Death of a Bankster

by David Bishop

  Then Sue spoke up. “I’ve just received confirmation the blood is definitely from Sam Crawford.”

  “That doesn’t prove he’s dead,” the lieutenant said, “right?”

  “No sir, Lieutenant,” Sue said. “It does not.”

  “But it does prove he bled a lot,” Maddie said. “And right where the witnesses said he died. With an experienced RN confirming he was dead.”

  “You’re re-plowing old ground, Sergeant.”

  “Come on, Lieutenant, we’re still in the first inning on this one.”

  Lieutenant Harrison shrugged. “Nothing has changed, Sergeant, other than you have less time left. We’ve got lots of murders around here. I’m considering running a two-for-one special on cases. All of which come complete with a body.” Maddie and Sue nodded. The lieutenant walked away.

  Maddie waggled her hand at Sue the same way the lieutenant had at Maddie a moment earlier. “Okay Sue, what do we have on Paige’s parents?”

  “Now here’s where it gets interesting.”

  Maddie held her coffee cup in midair, her elbow mounted on the desktop, late, weak steam rising from the cup. Sue continued. “Both were CIA officers. Paige’s mother, Barbara Davis, met her husband, Paige’s father, Rodger Davis, in the agency. Neither of them had a superficial desk job so most of the info was classified, particularly the stuff on Rodger. A few years after Paige was born, Barbara retired from the agency to focus on being a mother and housewife. Rodger remained in operations. With some reading between the lines, maybe also stretching it a bit, I got the impression he had some kind of role in getting out those five U.S. Embassy workers who holed up in the Canadian Ambassador’s residence in Tehran after the nut jobs took over our embassy there. The records I could get to don’t say so, not in plain-speak anyway, but I think so. In addition, Father Davis spent some time in Cuba and various assignments in Afghanistan. He was killed about fifteen years ago, on assignment in France. All those dangerous postings and he gets killed in Paris. Ain’t that sumshit? At the time, his official job title said he headed up security for our embassy. That could be legit or a cover for being the CIA station chief there. He might have doubled as both. This here’s been lots of conjecture on my part, mixed in with a few scattered facts. At the time, Barbara was living in France with her husband.”

  “Well,” Maddie exclaimed. “Barbara Davis, hmmm, don’t that just add a dash of color to this here story. And where was Paige while her folks were living in France?”

  “By then Paige was a grown woman in her mid-to-late twenties. While Paige was growing up, Mr. Davis traveled alone, often gone for months at a time on assignment. In those days, her parents traveled together only on family trips with Paige going along.”

  “Anything else?” When Sue shook her head, Maddie said, “Let’s drop by Nation’s First Bank & Trust. It’s time for a sit-down with Sam Crawford’s boss. Sam was in charge of developing foreign business for the bank. Now we learn his father-in-law was career CIA with almost exclusive foreign postings. Are these two points connected in some way or are they merely coincidental?”

  “We wanna see the secretary, Blanche, or just the boss man?”

  “Both. Maybe some others once we’re there.”

  “You want I should call for an appointment?”

  “Let’s go unexpected. Read their reactions.”

  “We might not find the right people in.”

  “It’s worth the risk. Maxwell Norbert is the president. He doesn’t make regular sales calls. We’ll be careful to not go between say eleven and two so as to not get there while he’s at lunch. As for Blanche, she’s a secretary. She’ll probably be in all day. If she goes out for lunch it’ll likely be during those same hours.”

  Chapter 10

  Maddie flashed her badge at the reception desk inside Nation’s First Bank & Trust. Doing so got her a look, but no smile.

  “We’re here to see your president, Maxwell Norbert.” … “No. No appointment. It’s about his missing Senior Vice President Samuel Crawford. Please tell him I’m here.” She gave the young lady, whose name plate read Sashay, a card identifying her as Sergeant Madeline J. Richards, Homicide, Phoenix Police Department.

  The young lady picked up a phone, held it for a minute, looked at it through glasses large enough to be clear saucers. They looked good on her face. Then she hung the phone back up without dialing. She stepped out from behind the desk. “Let me see what I can arrange for you.” Her first words since they arrived. She muscled open a thick floor-to-ceiling glass door with a gold-colored handle that ran halfway across its width. True to her name, the woman sashayed down a hallway out of sight. A man going the other way in that same hallway stopped, turned, and watched the receptionist for a moment. When he turned back, he noticed Maddie and Sue had been watching him watch Sashay. He grinned, eased it into a smile, and shrugged.

  “Apparently,” Sue said, “men who work in banks are interested in more than just dollars and documents.”

  “Apparently,” Maddie said, the two women sharing an understated chortle. “While we’re with Norbert I don’t want to bring up the money laundering claim. Let’s just play this as a reported killing and we’re trying to figure out the who and why of it all. That we’re baffled at this point, unable to figure a reason for this violence.”

  Sue shrugged. “That’s pretty true, I’d say.”

  “If it wasn’t for a supposed statement by a supposed phony FBI agent, we wouldn’t even know about the laundering claim. That may have been nothing more than bull to provide cover to get them inside so they could search Sam Crawford’s home and take his computer and cell phone. We have no clue as to their reason for wanting to search. Therefore, we can’t totally dismiss the possibility the laundering thing could be legit. But let’s keep that close in for now.”

  A minute or so later, Sashay returned. “Mr. Norbert will meet with you in our private meeting room. He’s instructed me to see that you won’t be disturbed. Please follow me.” Sashay led them through that same heavy glass door and down the same hallway she had previously traveled alone. After stabilizing her stance in what Maddie guessed were five-inch heels, Sashay put her hand on a large wood door just past a corner turn in the hallway. “Mr. Norbert is inside waiting for you.” Sashay then retreated down the hall back toward the lobby, leaving the impression her name was also part of her job description. Maddie and Sue watched Sashay sashay, but with less enthusiasm than the young man had shown earlier.

  A physically soft man in his early fifties rose from a round table with six chairs. He came toward them wearing a smile as well as highly polished wingtips. His black suit made slightly less stuffy by a faint gray pinstripe, and a white shirt worn with a collegiate striped tie. “I’m Mr. Norbert, how do you do.” His face disclosed he wasn’t a golfer, and did not otherwise spend much time in the Arizona sun.

  “Please, take a seat.” He motioned to the burgundy leather chairs, all on casters that sat on a contemporary rug of milk chocolate color deepened by contrast to the beige wall paint. His picture with arms crossed, standing at the entrance to a large safe, was the only wall hanging in the room. The thick-topped round conference table held a tray of six old-fashioned style clear glasses, complete with a matching clear pitcher filled with water, no ice.

  Maddie and Sue sat down. Mr. Norbert retook the chair he had risen from to greet them. When he did, he jiggled enough for Maddie to notice he had man boobs.

  “Homicide Sergeant Madeline Richards.” He then looked at Sue while Maddie introduced her.

  “How may I help you, Sergeant, Detective?”

  “We’re here about Samuel Crawford. He’s missing and at the moment presumed dead, that’s why we’re handling the case out of homicide.”

  “Sam is certainly missing,” Norbert said. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since last Thursday around mid-day. But it’s a big jump from there to dead … murdered. I mean, I can’t believe it. Why would anyone kill Sam? Everyone knows we banke
rs are stodgy and conventional. Who would want to kill one of us?” His smile framed a set of teeth which confessed to receiving regular extra-white treatments. “And for what reason? My God, Sam’s a banker not a hooligan.”

  Maddie and Sue proceeded to briefly run through the report they had received from Paige Crawford and another witness, without naming Carla Roth. “Now,” Maddie said, “please tell us the answer to the question you asked us. Why would anyone want to kill one of you bankers, Sam Crawford in particular?”

  “I can’t imagine, Sergeant. Isn’t that your department? Determining who kills and why.”

  “In the final analysis, you’re correct. That’s what homicide does. However, the opinions of people who knew or worked with the victim can help a great deal. Please answer my question.”

  “Samuel Crawford is a man I’ve known roughly twenty years. A good man. Church goer. Active in the community. Solid banker. I can’t imagine who or why. Not a clue. I used to kid Sam that he was the biggest square I knew.”

  Sue said, “Mr. Crawford handled foreign accounts and deposits for you, that right?”

  “Yes, Detective Martin.” Norbert ran his index finger down his short sideburn, slowly, repeatedly as if a trigger for his thoughts. “That was Sam’s exclusive assignment. There was little else in his portfolio. He was so good at his job that, well, frankly, I rarely had cause to discuss anything about his work. He got the job done wonderfully and I trusted him implicitly. The entire staff at the bank respected Sam a great deal.”

  “May we look through his office? His computer? Talk with his secretary, Blanche I think her name is.” Maddie crossed her legs. Sue did not. Her thighs, while shapely, were too well muscled.

  “Blanche is actually an assistant to my secretary, but her duties include being Sam’s secretary. He really wasn’t here enough to need a full-time secretary. His office? Sure. As for a computer, Sam had … has, I don’t like to speak of Sam in the past tense until these claims are either validated or, hopefully, proven to be without foundation. Anyway, Sergeant Richards, Sam has no computer here. He uses a laptop the bank provides him, which he keeps at all times. You have to understand that Sam comes to the office infrequently, maybe once or twice a week, and only the weeks he’s in town. He commonly travels two or three times a month, often staying away a week or more at a time. Most of my contacts with Sam occur by phone, a few by email.”

  “Why did you fire Mr. Crawford?” Maddie asked.

  “What?” Norbert’s voice and eyebrows rose together. “Fire Sam? Of course not.” His voice returned to the ground floor. “Preposterous. I don’t know where you could have gotten that idea.”

  “His wife, Paige.”

  “I’ve known Paige ever since she married Sam. Why would she think I could ever fire Sam? What made her say such a thing?”

  “Paige said Sam told her when he called from Sky Harbor before heading home.”

  “Oh no, no, she must have misunderstood him or maybe he was joshing her. There is absolutely no truth whatsoever to that, never happened. Never would. I loved Sam and he was a great international banker. We were solid. Sam could have made more money going to work for one of the major money-center banks, but we were a team through thick and thin.”

  After Maddie and Sue looked at each other, Norbert asked, “Should I call Blanche in? Let you talk with her?”

  “Please do. Thank you. Oh, first, what kind of accounts did Sam and/or Paige have with this bank?”

  “I can’t be certain by recall, but let me think. A joint checking, I know that. A small savings, in Paige’s name I believe. And, oh yeah, I think they kept a safe-deposit box in both their names.”

  “What about at other banks?”

  “About that I’m less sure. To my knowledge they had no accounts with any other commercial bank. We waive all fees for bank officers so it benefits our people to do business with only our bank.”

  “That’s quite generous.”

  “It is, but with good reason. It prevents our competitors from learning things such as the amount our officers are paid. Other banks could use that information to offer our key people a better package and try to steal them away. That would never happen with Sam, but it is the reason for our policy. No. The claim that I fired Sam is laughable.”

  Norbert pressed a button and less than a minute later a very attractive, well-endowed woman in her young thirties walked in. Her bone and beige heels as high as the ones Sashay had worn, her beige skirt a bit shorter, but within today’s bounds of respectability.

  Perhaps Blanche and Sashay shoe shop together.

  “Blanche, I’d like you to meet Homicide Sergeant Madeline Richards and her partner, Detective Sue Martin. They are here about Sam. His wife has reported that Sam was shot dead at their front door last Thursday.” Blanche’s fingers went to her mouth, her eyebrows pinched in. “I know,” Norbert said, “I couldn’t believe it either, but we haven’t heard from him in days which is not at all like Sam. I want you to cooperate fully with the police. I’ll leave you here with them and return to my office. That way, you three may talk freely.” He stood and shook hands with Sue, then Maddie. “Blanche can take you to Sam’s office.” Then, directing his comments back to the secretary he said, “Blanche, if the Sergeant requests it, provide her a list of any emails between Sam and me over the past, say three months? However, first be sure and redact the identity of any customers of the bank that might be mentioned on the subject line.” As he said that, he turned to look at Maddie who nodded indicating that would be fine. Then he continued. “You may provide them with copies of the actual messages, if the Sergeant wants them, with the same redacting of course.” After turning back to Maddie and assuring her he would help in any way he could, Maxwell Norbert walked out leaving Maddie and Sue with Blanche.

  “So, you were secretary to Sam Crawford?”

  “Yes, I functioned as Sam’s secretary. Sergeant Richards, that was your name, wasn’t it?” Maddie smiled and gave Blanche a single short nod. “I can’t believe Sam is dead. Everyone here loved the man.”

  His wife certainly believes you had loved her husband, literally, if that’s what you mean.

  “Mr. Norbert said Mr. Crawford’s wife reported him being shot at his front door. Yet, his other comments seemed to imply that is not for certain. I mean … don’t you have his body?”

  “No. We don’t. It’s complicated, but no one saw the body other than Paige and another witness. Some people we haven’t been able to identify took the body before Phoenix PD arrived on the scene.”

  This time Blanche’s full hand covered her entire mouth, her eyes focused on the floor.

  “Please,” Maddie said, “show us the computer here that Mr. Crawford used whenever he was in the office.”

  “Sam used his laptop here and while away. It must be at his home. I was in his office earlier this morning and the laptop is not there. But it never was. It stayed with Sam. That’s all I ever knew him to use.”

  “Talk to me about his work, his duties. How often he came to the office. How often he called in. Which bank customers did he directly serve? How often he traveled. Like that.”

  Blanche proceeded to pretty much say the same things as Maddie had heard from Paige Crawford and Maxwell Norbert. The exception was Maddie’s question about which bank customers Sam handled.

  “To answer your question about which customers Sam handled would violate the objective of Mr. Norbert’s instructions regarding the redacting of messages. You heard him. I’m sorry. I can be of no help on that score.”

  Maddie smiled.

  “I’m sure,” Blanche continued, “Mr. Norbert would happily do so with a warrant authorizing the release of that information. Please understand, we want to help. If Sam is dead, we want his killer found. But we have obligations to our depositors, absent a court order.”

  “Please tell us how many such accounts were handled by Mr. Crawford, without disclosing their identities.”

  “Maybe I should ask
Mr. Norbert again. … Or, maybe I don’t need to. It won’t reveal their identities which is the essence of his instructions. Okay. There were about a dozen. I’d have to count them to be certain, but more than ten and likely less than fifteen.”

  “Foreign corporations?” Sue asked. When Blanche nodded, Sue asked, “Including foreign individuals and organizations, or were they only foreign corporations?”

  “Some of each, but that’s it. Nothing more without Mr. Norbert’s approval, or an appropriate court order.”

  “So, Mr. Crawford handled only foreign depositors, nothing domestic, right?” Sue asked working through Blanche’s latest objection. The secretary nodded.

  Then Maddie said, “I think we can discuss this last item without violating your boss’s order. How did Mr. Crawford handle the language barriers? I’m just curious how one can deal with a group of customers from other countries. Certainly all of them didn’t speak English.”

  “Sam’s father worked for some major corporation. I don’t know which one. His father was transferred around the globe several times while Sam was growing up. Of course, as a child Sam traveled with his parents and lived in those countries. He went to U.S. schools there, but grew up, in large part, making friends with many of the local children. I think he told me once that his now deceased father-in-law worked in some kind of Foreign Service for our government. Sam could speak several languages well, and could make do in a few others. He was also familiar with the customs and cultures of several other countries. He will be missed at the bank, professionally as well as personally. That is, if he really is dead. I just can’t bring myself to accept that as true. Not that I doubt you, Sergeant. I’m just shocked.”

  “What other languages did Mr. Crawford speak?” Sue asked.

  “French, Italian, and Arabic, also a little of a language he called Pashto. Or something that sounded like that.” After Sue gestured with her hands spread, Blanche added, “Pashto is mostly spoken in parts of Pakistan, and I believe I recall Sam saying it was the official language of Afghanistan. Don’t hold me to it, but I think that’s what Sam told me.”