“It’s known that sometimes the killer will hang around to watch the cops and paramedics. They’re fascinated with the whole scene,” he said quietly, but brusquely, in her ear. “Just take photos of people in the crowds.”
“Okay—will do,” she said. She slipped the camera’s cord around her wrist for safekeeping.
“I can’t believe this happened to Paul.” Dutch shook his head and walked over toward the policeman guarding the entrance to the bank. It was the rookie he’d worked with on other cases. Dutch flashed his PI badge and was allowed to enter the building. That simple badge could open doors.
The elevator to the second floor was blocked off with police tape, so he climbed the stairs two at a time. More police tape stopped him from going any further than the landing where the secretary usually sat. Lieutenant Johnson saw Dutch standing outside the tape.
“Come through,” the lieutenant said. “Mind where you walk.”
Dutch stepped carefully but naturally wasn’t allowed close to the murder scene. People in white vinyl suits with reflective FORENSICS emblazoned on their backs worked the area where a body was sprawled out on the floor. One white-clad woman was taking photographs of the scene and the body from different angles. A man was dusting the white woodwork with black powder for latent fingerprints.
Dutch looked at the lieutenant. “Where did you get those guys?” he questioned. “I thought you weren’t going to bring in the big boys. You wanted to handle the case yourself.”
The policeman looked at him with a worried look. “I think we have some serious business going on in this town, so our Chief determined we’d better bring in the state’s forensics team because it’s getting too much for our small department. We don’t have the expertise needed.”
“Good idea. I’m glad someone came to his senses,” Dutch said. He craned his neck as he tried to see the area better. “I’m surprised Paul came to his end this way.”
“A botched holdup? Robbing the safe?” the lieutenant suggested.
“How was he killed?” Dutch asked.
“Shot in the head—from the rear. Hands tied behind his back. Cleaning lady found him.”
“Sounds like a professional job.”
“Yeah, looks like it. The scene appears clean of clues. I’m not happy with the way this case is going with two murders in the same week.” The lieutenant sat on the settee and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
“And they’re related,” Dutch said.
“What? What do you mean, related?” he looked exasperated.
“I’ve been retained to find out who fraudulently borrowed two million dollars from the bank. Paul had approved it.”
“I don’t understand,” the lieutenant said. “Start from the beginning.”
So Dutch began the story at the meeting of the broker’s, then his murder leading to the bank’s board member hiring him, then to Paul at the bank.
“Why wasn’t the police department notified about this? These are important facts that the department should have been apprised of. Very serious infraction,” the lieutenant mumbled.
Dutch shrugged. He’d let him know why he didn’t advise the police once the officer calmed down.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow,” Dutch said.
“It looks like whomever you visit or contact, ends up murdered.”
“I’m carrying insurance,” Dutch said, touching his calf.
“It’s not you who needs the insurance. People you interview are the ones that need protection.”
“Touché.”
“Okay, Dutch—take care. Hope you have a license for that thing. Can’t worry about that now though. See you tomorrow.”
“I trust you’ll let me have a copy of the autopsy report when they complete one,” Dutch said, ignoring the lieutenant’s remarks.
“Of course,” he replied.
“By the way,” Dutch added. “Has someone gone to Paul’s home and told his wife?”
“Yes, the sergeant has gone over.”
“Maybe Kate and I should visit her. They just moved here from Illinois, so she’ll need a friendly face, and we got to know her a little at a barbecue we had.”
The policeman nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, I suppose so.”
Dutch ran down the stairs to the street where he found Kate snapping photos, much to the annoyance of some people. She saw him approaching and moved through the crowd toward him.
“Some of these folks are touchy,” she said. “A few are a little scary.”
“Maybe they have a guilty conscience.” He pulled her away from the crowd. “We should go and see Angela,” he said. “She has no relatives in the area and few friends, so I believe she’d be pleased to see us. We could help with the children too.”
Kate stared at him. “You are the sweetest person I’ve ever run into.”
“Thanks. Just thinking of this poor family,” he said. “Let’s go. Follow me over there.”
She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him back toward her. She kissed him soundly on the lips. “Promise we’ll make love tomorrow.” Boy, am I a hussy or what? Just letting my lover know what I want.
“I may not wait that long.” He grabbed her around the waist and hugged her tightly. She could tell that he was ready right now. “Love you.”
“I’m terrified that you may be a target for the killers, too,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of myself.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t want to miss the rest of my life with you.”
“Like I said, you are the sweetest person on earth.” She walked toward her SUV. “Love you,” she called back to him over her shoulder.
He turned, touched his finger to his lips, and threw the kiss back to her.
Chapter Fifteen
Kate says: Please, please, please, don’t “float” a rug in a room. A rug should connect with the furniture, so place the front legs of each piece of furniture on the rug.
Angela, Paul’s widow, answered Dutch’s knock. From the doorway, he could see an elderly neighbor sitting on the couch in the living room. She had her coat on, so he figured she wasn’t going to stay long.
“I’m so sorry,” Dutch said. He entered the front door in front of Kate, who pulled off her coat as she went into the house.
“Thanks, Dutch,” Angela said.
Kate took her in her arms. She was a tiny, frail woman. She broke down and sobbed into Kate’s shoulder. Her children were seated on the rug. They looked confused by all of the commotion and with seeing their mother in tears.
Kate handed the woman a wad of facial tissues. Angela wiped the tears from her face and noisily blew her nose.
“Thanks,” she said. “How nice of you to come over.”
“You need some help around here,” Dutch said. “We’ll assist you with whatever you want. Babysitting, shopping, cooking, until your relatives manage to get out here.”
“My mother is on the way. She’s flying in tonight. Paul will be buried in Illinois so everyone else in the family is staying there.”
The neighbor shed her coat and went into the kitchen, where noises indicated she was running water into the coffee pot and hunting for the can of coffee in the cabinets.
They were soon sitting around the dining room table, drinking the beverage. Angela introduced the woman as Wilma Shore who lived on the opposite side of the street. Angela sat, fiddling with her teaspoon.
“Try to drink some coffee, dear,” Kate said soothingly.
“I think I should go lie down. Do you mind? I need to be alone,” she said.
“Of course, we understand. We’ll take care of the children.”
“Thanks.”
The four-year-old cuddled on Kate’s lap while the six-year-old sat stoically in front of the television. Out of earshot of the child, Wilma chatted quietly with Dutch about the awful event. Then she said something that sparked Dutch’s interest.
“For the past few days, there’s been a big black car driv
ing back and forth along this street. It appeared before Paul went for his morning jog around the park, then the car would sit up the street until Paul returned home. Then they’d drive off,” Wilma said. “Very strange.”
“Did you see who was in the car?” Dutch asked.
“I couldn’t see the driver,” she answered. “The windows were tinted. Really dark. Black, you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I’ve seen cars like that. And the car? What make was it?” Dutch wrote the information down in his notebook. He initialed and dated the page. At least Kate won’t have to remind me to do that.
“Goodness me,” Wilma said. “I’m old. I don’t know car makes any more. They all look alike to me. It was shiny black, no dirt, no dents and it was big. That’s all I know about the car.”
“Did you manage to get the license plate?” Dutch asked.
“No—why, should I have done? I wasn’t suspicious at the time. No one had been murdered.” She sipped her coffee.
Makes sense. “I just wondered. Sometimes people remember the strangest facts.”
Wilma shook her head.
“Time I put this little one to bed,” Kate interrupted the couple as she carried the child up the stairs.
Chapter Sixteen
Kate says: Need furniture for your first apartment? Haunt your local flea markets, secondhand furniture stores, yard sales and the newspaper’s classified ads. Only purchase articles with simple lines. Odd chairs can be painted the same color to create a unified look.
Kate was busy with another sale at her store. Accessories this time. Silky pillows, Victorian lampshades with complicated lace and silly fringes, Asian blue and white vases and silk flowers of every hue. “Can’t see you this morning. There’s a queue of women outside on the sidewalk waiting for the store to open,” she’d told him.
“Just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way to the Stonington Savings and Loan. It’s the second bank listed on Andy’s legal pad,” Dutch told her.
“That’s being a little pushy on your part, don’t you think?”
“I spoke to the manager, Jack Vance, and he gave me the go ahead to do a little poking around their loan officer. Cheaper to hire me, he said, than to get their auditors going through the books where there may be no toxic loans given out. If I find something, he’ll order an audit.”
“Hope you’ll let this investigation end soon. There have been two people killed so far. Could be you next.”
“No chance,” Dutch said. “See ya later.”
He was shown to the loan officer’s office and ushered into the room where he was to sit and wait for the bank official. On the desk was a nameplate with “Sidney Magee” printed on it. A man entered, shuffling a pile of papers.
“Hi, Mr. Duchowski?” the man asked.
Dutch stood. “Hello. Yes, just call me Dutch.”
They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Sidney Magee, the loan officer. What can I do for you?”
Sidney was a bespectacled, skinny, tall, round-shouldered man around thirty-two years old. He flopped into the plastic-covered desk chair and crossed his legs. His leg began to jiggle. Must be a nervous habit.
Standing, Dutch explained that he was investigating a scam with the permission of his bosses. He laid out the story of the fake appraisal including the murder of the realtor. Then he told the man about the Stonington bank’s involvement.
“Have you given out any loans to this group?” Dutch asked.
“It’s none of your business. That’s confidential information.” Sidney paused. “But no, I haven’t. I’m a bit more conscientious than that.” He stood.
“Are you sure?” Dutch asked. “I’m only asking you because the Stonington North Eastern Bank of New Jersey loan officer was found dead last night.”
“No.” Sidney paced back and forth behind his desk.
“Yes. Shot in the back of the head. Just like the broker a couple of weeks ago who was involved with these men too.” Dutch went for the shock effect. He hoped it would knock some sense into Sidney’s head.
“Do you think they’ll come after me?” Sidney asked.
“Why would they? You just told me that you’re more conscientious than the dead man and haven’t given out any loan money.” Dutch sat in the chair facing the large desk.
“Well, let’s say if I’ve had a business transaction with these people then.” Sidney mopped his brow where beads of sweat had popped out.
“Who knows? I wouldn’t take a chance though.” I love it. The body gives away your secrets. Beads of sweat. Damp hands.
“Where do you fit into this? I know you told me that my bosses hired you. Are you from the police department?”
“No. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by the bank’s board of directors of the loan officer who was murdered.”
“So you’re still working on this case?” Sidney gazed out of the window.
“Yes, I’m still on the case. But I’m following up on a list of banks, which included this one.” Dutch looked at the man. Nonchalant. I-have-no-fears-myself kind of look.
Sidney paced back and forth between his desk and the window. His brow was furrowed, and he fidgeted with his watchband. Dutch waited—waited for the silence to break through to the man.
Sidney stopped pacing. “Yes. Yes, I did deal with them. I gave the corporation a $500,000 credit line,” he began. “I took $750,000 worth of stock certificates of the corporation as collateral.”
“Those stocks are worthless.”
“Really?” He was silent for a minute. “I was shocked when I looked at the books online this morning and saw that they’d taken the whole amount out already. The record showed the cash had been electronically transferred to a bank in St. Vincent in the West Indies. Offshore. You know what it means, don’t you?”
“I do. You’re blankety-blank out of luck. Your butt’s on the line,” Dutch said.
“I’ll get fired over this,” Sidney said. “I have to notify the board immediately.”
“Did you do a corporate search?” Dutch asked.
“No. I should have. I realize that now.” He popped a handful of antacids into his mouth. “They gave me five thousand dollars for hurrying the credit line through.”
“What was the name of the corporation?”
“Valhalla Real Property Corp. A New Jersey corporation…I think.”
Dutch noted the information. “I’ll have my assistant do a search on the corporation.”
“I’ve tried calling them on the number they gave me, but it was some bar in Hoboken. They’d never heard of the men I asked for.”
“We may never catch them. They could have left the country already with a camouflage passport,” Dutch said.
“What’s that?” Sidney asked.
“It’s a second passport, which can be issued by a country—take Panama for example—the only condition is that you deposit an amount—I think it’s up to $200,000—and leave it in the bank account for five years. These countries all have web sites.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“The scariest part is that on some of these second passports, no visas are required to travel to other countries,” Dutch said. “Very chilling taking 9/11 into account.”
Sidney shook his head in dismay.
“I’ll call your manager and tell him what we’ve discovered.”
Sidney’s face flushed. His hands trembled.
Dutch left the building to avoid his conversation being overheard. He pressed in the bank manager’s phone number.
“Jack Vance here.”
“Hi. Mr. Vance, this is Dutch Duchowski.”
“Ah, yes. You’re looking into the possible loan to the scamming group.”
“That’s right. And I have to report to you that your loan officer has made such a loan.”
“Good heavens. Not our bank as well. I can’t believe it.” His voice shook.
“Believe it, Mr. Vance. Please make an appointment for us to m
eet the board of directors. We have to disclose this loss.”
“Of course, of course,” the manager said. “I’ll call you when it’s set up.”
“You can usually reach me on my cell phone.”
Dutch hummed a tune as he drove home to his cabin. It’s a shame that people are getting murdered and fleeced.
Chapter Seventeen
Kate says: To perfect the cottage look, choose two floral patterns, two check patterns, and a stripe in similar or contrasting color for the fabrics used in the room.
Kate was waiting for him at the cabin. She leaned on her SUV and waved as he pulled into the driveway. He grinned at her. It’s been a good day, and I’m going to finish it with a bang—so to speak. I really do love that woman.
“Hi,” she said.
He climbed out of his truck and walked over to her. “I’ve had good luck again. Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He kissed her, and took her hand to lead her up the steps to the cabin.
“Ouch,” she said and began limping. “I’ve been standing too long so now my knee is killing me.”
“Come into my parlor,” he joked. “I’ll put a bag of frozen peas on your knee to get the swelling down.”
“That’ll work.”
Baby, Dutch’s cat, rubbed up against the couples’ legs. “Hi, Baby,” he said. “Hungry?” He unlocked the door, and the three of them entered the cabin together.
Kate flopped down onto the soft sofa while Dutch rustled around in his freezer. “Aha. A bag of peas is hiding behind the box of shrimp.”
He broke up the frozen lumps in the bag and placed it gently over Kate’s knee. “Ooh, that feels wonderful,” she said.
“I feel left out,” he crooned.
“Later. When the pain lets up.” She smiled and ran her hands across his back.
“Promise?” He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck.
“Promise. Tell me your news—you said that you’d had a good day.”
Baby rubbed around Dutch’s legs. “Here ya go,” Dutch said as he spooned a portion of cat food into Baby’s bowl.
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