“Go on.”
“What I cannot figure out is why they killed Asrani or Liam Lohan. I don’t see the connection.”
“But you’re sure Asrani…and the others…were murdered? There was no heart attack?” Firuzeh pressed.
“Mrs. Patel, your husband was a very healthy man. His only medical abnormality was his sterility. Based on what the Doc has shown us…yeah, it all adds up to murder.”
Firuzeh stood, cheeks flushed, holding her coffee cup. Walking a step or two closer to the empty stone fireplace, she lifted the cup to her mouth and drained her coffee. Then, without any warning, she slammed the cup into the firepit, sending ceramic shards tearing across the room.
She turned and faced the three men, tears sliding down her rigid jawline.
“I am going to find the killer. And…I…will…kill…him.”
She left the room.
Forbes broke the stillness in the great room. “Mrs. Patel is a very powerful, determined woman. When she makes a decision, you can bet she will fulfill it.”
Gabriel jumped up. “So, you’re telling me she’s seriously going to track down this assassin and then…kill him…or them…or whatever? That’s murder, for fuck’s sake. You’re going to let her do it?”
“I didn’t say that. But you can bet she has the connections, the money, and the resolve to make good on her statement.”
“That’s crazy. She’s crazy.”
“Gabriel, stop for a minute,” Raimy interjected. “Think about what you said last night. Remember? Do you really have any doubts now? Isn’t it time to trust her?”
“Dammit. You’re right. Get her back here.”
Chapter 61
Gabriel linked his laptop to the smart TV in the great room after explaining to Firuzeh and Forbes how they came into possession of the hidden memory chip files, and the discovery of the virtual triggers.
“Where is the memory chip?” she asked.
“Pablo had it with him when he was run over and killed. But he saved the files to a thumb drive just hours before, and then I put them on my laptop. I’m guessing the dirty cops have the actual chip now. Raimy and I reviewed the files yesterday. I’m going to walk you through what we found, and what we think.”
Gabriel took a few minutes to lay it all out.
Forbes didn’t like what he was seeing. Neither did Firuzeh.
“Hold on, Mr. Sweeney. I see two sets of the AP initials,” she said.
“That’s right. AP is a match for Paolucci…and perhaps Asrani Patel, too.”
“Are you suggesting my husband is somehow connected to this…this…heist?”
“I’m not sure. But these files were found on a hidden phone in your husband’s car. And there are way too many coincidences to ignore. I don’t know what those dozen, twelve-digit numbers mean. I don’t know who the other initials belong to. But if we are right, someone with the initials NK is getting $101 million, Keeler is getting a million. I’m assuming Paolucci is, too. The other AP, perhaps Asrani, is getting two mil.”
Firuzeh gasped. “NK? Are you serious? Nicholas Keating is the head of the Beacon Hill Bank.”
“Why would a banker rob his own bank?” Raimy asked.
“For the money? Shit. I don’t know,” Gabriel said.
“What about Liam Lohan?” asked Forbes.
“Good question. Lohan’s connection so far is only through this mysterious toxin,” he said, and explained how the money associated with Lohan disappeared when the teen was autopsied.
“Sweet Jesus,” Forbes whispered.
“Exactly. And there’s another example. The initials RK have a million dollars listed back in late June. But in the last version of the spread sheet it turns into a zero also,” said Gabriel.
“Who is RK?” Forbes asked.
“I don’t know. But I do know this. When a listing gets zeroed out then the NK listing gets an equal increase. LL’s 250,000 was added to NK’s entry. RK’s million was combined with NK’s total, too. There. That’s everything.”
“Why didn’t you share this before?” Firuzeh demanded.
Gabriel didn’t hesitate. “Frankly, Mrs. Patel, I didn’t trust you. If AP is Asrani Patel and he’s a part of this conspiracy, then I had good reason to suspect you were in on it. Raimy disagreed. He wanted to tell you last night. We fought about it.”
“And now? What do you think now?” she pressed.
“Now? Now I believe you.”
“Good. Warren, why can’t we bring this to the police, or the feds?”
Forbes thought it through. “I wouldn’t trust the Boston cops. Paolucci and Keeler are both pretty high up and could probably sabotage anything we try to do. On top of that, I think Keeler came up through the New York City police before transferring. He could be connected there, too.”
“The feds?”
“Yes, that’s a safer bet…for justice. But if Asrani was part of the robbery then Pilgrim Trust Bank will go down in flames. Not only could they implicate you, freeze your assets, and make the bank accountable but almost certainly the reputation of the bank would go down the toilet. Your corporate clients would divest, employees would depart to minimize the stain on their careers, and it could all lead to a bank failure forcing the feds to take control.”
“He’s right,” Gabriel agreed.
“I don’t like either option. What else is there?” she asked.
Forbes hesitated, then said “The only other option I can think of is to take advantage of the criminal nature of all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. Gabriel and Raimy nearly have this cracked. And they’ve had no resources…just dumb luck. No disrespect intended fellas.”
“None taken,” the pair responded in unison.
“Continue,” Firuzeh said.
“You have resources, money and connections. I have law enforcement experience, and connections in that area.”
“So?”
“I’m suggesting the four of us figure out who’s behind this, put a stop to them.”
“Wait a hot damned New York minute!” Gabriel sprung to his feet. “Are you off your rocker? I’m a PR flak. Raimy’s a friggin’ doctor. She’s a…a…a…shit, I don’t know…a rich, angry widow. And you’re a retired cop. We are NOT a Navy SEAL team. This is nonsense. Let’s go, Raimy.”
“No.” Raimy stood. “Gabriel, we have no choice. And you know it.”
“Yeah, but…just the four of us?”
“Gabriel, this is our life right now.”
“Okay…okay…God help us.”
Chapter 62
The foursome spent the next hour researching the bank heist. Gabriel pulled news clips and focused on the image file tags. Firuzeh pondered them, too, and pored over financial news reporting. Raimy scanned medical journals to see if any new chemical strains had been discovered. Forbes said he’d make a few back-channel calls to his cop buddies to pull intelligence about the investigation.
Soon the foursome compiled a list of all the law enforcement investigators working on the bank robbery case.
There were four names.
Dan Keeler
Antonio Paolucci
Rick Kypreos
Stewart Maple
Forbes had been out of the police loop for more than a decade, but he had some immediate information. “We already know about Keeler and Paolucci. I don’t know Rick Kypreos.”
“RK…he’s on the list,” Gabriel noted, as he pulled out his smartphone and sent Neely a quick note.
Neely, look up Boston cops Stewart Maple and Rick Kypreos. Skip the easy stuff. I’m looking for anything about reputation, known associates, ties to banks, ties to federal authorities, politcos or organized crime. Another bonus if you can get it done before the end of day.
Forbes continued. “Stewart Maple is the son of a very old, very good friend of mine – Jack Maple, a former cop. He died a while back. His son joined the force a few years before I left. Stewart’s one of the go
od ones.”
Firuzeh looked at Forbes. “Seems like this Stewart Maple is the only clean cop involved in this case. Can he get us some more information about the investigation?”
“I’ll call him. I think I can convince him, yeah. I’m on it.” He stepped out of the room.
“What about the names of the pictures?” Raimy asked. “They’re not random.”
Firuzeh stared at the images of the women…and the baby. Why is the baby picture on Asrani’s phone? It can’t be his biological baby. We’re both infertile.
She shook off the baby photo and focused on the file names for the women. “I have an idea about that,” Firuzeh said. “The 12-digit numbers are simple. They match up to the initials on the list. Those numbers are for bank accounts, specifically numbered bank accounts.”
“You mean like in the movies? Secret accounts…no names…no tracing where the money comes from…or where it goes?”
“In general, Raimy, yes.”
“Gorram!”
“Now then, those numbers are not unique to any specific bank. We don’t know where this bank is. But that made me think about the next two sets of numbers. The first set of numbers is 19329241 and the second set is 81380540. I believe these are latitude and longitude numbers.”
“Great Caesar’s Ghost…are they?”
“Yes. The GPS coordinates pinpoint a single building in the Cayman Islands. That building houses Alexandria Bancorp and Sackville Bank and Trust. I did some checking and Alexandria Bancorp is the only one that allows private banking. I believe this is the bank for the accounts.”
“Why would these people use that bank in particular?”
“Alexandria Bancorp has no exchange control; they permit free fund transfers into and out of the islands in any currency. It’s an ideal place to hide money and allow account holders to withdraw or deposit money without government interference.”
Gabriel was impressed. “Damn good connection. I’ve got an idea about the other alpha-numeric file names.”
“Jesus. Those totally baffled me. They seem so random. I didn’t get it,” she said.
“I didn’t either, at first. So, I searched a few of them on Google. The short ones, like M3, turned up BMW automobile information. But the longer ones, like G64 P0.00500, turned up a few consistent results. I should have made the connection sooner. I believe they’re g-codes.”
“G-codes? What are those?” Firuzeh asked.
“They’re used for 3D printing. I should have seen this earlier. One of my former clients is an international printer and ink manufacturer. Started developing their 3D tech. You can print wrenches, whistles, braille, or even a gun. If I’m right, then these codes will print a three-dimensional object. But I don’t know what that object is.”
“How do we find out?” Raimy asked.
“Not sure yet.” Gabriel’s smartphone alarm sounded. “Oh crap. I’ve gotta go. See you all later tonight.”
Gabriel grabbed his laptop and darted out the front door for the airport.
“Where’s he running off to?” Forbes asked, returning from his call.
“Gabriel is going to New York to attend Pablo’s funeral,” said Raimy, who stared absent-mindedly at the front door wondering if he should have gone, too.
“Poor guy. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes,” Forbes said.
Firuzeh cut in. “Warren, what did you find out?”
“Oh, I spoke with Stewart. He told me the bank heist investigation had stalled. He suspects that police corruption is playing a role. He’ll do what he can to help.”
“That’s very generous of him. I just hope it helps identify who killed Asrani,” she said.
“I hope so, too, Mrs. Patel.”
“Thank you for coming over. I may need you later. Will you be available?”
“Of course, Mrs. Patel. Anytime. Goodbye Dr. Robinson.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Firuzeh said, and escorted Forbes to the front door.
Raimy wasn’t quite certain what to do. All of a sudden, he was alone in a very large house with a beautiful widow who was intent on avenging the murder of her adulterous husband.
Firuzeh returned to the great room.
“Raimy?”
“Yes?”
“I need your help.”
Raimy eagerly responded. “Anything I can do. What is it?”
“I need my husband’s eyes and thumbs.” She smiled.
Chapter 63 – New Jersey Turnpike
Detective Paolucci took a massive bite of his Roy Rogers double-bacon cheeseburger. Before he could swallow, a greasy spurt of ketchup oozed out the back end of the tepid sandwich and ran down his fleshy palm.
“Dammit,” he yelled, and quickly plopped the burger on a computer print of the Great Falls Connection newspaper resting on the Cadillac’s passenger seat. He licked himself clean.
It had been three days since Nino discovered the banking codes from the recovered memory chip. He now knew the money had been doled out to separate accounts. He had already transferred his take to another numbered account in the Bahamas. He was certain his co-conspirators had done the same. There was no way he could access and pilfer their accounts.
Except Asrani’s millions.
Nino had Patel’s account number and the bank location, and it didn’t take more than a phone call to realize he would need to clear a biometric scan before accessing the CEO’s account…and cleaning it out. He had one chance to get what he needed. He scanned obituaries from the metro-DC area a few times a day. By Friday, he had started to give up hope.
And then he got lucky.
Google Alerts notified him late Friday afternoon. The search engine picked up a blurb in the Connection newspaper. The banker would be buried Saturday morning at the Blue Pines Cemetery in Northern Virginia. Nino grinned and started to move fast, but not too fast.
I’ve gotta time this just right. Cemetery closes at 5. Sunset is just after 8. This will be easy if the dicks at the cemetery keep the dirt off him. I hate digging. But I’ll do it for a few million more.
Nino had planned carefully. His trunk was loaded with a shovel, a few battery-operated spotlights, a crowbar, a tree pruner, a serrated-edge grapefruit spoon, some Baggies, a cooler, and embalming solution from Tanzler’s morgue.
It was early afternoon and Nino was a third of the way through his drive from Boston.
I hope he ain’t all dried up and useless, he thought, and took another bite of his burger.
Chapter 64 – New York City
Gabriel walked a rainy block and a half to his car from Pablo’s house in Astoria.
When he turned the corner, he noticed a dark 4-door sedan pulling away. That looked like an undercover cop car. Did he pull away from my car? he wondered.
Fear pumping his adrenal glands, he cautiously approached his own car. Christ. I’m a nervous wreck. He opened the door, checked the interior for anything suspicious.
All clear. He shook off his umbrella, tossed it inside, and slid into the driver’s seat. That’s when he noticed a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper.
Dammit! This is a legal parking spot. Son of a bitch. But it wasn’t a ticket…it was an envelope.
Oh shit! He tore it open and read the note inside. “Turn yourself in. Save you pretty little girl.”
“Bastards! God damn bastards!” Gabriel cursed as he clenched his hand around the threatening note. He quickly called his ex-wife, and confirmed they were safe.
My god. Are New York cops in on this? His phone suddenly buzzed, and his heart skipped a beat. It was an incoming message, an email from Neely.
Stewart Maple is a good clean cop. No flags. Rick Kypreos was a dodgy officer with an unremarkable record. First with NYPD then BPD. His mother was kidnapped recently but quickly released unharmed. No suspects. Kypreos was found dead from a drug overdose the day after his mother’s release.
A shiver went down Gabriel’s spine. Kypreos is a former New York cop…like Keeler? And now he’s dead…f
rom a drug overdose? Like Lohan? Another murder?
Desperate, Gabriel had one hope. Maple is clean. We should go to him for help.
Gabriel texted Raimy.
Pablo’s service was moving. I’m on my way back to DC. NYPD may be dirty, too. Here’s new info about Maple and Kypreos. See if any of this rings a bell with Forbes. I think we need to get Maple to help us. NOW.
The passenger door suddenly opened. He jumped. “Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me.”
His attorney, Cody, slid into the passenger seat. “Why so jittery? Hey, thanks for driving, man. I’m buzzed after all those tequila toasts at the funeral reception.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m edgy,” Gabriel admitted as he eased the car out of the neighborhood. “No problem driving you. You were kind enough to pick up my car and get me from the airport. I would’ve been late otherwise.”
“You know I love driving your Audi TT. 400 horses. Zero to 60 in three-and-half seconds. Incredible. Awesome. I got this baby up to 143 on the Grand Central. Shooom.”
“For chrissakes, Cody!”
Cody slumped back in his seat. “I’m going to miss that guy. Damn, he was fun, huh?”
“Sure was. I wonder if Pablo would have objected to it?”
Despite being born and raised Roman Catholic, Pablo stepped away from his devotion but not completely. He insisted, I’m a CEO. I attend church on Christmas and Easter Only.
That didn’t matter to his widow, Carmen. She’d demanded a traditional Catholic funeral. On Wednesday the three-day Vigil for the Dead started. Gabriel had missed it all while he was in Virginia. Saturday was the Requiem Mass at the St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church, complete with three readings, the Eucharist, and Final Commendation.
Gabriel was the final reader at church. He picked the Thief on the Cross Gospel from Luke. The words echoed in his mind.
“Today you will be with me in paradise,” he whispered.
“Whaddya say?”
“Nothing, Cody. Just thinking out loud.”
If Pablo doesn’t make it to Heaven, I’m sure he’ll social engineer his way in, he thought.
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