Shell Game (Stand Alone 2)

by Badal, Joseph

  Carrie chuckled. “These two aren’t going to say a word. They’re professional hoodlums and probably learned a long time ago that nothing good comes from talking to the authorities. And if they do say something, I’ll claim they’re lying.”

  Edward walked to the door, but Carrie stopped him. “Give me that gun. And take that satchel out of the linen storage room, take it to Folsom’s room, and leave it there.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  SATURDAY

  JULY 30, 2011

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  Having gone through an Army course in Duress Interrogation, Carrie found the interrogation conducted by the Philadelphia Police detectives mild by comparison. By pretending to be upset over the events of the night, the police treated her with kid gloves. The only part of the interview process that was getting to her was having to answer the same questions over and over and over again. She was now on the fourth iteration of the story; all she wanted to do was get to her mother’s home and make sure everyone there was okay.

  “Tell us what happened, again from the top,” Detective Anthony Castiglia said.

  Carrie wagged her head as though from frustration. “How many times do I have to go over this with you, Detective? It’s 3 in the morning.”

  “Come on, Ms. Winter. You had two dead men in your hotel room. Don’t you think that requires us to be diligent?” Castiglia said.

  “Oh, all right. As I said before, my mother, Wendy Folsom, and I decided to stay at the Marriott Hotel as a precaution. After the beating Mrs. Folsom’s husband had given her, we felt that moving out of the house made sense. We’d been in the Marriott since last Saturday.”

  “But you were checking out?” Castiglia asked.

  “Yes. I was going to drive Mrs. Folsom down to Cape May this morning and drop her off at our home down there. I was going to come back to my mother’s place after dropping off Mrs. Folsom. Now that her husband is dead, I guess there’s no need to take her to the shore.”

  “You mentioned Gerald Folsom beating his wife. Do you have some reason to believe he was planning more violence against his wife?”

  Carrie wasn’t about to disclose what she knew about an assassin breaking into her mother’s place. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, I think the man was capable of hiring someone to harm his wife.”

  “So, you were still there in the room when Folsom and the other men broke in?”

  “I was about to pack up our things and leave. My brother drove Mrs. Folsom, Paul Sanders, our family attorney, and my mother to her house. And, to be accurate, the men didn’t break in. My brother must have left the door ajar when he left.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “I heard this enormous explosion and saw a flash of light. Thank God I was in the bedroom. I looked into the living room and there were four men rolling around on the floor, screaming. I saw a pistol on the floor next to the man closest to me, so I grabbed it and ran to the front door of the suite to get away. But I tripped on the man nearest to the door, Gerald Folsom. He got to his feet and came after me, and was about to grab me when I heard a gunshot and,” she feigned a shudder here, “blood spurted out of his eye. I think one of the other men tried to shoot me and hit him instead. I pointed the pistol I had picked up off the floor at the man who shot Folsom and fired at him.

  “I ran into the hall and saw people gathering. I screamed at them to get back into their rooms; one woman said she had called the police. A hotel security guard appeared in the hall and I told him to go downstairs and show the police to my room.”

  “How do you explain the explosion and the flash of light?” Castiglia asked.

  “As you know, Detective, I’m in the Army. I’ve heard and seen flash bang grenades go off before. I can only assume Folsom or one of the other men brought one along to disable us.”

  “But they disabled themselves, Ms. Winter.”

  “Is that a question?” Carrie asked.

  Castiglia smiled. “Just wondering if you have an opinion as to what happened.”

  “Let’s say it was a flash bang grenade that went off. Maybe whoever was holding it didn’t toss it into the room early enough. Maybe it was old ordnance and was defective. Whatever happened, Detective Castiglia, was to my benefit and not theirs.”

  “Pretty good shot you made. Do you know anything about the man you killed?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “But he was so large, it was pretty hard to miss him.”

  “You ever been to Pastorius Park?”

  Carrie shot the detective a surprised look. “Dozens of times when I was a kid. Why?”

  “Recently?”

  “I haven’t been a kid for years, Detective. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, we had multiple reports of an incident in the park last Sunday. Witnesses reported seeing a tall young woman with short blonde hair assault a very fat black man. Could have been the same guy you shot tonight.”

  “And?” Carrie said.

  “Sounds like it could have been you, Ms. Winter.”

  “Lots of tall blondes with short hair running around Philadelphia, Detective.”

  Castiglia nodded. “We also received reports of a Corvette running down another man there. Doesn’t your brother drive a Corvette?”

  “Lots of Corvettes in Philly, too.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He paused for about ten seconds and then said, “I suppose I should be thanking you for shooting Eli “Toothpick” Jefferson. The guy has been an organized crime fixture around the city for decades.”

  “Can I ask you a couple questions?” Carrie said.

  “Sure.”

  “What was Folsom doing hanging around an organized crime figure?”

  Castiglia hunched his shoulders. “Hopefully, that will come out in our investigation.”

  “I noticed security cameras in the hall at the hotel. Why didn’t the presence of armed men outside our room send up red flags with the hotel security people? And how did Folsom and his men even get past the lobby?”

  “Someone tampered with the camera at that end of the hall. Besides, hotel security is not usually highly efficient. As far as Folsom getting past the lobby, he checked into the hotel under a false identity and waltzed right to his room on the tenth floor. The security guard recognized Folsom as the man who checked in under the name Domenico, in Room 1027. When we searched it, we found an overnight bag there along with a leather bag with two pistols, three flash bang grenades, one regular grenade and two serrated Special Forces killing knives. We assume when he left his room, he then went down one of the emergency staircases and let the other men in that way.”

  ‘Flash bang grenades?” Carrie asked. “Huh.”

  “Yeah. Looks like Folsom was the one who brought that grenade to your room.”

  Carrie shook her head as though to indicate she was surprised by all of this.

  “I think you can go now, Ms. Winter,” Castiglia said. “But don’t leave town without checking with me.”

  “Detective, I’m only home on leave; I have to report to my unit by August 15.”

  “What sort of work do you do in the Army?” Castiglia asked.

  Carrie stood and laughed. “Nothing very exciting. Administrative work.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  One of Castiglia’s men drove Carrie back to the Marriott, where she gathered all of the clothing and belongings they’d left there. A bellman loaded the suitcases into Katherine’s SUV while Carrie stopped at the front desk and learned Katherine had already covered the bill. Carrie rolled her eyes at no one in particular. So like Mom.

  She went to the SUV and drove to her mother’s house. Darren and Mike were in their vehicles, parked on the street in front of the house.

  Darren got out of his car when Carrie approached him in the SUV and walked over to the driver’s side. Rolling down her window, she told him to collect Mike and come inside, but Darren wanted to know if the danger had passed.
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  “Folsom and Jefferson are dead. Jefferson’s two men are in jail. So, it looks as though the threat is gone. Why don’t you guys come in and sack out here. We’ll talk about everything after we all get some rest.”

  “Nah,” Darren said. “You need to be with family now. Maybe Mike and I can come over later. When I drove Mrs. Folsom and your mom over here, Mrs. Folsom talked about going down to Cape May. She sounded like she wanted to get away from the city. Maybe I can drive her down there; keep an eye on her for a while.”

  Carrie gave Darren a sideways look and asked, “Just playing Good Samaritan?”

  “Something like that,” he said, winking.

  “Okay, why don’t you guys come back at 10? By that time I will have caught four or five hours of sleep and we can sort this all out.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Darren said. He waved to Mike, got back in his car, and drove away. Mike followed.

  When Carrie pulled the SUV into the driveway, she saw Paul’s sedan and Edward’s Corvette parked there. She used her key to enter the house and found Katherine, Wendy, Edward, and Paul seated in the living room, surrounded by the remnants of coffee and sandwiches on the coffee and end tables. Everyone stood and rushed her when she walked into the room.

  “What happened?” Katherine asked. “Where have you been?”

  “I had to tell the police my story over and over again. I think they finally believed me.”

  “Why wouldn’t they believe you?” Katherine asked.

  Carrie glanced at Edward. He winked at her. “You know the police. They suspect everybody.” She turned back to Edward and said, “The police found grenades, guns, and knives in Folsom’s hotel room. That stuff seemed to seal the deal as far as the cops are concerned.”

  Edward smiled.

  “I think it’s time for sleep,” Katherine said.

  “Wonderful idea,” Paul responded.

  “I told Darren and Mike to come back at 10. I think we should ensure our stories all match; I wouldn’t want the police to get the wrong idea.”

  Katherine gave her daughter a cock-eyed look, but Carrie purposefully ignored her. “Let’s all meet here at 10.”

  Edward hugged Carrie, then his mother, and walked out, with Paul following close behind. Carrie was about to go to her bedroom when an errant thought crossed her mind. She hurried outside and stopped Edward before he got into his car.

  “Did you give Wendy the bonds?”

  Edward slapped the side of his head, making an annoyed grunt. “I kept putting it off because I wanted to give them to her when no one else was around. I figured the fewer people who know about the money, the better. Then I dozed off for a while and forgot all about it.”

  “We really need to let Wendy know she can make a new life for herself.”

  “Oh, she’ll be able to make a new life for herself, all right,” Edward said, looking mischievous.

  Carrie found her brother’s comment and tone odd, but she was too tired to question him. “Maybe we can meet with her before the others show up. Say 9:30.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Edward returned to Katherine’s house promptly at 9:30 that morning, lugging Folsom’s canvas bag into the house. Carrie was in the kitchen.

  “Where’s Mom?” he asked, dropping the heavy bag on the floor.

  “Paul showed up about an hour ago and took her out to breakfast. Wendy’s in her room.”

  “Let’s do this then.”

  Edward hefted the bag from the floor, following Carrie to Wendy’s bedroom. After Carrie knocked, Wendy said, “Come in.”

  They entered the room and Edward placed the bag at the bottom of the bed.

  “We have something for you,” Carrie said.

  “What is it?” Wendy asked, a child-like birthday smile on her face.

  “Your husband—”

  Wendy interrupted Carrie, “My former husband.”

  “Right. Your former husband tried to bribe Eddie and me to let him go, offering us $2 million in bonds. After the shooting last night, Eddie took the bonds. They’re in there; we thought you could use it to make a new start. Especially with the Feds tying up all of Folsom’s other assets.”

  Wendy looked shocked. Her mouth hung open until she realized she looked like a hooked fish and she snapped her mouth closed. “Does the Winter family ever stop coming to my assistance?” she cried, tears running from her eyes.

  Wendy leapt up, hugging Carrie and then Edward. “$2 million. I wonder what that much money looks like.”

  “Why don’t you open the bag and see?” Edward said, a huge smile on his face.

  Wendy moved to the bottom of the bed and pulled the zipper on the bag. She looked first at the contents and then looked back at Carrie and Edward. “That’s a lot.”

  She giggled and dug her hands into the bag, pulling out stacks of hundred dollar bills. She tossed them onto the bed and did the same thing twice more. “This is fun,” she said, falling back and laying on the money before bouncing back up.

  Carrie looked at Edward, who hunched his shoulders. She was certain Folsom had mentioned bonds, not cash.

  Wendy stared back down at the bag and said, “What’s this?” She dug deeper inside the bag and extracted a stack of paper.

  “Bearer bonds,” Edward said. “$50 million worth. Plus jewels and gold coins in the bottom of the bag.”

  Wendy half-sat, half-collapsed on the bed. Edward looked at Carrie standing in the middle of the room, her mouth open, at a loss for words, and laughed.

  “Can I keep this? I mean, is this mine?”

  “Folsom was your husband,” Edward answered. “I assume you’re his only heir. But you should ask Paul for a legal opinion.”

  WEDNESDAY

  AUGUST 3, 2011

  EPILOGUE

  “So, things are going well, Nick?”

  “Yeah, Eddie. Since the managers’ meeting last Saturday morning, now that the rumors about our pending demise have stopped, the staff are back to being positive again.”

  Edward parked the Corvette in Broad Street National Bank’s parking lot and waved at Paul Sanders as he pulled in behind him. Edward and Nick waited for Paul to join them.

  Paul tapped the file under his arm and said, “No surprises in any of these loan documents the bank sent me. They were good to their word.”

  “I have to admit,” Edward said, “I expected some last minute change. After the way they treated us, I thought they’d drop a surprise bomb.”

  Paul placed a hand on Edward’s back and said, “I understand, but it’s a new regime at the bank. I don’t know if you heard, but the FDIC brought Sol Levin back to run the bank, and they’re in negotiations to reinstate the previous ownership.” Paul laughed. “Whatever money Folsom put into the bank has been appropriated by the Feds and placed into the bank’s capital account. There’s no question now about the bank’s stability. Not that the bank’s real condition was ever that bad.”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever know how many banks were taken down because of corrupt investors and regulators,” Nick said.

  “I think it’s tempting to take this one instance and use it as the foundation for a nationwide conspiracy theory,” Edward said. “But I suspect the truth is there have only been a few cases like Broad Street National Bank. The bigger issue is that the regulators are probably honest, well-intentioned people who have overreacted due to political pressure to clean things up. They start with the premise that all bankers are stupid, greedy bastards, and then act accordingly.”

  They stopped outside the bank entrance. Edward looked up at the building that had been a fixture of Philadelphia’s downtown since the early 1900s. “The shame here is, assuming the bank really needed capital, the government could have put a fraction of the money they used to subsidize Folsom into Broad Street’s capital base, taken an ownership piece of the bank, and given the old owners a few years to pay the government back. Essentially, that’s what they did for the big banks. Instead, the Feds brought in a vu
lture investor and wiped out the stockholders, many of whom did nothing more than invest in a bank that had served them and their community for years.”

  “That’s the Feds for you,” Paul said. “Save the big boys and screw the little guys.”

  Once inside, Edward led the familiar way to the executive offices on the mezzanine level. Sanford Cunningham met them at the elevator and took them to a conference room. After they were seated, Edward asked, “Who’s our account officer going to be now that Stan Burns is gone?”

  “I’m your primary contact, but Francis McNamara, one of our senior commercial lenders, will back me up.”

  “By the way, whatever happened with Stan Burns?” Nick asked.

  “I just heard he was offered a job as President of a bank in West Chester. Apparently, the FDIC recommended him.” Cunningham’s face went red and he looked ashamed. “Stan did the right thing; I didn’t. He deserves whatever good comes his way.”

  “Well anyway, let’s sign the papers,” Paul said.

  Cunningham looked confused. “I was surprised you all showed up here for your appointment. I—”

  “What are you talking about?” Paul blurted, suddenly angry. “What are you trying to pull?”

  Cunningham raised his hands in defense. “No, no, you misunderstand. I just assumed when the wire paid off the balance on your loan, you had taken your business elsewhere.”

  “What wire?” Edward barked.

  “We received a wire at 11 this morning for just over $20.3 million, covering principal and accrued interest.”

  Edward looked at Nick. “You know something about this?” he asked, but he could tell from the confused expression on Nick’s face that they were both equally confused.

  “There was no payer name on the wire and the only identification on it was that it came from a bank in Zurich. The instructions were to apply the amount to the Winter Enterprises loan balance at Broad Street National Bank.”

  Cunningham looked from Edward to Paul to Nick, and then back to Edward. “I don’t understand. You didn’t know about this?”