Unleashed (17 page)

I don’t know him, so I have no idea whether he is telling the truth. I’ll ask Cindy whether I can rely on him, but for now, I have no choice.

“There’s a company named Imachu. It’s a Turkish company that does banking in Belize and the Caymans and who knows where else. Barry Price’s company invests a lot of their money.”

Unless these guys are great actors, their expressions tell me they’ve never heard of the company. I continue, “They wired a lot of money to Donald Susser, and they also wired it to one of the dead guys in Concord.”

“How did you trace that money?” Muñoz asks. They must have tried and run into a brick wall. Sam told me Barry’s password machine can get them places the U.S. government can’t go to. Of course Sam doesn’t have to worry about such things as international banking regulations or privacy laws or search warrants.

The bottom line is that the federal government is a step behind Hilda and Eli Mandlebaum.

“That I can’t share with you. But the information is solid.”

“Is there anyone else who has received money from that company that we should know about?”

“I’m finding that out now. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

We talk a little more, but it’s only so each side can see if there’s any more advantage to be gained. Before they leave, Muñoz reminds me to give him any additional names that have received wired money from the same account as Susser and the guy in Concord. I renew my promise that I will.

“See you around,” Muñoz says as they leave.

I give him my sweetest smile. “That’ll give me something to look forward to.”

As soon as they leave, I call Sam and ask if he’s found other recipients of the money yet.

“There’s a guy in Ohio I told you about; we’re still in the process of checking him out. There are a couple others also. We’re close, Andy, but it’s slow going.”

“E-mail me the information as you get it. I need to turn it over to the FBI.”

“The FBI’s in this now?”

“Yes.”

“On our side?”

“Of course. Don’t we represent truth, justice, and the American way?”

Christopher Schroeder is an expert on poisons. Actually, he looks like he’s been sucking some down for a while. He’s at least six two but can’t weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds, and he isn’t just pale, he is entirely without skin color.

Schroeder is a sixty-four-year-old professor of chemistry at Columbia University, but at this stage of his career, he spends more time testifying than he does professing.

He learned a number of years ago that there is more money to be made showing off knowledge in front of a jury than in front of undergraduates. Other than the financial remuneration, there’s not much difference for him: both jurors and students have to fight to stay awake when he talks.

Bader no doubt recognizes that Schroeder is dull as dirt, so he tries to move the testimony along at a rapid pace. He quickly has Schroeder relate his credentials, which are impressive and certainly establish him as an expert in the field.

The subject of today’s class is botulinum poisoning, and Schroeder quite literally wrote the book on it. He’s written a textbook on poisonous substances, which I glanced at last night. It’s not exactly a laugh riot, but it suits Schroeder’s personality perfectly.

Schroeder says that the botulinum toxin is relatively easy to acquire, and that all one has to do is spend minutes online to learn how.

Bader can’t be thrilled with that comment, since part of the rationale for his case is Denise’s pharmaceutical background. “So someone with Denise Price’s experience could do so relatively easily?” he asks.

“No question about it.”

They then move on to the delayed reaction of the poison, which is especially crucial. No one contends that a killer was on the plane with Barry, so when and how it was administered is something Bader needs to deal with.

Schroeder says that it takes anywhere from six to twenty-four hours for symptoms to appear, but once they do, incapacitation is rapid. The timing of the symptoms, according to Schroeder, can be adjusted by someone knowledgeable, based on the amount of the poison and the way it is administered. This, Bader has him point out, is where Denise’s expertise would be especially valuable.

“The impact is mostly muscular,” Schroeder says. “Starts with the facial muscles; the eyelids will droop, and the subject will have difficulty swallowing and chewing. Then it spreads downward, at a pace depending on the severity. It will reach the respiratory system, making breathing progressively more difficult and eventually impossible, and paralysis will set in.”

Schroeder says that Barry would likely have been mentally alert but unable to physically do anything to stop the plane’s descent. It is a nightmare situation, and the jury actually physically recoils from the horror of it.

Schroeder is a thoroughly credible witness, which happens to be the type I hate most. I should let Hike cross-examine him, since he considers himself an expert on poison. But having to watch and listen to a conversation between two people that depressing could cause mass suicide in the gallery.

Judge Hurdle gives everyone a fifteen-minute break before I question Schroeder. I use the time to check my phone, and I see that Sam had e-mailed me the information that someone named Kyle Austin of Columbus, Ohio, had received one hundred thousand from Imachu in the same manner as Susser and the others.

I quickly call Muñoz and tell him about Austin and then head back into the courtroom.

“Professor Schroeder, about how many cases of botulism are there each year? If you know…”

He flashes a glare at my raising the possibility that there is something about this subject he might not know. “There are slightly more than a hundred cases on average in the United States each year, just under a thousand worldwide.”

“And what percentage of those are classified as murders?” I ask.

“I don’t have that statistic, but it would be very low. The botulinum toxin occurs naturally.”

“So for all the testifying you’ve done, it’s never been in a criminal case?”

“No, always civil. They generally concern whether negligence caused the poisoning.”

I’ve put in the jurors’ minds that perhaps this isn’t even a murder, but it’s only a temporary victory, since later evidence will definitely establish it as a murder. Having said that, the muddier the water, the better I like it.

“Now, you talked about the wide variance of time it can take for the poison to kick in.”

He smiles without humor. “I don’t believe I used the words ‘kick in.’”

I smile back. “Do you want me to translate?’

He shakes his head. “Not necessary.”

“Then you said that the time between ingestion and symptoms can be controlled, based on the amount administered and the form it was in.”

He nods. “Correct.”

I introduce a book as evidence, point to a sentence, and ask Schroeder to read it aloud for the jury.

Before he does so, he says, “I see what you’re getting at, but—”

I interrupt him. “Please just read the sentence … that way we can let the jurors in on it.”

He starts to argue again, but this time Judge Hurdle steps in and instructs him to read.

“‘The incubation period after ingestion is decidedly unpredictable.’”

“Thank you. So we now have something of a dilemma here. You’ve said in court that it can be predictable, and the author of that text said it is ‘decidedly unpredictable.’ It’s a regular battle of the experts. By the way, who wrote that book?”

“I did,” says Schroeder, through teeth that seem somewhat clenched. “But I was referring to an accidental situation where the amount and manner of ingestion were not known.”

“Oh, sorry. Can you read from the paragraph where you say that?”

“It’s not included in the book.”

“Did you write a sequel to this book, where you clear up mistakes like that?”

Schroeder is unable to conceal his annoyance. “It was not a mistake.”

“Fine. Let’s leave it there. The sentence you read was not a mistake. Glad we cleared that up.”

Bader objects, but Hurdle overrules him, which qualifies as a news event.

“Professor, if Barry Price was murdered, who did it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Which part didn’t you understand? If someone intentionally gave him the poison, who was it?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Because you don’t want to say or because you don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Join the club. Thank you.”

You can’t tell a bank by its lobby. The Island Bank of the Caribbean has a New York office on Madison Avenue and Forty-sixth Street, but if the name wasn’t on the door, you’d never know it. It is all cold marble, and except for the faint strains of Caribbean music in the background, it’s like every other bank in New York.

I take the elevator up to the fourth floor, and during the ride the music is louder. Even so, I don’t think too many visitors to this place get the urge to take off their shoes and let the sand run through their toes.

I’m here to see Richard Glennon, a bank officer whom Sam discovered through his online shenanigans has been the person in charge of the Imachu account since his arrival at the company six months previous. Since Imachu wired the money to the now-deceased individuals in Augusta and Concord through Glennon’s department, he may have relevant information to provide.

He expressed a reluctant willingness to talk to me but made sure I understood that we would talk only about generic issues, not the confidential specifics of the bank’s client. That is certainly in line with my expectations, which are quite low. Basically I’m here because I have to be someplace, so this place is as good as any.

When I introduce myself at the reception desk, I discover that my meeting with Mr. Glennon has been preempted, and I’m instead meeting with Randall Franklin, the head of the area of the bank responsible for the department in which Glennon toils. I guess it makes sense, since I am the unquestioned head of the Andy Carpenter law firm.

We will be two titans of business, going one on one.

Franklin very much looks the part of the high-level successful banker, right down to the perfectly tailored, expensive suit, the dignified but smug manner, and the cleft in the chin on his good-looking face. Think Cary Grant without the charm.

“Due to the nature of your visit, I felt it more appropriate that you speak with me rather than Mr. Glennon, especially since he’s relatively new here.”

“I didn’t even realize that my visit had a nature,” I say. “I certainly never mentioned it to anyone.”

He smiles. “Intensive research was not required to figure it out. So what can I do for you?”

“You have a client named Imachu, a Turkish company.”

The smile doesn’t leave his face, and no words leave his mouth.

“That company has sent some wire transfers from your bank, which is what I’m interested in.”

“Mr. Carpenter, you’re a lawyer and no doubt well versed in matters of this kind. Surely you are aware that we would not be able to discuss any of our customer accounts with you. So I will neither confirm nor deny that this company you mention even banks here.”

I nod. “So let’s try it another way. Let’s say any company has an account with your bank and they want to send a wire. Who on the company end would be empowered to authorize it?”

“There’s no standard answer for that. It would be whoever the company so designates.”

“And they could do it with a phone call?”

“Up to a preset amount; above that would require documentation.”

“Does the bank do any check whatsoever on the recipients of the transfers?”

“Only in the rarest of cases; that is not our responsibility.”

“What are the rarest of cases?” I ask. “Are there terrorist groups that you won’t send money to?”

“Of course, providing the country we are operating in has placed restrictions in effect.”

“Speaking of countries, why would an entity in another country use your bank?”

“You would have to ask them. But I assume it is because we provide professional service and ample opportunity for growth and investment.” Another smile. “And we are discreet.”

“Really?” I ask. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“You can help me understand why you are letting a client use your bank to send money to murderers.”

His expression doesn’t change. “When and if you can provide proof of those allegations, we will take them very seriously.”

I smile. “When I have proof, you’ll have no choice.”

Unless prompted into urgent action, bureaucracies can be ponderous. The FBI is no exception to this, but in tracking down Kyle Austin, they moved relatively quickly.

It wasn’t urgent enough for Muñoz to go to Columbus himself, and in any event, he first wanted to do some background work on Austin. So he put in the request and asked for information ASAP.

An agent got to work on it within a couple of hours, and an hour after that he electronically reported back to Muñoz. Austin was an Iraqi vet, but he’d had some issues since his discharge.

He was convicted on a domestic violence charge, and though his girlfriend subsequently refused to testify, he did some jail time. He was out of work but had made some recent fairly expensive purchases, and three weeks prior had rented a house in an area that was an obvious step up from his previous residence.

Agent Jim Matuszak, working out of the Columbus office, was assigned to the case, and he and Muñoz connected on the phone at six that same evening. Muñoz updated him on where things stood, focusing on Austin’s possible connection to it.

It was decided that Matuszak and another agent would bring Austin in for questioning the next morning. Muñoz would watch the interview on video but would not participate in it. If Austin seemed like a promising lead as it related to the case, then Muñoz would likely fly out to Columbus that afternoon for further questioning and investigation.

Of course, both men recognized the possibility that Austin would refuse to answer any questions or demand a lawyer before doing so. In that eventuality, it would kick Muñoz and the Bureau into a full-court press. Austin’s life would be turned upside down in an effort to find out what he was hiding.