Shell Game (Stand Alone 2)

by Badal, Joseph

  “How the hell do you know the Winters?”

  “Not important.”

  Folsom was silent for a few seconds, and then he said, “You’ve got a deal.”

  “When I find out from Edward Winter you solved his problem at the bank, I’ll complete my end of the deal. Goodbye, Gerald. Do something good for a change.”

  Folsom had already read and jotted down the telephone number showing on his cell phone’s display by the time he hung up with Wendy, writing the number on the top edge of today’s newspaper, right above the headline that screamed, BANK EXECUTIVE ARRESTED FOR SPOUSE ABUSE. He ripped the number from the front page and stuck it in his shirt pocket. He flung the rest of the newspaper across the room, snatched his jacket from a chair, and rushed to the garage. After jumping into his Mercedes, he pressed the garage door opener, and scraped the car roof against the bottom of the partially retracted garage door in his hurry to leave. He finally cleared the garage and looked back at the door. It had been knocked off its track. He cursed and roared away.

  At the first convenience store he saw, he parked in front of a pay phone, got out of the car, and dialed the number Wendy had called him from. A woman answered, “St. Francis College.” Folsom hung up without saying anything. Clever girl, he thought, hiding out at the Catholic women’s college. He then dialed Toothpick Jefferson’s number.

  “Who’s calling?” Toothpick asked.

  “You did nice work on the first job.”

  “You got the information I need to finish the assignment?”

  He told Toothpick where Wendy had called him from.

  “Shit! That’s going to complicate things.”

  “I think the fee I agreed to pay you should cover a few complications.”

  “Plus the bonus.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Plus the bonus.”

  “Anything else?”

  “It needs to look like an accident. A violent death will only bring heat on me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Kelly Loughridge was feeling vibes that only came when she felt a good story was in the making. She’d had a busy morning and was now working through the lunch hour. She’d asked the reporter working the Broad Street National Bank takeover if he had a contact at the FDIC.

  “Not anymore,” the guy told her. “It was Donald Matson until he got murdered the other night.”

  She called the area FDIC office, but the place was apparently in turmoil as a result of Matson’s death. All she got were recorded messages.

  Finally, she called Washington, D.C. and left a message. She had a suspicion she’d never get a call back.

  The last item on her TO DO list was a reminder to call Edward Winter.

  She got past the receptionist at Winter Enterprises and was put though to Edward.

  “Ms. Loughridge, I’m pleased to hear from you.”

  “Hello, Mr. Winter. I wanted to update you.”

  “Yes?”

  “I checked past news items that mentioned Donald Matson’s name and came up with a few interesting things. You remember Matson was the man who was the FDIC supervisor here in Philadelphia and was murdered a couple nights ago? Some of the articles led me to suspect Matson and Gerald Folsom knew each other. Perhaps more than professionally.”

  “That doesn’t seem particularly strange considering Folsom has done more than one deal with the FDIC.”

  “Maybe not. But the articles did mention three bank deals that had gone to Folsom’s company. In each one, Matson played a role. There were also mentions of loan pool sales to investors, but not who the investors were. I ran Gerald Folsom’s name through our database, but didn’t come up with anything substantive on the subject. I’ve been trying to talk to someone at the FDIC with no luck so far.”

  “You suspect there might have been hanky-panky going on between Folsom and Matson?”

  “I don’t suspect anything. I’m an unbiased, objective member of the media. But I sure do have a funny feeling.”

  “Not quite the story I wanted you to write about,” Edward said.

  “You never know where a story might lead. Now, if I can only get someone from the FDIC to call me.”

  “I might be able to help you there. Paul Sanders, my attorney, knows someone at that agency. How about if I have Mr. Sanders call you?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Keep me informed, Ms. Loughridge. I’m running on fumes here. I need a shot of good news, something that will get Broad Street National Bank off my butt.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Paul was reading a draft of a restraining order he’d prepared – he was going to try to get a judge to delay Broad Street National’s impending foreclosure action on the Winter Enterprises’ loan – when he got a call from Edward. After Edward briefed him on what Kelly Loughridge had told him and given him her number, Paul called the newspaper editor.

  Loughridge picked up his call on the second ring and seemed thrilled to hear from him. “I hear you might be able to help me get through to the right person at the FDIC.”

  “I can try,” Paul answered. “But on one condition. I want to be kept informed of anything you learn and are going to write about.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” she said.

  “Ms. Loughridge, I’m trying to save the business of a very fine man, one who has done everything right. His business and his financial survival are being threatened by a very bad man. You can help me save a very good man.”

  “I’m a journalist, not a social worker, Mr.—”

  “Quid pro quo. You share with me and I’ll share with you any information I get about Gerald Folsom, Ms. Loughridge. Also anything I learn about the FDIC or anyone else involved in this matter.”

  Loughridge didn’t respond right away. After a while, she said, “Okay, Mr. Sanders. What’s our next step?”

  “I’ll call my friend at the FDIC and see if she’ll talk with you.”

  Paul called Gail Moskowitz at the FDIC’s Washington, D.C. offices.

  “I need your help again. I just talked with a newspaper editor here in Philadelphia. She’s got a question about the deals Gerald Folsom has closed with your agency and wants to talk to someone at the FDIC.”

  “Paul, you’re a friend, but you’re pushing our friendship. I talk to a reporter and my career will be over.”

  “Gail, if there’s something rotten in the agency, don’t you want to expose it?”

  “Last time I looked I didn’t have a bull’s-eye on my back and I sure as hell don’t have a martyr complex. I’m not going to participate in a witch hunt based on the suspicions of some newspaper editor.”

  “Okay, Gail, then just do this. Check your files and see how many deals Gerald Folsom and/or Folsom Financial Corporation have done with the agency. And then cross-check those deals against Donald Matson’s name. If you find something strange, then call me. If not, forget we had this conversation.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said and hung up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Toothpick Jefferson ordered one of his men to drive by the college. The guy called him back an hour-and-a-half later.

  “You recruiting street talent from colleges now, Toothpick?”

  “Stop talking bullshit. What d’ya see?”

  “It’s pretty quiet out there, being summertime and all. Got a security guard old as Methuselah driving ‘round in a golf cart. You want me to hang around, do somethin’ for you?”

  “Nah,” Toothpick said. “I need finesse for this job.”

  “I got finesse,” his man said, sounding put out.

  “You got as much finesse as an elephant in heat.” He hung up and then thought about Philippa Gonzalez, a forty-year-old woman he used sparingly for more sophisticated work. Philippa was a dark-haired knockout of medium height, 120 pounds, hourglass figure and long raven-colored hair. She had a college degree in education and spoke three languages in addition to being a skillful boxer and a black belt in karate. The hundred grand Toothpi
ck paid her annually for tough jobs was more than she could make in two-and-a-half years as a school teacher. And she liked the challenge. He dialed her number.

  “Hey, Sugar,” Philippa said.

  “Girl, you got some time to meet me?”

  “Would this be a social call or business?”

  “Business, Sweetie. What else would it be?”

  “I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Wear something maternal.”

  An hour later, Toothpick briefed Philippa about the job, the target, and the target’s location. They agreed on a $5,000 fee upon completion of the assignment before laying out a strategy. First, reconnaissance. She would enter the college campus, pretending to have a teenage daughter considering applying for admission. Philippa would claim she was in Philadelphia on business and was taking the opportunity to visit the campus and to possibly get a tour.

  At 4:25 p.m., Philippa patted her hair one last time and checked her makeup in her car’s rearview mirror. Satisfied, she got out and walked to the reception building on the St. Francis College campus. She wore a gray suit with a white blouse with a conservative gold necklace, small gold earrings, and a wedding ring. The young woman who greeted her listened to her story and then made a telephone call. Within a few minutes, a woman about Philippa’s age joined them in the lobby. She was tall and thin, and wore a blue blazer over a white blouse and gray slacks. Her brown hair was piled onto her head, high over her intelligent, alert brown eyes.

  “Hello,” the woman said. “My name is Helen Davis. I understand you have a daughter who is considering our school.”

  Philippa beamed at Helen Davis and introduced herself as Lourdes Sanchez. “Yes, my daughter, Emilia, wants to go to school near a large city.” Philippa chuckled and added, “Anything to get out of Akron.”

  “When does your daughter graduate from high school?”

  “She’ll be a senior this coming year, so she’ll graduate in May next year. Her father and I are nervous about her going away to college, but we’ve agreed to allow it as long as she goes some place where she will be safe.”

  Ms. Davis smiled at Philippa. “We find that girls who come from caring families like yours adjust to being away from home the best. As to the safety issue, we have twenty-four hour security patrols on campus and do not allow our freshman students to be off campus during the week and students have a midnight curfew on weekends. And, as you probably noticed, this area is mostly residential and upscale.”

  Philippa nodded her approval. “Is there a chance someone could give me a tour of the campus?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Davis said. “I can’t give you a complete tour as I have a meeting in a little over an hour, but I can at least give you enough of a tour to provide an appreciation for our school.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Helen Davis’s tour was comprehensive yet efficient. She took Philippa through a classroom building, the library, the sports facilities, and a dormitory. The last place they toured was the grotto with its fountain and the chapel.

  “Do you have summer classes going on right now?” Philippa asked.

  “No, all the students are off campus except for a couple who have summer jobs here. That’s why it was so hot in the dormitory; we shut off the air conditioning to keep our utility bills down.”

  “Good idea.”

  “We’re a small institution that depends on the generosity of our alumni and friends. We don’t have a large endowment like the Ivy League schools do.”

  “I noticed a few other buildings on campus, away from the school buildings.”

  “Yes, we are more than just a college. We also have a church and convent on site.” Davis pointed at a parcel of high ground. “That’s the Mother Superior’s residence. The convent is off to the right about one hundred yards.”

  “Beautiful buildings.”

  “Thank you. By the way, a lot of our students come from out-of-state. When their parents visit here we make rooms available to them at a small charge.” Davis laughed deprecatingly. “The rooms are not luxurious, so you might prefer one of the area hotels.”

  “Where do these visitors stay?”

  “In a wing of the convent.” Davis pointed at the far right side of the convent building. “Can’t have fathers wandering around the main part of the building.”

  Philippa chuckled. “I can understand that. It might have been fun to stay there during this visit. I haven’t spent a night in a convent since I was a little girl at summer camp.”

  Davis smiled and said, “We would love to have had you stay with us. Right now there’s only one visitor, a woman.”

  “You’ve been very kind,” Philippa told her. “I’m sure my daughter will apply to your school. It’s so beautiful here; I wish I was the one about to go to college.”

  “We hear that a lot.”

  Philippa said goodbye and walked back to her car. She drove out to Germantown Pike and turned right. At the next intersection, a corner of the campus property, she took another right. A couple hundred feet down the street, she pulled off to the side, peeked over the stone wall bordering the property, and eyeballed the convent. The visitors’ wing was the part of the building closest to the street. She could easily climb over the wall – there didn’t appear to be any security devices, like cameras or electronic alarm wiring on the wall. Ten second run to the visitors’ wing. No windows showing in the convent building, except on the front entrance side. She smiled. Wouldn’t do to have peeping Toms looking in on the nuns.

  She’d have to find a place to park that wouldn’t attract attention. There was an entrance to Fairmount Park on the other side of Germantown Pike. She could pretend to be out jogging; although that might come across lame if a cop stopped her. This was an after-dark job. Most people in their right minds didn’t jog at that hour.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Katherine was thinking about Carrie. The letter she’d received from her daughter had said that she would be released from a hospital in about a week. Considering the time that had passed since Carrie wrote the letter, she figured Carrie should be home already. But Katherine knew she was always doing something mysterious and her schedule was likely to change at a moment’s notice. The telephone rang, breaking into her thoughts. The display showed it was Edward.

  “Hi, son,” she said.

  “Hey, Mom. How are you doing?”

  “Good. How about you?”

  “Some reason for hope; nothing definite. But I didn’t call to talk about work; I’ve got something else we need to discuss. I was just checking to see if you were home. I’ll be there in a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Edward sounded mysterious. Katherine hoped there wasn’t more bad news. She quickly shucked out of her dress and pulled on jeans and a work shirt. She opened a bottle of California Chardonnay, a 2007 Londer, and was halfway through her first glass when the doorbell rang. She went to the door, swung it open, and shouted, “Carrie!”

  A grinning Edward stood behind Carrie, holding her travel bag.

  Katherine moved to embrace her daughter, but Carrie took the wine glass from her mother, downed the contents, and tossed the glass over her shoulder onto the lawn.

  “Now I’ll take that hug,” she said.

  Mother and daughter squealed and danced around, all the while wrapped around one another. Edward squeezed around them and set Carrie’s bag inside the front door. Katherine and Carrie finally followed him inside.

  “You look great,” Katherine told Carrie. “After I read your last letter, I was afraid you’d look like your brother did when he returned from Iraq.”

  Carrie smiled at Edward and said, “I’ve always been tougher than Eddie. Actually, I’m feeling great. And I’ll feel even better after I have another glass of that fantastic chardonnay and you tell me where we’re having dinner tonight.”

  “What do you feel like eating?” Katherine asked.

  “Steak, s
teak, and more steak. I’ve had so much lamb, flat bread, and grape leaves, I’m starting to turn into an Afghani.”

  “Is that where you’ve been, Afghanistan?” Edward said.

  She waggled her hand in front of her and laughed. “Let’s just say where I’ve been is the armpit of the universe and I never want to return there ever again.”

  “Okay, steak it is. How does Paisano’s sound?”

  “Great!”

  Edward hugged and kissed his mother. “I’ll go get Betsy and meet you there. Say, in an hour.” He turned to Carrie and hugged her as well. “Are you sure you’re up to this? I mean, you just flew more than halfway around the world.”

  “Still looking out for me, big brother?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Carrie kissed Edward on the cheek and hugged him tightly. “Go get Betsy. I’m fine. Well, besides being starving.”

  “What’s going on with Edward?” Carrie asked after she and her mother sat down in the kitchen. “Something’s bothering him.”

  Katherine shook her head. “It’s a long story, but the essence is the federal government has overreacted to the banking and capital markets crises. The bank regulators are taking over banks all over the country and forcing most of them to stop making commercial real estate loans. Edward’s loan is coming due at the end of this month and the bank told him they won’t renew it. He’s tried to get it refinanced at another bank, but most of them aren’t in the market for new commercial real estate paper. The one bank that wants his business isn’t large enough to take the whole loan.

  “Edward’s been working like crazy trying to get his bank to change its position, but without success. His bank was taken over by the Feds and then sold to an investor who . . .” Katherine paused.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “The new owner of the bank is Gerald Folsom, the same man who put your father into those real estate deals more than twenty years ago. The same guy who wound up owning your father’s bank and all his real estate after he died.”

  Katherine saw a change come over Carrie, a dark and vengeful force that invaded her being. Her eyes narrowed.