The Conway's Conspiracy

by Joubert Richardson

  “They’ll be sent here tomorrow,” Galiss promised evasively. He then turned around and said, “Three cars were used to facilitate the bandits’ escape… Philip Causco and Karl Stefan rented them… As you can imagine, those two fellows don’t really exist. They operated using fake credentials. We’re going to concentrate on the bogus identifications…”

  He made an about-face and stepped back toward the board.

  “Exposed here are the driver’s licenses photocopies taken in the rent-a-cars and some pictures of Causco and Stefan,” his voice was strangely calm. “The FBI laboratory had already examined them…”

  Stretching his right arm, he pressed on a button. An infrared magnifying light was immediately projected on photos and documents. Picking up a yellow stick, he pointed out Stefan’s sketch.

  “Karl is between forty and forty-five years old,” he said hesitantly. “As you can see, he is African American… His face disguise is a work of art. He took great pain to hide his identity... Philip is between thirty-five and forty. He, also, is African American and, as well, did his best to remain anonymous…But our experts are confident… They reassured me on the typical conformation of structure, frame, and general configuration of the two faces… In a couple of days, those pictures will be published in newspapers all over the nation. I wanted to discuss with you before releasing them.”

  “The driver’s licenses show gross defects,” observed Graham alarmingly. “How come the rent-a-cars’ employees saw nothing?”

  “It’s shocking...” said Garibaldi. “Look at those broken lines… The printing is upside down...”

  “Bogatt had a similar reaction,” Galiss jerked nervously. “The driver’s licenses glaring defectiveness would’ve attracted a child’s attention. The only thing that seems of interest to the rent-a-cars’ people is making as much money as possible. Bogatt was so furious he visited them to express his anger. Do you believe those guys should be sorry? Not at all... They threatened to sue him as well as the Miami Police Department.”

  “Did you investigate them?” asked Canamera. “There may be a connection…”

  “They’re okay,” Galiss looked at his colleagues and shook his head. He then sat down and said candidly, “I’m sure we’ll find the bandits…Considering political complications associated with our job, it’s critical that we act in complete solidarity. I don’t believe necessary to talk about the hard time we’re going to face. Freebooters will try to obstruct our way and slow the investigation; but we’re veteran professionals and have seen it all.”

  He mused, smiled, and wrapped it up, “Tomorrow, Graham and I will participate in a meeting with the managers. The theme will deal with interactive collaboration but the topic is inappropriate because we assume full responsibility for the inquiry. Happily, we know how to counter the attack of the cat…”

  * * *

  Alone in his office, Coroner Lee Ziang Pyen was reading the first report about evidences collected on the crime scene and in cars abandoned by the bandits. It was the first draw of scientific determination but the doctor knew he had in hand irrefutable proofs. He was, however, a bit hesitant.

  The coup progressive expansion showed obvious maturing phases and the classic scenario suggested considerable technical preparation. How could the bandits be so careless to use their own driver’s licenses? Even in the hypothesis of fake identifications, it was a careless blunder. “Didn’t they know, those murderers, that modern technology has the capability to reconstitute, almost perfectly, silhouettes and profiles with a sketch?” he wondered pensively.

  The fact they acted in such a frivolous manner explained something that is common with almost all criminals: the im- patience to get it over with. There was no doubt they were successful in the first phase of their plan, but the doctor was certain it would be short-lived glory.

  As he went through the circumstantial evidences, Lee was more and more convinced he had enough to send the bandits to hell. For some reason, they did not pay attention to important details of basic planning. However, the doctor did not underestimate them.

  Their evident awareness of tactical advantages and the use of back-to-back security cover indicated some degree of operational knowledge. They had a realistic perspective on time and space. Their ignorance of science applications and the invasive bearing of localized police inquiry dramatically limited their criminal ability. Picking up the telephone, he dialed a number. “I’m Doctor Lee... Can I speak to Galiss Vaughan?”

  “Hold on a second…” somebody answered on the other end of the line.

  A moment later, the special agent was on the phone. “Hello… Is it you, Lee?”

  “Vaughan?”

  “Yes,” Galiss answered cordially.

  “I’ve good news for you…” announced the Doctor. “I think they’re cooked…”

  “Really…” Galiss sounded skeptical.

  “They left their signatures on the crime scene,” said Lee. “We’ve more than what it takes to get a conviction.”

  “Nice…” answered the delegate. “It’s wonderful…”

  “Now the ball is in your court…” continued Lee. “Don’t forget to call me if I can be of any help…”

  “I will for sure,” said Galiss. “Hey… Don’t forget to brief the boss!”

  “We’ve a meeting for tomorrow morning,” Lee replied with a bit of pride. “I know he must be impatient to hear me…”

  “I must run…” shouted Galiss. “I’ll pay you a visit tomorrow afternoon.”

  The Doctor hung up, nodded, and mumbled thrillingly, “Bogatt… He must be anxious...”

  Standing up, he walked toward the door and called his secretary, “Goldie, here, take this note... Type it and send the message to our friends…”

  She approached and took the paper. “Should I call the cou-

  rier?”

  “No… Send it all by fax…” said the Doctor. “They must have it as soon as possible.

  “Okay,” Goldie answered with a smile.

  “Did you call Garibaldi?” asked Lee.

  “I tried…” she replied nicely. “He was nowhere to be found.”

  “You must insist,” said Lee. “There is no time to waste…”

  She grinned and walked back to her desk.

  CHAPTER 4

  An Uplifting Discovery

  Three cars were used to ensure the bandits’ daring escape: a 1975 Honda Accord, a 1976 Ford Taurus, and a 1974 Toyota Corolla. They were rented in local rent-a-cars. The Toyota and the Ford at RG Car-Rental, the Honda at Camilla Automotive: the first two by Philip Causco and the third by Karl Stefan. Pictures of the two men were on the front pages of newspapers all over the nation, but none of the thousands calls received led to their trails. After two weeks of a painful and fruitless search, the investigators were exhausted.

  Galiss paid close attention to the vehicles. He carefully evaluated evidences collected from them. William Arthur Bogatt, the first detective to arrive on the crime scene, was responsible for evidence preservation. In front of more than fifteen investigators, “the guardian” patiently retraced his own steps.

  “The cars will be big in the valid outcome of this investigation,” Galiss said commandingly. “Evidences collected from them will help unveil the underlying elements of this affair.”

  The same person had shed the blood found in two of the cars. Coroner Lee Ziang Pyen accompanied the detectives and helped pick up parcels & armpits[1] left on the crime scene. Together, they drew a map of thorough police exploration.

  “We’ll follow their trail based on the hypothesis they’ve used a restrictive operational space,” the delegate explained carefully. “We’ll explore a zone of fifty miles radius, north-south and southwest-southeast, with the Hauss & Caust’s position as demarcating line. Our combined action will be based on the information they had fled in those two directions.”

  He waved, stayed thoughtful for a moment, and continued, “We’ll search that vital space with a focus to
rented building apartments… The way the crime was committed indicates we’re dealing with well-informed people. Clearly, they had benefited from inside information...”

  Taking a pencil, he pointed on a map that detailed the area. “Surprise and speed are usually the main advantages on which criminals rely to succeed in the execution of this kind of plot,” he declared pensively. “Time and space are critical to their illicit business... In this particular case, good timing had ensured the bandits’ quick escape. A validating vital horizon should normally sanction the second phase of their operation... If this reasoning is right, we must admit they had a meeting point more or less close to the bank.”

  He pulled a pack of cigarettes, took one, lit it up, and said, “Perpetrators of this type of crime often use apartments to ease their transitional actions from one stage to another. The accounting of buildings in a square of fifty miles is a good projection. We must count all tenants and identify them with close attention to newcomers…”

  Having set that operation, the delegate turned to another task: exhaustive questioning of the bank’s personnel. On police request, Ganoott obediently cooperated, organizing individual meetings in the bank’s conference room over a two-week period.

  One after the other, the employees answered the detectives’ questions and submitted to an embarrassing police inquisition. Ganoot gave Graham a funny look when the detective lectured him about his fraudulent background. The manager sniggered and asked for a glass of water. Looking at him in the eyes, Graham said, in subtle fashion, “According to our record, you’re a technician of the fake.”

  The President mumbled an inaudible word and ashamedly shook his head.

  Then, it was the turn of Jonathan Joe Conway. Apparently worried, the baby sat down with the investigator.

  “What’s your first name?” asked Graham.

  “Jonathan,” he answered quickly.

  “Aliases?” inquired Graham.

  “No,” he replied with a submissive bow.

  “What’s your last name?” said Graham.

  “Conway…” Jonathan smiled and stared at the detective.

  “Do you’ve a middle name?” continued Graham.

  “No,” he answered nervously.

  “For how long have you been working here?” asked Graham.

  “Eleven months,” he looked at the detective and shook his head.

  “Are you still working in maintenance?” inquired Graham.

  “I’m a technician,” he answered conceitedly.

  “Maintenance technician?” asked Graham.

  “Yes,” his face beamed with a prideful expression.

  “An engineer, uh…?” Graham stared at him.

  “Yes,” he acknowledged with a soothing smile.

  “Did you study engineering?” inquired Graham.

  Jonathan laughed. “Oh no… I was trained…”

  “Who trained you?” asked Graham.

  “My boss,” he nodded obediently.

  “Were you present at the time of the attack?” inquired Graham.

  “Yes,” he replied with trepidation.

  “What did you see?” asked Graham.

  “I didn’t see much. I was inside…” he mumbled awkwardly.

  “Did you hear the shots?” insisted Graham.

  “Yes,” his voice was low, almost emotional.

  “What did you do?” asked Graham.

  “I ran to the window…” he spoke in a tone almost inaudible.

  “Which window are you talking about?” inquired Graham.

  “The one on the South Wing...” he replied anxiously.

  “What did you see?” asked Graham.

  “I wasn’t in a good position... I didn’t see much…” he sounded cautious and hostile.

  “But what did you see?” insisted Graham.

  “Almost nothing...” he replied moodily.

  “What is almost nothing?” asked Graham.

  “I saw a policeman…” he waved and shook his head nervously. “It was a frightful moment…”

  “Was the policeman in uniform?” inquired Graham.

  “Yes,” he answered impulsively. “He was running…”

  “Where was he going?” insisted Graham.

  “I don’t know…” he seemed annoyed and despondent.

  “Did you later identify him?” asked Graham.

  “I couldn’t...” he mumbled restlessly.

  “Why not?” inquired Graham.

  “He was killed…” Jonathan sounded miffed and fearful.

  “Who killed him?” asked Graham.

  “The men …” he replied hesitantly.

  “Who…?” insisted Graham.

  “The bandits...” he looked dull and bored.

  Graham gaped at him, mused for a moment, and asked in a dubious tone, “For how long have you been living in the state of Florida?”

  “One year...” he answered reluctantly.

  “Where do you come from?” inquired Graham.

  “Atlanta…” he said in a rush.

  “Georgia?” Graham stared at him.

  “Yes,” he answered with a hint of fear in his voice.

  The detective looked at him, nodded, and said, “Are you married, Joe?”

  “No,” he replied quickly.

  “What’s your address?” inquired Graham.

  “6676 NW 56 Street,” he answered with apparent aloofness.

  “Miami?” asked Graham.

  “Yes,” he retorted rashly.

  “For how long have you been living at this address?” inquired Graham.

  “Seven months,” he answered without hesitation.

  “Where did you live before?” insisted Graham.

  “Fort-Lauderdale,” he replied calmly.

  “What address?” asked Graham.

  “874, Gandhi Street…” he sounded surprisingly soft, almost coward.

  “For how long have you lived in Fort-Lauderdale?” inquired Graham.

  “Five months,” he answered hesitantly.

  “You lived alone?” asked Graham.

  “Yes,” he smiled and shook his head.

  “Do you live alone now?” inquired Graham.

  “Yes,” he replied suspiciously.

  “Brothers?” asked Graham.

  “No…” he sounded scared and hesitant.

  “Sisters?” inquired Graham.

  “Yes…” his voice was fickle, almost tremulous.

  “How many…?” asked Graham.

  “Two…” he answered cautiously.

  “Their names?” inquired Graham

  “Martha… and… Charlotte…” he could hardly contain his trepidation.

  “They live in Atlanta?” asked Graham.

  “Last time somebody saw them, yeah... They were over there…” he answered vividly. “We don’t talk to each other!”

  “Why not?” inquired Graham.

  “We’ve never been close…” he mumbled nervously.

  “Why is that?” insisted Graham.

  “That’s the way it is...” he replied with a hint of fear in his voice.

  “Father and mother?” asked Graham.

  “They are dead,” he answered forthrightly.

  Graham shook his head and said, “I’m also from Atlanta.”

  “Ah yeah…” the baby sounded excessively surprised.

  “I was born and grew up over there,” Graham said calmly.

  “Me too…” he answered with a bright smile.

  “I know some Conways…” imparted Graham. “It’s a popular name.”

  “That’s true,” he concurred amenably.

  The cop stayed silent for a moment; he then said with a sharp voice, “Talk to me about you, Joe… Besides working here, what else do you do?”

  “There is not much to say, sir...” he answered gently.

  “Before being hired here, what did you do?” asked Graham.

  “In Atlanta, I was in school...” he mumbled jumpily.

  “What sch
ool…?” inquired Graham.

  “Fulbright-High,” he replied with confidence.

  “High school?” asked Graham.

  “Yes,” he said with a gleam of pride.

  “Did you graduate?” inquired Graham.

  “Yes,” he answered vividly.

  “Did you go to college?” asked Graham.

  “I did,” he sounded gratified, more relaxed.

  “Which college did you go to?” inquired Graham

  “Commonwealth University,” he replied nicely.

  “Did you graduate?” continued Graham.

  “Yes,” he sounded bold and vain.

  “What was your degree?” insisted Graham.

  “Bachelor of Business Administration,” he was obviously happy to talk about his college years.

  “Ah yeah…” Graham seemed incredulous and a bit surprised.

  “I had an almost perfect GPA,” said Jonathan.

  “And why do you work here as a maintenance assistant?” asked Graham.

  “I moved to Florida one year ago and could not find work in my field,” he explained dubiously. “I had to take whatever was available…”

  “Good attitude…” Graham waved approvingly.

  The detective smiled, shook his head, and said, “Joe, talk to me about you…Where did you work before?”

  “I had a business with a partner…” he sounded suddenly glum and nervous.

  “Where?” asked Graham.

  “In Atlanta…” he answered carefully.

  “What did you do?” inquired Graham.

  “We prepared payroll taxes for small businesses...” Jonathan’s voice was trepid, almost scary.

  “Why did you quit?” asked Graham.

  “My partner was a crook…” he answered raucously. “I had to split…”

  “Ah... I see…” mumbled Graham.

  There was a brief moment of silence. “Joe, what happened next in your life?” said Graham. “What did you do?”

  “I moved here…” he replied amenably.

  “Have you ever worked for a company in Atlanta?” inquired Graham.

  “No,” he answered with a quick nod.