by C. W. Saari
“Why her dentist?”
“When we put a person’s name into the National Crime Information Center’s Missing Persons file, we enter medical data such as physical handicaps and mental disabilities, as well as a complete chart of their dental history.”
“You mean in case they find a body?”
“That does happen sometimes.”
Weber made a few more notes, including Felix’s mention of finding a body. “When we get to the apartment, you can check to see what Lillian may have taken, like her clothes, watch, jewelry, or overnight items. I’ll need as good a description as you can provide. Her height, weight, whether she has any scars, tattoos, or birthmarks. We’ll enter all that into her report.”
“What else do you need?” Felix asked.
“It would help if you had some recent photographs, especially any that show her current hair color and style. And could you give us a list of all your joint credit card and bank account numbers so we can check to see if there’s been any activity on them in the past seventy-two hours?”
Weber followed Felix back to the Wells’ apartment, which was only three miles from the police station in a trendy area of upscale brick townhouses behind the Ballston Metro stop. But it was Friday rush hour, and in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, it took twenty minutes to cover the three miles down Wilson Boulevard. Once inside the apartment, Felix pointed out Lillian’s room, and the two men opened her door and went in.
“Is that her laptop?” Weber pointed to a silver Sony Vaio on a small desk.
“Yes, but I haven’t looked at it,” Felix said.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take it with me so one of our tech guys can check it out. I’ll give you a receipt and return it immediately if Lillian shows up.”
“Do whatever you need to do,” Felix said as he walked over to Lillian’s closet.
After looking through the shelves and racks of neatly hanging clothes, Felix said, “The only thing I know for sure that isn’t here is her favorite pair of black leather boots. And it looks like her new brown leather jacket is missing. That’s all I can tell you. I honestly don’t pay much attention to the particulars of Lillian’s wardrobe. As you can see, it’s rather extensive.”
“That’s fine,” Weber said as he noticed the bed was made up with gold decorative pillows carefully arranged on top of a light blue tapestry bedspread. When he walked into the bathroom, he immediately noticed an open cosmetics bag on the counter, as well as a comb and brush sitting next to a black hair dryer.
“Felix, I’d like to take your wife’s hairbrush and this toothbrush, which I’m assuming is hers.” The detective figured those items might be the best bet at getting the woman’s DNA if it was needed, since her immediate family members were deceased.
“Sure, go ahead.”
In the top left drawer of the vanity, Weber observed five different prescription containers. One bottle was labeled AZT; two others had exotic names, probably HIV drugs. He found one calendar pack of birth control pills and a tube marked Retin-A, which Weber knew was for the skin. It didn’t look to him like Lillian Wells had packed to go anywhere.
“Detective Weber, I don’t have a clue as to what jewelry Lillian owns. I know she always wears her wedding rings, and I don’t see her watch here. It’s a Vacheron—the kind with railroad numbers on it, you know, one, two, three. It belonged to her mother. Neither woman liked to stare at a watch to tell the time. Lillian also has a new pair of gold dangling earrings that she bought in Milan. I don’t see them. I don’t know if it’s important, but her watch is worth about seven thousand dollars.”
Weber made some more notes and continued searching through the rest of the apartment, his trained eye looking for any signs of a struggle, recent cleaning, or items out of place. He saw none. In the kitchen he noticed a stack of documents on the kitchen table and asked about them.
“Lillian made me a copy of our financial documents and credit card bills for our lawyers to review,” Felix said.
“Well, why don’t you copy down your account numbers and financial information while I sit in the other room and make some notes,” Weber suggested.
Weber and Felix compiled a list with Lillian’s descriptive data, medical information, car identifiers, bank and credit card data, and a list of friends with addresses and phone numbers.
“I think that’ll do it for now,” Weber said as he gathered up Lillian’s laptop and a plastic bag in which he’d put Lillian’s brushes. “Call me as soon as you hear anything. I’m going back to the office and will have all this put into our computer.”
After handing Felix one of his business cards, Weber returned to his car. The first thing he would do Monday would be to contact Lillian Wells’ doctor and dentist. As soon as he got back to the office, he intended to run a few checks on Felix Wells III. Some things weren’t adding up.
The sun was setting. Thirty-nine miles away near Stafford, Virginia, off a gravel turnout at mile marker 141, Lillian Wells didn’t know the day was ending. Her Vacheron Cortina watch said it was 5:57 p.m. It was still on the left wrist of her lifeless nude body.
The ringing of Bannister’s alarm announced Friday’s arrival. Last night he’d planned a four mile run for this morning, followed by a half hour of karate kicks and hand thrusts to the punching bags in the garage. He left at 5:30 a.m. despite the crisp twenty-nine degree temperature. He used the first mile to warm up and mull over the events of the day before. It had not been a good day.
Someone had gotten away with five million dollars belonging to Global Waters. But getting away and getting away with it were two different things. And then the Bureau had found Cal Williamson’s car at DC’s Dulles airport where someone, maybe his killer, had dumped it. Bannister was impatiently waiting to see if the lab guys came up with anything.
He kept up a steady pace as he ran past what used to be the old Lumpkin estate. He could only imagine what it had looked like back in 1843 when Martha Atalanta Lumpkin had changed the name of the city from Terminus to Marthasville. Fortunately for later residents, that name only lasted two years. The city’s chief railroad engineer, hoping to bring some life to the economy, renamed the city Atlanta, using Martha’s middle name—or most of it, anyway.
Bannister used the last stretch of his run to sift through what had happened so far. As he replayed the chronology of events, he remembered what an old homicide detective had once told him. Always follow three rules: Let the crime scene talk to you, work the facts, and trust your hunches. Bannister hadn’t trusted one of his hunches yesterday when the theft was going down, and now the money was missing. Today he’d have to work the facts and get back on track. Right now his gut was telling him to identify the real Sean O’Brien. It was also telling him the subject must have had inside help.
Back at the garage he went through his routine of strength exercises, stretching, and powering through a series of sweeping kicks to the heavy bag. Hundreds of hours of repetitive movements had developed his muscle memory. His body remembered the moves but forgot the fatigue that went along with them.
He was almost through his workout when he again felt a jolt of pain near his right hip. For a second it took his breath away. Maybe he’d overdone it. In any event, the hot jets of the shower were a godsend and slowly massaged his muscles back to reality.
At the office, Bannister put his cup of coffee on the desk and saw a note from Germaine White saying she had results of new records checks. He turned around to see her standing directly behind him.
“I see you’ve read my note,” she said.
“Morning, Germaine. You’ve been busy.”
“I knew you’d be pulled in a lot of directions today, so I thought I’d try and give you a head start.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side.
“What’ve you got?”
“The name of the rental agent for Best Atlanta Company is Candace Miller. I ran her through ChoicePoint and other databases. I’ve got her home address, work address, and all her
phone numbers, including cell.”
“That’s great, Germaine. What else you got there?”
“I remember both you and Ernie Gonzales said yesterday you thought Sean O’Brien was wearing a disguise for his driver’s license photo.”
“What’s your opinion?” He knew Germaine liked to be asked what she thought.
“I agree. I took O’Brien’s photo and used some new identification software to show what he’d look like clean-shaven, without glasses, and with a contemporary hairstyle. I know you didn’t ask for these, but I thought they might come in handy later.”
“You’re always a step ahead,” Bannister said. Germaine put the retouched photos on the corner of his desk and went back to her vault. Mercedes Ramirez sauntered over with a rested look about her, which was surprising, given the long hours she’d been working. She looked smart in a navy jacket, navy slacks, and white blouse.
“Nice effort last night,” Bannister said. “Anything new?”
“It doesn’t look like we’re going to get much from the tunnel. I vacuumed the whole length in hopes we might pick up trace evidence. I’ll have to go through the contents this morning.” Mercedes leaned back against Ford Campbell’s desk. “By the way, Derek looked at the dumpster out back. Did you know Derek has welding experience? Anyway, he said it looks to him like the guy with the torch was a novice. Something about metal fusing and the perimeter cut being too uneven. You know Derek offers his opinion on everything.”
“At least you always know where you stand with him.”
“We’ll have to wait for the tool mark team to give us a definitive read.”
“Did you get anything from the office search?” Bannister asked.
“You bet. The black landscaping plastic covering the windows has a Home Depot UPC sticker on one corner. The garden cart in the tunnel also has a Home Depot sticker on it. We’ll probably be able to identify the store where they were purchased and work it from there.”
“Maybe the stuff was bought with a credit card. If we can pinpoint the date of purchase, we can look at their surveillance tapes. We might get lucky.”
“We also located stickers on the desks and lamps in the office, indicating they were rented from Easy Office Solutions. Campbell’s going to check that out. One other thing: We got a couple of partial shoe prints in the dust in the parking area in front of the office. The search team says they look like New Balance running shoes. We should have a model and size by this afternoon. They might not belong to our subject, but none of our people were wearing tennies.”
Bannister’s cell phone rang. It was Robin.
“Ty, I know you’re extremely busy, but I just had to call you. I opened my mail this morning and my orders were in it. I have to be at Quantico the second week of January.” Robin couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice.
“That’s fantastic. I’m real happy for you. Have you given your notice?”
“I’ll let Adam know this morning. He knew it was just a matter of time. Next week is Thanksgiving, and with everything going on—I feel bad about hitting him with it now, but I want to give him plenty of time to get a replacement. Speaking of Thanksgiving, what are your plans?”
Bannister hadn’t given it a thought. “I usually spend a quiet day at home,” he said. “Cook something special, maybe watch a movie or something.” He switched the phone to his other ear and leaned back. He felt a little nervous. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. If you haven’t made plans, how about joining me for dinner at my place?”
“I’ll only accept if I can bring something. How about a dessert? Could you go for something sinful?”
He knew she was flirting with him and he liked it. “You read my mind,” he said.
“Okay, you’ve got a deal.”
“I really look forward to seeing you. And I’ll be at Global later today. I’m meeting with Adam after the SAC’s briefing here this afternoon. We’re reviewing your list of terminated employees and other possibles.”
“Yes, I know. He said he’d like me to sit in, because every employee who was let go the past two years turned their company property in to me. It was always me and a security officer who escorted them out of the building.”
“Then I hope my meeting doesn’t run too late.”
“Oh, one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“About Thanksgiving. It doesn’t count as the dinner you owe me. Bye, bye!” Robin laughed as she hung up.
Bannister was still grinning as he called Candace Miller. It was amazing, he thought, but with everything else occupying his mind, Robin could actually make him smile.
Candace Miller picked up right away and agreed to meet him at her office on Northside Drive in an hour.
The secretary at Best Atlanta pointed toward the back of the office, where an attractive woman with auburn hair was just getting off the phone. Candace Miller stood up and waved Bannister into her office. When they shook hands, he noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“I’ve never met an FBI agent before,” Miller said. Her smile seemed genuine even if her white capped teeth looked like they’d been done in Beverly Hills. “What’s this all about?”
After he explained that one of her tenants, Sean O’Brien, might be involved in an extortion, she went to pull his file. Bannister asked her to bring the whole folder and not touch the documents.
“He called me at the end of June and said he’d like to look at the property. I drove over there, showed him an empty office, gave him a quick spiel about location, location, location, and he said he’d take it. We couldn’t have been there more than ten minutes.”
From a photo spread of six pictures, including Sean O’Brien’s driver’s license photo, she picked O’Brien out immediately.
“Can you describe what he looked like?”
“He looked like that picture. He had on a long-sleeved blue denim shirt and jeans. I remember what he was wearing because it was a scorching humid June day.”
“Do you recall anything about his voice or what he said?”
“Naturally, I asked him about his business and if he anticipated any problems with a credit check, you know, because he was a graduate student.”
“How did he respond?”
“He was very smooth. He gave me all the information I needed, and I wrote it down. I told him it would take a few days to process the paperwork, but everything would be ready for him by the end of the week.”
“Did you see him again?”
“Yes, he made an appointment for that Friday and came to the office to sign everything. He sat exactly where you’re sitting now.”
“How did that meeting go?”
“Fine. No problems. We’d done all our normal checks and he came through okay. The paperwork was ready when he arrived. The only thing out of the ordinary was that he paid the first two months of the two-year lease and the thousand dollar security deposit in cash—$3,600.”
“Did you ask him about that?”
“Sure. He said he was still in the process of setting up bank accounts and getting business cards and stationery printed. Made sense to me.” Miller brushed her auburn hair away from her face and flashed Bannister with an electric smile.
“Is there anything you recall about his voice? Accent, stutter, or anything unusual?”
“I’m not good on accents. He wasn’t foreign, though. I’m sure of that. He sounded educated. Confident.”
“Did you notice any distinguishing marks? Tattoos? Scars?”
“No, nothing that I recall.”
“Did he wear any jewelry? Ring? Watch?”
“He didn’t have any rings. He might have had a watch on, but I didn’t see it.”
“Do you recall what kind of vehicle he drove when he followed you to the office?”
“Not exactly. I just remember it was a white car.”
“Do you remember if he physically handled these lease agreements and other papers?”
“Come to think of it, he di
d do something odd with the papers. He took a pencil out of a briefcase and used the eraser end to move the papers around in front of him before signing them. I don’t know if he actually touched them or not.”
“I’d like to take these with me for forensic analysis.” After putting on cloth gloves, Bannister slid the lease agreement and three other credit forms into plastic sleeves. “You can make photocopies of these for your file. I’ll give you a receipt and we’ll return the originals later,” he told her as he made some notes. He wasn’t optimistic about getting any prints.
“If there’s anything else you remember, please call me right away. No matter how insignificant you think it might be.” Bannister handed Candace Miller one of his cards.
“One question, agent Bannister. Do you think we’re going to be stuck for the last eighteen months of his lease?”
“That I don’t know. Right now, Mr. O’Brien is a person of interest to us. Perhaps when we locate him we’ll get an answer for you.” As Bannister walked out of the office she shouted back.
“I just remembered something. He was wearing Obsession.”
“Pardon me?”
“He was wearing Calvin Klein’s Obsession cologne.”
“Yeah?” He sounded skeptical.
“It happens to be my favorite men’s cologne,” she said. “I didn’t say anything to him, though. If you point something out like that to a guy, they get self-conscious and think they’ve put on too much foof.”
“Thanks, Candace.”
Ford Campbell and two agents from the white collar crime squad identified two credit cards issued to Sean O’Brien and all transactions. A mail box at a PakMail store was identified. They retrieved the original registration papers from the Secretary of State’s Office for US Euro Trans-Consultants, which would be submitted for fingerprint checks and handwriting analysis. Campbell said computer checks for the firm showed no activity. He thought it was a front.