to get used to revolving-door-bosses. The latest one never liked PK Tanaka.
By three that afternoon Tanaka finally located the super who was in no mood for the day’s events. He entered her office with the files and stood like he was in the headmaster’s office; it took several minutes for her to even notice he was there.
“Look can’t this wait?”
“No, ma’am, it cannot. You’re aware of the reports I forwarded to you about a concerned US citizen in the Philippines last month? The freight agency he was with and the strange financial transactions?”
“Take a seat Tanaka.” The super pored over the documents and sighed. “I thought there had been nothing further to action with this. Why are you digging this up now? I’ve got a shitload of budget stats to get in by close of business today and a meeting with some officials from USAID first thing tomorrow. On top of that I’ve monthly KPIs to send to the director. Surely this can wait?”
“Not really-”
Tanaka’s cell rang. He excused himself, it was the research section. On the line was an administrative assistant from that section; the call only took a moment and his jaw dropped, hit the floor. “Ma’am, may I suggest check out the press. Try the English language papers in the Philippines…”
The super reluctantly typed in the web address as Tanaka recited it. The incident was now public, the murder of a foreigner with speculation on his identity, his age and why he had ended up dead. At the conclusion the super switched the monitor off and looked at him. Yesterday’s story was today’s headlines; the cat was out of the bag.
“Okay, you’ve got my attention. Shoot.”
“Ma’am we’ve missed something. With your permission I have to prioritize the case. I need to contact his next of kin; pronto…we’ve got to release his name. I was thinking of going out there with my contact in State Department. Like first thing tomorrow.”
The super held up some cost charts. “Who’s paying for it? Look I’ll do the math but please don’t screw up my budgets; we’re coming up to quarterly-”
Tanaka cut his boss off: “Ma’am, this is the murder of a US citizen abroad we’re dealing with, need I remind you. The victim filed a report with Manila field office. That said, it was financial mismanagement so we could well have jurisdiction over this. We’re involved, like it or not”
“What about Manila? Surely they can cope with this on their own?
“Jackson’s clearly got his hands full with the human trafficking business over there, or so it seems to me,” replied Tanaka. Recalled the din from Jackson’s phone.
Betcha he’s got three of ‘em at once under taped interview right now…in a Jacuzzi.
“I’ve been speaking with him and he can render all assistance necessary but I just have a feeling about this one.”
“Where would you kick off?” The super asked, disinterestedly.
“I’ve managed to locate one next of kin, his father who lives about four hour’s drive from here. He’s just over state lines.” Tanaka knew the area, need to get in contact with the sheriff there. “At the very least I’ve got to get out there. I can report back tomorrow afternoon. I may even make it back by evening.”
The agent had a feeling about this one, all right. Clearly the deceased had been concerned about something. The young guy had contacted the embassy and it had probably cost him his life. Tanaka felt responsible. So far he was the only one who felt that way.
“Go for it but keep me in the loop. Daily updates, spend tomorrow and the next day. That’s all I can spare you at the moment.” the super added. “I’m still not convinced. You be sure you tread carefully with the family, just in case we’ve missed something.”
“I think we should get up there real quick. Victim’s family hears about it through the media, makes us look unprofessional…”
He left the office, closing the door behind him. Had the rest of the day to organize State Department and the county sheriff’s office. Appalachia -- it’d be a change of scenery. Knew very little about the place, only been there once a few years back; the bureau was investigating the rise and rise of meth-labs in the area. A big problem…their forefathers were bootleggers during prohibition but the youth of today had embraced a much more deadly form of poison.
Early November, it was getting cold. As Tanaka exited the building he raised his collar to keep the wind out, it stung, and it made his lips crack. Be a lot worse up in the hills.
He plugged the key in the ignition, wanted to get moving, get the heater cranked up. Something stopped him. Pulled out his notebook, he’d scribbled everything down. Hardly read his own handwriting, getting more and more like a psychiatrist every day now. Something was bugging him…he found it: Special Agent Mike Jackson, the initiating officer had done his job for sure, but…why then, did Jackson contact Egypt? Who did he speak to? The FBI liaison officer or local law-enforcement?
Tanaka marked an asterisk next to the sentence and put a little dog-ear on the page. Dialed up the lady in State Department, she wasn’t available today but first thing tomorrow would be okay; they could get going early and beat the rush.
Called the Raleigh County Sheriff’s office, he’d worked with the sheriff when the bureau had been called in to assist with the drugs investigation.
The last call was back to Agent Jackson in the Philippines. Tanaka wasn’t sure what the time would be there now. No luck; went straight to message bank. Never mind, he could call some other time…just wanted to clear up the Egypt business.
No idea on earth why he did that…strange, he thought. Why?!
