by G. K. Parks
Mark snorted. “Yeah, he mentioned that was the conclusion you jumped to this morning.”
“Was I wrong?”
“Let’s just say he had his orders from somewhere up the food chain. But I had a chat with Director Kendall, and he had a chat with the police brass, and everyone’s priorities should be back in order.” Mark was great at the double talk. “Jacobs isn’t doing this job so he can climb the ladder. He puts his heart into it.”
“Great. I guess I owe him an apology.”
“I don’t like thinking fellow agents are responsible for a man’s death or failing to intervene. It makes them look suspicious, possibly dirty, since we’re dealing with very rich men who are likely to make a lot more money. But I refuse to bury my head in the sand either. Since Walton hasn’t been particularly transparent, you and I are going to rip through Costan and Wheeler’s financials.” His phone beeped, and he read the message. “The Costan/Wheeler aspect is now part of an OIO investigation, at least since it seems plausible one of them could have made a deal with some foreign national during the conference. Plus, Kendall wanted someone to go over Walton’s analysis and work, just in case he was missing something.” Mark stood, scooping my car keys off the table. “The files are ready for pick-up. Looks like my vacation just got cut short.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to consult for you.”
“Quid pro quo. We’re consulting for each other.” He jerked his head at the door, dangling the keys in front of my face. “Come on. We’ll grab pizza on the way. Who knows, maybe Eastman will have some valuable insight since he likes to believe he’s a whiz at selling corporate secrets and is in cahoots with all the key players.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you and your new best friend, Jacobs, look into this?”
“Because Jacobs is busy on something else.” He smiled. “He convinced Jason to turn over the actual memory card from the camera.”
“How?” I was astonished.
“Tricks of the trade. Let’s just say he was offered a deal he couldn’t refuse.”
Thirty-one
The financial records for Frank Costan were expansive. When Mark said he was getting the files, I believed they were the most recent. Had I realized they dated back to before Costan’s arrest and subsequent escape, I would have driven away as soon as Mark stepped out of the car. Thankfully, the financial information on Rodney Wheeler was much more manageable.
Mark and I were sitting on opposite ends of the bed with the stacks of financial information between us. As he skimmed through the transactions, he would call out names of corporations and individuals, hoping something would ring a bell for Paul. We had been at this for three hours, and not a single name was viable. While Mark assessed Costan’s information, I flipped through the pages on Wheeler, hoping to find a match or overlap. Granted, numerous federal agents and accountants had already done this, but maybe two fresh sets of eyes would lead to different results.
Frank Costan was an investment broker by trade. He dabbled in day trading and internet stocks until his client list became substantial and he began his own internet startup. The actual company was nothing more than a fancy website, doctored earning projections, growth charts, and a team of allegedly reputable management consultants that boasted of the brilliance and surefire achievements of this startup company. In reality, Costan had defrauded his investors, skimmed off the top, and when his ends failed to meet since he had no product or actual service to provide, he emptied the accounts and fled before the SEC could raid the office building he was leasing. Men like him were weasels. Sure, these high-risk, high-return investments were always a gamble, and he relied on this knowledge to turn his otherwise legitimate skill set into a way to steal from the rich. He was greedy, sinister, and shrewd. No one realized what was going on until it was too late. Everything looked kosher until it wasn’t.
When the actual indictment came down, everyone he employed from receptionists to the management consultants was willing to exchange evidence or information in order to mitigate their involvement. Obviously, Costan didn’t make any friends, and once the money was gone, no one was willing to cover his back. So how did he manage to escape, and where was he hiding all this time?
“His arrest was almost two years ago,” I said, cutting Mark off from asking about another dozen entities that I was sure Paul had no clue about. “He escaped from the prison transport on the way to the courthouse. And he managed to remain hidden until now. No one does that.”
“He did,” Mark muttered, still scanning the pages for an answer that wasn’t there.
“They needed Tommy Lee Jones to find him,” Paul blurted out, and I laughed. He winked at me and smiled. “If I were on the run with millions stashed somewhere, I wouldn’t stay in this country or go anywhere near some international business conference. Not after two years. I’d buy a private island with plenty of rum and attractive women in bikinis.” He glanced at me. “That wasn’t meant to sound as sexist as it did.”
I shook my head. “An island with ripped men who are willing to fan me and feed me peeled grapes sounds just about right.” I crinkled my nose playfully. “Or was that too sexist a comment for you?” Mark let out a huff, and I returned to the task at hand. “Did Costan run out of money?”
Mark rubbed his face, dropping the paper on to the bed. This wasn’t leading us anywhere fast. “How should I know? We have a rough estimate of how much he stole, what he was worth prior to the thefts, and what we recovered through money trails. But there are still millions unaccounted for. Maybe he stashed it somewhere local and came back to retrieve it, thinking he could cut a deal with someone in the process.” He arched an eyebrow and shrugged.
“Which is where Senator Wheeler fits in,” I added.
“Or it could be one of the international moguls,” Paul suggested. “Do we have proof Alvin was working with Frank Costan?”
“You mean aside from the fact the two of them were both murdered in the same hotel?” Mark asked, probably not intending to be as harsh as he sounded. Paul shrunk back, busying himself with pulling one of the pints of ice cream from the freezer.
“Why don’t we have Hodge’s phone records?” I asked. “He must have been in contact with someone damning.”
“He wasn’t,” Mark said.
“He used the hotel phone for his business,” Paul replied. “He didn’t want any blowback in case things soured.”
I looked at Mark as if to say, ‘where the hell are the hotel records’, but he shook his head. We weren’t given access to them. Too much privileged information or not enough evidence to warrant a court order, unless the FBI just didn’t want to share.
“But there was blowback. Rachel left Alvin because men came to their house because of his side business,” I said. Despite the fact that was over a year ago, it might explain why Alvin changed tactics and why Rachel was snooping into her ex-husband’s business. “Someone got to her.”
“We know this, Parker,” Mark growled, frustrated with the paperwork and the investigating agents, namely Walton. “You said it earlier when she freaked out at the sight of Eastman.”
“So someone came to visit her more recently.”
“No shit.”
“Well, it can’t be Oster because she wouldn’t run to him if he threatened her. We’re working under the assumption that Rachel went to Paul’s after receiving a threat, but why wouldn’t Jason just ask you about it?” I queried, turning to Paul.
“I don’t know. He can’t think I’m in on this too, can he?” Paul put the spoon down, contemplating the friendship he had with Jason Oster. “What I don’t get is how anyone knew what was going on a few weeks before the conference. PDN just got the contract. You were still evaluating the security protocols. Nothing was set in stone. So that was like the worst time to ply me for information about Alvin’s involvement in this stuff. Didn’t you say Frank Costan checked in two days before the conference? He wasn’t even here when I took Lexie, I mean Rachel, home that nig
ht.”
“Wheeler would have known about the conference ahead of time. He was probably making a deal with Costan. Hell, he might have arranged for Costan to stay at the hotel undetected. But something spooked Wheeler. Perhaps he spotted the FBI agents or overheard Hodge supplying them with information, so he suspected he would be double-crossed,” Mark suggested. “So he sent someone to threaten Rachel for the information.”
“But when she failed to give him anything useful, he killed Alvin in order to keep Costan in line, and maybe Costan threatened to turn evidence against the former senator in exchange for some leniency for his own crimes. So Wheeler killed him too.” I rubbed my eyes. “And someone else helped him dispose of Costan’s body, assuming Frank was killed in the room registered to the FBI.”
“Allegedly registered. Like I said, the registry was altered,” Mark insisted. “It had to be someone familiar with security and access to the front desk that knew of your little trip to the abandoned tunnels and was able to avoid the cameras or possessed the ability to alter the footage.” He didn’t have to say it. The facts added up to Jason Oster and maybe an accomplice or two.
“God, it sounds like it could have been me,” Paul stated in a hushed tone. “No wonder the cops arrested me.” A thought suddenly crossed his mind. “Y’know, PDN is probably wondering where the hell I’ve been for the last couple of days.”
“You can call work in the morning,” Mark said. “I’ll take you somewhere else and let you use my phone.” He turned to me. “Goddamn, your paranoia is contagious.”
“Scary, isn’t it?” I smirked. “Can we build a profile on Wheeler and call it a night? I have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow that I can’t miss and some final touches that I need to revise on my proposal.”
“Fine.” Mark looked down at the stack of papers. “Let’s hear it, Parker.”
“Name a financial crime, and there’s a good chance our disgraced former senator has been accused of it. Embezzlement, taking bribes, defrauding investors, inflated earnings projections.” I shifted around, flipping through the pages. “Not a single accusation has ever been proven, but Wheeler relinquished his Senate seat before any official investigations could be opened. Since then, he’s been keeping a lower profile. His name is on the Board of Trustees for various corporations. He owns numerous properties and quite a few businesses.”
“Like his partial ownership of the hotel,” Paul said, and I nodded.
“The SEC has been keeping tabs, but his portfolio is so spread out, it doesn’t seem likely that they would be able to pinpoint precisely where his illegal financial activities might lie. The IRS is digging through his taxes and earnings, but they haven’t hit on anything suspicious either.”
“Which is why the FBI is investigating.” Mark let out a heavy sigh. “They’ve been monitoring his movements and spending for the last year or so. And from what Walton said, they still don’t have enough evidence to make anything stick to him.”
“Do you believe SAC Walton?” I asked, earning myself a glare. “Yeah, I know. We don’t know enough either way. But Wheeler has plenty of money, illegal or otherwise.”
“Don’t say it, Parker,” Mark warned. He knew I thought Wheeler paid off his tail to look the other way. “You have no basis.”
“Frank Costan is dead. Alvin Hodge is dead. Someone attempted to kill Paul. I’d call that a pretty big coincidence, particularly since the FBI and Secret Service were both on scene to monitor Wheeler.”
“So Wheeler kept them occupied, hired someone else to do the deed, and got his buddies in hotel security to cover it up,” Mark argued.
This debate was pointless. We didn’t have proof of anyone’s involvement in anything. It was entirely conjecture, but either the government agents were corrupt or incompetent. And neither possibility bode well.
“Guys,” Paul said, breaking the tension, “that hotel has hundreds of employees. And like you said, Wheeler is part owner. He could have handpicked some people, arranged for everything in advance, and made sure the coast was clear. It doesn’t necessarily implicate either the agents guarding him or the hotel security staff.”
“There weren’t any cameras.” I blinked, realizing the significance. “The cable that Hodge was...,” I faltered, attempting to be more sensitive for Paul’s benefit, “that was because some of the walls and ceiling tiles were moved. And there are no cameras in those areas.”
“Wheeler must have set it up.” Mark met my gaze. “Fucking bastard.”
“Do you remember when the hotel made the renovations?” I asked Paul. Since he had been using them for quite some time to host PDN’s clients, he might have remembered.
“About three months ago, I think.” Paul contemplated that fact while I retrieved the file on the conference. “Somewhere around then. Maybe four or five. But it wasn’t longer than that.”
“Wheeler knew all along that the hotel was getting the conference, so he altered everything,” I muttered, feeling like I was suffering from shortsightedness.
“Talk about premeditated murder,” Mark scoffed. “Why would he think to do that?” He paused briefly. “Unless he was making the arrangements on purpose so Costan could get in and out without detection since the cameras wouldn’t be near the elevators anymore.” He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Everything runs through those cables. That’s what the hotel manager said. It’d be easy to cut into them and reroute the feed or have it play on a loop. No one would be the wiser, especially when they are so easily accessible from the hallways and the rooms nearest to the elevator. Remember, Mr. Russell said they run from room to room through the walls and ceiling tiles.”
“Shit.” I got up to pace. “I think we need to have another chat with Russell. We’re going to need complete access to the hotel’s surveillance tapes, the hard drives that stored the surveillance information, the list of employees, phone records, everything. If Wheeler orchestrated this, then there is no telling what the plan was or when the tampering began. It’s even possible Costan’s been staying at that hotel a lot longer than we thought.”
“I’d be willing to go out on a limb and say Costan probably passed his hidden funds to Wheeler for protection and safekeeping,” Mark surmised. “This is way beyond the scope of your little P.I. business. If you want to step away and let me handle it, I’ll take it to Director Kendall, and we can work something out with the PD and other agencies.”
“But what if they’re on the take?”
“What if they are?” He gave me a pointed look. “Do you remember what happened the last time you investigated corruption? Someone shot you in the back, and they came after Marty too.”
“I thought you said the reason your back hurt wasn’t because of a bullet wound,” Paul interrupted. I had forgotten he was still in the room.
“It’s not. That happened almost a year before the broken ribs,” I muttered, my eyes never leaving Mark. “Let me talk to Jacobs before you step all over my investigation.”
He snorted. “Now it’s your investigation?”
“It always was. You’ve met my client.” I turned to face Paul. “He hired me to prove his innocence and determine who killed his friend.”
“Yeah. I…um…did.” Paul cowered under Mark’s death glare, but at least he was brave enough to state the obvious. Now all I had to do was convince Jacobs to let me play on his team.
Thirty-two
Mark elected to stay at the motel to keep Paul company. He claimed it was because our killer was still unidentified and on the loose. Realistically, it was so he could ply my client for more details concerning the international conference, Alvin Hodge, and the other hotel staff. I wasn’t fooled, but Paul was a big boy. He could fend for himself, and Mark was only doing his job.
After arriving at home, I turned on my computer and reread the proposal I was planning on pitching to Luc Guillot at Martin Technologies in the afternoon. The fix for the elevators in the event of a fire or other emergency wasn’t that difficult. It would req
uire a separate system being established for the main elevator banks and a few override functions to be added to the elevator’s operation. It was a pain in the ass, but it would solve the problem in this office building and theoretically all the others. However, since MT existed on multiple continents, I was stuck skimming through the fire safety and building codes for a dozen different countries and cities. Why did Martin’s company have to be so goddamn expansive?
My mind kept wandering away from the elevators and back to Wheeler and the hotel. At some point, Wheeler and Costan must have crossed paths, but I didn’t know when or where. I doubted anyone did since the authorities didn’t have a solid case against Wheeler on any of his financial crimes. If they could connect him to Costan, then they would have had something definitive to hold him on.
“Focus, Parker,” I growled, shaking off the questions of murder, money, and how Rachel Romanski fit into any of this. On the bright side, if she was involved, maybe they could arrest her or place her in protective custody before Friday, so I wouldn’t have to attend any more yoga sessions. I snorted. So much for focusing on Martin Technologies’ current dilemma.
I glanced at the time, exhausted from the unanswered questions, but it seemed doubtful I’d be able to sleep. After attempting to spend another hour on the safety protocols and building regulations, I decided to present my solution and let maintenance and actual electricians and building inspectors deal with the ramifications. After all, I wasn’t consulting for MT. That ship sailed. Printing off copies of my final proposal and the information I had been provided, I turned off my computer and went to bed.
Twisting and turning, I couldn’t get the two murders out of my mind. Something was gnawing at my subconscious. What was I missing? At three a.m., I climbed out of bed and went into my living room. Flipping on lights, I grabbed a pencil and went to the wall. It wasn’t too long ago that I had to spackle and repaint. Luckily, I learned my lesson, and I invested in some poster board. Tacking up a couple of sheets, I diagrammed everyone involved and drew lines connecting people.