Where's Ellen? (Mystery) (MPP A JOE MCFARLAND / GINNY HARRIS MYSTERY Book 1) (9 page)

CHAPTER 19

T
he next few days were one solid blur for Steve. Hearing nothing, be it from the police or the kidnappers or his wife, he walked around in a daze. He continued to go to work every morning, but returned home each evening having accomplished, or even remembered, almost nothing. He slept fitfully, sat in his chair looking at the TV barely noticing what was playing, and ate only when he forced himself to. He repeatedly told himself that “No news is good news,” but he was having increasing difficulty believing this.

He kept trying to analyze the mysterious phone call from Ellen and her no-show at the restaurant.
Had she escaped from the kidnappers but then been caught again? Was it actually a recording that the kidnappers had forced Ellen to make earlier? Was she dead? Is she being tortured, or raped, by her kidnappers?
Steve could think of several possible scenarios, all of which were varying degrees of bad. Steve managed only to increase his confusion and worry. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t heard again from the kidnappers. Had something gone wrong?

Steve became increasingly isolated; friends and neighbors soon stopped calling to ask how he was doing or if he’d heard anything. They quickly picked up on his monosyllabic “OK” and “No” answers. The calls became increasingly awkward as they didn’t know what to say and they feared that their inquiries were only making Steve feel worse. He hadn’t even spoken with anyone at the FBI or local police for two days.

And the few days soon became two weeks. The FBI and local police called to check in with Steve every couple of days. The FBI spoke optimistically about their ongoing investigation, but neither they nor Steve had any new information to share. Other than these FBI and police phone calls and going through the motions at work, phone calls or e-mail exchanges with Ellen’s parents in Belgium every few days were just about his only human contact. Her parents told him that the tie to Steve felt like their only remaining link to their missing daughter. Steve understood this and almost felt as bad for them as he did for himself. He preferred e-mail more than the phone with her parents. Their English was limited, although far better than Steve’s non-existent French and Flemish, and their strong accents made the English they did speak sound more like French or German than English.

Then, early one Thursday morning, Steve’s home phone rang. A voice, so heavily disguised that he couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman, said, “You better have the $5 million ready in your bank by Tuesday noon.”

“Wait. How do I …?” Steve started to ask.

“We’ll get to that. Just be ready by Tuesday.” And the phone connection went dead. As soon as Steve hung up, the FBI, which had been listening to all of Steve’s calls, was on the phone, with Martin telling him to stay home and not to do anything or call anyone until he and Special Agent Florio got there within the hour. Steve waited and the FBI agents arrived almost exactly one hour later.

Martin started, “That call is good news; it means that your wife is most likely still alive. Unfortunately, the call was too short for us to trace it.”

“What should I do now?” asked Steve. Martin and Florio spent almost 45 minutes trying to convince Steve that it would be better for Ellen if he didn’t pay, or at least delayed paying, the ransom. But Steve didn’t budge in his plan to pay as instructed by the kidnappers.

“No. I definitely plan to pay the $5 million. But I’ll go along with your suggestion that I demand to speak with Ellen to be sure she’s alive before I pay.”

Florio pointed out, “Since the kidnappers told you to put the money in your bank, they will most likely demand that the funds be wired to some offshore bank account. Our ability and speed to trace the funds will largely depend on the country in which the receiving bank is located, how sophisticated the kidnappers are at hiding ownership of that account through various shell companies, and the degree to which they utilize multiple and rapid wire transfers to disperse the funds once they receive them. We can almost always successfully trace the money, but the more convoluted the arrangement, the longer it will take us.”

Steve then called Hawkins, the CFO of Ellen’s company, who immediately conferenced in his contact at the insurance company. With everyone, including the FBI agents, adding their thoughts and suggestions during the call, it was soon agreed that Tycon would wire the $5 million as a short-term loan into Steve’s bank account first thing Monday morning and that the insurance company would reimburse Tycon immediately after the ransom payment was made. But, just as a precaution, it would be only the insurance company officer who would know the password to authorize Steve’s bank to wire the money out.

Extremely nervous, Steve had renewed hope for the first time in weeks. He did notice that, unlike the local police who had called the FBI a few weeks ago, the FBI did not reciprocate. But he felt that this was none of his business, and he had more important things to worry about than an FBI/local police turf battle.

Later that day, Joe and Ginny returned to their desks following a three-hour seminar on profiling — what it is, why it’s unfair and not allowed and how members of the Jasper Creek Police Department should and should not approach and stop suspicious-looking individuals.

“Well, that was a complete waste of three hours. Why don’t they also have a seminar explaining how to put our pants on?”

“Don’t get all worked up about it, Joe. With all the publicity that profiling is getting all over the country, the chief really had no option but to mandate a seminar like this.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re right, but jeez, if everyone just used a little common sense this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“You’re right, Joe. But perhaps some others are a bit short on common sense.”

“Oh, shit.” Joe picked up a phone-message form from his desk. “Look at this note. We missed a call that came through on Sanders’ home phone from one of the kidnappers.”

Ginny made two quick phone calls and less than five minutes later, she and Joe were listening to the call.

“Damn!” said Joe. “We were stuck in that useless seminar and missed the call.”

“Well, it’s just as well that we missed it. If we had to have sat through that seminar knowing about that call, we’d have gone crazy. But there would have been no way that we could have told the chief that our wiretaps are still in place and we surely couldn’t have gotten excused from or snuck out of the seminar.”

“As usual, you’re right, Ginny. But I’m going to call our good friends at the Feeble Bunch of Idiots, whom I’m sure caught that call and rushed over to Sanders’ house without even thinking of calling us. Sure, ‘We’ll keep you informed.’ ”

As Joe was reaching for his phone, it started to ring. And, sure enough, it was Martin calling to tell the detectives about the kidnapper’s call instructing Steve to have the money ready on Tuesday. Joe thanked Martin profusely for keeping Ginny and him up to speed.

“Well done, Joe,” complimented Ginny after Joe had hung up. “I was sure that you were going to tell the Feebies that we knew about the call, thanks to our wiretap.”

“Yes. I was very tempted. My willpower surprises even me sometimes.”

“Well, I’m glad you held back. Think of the shit that would have come down on the chief, and then on us.”

“No question about that, Ginny.”

CHAPTER 20

T
uesday morning finally arrived. Steve’s house felt crowded, with the two FBI agents, Joe and Ginny, and three FBI technicians ready to record and try to track any phone call to Steve’s home phone, his cell phone or Ellen’s cell phone. The FBI technicians had brought Ellen’s cell phone and laptop computer with them back to the house. Steve made a large pot of coffee for everyone, and the FBI agents and the local police had each arrived with a large box of doughnuts from Dunkin’ Donuts. After a couple of minutes whispering to each other in the corner of the large room, Martin and Florio had decided not to raise hell about Joe and Ginny being there. They agreed that their being there was to be expected, especially in view of Martin having called to tell them that the kidnappers specified this morning as the next key date. But they’d better just stay in the background and watch, otherwise they and their chief would have hell to pay.

At exactly 10:45, Steve’s home phone rang. Taking a deep breath and waiting for a nod from the FBI lead technician sitting next to him, Steve picked up the phone. “Hello. This is Steve Sanders.”

The same disguised voice as last week replied, “Is the money set in your bank?”

“Yes, it is. But, before I pay you, I want to speak with my wife to be sure she’s OK.”

“Very wise. I’d demand the same thing. See, we’re reasonable people. We’ll call you right back.” And then only the dial tone could be heard. The FBI technician shook his head from side to side, signifying that they had been unable to trace that short call.

Less than five minutes later, Steve’s cell phone rang. Steve answered, “Hello.”

“Oh, my god. Steve, thank heaven. It’s me.”

“Ellen. Ellen. Are you OK? Did they hurt you? Where are you?”

“I’m OK, Steve. Tired and dirty and worried, but I’m not hurt. They’ve treated me pretty well considering.”

“Ellen, don’t worry, we’re ….”

“That’s enough,” interrupted the disguised voice. “Await our instructions.” And the call was over with the lead technician again indicating their inability to trace the call.

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. With an FBI agent on each side of the door, their guns drawn, Steve opened it.

“Happy Anniversary,” said the tall, thin young man, probably early 20s, in a happy, chipper voice as he started to hand a large bouquet of flowers to Steve. And a beautiful bouquet it was: deep red, pink and yellow daisies surrounding an inner core of red, orange and yellow roses, with all the stems squeezed into a narrow glass vase. The bouquet seemed totally out of place at this tense moment.

Martin jumped in front of Steve and took the flowers while almost simultaneously, Florio squeezed past Martin and quickly had the flower delivery boy flat on the ground with his hands behind his back. The boy was scared to death and had no idea what was going on. Florio glanced in the driveway and saw the white Ford van with “Majestic Flowers” written along its side, with each letter made to look like a different type of flower in a different color. Florio lifted the boy up and half pushed and half carried him into the house. Meanwhile, Martin put the flowers on a table and opened the attached envelope.

Happy Anniversary.

Send gift to First Merchants Bank, 117 Eastern Avenue, Georgetown, Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands.

SWIFT Bank Identification Number FMEBKYGTU

Account Name Sterling Partners, Ltd. Account Number 71134865

Only valid if wire initiated by 11:30 AM your time.

Martin immediately checked his watch. “It’s 11:03. We have 27 minutes to initiate the wire transfer. Even though it may take several hours for the money to be received by the Cayman Islands bank, they can contact Steve’s bank to verify whether or not the wire had been initiated. Frank, start setting up the wire transfer, but don’t have the insurance company officer authorize it until I say we’re ready.” Martin then instructed the lead technician to get the FBI office going immediately on trying to learn the ownership and other details of the bank account in the Cayman Islands.

Ninety seconds of questioning was more than enough time for Martin to conclude that the delivery boy knew nothing; he had been given flowers to deliver and that’s what he had done. Martin called the flower shop to see if he could learn anything about who ordered the flowers. While the phone was ringing, Martin asked Joe and Ginny to go to the flower shop, about 20 minutes away driving normally, but probably less than 15 minutes with lights and siren.

As Joe and Ginny raced out, the owner of the flower shop answered the phone. “Hello. Thanks for calling Majestic Flowers. How can we help make your day beautiful?”

“Hello. This is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Martin with the FBI. I’m calling about a flower delivery you made a short while ago to the Sanders’ residence at 14 Oak Knoll Drive.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that order. I processed it myself. What is it you need?”

“We’d like to know who ordered this delivery.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help you. I found the order under the door when I opened the shop this morning. There was no name on the order.”

“How was payment made? Was a check included or credit card information provided?”

“No. There was a pre-paid gift card left with the ordering instructions and a sealed envelope to be attached to the flowers. I have no idea who ordered the flowers.”

“OK. Thank you. Two police officers are on their way to your shop. Please show them the note and pre-paid card when they get there. In the meantime, don’t touch either of those items any more than you already have.”

“OK.”

“Thank you for your help,” concluded Martin, hoping that Joe and Ginny might learn more by talking with the flower shop owner and employees, canvassing the neighborhood and, ideally, locating security cameras and/or fingerprints. Martin was pleased with his strategy; even if the two detectives learned nothing of value, this assignment would at least keep them out of the house and away from Mr. Sanders for the critical next hour or two.

It was now 11:19. Martin realized that he had to get the wire transfer authorized right away or it would never be initiated by 11:30. He gave the OK to Florio, who passed it on to the insurance company officer who in turn immediately called Steve’s bank with the wire transfer password.

Martin then prodded the lead technician, “What have we learned about the Cayman Islands bank account?”

“Nothing yet. Our Financial Forensics Group in D.C. is in contact with their counterparts in London, because the Cayman Islands is a British Overseas Territory, and with Cayman banking officials, but no information so far.”

“OK. Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

“Will do,” responded the technician.

At 11:27, Martin was informed by his office that the money transfer had been confirmed by Steve’s bank. Nonetheless, it was almost 1:30 in the afternoon when the wire transfer actually occurred and Martin received confirmation that the inbound money wire was recorded in the Cayman Islands bank. The kidnappers were smart enough to pick a time for the transfer other than Monday morning or Friday afternoon, the peak periods for wire transfer requests, when wire transfer requests often back up for several hours. Within an hour of receipt, the money had already been wired out of the Cayman Islands bank to a bank account in Luxembourg.

Over the next few hours, Martin received updated reports every 30 or 45 minutes. It appeared that the $5 million was first divided into $1 million amounts and each wired to a different bank. $1 million each from two of these banks was immediately withdrawn as cash. The FBI, through local authorities, was trying to determine who made the withdrawals. Each of the three other $1 million amounts was then further divided into $200,000 amounts and wired to different banks.

With his frustration clearly visible, Florio said, “Trying to trail this money will take days. Even longer to find out the owner of each account. No doubt the owners are a bunch of damned shell companies anyway. Finding out where the money and the kidnappers are will be a huge task. I hope to hell we can track these bastards.”

Martin merely responded, “These guys sure know what they’re doing.”

Joe and Ginny returned from the flower shop around 1 o’clock. Martin gave them an inquisitive look as they entered the house and was rewarded with both police officers shrugging their shoulders, holding their hands out palms up and shaking their heads from side to side. For the rest of the afternoon, Joe and Ginny hardly spoke. They stood near the back of the room, trying to keep out of the way of the FBI technicians. They communicated with each other through a series of looks, nods, frowns and smiles, an effective but silent language between the two of them. Ginny served coffee, water and doughnuts to everyone a few times, but otherwise stayed in the background.

As the information about subsequent wire transfers slowly ground to a halt, the FBI agents, their technicians and the two Jasper Creek detectives eventually left the Sanders’ house.