White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller (24 page)

Chapter 47

Todd was surprised when Vanessa chose to go to a noisy, crowded bar near her apartment rather than a coffee shop. He was more surprised and a little annoyed when she asked for a mineral water. It took nearly five minutes of being pushed and jostled to get to the bar. All the seats were taken, but there was a little space in the corner of the room and Todd handed Vanessa her drink, put his free arm around her waist and steered her in that direction. At the other end of the room, there was a jukebox blasting out hits from the nineties and a small dance floor that was overflowing. With his face only inches away from Vanessa’s he shouted, “Why did you want to come here?”

Vanessa put her mouth next to his ear and said, “Grinich said that they’re watching us and might be using listening devices. He said if the equipment’s sophisticated they’ll be able to hear us through windows and from more than two hundred yards away. They’re not going to hear anything in here.”

“Fuck! I never thought of that,” Todd said, pulling her toward him and kissing her.

“What was that about?” Vanessa laughed, her face still close to Todd’s.

“Realism,” he replied, cuddling into her. “Now listen carefully, I have a lot for you to pass on, and I need to come up to your apartment after. I have some pics to download to your laptop.”

Five minutes later they were on the crowded dance floor dancing body to body. Todd knew that she could feel his arousal, but she didn’t pull away. He had always wondered if you could be scared and horny at the same time. Now he knew the answer.

For three weeks, the FBI tracked the white, unmarked, refrigerated van. Based in the yard of a small logistics company on the outskirts of Brooklyn, it made very few deliveries. The few it did make were always to the same locations in the Bronx, Manhattan, Staten Island, and Bandits in Queens. Each week, refrigerated trailers from Chicago were quickly unloaded by the logistics company. Within an hour, the unmarked, refrigerated van was on the road to its four locations. It was impossible to track the refrigerated trailers’ movements prior to their departure from Chicago. When Aaron Lord tried to trace the ownership of the logistics company, he came up against a maze of companies controlled by lawyers and accountants. The directors of the logistics company did not reside at the addresses they had disclosed in corporate filings and were untraceable.

Grinich had taken all of ten minutes to decipher the information that Todd had provided to work out that Mrs. Deacon was Karen Deacon, estranged wife of super coach, Tom Deacon. He toyed with letting the Chicago office handle the initial contact but sensed it was the breakthrough he’d been waiting for. Within forty-eight hours, he was on a flight to Chicago.

The Chicago office had arranged a small Ram CV van signed in the livery of Lakes Gas Company for Grinich. He changed into blue coveralls and a cap bearing the company’s logo. After driving for thirty minutes, he stopped at the entrance to the driveway of Karen Deacon’s grand home and got out. Oscillating cameras on brick pillars supporting steel gates focused on him as he pressed the button on the intercom system.

“Yes.”

“Lakes Gas Company, ma’am. We’ve had a pipe rupture, and I need to check your connections to make sure they’re safe.”

“Couldn’t you have called? I’m going out soon. How long are you going to be?”

“Ma’am, if it wasn’t an emergency, I wouldn’t be here. I’ll finish within half an hour, and then you’ll be able to rest easy.”

“All right, but please hurry,” Karen said, as the gates clunked open, and Grinich drove up a long flower lined driveway to the rear of the house.

He took a tool box and pad from the van and got out as Karen came out the back door. He strode over toward her saying, “I just need to get your signature before I start.” He handed her a pen and opened the pad to a page that had written on it,
FBI. Don’t act surprised. Remain calm and sign the page.

When Karen looked up, Grinich was holding his FBI badge. She looked both scared and relieved.

“I’ll check the connections on the barbecue first and then the pool and sauna,” Grinich said. “I don’t want to talk in the house. It might be bugged. Now tell me who’s blackmailing you and why.”

Grinich had worried about whether Karen would talk, but his concerns proved ill-founded as she related all that had had happened. Twice she broke down in tears, and her voice quavered frequently. When she finished, she said, “Thi-this is the bes-best I’ve felt since the whole sor-sordid business began. Do-do you thin-think I’m terrible?”

“I don’t judge people unless I think they’ve broken the law,” Grinich replied. “I’m glad you feel better.”

“Wha-what are you going to do?” Karen asked, wiping her eyes as she fought to regain composure.

“I’m going to catch these low-lifes and put them in jail. Log onto the cell phone they gave you and let me have it.”

Grinich jotted down the number before scanning the recent calls and asking, “You only ever receive calls from one person?”

“Yes, on the phone and the screen always says private caller. You’re not going to be able to get his number. The other one Skypes me.”

Grinich laughed. “That part’s easy. The carrier will have the number, but that probably won’t help because it’ll be a prepaid cell. However, I’ll soon find the locations from where the calls originated. If we can’t get him from that, we’ll get him the next time he calls. We know the one who’s contacting you by Skype but proving it might be difficult.”

“What would you do if you were me?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Grinich replied. “I think you should tell your husband, your kids, and Devlin Cooper’s parents. After you’ve done that you should find an interviewer you can trust and tell her everything that you’ve just told me. There’ll be outrage, but there’ll be sympathy too and time does heal everything. No matter what you do, the CD is going to make it onto the net. I’m betting that there are many copies.”

“God, I’d been thinking of telling those close to me, and you’re right I should tell Devlin’s parents. I never thought of telling the whole world on television, though,” Karen said, turning red.

“It’ll be better if you get your side out there before your friends and neighbors see it on the net. You’ll remove some of the heat. If you don’t, and it just comes out of left field, the media will drive you insane. They still might, but it won’t be as bad.”

“What if I do and the CD’s never shown?”

Grinich shook his head. “Mrs. Deacon, we both know there’s no possibility of that.”

“Whe-when should I do-do it?” Karen asked, the very thought making her feel squeamish.

“Not until we know where the guy with the foreign accent is calling from.”

“How will you contact me?”

Grinich handed Karen his card. “Buy yourself a prepaid cell tomorrow. Text me the number and then delete the text. Don’t use it in the house and turn the ringtone off. Put it on vibrate and if you need to call me, do it from around the pool. It’s not visible from the street. If you’re out, go to a busy coffee shop or bar. If it vibrates, it’ll be me. No one else will have the number.”

“When are you going back to New York?” Karen asked.

“I don’t know. Not before I find out who’s calling you.”

Chapter 48

Karen waited only two days before receiving a threatening call from the blackmailer with the foreign accent. “Mrs. Deacon,” Vaughan said, “we’re sick of waiting. Transfer the money or we’ll download the CD to your children’s school computers. Don’t think we don’t have the expertise to do it.”

“You low-life. You’re going to download it no matter what I do. We’ve been over this before. Why are you still wasting my time?”

Vaughan softened his tone. “I’m trying to help you. I give you my word that if you pay you’ll never have to worry about your dirty little secret coming out.”

Karen laughed derisively. “You’re not a good liar. There’s not a bone of sincerity in your voice. Your partner’s far more believable than you. He told me that you were dangerous and that I should deal with him.”

“I don’t have a partner!”

“Oh, so he’s just someone brought into help because you’ve failed,” Karen taunted. “I wish Devlin had told you to go to hell, you bastard. You murdered him as surely as if you’d shot him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Vaughan replied, “the spoilt, rich boy couldn’t take the pressure so he took the easy way out. Gutless bastard!”

“Don’t you dare say that! He had more courage in his little finger than you have in your entire body. You’re slime.”

“You’ve had your say, Mrs. Deacon. You’ve got seventy-two hours to transfer the money. If you don’t, you’re gonna be a world famous porn star by the weekend and your husband, kids and friends are gonna die of shame.”

“You’re not getting a cent, scumbag.”

“I was looking at the CD last night with a few of my friends,” Vaughan goaded. “You’re a contortionist. Oh, and my friends asked me to find out if your tits are real. Are they?”

“You make me sick.”

“Really? You’re hardly the one to be taking the moral high ground. Save yourself a lot of pain, lady. Make the transfer.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you still there?” Vaughan asked.

“I’ve got nothing more to say,” Karen replied, glancing down at her watch. “Don’t call me again.”

Grinich was elated. Finally, the blocks were starting to fall into place. The FBI had pinpointed the call to Karen Deacon to a warehouse in one of the poorer industrial areas of Chicago. Grinich was confident that the warehouse housed the blackmailer and was also the source of the drugs coming into Brooklyn. He immediately put it under twenty-four-hour surveillance recording all movements. Aaron Lord returned his call to tell him that the property was owned by a corporation, but its real ownership was hidden in a maze of trusts and other corporations.

There were twenty-three men who regularly frequented the warehouse, and it had been easy to determine who the boss was. Like clockwork, a black limousine was driven through the gates at 8 A.M. every morning by one of three different drivers. The swarthy looking Brock Borchard had no criminal record but had been a prime suspect in at least two murders and associated with drug-running, prostitution and loan sharking. His three drivers were the same ethnicity and like Borchard, none of them had criminal records.

Grinich watched fascinated as the forklifts and other lifting equipment in the warehouse’s yard were barely used. Clearly the huge trailers that frequented the yard were already close to fully loaded, or empty, and on their way to pick up a load. Whatever goods they picked up or that were being dispatched were capable of being manually loaded and unloaded. Grinich had no doubt they were drugs and that he was looking at a major distribution center. In the space of the first two weeks surveillance, four of the refrigerated trailers that left the warehouse made deliveries to the logistics company in Brooklyn.

Grinich didn’t know how Borchard fit in with the insider share trading but was sure that he was witnessing organized crime on a major scale. He was equally convinced that the warehouse contained a huge stash of drugs. With this in mind, he decided to launch an early Monday morning raid on the warehouse. Once Borchard and his cronies were in custody, Grinich would be able to grill them about the drugs, the blackmail, the other members of the group and their nefarious activities. He knew that he would need more men and called a contact in the Chicago PD and arranged to brief him on the operation.

Brock Borchard carried three cell phones, one of which hardly ever rang, but when it did, it was answered with unusual alacrity.

“Yeah, what is it?”

There was a long pause and as Borchard listened his face clouded over.

“You’re sure it’s 8:05 on Monday morning?”

This time the pause was brief.

“Thanks, two days is more than enough. Oh, I’m putting a hundred thousand in your Hong Kong bank account this afternoon. It’s a bonus.”

Around midday on Saturday a refrigerated trailer backed up to one of the warehouse’s loading bays, and two of the forklifts sprang into action. One of the two FBI agents manning the cameras said, “That’s unusual. I can’t remember them using two forklifts before.”

The other agent laughed. “I wouldn’t worry. It must be a genuine load.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” the first agent said, “they’re loading pallets.”

As Todd walked along Mount Street, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the yellow cab. He climbed in and started laughing. “I couldn’t believe it when Vanessa told me you’d be my taxi driver today, Aaron.”

“Chas’s away and he thought you’d prefer me rather than an agent you’ve never dealt with before,” Lord replied.

“Has it got anything to do with what I passed onto him?”

“I can’t say. Just keep your wits about you.”

“So it has. What’s it about? The woman or the drugs?”

“I told you I can’t say. Stay alert and you’ll be fine. Chas expects to make some arrests that might bust this thing wide open. With luck, we might not need you for much longer.”