Doubleback: A Novel (20 page)

He leaned over the day lilies. “You have not been tending your garden, have you, Ellie?” Fouad was tall and dark, with eyes that could pick out deception a hundred yards away. His once lean frame was just a bit doughy these days. His hair, once black, was mostly silver now, and there was less of it. He’d shaved off his mustache a year ago—his wife Hayat said it was getting too bristly. He straightened and wiped a handkerchief across his brow.

He was right about the garden. “I haven’t had much time,” I answered guiltily. Now that he was chiding me, I kicked myself for not mulching, composting, and trying to reduce my carbon footprint a degree or two. At least I wasn’t turning farmers into indentured servants like Voss-Peterson.

“Tell me something, Fouad.”

“What is that?” He was now over by the mums, examining the tightly furled buds, as if sheer concentration could coax them into bloom.

“What would you think about a corporation that buys up farmers’ land, hires them back to raise the crops, then takes all the profit?”

He stroked the skin above his lip where his mustache used to be, then stopped, as if he’d just now realized it wasn’t there. “What crops are we talking about?”

“Corn.”

“Ahh...” His eyebrows arched. “Corn is the new global currency. In some quarters it’s as valuable as gold.”

“Yes, but does that entitle a multi-national to rob farmers of their share of the pot?”

Fouad tends to remind me when I’m grandstanding, and he was smiling now. “I suppose it depends on what the situation was before. As one of your presidents used to say, are they better off now than they were?”

“The farmers sold the land for a bunch of money. And they get a salary now. Plus an acre or two to keep for themselves. But that’s barely enough for a truck farm,” I added.

“Still, it sounds like an honest deal.”

“But the corporation took advantage of the farmers when they were down.”

“Some might say they saved them. No more worrying about next season or whether there will be enough money to feed the family.” Fouad frowned. “And do not forget, the land is still being farmed.”

“What do you mean?”

“It could have turned into a condo development.”

I was surprised at Fouad’s attitude. I wouldn’t have pegged him as so Adam Smith.

He gave a little shrug, as if he could read my mind, then bent over the mums. “These plants, Ellie. You must take care of them.”

“They’re not in bloom.”

“Unless you fertilize now, they may not bloom at all. And if they do, the blossoms will be tiny and sparse.”

I nodded and looked impatiently at my watch. I’d rushed back from Lake Geneva so I could cook Shabbos dinner tonight for Rachel and Dad. Rachel had invited her new boyfriend, and I wanted him to know that Rachel came from a family that still gathered round the table for a home-cooked meal. At least on Shabbos. He didn’t have to know it only happened once in a while. I started making a mental shopping list. Brisket was my father’s favorite, but in order for it to cook its allotted four hours, I had to drive to Sunset Foods now.

Fouad went back to the daylilies. “It seems as if the deer are already finding the lilies.”

The deer wander over from the Forest Preserve every year to snack on my daylilies, but this was early, even for them. I peered more closely. Sure enough, I saw a few naked stalks that looked like they’d been chewed.

Fouad wiped his brow again with his handkerchief. He was sweating more than usual. Fouad was probably somewhere in his sixties, but he’d always seemed ageless in the way men of wisdom often are. But now that I was noticing, his olive skin tone looked pale, and he was breathing hard.

“Fouad, is something wrong? Are you ill?”

He didn’t answer.

“Fouad?”

He wouldn’t look at me.

“When was the last time you saw a doctor?”

He waved away my concern. “I am fine.”

Typical. I drove to the grocery store, still worried. I thought about calling his wife, Hayat, but decided not to. If he didn’t seem better the next time he stopped by, I would. I ran into Sunset and hurried to the meat department. I was waiting for my brisket when my cell trilled.

“Ellie, it’s Georgia.”

“Hey, Georgia. How are you? Did you get back okay?”

“Do you remember the IT guy from the bank you took for a drink? The one who first told you about the service charges?”

“Cody. Cody Wegman.”

“Do you still have his number?”

I remembered the card he’d shoved into my hand when we left the bar. I still had it somewhere. “Yes. Why?”

“I need you to call him.”

“Oh? And what am I going to say?”

“You’re going to convince him to help me get into the teller department so I can find out where Delton Security’s three million dollars went.”

•   •   •

Cody Wegman, Georgia, and I met outside Midwest National bank on Saturday, a morning so hot and humid the office buildings looked like they were sweating. I’d called Cody when I got home from Sunset. He was surprised to hear from me. His surprise turned into shock when I made my request.

“Are you kidding? You want to break into the teller department?”

“Technically, I wouldn’t call it a break-in.”

“Okay. I know you were bullshitting me when you bought me a drink, but now you need to tell the truth. What’s going on?”

I’d been half expecting him to tell me where to go and then hang up, so I was cheered by his response. I told him the truth. Or as much of it as Georgia allowed. “Cody, a private investigator I know is looking into Chris Messenger’s death. A critical part of that investigation involves three cashiers’ checks the bank made at the beginning of June. We need to know who those checks went to. We were told the teller department keeps hard copies of every cashiers’ check the bank issues.”

“Maybe.”

“Please. We need to find out. And we can’t ask you to go online to track them down. It’s too risky.”

“You can say that again.” He went quiet. Then, “I could get fired for helping you. Maybe even go to jail.”

“That assumes we’re going to get caught.”

He blew out a breath. “And what makes you think I even know anyone who could help?”

I hesitated. “Sandy thought you might.”

“Sechrest? How is she?”

“How would I know?”

He cleared his throat. I recalled how he’d given me the information that led Georgia to Sandy in the first place.

“She’s safe,” I said after a pause.

“The bank thinks she’s on sick leave.”

“In a way, she is.”

He was quiet again. “If I help, am I going to have to disappear, too?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t wanted to take advantage of Cody, but I’d overstepped that boundary when I bought him a drink. And it was clear someone wanted to stop us from uncovering information and was willing to kill to keep it hidden. When you added Delton Security to the mix, there was no guarantee any of us would stay absolutely safe. I had to be honest. “I don’t know, Cody.”

Silence. Then, “Chris was my boss.”

“I know.”

“I liked her.”

“I know.”

He sighed. “The teller operation is high security. For obvious reasons.”

“Do you know anyone?”

“The only person I know is Joan Hiller.”

I held my breath.

“I’ll call her.”

Now, as we waited for her outside the bank building, Cody said, “You’re lucky, you know. We just started having Saturday hours. Lobby’s open until noon.”

I checked my watch. It was ten-thirty.

“We should have plenty of time.”

Georgia frowned. “We?”

Cody shifted his feet. “Well, uh, yes. You need us to help you go through the log, right?”

Georgia had her shades on, which was good. I didn’t want Cody to see the expression I knew was there. “Cody, you’ve been really helpful, but this isn’t
24
. It’s a murder investigation.”

Cody slung his hands in the pockets of his shorts. His shoulders hunched.

“You won’t be coming in, either.” Georgia turned to me. “Just Hiller.” She turned back to Cody. “Are you sure she’s coming?”

Cody shifted again. “She said so.”

Ten minutes later, Georgia said, “Why don’t you call her? See where she is.” She paused. “You do have her number?”

A flash of irritation came over Cody, but he made the call. “Where are you? He listened, then turned his back on us and walked away, but I could hear him pleading. “You’ve got to. You can’t leave me hanging. Come on, Joan.” Then he grunted and snapped the cell shut. As he walked back, it looked like a two hundred pound weight lay on his shoulders. “She’s not coming. She’s too scared.”

Georgia’s lips tightened so much they almost disappeared.

chapter
25

“I
’m really sorry,” Cody Wegman apologized to Georgia at the Starbucks near Midwest National. Ellie covered Wegman’s hand with her own. “Relax, Cody. You tried.”

“Yeah, but I’d thought she’d have more
cojones
, you know?”

Georgia tried not to react. This wasn’t some caper with macho language and attitude. And Ellie was right. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. He’d risked his job to help them. Still, when you rely on amateurs...

Ellie and Wegman both peered at her, as if waiting for her to come up with another solution. The problem was she didn’t have one. She sipped her drink. Icy cold and sweet. Small compensation.

“What’s so important about those cashiers’ checks?” Wegman asked.

Ellie glanced at Georgia. She nodded.

“Chris Messenger authorized them,” Ellie explained, conveniently leaving out the part about the bank chairman’s signature. “Then closed the account they came from while her little girl was kidnapped. We think they might be related to her death.”

“Whose account was that?”

Georgia cut in. “That’s something I don’t think you should know. It’s—”

“But he might be able to help,” Ellie interrupted.

Aside from baseball, Georgia didn’t like team sports. Which was part of the problem when she was a cop. Being paired with Robby Parker had dragged her down. She preferred working alone. It was safer that way. But Ellie Foreman had become a major part of the investigation. The kid, too. He had a right to know. “You don’t know this,” she said softly. “And you damn well didn’t hear it from me.”

“Of course.” A self-satisfied look unfolded Wegman’s face. Georgia forced herself not to wipe it off with her napkin.

“It’s Delton Security,” Ellie said.

His face lit with recognition.

“You know who they are?”

“Everyone does. They’re one of our biggest customers.”

“So we understand,” Georgia said. “How did they come to be a customer of the bank?”

He thought for a minute. “I think Delton was the result of one of our new business campaigns.”

“What campaigns?”

“About a year ago, the bank launched an outreach effort. Senior officers would visit potential customers and pitch them with all sorts of perks to give us their accounts. Teams of officers—marketing, investment guys, IT—would do a dog and pony show. You know.”

Georgia leaned forward. “You mentioned IT. Was Chris Messenger on one of those teams?”

Wegman nodded. “She sure was. I remember the days she’d go out. She’d kid around about wearing her new business suit. Usually we didn’t dress up.”

Georgia took in his faded t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. That was the truth.

“Was she on the team that went to Delton?”

“Are you kidding? She was the reason we got it.”

Georgia sat up. “How did that happen?”

“They wanted to work with someone who could put all their operations online. Synchronize the bank’s stuff with theirs. Chris was the natural choice for Account Manager.” “That explains why she authorized the cashiers’ checks,” Georgia added. “And brought the matter to Pattison,” Ellie said. “Maybe even helped convince him to go along.” Wegman looked from Georgia to Ellie. “What’s the chairman got to do with this?”

Georgia and Ellie exchanged a glance. Georgia shook her head.

“Nothing, Cody,” Ellie said hurriedly. “Forget it.”

“So, Cody,” Georgia jumped in. “If you were looking to find out who the cashiers’ checks went to, how would you do it?”

His features relaxed, as if realizing he was still part of the team. He drained his Frappuccino. “We’re talking about June twenty-fifth, right?”

“No,” Georgia said. “That’s when the account they came out of was closed. The date the checks went out was early June. The first or second.”

“Oh. I thought...” his voice trailed off. Then he sat up, a puzzled look on his face. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I think June twenty-fifth was the day the elevator went crazy.” He looked at Georgia.

“Hold on.” He pulled out his wallet, extracted a tiny calendar card, and squinted at it. “Yup. That was the day.”

“What are you talking about?” Georgia asked.

“It was the strangest thing. There was a power failure in our bank of elevators. They just shut down for a few minutes.”

“What do you mean ‘your bank of elevators?’”

“IT is on the fifty-first floor. The elevators go from the lobby straight to fifty and then up to sixty-two. Five people were trapped inside. No lights. No electricity. Nothing. It only lasted about a minute, but one woman still hates to get on the elevator. She walks up most of the way.”

“What happened?” Ellie asked.

“They don’t really know.” He tapped his glass against the table. “It was a hot day. Lots of AC all over the Loop. Best guess is that it was a Com Ed brownout.”

“But it was only your bank of elevators,” Ellie said.

“I know.” He looked meaningfully at Ellie. “Kind of weird, you know?”

Georgia didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Listen to me, Cody. I’m not into long, meaningful looks or half-assed insinuations. If you think there’s a connection between the power failure and what Chris Messenger did, tell me. Otherwise don’t waste my time.”

Ellie pursed her lips. She looked like she wanted to defend Cody, but kept her mouth shut.

“Okay.” Wegman rolled his mug. “Here’s the thing. In the early days of computers, in order to make something permanent, you had to power down. You know, reboot the system.”