Where's Ellen? (Mystery) (MPP A JOE MCFARLAND / GINNY HARRIS MYSTERY Book 1) (13 page)

CHAPTER 27

M
eanwhile, things in Jasper Creek had settled back into a normal routine. Joe and Ginny were kept busy with several other cases, ranging from a house invasion to an argument over a parking space that had escalated into a shooting. Initially, Joe and Ginny often spoke about the Sanders case, wondering what happened to her and whether they had overlooked some important clue that could have blown the case wide open. But gradually, these flashbacks occurred less and less frequently as they focused on their more current assignments.

The seasons slowly changed, yet the daily grind continued much as it had before either of them had ever heard of Ellen Sanders. But thanks to having entered it in his calendar in Outlook for a reminder every three months, Joe periodically re-contacted Tycon, Steve’s law firm and the life insurance companies that had issued the policies on Ellen’s life.

Ostensibly to ask for an update, Joe’s real motivation was to remind them that the police were still interested in hearing of any activity or inquiries regarding these financial matters. He knew how easy it was for these requests to be forgotten without a periodic prod. This was extra important because the time limit on all of the wiretapping warrants that both the police and FBI had obtained had long since expired. Tycon and the insurance companies repeatedly assured Joe that they would notify him of any actions or inquiries. Steve’s law firm, however, refused. Their position was that, unless and until they became aware that helping Steve liquidate his and Ellen’s assets involved a crime, attorney-client privilege precluded them saying anything to Joe.

Joe wasn’t sure whether he was continuing these follow-ups because he was a good and determined detective or because he was trying to prove something to himself. Or, when he occasionally questioned his motivation in a detached and objective manner, was it more likely that he was trying to prove something to Ginny? Joe was surprised, and perhaps disturbed, to realize that he cared about what Ginny thought of him. He easily accepted this when thinking of the times that Ginny had complimented some aspect of his police work — a well-run interrogation or a shrewd deduction from a series of clues. After all, Ginny was his partner, and she had developed into a top-notch detective in her own right.

Joe was less able to explain or accept his feelings when he found himself pleased by compliments from Ginny other than those related to his detective skills. “Joe, I see you finally got a haircut from a qualified barber. It looks good.” Or “Nice shirt, Joe. And it doesn’t even clash with your slacks.” Joe gradually came to recognize and accept that, besides being his partner for almost 1½ years, Ginny had also become a good friend. “
OK, my best friend. Oh, OK, my only friend
.” This realization made Joe feel content and uneasy at the same time. “
Good, or best, or only friend is getting too close for comfort
.”

For her part, Ginny sensed that Joe was struggling with his feelings for her. She, however, had already come to terms with her strong feelings for him. She recognized that these might never lead to anything, and she was determined not to say or do anything to spook him. A professional partnership and a good friendship were far too valuable to Ginny for her to risk a permanently strained, or possibly even broken off, relationship with Joe.

The agents at the FBI office in Cincinnati also were focusing their attention on more current cases. However, early one Wednesday afternoon, Martin received some news about the Sanders case.

“Hey, Frank,” Martin said. “We just got some news from D.C. about the ransom money paid for Ellen Sanders.”

“Great. What is it? I had about given up on ever hearing anything about it.”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“OK, I’ll play along. Hit me with the good news first.”

“Our folks in D.C. finally were able to track down all of the $5 million ransom that was paid. They have the details of every wire transfer that the kidnappers made, and there’s a full list of every bank account that funds passed through. And for each account, they have who owns the account, when it was opened, how often and when it’s been accessed and who the person who accessed it was.”

“That’s super! Now we can finally start using all this information to identify and, hopefully, locate the kidnappers. It may be too late for Mrs. Sanders, but at least we can nab the perps.”

“Hold on, Frank. You still have to hear the bad news.”

“Oops. That doesn’t sound too good. Out with it.”

“Sadly, all of this information leads nowhere.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“After following up on the owners of each account, it turns out that most of the alleged owners are fake names. The others are shell corporations, which when looked into led only to other shell corporations. Even the individuals who went to the banks and withdrew the cash seem to be ghosts — they either never existed or have been able to remove their names and faces, hell, even their fingerprints, from every database we have or have access to.”

“Damn, Dan. Is that it then? Isn’t there anything else we can do? I’d love to catch these bastards, or find out and prove that it was all a hoax perpetrated by Mrs. Sanders. Or by Mr. and Mrs. Sanders.”

“Speaking of Mr. Sanders, something seems to have changed.”

“In what way, Dan?”

“As you know, we’ve been able to track his movements all over Europe through his credit card use and airline record. Well, that all seems to have come to a crashing halt a couple of weeks ago. Either he’s not traveling or charging anything, or he’s managed to get a false identity that he’s switched to.”

“Well, unless he pops back up on our radar, there’s not much we can do to locate him. In any event, I’m more interested in trying to find out if Mrs. Sanders is still alive and, if so, where she’s being held or perhaps hiding out.”

“I’m with you on that, Frank. There’s one long shot I’ve been playing with in my head these past several weeks.”

“What is it? At this point, a long shot may be our only shot.”

“OK. Remember early on we learned that she spent a year in Russia with her boyfriend after they graduated university?”

“Yeah. That’s when we talked about possible Russian contacts for espionage.”

“Exactly. Well, what if we track down and have a talk with the old boyfriend? We might learn about their Russian friends or, for all we know, he and Mrs. Sanders might be in touch with each other. We dropped this whole line of inquiry once the kidnappers made contact. But now, with a real kidnapping looking less likely without her or her body showing up, we ought to put the espionage angle back on the table.”

“Well, you properly labeled this a long shot. But it can’t hurt, and we’ve got no other leads to follow up on.”

‘OK. I’ll send it up the chain of command. As you know, this will have to wind its way up to headquarters in D.C., then get sent to the International Ops Division and then, assuming everyone approves it along the way, to the legal attaché stationed in our embassy in Brussels. He, in turn, will need to work with the Belgian national police to try to find and then interview the boyfriend.”

“Our great bureaucracy at work. The sooner you get the request started, the sooner we’ll know.”

“I’m on it. The request will be on its way by the end of today,” Martin said.

CHAPTER 28

A
bout three weeks later, at 7:30 on a Thursday morning, Henry Whittaker and Inès Goossens got off the train in the center of Mechelen, Belgium. Special Agent Whittaker was the FBI’s liaison, officially known as legal attaché, at the U.S. embassy in Brussels. Inspecteur Goossens was a member of the Directorate of International Police Cooperation within the Belgian Federal Police. As legal attaché, Whittaker could not perform any police work on his own in Belgium; he was limited to coordinating with the Belgian police authorities, requesting their help on criminal or intelligence matters and policing with the Belgian officers only if permitted by the Belgians.

Mechelen was a city of approximately 75,000 people halfway between Brussels and Antwerp, right along the E19 highway running between these two major Belgian cities. Despite being only 15 miles north of Brussels, the traffic around Brussels was such that the half-hour train ride was clearly the best way to travel from the center of Brussels to Mechelen. The 20-minute walk from the train station to Adegemstraat 411 was along the bank of the Dijle River, which bisected the city and led past myriad beautiful old buildings, many of them dating back to medieval times.

The two visitors walked up the stairs to apartment 214. The door was opened a few seconds after Goossens knocked.

“Goede morgen. Ik ben Inspecteur Goossens van de Federale Politie. Dit is de heer Whittaker. Hij is van de FBI en werkt in de Amerikaanse ambassade in Brussel.”

“Ja. En?”

“He doesn’t speak Flemish. Can we speak English?”

“Fine. Yes, of course. But what is this about?”

“Are you Luk Claessens?” asked Inspecteur Goossens.

“Yes. But you still haven’t said what this is about. Have I done something wrong?”

“No, you haven’t done anything wrong. As far as we know. We just need some information that you may be able to help us with. Would that be OK?”

“Yes. Sure. Please come in and have a seat.”

“Thank you,” said Goossens as she and Whittaker followed Luk into the small apartment, and everyone took a seat in the cramped living room.

“Do you know a woman named Ellen Sanders?” asked Goossens.

“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

“Excuse me,” said Whittaker. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. That’s her married name. You would know her as Ellen Van den Broeck. Does that ring a bell?”

“Of course. Ellen and I were close friends at university. But that was a long time ago. What’s this about?”

“Our information, after checking with several of your classmates, indicates that you were a lot closer than ‘close friends,’ ” said Goossens.

“Well, yes, we were a couple for two years or so. Is that a crime?”

“No. No. Not at all,” responded Goossens. “We’re just gathering some information, and we want to correctly understand the background.”

“I can’t imagine why, but go ahead,” said Luk.

“Did you and Ms. Van den Broeck visit the Soviet Union together?”

“Yes. We took a trip there together right after we graduated.”

“Where did you visit? And how long did you stay there?” asked Whittaker.

“We were there just about a year. We spent most of our time in St. Petersburg, but we took several short trips to other cities, including Moscow, Nizhny Novgorod, um, let me see, oh yeah, Volgograd, the port city of Naryan-Mar and several small towns outside St. Petersburg.”

“How did you support yourselves, and pay for everything?” asked Whittaker.

“We both had saved some money from working part-time while at university. And we lived very cheaply, often sleeping on couches or the floors of friends. Two of the students who traveled with us rented a small apartment in St. Petersburg. Sometimes Russians whom we met let us sleep in their apartments for a day or two at a time. And we often camped outside when the weather allowed it. Why? Is there some problem about this from way back then?”

“No,” replied Whittaker. “Can you tell us the names of your friends over there?”

“Well, sure. We traveled over there with five other classmates. We pretty much split up once we got to St. Petersburg, but we’d usually run into a couple of them every few weeks.”

“May we have the names of these five?” asked Goossens.

“Well, yes. But only if it won’t get them in any trouble.”

“It won’t, I assure you. We just want to talk with them, like we’re talking with you.”

“OK.”

Goossens handed him her notebook and pen and, at her request, he wrote down the five names. He also wrote down the addresses and phone numbers of the two with whom he had remained in touch over the years.

“Thank you,” said Whittaker. “While you were in Russia, did you and Ms. Van den Broeck make friends with any Russians?”

“Yes, a few. But I haven’t been in touch with any of them for years.”

“Can you give us their names?” prompted Whittaker.

“No, I really can’t remember any of their full names. I’d have to dig out my old photos and scrapbook. Their names are probably buried someplace in there.”

“Great. Can you do that for us now?” asked Goossens.

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry,” responded Luk.

“Sir, this is really quite important,” pointed out Whittaker.

“Sorry. Please don’t misunderstand. I want to help. But I can’t do it now. First of all, if I don’t leave very shortly, I’ll be late for work. And, more important, my photo albums and scrapbooks aren’t here in this small apartment. They’re in the attic at my mother’s house, and she lives in Antwerp. If it’s really urgent, I could go there after work this evening.”

“That would be most appreciated,” said Goossens. “In fact, if you don’t mind, we’d like to meet you at your mother’s house this evening and take a look at what you have.”

“Uh, OK,” said Luk. “Why don’t we say 18:30 this evening. My mother’s address in Antwerp is Friedalaan 107. It’s a few streets north of the N49, on the west side of the river.”

“OK, we’ll find it. See you there at 6:30. Here’s my card in case you need to contact us. And thank you,” concluded Goossens.

“You’re welcome.”

Goossens and Whittaker walked back to the train station and caught the next train into Brussels.

“Well, he seemed to be quite willing to help,” said Whittaker.

“Yes, he did. He clearly didn’t seem to have anything to hide. I’m hopeful that we’ll learn more from him this evening.”

“So am I,” responded Whittaker. “Thanks for switching so quickly into English with him. I’m still trying to get better at Flemish, and it’s rather embarrassing, since nearly everyone here speaks such good English.

They agreed to meet again at the Brussels central train station at 4:30 that afternoon to take the train to Antwerp. After arriving back in Brussels, they each went to their own offices. Goossens planned to spend a good part of the rest of the day trying to locate the five classmates who traveled to Russia with Ellen and Luk and to try to speak with them in person or by phone.

When Whittaker got back to his office in the embassy, he knocked off a quick e-mail to Martin in Cincinnati:

Good morning, ASAC Martin.

We just returned from speaking with one Luk Claessens. He was the boyfriend who traveled to Russia with Ms. Van den Broeck, aka Ellen Sanders. He seems to be fully cooperative, but cannot remember the names of the Russian friends they made. We are meeting him this evening; he and we will go through his photos and scrapbook from back then, hopefully giving us more info.

Inspecteur Goossens of the Belgian Federal Police is trying to locate and speak with the five fellow students who went to the Soviet Union with Ms. Van den Broeck and her boyfriend.

Will keep you informed.

Best, SA Henry Whittaker

With the time difference, Whittaker didn’t expect a reply for several hours. One arrived from Martin in the early afternoon:

Henry,

Many thanks for your help and for the status report. Sounds encouraging. We await hearing more after Goossens’ efforts and your visit this evening.

Best regards,

Dan

At 4:30 that afternoon, Whittaker and Goossens met at Bruxelles Central, one of the main Brussels train stations, very close to Grand Place. They checked the monitor, purchased two roundtrip tickets, found the train sitting at the indicated track and boarded it.

“How did you make out with finding the five co-travelers the boyfriend named for us this morning?”

“Pretty well,” answered Goossens. “Of the two for which he gave us contact information, I spoke with one in person as he worked only a few blocks from my police station. I spoke with the other one by phone. As for the other three, I located and spoke by phone with one of them, located but only left a voice mail message for the second one, but I haven’t been able to find any trace of the third.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Unfortunately, not much,” responded Goossens. “They all pretty much confirmed what Luk had told us. They had no idea about any Russian friends that the couple met as Luk and Ms. Sanders pretty much did their own thing once they got to Russia. I did tell them all that I might be back with more questions, and they seemed all right with that.”

Fifty minutes later they were walking off the train into Antwerpen Centraal, the main train station in the center of Antwerp. Goossens led the way, and 15 minutes later they were knocking on the door of Luk’s mother’s house. Luk opened the door and let them in.

“Good evening,” said Luk. “My mother is out with a few friends this evening, so we have the house to ourselves. Let’s go into the kitchen. I pulled the stuff out of the attic, and it’s spread out on the kitchen table.”

“Fine. Thanks,” said Goossens as they walked through the small and dark, but well kept, living room and entered an even smaller kitchen with a heavy wooden table and four chairs taking up most of the room.

“Sit down, please,” said Luk. “Would you like a beer?”

“Thank you, but no. We’re still on duty,” replied Goossens.

Luk offered coffee. A few minutes later, they all sat around the table, each with a cup of black coffee in their hands.

The next 90 minutes felt like torture to Whittaker. He barely had the patience to sit through various photograph shows put on by friends or his own family. He surely had even less patience for those of a stranger. Nonetheless, Luk managed to come up with the names of three Russians whom he and Ellen had become friendly with during their year in Russia. He said that he hadn’t been in touch with any of them since he returned from Russia. He doubted that Ellen had either, but since he and Ellen broke up shortly after their return to Belgium, he didn’t really know. “Vasily Maklakov” was one of the three names Luk came up with.

Whittaker and Goossens thanked Luk for all his help and headed back to Brussels.

Early the next morning, Whittaker sent another e-mail to Martin.

Hello Dan,

Good meeting last evening with the boyfriend, Luk Claessens. He came up with the names of three Russian friends: Galina Bolotin, Vasily Maklakov and Mikhail Pyzik. I have requested assistance from our legal attaché in Moscow. May take a few days as it’s Russia, not Belgium. Will let you know what we learn.

Inspecteur Goossens spoke with three of five fellow student travelers. They confirmed what Luk told us but added no new info.

Henry