Double Cross (2 page)

FIVE YEARS LATER

9:30 A.M. WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23

HOUSTON FBI

Special Agent Su-Min Phang stood in the doorway of Laurel’s cubicle. “How’s the progress on the elderly fraud?”

Laurel spun her chair to face her. “I don’t see much in common with the crimes, but I’m not saying someone hasn’t covered his tracks. If it’s the same bad guys, they’re smart to lay low, then strike again in a different way.”

“What do you have? We need this handled.”

Laurel hadn’t worked in the field since the day her partner died. She’d paid the price of bringing a criminal to justice. The guilt refused to release its tentacles, and maybe it shouldn’t.

Now she was investigating white-collar crime and its surplus of lying, stealing, and cheating. Made a few bad guys exchange their suits and offices for jumpsuits and six-by-eight cells. The responsibility filled part of the hole in her heart.

This morning she concentrated on a series of Houston scams targeting the elderly, specifically wealthy senior citizens who bore the weight of dementia. The latest operation used fraudulent life insurance to steal thousands of dollars from their victims. The case revved up anger and fueled her determination to stop the crimes. Abusing those who could no longer make good choices? That was low.

A dear woman who’d raised Laurel had suffered from Alzheimer’s, and she’d been treated like an animal. For her, and for all the reported cases, Laurel would help stop those who preyed upon the elderly.

She mentally reviewed the initial reports. Eight years ago, an outbreak of counterfeit prescription drugs swept across Florida, north to Georgia, and along the Gulf states to Texas. An estimated two million dollars was reported lost by the elderly. Investigators suspected a money-laundering source in Miami. No doubt more money had been made, but victims were often embarrassed when they realized the truth and chose not to report the crime. No leads, and the bad guys went dark.

Six years ago, another deception hit the innocent. Funeral plans and caskets were sold to unsuspecting elderly. Again the crimes began in Miami and spread through the Gulf states, but this time Arkansas and Oklahoma were involved. More money than before vanished. An agent in Miami received a tip that a dozen elderly were gathered at a hotel to learn how to make economical funeral arrangements. When the agents arrived, the scammer had disappeared. The results were a paper trail that led to a computer housed in an empty office. The hard drive had been removed. A dead end with the criminals again going dark.

Four and a half years ago, wheelchairs and remodeling projects geared toward the elderly hit the scene, infiltrating Florida and the Gulf states. Five months into the scam, the team shut down. Investigators saw the pattern, but the bad guys were smart enough not to leave a paper trail and to stop when things got too hot.

Two years later, a real estate fraud sold condos for luxury retirement high-rises in Florida, Alabama, and both Carolinas. Four months and they closed up shop. An estimated $50 million was made on that scheme.

This latest scam against the elderly might be the biggest moneymaker yet. Although the operation worked the same range of states, different cities were targeted. How soon before greed caused them to make a mistake or the FBI exposed their methods?

Su-Min stepped into Laurel’s cubicle. “I have info. A gentleman in River Oaks stumbled onto an e-mail that his elderly father received regarding the purchase of a life insurance policy. It contained part of another e-mail in it and we found encryptions. Looks like the bad guys might have gotten a little sloppy. Since you worked cryptology, I wanted you to take a look.”

“Did you locate the sender?”

“Bogus. I just forwarded it to you.”

Laurel clicked on the e-mail attachment, read the message, and studied the text. A sickening fear twisted her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Su-Min said. “You’re ghastly white.”

If only she could mask her turmoil. “I recognize part of this code.” Laurel faced her partner and friend. “Morton Wilmington used a similar encryption to text his men.”

“The exact?”

“No, but similar enough for me to see a connection and decipher most of what’s written.”

“No wonder you’re a mess. What does it say?”

Laurel moistened her lips. “‘Same instructions. Contact me after. New leads.’ That’s all I can make out without spending time on it. But whoever wrote it didn’t give specifics.”

“Do you think Wilmington’s operating from prison?”

“Why not? He doesn’t fit the mold for rehabilitation.” Memories rapid-fired through her mind, burning thoughts that stoked the flames of regret.

Su-Min crossed her arms over her small Korean frame as though holding back a tiger.

“What are you not telling me?” Laurel said.

“Two things.” Her voice softened. “We need boots on the ground to question him.”

“I agree. Needs to happen immediately.”

“There’s more,” Su-Min said. “Word is Wilmington’s found religion. Christianity. Lawyers are working on an appeal.”

“No matter how long it takes. You’ll pay in blood.”

Laurel gazed into Su-Min’s coffee-colored eyes. Admitting her deep, bloodcurdling fear of this man would make her look weak. “An appeal will take years, so I’m not the least bit concerned. Let’s sort this out. I see a link between a fraud targeting the elderly and Wilmington’s method of encoding messages.”

“He’s in the thick of Bible studies and donating money
 
—”

Laurel waved away her concern. “He’s always given to charities. Helps ease his miserable conscience.”

“While advocating faith?”

“Su-Min, my findings cement the unlikelihood of him ever reaching parole. I’ll get the truth out of him. After all, I put him there, and he’s not getting out. He can spout Bible verses all day long, but crimes are to be paid for. No one has more of a stake in him staying put than I do.”

“He’s already gaining notoriety for his religious stand.”

“Remember, Robin Hood loves the limelight. Our focus is the elderly fraud.”

Su-Min shrugged. “Another agent can question him.”

Laurel drew in courage. The only way she’d end the nightmares would be to face him. “I have to do this. And I’ll nail him for the scam. Arrange the interview.”

“Hope you’re right. You know he hasn’t forgotten the past. I’m surprised one of his men hasn’t taken care of you.” She tapped her foot. “Are you careful when riding Phantom?”

“Always.” She refused to fall prey to her friend’s caution. “Wilmington’s too busy running his business to care about me. I’m not worth it.”

“Or maybe one of the reasons he has a new platform is to walk out of prison free and kill you himself.”

11:00 A.M. WEDNESDAY

Houston Police Officer Daniel Hilton wove through the traffic of FM 1960 near Willowbrook Mall to a home invasion in progress,
siren blaring and lights flashing, his version of parting the Red Sea. According to the call slip, a woman heard glass breaking at her back door and saw two men wearing ski masks and holding weapons. She hurried upstairs to grab her napping toddler and called 911. The operator kept the woman on the line. Other officers were on their way, but Daniel was the closest to the address.

Two minutes later, the dispatcher updated the call slip and repeated the victim’s conversation while Daniel drove to the crime scene. The woman worked in the Galleria area but took the day off because her little girl was sick. If she hadn’t been home, the alarm system would have alerted the police.

A red light stopped the car in front of him. Daniel slammed on the brakes while vehicles blocked him in on all sides. He alternated between the air horn and the siren. The driver ahead finally realized an HPD patrol car needed through and crept into the intersection far enough to let him pass. Where had this guy taken his driver’s license test?

The home invasion address was in an upscale neighborhood, the intruders either high or stupid not to stake out a house before attempting entry. Did the woman have a weapon? And had she been trained to use it? She must be frantic . . . and with a child, too. He prayed they were safe and able to hide until help arrived.

Daniel braked next to the curb three houses back from the address as two hooded men hurriedly dumped armloads of goods into a late-model Ford parked in the driveway. They jumped inside, and the driver sped backward before the passenger door closed. Daniel sped his car to block them, but the driver jumped the curb and whipped around the front of the patrol car in the opposite direction.

“Don’t think so,” Daniel said and raced after them.

Fixed on the car’s bumper, he tailed them toward State Highway 249 and radioed for backup. Another patrol car passed him from the opposite direction en route to the crime scene. Up ahead the burglars were slowed by a semitruck turning onto the feeder leading to the beltway. He anticipated them swinging their vehicle into a gas station, and he was right. The two men exited and ran, still in ski masks. Great.
No identity there. Daniel parked behind their car and chased the closest man, who disappeared around the corner of a storage facility. The second man pulled off his mask and headed into a residential area.

The pursuit through the storage facility reminded him of a TV script
 
—down a narrow drive, then around a corner to hurdle a sleeping dog. The ski mask lay on the ground. He’d snatch it later. Probably some hair fibers on it. A fifteen-foot chain-link fence loomed in the distance, but unless the man held an Olympic track record, he wouldn’t make it over before Daniel yanked him to the ground.

“Stop. HPD. You’re under arrest.”

The man continued toward the fence while reaching for his weapon, tucked into the back waist of his jeans. Daniel grabbed the perp’s arm as he turned to fire, tossed him to the ground, and cuffed him.

“Hey, cop, don’t you work in twos?” The man cursed. “If we’d known HPD sent just one, we’d have smoked you.”

“No need for two officers when one works just fine.”

“That woman invited us in. Wanted to give away some stuff,” the man said.

“Tell that to the judge.”

“I can explain. I have rights.”

“Sure, buddy. Everyone has rights. Bet your story is real solid.”

With the cuffed man in the back of the squad car, Daniel checked their vehicle. The rear seat and floorboard were filled with computer equipment, a large jewelry box, and a flat-screen TV. Big haul for such a short time. Recovering stolen goods was great news for the homeowner, making Daniel’s job worth it. He radioed his location and where he saw the other intruder take off. The woman and child were fine, he was told, just shaken up.

“Meet you at the home,” Daniel said. “Bring a K-9.”

4:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY

Daniel opened the door to Silver Hospitality, the prestigious memory care facility that hosted his grandparents during the day, Monday through Saturday. Polished marble floors, white pillars that seemed to hold up the ceiling, and a three-foot-wide crystal chandelier gave the facility a five-star rating. This afternoon he didn’t focus on the elite environment of Silver Hospitality or their state-of-the-art security system because he had a few hours of employee interviews to conduct here.

His grandparents had lost money to a fraudulent salesman who convinced Gramps to purchase a life insurance policy. An unexplained withdrawal of fifty thousand dollars from one of his grandparents’ savings holdings to an overseas account alerted Gran, but nothing had been resolved. No receipt or paperwork. And his grandparents insisted the fraud occurred at the facility. Daniel had no idea how many clients had been affected.

Marsha Leonard, the director, greeted him in the foyer. The cavernous pits beneath her eyes told of sleepless nights. No one wanted to believe such an atrocity had happened. Since the clients suffered from dementia, asking them questions when they didn’t know if a crime had even been committed made the going tough. The one reliable source was his grandmother
 
—a mentally healthy woman. She’d witnessed a man persuading a client to purchase a
life insurance policy, not knowing Gramps had given the salesman access to their own financials.

“Daniel, I really appreciate your expertise in conducting these interviews.” Perspiration beaded around Miss Leonard’s mouth. “Notifying the caregivers and guardians of these precious people makes me ill.”

Did she have reason to be nervous other than her job being at stake? “I want the situation rectified as badly as you do,” he said. “We need to make an official announcement once the interviews are conducted. We have nearly twenty-five people to question. What we don’t finish today, we’ll continue tomorrow afternoon.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without your guidance. If this is true, our reputation is ruined.” She hesitated. “That’s callous. A crime might have been committed, and I’m worried about my job.”

“A crime
has
been committed. The question is the source.”

The lines between her brows deepened. “Let’s get started.”

“I’d like to speak to my grandparents first. Won’t be long.”

Daniel signed in and made his way to the recreation room, where Gran and Gramps spent most of their daytime hours. Gran had her nose in a Kindle, while Gramps played dominoes with a couple of other men. Daniel kissed the top of Gran’s head.

Her gaze flew to his. “Hi, Daniel. You surprised me.”

He chuckled. “What adventure are you in today?”

“Third novel in George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire saga,
A Storm of Swords
.”

“Hope it’s a good one.” He glanced at Gramps. “How is he?”

She tilted her head. “Slipping.”

“I’ll say hello before talking to the staff.”

“I don’t want to think any of them are guilty, but there’s no way that man got inside here without help.”

“Right.” He greeted Gramps, who paid no attention, and hurried to Marsha Leonard’s office, where he’d be busy for a while.

For the next two hours, he talked to people who worked at the
facility. Though he wasn’t here in an official police capacity, he requested written permission to record the interview as a representative of Silver Hospitality and to verify the validity of their statements. The questions were the same. Were they satisfied with their position? How long had they been employed at Silver Hospitality? Had they allowed anyone to enter the premises without appropriate security measures? Had they ever been convicted of a misdemeanor or felony? All had undergone background checks prior to employment, but he repeated the questions in case their status had changed.

At seven o’clock, Liz Austin slid into a chair across from him. She’d applied a fresh coat of bright-red lipstick, and she’d pulled out her ponytail, allowing her blonde hair to fall in waves. Yep, a beauty right down to her light-blue eyes. No, he wasn’t interested, no matter how many times she threw herself at him. Women who flaunted the obvious spelled trouble.

“Miss Austin, I see you’ve been with the facility for nearly ten months.”

“Please, call me Liz. We’re friends.” She crossed her legs and leaned forward. Cleavage was her specialty. “Ten months is correct.”

“Are you satisfied with your position?”

She laughed. “I’m in the kitchen with Chef Steven. I do grunt work. Seeing you is the highlight of my day.”

He printed her response minus the personal comment. “Have you been arrested for anything since you began working here?”

“Not unless my thoughts about you can get me into trouble.”

This time he gave her his best professional gaze. “The sooner we complete these questions, the sooner we can go home.”

“Alone?”

“Absolutely.”

“How sad. What are you doing later?”

“Have you ever allowed anyone inside Silver Hospitality without authorization?”

“No. Why? So they could slice limes and lemons for me?”

He smiled. “We’re finished here. Thanks for your time.”

“Later?”

“No, thank you.” He stood and opened the door.

Once she left, he noted the list of staff was finished for the night. Good thing. Liz Austin tested his patience. Not exceptionally bright if she believed her body would get her through life.

None of the interviews indicated a problem. Body language and eye contact were good. He didn’t really want any of them to be guilty, but it would make his life easier.

Daniel found his grandparents still in the recreation room and eased into a chair at a game table, where Gramps was winning at dominoes. His favorite pastime.

“Cleaned up on these old men.” Gramps grinned. “Christmas has come early.”

“But you cheat.” Gran stood with her leather bag in hand.

“No, I don’t.”

She kissed his cheek. “You play with the same men. You know their habits and read their body language.”

“That’s playing smart.”

“Call it what you want.” She turned to Daniel. “We’re ready.”

“Sorry tonight’s so late.”

“It’s all right.” Gramps moved toward the foyer and out to the parking lot. “Had some great food tonight. Guess what we had?”

“Roast beef and mashed potatoes?”

“Even better. Pork tenderloin, and if I didn’t know better, I’d bet Chef Steven marinated it in Jim Beam.”

“Earl, the facility wouldn’t permit alcohol even if it was cooked off,” Gran said. “Interferes with some medicines.”

“Maybe the cook used cider.” Daniel ached with exhaustion.

Gramps blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m old, but my taste buds can tell the difference between Jim Beam and deluxe apple juice.” He laughed. “It was cider.”

Daniel patted him on the back. He relished these moments along with all the years spent with them. “Are you happy here?”

The older man stopped. “I see my friends every day. Abby is with me. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A change of pace might be nice.”

“Are you kidding? Miss the chess tournament? Brownie and ice cream day? Watch those cute young girls make a fuss over us? No way am I missing a day here.”