Death of a Bankster (23 page)

Chapter 25

At four-forty-five that afternoon, Sashay, the receptionist at Nation’s First Bank & Trust passed a call through to the bank president, Maxwell Norbert.

“Hello, Norbie. We need to meet.”

“Who is this?”

“There you go hurting my feelings. You told me nobody but your wife and I call you Norbie. And this sure as hell isn’t your wife Joan calling. At six-thirty, meet me in the back booth of the bar two blocks down from the bank on your side of the street. You’ve been there. Take your car. We may be meeting someone else after that. If so, you’ll drive. That’s one hour and forty-five minutes from now, Norbie. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“But I was ready to leave and go home.”

“Work a little overtime, Norbie. Earn that fat paycheck you take.”

At six-fifteen, Maxwell Norbert got out of the elevator that took him to the largely empty parking lot below the bank. He listened to the sounds of his footsteps as they echoed in the nearly empty cement parking level. He wore taps on his heels to prevent them from wearing down. He hated the look of worn shoe heels. He used the remote to unlock the door to his black Cadillac XTS 4-door sedan, and slipped into the well-padded black leather bucket seat. It fit him perfectly. He buckled up. Then he sat back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath trying to calm himself before going to meet dart man.

Ahhhhhhhh. Norbert clutched at his throat. Both hands. He could do nothing to loosen the cord or wire that encircled his neck. His breath wouldn’t come. His tongue grew thicker. Then the cord slackened, some—enough—barely. He gasped.

“Evening, Norbie, nice to see you again. I’m going to keep this loose enough that you can talk, but I can tighten it in a second if you try to move or turn around. Don’t do that. If you make me angry, your head might fall onto your lap. You understand me?”

Norbert nodded slowly. Then several more times, short quick nods. “I was on my way to meet you. Why … this?”

“I decided more private would be better. Besides, if things don’t go well you can be found in the morning in your private parking space. Sort of like Sam Crawford being found in the doorway of his home. Poetic justice, wouldn’t you say?”

“I told you I don’t know anything about Sam’s murder. That’s the truth. You gotta believe me.”

“No, I don’t gotta believe you, Norbie. You gotta convince me and so far, well, you’re not doing so well at it. But we can talk later about the unfortunate end to Sam Crawford, a man whose death made me feel no sadness. He was a greedy crook, a bankster, a traitor. Sort of like you, Norbie. You’re another man whose death would make me feel no sadness.”

“I’ve done what you asked. I hired Ted Styles. Gave him Sam’s old job. I’m following his orders.”

“Yes you are, Norbie. I appreciate it. Your country appreciates it. We’ve gotten copies of back bank statements and are keeping current on the disbursements out of the accounts for the
Peace for the Lambs Foundation
. Thank you for that.”

“Then why this? I’m cooperating.”

“So far you are. Still, you must understand that bringing down a fat cat banker with a big public trial, well, the politicians would love that. The public wants to see some of you banksters go to prison after their money was taken to bail out your banks. We’d benefit by having a bunch of politicians pleased enough to approve more money for our intelligence budgets. It’s a win-win for us no matter what you do.”

“Hey. Wait a minute.” Norbert reached forward and gripped his steering wheel with both hands. “Our deal was that I cooperate and my life gets left alone. When you’re through with this I get to retire without scandal.”

“And, that option still exists, Norbie. I’m only letting you know that I come out just ducky no matter what you do. It doesn’t get better than being in a position to win no matter what happens to the asshole traitor.”

“What do you want? I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“Two more things come to mind at the moment.”

“What now?”

Ryan tightened the slip wire around Norbert’s neck. His hands came off the steering wheel to again clutch at his throat. “Ahhhh.” When Ryan eased off again, Norbert said, “Why’d you do that?”

“You’re a bit too full of yourself for my liking. I just wanted to remind you that you’re mine. Live or die. Cooperate or not. I own you. I own your future. Your very life.”

“You said two more things.”

“The first: tomorrow evening at six-thirty I want you to stop at Fry’s market on the corner where you turn to go up the hill to your house. Park on the side of the store, then walk around front and go inside for a half hour. Shop a little. Maybe pick up some roses for Joan. Yeah, that’d be nice. She’d like that.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“I forgot to mention it. Thanks for reminding me. I want you to leave the doors on this car unlocked. On the floor behind the driver’s seat leave a plastic bag like the kind in the wastebasket in your office. Inside the bag, put the money you took from the Crawfords’ safe-deposit box.”

“I don’t know what you’re tal—ahhhhh.” A moment later, Ryan eased off again. “Okay. Okay,” Norbert said.

“All three-hundred-fifty thousand dollars, Norbie.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“The price of freedom can get up there, can’t it?”

“But there was only two-fifty—” Norbert stopped himself.

“Too late, Norbie. You’re not all that good at this kind of stuff are you? Cat’s out the bag. Stealing from a recent widow, but then you guys foreclose on the homes of widows all the time, so it’s not all that far from there to simply stealing their cash from the boxes you rent them under a promise of safety. Have you bankers no shame?”

“Two-hundred-fifty-thousand, that’s all there was.”

“Come on, Norbie. Late fees. My service charge. Handling charges, processing fees, and a delivery charge. Remember, I’ve got to come pick it up. Then there’s penalties and interest. That stuff compounds you know that. Certainly as a banker you realize how this kind of thing happens. Three-fifty, Norbie. Do you understand me?” Ryan had tighted the slip wire a bit to punctuate his message. Then he loosened it again.

Norbert nodded. Then spoke. “Three-hundred-fifty-thousand. Yes.”

“Good boy, Norbie. Don’t think of it as your money. You’ve only had it for a few days, maybe a week since you raided the Crawfords’ box. It’s the terrorist money, Norbie. Then we’re set. Fry’s. Park on the side. Go in the front door. Stay for thirty minutes. Leave the bag of money behind the seat. Tomorrow. Six-thirty. Don’t make me come to your house for it. You wouldn’t want that.”

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“No, Norbie. Not true. The worst thing in your life is greed. Your desire for more and more money is so important you would risk your freedom, betray even your country. As for me, I’m your best friend. I’m fighting to keep you free, forcing you to help protect your country. Your wife could be on the next plane they blow up. She could be shopping in the next store into which they throw a hand grenade.”

“I don’t think that’s ever happened.”

“Not in this country, but it could anytime. You think they’ll fly planes into our buildings, but not throw hand grenades into our stores? Not poison our water system? You have no idea how they will use the money you help them sneak into America. But you don’t care. Just gimme, gimme, gimme, that’s your motto.”

“Okay. Okay. I get it. What else? You said two things.”

“I want to know all you know about the killing of Sam Crawford.”

“I swear I don’t know.” Ryan tightened the wire that held Norbert in place. After Norbert had groaned, after the veins in his neck had bulged. After his neck had turned blue, Ryan loosened.

In a voice which sounded as if it had been dragged through the parking lot, Norbert repeated himself. “I swear to you. I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Sam was the guy who got it all done. Sam carried the water. He was the front man if it all came out. I didn’t want Sam dead. I wanted him doing just what he had been doing. That’s all I know.”

“I’ll accept that for now, but if I learn you’re lying. Well, you’re no good to me at all if I don’t get the truth from you. Understand?”

“Yes sir. I understand. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know who killed Sam or why. I can tell you I’ve talked with the people at the foundation. They came to me. The death of Sam Crawford had them shaken. They feared their activities had been discovered. That Sam had been coerced into admitting what was going on at the bank. The foundation doesn’t know who killed Sam. His unexplained death nearly sank my deal with them. It’s only been the past few days that things have calmed. You have to understand, they have a Middle Eastern mindset. That your man Ted Styles could speak their language helped a great deal. Of course, they could be lying to me, but I’m not lying to you. I don’t know. I don’t.”

“Open the console beside your seat. Reach in and take out the cloth on top inside.”

Ryan waited while Norbert did what he had told him to do. “It’s a black mask, the Lone Ranger style. Put it on. Keep it on for ten minutes. Then you can drive home. That’s it, until tomorrow night at Fry’s.”

Norbert held the mask up high so he could see it with his head held back against the seat. “There’s no eyeholes?”

“That’s right. Be a little worthless for my purposes if I gave you a mask with eyeholes. Come on, Norbie, don’t be a putz. Think.”

“But how will I know when ten minutes have passed?”

“Count, Mr. Bankster. You’re a numbers guy, right?”

Chapter 26

Barbara Davis called before Maddie had left the office for the evening. “What’s this I hear that you’ve captured the man who shot my son-in-law?”

“It’s true, technically the alleged shooter, Benjamin Gibbons.” Maddie would rather have been looking at Barbara Davis when she told her and before the woman knew, but the call from Ms. Davis had made that impossible.
Sometimes the media delivers information too fast.
Maddie put her toe on the drawer corner. “You met Bennie Gibbons, I’m sure. Carla’s boyfriend.”

“No. I don’t believe I ever did. I mean I knew Carla had a boyfriend. Soldier as I heard it, maybe a former soldier, something like that. Certainly Carla wasn’t involved, was she?”

“The case is still unfolding somewhat, but I doubt her involvement.”

“Golly, Sergeant. You just never know these days. What a shock. Carla must be nutty about it. If she knows, or when she learns of it.”

“How is Paige taking the news? I assume you spoke with your daughter before calling me.”

“No. Actually, I haven’t. Thought I’d be sure of what happened. That the story was true before I upset my daughter.”

“Your daughter already knows. We talked a little while ago. But don’t let me keep you. She’ll likely want to hear from you.”

“I heard it on an early newsflash, details at eleven, that kind of thing. Paige isn’t so much of a news wonk as her mother. But, you’re right. I should call her. Or, better yet, I think I’ll just drive over there. She might like her mother to make her a cup of tea, or maybe a pitcher of martinis.”

* * *

Maddie looked tired. She felt tired. She wanted to take a bath. Hug her son. Go to sleep. Instead, at eight o’clock she took a seat in the Bistro 24 at the Ritz Carlton hotel where Ryan Testler had a room. Well, where he had a room the night she had shared that room. After she got a white wine she sat down with a bowl of peanuts and dialed his room. He said he had been waiting for her call and would be right down. That is, he did after she rejected his suggestion that she come up. He said he had eaten so while she waited she ordered a Steak Au Poivre; what we in the States call a Peppercorn Steak. After taking her order, the waiter said that Mr. Testler had called down and said that her tab was to be put on his room.

He’s smooth, I’ll give him that. Hell, I’ve already given him a lot more than that. But then he gave me something that same night. Something I hadn’t had for far too long.

She smiled at the remembrance about the same moment she saw Ryan walk into the room and motion to the barkeep. Then he came straight toward her, just as he had that first night when they had met after she had stopped for an Italian dinner.

“Hello, Maddie. I’m very pleased to see you. You said we needed to talk. I agree. I’m pleased you took the initiative. Talk to me.”

“Thanks to you, we located and arrested Bennie Gibbons. We have hard evidence and he has been charged with murder in the first. Who hired Gibbons to be the killer? I figure you know as much as I do about this case, maybe more. Certainly you know some things I don’t. Maybe I know a few things you don’t. I’ve decided I’m willing to open up with you, if you will with me. It seems after that, we may both know more of what we are trying to learn. Certainly we won’t know less. Do you agree to this?”

“Yes, Maddie. You I trust, but only you. Not your partner or your department. I will not testify to any of it. Anything you use you will need to find outside corroboration. My name doesn’t get used or booked into your department. If that happens, I disappear and, believe me, I can do that.”

“I’ve already mentioned you to my partner.”

“In relation to what? The address for Gibby?”

“No. I handled that as an anonymous call. I, well, asked her to do a search on you.”

“And?”

“She found nothing. I told her you’re a man I had met and I was curious. That it was an inappropriate inquiry under departmental directives. I’m confident she will keep it to herself.”

“Do you trust her?”

“Yes. And, I’ve already said she found nothing.”

“I wasn’t worried about that part of it. She wouldn’t find anything. So, was it true? What you told her.” When Maddie glanced at him with a questioning look, he said, “That I am a man you have met who interests you?”

“Yes. You’ve been in my home, not to mention my pants.” He laughed louder than she had ever heard him. “I’m interested, but you are a mystery that must be cleared if that interest is to remain.”

The waiter brought their meals, another white wine for Maddie and a dark, draft beer for Ryan. A moment later he returned with catsup and a steak sauce. In this fancy a hotel eatery these items were in small bowls, not commercial bottles. Ryan did not speak until the waiter had moved away.

“I thought you said you had eaten,” Maddie said.

“A late lunch, I decided to join you anyway. The steaks here are fabulous.”

“Shall we talk about the Crawford case?” Maddie asked while beginning to cut her steak.

“Okay,” Ryan said, “we both know Gibby was the shooter and you have him nailed. What we don’t know is who hired him. Who do you see in that role?”

“I’ve got two people wearing that hat. I like each of them for different reasons and reject each for different reasons. My first choice is Sam Crawford’s mother-in-law, Paige’s mother, Barbara Davis.”

“You need to know that my mission had nothing to do with solving the murder of Sam Crawford. I’m not trying to determine that, but I’m close enough to the parties involved that I have some thoughts and opinions.”

“Which are?” asked Maddie.

Ryan had followed Maddie’s lead of starting to cut the steak before beginning to eat. “I’ve had no contact with Paige’s mother, but I know who she is.”

“And who is she?” Maddie asked. “Beyond the obvious, being Paige’s mother.”

Ryan puddled a little steak sauce on his plate, dipped a forked morsel of steak, and set about chewing it. “My inquiries confirm that Barbara Davis is a former CIA strategist, a title given to the operatives who plan overt and covert missions.”

“Including murders?” Maddie asked while looking directly into Ryan’s eyes.

“The preferred term is assassinations, but not all that often. More often it’s to get an agent out of a country, or frame an officer of a foreign country we don’t have good relations with. Usually, with the intent of making that officer appear disloyal to his country. Then we agree to not reveal that incrimination to his government if he will provide us certain information. The poetic justice being that while he was originally not disloyal to his government, he ends up being just that. Barbara’s husband, Rodger, before his death, with the help of others, would often handle the outside work on Barbara’s schemes.”

Maddie said, “You certainly have better access to the federal records and files than my department can get.” Ryan smiled, but said nothing. Maddie continued. “Sounds as if Ms. Davis would be fully capable of hiring Gibbons without his learning her identity. Also capable of setting up the taking of the body, and arranging the phony FBI agents. Even masterminding the sneaking of Sam’s body into a bag in the M.E.’s office?”

“Capable,” Ryan said, “certainly. According to her file, that would be child’s play for Barbara Davis, at least when she worked for the CIA.”

“Do you think she could have lost those skills over these past years?”

“No. Her file shows she’s brilliant and has a devious mind. Brushing up on that kind of stuff is more mental process than physical doing. Barbara has planned things more complex and likely done them in places like Moscow and Tehran.” Ryan raised his beer glass and took a swallow. “Have you got anything which points to Barbara?”

“She’s a shooter,” Maddie said. “Damn good one apparently. So is her brother, Russell, who lives here locally. So, suspicions yes, proof no. In fact, the only suspicious skill either Barbara or her brother has, the shooting component, was assigned to Gibbons. Assuming for the sake of discussion that she is guilty, it was brilliant to have someone else do the part she is fully capable of doing herself, while arranging an airtight alibi for that same time.”

“Alibi?”

“Barbara and her brother, Russell, were at a political fundraiser that whole evening. My partner, Detective Martin verified it. They were there from six-thirty until eleven that night.”

“If it was Barbara Davis,” Ryan explained, “she, not Gibby, did the planning and strategy. Cows don’t fly”

“Cows don’t fly?”

“If you decide Gibby did something which he is not capable of doing, you would be wrong. Gibby’s a shooter, a damn good shooter, but he doesn’t … can’t do multi-layered thinking anymore than cows can fly.”

“Does Barbara Davis know Bennie Gibbons?”

“No,” Ryan said. “At least as far as I know she doesn’t.”

“So, how could she know of him?”

“My guess is through her daughter or the neighbor lady, maybe Sam Crawford. Remember, Bennie was cavorting around with Carla who lives next door.”

“No,” Maddie said. “The timing’s too awkward. The coincidence too great to believe Gibbons just happened to latch onto Carla, then meet Paige, then Paige’s mother, who hires him to kill her son-in-law. No. This was a complex murder. Barbara Davis would have had to find Gibbons and hire him, before he started seeing Carla, which means Barbara Davis would have had to find Gibbons other than through her daughter or Carla. We should remember that the last time Gibbons saw Carla was the day before Sam Crawford was shot. Gibbons used Carla as a front. He had no real interest in her. Gibbons had to have been hired before he met Carla.”

“I knew it. You’re an excellent detective.” Maddie smiled. Then Ryan said, “These potatoes are wonderful.” Maddie licked her lips and agreed. Then Ryan continued. “As you said, if Barbara Davis was Gibby’s employer, she knew of Gibby before the fact. Her husband was shot dead in Paris about fifteen years ago, right?” Maddie nodded. He went on. “Gibby has been working as a sniper for longer than that. Not much longer, but longer.”

“My God.” Maddie had spoken too loudly. She hunched down a little and looked about for a moment. Then she took another bite of steak as did Ryan. The two of them chewed for a few minutes until the others in the room lost interest in them. “Is it possible,” Maddie said, her hand on Ryan’s forearm, “that Gibby was the shooter in Paris? That Barbara Davis had hired him to shoot her husband for cheating on her. And now, fifteen years later, hires him again to shoot her son-in-law for cheating on her daughter?”

“That’s wild,” Ryan said, “but quite possible.”

“Paige told me her mother went to a shrink for years after her father died. Could this be why?”

“Okay,” Ryan said, “but that would mean that Barbara hired Gibbons without his knowing her identity even though they might have known each other for many years.”

“How sure are you that Gibbons didn’t know who hired him?”

“Damn sure. If Gibby knew, he would have told me. If Barbara did hire Gibby to take out her husband in Paris, Barbara likely first got Gibby’s name somehow through the CIA. Maybe from her husband, maybe a mutual friend, or perhaps files to which she somehow gained access. She may have had her husband’s password. It’s possible she hired Benny for both hits without his knowing who she was either time.”

“You’ve known Gibbons for some years. Is he capable of finding an oversexed neighbor of the Crawfords on his own?”

“Chances are his employer pointed him at Carla, knowing that she, shall I say, liked men, and he took it from there. Don’t get me wrong. Gibby is not stupid. He just isn’t a chess player. He thinks one, maybe two moves ahead. The CIA chooses people like Barbara Davis because they are capable of perceiving and measuring visuospatial relationships, and then expands that kind of thinking into
what-if
scenarios.”

Maddie said, “I know one other person who is capable of this kind of multi-layered planning?”

Ryan looked at Maddie without speaking, chewing, for more than a minute. “Who?”

“You.”

“I wondered when you would get around to me. Yes. I can do it. In fact, I have done it many times.”

“Did you this time?”

Ryan turned to Maddie and put his hand over hers. “No. My mission had nothing to do with killing Sam Crawford.”

Maddie slid her hand out from under Ryan’s and took a drink of wine. “I,” she paused to wait until two men had walked past them heading for the bar. “I believe you. I have never really thought you did. Let me give you a choice, would you rather we next talk about my second theory on who hired Gibbons, or would you prefer to first tell me what your mission was or is, because I’m guessing my arrest of Bennie Gibbons did not end your mission.”

“Ladies first,” Ryan said, followed by a smile.

“Okay. I gave you the choice. Maxwell Norbert is my second mystery guest. I think the phony FBI agents made a significant goof when they came to Paige’s home right after Sam had been shot. They told her Sam had been under surveillance for money laundering. They claimed to have seen some dust on the ridge and guessed it was the shooter. They said they had captured the entire scene on the Crawfords’ front porch on video. They then proceeded to do what we all know happened. Their goof was using the truth. Money laundering made a believable reason for their being there, for Sam Crawford being under surveillance. I think that part was the truth.”

“First, yes,” Ryan said, “we have Crawford being shot on video. It shows nothing but him being shot and falling into his living room just as Paige Crawford and Carla Roth reported. Now as to the laundering, who do you think he would be laundering for?”

“Arizona has a significant population of drug and human smugglers. It could have been any number of them or others. I think Sam Crawford was the front man for bringing that money in. I’m guessing, I admit, but it fits—nice and tight. He took big payoffs for himself and Norbert. In a bank that size, Crawford could not have pulled it off without Norbert knowing about it. The deposits from smugglers would be too big. They would stick out on reports which Norbert regularly perused.”

“So why would he kill Sam Crawford?” Ryan asked. “The way you’re telling it, Sam would be his front. The guy who would fall on his sword if the bank examiners learned of this laundering you’re claiming was going on.”