Deadly Conception
Page 18
“Mort back-stabbing Tanzler. MT. Son of a gun!”
They stared at each other. “This can’t be a coincidence,” Raimy decided.
Gabriel shook his head. “No way. We’ve got a spread sheet named BHB, possibly for the Beacon Hill Bank that was robbed of $110 million. The spread sheet lists 12 sets of initials and we know five people who match up.”
“Yup, And two of them are dead from the chemical anomaly while one of them completed bogus autopsies and framed me,” added Raimy.
“…and we have two cops, one is listed as a lead investigator trying to solve the bank theft and the other appeared to be colluding with the corrupt pathologist. Do you think we can trust Keeler?” Gabriel asked.
“Not on your life. He’s on the list, man!”
“Yeah. But Raimy, so is Asrani. Does that make him dirty?”
“Dude, I know he’s your client and all…sorry…was your client…but…yeah…I think if he’s on the list then he’s dirty…the bigger question is whether the widow is dirty, too.”
“Fuck it all. You’re right.”
“Okay. So, what about these numbers next to their names?”
“Lemme try something,” Gabriel started tapping keys and thumbing the touchpad.
“Anything?”
“Bingo, baby, Bing-fucking-go!”
“What? What!”
“These numbers…it’s just an accounting custom when you’re dealing with really big numbers with lots of zeros.”
“I don’t follow.”
“It’s a shorthand. Sort of like when you said BHB is for beta-hippopotamus.”
“Beta-hydroxybutyrate,” Raimy corrected.
“Right. In the finance world big numbers are simplified. So, 250,000 dollars would be just 250 if it was understood that all numbers listed must be multiplied by a thousand.”
“Okay. So?”
“So, Asrani is a banker. Probably deals with millions all the time. So, I tried to some different multipliers. A thousand. Ten thousand. And then a million.”
“Yeah?”
“So, if the multiplier is a million then .25 is really 250,000. 1 is a million. 101 is 101 million. And guess what?”
“What…what, for chrissake?”
“When you total up the numbers next to each set of initials you get 110 million dollars. The exact amount that was robbed from the Beacon Hill Bank.”
“Get outta here.”
“Damn right. And check this out. Detective Keeler is listed for a million. Your buddy Tanzler, half a million. That Lohan kid, a quarter million. And the two AP people…Asrani Patel and Antonio Paolucci, one is listed for a million and the other for two million.”
“Judas Priest! What about the 101…the hundred and one million? Who gets that?”
“I don’t know…it’s the NK person. Hold on a sec.”
Gabriel started tapping keys and then pushed back from the computer.
“Uh oh…what did you find?” Raimy probed.
“Raimy, when did you do the autopsy on the Lohan kid?”
“It was right after I came back from the Vineyard…so July 23rd, I think. Why?”
“I’ll tell you why. This spreadsheet has been updated a few times. I can see the earlier versions. It’s a form of content control.”
“So?”
“So according to these files Liam Lohan got a quarter million dollars in late June…the 29th to be exact. But then on July 23rd the 250,000 was zeroed out…and added to the NK amount.”
“That sounds like Lohan got paid to do a job…and when he OD’d…when he was killed, they redirected his money to this NK person.”
“Yes. Exactly. We need to figure a few things out. We’re meeting Mrs. Patel for dinner. If Asrani was in on this, was she?” Gabriel said.
“…and even if she wasn’t, do we tell her that Asrani was killed by a mystery drug, and was part of a bank robbery? I think I better postpone drinks with my poolside gal pal.”
“Good choice.”
Chapter 56
The din at Steady Eddie’s rose by the minute as the Friday Happy Hour patrons steadily arrived. The upscale, stylish restaurant and bar featured curated cocktails, a top-notch oyster bar, Petrosian caviar, prime seafood, premium hand-cut steaks, and live jazz from a three-piece ensemble. It was the perfect place for Beltway Bandits to sluice away a tough week. It was also a good place to have a private exchange since the boisterous crowd masked any chance of being overheard.
Gabriel and Raimy arrived early enough to take the corner booth at the far, left end of the restaurant.
“These high back seats will contain any conversation drift,” observed Raimy.
“Yeah, and we can still keep an eye on who’s coming and going.”
“This is nuts. I’m just a medical examiner. I can’t believe we’re doing this cloak-and-dagger crap.”
“I know what you mean. The only thing helping me right now is that quote from Samuel Jackson in the Hitman’s Bodyguard. “If you hear the shot, then it wasn’t meant for you.”
“Thanks, Gabriel. Really. I’m so much more relaxed now. Jesus. Where’s the waiter? I need a stiff drink.”
Drinks in hand, the twosome settled in and, for a moment, actually enjoyed the easy jazz and exuberant crowd. But the moment passed too quickly.
“Here she comes.”
“Aye yi yi, Gabriel! She’s like a model for crying out loud.”
“Down boy. And wipe your mouth,” Gabriel muttered. “No drooling over the client’s widow, for chrissake!” The two men rose as Firuzeh Patel approached.
“Good evening, Mr. Sweeney. Interesting choice for a meeting,” she said, with some apparent disdain, and sat down.
“Hello, Mrs. Patel. Thank you for coming. I have my reasons for picking this place. It has the benefit of being very public and simultaneously private, thanks to the noise.”
“If you say so.”
“You are a discreet woman, yes? I believe being spotted at a quiet, out-of-the-way place would raise more eyebrows.”
“Point taken.” She turned to Raimy. “You must be Pablo? The other man who had dinner with my husband the night he died?”
Gabriel interrupted. “Before we go any further, Mrs. Patel. I think you should have a drink. Whether you stay for dinner is up to you.”
“I’ll have a Balvenie single-malt whisky.”
“Hey buddy, do you mind getting Mrs. Patel a drink?” he asked Raimy.
“I’m on it. Be right back.”
As Raimy headed to the bar, Gabriel pulled out his cell phone. “Mrs. Patel, I’m going to show you a picture.”
She looked at the image on the phone, frowning. “Who is this?”
“That’s my best friend, Pablo. I’ve known him for years. He’s the hacker I used for the data security pressure test. He and I had dinner with Asrani.”
“This…this man is Pablo? Then who is the man getting my drink? I told you I wanted to speak to Pablo,” she persisted, and tossed the phone back to Gabriel.
Raimy arrived back at the table. “One Balvenie for the lady.”
“Mrs. Patel, yes, that’s a photo of Pablo Souza. Now I’d like you take a look at another photo,” said Gabriel, and offered the phone back.
Visibly confused and irritated, Firuzeh took the device and stared at Raimy, then Gabriel…and finally at the image on the phone.
“Oh my God. What in the name of…? What is this…it’s horrible,” she blurted and tossed the phone away. She swigged a bracing mouthful of her whisky.
“Mrs. Patel, both pictures are of my friend Pablo. That second one is a screen shot of him taken from a video recording of his autopsy in the morgue of the medical examiner’s office. It was recorded three-days ago.”
“Your friend…Pablo…is dead?”
“Yes. I’m attending his funeral tomorrow in New York City.”
“I’m so sorry. Really. I am. But…wait…you said he died three days ago? That’s the day I learned Asrani died. What’s going on?”
“This is crazy. I can’t believe this,” she mumbled.
“This is Dr. Raimy Robinson. He’s the pathologist who performed the follow-up autopsy on your husband and also on Pablo. I think you’ll find what he has to say very important.”
“You’re a pathologist? From Boston? Why are you here in Virginia? Mr. Sweeney, what in Hell's holy stars is going on? I don’t have time for games!” She stood up.
Gabriel bristled at her accusatory tone. “Mrs. Patel, your husband is dead. My best friend is dead. Dr. Robinson here has information you should hear. Now, sit down, shut up, and listen.”
Raimy interceded. “Mrs. Patel, forgive me, but I’m going to very direct with you. Gabriel has told me that you like the truth…straight up…without omissions. Correct?”
Firuzeh nodded.
“When I examined your husband there were no marks on his body. None of the external signs of a heart attack were present. No flushed face, swollen jugular or carotid arteries. No cyanosis – the blueish grey tinge around nose, eyes, or fingertips.”
She winced at the details and took her seat again.
“I did find cardiac enzymes that are released when the cardiac muscle breaks down. Your husband’s heart failed.”
“So...it was a heart attack? But...he was so healthy!”
“I don’t think it was a heart attack.” Raimy went on to explain his discovery of the strange chemical compound in the bodies of Liam Lohan, Asrani Patel, and finally, in Pablo Souza.
Firuzeh was stunned. She drained her whisky. “This...this is unbelievable.”
“That’s what we thought,” Gabriel said, and told her about the dark web information, the poisoned hamburgers, Paolucci and Tanzler, the framing of Raimy.
Everything…but nothing about the secret files from Asrani’s phone.
“That’s enough!” Firuzeh shook her head. “This is too much. You’re telling me my husband was killed by...by some voodoo alien drug?”
“We know it sounds bizarre,” Raimy agreed, “but given all the mysterious circumstances....”
She stood up. “Enough. I have to think this over. I want to see you both again, as soon as possible. Can we meet tomorrow, perhaps around 10 am?”
The two men exchanged glances, then nodded. “Where should we meet?” Gabriel asked.
“I’ll text you the address. Please bring whatever evidence you have for these claims.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Good. There’s someone I want you both to meet.”
And before either could respond, Firuzeh turned, and left.
Chapter 57
Outside, Firuzeh slipped into the back of her chauffeur-driven BMW 7 Series, and speed dialed Forbes.
“Warren, I met with Sweeney again.”
“Learn anything?”
“He brought a pathologist to the meeting. Dr. Raimy Robinson.”
“Who? Why?”
“He did the autopsy on Asrani.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“He doubts Asrani’s death was a heart attack. Suggested it was murder. Come by the house tomorrow…right after Asrani’s funeral. I’ve asked Sweeney and Robinson to come by. I want you to hear what these two have to say. I want your take on it.”
“Okay, Firuz. Good night.”
Firuzeh ended the call and stared out the window. Lord…I had my suspicions about Asrani’s death, but I never expected this.
At the other end of the phone Forbes sat in stunned silence. She’s desperate to make sense of his death. She’ll believe anything. I can’t wait to see what these guys have to say.
Chapter 58
Inside Steady Eddie’s the two men argued and drank.
Raimy was dumbfounded that Gabriel held back information, particularly the stuff that implicated Asrani’s involvement and his possible complicity in the death of a teenager.
“Gabriel, you should have told her. She needs to know. And we need to know what she plans to do about it.”
Gabriel was impatient. “You’re being short-sighted and reckless. We don’t know if we can trust her. If Asrani is in on it then maybe she is, too? I want to see what she has to say…and who she wants us to meet before I give someone another reason to kill me…and you.”
The verbal sparring escalated, fueled by booze, exhaustion, and anxiety. By nine o’clock the two men were lit, and the argument had devolved into rowdy, personal attacks.
“Raimy, you just wanna tell her everything so you can be her rescuer. You’re acting like Captain Save-a-Ho. Grow the fuck up.”
“Oh yeah? Well you’re just a money-hungry sleaze trying to save your precious revenue. People are dying and all you care about is the money.”
Fortunately, by the time both men started pushing and shoving each other near the bar area the booze had taken its toll and rendered their heated punches into comical, off-target swipes into the air and clownish tumbles onto the carpeted floor. They ended up laughing, embarrassed by their behavior and C-minus brawling ability. The bouncers at Steady Eddie’s didn’t see the humor and promptly threw them out, threatening to call the police unless they hit the road immediately.
Lurching arm-in-arm, mostly to hold each other upright, the pair made their way across the plaza toward the hotel.
“Let’s agree that was a tie…and never tell anyone about it,” Gabriel slurred over a giggle.
“Agreed!” Raimy snorted. “But you are a greedy hack.”
“Yeah, probably. And you do have the hots for her, don’t you?”
“That I do, my friend, that I do. Now let’s get back to the hotel. We have an early meeting. And you’re burying your friend tomorrow.”
Gabriel stopped, looked up to the sky, and pushed away from Raimy. Then he dropped to the ground and retched, again and again, cursing Pablo’s death. And then his tears started to stream.
Raimy helped his friend up, and the duo silently stumbled back to the hotel.
Chapter 59 – Boston
450 miles away, Detective Dan Keeler’s burner vibrated with an incoming text.
Sweeney returning to NYC Saturday. Tie up that loose end. Get it right this time.
Chapter 60 – Saturday, August 11 (Great Falls, VA)
Gabriel and Raimy silently stared out the Camry’s windows, sitting in the back seat of the car service making the 25-minute drive to the meeting with Firuzeh. Hung over, bleary-eyed, and wiped-out, the men forced hot coffee into their systems to recover.
Less than an hour ago they had woken up next to each other, slumped on the floor of the hotel suite, fully dressed and wrinkled, with Gabriel’s phone buzzing an incoming text with the address for the meeting.
As the driver made the final left turn leading to their destination, Gabriel broke the silence.
“We must be going to her home. We’re in Great Falls. It’s a residential area.”
“God bless it! Gabriel, the houses out here are gigantic!”
“You got that right. Apparently, this area is the second wealthiest residential area in the county.”
“I guess you gotta rob a few banks to keep up with the mortgage,” Raimy deadpanned.
“Very funny. Your sarcasm is painfully inappropriate. Try to keep your comments to yourself after we get there.”
“That’s not sarcasm, it’s irony. Dumb ass.”
“Whatever, Dr. Grammar. But you’re wrong.”
The driver piped up. “It’s neither. It’s cynicism. And here we are.”
“Thanks for the ride,” said Gabriel as his tapped in the tip and driver rating. “And it’s not cynicism. It’s sarcasm.”
Firuzeh’s home was an estate. A grand lodge style mansion with impeccable landscaping on five wooded acres adjacent to
the Potomac River.
Inside was even more impressive. Twenty-five-foot ceilings, an enormous metal chandelier, gorgeous hardwood floors, massive stone fireplaces, several large geo-abstract paintings, and a fifteen-foot rock waterwall.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” said Firuzeh. She wore a Michael Kors black dress designed with a twist keyhole neckline, cap sleeves, floral French lace, and plunging leather trim at the waist.
“Our pleasure, Mrs. Patel. Please excuse me, but I think we are underdressed. I didn’t know this would be a formal meeting,” explained Gabriel.
“It is not a formal meeting. Mr. Sweeney. I buried Asrani this morning. I’m just back from the funeral.”
The two men stood awkwardly.
“Follow me, please.” She led them to the great room, the centerpiece of the home. Several animal skin sofas and dark leather club chairs spread out from an enormous stone fireplace. Huge paintings hung everywhere, and a well-dressed, older man stood in the center of it all.
Gabriel immediately recognized the bank’s chief security officer.
“Warren, you remember Mr. Sweeney,” she said, and then motioned to Raimy. “…and this is Dr. Raimy Robinson, the pathologist who conducted the autopsy on Asrani.”
She summed up Forbes’ Pilgrim Trust credentials, and time on the Boston police force.
“Gentlemen, we have a lot to discuss and I don’t have any time to waste,” she said.
For the next 15 minutes, Gabriel and Raimy retold their story for Forbes. But this time, Gabriel showed the video of Tanzler’s superficial autopsies and calls to Detective Paolucci.
Forbes remarked. “Christ! Paolucci. He had a sleazy rep before I retired. He hasn’t changed.”
Raimy shared his documentation showing the chemical anomalies in Pablo, Asrani, and Liam. But they still held back the information about the secret smartphone files.
“Warren? What do you think of all this?” she asked.
“Jesus! I didn’t expect this. Look, I don’t know much about chemistry but if what Doc Robinson says is true then we’re looking at three murders and a cover up led by dirty cops.”