Death of a Bankster

by David Bishop

  “No. I’ll take it.” Sue put up two fingers.

  Monday morning had landed like a heavy fog, even though rarely did fogs exist in the upper dessert. Maybe Wendy what’s-her-name could scatter some away. “This is Sergeant Richards,” Maddie said after hitting line two on her old-fashioned desk phone. “I understand your name is Wendy and you used to work with Sam Crawford. That right?”

  “Yes. I got your name outta the newspaper.”

  “What’s your last name, Wendy?” Maddie glanced up at Sue who had remained in the doorway.

  “Why do you need to know that?”

  “We like to know who we’re talking with. Look, we’re investigating a murder. You say you worked at the same bank as Sam Crawford. We’ll check that. If there’s no Wendy, whatever you tell me will likely get ignored. If those records show a Wendy, well, I’ll have your last name then, so why not just tell me?” Maddie leaned back and put the toe of her black flat on the corner of the bottom drawer of her desk. She usually kept it pulled out a couple of inches for that use.

  “Carson. Wendy Carson.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Carson. What do you know that you think will help us find the killer of Sam Crawford? Were you friends with Mr. Crawford?” Maddie wrote the name down and handed it to Sue who immediately left the room.

  “Sam, we … we were seeing each other. You know.”

  “I take that to mean, you and he were having an affair. You’ll need to correct me if I’ve taken the wrong inference.”

  “We were. Yes. I broke it off when he refused to leave his wife. When he started … seeing another girl at the bank.”

  “Blanche?”

  “Yes.”

  “Describe Sam as the girls at the bank thought of him, not just you.”

  “He’s dick-minded. All the women know it.”

  “What do they mean by that?”

  “I doubt they all meant the very same thing. Small minded, maybe hard minded, or always had using his dick on his mind. Things like that. You know.”

  “Go ahead. So far you haven’t told me anything that points at who might have killed Sam Crawford or why.”

  “I don’t know who actually killed him. I just thought you should know that things aren’t right at that bank.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not right at that bank’?” Maddie sipped her coffee and sat forward, taking her foot off the corner of her desk drawer.

  “There are a few girls there who are paid very well and do little work other than … you know.”

  “You were one of these girls?”

  “Sort of … I guess. Yes.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I told you. I got serious about Sam. He made promises, about us, about our future. But in the end, it was all bull. He fired me. That was cool. I couldn’t’ve stayed anyway. By then, Sam had Blanche and his wife so he wasn’t going … wanting, shall I say.”

  “This sounds more like an article for one of the grocery store kiss-and-tell rags. I’m investigating a murder.”

  “Sergeant Richards, strange things go on at that bank.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’ve worked in banking for ten years. I work at another bank now. There are procedures, things which are common to the banking business. Stuff everyone does, but not Nation’s First. Sam would authorize these procedures not be followed.”

  Sue stepped in and handed Maddie back her note. On the bottom, Sue had added Wendy’s home address, and underlined: she did work at Nation’s First. Now she works at the same bank you and I use.

  “What do you mean by procedures?” Maddie asked.

  “Things like reporting large deposits. Federal law requires deposits over ten-thousand dollars be reported to the government. Sam would authorize me to walk through large deposits without that being done.”

  “I gather that put you in a difficult position?”

  “I protected myself. I insisted he initial the form where I wrote the instruction not to report the deposit. I can tell you he didn’t like doing that, not one bit. I ran copies and still have them. Eventually, Blanche took over that job and she didn’t insist that Sam put his authorizations in writing.”

  “Then Blanche and Sam started, ah, dating in the biblical sense.”

  “If you mean having sex, oh yeah.”

  “How long ago did you leave Nation’s First?”

  “It’s been about four months, maybe closer to five.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I just thought you should know. That bank does not do things right. I had been thinking about calling the FBI ‘cause that there’s a federal law. Then when I read Sam had been murdered and saw your name, I decided it would be enough to just call you. Let you decide whether or not this information needed to be given to anyone else, you know.”

  “That was a wise decision. Thank you. If during our investigation we ascertain that Nation’s First Bank & Trust is violating federal law, we will report it to the FBI. You don’t need to worry further about that.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Richards. That’s a load off.”

  “How do I get in touch with you, if I need to ask you something more?”

  “I’d like to just leave it at this. Okay?”

  “Look, Ms. Carson. You’re in it now. You put yourself in it. Your reason may have simply been to strike back at the bank for firing you, maybe Sam for jilting you, but you’re in. We already know you work at the bank on the corner from the station here. In fact, you’re calling from there right now. I can walk down there in two minutes and ask your branch manager if he has a room where we can talk privately. I don’t want to do that, but if I need to talk with you further I will. It just seems easier to call you on your cell and talk with you privately, without a lot of fuss. Don’t you agree?”

  Wendy Carson gave Maddie her cell phone and the call ended after Maddie assured Wendy that the department did not want to bring her any problems. “I’ll be discreet in the event we need to speak with you again. In return you’ll need to cooperate.”

  After Wendy Carson hung up, Sue came back in and saw that Maddie was again on her phone. She waited for a moment until Maddie ended the call. “Helpful? Yes, no?”

  “Maybe. Let’s go see Paige Crawford. I just called. She’s expecting us in an hour. We can use the time. There’s someone I want to stop to see on the way.”

  * * *

  “You say this guy’s name is Charlie James?” Sue asked. “What’s he have to do with the Crawford case?”

  Maddie glanced toward Sue. “Charlie’s a longtime local con man and sometimes fence. Knows everybody, talks to everybody. Hell, he’s one of the gossip mongers of the underworld. Sort of in semi-retirement, far as we know anyway. He keeps his hand in by connecting up people who need someone with a given skill or access to information, with someone who has what’s needed, for a fee of course. Charlie doesn’t work with street thugs and punks, just craftsmen would be how Charlie would say it. He can always find someone who works at the place which has the information or documents desired. When he recommends someone, his fee includes checking the guy out to make sure he’s not one of us. Charlie stays away from the drug dealers, and he won’t scrounge for the ones who specialize in strong-arm tactics. Fortunately, for us, Charlie doesn’t stay away from detectives. He told me once if he could go back and start his life over, he’d play for our team. So, he sorta does, part time, when we need him.”

  “He does this matchmaking for us for a fee also?”

  “That’s right, Detective.”

  “His fee from us being we largely forget what he does?”

  “Everybody needs to make a living, even Charlie. We often choose our elected officials by pulling the lever for the lesser of two evils, well, Charlie’s our lesser of two evils. He can sometimes help us catch a murderer. In return, we can sometimes keep him from getting jammed up as a result of his matchmaking.”

  “Is this stop on the way to the Crawford home?”

  “Correc
t. Charlie runs a senior center over near I-17. He funds a lot of it himself. Takes from some and gives back to others.”

  “From his fees I assume?”

  “That’s right. Life isn’t always easy to figure out, takes all kinds. Charlie likes helping seniors. Most of the hang arounds at his center were grifters in their day, usually in New York or Chicago. When age takes them out of the game, like lots of folks, they retire to our Valley of the Sun. Men and women who never qualified for Social Security or a corporate pension. If you saw the Robert Redford, Paul Newman movie, The Sting, you know the kind I mean. You should hear some of them go on about that film. How they did this and failed to do that. It’s a hoot. Charlie’s center gives them a place to get a hot meal, talk about the old days, and what they hear about what’s going down, who’s in town. Like that.”

  “And Charlie passes that on to us when we ask the right questions?”

  “You got it. Here we are,” Maddie said, “The Central City Senior Center.”

  “The sign says funded completely without government money.”

  “Charlie’s proud of that. Thinks that people ought to be self-reliant.”

  “Even if they panhandle or run cons on their fellow citizens to do it.”

  “Takes all kinds, Detective.”

  Charlie James said, ‘enter’ when Maddie knocked on the hollow core door to his office at the back of the narrow, deep building. Maddie opened the door to find Charlie standing behind his desk. “Hello Patty Maddie, my love. How’s the city’s foxiest copper? I gotta get me a camera out front. One of them closed circuit things just so I can watch you walk all the way back to my office.” He laughed, his voice ranging from a gravelly groan to a teen girl’s squeak.

  “Hey, Digger. How’s it hanging? Your center doing okay? I’ll put twenty in the box on the way out like I always do.”

  “Thanks, sweet cakes. Who’s this you brought along?” he pointed his head toward Sue.

  “Detective Sue Martin, my partner, Digger.”

  Sue extended her hand to shake Charlie’s. He still had a firm hand and the innocent smile the world’s best cons used to charm the pants and wallets off the marks of the world.

  “Money laundering, Digger. What banks are doing it? For whom? There’s a murder involved here.”

  “Always is with you Patty Maddie. From the papers I’m guessing the center of attention is this Sam Crawford fella. Right?”

  “Hard to sneak anything past you, Digger. Wha’d’ya hear?”

  Charlie sat on the corner of his desk. “Maddie, first I got a bone to pick. You didn’t dress right to come callin’. You know us old guys in this place, in our day women wore dresses, showed their gams. We aren’t big fans of gals who wear men’s pants and blazers and such.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlie. When I got up this morning I had no plans to come by. Had I, I would have dressed right. Last weekend I bought a new skirt, had your gang in mind at the time. About three inches above the knee. Goes with the heels I keep in the trunk for when I come see you. Next time.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. You dirty old man.”

  “Head dirty old man, if you please. There’s a whole gang of em out there made sad by you not dressing right. You need to indoctrinate your new partner here about how to show respect for her elders.”

  “You keep a medic on duty, Charlie?” Sue asked. “I got me a skirt that may be hazardous to the health of some of the dudes we walked past to get back here.”

  “They’re all risk takers who want to die with someone else’s money in their pocket, their own stiffy in their hand, and a lecherous grin on their face, Detective Martin.”

  “I’ll wear it next time. Sergeant Patty Maddie and I owe you boys a visit. Now what you got for us?”

  The mating dance had ended. Charlie eased off the desk and stood erect. After a moment of pacing, he faced Maddie, and stuck his hand down inside the back of his pants, his other hand rubbing his chin. “I’m sorry, Maddie darlin’. I can’t make any connection with this Sam Crawford.”

  “What about his bank, Nation’s First Bank & Trust?”

  “That brought somethin’ back. Over a year ago a client needed the safe-deposit box numbers for a couple guys. Got the information from a gal there, understand she’s no longer with the bank. Nice little fee so it must have been important. Never heard why the numbers were wanted or how the info was used. But, I don’t need to know that stuff. You know, a fee’s a fee. I seen in the papers you caught that so-called Phoenix Suns killer. Glad you got ‘im. No room for his kind in my town.”

  “Ask around, please?”

  “I’ll get back to you in a day or two, with or without.”

  Maddie kissed Digger on the forehead and she and Sue left. Part way to the door, Maddie stopped to put a twenty in the collection basket that sat on a tabletop, no security. Whoever said there was no honor among thieves—retired thieves, semi-retired anyway.

  Back in the car, Sue said, “Well, that was a waste.”

  “Can’t be sure. At worst we kept the channel open. It pays off now and then. But, odds are Digger’ll come up dry. Crawford is in-family violence or white collar crime, so street snitches are likely a dry hole. Still, if there’s anything to find, Digger’s the one to find it. It’s pride with him. He’ll crawl up a rat’s ass with a flashlight if he thinks what he’s searching for is up there.”

  “Why do you call him digger?”

  “You likely saw why. Charlie can’t think without putting his hand down the back of his pants and scratching his butt.”

  “Thanks for telling me that little tidbit after I shook his hand.”

  * * *

  As they drove nearer Paige Crawford’s home, Maddie spoke to Sue. “You know, I really think it’d be better if I visited Paige alone. When I called to set up our visit, Paige said her mother had been there for breakfast, but had left. I want to see if she’ll admit to planning to divorce her husband.”

  “I understand. You going to take me back to the station?”

  “Too far. How ‘bout I drop you at the Scottsdale Fashion Center on Camelback. You do understand, right? It just might be a bit less intimidating, less official, if we don’t gang up on her.”

  “You think I’m sad trading cop time for shop time. No way, Sergeant, ma’am. Fashion Center here I come.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Maddie rang the front door buzzer. When Paige pushed open her screen door, Maddie stepped inside, asking as she did, “Which countries did your husband visit the most?”

  Maddie had considered just asking Paige while they were on the phone. That would have been more efficient, but she wanted to go for a more personal aura. She hoped a face-to-face might let her swing the conversation around to a discussion of marriage and divorce. See if Paige would admit that she had started to look into divorcing Sam. A little bout of mutual husband bashing might reveal just how angry Paige had been with Sam.

  Paige led Maddie toward her kitchen. “He traveled to a lot of major cities in this country,” Paige said right off. “Internationally he visited lots of countries, but I recall frequent trips to England, France, and Pakistan. There was some foundation headquartered in Pakistan for which he handled their U.S. bank accounts. They have offices in England and France also. At least I think so.”

  “How often did he travel?”

  “Europe maybe once a month, more often within the U.S.”

  “Which cities?”

  “Oh, golly. I didn’t try to keep track of ‘em all. Pretty much all the big cities: New York, LA, Chicago, Boston, Denver, all of ‘em, even Washington, D.C.” Paige pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and motioned that Maddie should sit, which she did.

  “Did he always use the same travel agent?”

  “Yes. He insisted the bank let him make his own travel arrangements so he wouldn’t have to work through a third party. Especially so he could accumulate the frequent flyer miles and other airline rewards for his own account rather
than the bank’s.”

  “Do you know his password?”

  “Black right?” Paige asked as she stood near the table with her coffee pot in hand.

  Maddie nodded. “The password, do you know it?”

  “Sure. Sam had me help him lots of times. He did most of it, but I pitched in now and then. Like last minute changes while he was on the road. You know.”

  “Can I get you to go to your computer, open that account and print out his trips over the past year?”

  “Here’s your coffee. Sit down. I’ll do it now. But how will this help find who killed Sam?”

  “That I don’t know. We gather lots of stuff. Much, most, tells us nothing. Sometimes we learn something later and it fits with something else we learned earlier without seeing its importance at the time.”

  “This’ll take me a couple minutes.”

  Maddie raised her cup. “So, how are you doing, Mrs. Crawford?”

  “Paige, please.”

  “Thank you, Paige. So, how are you handling all this?”

  “Alright, I guess. Strangely, my neighbor, you know Carla,” Maddie nodded, “she’s going through a bit of a rough patch right now. Sort of my turn to take care of her. It helps in some strange way to focus on someone else’s stress.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope. An illness?”

  “No-no. She broke up with her boyfriend Bennie Gibson. I think that’s his last name, something like that. Carla and Bennie weren’t all that serious. She’s more focused on doctors.” Paige laughed. “But the two of them had a lot of fun so she’s hurting some. She’ll get over it. We’re both in a bit of a rut, I think. We have a few drinks every night and feel sorry for each other. Take turns. It’ll pass.”

  “This Bennie a good looking guy?”

  “A hard body with the pool man’s face. I got a picture, you wanna see?”

  Maddie nodded. “A hard body with the pool man’s face? How can any woman resist.” They shared a laughed.