He sat across from her. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate any hedging at his reason for visiting her unannounced on a Friday evening. He got right to the point.
“I had a meeting at Houston Cullen University thirty minutes ago. There’s a problem.”
“A problem?”
“The Foundation’s gift didn’t make it to the University’s bank.”
“What in the world do you mean?”
“The money is gone, possibly stolen.”
“How could someone steal a wire transfer?” She rose, anger flashing across her normally composed features. She walked to the fireplace with a slight limp, her back to her grandson. After a long minute, she turned. “How could you let this happen?”
He ignored her question. “I don’t know how a wire transfer gets stolen.”
“We need to call the police.”
“Taken care of. Remember Roddy Phillips? The guy I trained with for the Houston Marathon a couple years ago.”
“Yes, of course, a nice young man.”
Logan nearly rolled his eyes at the “nice young man” comment. Roddy was tough as nails with a wicked sense of humor.
“He’s the detective working on the case. I just met with him.”
“I need to talk with him. This situation is totally unacceptable.” She returned to the sofa. “Logan, the Rice family does not have this type of thing happen to them.” She punched a small pillow, her lips a thin line. “I expect you to find the bastard who stole our money. Then bring him to me. I’ll make sure he pays for his crime.”
“Gram, please, the police will take care of this.”
She looked at him with steel in her eyes. “They damn well better do their job, then. The Rice family will not tolerate anyone taking advantage of us.”
Logan changed the subject and asked his grandmother about her spring garden. She loved planning the colors every year. The change in conversation helped to keep her blood pressure in check. At least he hoped it did.
He left an hour later, after assuring his grandmother that he’d provide updates on the police investigation. As he drove away, he congratulated himself on convincing her he’d deal with the theft and that she didn’t need to be hands on. After all, she had a full schedule running the family and he did have some experience with police matters.
He called Roddy on his cell phone.
“Man, what a surprise to see you at HCU. I thought you were working homicide.”
“Switched a few months ago,” Roddy said with a chuckle. “Sorry this happened to your family. You guys have been good to Houston over the years.”
“Whatever. Do you have any suspects yet?”
“Hell, no, we don’t even know if there’s been a theft. We’re starting with a bank trace and we’ll go from there. But … if it is a theft, who would be on your suspect list?”
“I don’t know. How about everyone working at the school?”
“We’ll start with the ones who knew about the transfer.”
“I’d start with that controller, Quinn something,” Logan said. “Rebecca told me she said she didn’t know about the transfer. That doesn’t make sense considering her position.”
“I agree.”
“There was something strange about her, too, like she was nervous or on edge. What could be the reason for that?”
$ $ $
Quinn started her ten-year-old Volvo wagon, adjusting the air-conditioning to neutralize the heat of the day. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and called her best friend, Ruthie.
“Something awful happened at work and I’m not in the mood for a noisy bar.”
“We can do happy hour next week.”
“No, come to my house,” Quinn said. “I have alcohol and I’ll make you dinner.”
“You are so predictable. You always cook when you’re stressed.”
“And lucky for you, I’m a good cook.”
“All right, I’ll be there in a thirty minutes.”
Quinn drove on autopilot down Highway 59 to Sugar Land, an upscale community southwest of Houston, her thoughts on the Gregory James email. She didn’t know what to do. The obvious answer was to show the email to the police. Of course, they would then consider her the thief. Whoever had changed the wire instructions and sent the fake email had probably covered their tracks and all guilty roads would then lead to Quinn. She was better off keeping her mouth shut and pretending she’d never received the damned email.
Although staying quiet didn’t feel right, it felt dishonest. She’d see how things went with the police. That was the best she could do for now.
She turned in the driveway of her townhouse and hit the button to open the garage. Once inside, she shed a layer of stress and turned on the lights. She headed up the stairs to her bedroom, threw her purse and tote on the bed, then went into the closet, pulling off her summer suit.
After donning a T-shirt and shorts, the doorbell rang and Quinn hurried down the stairs. She swung open the front door and enveloped Ruthie in a fierce hug.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You really did have a bad day.”
“You have no idea. Come in the kitchen and I’ll give you all the details.”
Ruthie sat at the granite island, in her favorite leather stool, while Quinn retrieved a bottle of wine from the under-counter cooler. She held it up. “Cabernet okay?”
“You bet.”
Quinn uncorked the wine, then poured two glasses, handing one to Ruthie. “How about pasta and a salad for dinner? I made pesto sauce last night.”
“Sounds great. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing right now, this won’t take long.”
“Tell me what happened. I’m dying to hear.”
As she cooked, Quinn explained everything from the phone call from Lynne Jenkins to walking out of Scooter’s office with Rebecca, everything minus the Gregory James email. She ignored the guilt battering her heart.
“I thought you didn’t care much for Rebecca?” Ruthie said.
“I don’t. She seems fake to me but everyone at HCU loves her.” Quinn sipped her wine and thought about that. “Maybe I’m a bitch.”
“That’s not it. You’re just prickly at times.” Ruthie smiled, eyes crinkling.
“You’re right. But this is awful for the university. That Logan Rice was a real piece of work, leaving in a huff. The police detective was so calm it was eerie.”
“You can’t blame Mr. Rice for being upset. That’s a lot of money to lose.”
“Of course it is. I’m not thinking straight. Scooter wasn’t thinking straight either, saying it’s my fault.”
“You two have had a bit of a love-hate relationship the last ten years.”
Quinn dropped linguini in a pot of boiling water and stirred the noodles. “He’s just so unpredictable. I’ve always wondered if his marriage is good. He never talks about his family.”
“Neither does my boss. Maybe Scooter is simply a moody guy.”
Ruthie always made good sense. “You’re probably right. Would you mind putting the salad together? I’ll put garlic bread in the oven.”
Ten minutes later, the dinner was served and the wine glasses refilled.
Ruthie waved her fork in the air. “I was thinking. What if Scooter meant it, that he thinks the theft is your fault?”
“Why would he seriously think that?”
“You’re the only one who claims she didn’t know about the wire transfer. You know that old saying, she who protests too much is guilty.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Just playing devil’s advocate. If I thought it, you can bet the police will as well.”
“Like I said, that’s ridiculous.” Quinn wanted to shout the words but kept
her voice low. She couldn’t forget the email. “This is a terrible blow to HCU but I didn’t cause it. Scooter said he’d call me tomorrow. I figure my vacation next week is history.”
“Do you suppose the police will want you to stay in town?” Ruthie’s lip twitched, then she burst out laughing.
“Stop that,” Quinn said. “This is a horrible situation.”
“Sorry, trying to keep your spirits up. I realize HCU has a rough road ahead.”
“You can say that again. I’ll do whatever I can to help Scooter. He may not be boss of the year but he deserves my support.”
“Good for you,” Ruthie said.
“I wonder who really did it. The thief had to know a wire transfer was ordered along with all its details.” Quinn drummed her fingers on the granite counter.
“Exactly, and you know what?”
“What?” Quinn said.
“The thief had to know how to change those details.”
“Damn, we’re smart … unless some hacker in cyber space got lucky.”
“Not likely,” Ruthie said.
“Okay then, that means everyone at HCU, First National, the Bridge Foundation and their brokerage firm is a suspect.”
Ruthie finished off her wine. “Look at it from the bright side. The more suspects there are, the less chance of the thief being you.”
Quinn threw a dishtowel at her.
Ruthie left after a cup of coffee, a brownie, and a good laugh. Quinn turned on the dishwasher then headed upstairs to bed. After washing her face and donning a cotton nightgown, she climbed in bed and clicked on the television. The glare of the local news cast shadows across the bed and she snuggled in a pillow. A story about the upcoming hurricane season nearly put her to sleep. Then she heard “Houston Cullen University” and rolled back toward the screen.
The newscaster stood in front of Brennan Hall on campus and provided the bare essentials of the theft. No one on campus was interviewed. Quinn didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Sure seemed like the theft of $25 million from a local institution would generate more interest from the media.
She clicked off the TV, rolled over, and punched the pillow. Damn, what a lousy day. Would the police eventually find the Gregory James email? Would Scooter or the police actually consider her a suspect? Well, hell, she’d prove them all wrong.
$ $ $
Scooter called mid-morning on Saturday. And bless him, he didn’t mention yesterday’s chewing out but he did say the Detective Phillips had contacted him and the police now considered the loss of the $25 million a crime. Quinn agreed to meet him at the office on Monday morning. He would need her around for moral support.
After loading the dryer with towels, she left for a noon kickboxing class at the local Sugar Land fitness club. The club bordered the Southwest Freeway on the edge of the Sienna Colony Shopping Center. She parked on the freeway side, a minor miracle for a Saturday, then stepped on the sidewalk and stopped. What the hell was this? Exiting through the mall doors were Bill Jenkins, the VP of development at HCU and Rebecca Holland, holding hands. He must have returned to Houston last night.
Bill disengaged his hand when he noticed Quinn.
Rebecca spoke first. “Hi, how are you?”
“Hey y’all, didn’t expect to see you in the suburbs.” Her curiosity was sparked instantly as neither Bill nor Rebecca lived in Sugar Land.
Bill lifted a shopping bag. “We picked up some donor gifts from a specialty shop in the mall. Looks like you’re on your way to the fitness club we passed.”
“Kickboxing.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m late. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Enjoy your class.” Bill pulled Rebecca’s elbow and they moved to the parking lot.
Rebecca turned to look Quinn as she walked away. Their eyes met, then Rebecca grinned.
What was that about?
TWO
Monday, 7:16 A.M.
The office was quiet when Quinn arrived early Monday morning. After loading the coffee pot, she settled at her desk for an email check. The Texas section of the New York Times daily news link included an article about HCU — “Houston Cullen University Discloses Theft of $25 Million Gift.” Dr. Arnold, the HCU president, had wasted no time in issuing a press release once he returned to Houston. Quinn agreed that going public sooner rather than later was a good strategic move. She tapped a red pen against the desktop. Being honest showed they weren’t hiding anything and should make their donors happy.
She scrolled through the remaining messages, replied to a couple and deleted the rest. Grabbing a mug off the credenza, she headed to the coffee bar. She poured a cup, leaned against the counter sipping the coffee, and considered the obvious.
Development hated her and the theft could end up being a disaster for HCU. She had proper accounting controls in place, so she had no idea how the theft could have occurred. What that might be, she had no freaking clue.
On the way back to her office, she decided to check on the newest addition to the accounting staff who was alone in the accountants’ office.
“Good morning. I suppose you’ve heard the news,” Quinn said.
“Sure did, on the Saturday evening news. Wow, twenty-five million dollars.” The new accountant was young and still learning her job.
“I agree. It’s hard to believe.” She sipped the coffee. “I think we should verify that no other gifts are missing, even small ones. I need to review all the gift analyses through April. How far have you gotten?”
“March,” the newbie said.
“Great.” She was surprised and relieved at the progress. “Have you found anything that doesn’t look right?”
The newbie pulled out a green pressboard file, rifled through it, then selected a single sheet of paper and placed it in the center of her desk. The paper was a printed schedule with columns of dates, names, and dollar amounts. Pointing to it she said, “I can’t locate the matching cash receipts for these gifts recorded by Development.”
The dollar amounts ranged from five-hundred to twenty-thousand dollars. Quinn recognized the names of consistent HCU donors.
“The gift dates go back to January, about the time your predecessor left.” Quinn studied the schedule. It showed gifts recorded but no cash and a dollar total of sixty-five thousand dollars. Coincidence? “May I have this copy?”
“Sure, I’ll have April done by tomorrow. I’m faster now that I’ve figured out the process.” She chuckled and handed Quinn the schedule.
“You’re doing a great job. It takes time to learn the steps. Email the updated list once it’s finished.” Quinn gave her a thumb’s-up, then returned to her office.
The first task was to email Rebecca concerning the gifts on the schedule. She hoped Rebecca might feel some pressure to continue to be cooperative, considering the theft of the $25 mil related directly to her department. Quinn typed the newbie’s list and pointed out that the Finance Office hadn’t been able to match Development’s input of gifts with bank deposits. Would Development be reversing the gifts, or did she possess additional information? No screwing around, were they legitimate gifts? Where was the cash?
She clicked send and the phone rang. Scooter summoned her to his office. She slurped coffee, realigned her new energizer bra, and gathered her usual red pen and spiral notebook.
He wasn’t alone. Detective Phillips lounged at the small conference table, chewing on a coffee stirrer. Was he there to question her?
Scooter waved her into the office. “I’m sure you remember Detective Phillips from the other night.” Scooter’s face appeared flushed, no doubt his blood pressure was rocketing. She didn’t want to heighten his stress level so she’d be on her best behavior.
“Good morning, Detective Phillips.” She plastered on a nervous smile.
He smil
ed, sort of, the left corner of his mouth moved upwards, revealing a dimple. He nodded in her direction.
She joined them, ready for the detective’s interrogation. Sitting across from him, she placed her hands in her lap. No need for the two men to witness the tremors.
“As you can imagine, there is a considerable amount of detailed work in getting to the bottom of this theft.” Scooter stared at Quinn as he spoke. “We feel it would be in our best interest to have someone familiar with University procedures to work directly with the police. Dr. Arnold and I have thoroughly discussed this.” His gaze moved to an empty clay bowl in the center of the table. “We both believe you are the most logical choice. You know both the treasury side and the gift side.” His focus turned back to Quinn and his head bobbed. “We expect you to be our point person with the police.”
Point person! He thought she was a damned hunting dog? Wait, the detective wasn’t there to question her? Relief rolled over Quinn … whew and thank you, lord. Maybe this could work to her advantage. Keeping up with their activities would help with her own investigation. If she solved the theft, she’d be the toast of the University, prove that the Gregory James email was bogus, and maybe, just maybe, Scooter would realize she was a team player. Fine, she’d be the HCU point person — woof, woof.
“Of course, I’ll help. What exactly does a point person do?”
“Mr. Taylor, I’d like to answer that.” The detective folded his hands on the table. “Miss Wells, I need to understand all there is to know about these donor gifts. Who, what, how, in one word — everything.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to assist you.” She had to play nice so she could pump him for information on his investigation.
“Good. And call me Roddy,” the detective said. “I’d like a tour of the Finance Office and an overview of the University’s gift process.”
“Scooter, I’ll show Roddy around the office. Also, I’m flexible about working this week.”
“Thanks. Your number one goal is to help the police with their investigation.” Scooter’s obvious relief at her agreement pleased Quinn. It felt good. To be honest, she wanted to find the thief before Scooter had a stroke. As his subordinate, she’d be out of line in telling him he should see a doctor, but he should.
In Hot Pursuit Page 2