Liars, Cheaters & Thieves (29 page)

“Sounds like a long shot.” Schak started scanning his pile.

“If it’s an online bank, how did they access the money?” Evans wanted to know.

“Plastic,” Quince said. “They had debit cards issued to each person on the account. All the perps had to do was stick the cards into universal ATMs and pull out the cash.”

“We need to find where the seven grand was pulled from,” Jackson said. “It had to involve several machines, maybe over the course of several days.”

Quince warmed to the scenario and began to pace. “The money left Molly’s account early Wednesday afternoon. Mazari was killed around ten the next night.”

Evans scooted to the board to make notes.

“The cash didn’t show up—that we know of—until Saturday night, approximately around the time Pittman was killed.” Quince turned and paced back. “So they had plenty of time to make stops at ATMs, taking three or four hundred dollars a pop.”

“Most ATMs have video,” Schak reminded them.

“But hiding your face is easy,” Quince shot back.

“But who are
they
?” Evans asked. “Did Mazari take the money, and Sierra killed him for it? Then Pittman stole it from her, so her lover killed him?”

“Or were Sierra and her lover working together from the beginning to simply cut out the others from the cash flow and keep it to themselves?” Jackson still liked his conspiracy idea.

“Or is Cody Sawyer the third man in the charity and Sierra’s lover?” Quince offered.

“I’m still looking for him,” Schak said. “I talked to his mother this morning, and she says Cody is devastated by the deaths of his friends. She thinks he’s out at Clear Lake grieving.”

“We need to bring him in.” Jackson looked at Evans. “Have you talked to the veterinarian Sierra works for? Mazari seemed pretty convinced he was Sierra’s lover.”

“When I called this morning, they said Dr. Davidson plays golf on Mondays. I tried his cell phone but haven’t reached him yet. I’ll keep at it.”

“Look at these deposits,” Schak said, tapping his printouts. “Up until recently, they were all small amounts—fifty dollars here and a hundred dollars there. The money was withdrawn in similar amounts as fast as it came in. Then bam! Suddenly seven grand flushes into the account, and two days later, two of the scammers are dead.”

“The money must have been the catalyst.” Jackson picked up the thread. “One of the scammers violated the rules of their scam and grabbed a risky windfall. Maybe he tried to keep it for himself. So they killed him to minimize their risk and get the money for themselves.”

“Don’t forget Pittman supposedly gave thirty-eight hundred dollars to Dolan, a man he owed,” Evans commented. “How does that fit in?”

“Or Dolan is the third man and simply took it from him.” Jackson’s adrenaline was flowing now. “We need to find the third scammer, and even though Cody Sawyer isn’t military, he also looks like a good bet. He could be one of our killers—or the next victim.”

The food arrived and Jackson was glad. They needed to spend time with the data and see if any patterns or answers emerged. Everyone grabbed a sandwich and dug in, eating quickly. The coffee came a minute later, making the room smell like a Starbucks.

“Oh yes.” Schak pulled up the lid and inhaled deeply, but didn’t drink it yet. They’d learned not to burn themselves on the piping-hot stuff.

When they’d polished off the last of the pickles and chips, Jackson turned to Evans. “Let’s get back to the whiteboard. Anything interesting from the funeral service today?”

“You mean like someone spitting in the man’s grave?”

They all turned, mouths open.

“Laura McKinsey is the sister of Joanna Mazari, Rafel’s first wife. McKinsey thinks Mazari killed her sister and made it look like an accident. She’s so happy he’s dead that she drove down from Corvallis to spit in his grave.”

“Where was she Thursday night?” Jackson didn’t need another suspect, but he couldn’t ignore her either.

“At home with her husband. I talked to the husband and he verified it. I think the sister’s a kook, but probably not a viable suspect. She did give me another idea.” Evans paused for a drink of coffee. “If it’s true and Mazari killed his first wife because he thought she was cheating”—Evans paused and turned to Jackson—“Mazari might have been planning to kill his second wife too. Again for cheating. Only Sierra went proactive and cut him down first.”

“That’s intriguing.” It also made Jackson’s head hurt. They had too many players, too many possibilities. At its core, this case was probably simpler than they thought. “Let’s finish this update, then look at the bank data. I didn’t learn much at the autopsy, except that Mazari had ketamine in his system, and Pittman had a tumor on his liver, likely cancerous.”

“Maybe he needed the money for treatment,” Evans offered.

“As an Iraq veteran, wouldn’t he get free medical care?” Schak countered.

Evans wrote
Cancer?
on the board under Pittman’s name. She turned to Jackson. “What did the pathologist say about the cause of death?”

“Undetermined, so far. More than an accident, but maybe not premeditated. The slash to his throat was superficial and after the fact, as we surmised.”

“I thought so. Maybe Sierra’s lover came looking for the money and tried to beat it out of Pittman.” Evans faced them from the board. “This morning, I had the idea that her lover cut Pittman’s throat to make it look similar to the first crime and throw suspicion off her. That still works.”

“We need to find her lover,” Jackson said. “How are we doing on Sierra’s phone records?”

“I’ve got the subpoenas signed, sealed, and delivered, but the phone companies are taking their sweet-ass time.” Schak tapped the table. “I’ll call them both again as soon as we’re done here.”

“Don’t forget we want the companies to ping Mazari and Pittman’s phones too. The location of the damn phones might tell us more than what’s inside.”

“Sierra’s mother was at the funeral,” Evans said. “Maybe I should talk to her about Sierra’s lover.”

“I wouldn’t be hopeful, but put her on your list.” Jackson tapped his pile of phone records. “Let’s dig into this data.”

After twenty minutes of cross-checking numbers in Mazari’s phone records with numbers in the database, Jackson learned the victim had made fewer calls than average and that his calls went to friends and family. Jake Pittman was the most frequent person Mazari spoke to, with several calls going each way in the days and hours before Mazari’s death. Surprisingly, few calls were to his wife in his last few days, except Thursday night when he’d called her from the bar. That was the last time Rafel Mazari had ever used his cell phone. Did he have any inkling he was about to die? Kera had mentioned that Rafel thought his wife wanted him dead.

Jackson wondered about his own mortality. Would he die on the job, facing off against a lowlife with a gun or a knife, heart pounding, vision blurred, knowing it was last thing he’d see and feel? He hoped to hell not. If he could choose his own exit, what would it be? Lying in bed with Kera, both too old and tired to get up, but holding hands and smiling. The image almost crushed him with sadness, and he had to shake it off.

In his notepad, he created a time line of Mazari’s calls for Thursday, stared at it, and hoped it would be useful somehow. At the moment, it meant nothing to him. He really wanted to pry open Sierra’s phone and see who she’d been chatting with while her husband lay bleeding.

Twenty minutes later, Schak called, “Bingo.”

Jackson shot out of his chair, eager to stand and stretch.

“On Wednesday and Thursday, the card ending in the number 0532, issued to Terrance O’Dell, made eighteen withdrawals.” Schak stood too, his voice a little excited. “Most were for four hundred dollars, and they came out of three machines. One at a Safeway, one at ShopKo, and one at a US Bank—all within a half mile of Jake Pittman’s home.”

“So Pittman could be the one who fiddled with Molly Pershing’s account and made the seven-thousand-dollar transfer.” Jackson began to pace. “Where were the smaller, earlier withdrawals made?”

“All over. Campus, Santa Clara, West Eugene. The other guy was smart and didn’t create a pattern.” Quince touched his forehead, pondering. “The third card was never used. One of the guys on the account didn’t access the money.”

“That’s odd.” Jackson turned to Quince. “Can you track these three IDs and see where they came from?”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not optimistic.” Quince leaned forward and his words came in a rush. “We need to get the videos from the ATMs where the withdrawals were made. Maybe one of the perps didn’t bother to cover his face.”

“I don’t know.” Evans shook her head. “They were smart about getting fake IDs and using an online bank. And they probably used phony identification to set up the web-hosting account. They may be ghosts.”

“Scammers get sloppy,” Jackson countered. “Especially if things go smoothly and they think they’re getting away with it.” He turned to Quince again. “Find out who owns the ATMs and get videos. We need to see their faces.”

Evans spoke up. “I’ll find out who Sierra was sleeping with, even if I have to bribe her coworkers.”

“Good.” Jackson turned to Schak. “Keep calling everyone connected to this case until we find Cody Sawyer, then call me. After that, work with Quince on tracking down the fraud perps.” Jackson started gathering up the stacks of bank printouts. “I’ll head out to Sawyer’s house and see if he’s there. We have three people involved in a charity scam, and we have a trio of friends who grew up together. Two of those men are dead,
so Cody’s starting to look like a man who might have some answers.”

Jackson went back to his desk and took two aspirin, glad it was just a headache and not the usual gut-stabbing pain. He pulled out his cell phone and stared at it. Should he call Kera or give her some space? While he worried over that, his phone rang, startling him a little. He didn’t recognize the number and almost didn’t pick up, then decided just to get it out of the way, whatever it was.

“Jackson here.”

“This is Dr. Meyer. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” A little flutter of panic. Why was his urologist calling him?

“I wanted to remind you to schedule your next MRI. We need to keep an eye on the fibrosis, and these scans are critical.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

“I’ll call Oregon Imaging next week to get your results.”

That was doctor code for
I’m going to check and make sure you do this
. Jackson wrote himself a note. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome. Is everything fine? Kidneys working well?”

“I’m good.”

“Excellent. We’ll talk again after I see the MRI scans.”

Jackson felt a little less fine than he had before the call, but he was grateful his doctor was thorough and compassionate. He’d make the appointment a little later in the week.

Instead of calling Kera, he sent a brief text:
Thinking about you. Missing you
. What he needed was a grand gesture. Not flowers or balloons or anything superficial. Kera wasn’t impressed with such things. In fact, she was so low maintenance, he’d taken her for granted and blown the relationship.

Should he propose?
The thought sent a bolt of fear up his spine. Yet, earlier that day, he’d envisioned growing old with Kera and dying in her bed. What the hell was wrong with him?

Focus!
He found Cody Sawyer’s number, called, and got a friendly voice-mail message. The man didn’t sound like a killer, but that was irrelevant. Jackson left a message, asking for an immediate callback. Looking back through his notes, he found that Sawyer worked at Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines. He’d stop at the call center first. There was a good chance Sawyer would be at work on a Monday afternoon.

The cruise-line center, located on the outskirts of Springfield, had a twenty-foot white anchor coming out of the building. Jackson pulled into the circular parking lot, noticing that without the goofy anchor, the nearly new building would be aesthetically pleasing.

The receptionist informed him that Cody Sawyer wasn’t at work because Monday and Tuesday were his days off. Jackson thanked her and left, regretting the trip. He called Sawyer again, was routed to voice mail, and hung up without leaving a message. Where to now? Jackson checked his list of phone numbers and addresses for the case and found Sawyer’s. The home was in South Eugene, and he remembered Evans had said Sawyer lived with his parents.

Before starting his car, his phone rang in his hand, and the call came from Parker at the crime lab.
Finally!

“Hey, Parker. What have you got for me?”

“A few things. First, the syringe from Mazari’s crime scene contained traces of ketamine.”

“Excellent news. One more piece of evidence to help convict Sierra. Anything else from the first crime scene?” So much had happened since that it seemed like a week ago.

“The sticky substance from the side of the victim’s car was tree sap.”

“Huh.” Jackson had no idea what to make of that. He couldn’t picture any trees near the driveway of Mazari’s home. Had Sierra, or someone, accidentally transferred the sap to the Jeep? He needed more information. “Anything on the second homicide?”

“The long hair found on the victim is synthetic, so I can’t send it out for DNA.”

“Like a wig?” That was puzzling.

“Yes. Some hairpieces are real, but not this one.”

Jackson’s first thought was that Pittman had been with a prostitute. But his killer could have worn a wig, or the hair could have been on the dirty carpet for months. He would have to give it more thought. “Thanks for the update.”

He took Beltline to Delta and crossed the downtown area. A large group of protestors were gathered in front of the county courthouse, carrying antiestablishment signs. A dozen officers stood around the perimeter, keeping an eye on the situation.
Crap
. The presence of those officers at the protest meant their resources were stretched and he wouldn’t get any help keeping tabs on his suspects.

He drove south on Hilyard and, twenty minutes later, pulled up in front of a two-story house sitting in the shade of giant fir trees. No cars were in the driveway, and no lights were on in the house. Feeling frustrated, Jackson checked his watch: 4:27. And already starting to get dark. He wanted to talk to Cody’s parents too and wondered if anyone would be home soon. He strode to the front door and knocked loudly, just to make sure. No one answered, so he decided to sit in his car and wait for a while. If no one showed up in the next hour, he’d leave and try again after dinner. Schak had said Sawyer might be out at Clear Lake grieving, but he had to come home eventually. Unless the young man
was already heading out of town. Jackson wondered if he had probable cause to issue an attempt-to-locate. So far, they didn’t have a single piece of evidence connecting Sawyer to either death, or even to the fraud case.