I continue. “I can tell you that while we will of course attack the prosecution’s case, we’re going to have to do much more. We’re going to have to find the real killer, or at least point to a viable alternative.”
I talk about the request by Barry Price to hire me as his attorney just before he died, and how that is an area we have to focus on.
“Where do we start?” Sam asks.
“We follow the money.”
Mark Clemens thinks Denise is guilty. He won’t come right out and say so, but that’s certainly the impression I’ve been getting. He told me over the phone that he was really busy but he’d “clear the schedule” to see me, because “nothing is more important than finding out who did this.”
The offices of the Price Group occupy an entire floor of a building on Thirty-fourth Street near Seventh Avenue in Manhattan. “Barry wanted to keep his commute as short as possible,” Clemens explains, “which is why the office is near the Lincoln Tunnel and not Wall Street.”
“Morristown to here is not exactly a short trip either,” I point out.
Clemens smiles. “That’s probably why Barry came in so rarely.” Then, as if I might take that as criticism, he adds, “His home was fully stocked with electronics; it was the same as if he was in the office.”
Clemens seems invested in my knowing what a legendary genius Barry was. His clients relied totally on his investment acumen, which seems to be why the firm has been so successful. Without Barry present, it’s obvious Clemens is concerned that the clients might walk.
After ten minutes of listening to this praise, I feel like I’m stuck in goo. Since Clemens can’t be more than thirty-five years old and Barry is the one who placed him in this no-doubt-lucrative job, his devotion is understandable. But it doesn’t get me anywhere. Someone wasn’t quite as enamored of Barry; in fact, that person killed him.
“So Barry made the investment decisions. What was your role?”
“Mostly new business. I brought in prospective clients, and Barry made the sale.”
“How much money does the company invest?”
“Right now we have about eleven billion dollars in assets.”
That’s a lot of money; people have been murdered for less. “Any idea why Barry needed a criminal attorney?”
His tone immediately changes. “That’s ridiculous. He was the most law-abiding person I’ve ever met. If I even hinted that we do something not criminal but just bending the rules slightly, he cut me off at the knees.”
“He was looking for a criminal attorney the day he died.”
“Are you trying to smear him? Is that what the defense is going to be?”
“I choose to think of it as finding the truth and defending my client,” I say, but then decide to try another approach. “Why would he have been asking an outside accountant for help?”
Clemens’s attitude has turned frosty. “I doubt that he was. But I would have no idea; certainly it would have to be something personal. The firm is well represented.”
“Any idea who might want to kill him?”
“I believe the police have already made that decision,” he says.
“And you think they’re right?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, but I’ll tell you what I know. I know that Barry’s marriage was going to end, and I know that right now, at this moment, his wife is worth a hell of a lot of money. And I also know that Barry Price didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
The only way I’ve got a chance at helping Denise by asking this guy questions is if I do it on the witness stand.
“I’m going to need a list of your clients,” I say.
“Why?”
“That’s really not something I’m prepared to share with you.”
“It’s confidential.”
“No it isn’t,” I say. “But if it makes it easier, I can subpoena it and then talk to each of your clients individually.”
“I’ll have to consult our attorneys about this.”
“You do that. In the meantime, I’ll get the subpoena ready. Maybe we can do a two-day deposition. It’ll make us even closer.”
Kyle Austin felt a little like he was a prisoner. It was a feeling he had some experience with, since he had spent one of his twenty-seven years in an actual prison.
The entire experience had been surreal, from the first time they had approached him, then actually receiving the first half of the money, and especially this trip they had arranged for him.
As he learned what it was they wanted him to do, it became obvious why they chose him. His army training, his lack of a job, his need for money, and his somewhat violent past all made him a perfect candidate. Kyle thought it was pretty funny that all those things that had seemed so negative for so long had suddenly combined to create this great opportunity.
At their request, he had driven from his hometown of Columbus, Ohio, to a rest stop off Route 80. There he was picked up by a guy in a small bus, sort of like what he imagined a party bus those rock stars use.
The guy didn’t tell him his name, but he did explain the rules. The doors would be locked from the outside, and with the windows blackened, Kyle would not be able to see or go outside for the duration of the trip.
There was a wall between the driver’s section and the main area of the bus, so that Kyle couldn’t see out the front window, either. He could talk to the driver through an intercom, but it seemed unlikely that the guy might say anything that Kyle would be eager to hear.
There was enough to keep him comfortable. The bus came equipped with plenty of great food and drink, a television with DVD player, a bathroom, a comfortable bed, and even a shower if Kyle so desired.
It was clear to Kyle that the destination was to remain a secret, and when he asked how long a trip it would be, the driver said, “As long as it takes.”
So they drove, twelve hours according to Kyle’s watch, but that didn’t tell him much, since he had no idea what direction they were traveling in or the speed the bus was going. They had taken his cell phone, probably because the GPS in it could have revealed his location.
The fact of the matter was that Kyle wasn’t particularly worried; these guys had already paid him a hundred grand. They did that because he had value to them, and there was no reason to think that they would want to do anything to hurt their investment.
They finally arrived at their destination about 8:00 P.M., and Kyle was surprised by what he saw when he got off the bus. There were a series of buildings, almost like small barracks, set on what seemed like a small post or camp.
Kyle knew what army bases looked like; he had been an infantryman in Iraq, and this one seemed a little like a miniaturized version. He was led to one of the buildings and read the same ground rules as there had been on the bus. He’d be locked in the room with many creature comforts, but he was not to nose around.
Kyle noticed immediately that the food was ample and similar to that on the bus. The drinks, however, were another matter. There was no alcohol of any kind in the room, whereas on the bus he had put away a six-pack of beer.
They obviously wanted him clearheaded in the morning.
Kyle was awakened at six thirty by the guy who drove the bus and who was literally the only person he had seen since Ohio. He was friendly enough, but when Kyle asked if there were people in the other rooms, he just smiled and said, “Be ready in an hour.”
Exactly one hour later, Kyle was ready, and the driver was back. He brought Kyle outside and they walked across a grassy area to the largest building. It was completely empty, except for some chalk markings on the floor.
The driver then brought him into an office off the main room, which also was empty, except for a large table and a man sitting in a chair.
The man was Carter, the only person in this entire operation whom Kyle had ever met before, the man who was in the process of making Kyle wealthy. He had a smile on his face as he watched Kyle stare at what was on the table.
It was a
mock-up of a weapon, one Kyle was already very familiar with from his time in Iraq. They probably knew that; they seemed to know everything, so he figured it was why they came to him in the first place.
Kyle looked behind him and noticed that the driver had left the room, leaving only him and Carter.
“It’s time for the training,” Carter said.
“I already know how to use the real thing.”
“You’ll have a chance to demonstrate that, after you are trained according to our process.”
Kyle wasn’t about to argue; these people were paying the bills, and paying them well. “I’ve got plenty of time,” he said.
Carter smiled and said, “Less than you think.” He stood up. “Let’s get started.”
“Let’s assume Barry Price wasn’t holding up liquor stores,” I say. “And he never murdered anyone or sold drugs.”
I’m talking with Hike and Sam in my office, trying to figure out the best way to approach the investigation. “Let’s further assume the reason he needed a criminal attorney had something to do with money, and very possibly the eleven billion dollars that he was responsible for.”
“You think this was Madoff II?” Hike asks. “Maybe he was ripping off his clients or faking profits on their investments?”
“Those are certainly possibilities worth checking into. Or maybe insider trading or a hundred other things that I have no understanding of.”
“That’s more my area,” Sam says.
I nod. “I think the whole point is that it’s your area. He asked for your help; you were the one he wanted with him that night.”
“Hey, that’s right,” Sam says.
“So that’s what I want you to do. I want you to approach it from a forensic-accounting point of view, figure out how you could have been of help to Barry.”
I turn to Hike. “You’re in charge of getting Sam what he needs. Some of the financial stuff will be in discovery, some will be in Price’s house, since he worked out of there. Denise can grant you access. Some of it you’ll have to subpoena from the company or the prosecutor.”
Back to Sam. “And just in case we miss something, you should do your computer magic.”
“Hack into his company?” he asks.
I nod. “Hack away.”
“You got it, boss.”
“What else you got for me?” Hike asks. It’s a surprising question from him, since he doesn’t get paid by the hour.
“Botulism. I know you think you know a lot about it, but I want to know everything there is to know. I’m especially interested in when the poison had to be administered for Barry to have had the reaction when he did.”
“No problem,” Hike says. “What are you going to do?”
“Did you get the additional discovery?”
“Yup. That is one accommodating prosecutor. I think we could order a pizza and he’d deliver it to us. With extra anchovies.”
“It won’t last,” I say. I had Hike request Barry’s calendar and personal papers. They weren’t part of the original discovery, because they are not part of the evidence that will be used against Denise. The prosecutor has an obligation to turn over only the evidence that will be part of the trial.
“I’m going to use his calendar to try and re-create his steps. Something happened to make him call Sam when he did; maybe I can figure it out that way. Sam, can you get me his phone records?”
“Sure. Home? Cell?”
“Yes and yes.” Sam can hack into phone records faster than I can find an online weather forecast.
“Good,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
Hike leaves the office and Sam says, “Andy, can I show you something?”
“What?”
“In my office. Just take a second.”
He leads me down to his office and unlocks the door. In all the time I’ve known Sam, I’ve never known him to lock his office door. He opens the door slowly and quietly, and I follow him in.
He takes me to the door of his back office and says softly, “Take a look.”
I look in and there is Crash, sleeping soundly on a bed that Sam has constructed out of six pillows. “He’s home,” he says.
“He’s going to live here?” I ask, just because I have a need to ask irritating questions.
“No, you know what I mean … he’s not at the vet’s office anymore.”
“That’s great, Sam.”
“Watch this,” he says, and then calls out loudly, “Crash! Hey, Crash!”
Crash’s eyes open, and he lifts his head slightly to see who is annoying him by waking him up. When he sees it’s Sam, who he has probably already figured out is a nutcase, he plops his head down and goes back to sleep.
“You see that?” asks Sam.
“What?”
“He knows his name.”
“Or he just heard a noise and wanted to check it out.”
Sam shakes his head. “No way. I’ll show you.” He then calls out, more softly than before, “Tara! Hey, Tara!”
Once again Crash lifts his head, checks us out, and puts his head back down.
“Wow, that’s amazing,” I say. “He’s already learned Tara’s name as well. This dog is a genius.”
Sam doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor when it comes to Crash. He may even think I’m serious.
“When I have something important to do or I’m worried about something, I pet him,” Sam says. “He’s a good-luck charm.”
“I’ll give it a shot,” I say, and I walk over and pet Crash on the head.
“What was that for?” Sam asks.
“I bet the Knicks tonight against the Lakers. It’s Crash against Kobe.”
Nothing could go wrong. Mike Cardenas was reasonably confident of that. As the customs officer in charge of one section of Port Newark, this was his domain, so he was in the perfect position to make sure that things went smoothly.
That’s not to say he wasn’t disconcerted by his lack of knowledge of the situation, because he certainly was. He didn’t even know what was in the cargo container. He had been assured it wasn’t nuclear material, and the fact that the radiation detectors had not gone off thankfully confirmed that. His guess was drugs, though it could be conventional arms.
Whatever it was had to be important. Mike had already received a hundred thousand dollars for his part in the operation, with another two hundred thousand to come. For that kind of money, they weren’t smuggling in chocolates.
Mike still had no idea how they found him or knew his situation. Carter wouldn’t explain that or anything else. But they knew he was vulnerable, knew that he had incurred gambling debts he could not afford, knew he was desperate for money.
They knew he would go along.
Going along was easy. The shipment would come in, eighteen cargo containers from Thailand, apparently carrying kitchen appliances for a chain of stores in the Midwest. He would have three of them opened as part of a random testing process. Such a process was not conducted on all shipments; some went unopened entirely. But opening three would show diligence and responsibility, and would provide deniability.
Making sure that the key container went unopened was easy. Carter had supplied him with the serial number, so he could be positive there was no mistake.
And there was not. The shipment came in on schedule, and Mike handled it exactly as he promised he would. Three containers were opened, and they were filled with dishwashers and ranges. Nothing was amiss, and there was certainly no apparent reason for anyone doing his job to have looked further.
So Mike signed off on it, and the entire shipment cleared customs. Within three hours it was on trucks and heading for a destination that Mike did not know.
Which was fine with Mike, because he didn’t want to know.
Kenneth Rebhun put on a tuxedo for our meeting. I’m not particularly flattered by the gesture. He had asked that we meet at the Palace Hotel in Manhattan because he and his wife were being honored that night for their philanthropy. Since they live
d way out on Long Island, I jumped at the chance of having to drive only as far as the city to talk to him.
We meet in his suite, and he apologizes that his wife isn’t quite ready to greet me, as she is in the bedroom getting dressed. He grins. “You’d think after all these years she’d have figured out how to speed up the process.”
Kenneth is probably in his early sixties and has obviously spent quite a bit of time in tuxedos. Men who wear them rarely, like myself, walk around like somebody stuck a hanger up their ass, while those who wear them often seem entirely comfortable doing so.
“I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice,” I say.
“I want to do anything I can to help.”
“Help Denise Price?”
“Help the truth come out. Not that I think I’ll be able to add much.”
“I’m just beginning my investigation,” I say, “but I know that Barry Price handled your investments.”
He nodded. “Some of them. Close to two hundred million dollars.”
I know from my research that Rebhun is the retired founder of a significant oil and gas company, and has a net worth of close to six hundred million dollars.
“Obviously you had confidence in him.”
“And he repeatedly justified that confidence.”
“Did you monitor the trades closely?”
“No. As I said, I had full confidence in Barry.”
“And you made money?”
He nods. “Consistently.”
“He met with you three days before he died,” I say.
Kenneth seems surprised that I know this. “He did.”
“What was that meeting about?”
There is suddenly a wariness about him that I hadn’t seen before. At that moment his wife, Cathy, walks into the room. She’s beautiful, very much like I imagine Laurie will look at sixty. I actually think women get more attractive as they get older, though no one I know agrees with that.
He introduces us and then resumes talking openly in front of her. “May I ask why you want to know about that meeting?”
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