A Sense of Justice

by Jack Davis

  “If there are no further questions, I’ll turn it over to AUSA Chris Carpenter from the Southern District of New York. Chris?”

  “Hello, I’ll make this as short and concise as possible,” began Carpenter. “Everything we have so far related to the murders is circumstantial.

  “We can prove Lublin hacked into the websites of the murder victims and that he fraudulently signed hotel registration sheets and car rental agreements in those cities around the times of the murders. We could prove he wore a mask to disguise his appearance while in the victims’ cities, and that someone under the name Mihia Antonescu traveled into and out of upstate New York airports during those dates. All of this corroborates the testimony of Antonescu, which is backed up by the patterns developed from Warcraft and Western Union. So, while we have a solid fraud case, the murder case is…weak.

  “While I hope we can come up with some type of solid physical evidence when we conduct the search, I honestly doubt it; he’s too smart and has had too much time to dispose of things.”

  “I can also guarantee this guy is gonna go to trial. With the precautions he’s put in place, there’s no way he’s going down without a protracted legal battle.”

  For emphasis, Peyton added, “Take away the fact he thinks he can win the case; he’s too arrogant to not want what he probably feels is the fame he’s earned. Once he’s arrested, it’ll be as much about publicity as getting acquitted. Chris is right; this guy is gonna go to court, and once he’s there, he’s gonna enjoy every second of it.”

  Carpenter ended his portion of the briefing by saying he was prepared to go to the grand jury with what he had, but that he wished he had a little more evidence.

  After the call was officially over, Morley was peppered with dozens of questions from people on the phone. He noticed that most of the questions could have been answered if the individuals asking had just read the document. He also noticed that most of the questions were from Service and Bureau headquarters personnel, not the police departments, sheriff’s offices, or field offices. As always, the brass wanted to be spoon fed.

  “Folks, I have to apologize, I have another telecon I have to jump on here at 1900 hours, email me any other questions and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.” Morley hit the disconnect button and shoved his chair back from the table, only to see his anxious ASAIC motioning him into a small office.

  The now daily 1900 hours telecon was strictly a Secret Service call, and only the hierarchy. It had been set up by Brown ostensibly to not waste the rest of the groups time with internal USSS matters. What it ended up being was a brainstorming session on how to outmaneuver the Bureau.

  Much like what Shaw had relayed to Morley regarding the Hoover Building skepticism, Beltway paranoia had swept through the 950 H Street Headquarters of the Secret Service. Fueled by ASAIC Brown, the Eighth floor was convinced the FBI was angling to take the case away and claim the credit.

  From the day Morley briefed Brown on the murders, the Service had either the AD Investigations or his DAD on every joint phone call.

  For the rest of the case, five times as much effort was spent in Washington trying to outmaneuver real and perceived plots than trying to convict Craig Lublin. Brown led the charge. The thing that saved the case was that most of the investigation was already done, that and some blinding insight.

  71 | Blinding Insight

  Johnson City, New York, 10/21/09, 2043 hours

  After dinner the team adjourned to the conference room to try and come up with new angles from which to approach the investigation. The group had now had two days to think through the case with Lublin as the primary suspect. No one had been able to come up with any other potential sources of evidence. As they sat and thought, occasionally someone threw something out, only to have another member of the team explain why it wouldn’t work.

  After thirty minutes the FBI agents excused themselves. No one blamed them, no progress was being made, and as locals they had families to go home to. Mentally the team did hold it against Brown when he claimed he was going “back to the hotel to get a workout in so I can think better.” While no one believed he planned on either working out or thinking about the case, all were happy he was gone.

  By 2040 hours, Kruzerski was in what Greere had taught him was called a “do loop.” He kept going over the same ideas in his head and then circling back around on them again, without anything new entering the pattern. Part of Kruzerski’s particular loop was he and Murray being left alone with Lublin for fifteen minutes with no surveillance equipment. But then he’d hear Morley’s voice in the back of his mind telling him if they did anything improper, there was a better possibility of them getting arrested and Lublin going free—the worst possible alternative.

  After what seemed like the hundredth time around with no progress, Kruzerski was mentally tired. Interlacing his thick fingers, he closed his eyes and stretched back in the chair, reaching both hands over his head. Arching his back, he yawned and groaned. Finally stopping the stretch, Kruzerski opened his eyes, only to recoil and slam them shut again after staring straight into the large florescent lights overhead.

  He shook his head, and in another second, he was blinded again, but this time by inspiration. He straightened in his chair and turned to Murray. “Tell Morley I might have something. Doc, you and Ron come with me!”

  As the others began to respond, Kruzerski sprinted out of the makeshift conference room and headed down the hallway. When Swann and Greere caught up to him, he said, “The lights, do you remember at Lublin’s house all the lights were on?”

  Both men answered in the affirmative as they followed Kruzerski into the cell block. Before they could ask any questions, Kruzerski was at the bars and Antonescu, who had heard the group coming, was up and moving toward them.

  “Mihai, you told us when Lublin was away on his trips, he had you stay at his house, right?”

  “Yes, Agent Brian.”

  “Did he ever tell you what to do at the house?”

  “No. He just tell Mihai no leave house. He say if people come house for him, tell dem he at store, vhen back, he call dem. Den Mihai to call Mr. Lublin so he call person back.”

  “Did he tell you anything else?”

  “Just vhere Mihai could go in house. Mihai sleep at pull-out couch in livink room. Mihai—”

  Kruzerski, cut him off. “Anything about the lights?”

  It took a second, and Antonescu didn’t understand the question, but Swann and Greere did.

  Kruzerski asked again, “Mihai, when you stayed at Lublin’s house, did you keep a lotta lights on, like Lublin did?”

  “No, Mr. Lublin vaste electricity. Mihai no vaste electricity. Mihai turn lights off. Save energy.”

  As Morley came down the hall, Swann and Greere were hugging Kruzerski.

  Seeing Morley, Swann said, “Brian’s a genius.”

  “Boss, when we went over there both times, every light in the fuckin’ house was on. I’m not bull-shittin’ ya. Not just the ones in the rooms Lublin had been in, but every fuckin’ room.”

  Greere and Swann nodded in agreement as Kruzerski continued.

  “If he has Mihai stuck in the house for ten days to two weeks, and Mihai isn’t runnin’ the electricity like our boy Lublin, there should be a big drop in the electricity bill.”

  Morley filled in the blanks. “And if that pattern can be shown, it independently corroborates what Mihai has been telling us about him staying there while Lublin was out. That pattern should match nicely with the ones from WoW and Western Union. We can plot out certain times at the house while Lublin is there, and a distinct difference when he is away mutilating people.” He paused and smiled. “Have him explain that to a jury.”

  Morley quickly asked Scott which power company would serve Lublin’s house, and if he had a good contact there.

  “It’s either NYSEG, or possibly Niagara Mohawk. Either way, the office has excellent contacts with both.”

  Speaking t
o the others, he said, “Make sure it’s documented in both interview reports that all of the lights in the house were on, so that when Lublin is questioned about telling Antonescu to stay at his house and he denies it, they could then ask him about the strange pattern of electricity usage at exactly the same times he was supposedly staying there.”

  The group had new life, and all were able to ride the adrenalin for a few more hours. For two, the adrenalin became dangerous.

  “Tommy can you hear me?” (10/21/09, 2155 hours)

  Brown opened his hotel room door, unsuccessfully trying to close the too tight hotel bathrobe.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Morley said to his newly awoken supervisor. “I just wanted to give you an update. We have a new angle to use against Lublin based on energy usage and I’ve requested Pencala travel up to be part of the interview team. I’ll give you a full update via email by midnight.”

  “Okay, good,” said Brown still trying to convince the standard size bathrobe to cover his nonstandard stomach. “Wait, what? Pencala? We don’t need anyone else up here. We have enough people as it is.”

  “I think she’s the best counterpart to Swann on the interview team. She’s—”

  “I said we don’t need her.” Interrupted Brown, agitation in his voice. “I’ll work with Swann on the interview. We’ll be fine.”

  Morley saw where this was headed. Brown wanted to go down in Secret Service history as one of the agents to interview a notorious serial killer. He suppressed his initial reaction and went with, “Tommy, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You and I have been out of practice when it comes to interrogations. Let’s let the agents who—”

  “I’ve done hundreds of suspect interviews. It’s like riding a bike. Anyway, I’ll have Swann there for technical help and you and the rest of the team right behind the glass.”

  “Tommy, I really think Pencala will have an effect on Lublin, especially since we believe he has a thing against women.”

  “It might also have the opposite effect and turn him off completely,” parried Brown.

  “You’re right, but I plan on gauging that when we start processing him.”

  “It’s late. I’m not going to stand here and debate this with you. Swann and I will do the interview. That’s the end of it.”

  “No. It’s not. Since you and I can’t work it out, I’ll contact the SAIC in the morning and let him decide.”

  “You’re going over my head?” Brown’s voice rose angrily.

  “Yes, Tommy, I am.”

  “So that’s how it’s gonna be ehh?” Brown’s face was now flushed.

  “Yes.”

  “Since it’s clear you don’t consider me a friend, how ’bout you stop with the Tommy bullshit. It sounds a little too familiar for our new relationship. From now on I want you to refer to me as ASAIC Brown or sir. Am I clear AT…” he emphasized the subordinate title “…Morley?”

  “I’m sorry, Tommy, it seems you’ve misunderstood me.”

  Brown smiled as if he thought an apology was forthcoming.

  “I call everyone in authority, sir, ma’am, or by their title as a sign of respect. That is until they prove they don’t deserve it. Then I just use their first name. It has nothing to do with friendship…Tommy!”

  Morley stared at his enraged, speechless supervisor until the door slammed.

  Morley’s annoyance grew as he walked into his drab, wood-paneled motel room. He wasn’t sure if it was Brown’s arrogance or ignorance that bothered him more. He settled on the former—ignorance was genetic, arrogance was learned.

  He set his gun on the nightstand as his phone rang. It was only when he saw the number that he remembered he hadn’t called home.

  “Hey buddy, I’m sorry I didn’t call. We’ve been really busy. Is everything okay?”

  “Beth thinks I don’t like her.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She says I don’t think she is pretty. But I do.”

  “Why does she think you don’t think she’s pretty?” PJ had to replay the question in his head to make sure he had asked it correctly.

  “She says if I thought she was pretty, I would want to kiss her.”

  Now things made a little more sense, at least as much sense as they ever did with girls, or women for that matter, in PJ’s mind.

  “Did you tell her you can’t kiss her because you don’t want to get suspended?”

  “Yes. She said we could kiss under the bleachers where no one would see.”

  “No! No sneaking around. Sneaking isn’t good. You know better than that.”

  “I know, PJ, but I really really like Beth. And I want her to like me.”

  “I understand, but you know what the right thing to do is. Sometimes the right thing isn’t the easy thing to do.” PJ struggled for a solution. “Buddy, how about this. How about you ask Beth on a date? That will prove to her you like her, won’t it?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “What kind of date?”

  “Well, we’ll have to think about that, and we’ll have to talk to Beth’s parents first, but—”

  “Like a movie date?” Sean’s voice had more enthusiasm than PJ had anticipated or liked.

  “Maybe, but like I said, we’ll have to talk to Beth’s parents first and see if it is okay.”

  “We could go see the Transformer movie.”

  “You might want to see what kind of movie she wants to see.”

  There was a knock on the door. As PJ looked through the peephole, Sean’s voice faded. Now all he could hear were his own words coming back at him: You know what the right thing to do is. Sometimes the right thing isn’t the easy thing…Like splash back from bullets striking a metal target that’s too close to the shooter, it was painful and could be fatal.

  “Buddy, there’s someone at the door. I’ve gotta go. Don’t do anything until I talk to you again.” He opened the door and slid his free hand around Kay’s waist and pulled her close.

  “We’ll make sure she knows you like her. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Part Fifteen

  72 | Lublin Arrested

  Binghamton, New York, 10/22/09, 1303 hours

  As had been worked out the night before through ASUA Carpenter, all paperwork was on the Syracuse AUSA’s desk by 0800 hours for review and signature.

  RAIC Scott had confirmed Lublin’s account was with NiMo and had the paperwork at his contact’s office within ten minutes of it being signed. He had the results ten minutes later.

  The electric company was able to go back four years in their records for the house in Endwell. In that time there were six distinct drops in the average daily consumption of electricity used for that residence. The drops were easily identifiable. They started with a dramatic reduction in consumption on one day and then just as dramatically spiked about ten days later.

  The amount of energy used went from a consistent level of around 1900 KWHs per down to 1100 KWHs for the time frames in question. These dates corresponded to the MILF Murders, as the agents were now referring to the cases.

  The information was passed to Carpenter and the local AUSA at the same time. The arrest warrant for credit card fraud—and search warrants for the house, all electronic media, the SUNY network, and Lublin’s car—were signed and the teams were in place by 1300 hours.

  The arrest of Craig Lublin was anticlimactic. He was in his office on the SUNY Binghamton campus. Other than asking if the handcuffs were “really necessary,” he didn’t say a thing.

  Lublin didn’t have to feign surprise; it was genuine. In all his years of torturing and murdering, he had given law enforcement a two-to-five percent chance of obtaining enough evidence to arrest him for anything. He figured the odds of convicting him were even smaller. Still, he was thankful when Swann said he was being arrested for violation of 18 USC 1028, 1029, and 1030: false ID, credit card fraud, and computer fraud or hacking. The relief at not being charged with murder was quickly replaced with curiosity. What false ID, cred
it card fraud and hacking charges am I being charged with? There are so many possibilities.

  Lublin was less nervous than he thought he’d be. He chalked it up to the previous two interviews at his house. This he told himself was different; this time he didn’t have to say a word.

  Of the four individuals who came into his office to arrest him, he only recognized Greere and Swann. Both were cordial, acting professional and familiar. Lublin guessed it was all part of trying to develop a rapport. It didn’t hurt him to respond in kind, since he wasn’t going to tell them anything anyway. It was a game, one that he controlled. Still, he was on the fence as to whether he could get more information by acting innocent and trying to talk, or not. Lublin liked that Swann had been one of the individuals who came to arrest him, and he had developed a liking for Agent Greere too. He wasn’t sure if it was the contrast between these two and the boorish Kruzerski, or if there was genuinely something there he could like. He decided to reserve judgment and see how things played out. He could always stop the questioning if he didn’t like how it was going.

  Swann read him his rights and Lublin signed a form indicating he understood them. Then Swann and another agent who introduced himself as Morley led Lublin downstairs to a waiting government sedan parked in a fire zone behind the building.

  Once in the car, the agent in the front passenger seat, who had trouble turning around due to his girth, said, “I am Assistant Special Agent In Charge Thomas Brown. You are my prisoner.”

  Lublin saw the agent named Morley on his right raise his eyebrows and shake his head.

  When the car stopped at the seven-story grey federal building in downtown Binghamton, Lublin’s door opened. A firm hand took hold of his upper arm, another on his neck making sure that he didn’t hit his head as he exited backwards. When he turned, he was surprised to see the hands belonged to a young woman, a very pretty young woman.

  “Hi, I’m Agent Pencala.” She sounded almost cheerful. Her easy smile radiated good nature and made her appear vibrant. Lublin was captivated. Never particularly good around women, he couldn’t think of anything to say as he watched her greet the other agents in the same cheerful, pleasant manner.