Broken: A Leopold Blake Thriller

by Gordon Hopkins

  “His name was Davis Ansara. He was a professor at Lennox University. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he was murdered.”

  Mr. Masood put a hand to his mouth. “That’s terrible.”

  “We know that on the night he was killed. Professor Ansara had a date with a woman he met through this service. We only know her screen name: Zahra. We were hoping you could help us locate her.”

  Suspicion clouded Masood’s face. “Our client list is confidential. Confidentiality is the cornerstone of our business. Our clientele is exclusively Muslim and, as you can imagine, some are very concerned about harassment.” He added pointedly, “Especially by the police.”

  “It is very important that we get in touch with this woman right away.”

  “We don’t simply match up names and pictures here. We do very thorough background checks on all our clients. I find it very hard to believe one of our clients could have done something like this.”

  “We don’t think she did.”

  “You don’t? Then why do you want to find her?”

  “We think she might be in danger too.”

  Leopold stepped forward. “Please listen. Davis was a friend of mine. He was followed that night. Whoever did this saw Davis and Zahra together. We only want to protect her.”

  “I’m not sure.” Masood rubbed his hands together, nervously, then coughed. It was an artificial sounding cough, a delaying tactic while he tried to decide what to do. “I don’t have the authorization to give you what you want. I’m just an employee. I don’t own the company. The owner would have to make that decision.”

  “Can we talk to the owner?” Mary asked, then added, “It is very urgent.” To keep Masood from having too much time to think.

  ”She’s not in the office. Actually, I don’t think she’s even in New York at the moment. She might be on a business trip.”

  “What is her name? Can you give us her number so we can talk to her?”

  Masood shook his head vigorously. “Oh, I definitely can’t do that.”

  Mary took out a card and handed it to Masood. “A woman’s life is at stake. This is my phone number. Call her and explain the situation. If she has any doubts, have her call me. Okay?”

  Masood took the card reluctantly. “Okay.”

  Mary and Leopold left. Jerome was outside, waiting for them. “How did it go?”

  “I don’t know.” Mary shrugged. “I’m not sure we accomplished anything.”

  Leopold said, “They can’t leave this lie, even if they are suspicious. Someone will have to contact us, whether it’s Masood, the owner or a lawyer. Once that happens and we hear what they have to say, then we can decide on our next move.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  When Mary returned to the station, there was news waiting for her. Just not the news she was hoping for.

  Captain Oakes cornered her. “The FBI has sent an expert to assist you with your investigation.”

  “I don’t understand. We already have a whole slew of feebs following leads on the terror attack. Why are they sending another one?”

  “Because I asked them to,” Oakes said. “He’s going to be looking into the financials of the dating service you uncovered. Remember, this doesn’t reflect on you at all. You did a damned good job uncovering this Rose of Allah, but now you’re getting into something very different. I don’t want you getting mired down in a bunch of accountants’ tricks. I asked for a forensic accountant with experience in money laundering and foreign banking and all that kind of stuff. The guy they sent is supposed to be the best. Besides, frankly, the FBI has more resources than we do.

  Mary tried not to show her boss how annoyed she was. She wasn’t entirely successful. “With all due respect …”

  “Whenever you say that, the next words out of your mouth invariably show very little respect.”

  “Surely, if we’re getting into some sticky financial stuff, Leopold Blake is the best resource we could have.”

  “That’s exactly what I don’t want. This case has the potential to be a political powder keg. Put simply, Blake doesn’t follow the rules. I can overlook it once in a while, but not now. If we catch a suspect, go to trial, and that suspect gets off because of some shenanigans Blake pulled, all our careers are D.O.A.”

  Mary opened her mouth, then closed it again without further argument. There was no point. “When is this feeb supposed to arrive?”

  “He’s here already, at your desk. Go introduce yourself.”

  As Mary walked to her desk, she wondered how Leopold would respond. Oakes hadn’t come right out and forbidden her from working with him, but he had managed to hamper his involvement by making her work with another financial expert. When she arrived at her desk, there was a newcomer waiting for her. The man Mary presumed to be the FBI agent saw her and smiled. He was, quite possibly, the best looking man she had ever seen. He was Hispanic and his jaw looked like it had been carved out of mochaccino-colored marble. He stood up. The body matched the face. He wore a light gray suit, white shirt, and a blue tie. The jacket was slung over the back of her chair. “Sergeant Jordan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Juan Chavez. It’s nice to put a face to a voice.”

  Chavez? It took her a moment to place the name. “Oh, yes. We spoke on the phone. Nice to meet you, Agent Chavez.”

  “Call me Johnny. I gather I’m here to look into Rose of Allah’s financials.”

  Mary said, “That may be a little difficult. So far, we haven’t been able to get a judge to give us a warrant.”

  Chavez waved a dismissive hand. “You’d be surprised what we can found out with just public records.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I can guesstimate the company’s expenses by adding up the average rent for the property Rose of Allah occupies, utilities, employee salaries, the cost of a server, things like that, so we have a rough idea how much money they need to stay in business. Then I took a look at the company website to see how much they charge, so we know how many customers they need to stay in business.”

  “That’s very impressive, but since we don’t have access to the client list, we don’t know how many customers they have, so what good is that?”

  “True, we don’t know how many customers Rose of Allah has, but we do know how much traffic the website gets. That’s public record, too.”

  “And what does the traffic tell us?”

  “Even if every single person who visited the website became a customer, Rose of Allah can’t possibly be making enough money to cover all the bills. It simply isn’t making enough money to stay in business.”

  “Okay. I admit it, I’m impressed. I’m still not sure that’s enough to get a warrant. Businesses don’t always make money right away. Someone must be bankrolling the company. That’s who need to find.”

  “Well, it can’t be the owner. Daniel Masood got his MBA on a scholarship. He doesn’t have any money of his own, and neither do his parents.”

  “Masood isn’t the owner, anyway. We need to find who the real owner is.”

  “What?”

  “Daniel Masood isn’t the owner.”

  “According to the public record, he is.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. I’ve seen the forms with his signature on it. Daniel Masood is the sole owner and proprietor of Rose of Allah.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Mary was kicking herself mentally. How could she be so stupid? He lied and she took him at his word. Then, she stopped kicking herself and her face split into a huge grin. “He lied. The son of a bitch lied to me.”

  Chavez understood what she was getting at and smiled with her.” Lying to a police officer. Sounds like grounds for a warrant to me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The (barely) orchestrated chaos of John F. Kennedy Airport was always worse at night. Travelers were tired and grouchy and had a hard time following directions, which made the staff tired and grouchy. Lines always moved more slowly a
t night. The line for the service counter weaved back and forth between the barriers, making six hairpin turns. It took over an hour and a half to navigate.

  A dark-haired woman in a flowing, teal sari stood patiently, seemingly immune to the infectious irritability of her fellow passengers. She occasionally took a step, lifting her bag off the floor and then setting in down again as the line crept forward. Eventually, she reached the front of the line and approached the service desk when so ordered.

  Smiling, the handed her driver’s license and a piece of paper with her confirmation number to the attendant.

  As she had done hundreds of times previously that day, the attendant wearily read the name on the license, Rani Gupta, and compared the picture to the person standing in front of her. They were the same person. In the picture, as in real life, Rani Gupta wore very little makeup, just a modest amount of lipstick and eyeliner. A bindi glittered on her forehead.

  Robotically, the attendant began the script she had read hundreds of times that day. “How many bags are you checking?”

  Rani Gupta spoke in a slightly sing-song voice, “No bags to check. Just my carry-on.” She indicated the bag at her feet.

  “Did you pack this bag yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has your bag been in your possession since you packed it?”

  “Oh, yes. I promise.”

  “Have you accepted anything from strangers to carry on this flight?”

  She bobbled her head in the Indian manner. “Oh no. Not at all.”

  The attendant tapped at her computer. A whirring noise indicated the boarding pass was being printed. The attended handed the pass to Rani Gupta, droning, “Your departure gate is C19, to your left. Have a nice flight.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.” She put her hands together and nodded. “Namaste.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  It took another day to get the warrant. Judge Berkovitz was not happy but, in the end, he agreed to issue the warrant. However, he was adamant that the warrant was for the arrest of Daniel Masood only. Nothing and no one else. It was a start, thought Mary.

  Chavez accompanied Mary to Rose of Allah. When they arrived, she was surprised to see the neon rose was turned off and no lights in the window. “Uh-oh. This isn’t a good sign.”

  They entered the building and found all the employees standing about in the middle of the floor, looking baffled. Mary asked one woman, “Where’s Masood?”

  The woman put a hand to her mouth and screeched, “Hey, Danny! You got company.”

  Masood appeared with his cell phone in hand. “She still isn’t answering and now it’s going straight to voice mail.” He saw Mary and Chavez. “Oh, hello again. Are you here because of this?” He waved a hand vaguely in the air.

  “Because of what?” Mary asked. “What’s happened?”

  “The power was shut off. So were the phones, and all the computers are gone.”

  Yesterday, every desk and table in the office and at least one computer on it. Today, every one was empty.

  “You mean somebody stole them?”

  “I don’t know. They’re just missing. Not just the computers. The servers are gone too.”

  “Show me.”

  Obediently, Masood led Mary to a door in the back. He opened the door and Mary saw a room, empty except for dangling wires and loose power cords lying on the floor.

  Thieves might have stolen computers and, theoretically, even servers, but they wouldn’t have shut off the electricity.

  “Why is the power off?”

  “I called Con Ed. They said Rosa called and had it turned off. The same with the phones.” The confusion was evident in Masood’s voice. He had no clue what was going on.

  “Rosa? Who is that?”

  “Rosa Ghannam. She owns the company. I’ve tried calling her and texting her, over and over. She doesn’t answer. What are we supposed to do now?”

  Mary narrowed her eyes. “According to the paperwork we have, the company is owned by Daniel Masood.”

  “No. Rosa owns the company.” Masood waved his arm in the direction of the now apparently unemployed staff. “I’m an employee, just like them.”

  “Public records say otherwise.” Mary took out her handcuffs. “Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

  “What?”

  “Daniel Masood, I am placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent …”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  The interrogation room was just like every interrogation room Masood had ever seen on television, right down to the big mirror. “Is this one of those two-way mirrors?” Masood pressed his face against the mirror, trying to see through it. “Do these things really work?”

  “Will you please sit down!” Mary barked. “Otherwise, I’ll have you restrained.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Masood sat. “I’m not used to being cooped up like this. How long are you going to keep me here?”

  “You lied to us. We’ll keep you here as long as it takes to get the truth.”

  “I did not lie. I do not own the damned company. I just worked there.”

  Mary pointed to the signature on the paperwork that indicated ownership in front of Masood.” Did you sign this?”

  “I don’t know. I signed a lot of stuff when Rosa hired me. She approached me a year ago, said she wanted to start this dating service, kind of a J Date for Muslims. I helped her set things up, designed the website, and then ran the place when it was up and running, but she put up all the capital. It’s her company.”

  Mary placed more papers in front of him. Your signature is on the rental agreement for the property. The electricity and telephones and trash removal is all in your name. So far, we haven’t found this Rosa Ghannam woman’s name on one single document.”

  “It was easier for me to do all those things. I’m from New York. Those things are ten times harder when you’re from out of town.”

  “So she was from out of town. Do you know where from?”

  “Florida. Miami, I think. She was married to some rich, old guy who made a fortune in the stock market and retired. Then he died, and she didn’t know what to do with herself and decided to start her own business.”

  “That’s a nice, convincing backstory. She tell you that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t suppose you did anything to verify her story?”

  “Why would I?”

  Mary stood up. “Wait here, please.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  Mary walked out of the interrogation room and joined Leopold and Chavez on the other side of the mirror, where they had been listening to the conversation. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think he’s telling the truth.” Chavez said. “He really had no idea he’s the legal owner of Rose of Allah.”

  Mary was inclined to agree, but she really wanted something more substantial that a gut feeling. “He could be a patsy or he could just be setting up a defense. We don’t even know if this Rosa Ghannam exists.”

  “I’m having major déjà vu right now.”

  “You mean you’ve heard of a case like this before?”

  “Yes, and very recently, too. Just before I came here, an insurance fraud case crossed my desk. Patient data was being stolen from one of those document disposal companies, and being used to create phony insurance claims.”

  “Um, okay. That doesn’t sound anything like this case. Not even a little bit.”

  “The guy who owned the document disposal company said he didn’t own the company, but all the records said he did.”

  “Now that’s more like it. Where was this?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “I don’t know.” Mary was dubious. “Do you really think the two cases are related? Except for one similar detail, they don’t seem to have anything to do with each other.”

  “It’s possible.” Chavez was warming up to the subject. Mary was right. The connective tissue
was so thin it was nearly invisible, but he didn’t want to give it up without exploring further. “You know, it’s not unheard of for terrorists to finance their activities with insurance fraud scams. It ended up costing the insurance companies hundreds of thousands of dollars, and all the money ended up in a bank account in Singapore.”

  “Singapore?” Leopold, who had been listening quietly, perked up. “Did you say Singapore?”

  Chavez nodded. “Yeah, why?”

  “I think there might be another connection between the two cases.”

  “What’s that?”

  Leopold looked at Mary. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

  Mary put her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”

  “Do you promise not to get mad?”

  “I do not.”

  “When the judge wouldn’t give us a warrant to check out Rose of Allah’s financials, I decided to call in a favor.”

  “Oh my God,” Mary groaned, putting her head in her hands.

  “I know a few people in the banking industry.” That was an understatement. “According to a friend of mine who would rather remain anonymous for obvious reasons, the Rose of Allah bank account here in the U.S. is very healthy because every month, it gets a fresh infusion of funds in the form of a transfer from a bank in Singapore.”

  “Goddamn it, Leopold. None of that information is admissible in a court of law because you obtained it illegally.”

  “If we don’t find out who’s behind this, we’ll never even see the inside of a courtroom.” Leopold said, defensively.

  “The chain of evidence …”

  “Screw the chain of evidence. Once we know who, we can work backwards to create a chain of evidence that will hold up in a court. Let’s focus on the who, first.”

  They both stood quiet for a moment, glaring at each other. Chavez took advantage of the lull in the argument. “If I may make a suggestion, why don’t we go to San Francisco? That’s where the source of the money funding the operation is, so it’s a good place to try to identify the mastermind.”