“Thank you, Mr. St. James,” Bodden said, his accent distinctively upper-class British. St. James wondered if he had been educated at Oxford or Cambridge.
Bodden looked slightly more at ease, but not completely. He wasn’t about to let a Canadian detective take advantage on his turf, no matter what comforting words he offered.
St. James smiled, “Please, call me Hamilton.”
Bodden reciprocated.
“So how can we help, Hamilton?”
St. James handed him a paper bearing account numbers, the one found on Stevens’s computer and others St. James had gathered from different sources.
“I’d like to see transactions in and out of these accounts over the last several months. Account signatures and correspondence, emails or otherwise, bearing instructions to the bank.”
“Not a problem,” Bodden said. “I anticipated some of what you’re asking from discussions Antoinette had with your Mr. Louis.”
“Actually, Louis is his first name: Louis Smythe.”
Bodden nodded and continued. “Legal counsel also anticipated what you would need based on their conversations with Higgins Johnson.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll ask Antoinette to join us, if you don’t mind. She is the brains behind all the backup. I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Bodden said, smiling.
A moment later Antoinette entered, laden with files and a laptop.
Louis would be pleased.
Antoinette Ebanks was a gorgeous, well-proportioned black lady of about thirty-five with a beautiful smile and a jovial personality. She was dressed in a smart business suit the colour of the bank’s emblem.
Yes, Louis would be very pleased indeed.
“Antoinette, I would like to personally thank you for the wonderful help you have given us on this case,” St. James said before getting down to business.
“You are most welcome,” she replied, looking quite happy with the compliment. “Louis is wonderful to work with.”
Bodden suggested they move to the larger meeting table so Antoinette would have room to spread documents.
For the next hour and a half Antoinette led Hamilton through bank files related to the accounts and transactions he was interested in. Bodden quietly watched, like a chaperone at a junior-high dance: there to make sure nothing untoward happened.
Antoinette reviewed all account-open documents, transaction instructions, and cash movements with Hamilton. Then she opened the laptop and logged onto the bank’s internal system to show him actual cash ins and outs for each account he was investigating. Finally, St. James flipped through copies of paid cheques, paying particular attention to signatures and endorsements.
As Antoinette explained each transaction, St. James vigorously took notes.
St. James said to Antoinette, “When you and Louis first spoke, he asked about the transaction ID ABA#021000089. It was before the account was flagged, so you couldn’t discuss details. What transaction did it refer to?”
She looked at the computer screen. “It was attached to a transaction for this account.” She pointed to an account number on the screen. St. James made a note of the number and the account holder’s name.
“You look surprised, Hamilton,” Bodden observed.
“I am, very!”
St. James dug into his sport coat’s pocket and once again pulled out the paper bearing the code taken from Stevens’s computer. He showed it to Antoinette and Bodden.
“There is the transaction ID you just showed me,” he said, pointing to the second section.
Bodden and Antoinette looked at the paper and nodded at the same time.
St. James moved his finger to the next set of numbers.
“I believe you confirmed with Louis that this is an account number. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it’s the right format and number of digits to be an account number. Let’s see who it belongs to.”
Antoinette keyed in the digits as they appeared in the code.
“Yes,” she confirmed seconds later, “it is an account number, but not the one tied to the transaction ID ABA#021000089. It’s an account belonging to another person.”
“Who?” St. James asked anxiously.
Antoinette swung the laptop around for St. James to view the screen.
St. James smiled as he made notes.
He moved his finger to the word ‘csprite1’ appearing after the account number.
“Any idea what that word means?”
Antoinette typed the word into the bank’s internal search engine and waited a moment for results.
A second later she said, “It’s the password for the account number appearing before it, the one in your code.”
St. James’s mind drifted off, considering what he had just learned, unaware seconds had passed.
“Are you all right, Hamilton?” Bodden said cautiously.
“I am sorry, folks, I was just thinking about how all this ties into what I have already learned.”
Having no clue what St. James meant, Bodden and Antoinette remained quiet.
Suddenly St. James’s face brightened.
“I can tell you think this may be relevant,” Antoinette said with a grin.
“You bet it is!” St. James said, beaming. “Thank you both so much. You have been more helpful than you could ever possibly imagine.”
Bodden and Antoinette smiled with amusement at St. James’s electrified reaction.
St. James looked at his watch. Twenty to four.
“I’m so sorry to have taken up so much of your time,” he said as they stood to shake hands.
“Only too glad to help, Hamilton,” Bodden said, still smiling.
On that note, St. James left for the hotel, where he found Anna back at the pool.
“More quiet today?” he asked.
“Much better. How did your meetings go?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Did you get what you need?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Care to share?”
“Not yet.”
Chapter 67
It was 9:00 on Wednesday morning when St. James called Jason Williamson in Washington.
“How much trouble is it to get information from the IRS, Jason?”
“Can be a lot of trouble, quite frankly. What is it you’re looking for?”
“Income tax paid by each person of interest for the past five years.”
“They’d never give that information to a private investigator.”
“Would they give it to a public one?”
“Smartass,” Williamson said with a chuckle.
“Not you too. Anna calls me that all the time.”
“Smart lady. I may be able to get you something. I have a contact. We have a good working relationship, sometimes. She’s moody. Can’t guarantee anything. Never know which one of her will show up.”
“Somehow I knew you’d know someone. How long do you think it will take?”
“Maybe by end of day.”
“That fast?” St. James said in disbelief.
“If she’s there and if she’s in a good mood.”
“Do your best. That’s all I can ask.”
Next, St. James phoned Nathan Strong.
“Can we use your boardroom Monday morning?”
“Sure. I’ll book it,” said Strong.
“Can you attend a meeting then?”
“Afraid I’m fully booked Monday, Hamilton.”
“It’s important, Nathan. I’ll be revealing what happened.”
“For that, Hamilton, I’ll cancel anything, even my own funeral.”
Closest thing to humour St. James had heard from the man.
“Great, Nathan. See you Monday morning.”
“Care to share anything now?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Next call was to Mary DeSilva at Global.
“Mary, is there any chance you could make a meeting on Monday at 9 a.m. in Washington?”
> “Have a staff meeting then, Hamilton. Sorry.”
“You may not want to miss this one, Mary.”
“Is it good news for Global?”
“You’ll have to come to the meeting to find out.”
“Okay, smartass, I’ll see you Monday morning,” she said. “Where is the meeting?”
Jesus, it’s an epidemic.
“Stevens, Gables & Strong.”
St. James’s final call was to Jensen.
“Where’s my cheque?” Jensen said gruffly.
“We’ve finalized everything for you, Jensen. Can you come to a meeting at Stevens, Gables & Strong on Monday at nine?”
“If that’s the end of it, yes.”
“Yes, Malachi, that will be the end of it.”
St. James emailed Slate, Dozer, and Smythe inviting them as well. After juggling commitments, each confirmed their attendance. Now all he had to do was to wait for whatever Jason learned from the IRS.
For a moment St. James debated calling Nells. The man would probably hang up, or worse, start yelling. Nothing to be gained from that, for sure. Then again, what if he could persuade Nells to talk? Nells had nothing to fear now. He had done his time, paid his debt to society. Best case, what could be learned? There was only one way to find out.
St. James punched in the number he found online for The Carstairs Group in Chicago and a receptionist answered.
“Roger Nells, please.”
“Just one moment.”
A couple of minutes later, an unsavoury voice St. James remembered all too well came on the line.
“Nells here.”
“Roger, it’s Hamilton St. James.”
“What the hell do you want, asshole?” he said, voice raised and angry.
That’s a touch worse than “smartass.”
“A moment of your time.”
“Why the hell should I give you anything? You ruined my life.”
“I didn’t ruin your life, Roger, your partners did. If they hadn’t left a trail a blind man could follow, you would have been home free. You were the smart one.”
“That’s why I won’t have anything more to do with the stupid bastards. They couldn’t organize a barn dance. What do you want?” he asked again, tone only slightly milder. “Can’t believe I didn’t just slam the phone down.”
“I just want to clear up a couple of things. Something I don’t think you are involved in.”
Nells grunted.
“Come on, Roger. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
He grunted again.
“You work for Gyberson now?”
“Yeah, what’s it to ya?”
“Nothing really. Just interested in what kind of a person he is.”
“He gave me a job when nobody else would. Helps a lot of us ex-cons. But I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.”
“Why is that?” St. James queried.
“Company can’t pay its bills and Stan’s nowhere to be found.”
“Does he pay a fair wage?”
“Depends what you call fair. Guys like me aren’t exactly in high demand. We have to take what we can get. Fair for him, I guess.”
“What are your plans?”
“None of your business.”
St. James ignored the response.
“Are you working to get back on your feet, or just until another scheme comes along?”
“Done with schemes. Need to make money in a way where I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder to see if some asshole like you is creeping up on me. If I get a little money saved, I’ll buy into my brother’s locksmith business. I want a normal life. Tired of all this bullshit.”
“One last question. What did Vinner have to do with the gang?”
“Hit man. One of the others met him in the joint. I stay away from hit men. Murder’s not my thing, you know that about me, St. James.”
“Yes, I do. Thanks for speaking with me Roger. I wish you well in your new life.”
Nells grunted one last time and ended the call.
St. James looked at his watch. 11:30.
He made his way down to the beach and found Anna lying on a lounge chair in front of the hotel talking to a woman named Jackie from Illinois.
St. James asked, “Do you want to grab some lunch?”
Anna told Jackie she’d see her later, and she and St. James strolled up to the hotel patio to order lunch.
When they had settled into salads and wine St. James said, “Would you like to know what happened in the case?”
Anna looked up from the table.
“You know I would, Hamilton. Why would you even ask me that?” she said, slightly annoyed.
“Then you shall come with me to Washington for a meeting Monday morning at Stevens, Gables & Strong, where all will be revealed,” he said with a smile.
“A bit theatrical don’t you think?”
“Not really. Everyone will be there. I’ll only have to tell the story once.”
“It’s like you say, Hamilton, you have your methods,” Anna said.
Distinct chill in the air.
After lunch Anna went back to the beach and St. James returned to the room to wait for Jason’s call and to handle what emails may have come in since he last checked.
Jason’s call didn’t come until around 4:00. By then St. James had all but given up on the possibility that the tax information would be available.
“Have pen and paper?” Jason asked without saying hello.
“Okay. Shoot.”
It took a half-hour for Jason to take St. James through every piece of income tax information for every party related to the Stevens case for the last five years. Painful. But when St. James boiled everything down, he concluded that the proof he needed was there. He thanked Jason and asked if he could attend the meeting at Stevens, Gables & Strong on Monday morning.
“Since I can see where all this is going, I guess I have to,” he said with a laugh. “After all, I’m the official detective on the case.”
“Smartass,” St. James said.
“Doesn’t sound as good as when I say it,” Jason quipped.
They disconnected.
St. James couldn’t resist. It was the little boy in him.
He dialed Louis’s cell.
“This is Louis.”
“Louis, Antoinette is drop dead gorgeous. You would be over the moon pleased.”
“Really, Hamilton?” he said in an almost dreamy voice. “You wouldn’t kid a fellow, would you?”
St. James could practically hear him salivating.
“Did she ask about me?”
“She said you were great to work with. But I do have some disappointing news.”
“What’s that?” Smythe asked anxiously.
“She hates plaid.”
“Smartass,” Smythe hung up without another word.
It’s official now. I am a smartass.
In the remaining three days on Cayman, Anna and St. James stuck to fun and didn’t discuss the case even once.
On Wednesday evening they treated themselves to a wonderful seafood dinner at Legends on Seven Mile Beach. Thursday and Friday, they rented another car and enjoyed a more detailed tour of the eastern part of the island, back in time to have their last dinner at the Cracked Conch as planned.
Later, seated at the hotel bar, they debated going home Saturday. But then they’d have to fly back to Washington on Sunday for Monday’s meeting. No point. So they decided to switch flights from Ottawa to Washington.
They arrived in Washington at 11:00 Saturday night and checked in to the Washington Hilton on Connecticut Avenue Northwest. The only problem with coming straight to Washington from Cayman was not having proper clothes for Monday’s meeting. Shorts and brightly coloured shirts wouldn’t cut it in a Washington boardroom. Anna was upset over the whole thing until St. James promised they’d shop for business clothes first thing in the morning.
As soon as shops opened on Sunday morning, St. James made sure An
na walked through the front door of an upscale ladies’ boutique. He figured if Anna’s anxiety disappeared first, his shopping would be a lot easier. He was truly grateful when she found a brown suit she liked with a blouse and shoes to match. Problem solved, anxiety diminished.
In a men’s shop not far from the ladies’ boutique, St. James found a charcoal-coloured suit. A white shirt, green tie, and black shoes completed the business look he desired.
They were all done by noon.
“See, Anna?” he said, “there’s never a need to panic. Money and time take care of just about everything.”
Anna rolled her eyes as they looked for a place to have lunch.
On Monday morning St. James was up early reviewing notes and putting papers in order.
After breakfast he said to Anna, “You take a cab to Nathan’s office. I have a few more things to check and then I have to speak with Jason.”
She kissed him. “Okay. I’ll see you there at nine.”
St. James called Jason to confirm everything was lined up on his end. Jason assured him it was.
Everything prepared, St. James walked to Nathan’s office. It was a beautiful sunny October morning. He could see his breath in the crisp air. Clear skies and no wind to speak of.
Walking to close a case had become just as much a ritual as a double shot of scotch after surviving attempts on his life.
The morning would be interesting.
Chapter 68
Everyone was present when St. James walked into Stevens, Gables & Strong at 9:10. Jensen, wearing his usual dark-blue pinstriped suit, was seated near the head of the large oak table, staring blankly at the ceiling, face puffy and red.
Nathan, at the opposite end, was looking forlorn, clearly a chairman under stress; Jason was standing, staring out the window.
Anna was on the far side, looking anxious for everything to begin. Next to Anna, Smythe, in a brightly coloured clashing plaid outfit, was busy preparing to take notes. Mary DeSilva was rushing to send a last-minute email; Slate was slouched, looking quite disheveled. Dozer, in his favourite black leather suit, disconnected headphones from his cell at the sound of St. James’s voice.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” St. James said, bringing the meeting to order. “We have much to cover this morning.”
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