Dead Broke (Lana Denae Mystery Series Book 1) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“One thing is certain,” Damien said, as he and Jamie sat down with Ray and Lana at the Rose Bush lunch
café a few minutes past noon
. “Whoever did this planned it extremely well. Off-shore accounts, pre-paid phones, selecting Cascade Global Investment, targeting only certain investors, the fake ID’s and other accounts, all of this took a lot of forethought.”

“And time,” Ray agreed. “He planned this out for months. Maybe longer.”

“Doesn’t sound like something an unemployed twenty-six-year old dropout could orchestrate,” Lana admitted but still sounded unconvinced.

Damien said. “I know Mr. Schmidt is intelligent, as measured by today’s standard of computers and technology but I’m not sure he has the mental capacity to handle all of this.”

Jamie nodded. “It would take someone accustomed to running a big enterprise with many operations. Someone who has the ability to see the big picture while focusing on all the minute details.”

Not letting up, Damien said, “Someone with an understanding of the finance world. Someone in a position of power. Someone with connections.”

“Someone like Holloway,” Lana concluded, as it crossed her mind again that the man had a criminal defense lawyer representing him. She didn’t mention her thoughts to the others.

“Hate to say it but, yeah.” Damien said. “I mean, I know Holloway seems like a decent guy and all, but he does fit the bill.”

“To a ‘T’,” Jamie added.

Lana was silent a moment. Then, to the surprise of her colleagues, said. “I still don’t buy it.”

“What more do you want?” Jamie asked incredulously. “The man has no alibi, all of the evidence points to him, and he lied about his off-shore accounts.”

“He says he had no knowledge of those accounts and claims he did not set them up.”

Damien said, “It may interest you to know that while you were questioning Holloway, we examined his personal computer and discovered files on it that show activity on all of those accounts, recent activity.”

Lana shrugged. “I just... He says he didn’t set up the accounts and I believe him.”

“Then how did they get there?” Jamie said. “Off-shore accounts with large sums of money don’t just appear out of the blue. If they do, I want in line, wherever that line is.”

Lana again fell silent, chewing on the side of her lip, thinking.

“People lie,” Damien said, still trying to bolster his argument. “It’s hard to believe but they do.”

Lana ignored him but finally did speak. “I think I might have an explanation for this, for all of it.”

Damien and Jamie gave her a doubtful look but waited for her to go on.

“Think about it,” she said. “As you know, Eric Schmidt admitted to setting up the accounts under the stolen identities, hacking the investors accounts at Cascade Global to get their information in the first place, and the rest.”

“We don’t disagree on that,” Ray said. “We know he’s capable of hacking and altering online records. Look what he was able to pull off with this Canya person.”

“Exactly,” Lana said. “And with his skills, is there really any doubt he could have set up the off-shore accounts in Holloway’s name and tampered with the guy’s passport?”

“No,” came the chorus of replies.

“So, the only question is, is he capable of planning and running the whole show? I say yes. Not only do I think he could, I think he did. I think he set up Holloway to take the fall from the beginning.”

“That may be,” Damien said. “But why?”

“That, I’m not sure of—yet.”

“One thing that doesn’t make sense,” Jamie said with a frown. “If Eric is our guy why was he so scared of Holloway that day at the precinct?”

“I don’t know,” Lana admitted. “He did seem genuinely terrified of the man and for a while, he had me convinced there was something going on with the two of them. Even after I learned it had nothing to do with Eric’s imaginary sister, I kept thinking there was possibly something else. But now I’m not so sure. I think he could just be an exceptional actor. Not sure he was telling the truth about anything.”

Damien shrugged. “I don’t think he can be trusted, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean his entire story is fabricated. And, Holloway still has his own problems: failure to disclose a prior relationship with one of the victims, no alibi, and he stands to gain an awful lot of money by the deaths of the investors.”

“And don’t forget,” Jamie added, “Holloway matches the description of the guy in the video.”

Lana nodded. “But so does Eric,” she said. Then, “Look, I know this doesn’t clear him but I can’t bring myself to jump on board Eric’s bandwagon just yet.”

“So what do you propose we do?”

“Not sure,” Lana admitted. “If we could find the murder weapon, the gun used to kill Mrs. Wymer, it would sure make things a lot easier.”

“The divers still haven’t recovered anything?” Damien asked.

“Haven’t heard,” Lana said. “So, I guess not. And today is the last day they will be searching.”

“So if the gun is not in the river, where could it be? Damien wondered. “We’ve searched the scene of the crime, Eric’s apartment, Holloway’s home, and his offices.”

Lana shrugged. “Maybe he, the killer, whoever that is, destroyed it.”

“That rarely happens,” Jamie pointed out.

“Yeah,” Damien agreed. “It’s a lot easier said, than done.”

“I know,” Lana said, “But aside from Roselyn Wymer’s murder, everything else in this case has been meticulously planned and gone off like clockwork. Obviously, the killer is extremely intelligent, methodical, and calculating. And, in the three and a half weeks since the murder, he’s had ample time to come up with a way to dispose of the murder weapon.”

The four of them finished their lunch and headed back to the precinct, the guys going on ahead while Lana took her time. Strolling along the city sidewalks thinking, she contemplated the possibilities of what could have become of the murder weapon. She knew the killer had not pre-meditated the murder of Mrs. Wymer but had reacted to being seen, which meant he hadn’t had time to establish a clear-cut plan to dispose of it. In light of that, he may have stashed the firearm in a hurry, intending to return later to retrieve it. If that were the case, and he didn’t think it was safe yet, perhaps the gun would still be nearby the crime scene.

Not that this possibility would help her that much, they’d already questioned Mrs. Wymer’s neighbors—to no avail. With the exception of Nellie Langstrom, none of them had seen anything. Nothing. Lana shook her head in frustration; she couldn’t even place Eric at the scene of the crime.

But what if she could she suddenly wondered? She hadn’t specifically asked the neighbors if they’d seen Eric, she realized. If she were able to find someone who remembered seeing him, that may provide a clue as to where he’d hidden the gun, if he had. Such a witness would undoubtedly help their case in court as well.

On a sudden whim, she picked up the pace. Hurrying into the squad room, she was relieved to see Ray already back at his desk.

“What’s up?” he asked, seeing the serious look on her face and the purposeful way she walked.

Slightly out of breath, Lana said, “I need, or would like, a photo of Eric Schmidt without his orange jumpsuit.”

Instantly Ray began typing away on his keyboard. “We have several from when you made the arrest. Will one of those work for you?”

“Mmm, not really,” Lana said, seeing the selection of pictures on his screen. “I was thinking more along the lines of mainly his face, perhaps his mugshot—but without the jail clothes.”

“I could modify the mugshot; change the jumpsuit to a shirt and tie,” Ray suggested.

“Okay, that might work. Except for the tie. I don’t really see him as the tie wearing kind.”

“You’re probably right.” Ray fell silent then as he set to work.

Lana watched as he effortlessly transformed the photo, amazed by his talent. He made it all look so easy. Somehow, it never worked quite that well when she tried it.

“Eight by ten?”

Lana nodded.

In minutes, she held the glossy photograph in her hand. The headshot of Eric showed just the top of a Hawaiian print shirt. “That’s perfect,” she said. “Mahalo.”

Ray looked confused, but he said nothing.

Noting the look on his face, Lana said, “Never been to Hawaii have you?”

“No. Why?”

“It means, thank you.”

Ray shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Then, giving her a thoughtful glance, he asked, “What’s the Hawaiian word for that?”

Now it was Lana’s turn to look confused. “I don’t know. I’ve only been there once.”

Ray laughed. “Well, don’t overdo it on the new language skills.”

Lana wrinkled her nose and made a face.

“What’s the picture for, the investigation? Or do you just want to hang it in your house?”

“Can’t hang it in my house until he’s convicted,” Lana said. “Then it goes up on my trophy wall.”

“You have a trophy wall?”

“No,” Lana said, twirling her finger beside her head in the universal sign for “looney.”

Ray glared at her. “Funny,” he said. “So, what’s it for then?”

“Just a hunch I had. I’ll let you know if it pays off,” she called, heading for the door.

Arriving at the Rose City Apartments a few minutes later, Lana considered letting Paul Borland know she was there, since he had made such a big fuss protesting her unannounced visits. Almost instantly, she decided against the idea. While she did want to show him the picture, she didn’t need the scene he would doubtlessly create while she talked with Roselyn Wymer’s neighbors. Mr. Borland could just as easily be questioned on her way out.

Entering what passed as the lobby, and slipping quietly to the stairs, Lana climbed the steps to the sixth floor. Knocking first on the door directly across the hall from Roselyn’s apartment, she showed the photo to the Jensens and then the couple next door. None of them recognized Eric.

“Thanks,” Lana said, moving on down the hall.

Then from somewhere behind, someone said,  “Thought I heard your voice out here.”

Lana whirled to find a smiling Kurt Stabler standing in the open doorway of Apartment 607. “Still cleaning out your aunt’s things?”

Kurt nodded. “Giving most of it to charity. I’ll keep a few things, sentimental items. What’s taking time is going through all the papers. She saved
everything
. Seriously. She must have kept every receipt, and every bill she ever got. Want to know what was on her grocery list from five or ten years ago? It’s there. There are bank statements, insurance statements, credit card statements, tax records—from the last three decades—boxes of receipts, and on and on.”

“I certainly don’t envy you,” Lana said.

Kurt smiled wearily. “The worst part is done. Just waiting now for someone to come and pick up the furniture and other things. How’s the investigation going?”

“We’ve had a few new developments,” Lana said, purposefully being vague.

Noticing the picture she was holding, Kurt said, “Isn’t that Eric Schmidt, the guy you arrested.”

“Mm-hm. Just checking to see if anyone here recognizes him. So far, no luck, but I’ve still got a lot of people on this floor to get to.”

“Okay,” Kurt said, taking the hint. “I’ll let you get back to work. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you did.” Lana hoped her words sounded sincere. It wasn’t that she minded talking to people, but the interruptions were sometimes frustrating when she had a job to do. And of course, that’s when everyone wanted to visit.

As Kurt disappeared and closed the door, Lana moved on to the next apartment, again going through the routine questions. “Do you recognize this man? Have you seen him in or around the building?” And again, she received the same negative response.

Working her way around the apartments, she was given the same reply by everyone she asked. Finally, she wound up in front of Nellie Langstrom’s door, which she had purposefully put off until last.

Her knock was answered almost immediately by a frowning Nellie. Giving Lana a quick once over, the half-crazed woman said, “Detective Denae! I thought I’d seen the last of you. Did you solve your murder?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Langstrom. I just came by to ask if you’d seen this man?” Lana flashed the eight by ten picture, holding it up so Nellie could get a good look.

“Yes, I’ve seen him,” Nellie said, matter-of-factly.

“You have?” Lana asked with a bit of surprise. After asking everyone else on the floor, she’d come to expect the same answer.

“Sure,” Nellie said. “He’s the guy who was here spraying the trees.”

“Spraying the trees?”

“Yes.” Nellie nodded. “He said a couple of them were diseased and he’d been called to come spray a pesticide or herbicide—I don’t remember which one he said now. Which one is for killing diseases in plants?”

“That would be a fungicide, Mrs. Langstrom,” Lana said with a hint of irritation. “When was this?”

“Oh, a few weeks ago.”

“Can you remember the day?”

Nellie twisted up her mouth, thinking. “Along about the time you first showed up asking about my neighbor, Roselyn, I think.”

“Could it have been the morning of the sixth?” Lana prompted.

“Maybe. Yes, now that I think about it, I think it was. Why? Is he in trouble? He seemed like such a nice young man.”

Ignoring Nellie’s questions, Lana said, “Do you know what time you saw him or exactly what he was doing?”

“Well, it would have been right around four thirty or five. Probably closer to four thirty, I guess. I know because I had my alarm set for five that day so I could get up and... Oh, what am I saying? You don’t care about any of that. What was it you asked? Oh yes, what time he was here.”

Lana was growing more frustrated by the minute. Answers were extremely hard to come by from this woman. But experience had taught her that when someone is talking, particularly, a potential witness to a crime, let them talk. You never know what they might say; what little relevant tidbit they might remember or unintentionally reveal.

Nellie was still rambling. “Like I said, it was about four thirty. I heard a sound out in the hall so I opened my door to see what it was. What I saw, was the guy in your picture there. He was bent over the tree right outside my door, like he was praying for it or something.”