Death of a Bankster (3 page)

“Now promise me you’ll not do anything foolish. We’ll be okay. We’ll make it. With what you’ve put in our safe deposit box and our brokerage accounts, we’re okay. We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll come out of this on top. You watch. Those dickheads will end up getting it in the ass. Score one for Sam Crawford. I’ll have the last laugh on all this. You’ll see.” Sam hung up.

Paige hit the end button and dropped her cell phone on the couch next to her. Carla sat forward in her chair, a blank look on her face. “What happened?”

“He’s been downsized. He’ll be home soon. I guess I better get upstairs and out of this seduction outfit.”

“No. No. A great lay will take a man’s mind off anything. Men don’t multi-task well, they can’t use their big heads while they’re using their little heads. You get after it, girl. Pour it on. Strut your stuff.” Carla bobbed her head. “You make ‘im beg for it, honey.”

“But he’s been downsized.”

“Listen to me. You look hot in that outfit, beyond hot. Take his mind off being downsized, whatever the hell that means. Tonight is about you getting him up-sized. And that pun is intended.”

Chapter 4

Two margaritas later, the front door opened. Paige and Carla looked up to see Paige’s husband, Sam, standing on the porch. He turned toward the street and looked back at the cab pulling away from the curb. The hot night air danced through a mesquite tree growing on Sam's side of the streetlamp, the swaying branches tossing shadows across the pavement.

Carla stood. “Don’t close the door Sam; I’ve got to be going.”

Sam stepped up into the house. Then he fell forward. His face hit the floor. Hard. His right pant leg twisted and pushed partway up as he fell. One foot hung back over the sill, suspended out into the night air, a strip of exposed white skin cooling above his sock.

The two women stood still, looking at each other, and then ran toward Sam. They stopped when a pool of blood began flowing toward them. The tiny red stream flowed unevenly along the grout lines of the diagonally laid slate tile entryway, like a miniature desert wash in a flash rain.

Paige screamed.

Carla grabbed Paige by the shoulders. “Let me look.” Carla moved Sam’s legs far enough to let her close the door. She bent down and put the inside of the pads of her index and middle finger against Sam’s throat, below his jawline. After a brief period, Carla stood and went to Paige. “Sam’s been shot in the back of the head. I’m sorry, honey. He’s dead.”

Carla didn’t let go of Paige until she stopped crying. “Do you want me to call the police?”

“Would you, Carla. I need to go upstairs and change. I can’t have the cops see me wearing this. She spread her hands and looked down. I feel silly in … why am I worried about this now?”

Carla gently wiped her thumb across a tear path on Paige’s cheek. Then she reached for the phone. A sudden noise turned both women toward the door. Toward the voice of a man who had opened the door without knocking.

He stepped inside. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping over Sam’s legs. Paige snatched her robe closed and fastened the tie. “I’m with the FBI,” he said, “Special Agent in Charge, Dennis Powell.”

“How did you know this had happened?” Carla asked. “So quickly?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “you are?”

“This is Paige Crawford. That’s her husband,” Carla pointed back toward the front door, “Sam Crawford. I’m her friend, her neighbor, Carla Roth. I’m a registered nurse. I checked. Sam is dead. Now how did you get here so fast? How did you know Sam had been shot?”

“This is Special Agent Ann Withers, Ms. Roth. We’ve had Mr. Crawford under surveillance for some time. I followed him home from the airport. Agent Withers had the house under surveillance.”

“You had my home under surveillance?” Paige asked. She leaned one hand against the sofa table that sat along the wall not far from the door, on the other side of the stream of her husband’s blood. Her first words since the agents came into her home. “What does that mean? Why would you be watching my house? I expect an explanation, Agent … I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Agent Powell, Ma’am. I can’t give you all the details, but you are entitled to an answer. We have had your husband under investigation for some months.”

“Under investigation? For what?”

“Your husband is suspected of money laundering, Mrs. Crawford.”

Is that what Sam has been up to? How he’s been getting all that extra money?

Another voice came from the doorway. “Agent Powell, may I proceed?”

“Mrs. Crawford, Ms. Roth, this man is the local medical examiner. Agent Withers took the liberty of calling him before we approached the house. The need for him was obvious. We saw the whole thing.” Then Agent Powell turned to the medical examiner, “Yes. This is now officially a crime scene. You go right ahead. I assume you’ll be taking the body to your lab?”

The medical examiner nodded. “Yes. Should be there and booked in within an hour or so. Your surveillance establishes causation and the time of death. So, this one’ll go rather quickly.”

Agent Powell turned to Agent Withers. “You have the entire crime on tape, correct?”

“From start to finish,” Agent Withers said. “It all happened right in the doorway. The angle of the shot suggests the shooter was somewhere along the ridge near Camelback, about four-to-five-hundred yards. We saw enough dust right after the shot to suggest the shooter got away on an all-terrain vehicle of some sort. We called the locals. They have people who know that ground so they’ll assist us in finding the exact sniping position.”

“Agent Withers,” SAIC Powell said. “Don’t bother to call for an evidence response team. We’ve got it all on tape so we know nothing happened on the premises or inside the house. However,” he turned to Paige, “with your permission, we’d like to search your home. Perhaps you could go to Ms. Roth’s home to stay while we do that? We’ll need about two hours, I’d say. If you have any locked file cabinets, doors or drawers, or password protected computers please unlock those before you leave. We’ll be looking for clues to why and by whom your husband was killed. Given our video of the event, we will not be doing any forensics so a couple of hours should be fine. We’ll try to be neat as we proceed.”

“Paige can stay with me tonight,” Carla said. “I’m off work tomorrow. I’ll stay with her.”

“That would be excellent,” Agent Powell said. “That way we won’t need to rush. If you’ll give me the key, I’ll personally lock the door when we’re done looking around and the medical examiner has … ah, finished. I’ll bring the key next door. Would that be all right?”

“I guess so,” Paige said, in monotone, a blank expression on her face.

Carla Roth nodded. “We want whoever did this to be found. Agent Powell, if you need anything here’s my card. In the short term, call me and I’ll talk with Paige, just for the next day or two. Would that be okay?”

“Thank you, Ms. Roth. The Bureau appreciates your help.” Then he turned to Paige. “We understand your husband had been out of town the last few days. You were apparently waiting for him when he got home. You saw him when he entered?”

“Yes,” Paige said, feeling a bit uncomfortable still wearing the bustier under her robe. She had noticed the men looking at her before she realized that in the hubbub her robe tie had again loosened. At least she still wore her slippers and not the platform heels she had planned to wear later. She again wondered why she felt concerned with that right now.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll want to go to the bank where Sam worked,” Agent Powell said, “without them knowing the situation before we arrive. So don’t call anyone, no one at all. This is important. We’ll want to judge whether or not people at the bank are surprised when they learn of his death. We’ll want to deal with it the same way here in your neighborhood, and in your family. So, again, please tell no one. That goes for you too, Ms. Roth.”

“Agent Powell,” Carla said, “Sam’s parents are dead, also Paige’s father, but not her mother. How long do you expect her to remain silent about … this?”

“I understand. This part of it never runs smoothly. This is Thursday night.” He glanced at his watch before turning to Paige. “It’ll be close to Friday morning by the time we wrap up here. We should be at your husband’s bank in about ten hours or so. Give us until Sunday. In fact, I’ll stop back on Sunday around noon. At that time, I’ll tell you what else we have learned. I’ll likely have a few more questions then. Is Sunday okay for you? Do you work?”

“Not outside the home, Agent Powell. Sunday will be fine. I’ll be sure and be home Sunday or maybe at Carla’s. I think she’s off until Monday.” Carla nodded her head while mouthing yes without speaking.

“I think we’ve covered it then, ladies. There was no real commotion on the property and we’ve operated out of discreet surveillance vehicles. We asked the M.E. to come in an unmarked van to maintain our low profile. None of us used any sirens. He should be able to take your husband out without arousing your neighbors. Given the hour, the way your property is landscaped, and the driveway turns toward the house, I doubt anyone has paid any particular attention. You likely won’t be questioned by anyone before I see you again. In the unlikely event you are, excuse it away as animal control removing a javelina that had strayed into your backyard and wouldn’t leave. You could, in the alternative, have Ms. Roth tell anyone who calls or comes by that you’re in bed with a terrible cold, that you’ll likely be up and around by Monday. That should do it.

“When I come back Sunday afternoon I’ll have a name, a local homicide officer for you to contact. The M.E. will report to that person. Ms. Roth, please take Mrs. Crawford over to your home now so we can get on with our search. And thank you, Mrs. Crawford, for your permission to look around. We need to get to the bottom of this, and your cooperation tonight will speed that process. Please do not take anything with you now. At this moment, we don’t know what might be evidence. You understand. After I bring the key back, you can return whenever you’d like. We won’t need to button up your house as a crime scene. We have it all on film. The M.E. has the body. The role of your home in the crime was minimal.”

Carla led Paige toward the front door with Paige clutching her robe above her bustline, her legs peeking out with each step forward. Then Carla turned back toward Agent Powell. “May we have your card?”

“My apologies, Ms. Roth. I should have provided that first thing. It was a bit hectic, having just observed the killing and all. Here you are. I’m on special assignment out of the national office in D.C. The number on there is my cell. Good night, ladies. Oh, one more thing. How many computers do you have in the house?”

“There are two, I think,” Carla said, looking at Paige.

“Yes. Two,” Paige confirmed. “Mine is in the kitchen. I use it to pay bills and personal stuff. Sam has a laptop. At home he uses it in a docking station. He works from home a lot. If you want, take his with you. It may help. I’m sure it’s in the portfolio he had in his hand when—” Her words trailed off. Paige pointed. The leather case was on the entryway floor. “Take it. It belongs to the bank anyway. He got fired earlier today so he would have returned it tomorrow anyway.”

“He was just fired? Today?”

“Yes,” Paige said. “He spoke of it when he called from the airport before heading home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Crawford. I’ll let the bank know we’ve got it. We’ll return it there when we’re done with it.” Then Agent Powell turned to Carla. “You said you’re a nurse, maybe you have something that could help Mrs. Crawford sleep tonight?”

Carla nodded, and put her arm around Paige, who froze a bit as they started toward the door. “Let’s go this way,” Carla said, “out through your back door and across the patio. We can use the side gate to my place. Agent Powell, would you lock the patio door behind us? There’s a thumb turn on the deadbolt.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll lock up before we leave, and I’ll personally bring the key next door. I doubt we’ll be here more than two hours. Will you be up that long?”

“Paige won’t be. I’ll get her to sleep. When you come by Sunday afternoon, Paige may still be over at my place. If you don’t find her at home, come on over. Mine is the house on that side.” Carla pointed. Agent Powell nodded. “As for tonight, I’ll be up. Come by when you’re done.”

Chapter 5

Paige entered the kitchen and looked at Carla who was cutting something on the counter.

“Good morning, Paige. Have you been over to your place yet this morning?”

“I went over last night, after you went to bed. I was just ready, I guess. Couldn’t sleep so I went over, just to get it over with, I suppose. It was tough, but I got it out of my system, at least I did after a good cry. The house was, I don’t know, cold, just an empty house, not my home. I’m sure that sounds screwy.”

“No it doesn’t.” Carla stopped slicing a melon and stood with a knife in her hand. “I suspect that’s normal. Give it some time. You’re welcome to stay with me until whenever.”

“Thanks, Carla. Okay, let’s move on. It’s Monday morning and I haven’t heard from those FBI Agents. It’s been more than three days. Have they called you?”

Carla carried a tray with a carafe of coffee, two mugs, a plate of buttered English Muffins, and a bowl of sliced cantaloupe to the table. “I haven’t heard from them since they brought your key back before they left Thursday night. I just assumed they’d ring your cell.”

“They haven’t. Agent Powell did say he’d come by Sunday around noon. That was yesterday. I’m sure he said that, although I admit I was in a fog at the time. Did you hear him?”

“That’s what he said. He also spoke about a local homicide cop. Maybe they each thought the other would contact you. That kind of thing happens all the time at the hospital.”

“What do you think I should do?”

Carla poured coffee into the mugs. “You should go down to the Phoenix police department. For some reason I think the homicide department’s on Washington. Would you like me to go with you? I can get the morning off, if I call in right away.”

“No. I’m okay. You’ve been wonderful. You go on to work. I can handle it.” Paige sipped her coffee, wincing a bit at its fresh heat. “I’ll go over to my place. It’ll be easier the second time. I’ll get cleaned up there and check on the address on Washington. Don’t worry about me. I’ll fill you in, tonight.”

“You sure, honey? Here you should eat a little something.” Carla put a buttered muffin on one of the plates together with a few slices of the melon and set it in front of Paige.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You go on to the hospital, really. We can have dinner tonight. Okay?”

“Absolutely, we’ll go out and get something and wash it down with lots of booze.”

“Maybe, let’s see how I feel after you get home. Okay?”

They agreed on a loose plan to meet up around six in Carla’s house. “You come right in, honey, whenever you want. You consider this your home too. There’s plenty of room so anytime you don’t feel like being, you know, alone just come on over.”

* * *

Paige approached the officer on duty at the front desk. “My name is Paige Crawford. I’m here about the murder of my husband Samuel Crawford. I believe the FBI contacted you about it late last Thursday or perhaps very early on Friday.”

“Give me a moment, Mrs. Crawford. Let me find out which officer is handling that case.” After more time than Paige thought it should have taken, the officer looked back at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t show a homicide case under that name. Am I spelling it correctly? C-r-a-w-f-o-r-d. Is that right?”

“Yes. That’s correct. What do you mean you don’t show a case? My husband was murdered at our front door four days ago and you have no record of it? What is going on?”

“Please have a seat ma’am, ah, Mrs. Crawford. Let me get someone from homicide to come talk with you. It may not have been entered into the computer yet. These delays do happen, over a weekend particularly. They can be on the case, but late booking it in. Please. Over there.” He pointed. “Please. It shouldn’t be long.” Paige turned and walked toward the seating.

The desk sergeant picked up a phone and hit an extension. “Hello, Detective Martin, I’ve got a Mrs. Paige Crawford downstairs. She said her husband, Samuel, was murdered last Thursday. That the FBI was there, at her home right after the murder, and told her they would contact us. I don’t have any record of that in the computer. Do you know anything about it? … No. She seems a solid citizen. No nut job.”

Not more than five minutes later, a woman in a dark blue pant suit approached. “Mrs. Crawford?” Paige stood up. “I’m Sergeant Madeline Richards. This is my partner, Detective Sue Martin. You say your husband was murdered a few days ago, that the FBI was supposed to have contacted us. Is that right?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me they didn’t tell you? That was days ago. Special Agent Powell and Agent Withers, a woman, both working out of the Washington, D.C., headquarters were there. Your local medical examiner took the body.”

“Why would the FBI be involved in a local murder?” Sergeant Maddie Richards asked.

“How should I know?” Paige snapped. “You guys are the cops, not me. They were there in minutes. Not more than five minutes. They said they had had Sam … my husband, under surveillance for some time. That was the first I knew of it. They took his computer … his body. And now the local police know nothing about any of it?”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Detective Sue Martin spoke. “You said your husband was murdered. Where is his body?” Sue had a soft voice despite her powerful image. She was five-foot-nine, one inch taller than Maddie and about twenty pounds heavier, very muscular. Sue spent a lot of time in the weight room. She was a black woman with big biceps and broad shoulders. Sue, who had known Maddie since middle school, earned her detective’s badge and became Maddie’s partner after her former partner, Gil Ortega, had resigned to take a job as a defensive line coach at Northern Arizona University.

“I’ve already told you,” Paige Crawford said. “Agent Powell called it in to your local medical examiner. For Christ sake, he came and took Sam’s body away. Here. Look. Here is Agent Powell’s card, Dennis Powell.” Paige held the card in one hand while poking it with the index finger of her other. “The other agent was Ann Withers, I don’t have her card.” Maddie took the card and handed it to Detective Martin while still speaking to Paige. “This is the guy who came in right after your husband was shot?”

Paige nodded.

“Sue,” Maddie Richards said. Sue nodded and headed for the front desk, went through the opening in the counter and picked up a phone.

“Mrs. Crawford,” Maddie said, “please. I understand you’re upset. This is a difficult time for you. We only learned of it a few minutes ago. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Detective Martin is contacting the medical examiner’s office. We’ll get this cleared up, hopefully in a few minutes. I apologize for the impression this must be giving you. Please, let me sit with you. We should know something shortly.”

After a nervous minute or two of sitting together quietly, Paige said, “Ah, thank you, Sergeant Richards. I appreciate you being so generous with your time.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Crawford. Detective Martin and I are close to wrapping up a case. Plan to close it tomorrow afternoon, so we can start working yours in. We certainly have no shortage of cases. Then again, it guarantees job security, you understand.”

“I do, Sergeant Richards. The city has plenty of cases to keep you busy. Or so it would seem from what I see on the local news.”

“You got that right,” Maddie said as Sue Martin came around the station house counter and headed back toward them.

Sue stopped before Maddie who still sat next to Paige. “Sergeant Richards, may I speak with you for a moment?” She motioned for Maddie to come with her.

“Go ahead, Sue. Tell us what you found out. If you tell me, I’ll only need to tell Mrs. Crawford. Let her hear it firsthand.”

“The M.E. has no record of … anyone there with the name Sam Crawford. No record of any body coming in late Thursday. And no Thursday night call from the FBI to go anywhere.”

Paige covered her mouth with her hand. “Where is my husband? What is going on, Sergeant Richards?”

Sue Martin cleared her throat. “There’s more, Sergeant. I called the Phoenix FBI field office. They have no agents named Dennis Powell and Ann Withers in the Phoenix field office and no knowledge of any agents from the national office, working locally. Protocol would require agents from outside the Phoenix office to check in before working in the local area.”

“My husband is dead,” Paige squeezed the purse on her lap. “I saw it. I’m not crazy.” She lifted her purse before slamming it down against her thighs. “I saw him dead on the floor. Shot in the head.” Paige stood and screamed. “Now you’re telling me you’ve lost his body.”