Shell Game

by Bill Flaherty

  “Absolutely,” Nick replied, trying to keep the elation out of his voice. He would thank Pete later for fighting so hard.

  “Okay, let’s talk about the informant. I brought the immunity document with me.” Sarah patted the folder that was on the table in front of her. “When do you expect the whistleblower to contact you again?”

  “Four o’clock today. So far he’s been pretty reliable.” Mitchell looked at his watch. It was almost noon. “When should we set up the meeting with him?”

  “As soon as possible. Once he agrees to work with us, we’ll want to collect as much information as quickly as we can.” Sarah turned to Nick. “How much time do you need to finish your analysis of the fund transactions?”

  Nick thought for a moment. “Two more days.”

  “Okay, good. That’ll give us some time to debrief the informant. Once we confirm the validity of his information, we’ll prepare the paperwork to officially charge the Jordano management team. We just need more details on who did what before we can act.”

  “I have a question,” Nick stated. “What if we find out that the informant is a key player in the fraud? It doesn’t seem right that he gets off scot-free.”

  The prosecutor shrugged. “It’s the peril of the game we play in these situations. We often need someone on the inside to help us make these types of cases. Just because that person is as culpable as everyone else doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get who we can. If one asshole gets away…” She shrugged again.

  “Still sucks, though.” Nick didn’t want anyone who was involved to get away with it. But he figured he had to play along for now.

  Chapter 41

  Wednesday, November 12

  The next morning Harry left home early and headed for Litchfield, Connecticut. He knew the ride would take two and a half hours, maybe three with traffic. Although he had found a phone number for Elizabeth Caldwell’s address, Harry decided not to call first. He didn’t want to be dismissed out of hand over the telephone.

  His mind wandered to the discussion he had the day before with Detective Scanlon.

  The policeman had caught Harry just before he left the office. He asked all sorts of questions about the Sierra Health mess, and how it might relate to Julie Monroe’s disappearance.

  The cops and the SEC must be talking, thought Harry.

  This worried him.

  While he didn’t believe that Julie Monroe’s murder was connected to the Sierra Health fiasco, the cops clearly thought it might be. Scanlon made frequent references to material that the SEC had confiscated from the Jordano offices.

  Harry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He felt the first signs of a tension headache starting in the back of his neck. He breathed deeply for several minutes, and rolled his shoulders several times. That helped a bit. He didn’t need any more attention on Sierra Health right now.

  The trip took just under three hours. His GPS located 21 Hope Street several blocks from the center of town. Harry drove by the house slowly.

  No one was outside but an older model silver Corolla was parked in the driveway.

  Harry turned around at the end of the block and drove back. The house was a small Cape, painted white with blue shutters. A narrow wooden porch ran across the length of the house. The hedges and bushes were neatly trimmed, and rows of bright yellow and orange mums lined the walk.

  Harry parked his car, climbed the stairs and approached the front door. Just to his left, a wind chime, made from slender, brass cylinders of varying lengths, hung from the porch ceiling. The metal chimes clanked softly against a gold rim in the center, delivering a soft melody that did little to soothe Harry’s jangled nerves. Jeremy’s life might depend on what he learned today. Harry wasn’t a religious man, but he said a brief prayer for guidance.

  Harry rang the bell. After a moment, he heard someone slowly approaching. The door opened, and an elderly lady peered out from behind it. She was dressed in a pink dress brightened with light yellow flowers. Her hair was carefully coiffed, reminiscent of styles popular in the fifties and sixties. Harry smelled a light fragrance. Either air freshener or Lysol, he wasn’t sure which. The woman was seventy if she was a day.

  “Can I help you?” she asked querulously. Harry noticed a slight tremor in her left hand when she raised it to push back her hair.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you. Are you Mrs. Caldwell?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time. It’s about your daughter, Elizabeth.” Harry held his breath.

  “Elizabeth? Is she alright? Nothing has happened to her, has it?” She opened the door a bit more widely. The woman appeared distraught.

  “No. no, nothing like that,” Harry responded quickly. “I just need to ask you a few questions about her. Would you mind if I come in?”

  Mrs. Caldwell considered for a moment, then stepped aside. “Well, alright.”

  Harry entered the hall. A grandfather clock stood in the corner, its cherry finish a dark contrast to the clock’s shiny brass mechanism visible through the glass. Harry looked for photos on the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth Caldwell, but the walls were bare.

  “Please, come into the parlor and have a seat. I was just having some morning tea. Would you like a cup?”

  “That would be terrific.” Harry sat on the sofa opposite Mrs. Caldwell. He could see into the dining room, and beyond to the backyard. The sun moved in and out from behind cirrus clouds, casting alternating shadows and sunlight on the verdant lawn.

  “Here you are. There’s sugar if you like.” Mrs. Caldwell placed a steaming cup in front of Harry.

  “No, this is just fine.” Harry took a deep breath. “Let me tell you why I’m here.”

  Mrs. Caldwell sat stock still, perched on the edge of the couch, hands neatly folded in her lap, waiting expectantly.

  “My name is Harry Wainright. Twelve years ago, my wife Sandy and I adopted a baby. We named him Jeremy. Recently, we learned that Jeremy is very sick. He has leukemia.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! That is awful news for any parent.”

  “Yes, we were devastated. When we got the diagnosis, the doctors told us that Jeremy’s best hope for recovery would be to find a blood relative that would be willing to donate bone marrow. We spoke with Catholic Charities, the adoption agency, and we learned that Elizabeth is Jeremy’s birth mother.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Caldwell replied. “And you want Lizzie to provide the bone marrow for Jeremy.” It was a statement, not a question.

  This lady may be elderly, but she still has all of her faculties, Harry thought.

  “Yes, we’re praying that your daughter is a match. She may be Jeremy’s only hope for recovery. Will she be willing to be tested?”

  Mrs. Caldwell shook her head. “I’m not sure.” She stopped speaking for a moment, as if to gather her thoughts. “You see, shortly after Elizabeth had the baby and gave him up for adoption, she developed severe post-partum depression. She was hospitalized for several weeks. She eventually recovered. But Lizzie still takes medication each day to keep her depression under control. It took her a long time for her to become functional again. I’m concerned that she might suffer a relapse if she got this news about Jeremy.”

  Harry ran his fingers through his hair. The room darkened as the sun hid behind a cloud, matching Harry’s sinking mood. “I understand your concern, Mrs. Caldwell, but can’t we at least ask her to consider it? She is Jeremy’s mother and his best hope for survival.”

  Mrs. Caldwell sat silently for a few moments. Harry could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the quiet home. A car alarm went off briefly down the street before it was turned off. Finally, Mrs. Caldwell raised her head and smiled.

  “I believe the right thing would be to ask Lizzie. But it will have to come from me, Mr. Wainright. I want to give her a chance to absorb the news, and not feel pressured to respond to you quickly.”

  “Yes, I understand. Does she live
nearby? Will you be able to see her today?”

  “Actually she lives near Boston now, in one of the suburbs. She moved there about six months ago when she got her new job.”

  Even better, Harry thought. She won’t have to travel far if she agrees to donate the bone marrow.

  “When do you think you can reach her?”

  “I will call her tonight. We talk almost every day.”

  “That’s great.” Harry pulled one of his business cards from his wallet. He wrote his cell and home phone number on the back. Please call me as soon as you discuss it with her? This is extremely important.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Harry rose from his seat. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I appreciate it very much.” He again looked for photos, but could spot none.

  Strange.

  Harry started towards the door, but stopped short. “Actually, just one more question: Sister Catherine at the adoption agency told me of an unusual birthmark that Elizabeth has. Is that true?”

  Mrs. Caldwell smiled briefly and nodded her head. “Yes, on Lizzie’s left shoulder. A perfect little butterfly, wings and antennae included. It is most striking.”

  Harry nodded. “That’s what the Sister said. Thank you for confirming.”

  Harry walked quickly to his car. He felt encouraged. What mother would not be willing to help her child, even one that she gave up for adoption, given the situation? He was sure Elizabeth Caldwell would do the right thing.

  Harry drove through the picturesque town. The bright mélange of oak and elm leaves that hung tenaciously on the old trees lining the main street provided a colorful tableau that momentarily lifted Harry’s spirits. He found the highway onramp and headed north on Route 84. Just after reaching the legal speed limit, his cell phone rang. Harry didn’t recognize the number. He hoped it might be Mrs. Caldwell calling already.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Harry. It’s Sinead.”

  “Oh, hi Sinead. What’s up?”

  “I have more bad news, Harry.”

  Harry’s heart sank. The rickety roller coaster that had become his life seemed about to crest a climb and was now ready to plummet back to earth. He steeled himself to hear the worst about Sierra Health. “What is it?”

  “The police called a short while ago. They told us that Jerry Haskins is dead. He jumped from the roof of the Washington Street garage last night. Everyone is in shock.”

  “Shit!” Harry couldn’t believe it. He didn’t like the guy, but he wouldn’t wish this on anyone. “Does Kaspar know?” Harry remembered the phone call from Sinead several weeks earlier when she didn’t tell him that she’d already informed Kaspar about Julie Monroe’s disappearance.

  “Yes, Jack Walsh told him. Kaspar wants everyone in the office for a meeting at 8am tomorrow to discuss the impact to the firm. Will you be there?”

  “Definitely. See you in the morning.”

  Harry hung up and tried to focus on his driving. He felt numb. He wasn’t sure what this development might mean to the Sierra Health issue. Now two people involved in the transaction were dead. The police will likely be suspicious of Jerry’s suicide occurring so soon after Julie’s murder.

  They’ll want to dig further into Jerry’s role in the Sierra Health situation, he thought morosely.

  Harry arrived home just after 4pm. He had spoken with Sandy an hour earlier, and learned that the meeting with Jeremy’s oncologist was scheduled for 1pm on Friday. He hoped to get a call from Mrs. Caldwell with news that Elizabeth was willing to be tested for a bone marrow match. Then he and Sandy could inform the doctor so the hospital could start preparations for the transplant.

  As he stepped out of his car, he heard a loud voice from behind.

  “Hi Harry!” He turned around and saw Nora walking unsteadily up the driveway. “I missed you in work today. Is Sandy home? I thought the three of us could talk. You know, settle things.”

  “Nora, what are you doing here?” Harry looked at his watch. He knew that Sandy could arrive home at any minute. “This has to stop.”

  “Harry, don’t you know I love you? And I know you love me. We just need to work things out with Sandy. I’m sure she’ll understand that you and I should be together.” Nora stopped walking and wavered unsteadily. Harry half-hoped the breeze would blow her over. Nora burped and then giggled. “Maybe I should have stopped after three martinis, but they were so good!” She reached out to hug him.

  “Nora, stop.” Harry grabbed both of her arms and held her away from him. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. He knew this didn’t look good. “You need to go home. Come on, I’ll find you a cab. You can’t drive in this condition.” He pulled Nora to the passenger side of his car and pushed her into the front seat. Harry ran around to the driver’s side, started the car up and pulled out of his driveway, headed towards the center of town. When he was a hundred feet down the road, he looked in his rearview mirror and saw Sandy pull into the driveway. He hoped she hadn’t seen him driving away.

  “Harry, I don’t want to go home. We need to decide about Jeremy. We will be happy together, the three of us. I know we will.” Nora was slurring her words badly, and her head was lolling against her chest.

  Harry remained silent. He hoped Nora didn’t pass out – that was going to make things much worse. He reached the center of town and spotted a cab in front of the CVS drugstore. He pulled up behind the taxi and hopped out to speak to the driver.

  “My friend has had too much to drink.” Harry pulled out his wallet and gave the driver forty dollars. He knew the fare shouldn’t be more than twenty. “Can you drive her home? She lives about fifteen minutes away.”

  “Sure, buddy,” the cabbie said with a wink. He pocketed the two twenties. “I’ll get your lady friend home safe and sound.”

  “Great.” Harry walked back to his car and opened Nora’s door. He helped her out and led her towards the back seat of the cab. Before she sat down, Nora wrapped her hands tightly around Harry and pressed her face into his neck. “Remember, Harry, you’re my soul mate, my one and only. We’re meant to be together. And we will be. I just know it.”

  Harry pushed her gently into the cab, but inside he was seething. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow, Nora. See you at the office.” Harry slammed the cab door shut and waved the cabbie off.

  Harry walked disconsolately back to his car and sat down. After a minute of staring, seeing nothing, he put the car into gear and drove home.

  Chapter 42

  Thursday, November 13

  Nick gathered his team the next morning to update them with the latest developments on the Jordano investigation. He tried his best to avoid staring at Devon, but every time he looked her way, she broke into a smile.

  “Here is the latest. I met yesterday with Sarah Monetti, the prosecutor from the AG’s office. The AG is offering immunity to the informant, as you know. We have a meeting set up with him at noon on Friday at the Meridien hotel. Ms. Monetti will present the immunity offer. Everyone hopes he’ll sign it. Our evidence needs to be finalized by end of day tomorrow, and I’ve set up a 4pm meeting with Ms. Monetti to deliver a presentation that summarizes our findings. Sam, can you spearhead that effort?”

  “Sure thing, Nick.” Sam chewed on his toothpick with gusto, then intertwined his hands and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s nail these bastards to the wall.”

  “Do we know who the informant is?” Devon asked.

  Nick shook his head. “He’s done a good job keeping his identity a secret. But we’ll find out today. Nick paused. “Now, another bit of news. I had a call from Detective Scanlon yesterday, the cop assigned to the Julie Monroe murder. He told me that Jerry Haskins, the operations manager at Jordano, committed suicide on Tuesday. He jumped from the roof of the Washington Street garage.”

  There were gasps from around the room.

  Sam snorted, “Maybe a guilty conscience at work. I interviewed that guy when we were there. I didn’t like him. He was a weasel. I f
elt like I needed a shower after talking to him.”

  “What will this mean to the investigation?” Devon asked, redirecting the conversation.

  “I’m not sure yet. It may make it more difficult to get to the bottom of this. On the other hand, it may be the proof we need that something illegal was going on, and Haskins just couldn’t handle the pressure of it. We may never know. But we can’t get sidetracked by it.”

  Sam waved at some of the Jordano reports that were still spread across the conference room table. “There’s plenty of guilt to go around on this case. One person working alone couldn’t orchestrate a fraud of this magnitude. And based on what I saw, Jerry Haskins was an order-taker, not someone who was pulling the strings.”

  Nick nodded in agreement. “He may have been a participant, but no way did he run this operation. I hope today we’ll find out who did.” Nick looked at his watch. “Meeting adjourned. I need to get ready for the Meridien.”

  “Give ‘em hell, boss.”

  “I plan to.”

  *****

  The Jordano informant entered the men’s room that was located down the hall from the hotel’s grand lobby. The bathroom’s muted lighting cast a soft glow that complemented the air of elegance in the old building.

  It was just before noon.

  He was happy to see that he was alone.

  He checked his appearance in the mirror, straightened his tie and pushed his hair from his forehead.

  I need to look good, he thought wryly. Can’t wait to see their faces.

  He washed his hands, and ran his fingers through his light brown hair. The stress of the past several weeks had taken its toll on him, but he knew he could handle the pressure. Events would come to a climax soon. Once the prosecutor had told him about the immunity offer, he began to relax.