The sergeant wrote a few more words in his notebook. “Anything else?”
“Yes. You should put bags over the vic’s hands and tape them on to preserve any DNA under the fingernails,” Dutch said, using the jargon for victim.
The sergeant turned to the lieutenant. “Maybe we should call the big boys in to process this scene.” He looked worried.
“Absolutely not. You have no confidence in yourself—or me. We will not call in the county to help us,” the lieutenant grumbled.
Dutch looked around in the room. “Wait. There’s more.”
“Pray tell.” The sergeant poised his pen over his notebook.
Snotty son-of-a… Dutch thought, but said, “Andy showed Kate and me an artist’s rendering of a townhouse community he was involved in. The painting was displayed on that table. It’s not there now.”
The sergeant held up some long, what looked like, hairs, and carefully placed them in a clear envelope. “Looks like synthetic hair. From a hair weave?” He shrugged. “We’ll have to wait for forensics to tell us.”
The lieutenant turned to face Dutch. “We haven’t found any artwork like that. It’s not under the desk or in the trash,” he said. “Write that down.” He pointed to the sergeant who grabbed his notebook and started writing. “Dutch, come into my office tomorrow and give me all of the details on the project the deceased talked about. Hopefully some of that information will help our investigation.”
“Also, when Kate and I left yesterday, there was a cagey looking guy sitting in the foyer,” Dutch said.
“Cagey?”
“Yeah.” He pointed a finger gun. “Looked like a stereotypical member of the mob—you know—ba-da-bing.”
“In that case, have Kate come with you tomorrow too. Both of you can give me a more detailed description of this guy you’re blabbing about.”
“Sure. We did help you last year with those murders—in case you’ve forgotten.” Dutch was embarrassed at reminding the cop, but…
“I remember,” the lieutenant barked. “Come into my office and we’ll discuss.”
“What time?”
“Around ten. I’ve finished answering emails and problems by then.” The policeman returned his attention to the murder scene.
“See ya tomorrow,” Dutch said. He squeezed through the outside door, which was occupied by a bulky policeman carrying lighting equipment.
Next morning, Kate and Dutch arrived at the police department. It was cool in the old 1904 building with stone stairs and floors. They were shown upstairs where they met with the lieutenant in his cramped office.
He pointed to two chairs in front of his desk. They settled on the wooden chairs.
“Now, tell me everything you know about the deceased realtor,” he requested.
“We went to the office of Andy Giamgello because it was the closest real estate office. No other reason. He took me around the next day and I found a house on Magnolia Road, near the hospital, just the right size,” Dutch told the police officer.
“As an aside, why are you looking for another home?” the lieutenant asked.
“It’s not for living in. I’ll remodel it to be my office. I need a professional space.” Dutch squeezed Kate’s hand.
“Then what happened at the office?”
“We talked about the closing details, and he said he’d make up the contracts and have me go back in the afternoon to sign the contracts,” Dutch said.
“So we went back for Dutch to sign the documents and Andy asked me to return the next morning because he wanted me to design his office with all new furniture,” Kate began. “He told us he’d just been paid a large fee for work he’d done for his partners.”
“And what was this work? Did he tell you?” The lieutenant looked interested and began to write notes on a yellow legal pad.
Dutch butted in. “He was quite proud about a real estate deal he was working on with his partners. But Kate and I feel there was something off about it. We think he falsified an appraisal on land owned by the partners. They’re planning on taking out loans on the project….”
“Sounds a lot like a scam that happened about twenty years ago,” the lieutenant added. “We’ll have to keep a close eye on this. The banks are in enough trouble without adding this scam.”
“But we don’t know who his partners are, and we don’t know if these bank dealings are real or just bragging on his part,” Dutch said.
“There’s going to be a lot of detective work to be done.”
Dutch squeezed Kate’s hand again. Maybe we’ll be hired by someone to look into this mess. He hoped so, anyway. “If we hear anything new, you’ll be the first to know,” Dutch said as he stood and shook hands with the police officer.
Chapter Nine
Kate says: In the psychology of colors, red increases the heartbeat and energy. It also increases the appetite, which is why many restaurants use that color. Orange is friendly while yellow is a good color to brighten up dark hallways. Blue is great for a bedroom because it is calming. Green is also relaxing—which is why many hospitals use the color. Violet is loved by kids so it’s good for play areas, but adults seem to dislike the color.
The closing on Dutch’s house would only take a few weeks. The deceased woman’s daughter was in charge of the estate and still wanted to sell the property quickly in order to get the proceeds.
Dutch was nervous about getting a mortgage in light of the financial woes in the U.S. recently. His lawyer, Gordon Belfast, calmed Dutch down by reminding him that he would assist with getting the mortgage approved. He knew people.
The following day, Gordon invited him to lunch. Dutch arrived at the restaurant on time and was directed by the hostess to a table in the back. His lawyer stood as Dutch approached. “Glad you could come,” Gordon said. They shook hands. “This is a good friend of mine, Eric Tonald.” He indicated the man sitting at the table.
Mr. Tonald stood and reached over the table and shook hands with Dutch.
They gave their orders to the waiter and, while waiting, Gordon began discussing the property Dutch had just purchased. “Eric,” he began, “is on the board of directors of the Stonington North Eastern Bank of New Jersey.”
Dutch looked surprised. “That’s a coincidence,” he said. “I just put in my application for a mortgage through your bank.”
Gordon turned to Dutch. “Well, it isn’t really a coincidence. I called Eric about the closing and how we’d like to close quickly, and he pushed your application through himself.”
“I appreciate that,” Dutch said.
“As we talked, Eric told me that he had a business problem and asked if I knew you well enough to do a confidential investigation for him.”
“I hope you said that I’m the best in the area,” Dutch said with a laugh.
Gordon nodded. “Of course, I told him we’re fishing buddies from way back.”
“Yes, Dutch. I think I need you to look into something that’s happened at the office,” Eric began. “I don’t want to call in the officials—not yet, anyway.”
“What’s the problem?” Dutch slipped a small notebook and pen out of his pocket and began to take notes.
“We have a loan officer, Paul Hanchett, who is fairly new to the bank.”
Dutch nodded as he wrote down the name.
“This Paul Hanchett is responsible for many of our larger business loans.” Eric took a sip of water. “He suddenly ordered a large amount of expensive furniture which he bragged about. But he’d already told several employees that he was broke from paying for the closing on his new house.”
“So, you’d like me to find out where the flush of money came from?” Dutch asked.
“Yes. I’m embarrassed to ask you to do this, but it would be even more embarrassing for the bank if it came out in an audit.”
“What if he charged the furniture?”
“One guy he’s friends with mentioned that Paul told him that he and his wife had cut up all their cards to avoid
overspending. And since Gordon, here, was telling me how you’d told him about the land scam going around locally, and in light of Paul Hanchett’s sudden influx of money, we, the bank…well, we’d like you to look into it. You know, investigate to see if he’s involved in the scam, if it’s true.”
“I understand.
“I’ll make out an agreement and come to your office for your signature.”
It took a week for Dutch to get in to see Paul at the bank. He was anxious to check out the loan officer being watched by the banks’ officials. He drove slowly across town to the bank’s location. He was dying to interview the loan officer.
Once there, a secretary showed him into a small interview room where Dutch sank into a cushiony chair. He was prepared to wait however long it would take. The loan officer could delay all day but he wasn’t leaving. Bank employees stared at him as they passed the glass-enclosed room. What does he want? That was the question in their faces.
After a ten-minute wait, which to Dutch felt more like twenty, an overweight man approached, opened the glass door and introduced himself to Dutch. “I’m Paul Hanchett, loan officer here.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Dutch, actually Bernard Duchowski.” They shook hands.
“Mr. Duchowski…”
“Call me Dutch.”
“Dutch, I recognize your name now. We approved your mortgage last week, is there a problem with the paperwork?” the loan officer asked.
“No. No problem.” Dutch moved closer to the man and spoke in hushed tones. “Can we go into your office? Somewhere private?”
“Of course.” Frowning, the man pointed toward an office across the bank’s floor.
Once inside, Dutch began his questions. “May I call you Paul?”
“Yes, please do. I hope I can be of assistance to you,” he said.
“Paul, I’m a private investigator.” Dutch handed him his card. “I have permission of the board of directors to look into a situation.”
Paul looked puzzled.
“I’ll explain,” Dutch continued. He gave him the whole story of the broker, the artist’s rendering of the fake community, and the story of the outrageous appraisal of two million dollars on a parcel of land merely of six acres.
Paul’s eyes widened as the story developed. He fiddled with his pen, and re-arranged the pencils in a “I Heart NY” mug. Dutch got the feeling that Paul knew a little more than it appeared on the surface.
Dutch paused to wait for the response from the man.
“Why are you telling me all of this? I don’t know about such a deal,” Paul started but his body language gave contraindications.
“I realize that your bank dealings are confidential but this could help you avoid a nasty turn of events—personally. Has anyone approached you regarding this project?” Dutch asked.
“No, they haven’t.” The loan officer stood, with his hands in his pockets, and looked out of the window at the busy town passing by the building. He jiggled the change in his pocket.
“It’s a nice little town, don’t you think?” Dutch leaned his elbows on the chair arms. This man knows more. I have to get him to talk.
“Yes, it is. My wife and I just bought a home here,” Paul said absentmindedly as he continued staring down at the street.
“It would be a shame to lose the house, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” Paul answered quietly, then he spun around on his heel to face Dutch. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, if a loan officer lent several million dollars to people he hadn’t checked up on and the appraisal turned out to be fraudulent, and the stock certificates are from a worthless company… It could be the end of his career. Plus there’d be a bunch of pissed-off bank depositors because he gave away their hard-earned money.”
Paul leaned on his desk and into Dutch’s face. “I told you I don’t know about this so-called deal,” he said through clenched teeth.
Dutch didn’t move. If I back down, he’ll believe he’s hit a soft spot in me. Me? A softie? No way. I worked against the worst of the worst in the city.
“It’s common for the person who’s been scammed to deny being involved. The person is called the mark by scammers and the mark gets embarrassed or feels ashamed for having been fooled into the scheme.”
“I told you I don’t know anything,” Paul insisted. He turned to look out of the window again.
“I’d like you to hear a little more,” Dutch continued.
“Make it short. I have important customers to see.”
“The broker who may have produced a fraudulent appraisal was found this morning.”
Paul turned to face him. His face was ashen. “Wh—what do you mean, found?”
“Murdered. Shot in the back of the head—mob style,” Dutch said. “The day before I was at the real estate office with my friend, Kate, when the broker hinted at a fraudulent appraisal. A dicey-looking man was sitting in the foyer when we left. We believe he overheard our conversation and had to keep the real estate broker quiet before the whole scheme was blown open.”
“Murdered.” Paul slumped back down into his chair. “The poor man.”
“How do you know it was a man? A broker could be a woman too, you know.”
“I j—just assumed it was a man.”
“Do you know who the people in this scam are?” Dutch asked.
“I told you once. No,” Paul said, red faced.
Good, I’m getting to him. His blood pressure is up. That red face is a dead give away. “I don’t think that’s a true statement,” Dutch said. He leaned forward in his chair and stared at the man.
Paul stood, turned to look out of the window. Silent.
Dutch tapped a pencil on the desk. “Why are you acting this way if you don’t know about the fraud?”
Paul continued to look down at the scene of cars and trucks passing below. He swung around to face Dutch and plopped into his chair. “Okay, okay, I was approached by the group and I approved a two-million dollar loan three days ago,” Paul blurted out. His body went limp like a deflated balloon.
“It’s none of my business, but what are you going to do? If you don’t go public, you could be the next mark.” Dutch held out his hand like a gun and whispered the word “pow”.
The loan officer stood. His trousers appeared wet. Dutch averted his eyes from the damp spot.
“I have to think.” Paul stared out of the window and leaned on the thick glass. “The world goes on as usual. Oh, how I envy them.”
Dutch sat silent. Give the man time to think. “You have to tell me the names of the partners,” he insisted, breaking the silence. He feared the man would do harm to himself before he gave up the information. The man looked pitiful.
Paul turned around and sank onto his desk chair again. “Okay. The name of the corporation is Valhalla Real Property Corp. They paid me fifteen thousand dollars to approve the loan. My wife and I needed the money to furnish our house.”
Job completed for Eric Tonald. “That’s the company’s name the broker gave me. Like I said before, you—their mark—are embarrassed about accepting a bribe and so would probably not report this swindle. The gang is banking on that.” Dutch wrote Paul’s name and the amounts loaned out and the money accepted from the corporation in his notebook. Two million dollars gone.
Dutch ran the information through his head. We don’t know if more banks are being hit, so all of the loan officers in every bank in the area should be contacted, he thought. Put them on alert. He knew this was huge and that it would take a clerk several days to mail out a form letter to every bank in the county and, in time, the whole country. Maybe faster in an email. But it had to be done. Plus every bank executive had to be told that this was serious, it involved the loss of huge amounts of money and, more importantly, murder.
“Paul,” Dutch began. “I don’t think you’re the only loan officer to fall into this trap.”
Paul was clicking on various boxes on his computer moni
tor. Dutch looked over his shoulder.
“The loan money’s probably out of the country already.”
“You’re so right. It was electronically transferred to an institution in the Grand Cayman Islands,” Paul said weakly as he read the information on the screen.
“Offshore bank three days ago. You can’t stop payment now.”
“Right. It’s too late. Maybe too late for me—my career’s ruined, and I’ll lose my house and probably my family,” Paul said with tears running down his face. His hands shook as he moved the computer mouse.
“Paul, listen to me,” Dutch said. He had an idea. “If you cooperate and help them it could make you look like a bloody hero instead of a loser.”
“You think you can?”
“I believe so.”
“How will you manage that?” Paul appeared to relax—relief replaced the fear in his face.
“I’ll set up an appointment with the bank’s board of directors. Call it an emergency meeting. Notices of the time and place can be sent by email so no one can say they weren’t notified, which could make the whole meeting null and void. Make the meeting sometime tomorrow.”
Paul walked around his desk and grabbed Dutch’s hand. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this, man.” He crushed Dutch’s hand in an appreciative handshake, pumping it up and down.
“Oh, I do, I do,” Dutch said. He shook his hand to get the blood circulating again. “I’ll do my best to get you out of this holy mess.”
“I’ll get my secretary to send out the notice.”
“Copy me too. My email is on my card. Here’s another one in case you lose the other one.”
“Thanks.” Paul let out a long breath.
“Now, pay attention. Tidy up your file on this case. Put it in a blue binder. Blue is calming. Do you need to write this down?” Dutch asked.
“Of course not.”
“Okay. Put on your best suit. Black, if you have one, with a pure white shirt. Buy a good-looking tie on your way home. Get it from a tall-man’s shop so it’s longer and reaches over your belly. The one you have on is too short and looks like a schoolboy’s tie.”
Fleeced in Stonington Page 5