Dead Broke (Lana Denae Mystery Series Book 1)

by Bruce A. Borders

  “No, I haven’t. ’Cause I was told crime doesn’t pay; apparently, I was lied to.”

  Damien shot his partner a stunned look. “Notice you don’t see much of anything else of value here. This guy is twenty-six years old. Should have been supporting himself and have a little something built up by now. Instead, he has this,” he said, pointing to the nearly empty room they were standing in.

  Jamie nodded. “Yeah, not much to show for his twenty-six years.”

  “By the time I was twenty-six, I was married and had two kids,” Damien said.

  Lana appeared in the doorway then. “If you two are done solving all this guy’s problems, I could use some help in here sorting through the mountainous piles of mail.”

  The three of them spent the next hour rummaging through the house, setting aside, and boxing up bills, receipts, and anything that had to do with finances. In all, they carried out thirteen boxes of potential evidence.

  But after their extensive search, they found no gun.

  “Without a murder weapon, it’s going to be hard to connect this guy to Mrs. Wymer’s murder,” Lana lamented.

  “Probably tossed it over the Steel Bridge,” Jamie said. “He does have an affinity for that sort of thing.”

  “You sure you know what that word means?” Damien asked.

  “I know what the word means. It’s not that big of a word.”

  “No. Just odd to hear you using such language. You’re usually less cultivated with your speech.”

  “What’s that supposed to–”

  “Gentlemen,” Lana interrupted. “Can we get back to conducting this search? There’ll be plenty of time to discuss your extensive vocabularies later.”

  “Or, lack thereof,” Damien remarked. Then with a glance at Lana, said, “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

  The three of them again went through the entire apartment, from floor to ceiling but still found no firearms. Finishing up, Damien took a few more pictures and they exited through the still open front door.

  “Maybe we’ll learn more, during questioning, specifically; where we can find the 9mm he used to kill Mrs. Wymer,” Lana mused, more to herself than to the others.

  The last one out, Damien pulled the busted door shut but the broken latch would not hold it in place and it slowly swung back open. He tried again and then looked in vain for something to keep it closed.

  “Leave it,” Lana told him. “I doubt Mr. Schmidt will be needing anything in there again. I don’t think he’s ever coming back. And it’s not our job to worry about protecting his possessions.”

  “What possessions?” Jamie asked pointing to the officers loading the evidence boxes into the trunk of a squad car. “Not much left inside. Most everything the guy owns is right there.”

  “Keeping his apartment secure isn’t our job either,” Lana said.

  Shrugging, Damien let the door swing freely and followed her and Jamie off the single step and down the sidewalk to the street where Eric was being held in one of the unmarked police cars.

  The suspect sat in the back seat, watching through the window as they sorted through his life and belongings, still with the same smug grin plastered on his face.

  “Has he said anything?” Lana asked the officer standing guard by the door.

  “Not a word.”

  Waiting for a few minutes while the other detectives loaded the rest of the boxes in the trunk of her car, Lana kept an eye on Eric. She tried not to stare, just glancing his way occasionally. The high and mighty egotist never changed his arrogant expression. For some reason, Lana found it infuriating but she didn’t intend to give the man the satisfaction of showing her frustration.

  As the last box marked “Evidence” disappeared into the trunk and the lid was slammed, she said, “Nice job, men. Now let’s give this man a police escort downtown for a grand tour of the Central Precinct.”

  The ride took just twenty minutes, but transferring the prisoner inside, and booking him, consumed the better part of an hour. Checking that each of the boxes had been successfully delivered to the Evidence Facility, Lana sent the officers, who had assisted in the raid, home.

  “Aren’t you going to question the suspect?” Jamie asked curiously, seeing Lana preparing to leave as well.

  She shook her head. “Not tonight. I want him to sit there and stew, maybe worry a little bit as he wonders what will happen. Maybe it’ll wipe that silly grin off his face.”

  “Doubt it,” Damien said. “He’s young. Confident. Arrogant. Still thinks he’s invincible.”

  “We’ll see how invincible he feels tomorrow,” Lana said. “I’ll see you two at eight. Right now, I’ve got a phone call to make to the Captain.”

  Dialing the number as Jamie and Damien left, Lana subconsciously counted the rings. The Captain answered on the fifth ring.

  “Suspect’s in custody. Thirteen boxes of evidence, as well as quite a few computers, are down at Evidence. Everything went smoothly with no problems.”

  “So why don’t you sound more upbeat?” asked the Captain.

  “I don’t know, sir. Maybe because we didn’t recover the murder weapon.”

  “I’m sure you made a thorough search?”

  “Yes, sir, we did. Several.”

  “Well, you can’t find what isn’t there.”

  “We’re thinking the killer may have tossed it over the bridge.”

  “Possible,” the Captain agreed. “I’ll start the paperwork tomorrow for the Bureau to get a dive team searching the river.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Lana said, sounding more optimistic than she felt.

  “Did the suspect confess?”

  “Hasn’t said a word and I haven’t questioned him yet. I’m leaving him in a holding cell here at the precinct overnight instead of taking him to the jail. I’ll start the interrogation first thing tomorrow morning. Initial impression is that he will be uncooperative.”

  “Yeah, they usually are,” the Captain said. “Especially when they’re guilty.”

  Before hanging up, Lana filled the Captain in on the performance of the officers during the raid and other details. Each had done a fine job and she wanted to let him know they should be commended.

  Then, finishing up some paperwork in the office and making a few more phone calls, it was nearly ten o’clock by the time Lana made it to Nellie Langstrom’s apartment to pick up Kurt.

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to chauffer me around the whole time I was here,” he said with a chuckle, settling into the car.

  Lana smiled. “It appears I was wrong. Shocking I know, but it happens.”

  “I’ll rent a car tomorrow,” Kurt promised. “As soon as you give me the all-clear to be seen in public again, that is.”

  Lana said, “I put in a call to all the TV stations that ran the interview. I informed them that we have located you and everything is fine. They’ll run an update on the morning news and then again in the evening. The Oregonian will have the story as well. We might still have a few scattered reports of people spotting you but hopefully, no one bothers you too much.”

  They had traveled the short distance to the hotel and dropping Kurt off outside the lobby doors, Lana thanked him for his help.

  “I didn’t do much,” he said modestly.

  “You might change your mind after people start recognizing you on the street; asking for handouts.”

  Kurt shrugged. “I’ll be headed back to Paris soon. I doubt anyone there will even notice me.”

  Driving home, Lana relaxed, satisfied her day had been productive, yet frustrated over not finding the murder weapon. And she was still annoyed by the picture of the sinister smile of Eric that she somehow could not get out of her head. Tomorrow would be better, she hoped. Maybe she could find answers to some of the questions that continued to plague her. That was the idea of interrogating a suspect, after all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Please state your full name.”

  “Eric Anderson
Schmidt,” the handcuffed suspect responded.

  Seated across from the man clad in the orange jumpsuit, Lana made a few marks on her notepad and then said, “Are you the Eric Schmidt that attended ITT - Technical Institute? And was top of his class for two years?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you reside at 2378 South Eighth Avenue, Apartment B, in Portland?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Schmidt, can you tell me where you were between the hours of three a.m. and five a.m. on the night of the fifth?”

  “Home.”

  “Is there anyone who could verify that?”

  “No, I live alone.”

  “And the night of the ninth between three and five?”

  “Home.”

  “And the twelfth from three to five?”

  “Home.”

  “And from three to five on the fifteenth, eighteenth, and twenty-second?”

  “Home.”

  “But no one can vouch for your presence there on any of those dates?”

  Eric shrugged. “I don’t usually invite people over to watch me sleep.”

  “So you have no alibi?”

  “Why would I need an alibi? I didn’t do anything.”

  Lana eyed him with an inherent distrust. “An alibi would go a long way to exonerating you for the crimes for which you have been accused.”

  Eric sat silently staring, offering no reaction.

  “You have nothing to say?”

  The suspect shrugged. “Nothing that matters, at least not to you.”

  “If I were you I think I’d be a little more concerned with my situation and the fact I had no alibi.”

  Eric shrugged. “Maybe next time you’re going to accuse me of murder you could give me a heads up. With enough notice, I might be able to arrange for a suitable alibi.”

  “So you acknowledge you have no alibi?”

  “How was I to know I’d need an alibi for all the nights you rattled off?”

  Lana paused, again making some notes. Finishing writing, she laid the pen down and looked up. In her experience, people rarely told the truth in this room but the demeanor of her suspect, the calm way he spoke, and the seemingly unworried look, had her thinking that this time, this guy just might not be guilty. Ray was usually good at his job—the best. But she supposed it was possible he had made a mistake.

  She wasn’t about to let Eric know what she was thinking though. Too many times, she’d seen suspects profess their innocence only to have the facts prove otherwise. She was wise enough to know the guy could just be playing her. The evidence all pointed to him being guilty; the one responsible for the murders of the six supposed jumpers as well as Roselyn Wymer. And then there was that ever-present smirk he wore. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d gotten it wrong.

  “Ever consider that maybe I didn’t do it?” Eric suddenly said.

  Lana gave an involuntary start, hoping her suspect hadn’t noticed. Did the guy have a window into her head or something? It was almost like he’d read her mind.

  She quickly regained her composure. “You have motive, means, opportunity... and no alibi,” Lana said. “Do you know what we call that?”

  “Circumstantial evidence?”

  Lana was not impressed by the sarcastic remark. “No, we call that a winning case.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to ask me if I want a lawyer before questioning me?”

  Great! Not five minutes into the interrogation and the guy is already lawyering up. “Do you want a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “So, you’re just interested in playing games?”

  “Not really,” Eric said. “Just wondered why you didn’t ask if I wanted an attorney. That is still the law, isn’t it?”

  “You were advised of your rights at the time of your arrest, Mr. Schmidt. I am not banned from questioning you simply because you choose not to exercise those rights.”

  Again, Lana saw the smirk on Eric’s face. The crazy fool was enjoying this. And judging by his steady gaze, he didn’t feel the least bit intimidated sitting in the hot seat. She forced herself to calm down. Don’t let him get to you. I still have an interrogation to do.

  “So, just so we’re clear,” Lana said. “You do not want an attorney present during questioning?”

  “Don’t need an attorney. Didn’t do anything.”

  In answer, Lana slid six open folders, one at a time, across the table. “Do you recognize these names?”

  Eric studied the pages. “I think I’ve heard some of them before.”

  “You should have, since you hacked into their investment accounts and then murdered them.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Lana nodded slightly. “We traced the unauthorized activity on each of these accounts at Cascade Global Investments straight to your computer. We know you stole their ID’s. We know you established credit cards, banking, and other online accounts in their names. We also have proof that you cashed the checks issued to Chris Tolley and Gordon Pickney for the payout of their investments.”

  “I’m a computer geek,” Eric acknowledged. Then, after a short pause, he said, “I admit, I hacked into their accounts but–”

  Lana was barely able to cover her surprise at the admission. “And how did you obtain the login info?”

  Eric gave her a look that said she had to be the dumbest detective on the planet. “Why would I need login information? And even if I did, it’s right there on the server. I’m a hacker, remember? It’s what I do and I’m good at it. Doesn’t mean I killed anybody.”

  “And yet, they’re dead.”

  Eric shrugged.

  Lana frowned, making a few notes and then continued. “So, you target six people, steal their identity, those same six people end up dead within days of each other and you insist you had nothing to do with it?” she scoffed. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  Eric nodded.

  “I need a verbal response,” Lana said.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “Mr. Schmidt, I’m trying to give you a chance come clean; to admit what you did. The D.A. might make it easier for someone who confesses.”

  “And I’ve told you what I did. But I can’t confess to something I didn’t do. And,” Eric gestured to the photos on the table, “I most certainly didn’t kill any of them.”

  “What if I told you we have DNA samples that were pulled from the victims?”

  Eric didn’t miss a beat. “I’d say you were lying. If you had DNA, or any other real evidence, you would have started with that. You would have asked me for a sample of my DNA.” The smug look had returned.

  Lana sighed softly. The man’s arrogance and attitude were irritating, to say the least. His continued and adamant denials of having nothing to do with the murders were frustrating. Annoying.

  And still there was the nagging possibility that he might be telling the truth gnawing away at her. Lana chose to ignore the feeling and move on. “Okay,” she said, then paused. Watching the suspect closely, she spoke in a measured tone. “Let’s talk about Roselyn Wymer.”

  Eric didn’t even flinch at the mention of the name. His face, in fact, showed just the opposite, as if he were truly unfamiliar with the name. With a wrinkled brow, he asked, “Who’s that?”

  Lana wasn’t too concerned by his reaction. It was possible he may have not known his victim’s name. Sliding a photo of the woman across the table, she again studied her suspect’s reaction as she said, “Roselyn Wymer is the woman you shot to death in her apartment.”

  Eyes wide, Eric gave her a look of incredulity, “You just going to accuse me of every unsolved murder in the city? Come on! I’ve never seen that woman, or heard her name in my life, until just now. Pretty sure she didn’t have an account at Cascade Global.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I have a near eidetic memory,” Eric answered. “I can give you the name of every account holder at Cascade Global, along wi
th their account numbers and how much they have invested. Roselyn Wymer did not have an account there.”

  Lana eyed him a moment before answering. “No, she didn’t. She had the misfortune to live in an apartment that overlooks the Steel Bridge.”

  Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Eric said, “I told you, I didn’t kill those people. And I didn’t kill this Roselyn lady either. I didn’t kill anyone.” The pitch of his voice was rising with each statement as he became visibly agitated. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  Lana remained calm. She’d seen this sort of behavior before. Though she had her little doubts concerning his guilt, she knew better than to let his outburst sway her. Criminals were some of the best actors in the world especially when it came to professing their innocence. “The reason I don’t believe you,” she said in an even tone, “is that we have a video that shows you arguing with one of the victims on the Steel Bridge and then throwing the man over the side of the bridge.”

  “No,” Eric answered emphatically, “you don’t. ’Cause I wasn’t there. And I didn’t throw anyone off the Steel Bridge, or any other bridge.”

  “Right,” Lana said. “You just stole their identity. And the fact they ended up dead is merely coincidence.”

  “It must be.”

  “You know something?” Lana asked. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  Eric again fell silent.

  “I think you killed all of these people. All seven of them.”

  “As I keep saying, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “You’re right, you do keep saying that.”

  “Because it’s true. It wasn’t me. Someone else killed them.”

  “Who else would want them dead?”

  Eric shrugged. “Probably the guy who hired me to steal their information.”

  The statement took Lana by surprise. “Someone hired you to steal their information?”

  “Yes,” Eric nodded.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. He never told me his name.”

  “Why would someone hire you just to steal information?”

  Eric shot her a skeptical look. “Are you kidding? Information is in high demand. Can’t believe you, a cop of all people, don’t know that. People, and sometimes companies, hire guys like me to steal it all the time.”