Yet, although she’d seen and dealt with her share of criminals, and knew they came in all varieties, Holloway did not fit the profile of any of them, least of all, the murdering kind. He might be underhanded or engage in less than honest business practices and schemes—maybe, even that was questionable. But he didn’t strike her as a murderer—just not the right temperament.
A firm knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She looked up as Daniel Brumbaugh, Holloway’s attorney, walked into the room. The man was dressed just as before and Lana wondered if black silk suits were all the guy wore. Probably, she thought. As a criminal defense attorney, he would no doubt use every available tactic to intimidate, and some people swore that black was intimidating. Then, with a start, she realized the words that had just run through her head; a criminal defense attorney. Shouldn’t Holloway, a financial and investment type guy, have a financial or corporate attorney? Yet, he had Mr. Brumbaugh, a criminal defense lawyer on retainer? Why? How could the man possibly have known he would need a criminal defense unless...
“So, you’re charging my client with murder?” Brumbaugh asked bluntly, snapping Lana back out of her musings.
“Yes, Counselor,” Lana replied. “Seven counts.”
Brumbaugh raised his eyebrows, nodded curtly, and took the chair beside his client. Whipping out a notebook and pen, he glanced to Lana as if to say he was ready.
But before she could get started, the man turned to Holloway. “Answer all the questions truthfully. If they ask something I don’t want you to answer, I’ll let you know.”
Holloway nodded.
Taking a seat beside his client, the attorney placed a legal pad on the table and pulled a pen from his pocket. Without looking up, he said, “Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” Lana said. Then, referring to her notes, she addressed the suspect. “Mr. Holloway, do you have any off-shore bank accounts?”
“You asked me that before, and the answer is still the same. No, I do not.”
“Nothing in Belize or the Cayman Islands?”
“No.”
“That’s odd because we found multiple such accounts in your name,” Lana said. “Three to be exact; two in Belize and one in the Caymans. There’s quite a hefty balance between the three of them.”
Holloway looked confused. “I don’t know what or whose accounts you found, but they certainly weren’t mine.”
“We also discovered quite a string of credit cards linked to those accounts.”
“I have no knowledge of any cards,” Holloway insisted. “No knowledge of the off-shore accounts for that matter.”
Unmoved by his vehement denials, Lana continued. “And, your travel visa just happens to be stamped as having visited both Belize and the Cayman Islands roughly four months ago.”
“That’s impossible,” Holloway blustered. “I don’t even have a visa.”
Lana gave him a cynical look. “Mr. Holloway, I find it extremely difficult to believe that a man in your position, CEO of your own investment company, pulling down a seven figure income, would not have traveled at least some portion of the world in his forty-seven years.”
“I know it’s a little unusual,” Holloway said. “But it’s true. I don’t like to travel. Have no desire to leave the US or visit any other country. Never have. If you want to confirm this, you can ask my wife. It’s been a source of contention between us for some time.”
Mr. Brumbaugh spoke up. “I fail to see the relevance to your case, the case you’re trying to manufacture against my client, whether Mr. Holloway does, or does not, have a visa. Likewise, whether he has an off-shore account is of no legal concern, providing he reports any income on his taxes.”
“The issue isn’t necessarily that he has those accounts,” Lana said. “It’s that he lied to me earlier about having them.”
The attorney shook his head. “From what I have determined, listening in on your nearly one-sided conversation here, my client has previously stated that he does in fact, not have any off-shore accounts. His statements today are consistent with that. So, at this point, the charge of lying is merely an accusation by you and has not been proven.”
“We found the accounts,” Lana reminded him.
“So, you found three accounts,” the lawyer acknowledged. “Remains to be seen just who they belong to.”
In answer, Lana slid a sheaf of papers across the table. “See for yourself. All three accounts are in Mr. Holloway’s name, list his current address, and his cell number for contact. His picture is also on file at each of the banks—we checked.”
Holloway spoke up again. “I didn’t set any of those up, I swear.”
Though it went against all logic, Lana was inclined to believe he was telling the truth. Keeping her thoughts to herself, she pressed on. “Who else could have set them up? Who do you allow to have access to your private information? And why on Earth would anyone so generously fund those accounts? We’re talking several hundred thousand dollars.”
Holloway gave her a blank look. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. All I know is, I did not set them up. I didn’t know they even existed until a couple of minutes ago.”
Lana eyed him, sizing him up as he spoke. He seemed upset but then, she knew, anyone would be under the circumstances. Still, she had a persistent feeling that he was not pretending, that he really had no knowledge of the accounts.
The attorney spoke up again. “In answer to your question, or questions, might I suggest the one responsible is someone who wants to make it appear my client is guilty? In other words, the real killer. Dare I say, the guy you had in custody, the one you let go? It stands to reason that’s who put this wild notion in your head that my client is a murderer. Am I right?”
Lana didn’t confirm or deny the allegations. “That’s absurd. You expect me to believe that someone randomly set up multiple accounts, in someone else’s name, and out of the goodness of their heart, donated thousands of dollars to your client?”
“No, but it’s quite apparent, at least to me, that someone is setting him up. That someone would most likely be whoever has the most to gain if my client were found guilty of murder. Obviously, that would be the real killer.
What the lawyer said made sense and although Lana found herself agreeing with his assessment; the evidence still pointed to Holloway as the most viable suspect. Until she was able to discount or discredit that evidence, especially those off-shore accounts, Holloway would not be off the hook.
As of the moment, Holloway had not been arraigned but the D.A. had told her he planned to recommend the judge hold him without bail. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he’d said. “A suspected serial killer, with seven murders, identity theft, and investment fraud—then considering Holloway’s financial position; this all screams potential flight risk.” The D.A. had little doubt the judge would agree with him.
As all of this ran through her mind, Lana remained impassive, saying nothing of her thoughts to Holloway or his attorney.
But, Brumbaugh, perceptive and shrewd, seemed to have a window that allowed him a clear view right into her head. “You don’t believe my client is guilty,” he said with a half grin.
Sighing, Lana looked away. “Doesn’t matter what I believe. These things aren’t up to me. We have to go by the evidence.”
“Yet, you have another suspect, correct?”
“We do,” Lana acknowledged.
“Then there must be some evidence there,” Brumbaugh said. “He wouldn’t have been a suspect in the first place without something to suggest he could be guilty. I think you better take another look at him.”
Lana remained silent. She didn’t like having anyone, particularly an attorney, telling her how to do her job. But like it or not, the man was right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“One thing is certain,” Damien said, as he and Jamie sat down with Ray and Lana at the Rose Bush lunch café a few minutes past noon. “Whoever did this planned it extremely well. Off-shore account
s, pre-paid phones, selecting Cascade Global Investment, targeting only certain investors, the fake ID’s and other accounts, all of this took a lot of forethought.”
“And time,” Ray agreed. “He planned this out for months. Maybe longer.”
“Doesn’t sound like something an unemployed twenty-six-year old dropout could orchestrate,” Lana admitted but still sounded unconvinced.
Damien said. “I know Mr. Schmidt is intelligent, as measured by today’s standard of computers and technology but I’m not sure he has the mental capacity to handle all of this.”
Jamie nodded. “It would take someone accustomed to running a big enterprise with many operations. Someone who has the ability to see the big picture while focusing on all the minute details.”
Not letting up, Damien said, “Someone with an understanding of the finance world. Someone in a position of power. Someone with connections.”
“Someone like Holloway,” Lana concluded, as it crossed her mind again that the man had a criminal defense lawyer representing him. She didn’t mention her thoughts to the others.
“Hate to say it but, yeah.” Damien said. “I mean, I know Holloway seems like a decent guy and all, but he does fit the bill.”
“To a ‘T’,” Jamie added.
Lana was silent a moment. Then, to the surprise of her colleagues, said. “I still don’t buy it.”
“What more do you want?” Jamie asked incredulously. “The man has no alibi, all of the evidence points to him, and he lied about his off-shore accounts.”
“He says he had no knowledge of those accounts and claims he did not set them up.”
Damien said, “It may interest you to know that while you were questioning Holloway, we examined his personal computer and discovered files on it that show activity on all of those accounts, recent activity.”
Lana shrugged. “I just... He says he didn’t set up the accounts and I believe him.”
“Then how did they get there?” Jamie said. “Off-shore accounts with large sums of money don’t just appear out of the blue. If they do, I want in line, wherever that line is.”
Lana again fell silent, chewing on the side of her lip, thinking.
“People lie,” Damien said, still trying to bolster his argument. “It’s hard to believe but they do.”
Lana ignored him but finally did speak. “I think I might have an explanation for this, for all of it.”
Damien and Jamie gave her a doubtful look but waited for her to go on.
“Think about it,” she said. “As you know, Eric Schmidt admitted to setting up the accounts under the stolen identities, hacking the investors accounts at Cascade Global to get their information in the first place, and the rest.”
“We don’t disagree on that,” Ray said. “We know he’s capable of hacking and altering online records. Look what he was able to pull off with this Canya person.”
“Exactly,” Lana said. “And with his skills, is there really any doubt he could have set up the off-shore accounts in Holloway’s name and tampered with the guy’s passport?”
“No,” came the chorus of replies.
“So, the only question is, is he capable of planning and running the whole show? I say yes. Not only do I think he could, I think he did. I think he set up Holloway to take the fall from the beginning.”
“That may be,” Damien said. “But why?”
“That, I’m not sure of—yet.”
“One thing that doesn’t make sense,” Jamie said with a frown. “If Eric is our guy why was he so scared of Holloway that day at the precinct?”
“I don’t know,” Lana admitted. “He did seem genuinely terrified of the man and for a while, he had me convinced there was something going on with the two of them. Even after I learned it had nothing to do with Eric’s imaginary sister, I kept thinking there was possibly something else. But now I’m not so sure. I think he could just be an exceptional actor. Not sure he was telling the truth about anything.”
Damien shrugged. “I don’t think he can be trusted, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean his entire story is fabricated. And, Holloway still has his own problems: failure to disclose a prior relationship with one of the victims, no alibi, and he stands to gain an awful lot of money by the deaths of the investors.”
“And don’t forget,” Jamie added, “Holloway matches the description of the guy in the video.”
Lana nodded. “But so does Eric,” she said. Then, “Look, I know this doesn’t clear him but I can’t bring myself to jump on board Eric’s bandwagon just yet.”
“So what do you propose we do?”
“Not sure,” Lana admitted. “If we could find the murder weapon, the gun used to kill Mrs. Wymer, it would sure make things a lot easier.”
“The divers still haven’t recovered anything?” Damien asked.
“Haven’t heard,” Lana said. “So, I guess not. And today is the last day they will be searching.”
“So if the gun is not in the river, where could it be? Damien wondered. “We’ve searched the scene of the crime, Eric’s apartment, Holloway’s home, and his offices.”
Lana shrugged. “Maybe he, the killer, whoever that is, destroyed it.”
“That rarely happens,” Jamie pointed out.
“Yeah,” Damien agreed. “It’s a lot easier said, than done.”
“I know,” Lana said, “But aside from Roselyn Wymer’s murder, everything else in this case has been meticulously planned and gone off like clockwork. Obviously, the killer is extremely intelligent, methodical, and calculating. And, in the three and a half weeks since the murder, he’s had ample time to come up with a way to dispose of the murder weapon.”
The four of them finished their lunch and headed back to the precinct, the guys going on ahead while Lana took her time. Strolling along the city sidewalks thinking, she contemplated the possibilities of what could have become of the murder weapon. She knew the killer had not pre-meditated the murder of Mrs. Wymer but had reacted to being seen, which meant he hadn’t had time to establish a clear-cut plan to dispose of it. In light of that, he may have stashed the firearm in a hurry, intending to return later to retrieve it. If that were the case, and he didn’t think it was safe yet, perhaps the gun would still be nearby the crime scene.
Not that this possibility would help her that much, they’d already questioned Mrs. Wymer’s neighbors—to no avail. With the exception of Nellie Langstrom, none of them had seen anything. Nothing. Lana shook her head in frustration; she couldn’t even place Eric at the scene of the crime.
But what if she could she suddenly wondered? She hadn’t specifically asked the neighbors if they’d seen Eric, she realized. If she were able to find someone who remembered seeing him, that may provide a clue as to where he’d hidden the gun, if he had. Such a witness would undoubtedly help their case in court as well.
On a sudden whim, she picked up the pace. Hurrying into the squad room, she was relieved to see Ray already back at his desk.
“What’s up?” he asked, seeing the serious look on her face and the purposeful way she walked.
Slightly out of breath, Lana said, “I need, or would like, a photo of Eric Schmidt without his orange jumpsuit.”
Instantly Ray began typing away on his keyboard. “We have several from when you made the arrest. Will one of those work for you?”
“Mmm, not really,” Lana said, seeing the selection of pictures on his screen. “I was thinking more along the lines of mainly his face, perhaps his mugshot—but without the jail clothes.”
“I could modify the mugshot; change the jumpsuit to a shirt and tie,” Ray suggested.
“Okay, that might work. Except for the tie. I don’t really see him as the tie wearing kind.”
“You’re probably right.” Ray fell silent then as he set to work.
Lana watched as he effortlessly transformed the photo, amazed by his talent. He made it all look so easy. Somehow, it never worked quite that well when she tried it.
&nb
sp; “Eight by ten?”
Lana nodded.
In minutes, she held the glossy photograph in her hand. The headshot of Eric showed just the top of a Hawaiian print shirt. “That’s perfect,” she said. “Mahalo.”
Ray looked confused, but he said nothing.
Noting the look on his face, Lana said, “Never been to Hawaii have you?”
“No. Why?”
“It means, thank you.”
Ray shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Then, giving her a thoughtful glance, he asked, “What’s the Hawaiian word for that?”
Now it was Lana’s turn to look confused. “I don’t know. I’ve only been there once.”
Ray laughed. “Well, don’t overdo it on the new language skills.”
Lana wrinkled her nose and made a face.
“What’s the picture for, the investigation? Or do you just want to hang it in your house?”
“Can’t hang it in my house until he’s convicted,” Lana said. “Then it goes up on my trophy wall.”
“You have a trophy wall?”
“No,” Lana said, twirling her finger beside her head in the universal sign for “looney.”
Ray glared at her. “Funny,” he said. “So, what’s it for then?”
“Just a hunch I had. I’ll let you know if it pays off,” she called, heading for the door.
Arriving at the Rose City Apartments a few minutes later, Lana considered letting Paul Borland know she was there, since he had made such a big fuss protesting her unannounced visits. Almost instantly, she decided against the idea. While she did want to show him the picture, she didn’t need the scene he would doubtlessly create while she talked with Roselyn Wymer’s neighbors. Mr. Borland could just as easily be questioned on her way out.
Entering what passed as the lobby, and slipping quietly to the stairs, Lana climbed the steps to the sixth floor. Knocking first on the door directly across the hall from Roselyn’s apartment, she showed the photo to the Jensens and then the couple next door. None of them recognized Eric.
Dead Broke (Lana Denae Mystery Series Book 1) Page 18
