Imperfect Defense

by Gregg E. Brickman

  Sophia exhaled, venting her frustration.

  Nancy tapped her pen on the desk in an agitated rhythm. "Don't talk to his doctors about his situation like you did in the cafeteria with Dr. Bhaduri the other day. Stay away from Melinda. Come in. Do your work. Go home."

  "Ah . . ."

  "Listen, we believe Melinda has issues. Do not repeat this. Her manager has been concerned about her tendency to obsessiveness for some time. The piece that doesn't fit is the way Melinda extols her qualifications and references to prove she is more professional and more qualified than you are. It is an unusual approach and has attracted attention. It looks as if her father's injury might have given her a shove off the ledge."

  "Oh, great." Sophia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Nancy had made the point and not allowed Sophia to say much for most of the meeting.

  Nancy repeated her admonitions and dismissed Sophia. She spotted Felicia near the nursing station and hurried to meet her.

  Melinda appeared from behind an overflowing linen cart and blocked her path. "Hello, Sophia. It's nice to run into you." Her voice was drenched in sweetness.

  "Hello." Sophia tried to bypass her to the right, but Melinda shifted subtly in that direction. "What can I help you with?"

  "Oh." She managed three different musical notes in one short word. Had she been younger, Sophia would have said Melinda had teenage attitude. "Felicia said you're taking over her assignments. She called for dietary teaching on the patient in seventeen."

  "Okay. I haven't gotten my report yet."

  "I'll be in the room with the patient."

  Sophia nodded, edged around Melinda, and joined Felicia at the nursing station counter. "Sorry, Nancy called me in."

  "I heard." Felicia tipped her head in the direction of room seventeen. "That is one crazy bitch. You'd better stay away from her. She is bad-mouthing you all over the hospital again today."

  "How am I going to deal with her now? Nancy told me to keep clear of her."

  "I switched class times with Gretchen. Cover for her first, then come to me when she gets back from class."

  "Thanks, girl. I need all the help I can get right now."

  "You sure do." She leaned close. "We all know you did the right thing. We pulled up Hoffman's chart this morning, and the proof is right there—X-ray reports, doctor's notes, eye exam, everything. I've been through one of these. You need to hold tight until the state makes its report."

  "Again, thanks. Thank you so much."

  ***

  While Sophia worked the shift, changing assignments every two hours, she kept watch for Melinda. Sophia saw Melinda standing by room seventeen and looking up and down the hall a couple of times, but managed to keep out of her way by staying close to the patients and updating her notes—charting—in their rooms.

  She waited until the main dieticians' office closed for the day, then took the early dinner break slot. She didn't intend to do more than snack, but she'd been going nonstop since noon and needed a bit of a rest, a cup of coffee, and something small to eat.

  Dr. Bhaduri motioned Sophia into the doctor's lounge while she was on the way to the cafeteria.

  The thought crossed her mind that she needed to avoid open doorways, but there was no other polite choice except to respond. "Nancy told me I shouldn't be seen talking to you," Sophia said.

  "She talked to Dr. Nathan and me, too. I want to make sure you know what's going on, though, and I figure no one else will tell you since your report is officially confidential."

  "For what that's worth."

  Dr. Bhaduri nodded. "Give me your number for future reference." She tapped the number into her phone. "Dr. Nathan and I compared notes following our meetings yesterday. By the way, I know one of the investigators, Cheryl Wise. Her mother is my patient, and Cheryl brings her in to see me quite often."

  "That's a blessing. At least you'll get information."

  "The investigators mentioned that the substance of your report was based on astute observations—that's a good thing. Their issue is they cannot prove who abused Ralph. There are three adults in the home other than Ralph—Melinda, Franco, and the son, Gabriel. Ralph agreed to speak with them without his daughter and son-in-law present, but couldn't tolerate a long interview. He told them Gabe has no patience with him and often shoved him to hurry him along. He thought, but can't be sure, he felt a push. He says he used his arms to try and protect himself and ended up hitting the railing when he fell."

  "That explains the bruises on his arms. Did he say anything about being hit or verbally abused?"

  "The investigators wouldn't answer that question when I asked. They told me, however, that the information they have is suggestive of an unsafe environment. They want to meet with him again when he is on a less intense nursing unit—at which time they'll suggest alternate housing. As his primary care physician, they wanted my input about appropriate placement."

  "I think Ralph will go for that," Sophia said. "He told me he wanted to go to assisted living in the beginning, but Lorraine wanted to live with her daughter."

  "It will become common knowledge that the investigators talked to Ralph. It's noted in his medical record," Dr. Bhaduri said.

  "It's already known. One of the ED nurses told me she read it in his chart. What do you think will happen?"

  "They'll finish their investigation, and you'll still be working in the ED. Be patient." Dr. Bhaduri smiled. "Sophia, you did the right thing. I wish I had found the courage to take action myself. Next time, I will. I've been checking the statistics about the number of elders who suffer abuse. I know there will be a next time, and I'll be more attuned to it."

  CHAPTER 20

  Ray

  On Thursday morning, Ray and Deg met at the station to review their progress and the short list of suspects.

  Ray drummed his notes with the eraser end of a pencil. "Ironmonger is a confirmed bad girl. She rips off volunteers and threatens their children to secure compliance. I like her for the crime. She is big, strong, egotistical, and nasty."

  "Ironmonger isn't our killer." Deg shook his head. "You don't kill for penny ante stuff. Her pool of volunteers is huge. She'd just move to the next mark."

  "What was the principal's response when you talked to her yesterday?"

  Deg laughed. "Crouch was a grouch. Doesn't believe Ironmonger is ripping off the volunteers and provided a litany of issues with the mothers we interviewed and their children." He tapped a key on his computer and a paper spit from the printer. He grabbed the paper, punched holes in it, and handed it to Ray. "I followed up with the volunteers again as well. They confirmed most of the crap Crouch said, but insisted it didn't mean Ironmonger wasn't on the take."

  "My thoughts, too," Ray said. "What did Ironmonger say?"

  "She's on leave until next week. Summer schedule and all. Crouch couldn't confirm that Ironmonger didn't leave the school last Wednesday morning."

  "No way the mayor will tolerate us sitting on our asses while we wait on people."

  Deg laughed, then lifted the stack of files detailing Millie's financials and dropped them back on his desk. "I waded through these again last night. The finance guy will be here in a couple hours to help go through the mess." He looked at his notes. "And I asked Farber to poke into the F. Fodrum website. It looks good, but something isn't kosher. Lots of fluff, but no stuff."

  "All necessary, but Dyer isn't the killer. He was on an airplane. However, I think we'll find he has been systematically ripping off old people."

  "Is he in debt?" Deg tipped his head sideways.

  "He wouldn't say. We need to get a handle on that, too. He strikes me as sleazy. Doesn't look the part, but it's in his demeanor." Ray paused, remembering other gambling addicts he'd dealt with. "Then there is Wayne Peers." He spent a couple of minutes reviewing his meeting with Sally at AMVETS. "Again, like Putt, it's an alibi we can't confirm."

  "He stays on the list. Low," Deg said. "I figure he had everything to lose and nothing to gain by ki
lling his mother. The guy doesn't act crazy. He's just a sad specimen of humanity."

  "Agreed." Ray stood and rolled his shoulders. "We've poked at every detail. I don't see it as simple robbery. Too much stuff sitting around for the taking. Still, I want to look at the kids again, verify where everyone was. Did the report on phone calls to Putt's home number come back?"

  Deg flipped though a pile of papers. "It did. There's a brief call from the hospital to the home at two."

  "A small confirmation."

  "Right. I'm headed downstairs." Deg rolled back his chair and eased to his feet. "I'll reserve the conference room for later and get everyone together to sort out the financial pieces."

  Ray nodded, slipped on his sport coat, and left. He planned to either eliminate or confirm Putt as a suspect.

  The drive to Putt's—and Sophia's—neighborhood took a couple of minutes. It was a week and a day since the murder, and Ray felt they were making little progress. Maybe one of the neighbors would remember something not mentioned during the first round of questions.

  An older woman sat in a rocking chair outside a house across the street and three houses south of Millie's. Ray didn't remember seeing the rocker during his many evening walks down the street with Sophia and Roxy or during his trips through the area in his official capacity. He parked in front of the house and walked to within earshot of the lady. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Detective Stone."

  "I know who you are. You're the one looking for Millie's killer."

  "Yes, ma'am, I am." He extended his hand. "What's your name, please?"

  "Wilma Brandt. Millie was my friend. She'd come by with the dog and visit when she saw me outside." The lady dabbed at a tear.

  "Do you sit here every day?"

  "No, sir, I don't. My daughter has to carry the rocker outside for me, and the weather needs to be good. I don't move very well."

  "Were you, by chance, outside last Wednesday morning?"

  "I was. I sat here while I waited for my daughter to take me to the hospital." She patted her right upper chest. "My port got infected, and I needed it replaced to continue my chemotherapy."

  "How long were you in the hospital?"

  "Until Monday. They gave me a bunch of intravenous antibiotics first, then did the surgery. Waste of time, if you ask me."

  That explained why the officers canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses didn't find her. "Do you remember anything about last Wednesday morning?"

  "Millie knew I was going to the hospital. She brought over a bag of my favorite mints and an embroidered tote to take along. Nice of her. She was always so thoughtful."

  "What time was that?"

  "Early, maybe around eight. Millie sat with me awhile. I planned to stay on the porch until we left for the hospital. My appointment was at noon, and I didn't want to go inside and be tempted to eat." She frowned. "I don't understand why they make appointments so late and then say you can't eat. When I got to the hospital, they cancelled the surgery so I could have the antibiotics first."

  "I understand what you mean." Ray pointed toward the apartment building two blocks north. "Do you know the group of boys that live there?"

  "I do. Nice young men for the most part. They can be rowdy—the way boys are." She looked thoughtful. "I know you're going to ask if I saw Leon that morning. I didn't. I would have noticed because he always has a few words with me when he passes."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I don't see those boys, any of them, in the mornings. If I had, I would notice."

  "While you were sitting, do you remember any activity at Millie's house?"

  "Someone came to visit her in a black sporty car. It's been around before. She let him into her house."

  "About what time was that, do you think?"

  "Mid-morning." She paused. "No, it was just before we went to the hospital. I know because I decided to go inside and repack my stuff in my new tote. That delayed us a few minutes."

  "Was the car there when you left?"

  "Not that I recall." A puzzled expression crossed her face. "I don't remember looking, either."

  It was the second time Ray had heard about the black car, but this time he had confirmation the driver visited Millie. He needed to find a way to track the vehicle, which might have been driven by her killer.

  Ray thanked Ms. Brandt and continued his door-to-door, not turning up any new witnesses or new information. He placed Putt down further on his list, believing he had gotten another partial confirmation of Putt's alibi.

  Ray made his way to the high school on the western edge of the neighborhood. He stopped by the office and confirmed that all of the other boys took their scheduled exams and completed their course work.

  Progress he supposed, but toward what or whom, he didn't know.

  ***

  The conference room at Coral Bay Police Department held a sturdy, rectangular laminate table, a dozen chairs—three of which were the folding variety—and a low credenza relocated from the chief's office. One wall held a huge whiteboard. A pull-down screen hung above the credenza, centered in front of the ceiling-mounted projector.

  Ray and Deg picked adjacent chairs on the long side of the table facing the door.

  Adam Farber sat next to Ray. He jacked his laptop into the AV panel mounted in the center of the table, then hit the switch. A dim beam of light appeared on the screen and brightened over a couple of minutes.

  Lawrence Evans, forensic accountant and consultant, arrived with Chief José Garcia. The two men sat across from the detectives and Farber.

  Evans was twice Garcia's width and looked the part of a consultant in his three-piece suit and snug tie. He placed a leather briefcase on the table and snapped the locks.

  "Chief," Deg said, "do you want to get us started?"

  "No, go ahead. Your case. Your show."

  "I spent the morning with Evans and Farber," Deg said. "We went through every document obtained by subpoena from South Florida Secure Financials, from Rodney Dyer's personal work files—also by subpoena—from the financial companies with online documents, and from Millie Peers' personal financial records. She maintained folders on her investments, filed her correspondence, and kept things in order."

  "But?" Garcia cast a questioning eye at Deg.

  "We've come to the conclusion that F. Fodrum Annuities, Inc. does not exist."

  "Really, now." Garcia tipped back in his chair.

  "Doesn't surprise me," Ray said. "I would like the details, however."

  "Allow me to explain." Evans opened his briefcase and produced several documents. "First, the company is not registered with or licensed by the state's Department of Financial Services. That's the governing body for the insurance industry. I checked with several adjacent states and got the same answer.

  "Beyond the website, which Mr. Farber can discuss, there is no record of the company's existence on the Internet. I believe it's a front for annuities fraud—a Ponzi scheme if you will—tailored to bilk money from older investors." He took several minutes to explain documents Farber projected, using his copies and notes for reference.

  Evans continued. "The entire operation at Secure Financials needs to be investigated along with the parent company, Silebi Mortgage and Investments, Inc., which is controlled by the Department of Financial Services' Division of Agent and Agency Services. They have sworn officers in their Division of Insurance Fraud, called DIF. We need to provide them with the information we've collected, and they will take it from there. I think we've only touched the protruding tip of a huge buried pile of financial filth."

  "Thank you, Evans. Farber, please explain what you learned about the website, so everyone has a complete picture." Deg nodded in the tech's direction.

  Farber closed the financial files, accessed the Internet, and typed in the web address for F. Fodrum. The site filled the screen. He clicked on several links, showing they led to dead ends within the site, providing little or no information. The contact-us link displayed an 800 numb
er and a fill-in-the-blank email dialog box. He yawned. "I spent last night surfing around and looking at as many annuity company websites as possible. Most of them are straightforward designs with a minimum of fluff. But look at this one. I found it early this morning." He typed an address. "Its design is identical to F. Fodrum's. Except the links are meaningful. I believe someone plagiarized the site's design for their own nefarious purposes. F. Fodrum's site is good enough to fool the casual observer and certainly an elderly person who prefers paper to digital reports."

  "How was it done?" Garcia said.

  Farber ran his cursor to the bottom of the page. "This logo is for the server company. They offer free websites and easy design tools. They sell expanded services, but anyone can design a simple site. Someone registered the domain name, obtained the free site, then simply duplicated an existing company's webpage—design only, not function."

  "Can you track ownership?"

  "I contacted the server company this morning. The site was created using a name, anonymous email address, and very little other information. We tracked down the domain name registration, which is the same as for the website. The registrant's name appears to be bogus. At least it doesn't show up on any of the standard search engines nor in any of the data bases we use."

  "Let me see if I understand." Garcia leaned forward. "Dyer is somehow involved in a scheme to defraud elderly customers. We don't know the size of the scheme or who else is involved. We don't know if the parent company is involved, but the set up looks to be elaborate and well-planned."

  "To a degree, but only on the surface." Evans slid a paper to the chief. "This is the financial report Dyer gave to Stone. It's completely cooked. The mutual funds, stocks, and bonds exist, but all of the data is wrong. It's designed to generate a ten-percent profit for the investor and a promising outlook for the future. Pure crap."

  "Stone, how does it relate to the murder investigation?" the chief said.

  "Don't know that it does. Dyer is a big gambler. He may be in debt. Our next step is to find out how much and to whom. I contacted some sources and will follow-up with them. However, Dyer's alibi is solid for the time of the murder."