“Ah, sure, ah, no, please,” Kubik stammered. “In fact, let me buy you a drink.”
“Okay, thanks,” Maddy smiled as she took the seat. She ordered a glass of house chardonnay and Kubik ordered another scotch and soda.
For the next two hours, while Madeline made sure his glass was full, she listened to the life story of Dale Kubik. Within two minutes she pegged him as being quite narcissistic and getting him to talk about himself, his job and what a super-detective he believed he was, was not a problem. In fact, getting him to stop was the difficult part. That and after he was well passed the legal alcohol limit, fending off his roving hands.
When she gleaned about all there was from him, plus all she could stand, she called it a night. Of course, he tried to get her to leave with him but the ‘early to work in the morning’ excuse worked to get away from him. That and she mollified him by writing down her name and number on a napkin. Of course it was a fake name and the phone number was to an A.A. group she kept handy exactly for these occasions.
As she walked across the parking lot, she quietly said to herself, “Wonder if he’ll get the message?”
The next day, a few minutes before noon, Maddy pulled her Audi into the lot behind Marc’s office and parked. As she walked toward the building’s back door she marveled at what a beautiful, sunny day it was again. Minnesota summers are the native’s best kept secret, she thought.
Being in much better shape than Marc and more casually dressed, she went up the straight flight of stairs to the second floor taking them two and three at a time. She was carrying a leather satchel briefcase filled with documents that didn’t slow her down at all.
At the top of the stairs, she checked her Fitbit and saw that her heart rate had skipped up a bit. Need to find more exercise time, she thought.
“Hello, everyone,” she said as she burst through the office door. When Maddy made an appearance she never failed to light the place up.
After greetings all around, including Connie who came out of her office, Maddy shifted her eyes toward Marc’s door while Carolyn watched her.
“He’s on the phone,” Carolyn said.
For the next ten minutes, while waiting for Marc, the women gabbed and laughed while catching up with each other.
“Hey,” Marc said while exiting his office, “you ready?”
“Let’s go down the street to that Mexican place with the patio. It’s beautiful and…”
“I already made reservations,” Marc interrupted her.
The hostess seated them on the patio corner table, as much privacy as they could get from the noisy lunch crowd. They ordered and when the waiter left, Maddy started.
“Okay, here’s what I have,” she said while reading her notes. “Dale Kubik. Forty-one-years-old, with the St. Paul P.D. sixteen years. Went to night school to earn a degree in criminal justice, divorced, two kids.
“Did four years in the Army before joining the cops. I don’t have his military record, but according to his St. Paul file, he was an M.P. with a tour in Iraq and Germany and honorably discharged.
“He was a patrolman for six years. Very good to excellent performance reviews right down the line. During year seven he got his detective shield. For the next two years, good, not great reviews. Decent case closure rate. Not spectacular but solid. Oh, I went over this with Tony last night so this is his opinion also.”
“Okay,” Marc said then paused while the waitress brought their salads. “Decent cop. Won’t make chief but is doing fine.”
“Exactly,” Maddy agreed. “Then during his third year as a detective, he gets an official reprimand for excessive use of force. Tony checked into it and called me this morning. A pimp slash drug dealer took a swing at him and he pounded the hell out of the guy. Put him in the hospital. Because it was a first offense and the pimp slash drug dealer agreed not to push it, he was only given a reprimand.”
“How does Carvelli come up with this stuff?” Marc asked.
“You know Tony,” Maddy smiled. “He knows everybody.”
“I’ll call him and make sure he bills me,” Marc said, mostly to himself.
“Over the next couple years, no more problems, good reviews. Then he gets another excessive force complaint. This one goes nowhere. About this time, he gets divorced. According to Tony, his wife packs up the kids and moves in with another man.”
“Ouch,” Marc said.
“Yeah, that might have been the trigger. Ever since then he’s been sliding downhill. His closure rate has fallen, he’s got an obvious drinking problem and over time he gets three more excessive force complaints, none of which goes anywhere but there’s a pattern.”
“And for every complaint filed, how many has he done without drawing a complaint?” Marc wondered.
“Hard to say, but probably a few,” Maddy agreed. “It’s gotten to the point where no one wants to work with him. I can see why.”
“That reminds me, how was your date last night?” Marc asked with a smile.
“I should charge you double for that,” Maddy snarled. “I spent two hours with him and wanted to slap the shit out of him. Narcissistic, whiney, and thin-skinned braggart.”
“He was trying to impress you,” Marc said.
“Why do guys think they need to act that way?”
“It’s all a very primal, mating-ritual kind of thing. Ask a shrink. That and he’d like to get in your pants,” Marc said.
“That doesn’t work,” Maddy said clearly annoyed.
“Let me tell you something, I’ll bet it works a lot more than you think.”
“That’s depressing,” Maddy said.
“Anything to indicate he would plant sale weight drugs on somebody?”
“Other than he’s a bad cop with an alcohol problem and likely a drug problem? Plus, he has a bad closure rate and his career is in a steady, downhill slide?”
“What about the ex-wife? You want to take a shot at her?” Marc asked.
“They moved to California. He hasn’t seen her or his kids for at least a couple years. I can fly out and find her,” Maddy said angling for a little California vacation time on someone else’s dime.
“So could I,” Marc replied. “No, not unless it becomes necessary. We’ve got enough to go after his credibility. What about his partner, what’s-his-name?”
“Richard Newsom,” Maddy said.
“What’s the deal with the classified personnel file?”
“Usually that’s for someone who’s undercover. It seems odd. He’s too young and too new. Tony thinks he can find out who he is, if there’s something going on, when we get him a good picture.”
“His computer guy that he won’t tell anyone about,” Marc said, “must have facial recognition software…”
“Or can tap into the Feds,” Maddy said.
“That, I don’t want to know about,” Marc said.
Later that afternoon, a frumpy, mostly bald man in an inexpensive suit and tie sat in his car on the corner of Selby and Snelling. He was across from O’Gara’s, a bar and St. Paul institution, waiting for Kubik and his young partner. The man’s name was Zach Scott and he was a professional and very discreet photographer.
Zach had gone into O’Gara’s after the two detectives and casually watched them. Newsom was drinking a Coke while Kubik knocked off a couple of whiskeys and beer chasers. That was twenty minutes ago and since they were still on the clock, he expected them any minute.
Patience was certainly a virtue in his chosen field. It finally paid off when the two men emerged. He put his Nikon DSLR to his face and hit the auto button. He continued to shoot as Newsom practically ripped the car keys out of his partner’s hand. Zach took at least thirty shots and knew there had to be at least one good one for Tony’s use.
SEVEN
“I thought you had a date tonight. You must have brass balls to keep a woman like that waiting,” Turner Smith, Rob Judd’s workplace cubemate said referring to Maddy Rivers.
At first Rob acted as if he had not he
ard him. He continued to alternate between staring at one of his screens and making notes on a tablet.
“Hey!” Turner almost yelled to get Rob’s attention.
“What? Oh, sorry. Um, she called. She’s running late. You’re right though, I should get going,” Rob said when he read the clock and saw it was after six P.M.
Turner pushed his chair across the fourteen-foot cubicle space without getting up and asked, “So, how do I meet a girl like Maddy?”
Rob put the material he was working on in a desk drawer, locked it then said, “Well, in your case, I’d suggest you get one of those old-style sandwich boards to wear. You know, like they had during the Depression. Then put it on and walk around the street downtown on sunny days when the girls are out. On the board write ‘multi-millionaire with terminal cancer seeks soulmate’ on it. That should help.”
“Hey, thanks for the advice, Mr. Smartass. Has Maddy figured out that you’re gay?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Rob asked as he put on his sport coat. “She’s converted me. I’m on your team now.”
The two men started toward the front door of CAR Securities and Turner said, “You know, I think she could convert a gay guy.”
Maddy was able to find a parking spot right next to Rob’s Toyota 4-Runner. On the drive over she had, once again, gone over her thoughts and feelings about Rob. He was six-foot-three, which made him tall enough for the five-eleven Madeline, good looking and at thirty-seven, the right age. Never married, no kids. All good qualities. There was something missing and Maddy knew what it was. There wasn’t a hot enough flame.
Maddy had talked to her best friend Gabriella Shriqui about it and they came to the conclusion Rob was a bit boring. He was certainly nice enough, considerate, kind and occasionally affectionate but a bit of a bore. Plus, he liked his alone time. An avid kayaker, almost every weekend and two or three evenings per week he would be on one of the lakes, always by himself.
Maddy turned off her car’s engine and stared through the windshield for a minute. Once again, she thought to herself, she would make a decision after the upcoming Fourth of July party his office threw each year. Until then, she would go along with the relationship as is. She knew why she was putting it off. Outside of the bedroom, he was a bit dull but she had to admit the sex was great. The man knew his business.
They greeted each other with a brief hug and kiss then Rob held Maddy’s chair for her. They made the usual “how was your day” chit chat for a while. The waitress came, took their orders then the conversation turned to current events. Maddy loved talking politics and major events in the news, even sports. Rob’s interest was mostly economics and the market. Maddy did her best to sound interested in the minutiae of the bond market but was thankful when their meal came.
They ate mostly in silence for a few minutes, Rob staring off into space with a distracted faraway look.
“You’re pretty distracted tonight,” Maddy finally said. “What’s up?”
Rob took another bite of his chicken, chewed for a moment while thinking, then said, “Your friend, the lawyer, what’s-his-name?”
“Marc Kadella,” Maddy answered.
“Right. You say he’s a good criminal defense lawyer,” Rob said.
“Very good. Why, what’s going on?” Maddy asked, her investigator’s antennae turning on.
“Oh, ah, nothing,” Rob answered a little too quickly and with a nervous note in his voice.
He went back to his meal and ignored Maddy while she repeated herself trying to get him to open up.
“Then I decided to strip down naked and walk around Lake Calhoun and get some sun,” Maddy finally said looking for a reaction from him.
It took a few seconds for Rob to realize she had stopped talking to him. He finally looked up at her, saw her staring at him, then said, “What? I’m sorry you went to Lake Calhoun. That’s nice.”
With a disgusted look, Maddy pushed her chair back, tossed her linen napkin on the table and stood up.
“You’re obviously not here tonight…” she began to say as she put the strap of her purse on her shoulder.
“Maddy, wait. I’m sorry, it’s just work stuff. Please, sit down,” Rob stood and said.
Maddy looked at him, shook her head and said, “No, it’s not the first time. Call me. Maybe we’ll do something this weekend.”
“Madeline, please,” he whined to her back as she walked away. He stood watching her go then quietly said, “Oh boy, you did it this time.”
And instead of going after her, which is what she really wanted, Rob calmly sat down and finished his meal. Sometimes men are just too stupid for words to describe.
The next morning Walter Pascal, the head of the bond department at CAR Securities, heard a knock on his office door. He was busy reviewing a document he and the other partners were given. It was a report regarding the firm’s activities across the hall in 2007. Before Walter could respond to the knocking, Rob Judd opened the door and entered. Walter held up his right hand to stop him before Rob got too close to his desk.
“Let me put this away,” Walter said. “Confidential partnership stuff.”
“Oh, jeez. Sorry, Walter. I didn’t mean to barge in…”
“It’s okay,” Walter said with a smile. The smile was not for Rob but was caused by what Walter had been reading. “What’s up?”
“I need to see you about something,” Rob said as he closed the office’s door. Carrying an inch-thick stack of paper, Rob took a seat in front of the desk.
“It’s our mortgage-backed securities,” Rob began. “I’m a little concerned about them.”
“How so?”
“Well, as you know they are supposed to be backed by nothing but triple A and double A mortgages, mortgages that have virtually no risk.”
“Okay,” Walter said feeling a touch of trepidation believing he knew where Rob was headed.
“I’ve been reviewing a random sample of ours…”
“Well, that’s not really your job,” Walter pleasantly said.
“I know and if I’m stepping on somebody’s toes, I apologize. But I thought you should see this.”
Rob pulled his chair up to Walter’s desk placed the stack of papers on a corner to his right. He took the top page from the stack and placed it on the desk upside down so his boss could read it.
“As you know, we’re holding over three hundred forty million worth of these securities,” Rob said pointing at a figure on the paper.
“Yeah.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that seems to be a little high for a firm of this size.”
“Well, I don’t mean to be a prick about it, Rob,” Walter said with a nice smile. “But that’s not really your concern.”
“I understand that, sir,” Rob quickly said. “And ordinarily I would never have stuck my nose into something that didn’t concern me. It’s just, well, sir,” he continued sliding his finger down a row of figures on the right side of the paper. “I’ve been noticing a higher default rate than what we should be seeing.”
“How high?” Walter asked a little concern in his voice.
“It’s pushing five per cent. A couple of months ago it was less than two percent, which is okay. For triple A and double A tranche mortgage-backed securities, five percent is getting a little high. It’s even a little worse if you just look at the triple A tranche.”
“How bad?”
“My sample came up with a four point nine percent default for the mortgages in the triple A tranche. Those should be almost risk-free. The firm’s revenues are going to take a dip at the end of this month,” Rob said. “That’s only three days and if this continues next month, July, will be worse.”
“How big was the sample you used?” Walter asked.
“A little over twelve million. I wanted some from every source we use to purchase these securities. Some were better than others,” Rob answered.
“Twelve million out of three hundred forty million. Is that a big enough sampl
e size?”
“I think so,” Rob said. “I thought I should bring it to your attention right away. These defaults were the primary cause of the ’07, ’08 financial meltdown.”
“Yes, I know that. Okay,” Walter said. “Let me look at this,” he continued as he picked up the documents Rob had brought in, “and I’ll get back to you next week.”
“What should we do about this guy?” Corbin Reed asked the group gathered an hour later in the conference room of Suite 2007.
“Wait a minute,” Ethan Rask said. “I don’t know what this means. What are mortgage-backed securities and triple A and double A, what was the word you called them?” Rask asked looking at Walter Pascal.
“You’re the compliance officer,” Jordan Kemp the CIO said with a smile. “You’re supposed to know this shit.”
“Tell me anyway,” Rask said to Pascal.
“A mortgage-backed security is just what it sounds like. It’s basically a bond backed by mortgages. It can have a very large number of mortgages backing them or just a few. Depends on what you want. You’re buying stacks of mortgages and in return you get the interest payments as they come in.”
“We basically use them for cash flow and they look good on the books,” Corbin Reed said. “Very conservative, almost risk-free. Or, at least, they are supposed to be. The gambling that went on during the 90’s and up to ’08 with these was the primary cause of the meltdown. Too many risky mortgages being given out and not enough honesty by the bond rating companies.”
“A tranche is what the financial world calls a group of mortgages with the same rating. Either triple A, which are supposed to be almost risk-free or double A which are also good but not quite as good as triple A. Mortgage-backed securities are not supposed to have any single A, triple B, double B or lower-rated mortgages in them. Okay?”
“I get it but I’m guessing they do have lower-rated mortgages in them even though they’re not supposed to. Am I right?” Rask said.
Everyone in the room went silent for a moment then Walter Pascal said, “Yep, you’re right.”
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 226