Death of a Bankster (14 page)

“I did not kill Sam. I have no idea who killed him or why.”

“You either killed Sam Crawford or put him in a position where someone else wanted to kill him. Fortunately, for you, I have bigger fish to fry than solving the death of your fellow bankster. Should I find out you did kill him, when we’re done with you, I’ll turn you over to the local cops who will arrest you for the murder of Sam Crawford. Understood?”

“I understand. If you play that square, I’ve got no concerns on that score. I didn’t kill Sam. Now, how will I recognize this man you’ll send over to take Sam’s job?”

“I didn’t say it would be a man. There’s a silver dollar on the corner of the blotter on your desk. Pick it up. Describe it to me.”

Norbert picked it up and reached forward to put it under his desk lamp. “It’s a 1998 Commemorative Robert Kennedy silver dollar.”

“What else?”

“There’s something dark, appears to be black ink, in the deep lines on the lower portion of his face.”

“Keep that dollar. Don’t spend it. The person I send for the job will tell you that he was recommended by a mutual friend, Mr. Kennedy. He’ll then hand you a silver dollar exactly like the one in your hand. His references and work background will check out exactly as he will put on his application, as will his identification. Hire him or her and follow that person’s instructions like they were from me, they will be. You don’t want to see me again. I will be around, and I will know what’s going on.”

“And that will get me out of this without any charges?”

“You familiar with that Johnny Cash song,
I Walk the Line
? The only way you come out of this, to live out your natural life a free man, is for you to walk the line on this one.”

“I don’t want to go to jail.”

“That’s up to you, Norbie. Do what you’re told, and don’t forget, you’ve been traded to a new team. Do the job we assign you and your chances improve.”

“That’s it?”

“See the role of tape next to where the silver dollar was?” Norbert nodded. “Use it to wrap your left wrist to the right arm of your chair. Four wraps around, and then pull it up to your mouth. Use your teeth to tear it off.”

“But my wife won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.”

“You’ll be able to work that tape free in about thirty minutes or so. I’ll be gone by then. I have your cell phone number. Keep that cell on you at all times. If I call, I’ll use the name Exeter. I don’t leave messages so answer it no matter where you are. You won’t be able to call me back. If you don’t answer, I’ll consider you’ve quit the team. You don’t want to quit my team, Norbie.”

Chapter 14

Maddie glanced out the window in time to see Ryan step out of his car in front of the house. He was driving a dark, nondescript four-door Ford Taurus, the same kind of car Maddie drove. He came up the driveway wearing a pair of dark slacks, black, she thought, a long sleeve forest-green shirt with a button-down collar, and black loafers. He swung out a bit to move around a bougainvillea which, being in its prime season, had tentacles reaching out onto the driveway.

Why didn’t I trim that damn thing this afternoon?

She had chosen an outfit of tan slacks with a peach colored blouse, not too low cut. After all she was eating at home, and a new pair of sandals to show off her recent pedicure. When he stepped around the end of the garage onto the sidewalk to the porch she saw his slacks were definitely black.

“He’s here, mother. Bradley, you be on your best behavior.”

“Gosh, Mom, I helped Grandma set the table didn’t I?”

“Well, answer the door, Maddie,” Rita said. “Bradley, you come on and help me.” Brad followed his grandmother into the kitchen as the doorbell rang.

“Hello, Ryan. Please come in.” Maddie pushed open the screen.

Ryan paused and inhaled long. “What is that wonderful smell? I guess I should first say, ‘Hi, Maddie, you look great. Thank you for inviting me.’”

She shut the door. “Mother, if you can take a break. Bradley, come in and say hello to my friend.”

After introductions, Rita and Bradley returned to the kitchen. Maddie led Ryan out toward the backdoor to the patio table. On the way through the kitchen, Ryan spoke to Brad.

“Your mother tells me you’re quite a pitcher. I love baseball.”

“I plan to be a major league pitcher one day.”

“That’s a wonderful goal. I won’t tell you what you’ve probably heard from your mother and grandmother about getting a solid education for a backup plan. But you know they’re right.”

“I know. I do good in school. What I really wanna learn is how to throw a slider to work off my fastball and curve. My Little League coach doesn’t know the slider, but he’s working with me on a changeup.”

“A changeup is a good pitcher. Your mother and I will be out back. If you get free later before it gets dark bring your ball out. I used to throw a mean slider. Maybe I can show you a little about it.”

“Really?” Brad said. Ryan smiled. Brad looked at his grandmother.

“I need you a bit longer,” Rita said, “but then you can go out. Maybe in about fifteen minutes or so.”

“Golly thanks, Mr. Testler. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

Ryan put his hand on Brad’s shoulder. “I’ll be waiting, but first take care of whatever your grandmother needs, okay?” Brad smiled, his front tooth chipped a bit on the corner. “Yes sir.” Ryan followed Maddie out the door to the backyard.

There was iced tea on the patio. Maddie poured them each a glass. After a little talk, mostly about Brad, Ryan looked at Maddie straight on. “I read about you in the Arizona Republic, the Sam Crawford case. That was something else, his body just popping up in the medical examiner’s office. I confess I laughed, but I know it wasn’t funny for you, and certainly not for Dr. Conner, if I remember her name correctly.”

“You do. Rosemary Conner.” Maddie shook her head while smiling. “No. Not funny for either of us, and certainly not for the department or the county. The ME’s office is actually a Maricopa County department even though it’s here in Phoenix and handles our cases.”

“I know Paige Crawford,” Ryan said. “More like, I’ve met her.”

“Really? Did you know her husband, Sam, the victim?”

“No. Would you like me to give you the rundown on our meeting?”

“If you’re comfortable doing so. I don’t want to poke my nose in your boy-girl stuff. Still, the more I know about the Widow Crawford, well, the more I know. She’s right in the middle of our investigation.”

Ryan turned sideways and let his legs run lengthwise on the bench seat on his side of the redwood table. “Last week, I think it was Wednesday, if I recall. I saw a lady pulled to the side of the road just sitting behind the wheel. Her car had a flat. I pulled over and changed her tire. She was Paige Crawford. That’s when we met. After that, I followed her home. She didn’t have a spare and I wanted to be sure she got back without another blowout. We had coffee. I said goodbye and left. Nothing much to it, really.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. We talked a little. She was pretty shaken, had been crying. The company helped her calm down.”

“A flat tire is an inconvenience, not a trauma. If you’re speaking of the Wednesday before this week, that would have been before her husband was murdered. Could it have been Friday? That would have been after his death. That would explain her crying.”

“No. Wednesday. She told me she had just left the office of a divorce attorney. I saw that as explaining her crying. She was beginning proceedings against Sam Crawford.”

“That’s new news, big news. Could possibly even be a motive.”

“I figured you’d see that possibility right off. But, for what it’s worth, I really don’t think she had anything to do with her husband’s death.”

“Oh. On what do you base that? You had just met her. Changing a tire falls short of psychoanalysis.”

Ryan smiled. “Women aren’t the only creatures with intuition.” Maddie laughed. “Seriously,” he said, “Paige had just finished her first meeting with a divorce attorney. From what I read in the paper, it would seem the killing of Sam Crawford had been carefully orchestrated. Paige is a housewife. She doesn’t have the background to coordinate such a complex murder, not to mention being able to slip his body through security and into the morgue during the dead of night. And, why would she bother to see a divorce attorney if she had a plan in motion to kill him the next day? It certainly discloses her marriage had soured. Maybe that she might have fantasized killing him, or his dying through happenstance. But it doesn’t add up to her being the murderer, or is it murderess? But then you’re the homicide detective so you understand these things far better than I.”

“You think like a detective. You some kind of federal cop?”

“Not really. But my work does require analysis.”

“Someday you’ve got to tell more.”

“We’ll see. It’s not important.”

Bradley came out the backdoor carrying his glove and a baseball. He stood quietly until Ryan reached out for the ball.

“First and this is important. A slider is easier on your arm. If you want to be a major league pitcher you need to build a healthy arm. The curve is tough on the elbow. Okay?” Bradley nodded. His hands were on his hips, his eyes not on Ryan, but on the ball in Ryan’s hand.

“The grip is pretty easy. Hold it like a fastball only ease your grip off-center a little so more of the ball is sticking out on one side of your fingers than on the other. Look. Like this.” Ryan spun the ball in his hand and re-gripped it.

“Which side do my fingers go on?”

“It can be either. But for now, I’d suggest the side where your middle finger will be nearer the center of the ball, with your index finger on the smaller part of the ball.” Again Ryan gripped the ball to demonstrate what he meant.

“Why that way?”

“Your hands will get bigger, but not the ball. That means the grip will get easier for you as you grow. Your hand will become stronger. For now, your middle finger is longer and stronger than your index finger. That gives you more control over the larger portion of the ball with your middle finger. Understand?” Brad nodded still looking at the ball in Ryan’s big right hand. “Okay?”

“Gee thanks, Mr. Testler. Can we throw a few? I wanna try it.”

Right then Rita stuck her head out the door, “Soup’s on. Bradley come in and wash up.”

“Oh, darn. I wanna try this pitch.”

“Bradley,” Ryan said. “Dinner involves everyone, the pitch just you and me so we have to go along on this. If your mother says okay, I’ll come over another day with the focus on baseball. Okay?”

Bradley looked at his mother. Maddie smiled. “Sure. Absolutely. Whenever Mr. Testler can make it. Now let’s go eat. And you, mister, go wash up.” Bradley ran ahead.

“That was sweet,” Maddie said with her open hand on the skin of Ryan’s forearm. “You’ve made a friend. Ah, I mean Bradley. Well, me too. Thanks.”

“Thank you, Maddie. I envy you having a son. He’s wonderful.” He held the door open and Maddie stepped in ahead of him.

“I hope you like pork chops and homemade applesauce, Mr. Testler,” Rita said.

“I’ll like it better if you call me Ryan. So, the applesauce was what I smelled when I first came in. My grandmother used to make her own. Smelled just like yours, ma’am. Lots of cinnamon, right?”

“Always lots of cinnamon,” Rita said. “Okay, Ryan. Sit down and help yourself. Nobody’s shy at dinnertime in this house.”

Ryan held the chair for Rita, then for Maddie. By then Bradley had returned and taken his usual seat on the long side of the rectangular table. His mother and grandmother sat on the ends, which put Ryan across from Bradley.

“Where did you learn to throw a slider, Mr. Testler? Did you play baseball?”

“Yes, a long time ago, Brad. Can I fill your iced tea for you?” The boy nodded. Ryan poured a glassful for Brad and himself, and then returned the pitcher to center table.

“My daughter tells me you work for the government. May I ask what you do?”

“A little of this, a little of that, I’m sort of a troubleshooter, ma’am. Right now, I’m on holiday between missions. I’ll get reassigned when I get back to D.C.”

“When do you go back?” Maddie asked.

“I had a month coming. I’ll be here almost three more weeks, long enough for you to get tired of me.”

Maddie reached over and squeezed Ryan’s wrist.

“You used the word, missions, were you in the military Mr. Testler? Oops, I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“Mother! Let the man eat. We’re not playing twenty questions you know.”

“That’s all right,” Ryan said. “Regardless of ages, mothers have always been curious when their daughter brings a new man home. Yes ma’am, I was.”

Rita put her knife across the corner of her plate. “Ryan, I’m not going to call you by your first name unless you call me Rita. Deal?”

Ryan smiled, “Deal, Rita.”

“Now, I interrupted you. You were saying?”

“Yes. I was in the military.”

“Army? My husband was in the army.”

“I was in one of those new units while being technically connected, largely operate somewhat independent of any one branch of the military.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I re-upped once. Then I retired from the military. So, please tell me about your husband. Was the army his career?”

“He did twenty years, a lot of it in the military police. After being an MP, he became a cop, like his daughter after him. We lived in the east then. When we came to Phoenix, my husband wore a uniform for the Phoenix PD. His partner, Jed Smith, was later Maddie’s homicide partner. Jed retired last year. A little stink of some sort brought that on, but Maddie could explain all that better than me.”

Ryan turned to Maddie. She said, “We can talk about that later, no big deal. Jed had put in his thirty so he took his pension. I still see him occasionally for lunch. Jed’s a good man.”

Ryan noticed that Rita was nodding in agreement. “Jed and my husband rode patrol together for several years,” she said. “He was, what am I saying, Jed is like a member of the family.”

“Rita. I think my stomach has made a new friend. This is wonderful. Pork chops are often dry, but not yours.”

She smiled. “I see you’ve taken a second helping, but save some room. I made a banana cream pie for dessert.”

“Oh, golly. That’s sounds wonderful. I’m not used to such big meals. Home cooking and I are pretty much strangers. Can we take a break before dessert?”

“Of course, that’ll give Bradley and me some time to clean up.”

After dinner, but before the pie, Ryan and Maddie went for a walk around the neighborhood.

“You’re an interesting man, Ryan Testler.”

“Oh? I see myself as a pretty simple guy.”

“Now don’t play dumb. You’re gentle. Well mannered. Obviously like children, boys certainly. You’re respectful of your elders. Still, you’re private and avoid disclosing much about yourself, and you do that smoothly so you don’t appear evasive.”

“I bet you’re a good detective. Ah, which way should we turn at this corner?”

“See what I mean. Smooth, but I’m not my mother so don’t try to evade me. You can tell me something is none of my business, but smooth evasions won’t work. As for the turns, just follow along. Here, take my hand. I’ll take care of the turns.” She looked over and smiled while tugging him to the right as they followed the curb line around the corner. There were no sidewalks in this area so they were walking in the street, swinging out to go around cars parked in front of some of the houses. “Are you going to tell me more? Were the gentle evasions for my mother, Bradley, or all three of us?”

“It’s not important.”

“May I ask you something that is important?”

“Sure, Maddie.”

“Are you wanted by the law?”

Ryan smiled. “No.”

“One more. Are you married?”

“Never have been.”

“A confirmed bachelor, eh?”

“No. I’d love to be married. Have a couple of children. I’ve become a bit old for that, so I suspect that part of living has passed me.”

“I’m guessing you’re what, mid-to-late 40s?”

“That neighborhood, maybe five or so years older than you.”

“Adoption is always possible. An older child could cut down the childrearing years. Lord knows there are plenty of children who need a loving and safe home.”

“I’ve seen more than my share of them,” he said. “Yeah. Adoption is a possibility.”

“From what my nurse friends tell me,” Maddie said, while swinging Ryan’s arm around the next corner after they had walked two blocks in one direction, “older women having babies are more likely to produce infirm children. So, if you want your own children you’d best hook up with some nubile woman.”

Ryan laughed out loud. “Young women are certainly nubile, or can be, you for example.” Maddie smiled, he continued. “But, no, if it ever happens for me it will need to be someone nearer my own age, at least within ten years.”