Instead of the car moving forward at a slow but steady pace, it accelerated rapidly and shot out of the garage like a bullet leaving a gun. Behan removed his foot from the gas petal and mashed the brake. It had no effect and the car picked up speed.
Desperate to stop it, Behan grabbed the handle of the parking brake and wrenched it upward. It kept moving and came off in his hand. A moment later the car left the paved surface of the driveway to cut across the manicured lawn. Unable to stop the vehicle, Behan attempted to steer it. He did so, and narrowly avoided running into a brick wall, unfortunately for Behan, the detour sent him up a slight hill. Cresting the knoll while going over fifty miles an hour, the car’s wheels left the ground. The jarring impact of its landing shook up Behan and caused his hands to slip off the wheel. It didn’t matter. There was no way for him to avoid crashing into a white wooden fence, beyond which was a forty-six-foot plunge.
Richard Behan was screaming as the car went airborne again. When the scream ended, so did his life.
Chapter Nineteen
WASHINGTON, DC, MONDAY, JULY 15th
Troy Carson followed Colleen Regan into the Tyler Brokerage firm on K Street. As they had told Erica, their case involved embezzlement at a brokerage.
Tyler Brokerage had an expansive lobby with gray carpet and muted fawn-colored walls. Recessed lighting in the ceiling lit the space well. A large reception desk, much like one at a hotel, was directly ahead. To the left was a seating area where four comfortable, white chairs were set in pairs of two, with a coffee table between them. An older man was seated in a chair with a younger woman beside him; they looked as if they could be father and daughter. On the right side of the lobby was a glass wall; it revealed the office space that lay beyond it.
Troy had the impression that the office had recently been renovated, as every surface appeared new and shiny. He figured it made a good impression to potential clients.
The receptionist was a perky woman in her twenties with luminous white teeth and a runner’s slender form. When she saw the badges, the smile dimmed a few watts, and she summoned her superior.
A minute later, Colleen and Troy were met by Guy Tyler, the son of one of the owners. Tyler was in his thirties, had longish dark hair and brown eyes. As he shook Colleen’s hand, he looked her over with appreciation in his gaze before greeting Troy.
After gesturing them away from the reception desk, Guy Tyler spoke in a low tone.
“I guess you’re here because of the theft, yes? That’s good; we need to get that hard drive back.”
“Exactly what information is stored on it?” Colleen asked.
“Everything. It’s a backup copy of our records. Actually, it’s a backup of a backup and gets updated twice a week. It contains all of our client data, including bank account and credit card information. If it gets out that it’s gone missing, it could be disastrous for us.”
“Walk us through the theft,” Colleen said, as Troy stood by and observed. Although Colleen was only a few years older than he was, she had more experience and was the lead on the case. Colleen Regan had worked several embezzlement cases during her time with the Bureau, while Troy had worked none. He was eager to learn and happy to be out in the field.
Tyler led them to the right and into the office area. There were a dozen small cubicles with brokers who were busy talking to clients over the phone or working on their computers. Beyond that was a second reception area, actual offices, and a conference room. Tyler led the agents past the receptionist, an older woman with a sour expression, and opened a door behind her desk.
It was a storage room. At its rear was a six-foot-tall safe that was about two feet wide. Colleen stared at the safe, then swiveled her head to look up over the door they had entered through. Troy followed her gaze and saw that she was looking at a camera.
“I hope that security camera is working,” Colleen said to Tyler.
“It is, and we have the theft on video, which should make your job easier.”
“Before we go any further, let’s see the video.”
“Betty can pull that up on her computer,” Tyler said, as he headed out of the storage room to speak to the receptionist.
The stern-faced woman did as requested and brought up a file on her computer. After three clicks of her mouse, a video began playing. The timestamp stated that the video was recorded two days earlier, on Saturday, July 13th. The video showed the inside of the storage room, where the safe was sitting open. When a figure appeared on screen, Troy leaned in closer to get a better look.
The woman on screen was nineteen, shapely, with long curly dark hair. When she turned around to look behind her, Troy saw that her face matched the body.
Tyler pointed at the screen. “That’s Nikki Varona, she worked here part-time as an assistant receptionist.”
Nikki disappeared for a moment as she stepped out of the storage room. When she returned, she propped a chair against the door to make certain it stayed open, she then continued toward the safe. Because of the camera angle, it wasn’t possible to see inside the safe. Nikki stood at the open vault, reached in, and spent several moments handling items. When she turned around to walk out, she was carrying what looked like a gray, rectangular cash box. Atop the box was a small, black item. Tyler froze the video and pointed at it.
“That’s the missing hard drive.”
“Why was the safe sitting open?” Colleen asked.
Tyler ducked his head. “That’s my fault. I left it open after Betty updated the drive and put it back in there, then I heard my phone ringing from where I’d left it on my desk. I ran back to get the phone and returned only a few minutes later. I never noticed that the cash box and the backup drive were missing. I just shut the door on the safe and went home.”
“It’s not your fault, Guy,” Betty said. “You thought you were alone back here. And who knew the girl was a sneak thief?”
“How much money was in the cash box?”
“A few hundred maybe. I can bring up the exact amount on the computer. It’s the petty cash we keep around to pay for the odds and ends that an office needs. It’s meaningless compared to the value of the hard drive.”
“This all happened over the weekend, on Saturday?” Colleen asked.
“Yes, but Nikki was supposed to leave at five with everyone else, like Betty did,” Tyler said. “Maybe she saw me get careless with the safe before and decided to stay until everyone else left, just in case a chance arose, and it did. My father is not going to be happy with me.”
“Has anyone attempted to contact Miss Varona?” Colleen asked.
“Of course,” Tyler said. “I called her this morning after discovering the missing items and viewing the video. I even told her that I wouldn’t involve the authorities if she’d only bring everything back.”
“What was her response?”
Tyler shook his head in disbelief. “She denied everything, even after I told her that she was on film taking things from the safe. The stupid girl, she’s going to ruin her life. It makes me wonder if someone else is behind this.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The data on that hard drive is encrypted. Only someone with sophistication at computer hacking could get to the data. Nikki might have stolen it for someone else. I’m wondering now if this theft was the whole point of her working here.”
“How long has she worked for you?”
“About three weeks.”
“We didn’t even need her,” Betty said. “I told you I don’t require an assistant.”
Tyler patted her shoulder. “I was trying to make things easier for you. After all the years you’ve put in the brokerage, I thought it was time you took it easy.”
“I do my job efficiently; that makes it easy.”
“Mr. Tyler, you say you suspect that Miss Varona may have a partner or someone instructing her. Would you have an idea who that someone is?”
“I do. It’s Damon Webb.”
Colleen’s head rose slig
htly as she recognized the name. Damon Webb was a former gangbanger who turned his life around. He had become a successful businessman, and one of his sons, Hakeem Webb, was running for a congressional seat. The incumbent had died while in office, leaving the seat vacant. The off-year battle for the vacated seat had become nasty, with Hakeem Webb’s opponent insinuating that Webb’s campaign funds came from illegal sources manufactured by his “hoodlum father,” Damon Webb.
“How would Miss Varona be acquainted with Damon Webb?”
“She worked here part-time, but she also works at one of Webb’s fast food restaurants.”
“We’ll look into it, and I’ll need you to provide us with all the video you have of that safe. The last ten days of video should be sufficient.”
Colleen and Troy left the brokerage with everything they needed to begin the investigation and the police were out trying to track down Nikki. Not satisfied with that, Colleen wanted to join the search for the girl. There was also a warrant in progress, so that they could search Nikki’s living quarters.
“What’s the story on this guy, Damon Webb?” Troy asked.
Colleen smiled. “That depends on who you talk to. Some people think he’s a role model who left the gang life behind him and became a productive citizen. Others say that his fast food restaurants are there to launder drug money from his old gang, which he never really left.”
“Which one do you think is true?” Troy asked.
“I hope he’s legit. If not, and he’s behind this girl taking that hard drive, that could be bad for her.”
“Meaning that he might have had her killed?”
“Yeah, once she hands over that drive, Webb might have figured it wasn’t smart to leave her breathing.”
“Either way, the sooner we find her the better.”
Colleen looked at the photo Nikki had taken at the brokerage to get her employee badge. She had downloaded a copy of it onto her phone to add to the case file.
“This is one beautiful girl, but I’m thinking you’ve noticed that already.”
“She’s stunning,” Troy said. “Too bad I won’t be meeting her under better circumstances.”
“If and when you do meet her, don’t believe every word she says. Pretty faces tell pretty lies.”
“I’ll be professional, don’t worry.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“I was fixed up on a blind date recently, but that didn’t work out.”
“Why not, incompatibility?”
“No, we got along great, then a week later, I found out she was married and had two kids.”
Colleen laughed. “I could see where that would be a problem.”
Chapter Twenty
QUEENS, NEW YORK, MONDAY, JULY 15th
Erica and Owens arrived back in New York after their one-day break. They had been driving away from the airport when Ted Marx broke the news that there was a new victim of The Appointment Killer. Richard Behan, a fifty-seven-year-old businessman was said to be Victim #8.
“Eight?” Owens said. “That can’t be right.”
Erica was watching Marx’s video on her phone as Owens drove. Not only had Marx gotten to the scene nearly as quickly as the police, but he had entered the home and filmed inside it. On the video, he’s shown pointing at Behan’s entry table inside the home’s foyer, where there was mail laying atop it. At the top of the pile was a black envelope. It appeared not to have been opened and had Behan’s name in white, along with the #8.
As she watched the video, Erica feared that Marx was going to reach out and open the letter, thereby possibly destroying evidence that could lead to the killer. Marx was brighter than that, and left the envelope laying where it was.
“The Appointment Killer is back, people, and if the number on this envelope is right, there are four more victims out there.”
Erica shook her head as she watched. There was glee dancing in Marx’s eyes. The man was loving the attention that covering the murders gave him. After watching the video to the end, she called the Tarrytown Police for details. When she had Behan’s address, she fed it into the car’s navigation system.
“Can you connect me to the officer or detective on the scene there, please?” Erica asked the police dispatcher.
It took several minutes, but then Erica had the male detective on the phone.
“Can you explain to me how Ted Marx got inside the victim’s home, Detective?”
“He was let in by the decedent’s live-in housekeeper, at the gardener’s request. I think maybe the gardener is a fan of Marx’s channel. He’s not inside anymore though, I made sure of that.”
“Good, and my partner and I will be there as soon as we can.” Erica put away her phone and spoke to Owens. “I cannot believe Marx’s nerve. The victim was dead for less than an hour when he entered the man’s home to film a story.”
“It’s not right, but I’m wondering now if he was correct about there being four more victims. If Richard Behan is Number Eight, where are victims four through seven?”
The gardener had witnessed the crash. When he saw the housekeeper come out to investigate the noise, he told her what had happened. The two of them went inside and that was when the gardener saw the black letter. Aware of what it signified and a fan of Ted Marx, the gardener called Marx as the housekeeper was calling the police.
The first officers on the scene were more concerned with determining Behan’s condition than they were about checking out the house, although it seemed obvious that no one could have survived. The Mercedes was smashed, and a fire had resulted. Behan was dead all right, and the vehicle’s steering column had been shoved through his chest by the horrific impact with the ground.
By the time Erica and Owens arrived on the scene, Ted Marx had interviewed the gardener and the housekeeper. The housekeeper, Marjorie Newsome, explained that Mr. Behan never saw the mail.
“He comes and goes through the door in the kitchen that leads to the attached garage. He’s involved in some sort of negotiation and the meeting ran late on Friday as they attempted to come to a verbal agreement. On Saturday, he flew down to Kentucky, where he was to meet with friends at a golf course. He didn’t arrive back home until late last night and appeared done in. I don’t think he even looked at Saturday’s mail. I had no idea what was in that black envelope. I did find it odd that there was no stamp on it.”
The Tarrytown Police had placed the letter in an evidence bag. When Erica studied it through the plastic, she thought it looked odd and showed it to Owens.
“What do you think of that? Do you notice anything off?”
Owens shifted the envelope, as he tried to catch the light better.
“That’s an odd-looking number eight.”
“I thought so too, let’s see what the lab says.”
Marx had been removed from the home, along with his assistant Jason Warwick, but was still on the scene. When he saw Erica, he ran alongside the police tape that had been erected and shouted to her and Owens.
“Hey, FBI, how about an interview?”
Erica saw that he was pointing a camera at them and ignored him. Marx called to her again.
“Don’t be shy, honey, I’ll make you a star.”
The lead homicide detective approached Marx and Warwick accompanied by two officers. Marx and his assistant were being taken to the station where they could be questioned, along with the gardener and housekeeper.
Marx and Warwick were allowed to follow the cops in their own car as they were led to the station. As Jason drove, Marx asked him about Heather.
Jason had been having breakfast with Heather when Marx called him and said that he needed to be picked up right away and taken to a home in Westchester county. When Jason told Marx that he was only a block from his apartment, Marx had rushed down. He had spotted Jason and Heather together and made sure that he was introduced to the good-looking redhead.
“How long have you been doing that girl, Heather?”
“You might say she’
s an old friend.”
“She’s damn near a perfect ten is what she is. What kind of work does she do?”
“She specializes in writing business proposals and grant applications.”
“Brainy too, huh? How’d did you score a piece like that?”
“She looked me up out of the blue a few weeks ago, until then, I hadn’t seen her in years.”
“That’s odd, did she say why?”
“We didn’t get along in the old days, and she wanted to say she was sorry.”
“Just like that, all of a sudden?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful, Jason. It sounds to me like she’s up to something.”
“Like what?”
“Who knows, but that girl doesn’t need to look up guys she used to know. A woman like that must be hit on ten times a day.”
“Like I said, she’s just an old friend.”
Richard Behan’s car had been rigged to kill him. Someone had tampered with the brakes, gas pedal, and the fuel injection system.
The lab results on the black envelope were enlightening. It had been altered. The odd-looking number 8 was actually a number 2 that had been changed to resemble an 8. Furthermore, Behan’s name had been printed on top of a name that had been blacked-out. The name beneath it was that of victim #2, Michael Heskett.
That envelope and letter were believed to have been lost to the trash, since it wasn’t at the scene inside Heskett’s apartment. Now, a different theory was emerging.
“It was stolen out of the apartment,” Erica said. “Remember, someone had broken in and taken the TV. That must have been a cover for the real crime, the theft of the envelope.”
Owens nodded. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make this look like our perp’s handiwork.”
The Appointment Killer Page 9