by Frank Perry
cursory examination, Angela left them and walked to the clubhouse to speak with the only witness. Officer Ruiz stayed at the house. Both she and Luke wore latex gloves to protect forensic evidence. The house only had two rooms, so Luke took the living area and Ruiz took the bedroom.
Interview
Angela walked along the road to the clubhouse, and entered by the pro shop. Although not a golfer, the pro shop appeared smaller than she had expected, and there was only one man in the place. She asked to speak to Peter Shields and identified herself as an FBI agent. He lifted a walky-talky phone from the counter, and pressed the talk button, “Steve, come in.”
Several seconds later the phone beeped and a voice said, “Go ahead Lyle.”
“Steve, there’s a FBI lady here to speak with Peter.”
“Okay Lyle, I’ll go over to eight and have Peter come in.”
“Okay Steve.”
Lyle explained that it would be a few minutes before Peter would be coming in, and suggested that she would probably be more comfortable talking to him in the vacant dining room on the floor above.
Angela thanked him and walked outside, and up the stairs to the open veranda by the bar. She was alone except for the bartender, Cheryl, who came from the kitchen moments later. Cheryl offered her a drink and Angela asked for ice water. Since FBI agents do not wear badges, and she wasn’t dressed for golf, Cheryl asked if she was waiting for someone. Angela answered that she was waiting for Peter Shields, which got a response immediately, “Oh, you must be a reporter or a law officer.”
Angela did not have the patience for probing saying only “FBI”, and walked outside onto the veranda. She was alone and could smell freshly mowed grass and watched the crews at work. The ground crew had to be large to keep the course pristine, and Cary was a beautiful golf course from what she could see.
Sipping the water at the banister overlooking the eighteenth green, she saw a golf cart coming along the fairway toward the clubhouse with two people aboard. The cart stopped opposite the veranda and both men walked toward her. The older man said, “Hello, you must be the FBI agent, I’m Steve Owens. This fellow is Peter Shields.”
Steve was in his mid-fifties, paunchy, with thin white hair on both sides of his otherwise bald head that had seen too much sun. Peter by contrast was tall, muscular and neatly groomed. She guessed his age to be early thirties. She said politely, “Thank you Mr. Owens, if you two don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Mr. Shields alone for a few minutes.”
Steve said, “Okay, hey, no problem, Peter’s quite the celebrity around here. Take all the time you need.”
Steve walked away and Peter suggested that they sit on the veranda where there were no other people nearby.
She started, “Mr. Shields, I know you’ve been questioned about the murder Sunday night, but the FBI is interested. Do you mind talking to me”?
“No, but call me Peter”.
“Okay, Peter, why don’t you just tell me what you saw”?
Angela had taken copious notes after several minutes of dialogue and was ready to excuse him so she could rejoin Luke down the street, but Peter was curious, “Agent Carr, or Kerr, sorry, I’m pretty lame with names the first greeting or two. If you don’t mind, I have some questions for you.” Her look told him she was waiting.
“Since you’re a federal agent, I’m guessing you suspect organized crime?”
Angela replied, “Certain details make us interested.”
“Okay, the fed doesn’t investigate most simple murders. Local cops handle these. So, I would appreciate it if you can tell me what I may be involved in. Bystander or not, my name’s in a couple reports.”
“All right, my partner and I are part of the Organized Crime Task Force. We’re investigating possible mob connections to the crime. We’re also part of the Terrorist Task Force.” She had violated protocol and wished she could retract her statement. She could see why rookie agents were not sent alone on interviews, but she wasn’t going to blame Luke.
“I don’t get the connection?”
She did not say more, just stood and excused herself.
The Search
After two hours at Curran’s place, their search was ending, and Angela had returned from her meeting. She and Ruiz exchanged observations about Shields’ lifestyle.
The most noticeable feature of the house was its lack of a phone. The place was awash with modern electronics. Evidence was organized in a single storage box containing cell phone bills and files taken from a desk drawer. Curran had not had a mobile phone on him, and none was found at the crime scene. Two cars were parked in the garage, but neither had a phone. They would be towed to the police impound lot.
Returning downtown, Angela and Luke theorized about the phone. Records are accessible by search warrant, and the process usually took a couple days even with persistence. Apparently, a couple days were important to someone.
The agents took the evidence to a small conference room to catalogue and examine it, before entering it in the evidence storage room, or sending it to the lab. They checked the phone bills and credit card receipts. They also had records of an account at Bank of America. His salary was deposited direct to the bank twice monthly, and consumed by bills in between. Credit card and phone bills told a story. Mr. Curran had taken trips to Atlantic City almost every weekend for two months. The credit card details included the flight numbers. He always flew United following the same pattern; late departure on Friday from O’Hare, and late night return on Sunday. Curran apparently liked casinos, and he did not make enough income to cover these excursions.
Casinos invite vice and corruption. Curran was killed about the time he would be returning home.
The next step would be to collect Curran’s office files. Angela contacted the US Attorney for a warrant to search and seize his files and computer at work. Even if the crime was gambling related, the FBI would look for racketeering implications.
Freight Company
Fortunately, one of the ASAC’s on staff was also a federal magistrate and could issue search warrants in an urgent situation. Luke drove while Angela navigated to Hoffman Estates to see Michael Curran, the President, CEO, and owner, of MLC International. Normally, the FBI would not call ahead and alert people when a search and seizure warrant was to be executed. In this case, since Michael Curran’s son had been murdered, the agents hoped Michael would be willing to answer questions.
The building was located in an industrial section of town. A five-bay loading dock covered most of the front and there were several trucks being unloaded, or waiting for space at the dock. The office door was located at the extreme left.
The front half of the office was open with about a dozen old desks. Power and network wires came though the acoustic ceiling, creating an appearance of temporary workspace, although it had probably looked the same for years. A desk was positioned immediately inside the door with a young lady sitting there to meet them.
“Can I help you?”
Luke responded, “Hello, we’re with the FBI, is Michael Curran available”?
“I’m Mike Curran,” came the response from one of the offices at the back. The man walked through the door with stoop-shoulders and pain in his expression. He was probably in his late fifties, but looked ten years older with his sallow complexion, and emaciated physique. He walked to the front of the office space stopping a few feet away.
“Mr. Curran, I’m Luke Gallagher and this is Angela Kerr, we’re Agents with the FBI. Is there someplace we can talk privately?” There were no handshakes.
Without responding, Curran turned and walked back to his office with both agents following. He closed the door behind them. Privacy in a small office area was difficult with thin walls and shared ventilation ductwork. “Mr. Curran...first of all, we would like to say that we’re very sorry for your loss, and will try not to burden you unnecessarily,” said Luke. As the junior agent, Angela wasn’t eager to do the tal
king.
“Thank you. Are you in charge of finding out who killed Eric?” Curran replied.
Luke said, “Technically, that falls in the Cary Police jurisdiction, but the FBI is providing technical support. We’re investigating the motives behind the crime. The circumstance of this tragedy has professional overtones, which could imply federal jurisdiction. We’re just gathering facts at this time.” He was trying to be delicate.
Curran said, “Okay, what can I do for you?”
“Thank you sir. We are trying to understand more about Eric, his work, his time outside the office, associates, anything that can help shed light on motive.”
“What do you want to know?”
Angela spoke up, “Mr. Curran, did your son have any serious enemies, or dangerous associations that you know of?”
“No, Eric was good-natured and didn’t have any romantic tie ups that I know about. He was a hard worker with a good job, which probably made him attractive to young ladies. But, I don’t know of anything serious going on. My wife may know more, but I’d like to ask you not to bother her right know, she’s grieving terribly.”
“We hope to minimize any further pain Mr. Curran. Did Eric have any business dealings that were tenuous?” Angela queried.
“Well, I’m not sure what that means, but, not really, most of our business is with companies that we know pretty good. We’re a service