by Sims, R.
“I get the message, Dana. You’re not going to let me run over you, regardless of how much money I have. You’re wasting your time making that point. I don’t want to run over you; I want to marry you and help you raise my first child. Your mature, no-nonsense attitude makes me feel this way. I understand you don’t know enough about me, but time will fix that.”
Dana saw a waitress approaching but stopped her in her tracks with a don’t-bother-us-now hand gesture and a smile. The waitress returned the smile and changed directions.
“I’ll let you in on a big secret but I won’t elaborate at this time,” Dexter said. “I didn’t steal the money for myself, though I will certainly enjoy many benefits as a result of the theft.”
“More bullshit. How much of that stuff do you have in storage?”
He laughed. “I stole the money for the Frame of Mind Children’s Center. You’ve never heard of it because it’s a project that hasn’t been funded yet. It will be a hospital and medical research center for children with brain defects and mental challenges. This will require at least $1.2 billion.”
Dana’s facial expression softened.
“Yeah, that’s right. We always seem to forget about unfortunate children with cerebral palsy, Down’s syndrome, and a host of other illnesses and mental deficiencies. I hope you feel terrible for jumping to conclusions about me.”
She simply looked at him, gauging his sincerity.
“The kids and I need your help, Mom.”
She stared at him. Something told her he was a good man.
CHAPTER 27
Phillip and Laura entered the small apartment and tried to ignore the odor. They followed Geneva as she wheeled herself to the kitchen.
Geneva worked her wheelchair around the cheap table and parked, locking the brakes. There was a butter knife sticking up from a jar of peanut butter. A sleeve of saltine crackers was on the table.
Phillip and Laura noticed that the overflowing kitchen trashcan hadn’t been emptied in days, maybe a week. Dishes were piled in the sink. The sound of a television was coming from another room.
“Have a seat,” Geneva said.
Phillip and Laura sat at the kitchen table, and Phillip brought out a small digital recorder. He got Geneva’s permission to record the interview, made some formal introductions, and asked, “Miss Lansing, can you think of anyone who would use your identity?”
She smeared peanut butter over a cracker then topped it with another cracker. “Do you really believe I’m gonna tell you something different from what I told the other FBI agent?”
Phillip said, “You’ve talked to someone from FBI already?”
“You know damn well I did, three days ago. Monday I believe it was”
“From a Maryland office?” he asked.
“No. We talked right here at my place.”
“I’m asking whether he was from a FBI field office in Maryland.”
“It was a she, and I don’t know where she — what office she came from.” Geneva bit into her cracker sandwich.
Phillip said, “Do you remember the agent’s name?”
“Kimberly. I don’t…I can’t remember her last name, but I’d know it as soon as I heard it again”
Phillip glanced at Laura. Their plan was to interview all possible associates of Dexter and Eric’s, and any other co-conspirators, saving Dexter and Eric for last. But now some other agent was encroaching their territory, forcing them to revise their strategy.
Phillip said to Laura, “Make a call and find out where Kimberly is from and why she’s trespassing.”
“Gladly.” Laura got up from the table and headed for the front door. She really needed the fresh air.
Phillip looked at Geneva again. “Did she show you any ID with her name and photo?”
“Nope, didn’t ask. Wait. I think she did. I don’t get visitors often; I was happy to have her as company. I know she was a real FBI lady, though, because she asked all the right questions and was dressed real professional-like.”
Yeah, that makes sense.
“We drinked a couple of beers, and I helped her figure out who might be behind stealing my identity.”
“You drank beer with this person and that didn’t raise any suspicion about her being a real FBI agent?”
“Why should it? You sayin’ FBI agents don’t drink beer?”
“On the job, with someone who may be part of the investigation?” he asked.
“You’re not gonna use that recorder to get your coworker in any trouble are you?”
CHAPTER 28
“Let’s get back on track.” Phillip said. “Now, you said you helped her figure out who stole your identity.”
“I think I did. A prison pen pal named Troy Epps, black guy. We talked a lot on the phone, too, until I couldn’t afford the bill anymore.”
“Miss Lansing, I’m going to need you to try to remember everything you and Kimberly talked about…her questions, your answers. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll try, but I need a favor from you.”
“What is it?”
“Can you send your partner to the store for a case of beer? I got the money.”
“Sorry, but that’s against policy. Section 3, Paragraph 5: No beer runs while on duty.”
“Oh,” she said. She heard the light knocking at her front door. “Come in.” She knew it was the other agent.
Laura entered the apartment, closed the door, and walked to the kitchen. “No Kimberly working any aspect of this case. I pressed on for a Kim…”
“Preston! That’s her last name, Agent Kimberly Preston,” Geneva said.
Laura shook her head but not to disagree with Geneva’s memory. “I asked for any Kimberly with FBI who might have been working out of a Maryland, California, or Pennsylvania field office. Nothing.”
Phillip smiled at Laura. “Geneva tells me they drank a couple of beers together.”
“Interesting,” Laura said.
“So you guys are telling me that Kimberly was a phony FBI agent?” She bit into her cracker sandwich again.
“Looks that way,” Phillip said.
“No wonder it’s taking so long to return my letters.”
“What letters?” Phillip asked.
“About forty letters that Troy wrote to me. She said she would make copies and return the originals.”
Laura asked, “Who’s Troy?”
Phillip said, “Troy Epps,” and he and Laura looked at one another. Phillip turned to Geneva again. “Can you describe this Kimberly woman for us?”
“Yep.” And she did.
Laura was studying the nasty kitchen, her eyes zeroing in on a few gnats casing the overfilled trash can. “Miss Lansing, when was the last time your trash can was emptied?”
Phillip shot his partner a look of disapproval.
Geneva said, “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t get around too good. Maybe you or your partner could take that out for me, unless that’s against some policy code, too.”
Laura said, “That came off wrong. That’s not what I was getting at.” She was looking at part of a Budweiser can. “You and Kimberly drank beer. Would those have been Budweisers from the can?”
Geneva looked back at her trashcan. “Yeah. What about it?”
“What are the chances that those cans are still in your garbage over there?” Laura asked.
Phillip appreciated Laura’s observation, but he thought that was an easy one.
Geneva said, “There in there. Those are the cans.”
Laura didn’t believe any of Kimberly’s prints would be useable, what with all the trash smothering the beer cans.
Geneva asked Laura, “You ever heard of Section 3, Paragraph 5?”
“Of what?”
“FBI policy, your handbook or manual I suppose.”
“No. That doesn’t exist. Kimberly made that up.”
Geneva looked at Phillip. “You no-good fucker. You can’t even be honest with a cripple.”
; CHAPTER 29
At the Harrisburg Bureau of Investigations, Phillip entered the clean, organized office of Agent Marcus Evans. He shook hands with the black man. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” Marcus headed for his desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Phillip sat in a plain armchair. “What do you have?”
Marcus eased into his leather swivel seat. “As you know, Eric Adkins is out on bail for arson charges. I’ll email a transcription of Jimmy Carpenter’s interview to you before I get off today. He may be able to fill in a few blanks for you. He says Eric burned his house down, and so he’s willing to cooperate. Seems that Eric has shared some information with him about the investment scam.”
“I’ll look into it,” Phillip said.
“Yeah. Anyway, there’s a lot more on this Eric guy. You’re aware that he’s suspected in the murders of Jerry Bean the ivestment banker and his chauffeur Ricky Boatwright.”
Phillip said, “I’ve heard. I’ve also seen a copy of the insurance policy.”
Marcus waved the statement off with the flick of a hand. “That’s no good. Both Eric and Jerry’s names were forged. The policy was taken out on the fourth of January this year. Records for that date indicate that Jerry was returning from Europe. His flight got in shortly after nine that night, long after EcherLife had already closed.”
Phillip said, “What about Eric? Maybe he used an older white guy to forge Jerry’s name.”
“Our handwriting expert says both signatures are forgeries, hardly professional but likely to fool the casual observer. I took a couple of photos of Eric and Jerry to the insurance company and…”
“Nobody recognizes them,” Phillip cut in.
“You wanna know something else? The farm where the bodies and limo were found, we’re pretty sure that’s not the original crime scene for Jerry and Boatwright’s murders. The limo was methodically cleaned. No prints were found inside or outside the car. None.”
“So, no forensic evidence?” Phillip asked.
“Well, the victims’ blood, including the splatters from the gunshots, of course. I believe the killer or killers used a portable vacuum to collect other forensic or physical evidence. There was, however, a single eyelash follicle caught up in Jerry Bean’s mustache.”
“I’m willing to bet that the eyelash will cause our database spit Eric’s name out.”
Marcus said, “Already has. I got the call twenty minutes before I called you.”
“Eric is being framed, which was the purpose of the insurance policy.”
“I figured as much. I ran that by my supervisor, but he says the evidence still warrants an arrest for the murders. I thought you might want to be present when I bring Eric in for questioning. If I arrest him before I try to question him, he might not talk to us.”
Phillip rose from his chair. “I’d like to be there.”
“Oh, and, uh, one more thing. Jerry Bean’s death will likely close a cold case, the murder of a 38-year-old woman approximately eight years ago. Jerry’s DNA resulted in a CODIS hit as well, and he was never even a suspect.”
CHAPTER 30
Reginald Macon was the manager of a North Philadelphia McDonald’s restaurant. He was a tall, 35-year-old black man with an air of confidence and intelligence. His office was cluttered but his desk was neat and held a 22-inch computer monitor.
Laura Frey sat across the desk from Reginald, her digital recorder performing silently. She said, “So, the Dexter Parker that worked here last year looks nothing like the guy in that photo?”
Reginald leaned forward and returned the photo to the agent. “Oh, I didn’t say that and didn’t mean to imply as much. I said the guy in the photo is definitely not the guy who worked as a cashier for me last year. There is clearly a resemblance between the two, though.”
“Is there anything here, such as his original application, that may bear his handwriting or fingerprints?”
He shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of. I can produce a scanned copy of his application. We’re not big on paper documents. Most of our documents get scanned for OCR and PDF treatment, so we save only the digital versions.”
“A PDF copy of Mr. Parker’s application would do just fine,” Laura said.
The manager typed several commands on his desktop keyboard.
“Can you remember whether your Dexter Parker associated with any of your other employees? I mean, any friendships or relationships beyond the job?”
“I wouldn’t know that,” he said. “I can give you a printout of every employee who worked here last year, and you can talk to each or any of them…”
“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Macon.”
Reginald’s printer, which was on the floor and next to his desk, quickly spat out an application. He gave the document to Laura and began tapping at more keys.
Laura studied the application and suddenly found herself smiling. Dexter Parker, the imposter, had brazenly used the Scranton prison’s address, minus the name of the prison. There was a telephone number; the area code and prefix told her it was a Harrisburg number.
Reginald was staring at her as the printer spat more pages. “Is that Miss or Mrs. Frey?”
Laura looked up at him. “Excuse me?”
“Married or single?”
“Why? What does it matter?”
“Well, I’ll be retiring next month and thought I’d try the dating thing again.”
She said, “How did you contact this Dexter Parker to interview him?”
“I didn’t. He came in one day, asked to see the manager, and told me he was a hard worker. I had him fill out an application and told him to start the next day, if I remember correctly.”
“Did you notice he used a Scranton address?”
Reginald shrugged. “That didn’t concern me. He said he was homeless and sleeping out of his car. I gave him a job because he was honest.”
She kept studying the application.
“Now, can I take you out for a lovely evening?”
“What gives you the impression that I would date a black guy?”
He retrieved six more pages from his printer and gave them to her. “I haven’t dated a black woman in eighteen years. I’m not reading impressions; I’m just trying my luck.”
Laura looked down at the application again.
Person to contact in case of emergency: Special Agent Phillip Walters.
She smiled again, amazed.
Reginald said, “Is that a yes?”
“No.” She looked up at him. “Is there any other number I can reach you at in case I have more questions?”
“Of course. You can reach me at home. I live alone, you know?”
CHAPTER 31
At Elizabeth Mackie’s home in Clearwater, Florida, Dexter sat across from her in a family room. His back rested against a plush velvet sofa while she leaned forward in a matching armchair. There were two glasses of iced lemon tea on coasters, and a bowl of mixed nuts on a well-polished oak coffee table.
Elizabeth said, “One of the murder victims is believed to have been connected to the investment scam. None of the papers reveals how, but I’m sure you can tell me. In fact, you went to prison for Jerry Bean and had been employed by him. Am I wrong to think you had something to do with his death?”
Dexter considered how he should answer her, but he would not lie. “Yes, you are wrong to think that way about me. I killed Jerry Bean, but you should not have automatically thought of me as a suspect.”
“Right now, your semantics aren’t impressive, Dexter. We’re not talking about manslaughter this time. You’re a killer now, and that lessens my respect for you. Why would I want to help a killer? Why would I even continue to be your friend?” Her tone was scolding. The look she gave him was one of disgust.
“Professor,” he held her stare, “you’ve been more than a friend to me, more than a professor. You’ve been like a mother to me, and I don’t want that to change.” He collected
some more thoughts. “While I was in prison, Jerry set up the accounts concerning the investment scam and was promised fifteen percent of the take.”
She wondered how much time Dexter would have to serve for murder if he were convicted for it.
“He eventually stole it all from me and hid it in other accounts.”
“And so you held him at gunpoint, made him give up the accounts, and then killed him.”
“No. I killed him after he wouldn’t give up the information. Eric retrieved the data from Jerry’s computer. I have to admit, though, that’s not really the reason I killed him. I mean, I had planned to kill Jerry several years ago.”
“My God, Dexter. What has happened to you?”
“Professor, you already know the story about how I helped Jerry when he was attacked by Author Cobbs, which is what led to my manslaughter conviction. You may recall when, at my sentencing, I sincerely apologized to Author’s wife. She didn’t accept my apology, and I’m sure their 8-year-old daughter didn’t fully understand what was going on, or why I was even allowed to apologize.”
“Just tell me why you killed Jerry. He left behind a wife of twenty years and two children,” Elizabeth said.
He sipped some of his tea for the first time and used a plastic scooper to get a handful of nuts. Before eating them, he said, “When I went to prison, I wrote and sent a letter of apology to Author’s wife but she didn’t respond. I sent a second letter during my second year, and this time she responded by telling me that she was going to file a wrongful death lawsuit against Jerry and his firm, naming me as a principle defendant.”
Elizabeth could put the rest together now; it was obvious to her.
“She said she’d learned that Jerry had been stealing money from her husband, and so she was going to confront him. She said she would not file the $5 million lawsuit if the two of us would come up with a half million. By the time I had received the letter in the mail, she had already been killed in her home. I knew Jerry was behind her murder, and I’ve been wanting him dead ever since.” Dexter began eating the nuts.