Blood Money Page 18

  “That was such a stroke of good fortune. We probably would not have paid much attention to the trash if it hadn’t been for the rolls of duct tape. We thought it was strange that someone would throw away rolls with so much tape left on them. It was when we ran the fingerprints on the tape that we really got lucky. We had a good set of prints for two local guys that work for a company called On Guard. The company is owned and operated by a Dick Schaeffer. The men do licensed bodyguard work for him, so we had their prints on file. It just happened that one of our detectives remembered that On Guard did work for the local NRBA Laboratory during an investigation involving a break-in a few years back. It was too much of a coincidence. We picked them up about an hour ago. They both had several thousand dollars cash on them. We have the two of them in separate cells. The one, George Dwyer, is some kind of a martial arts expert. The other, Karl Lindstrom, is sort of oafish. He had a satchel with some acid vials and other weird stuff. They make up an odd couple. We drew a blank at Dick Schaeffer’s house. We don’t know where he’s hiding, but I’ll bet that when we find him, we’ll find John Portman, too. I thought you might like to sit in on the questioning of these two thugs. Once we make a direct tie-in to Agent Harrigan, I’ll release them to the FBI. Fortunately, they haven’t lawyered up yet. That doesn’t really surprise me. I guess Schaeffer’s business isn’t big enough to have an attorney on retainer, and these boys couldn’t swing that on their own. Now the job is to get them to talk.”

  “I’d love to be there, but just as an observer. I have no doubt that they’re the ones we’re looking for. Those were the names Susan gave us as her attackers. Let’s see how it goes. Don’t tell them that I’m with the Bureau. Once they realize I’m interested in them for abduction and assault of a government agent, they may clam up completely. We need them to tell us where Portman is hiding out.”

  They moved to an interrogation room and took seats at the table. Moments later, an officer brought George into the room. George was about six-two, two twenty and in his late forties. His silky, jet black hair was drawn tight into a pony tail that went that went half way down his back. He was powerfully built from years of martial arts training. His eyes were dark and cold. His attitude was sullen.

  Chief Jacobsen gestured toward the chair on the other side of the table. “Have a seat, George. I’m Chief Jacobsen and this here is detective Wellman.”

  George looked at him coldly, glanced at Wellman, hesitated a second or two and then he sat down. “Why the hell did you pick me up? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’ll ask the questions, George,” the Chief responded. According to your file you work for On Guard. Is that correct?”

  “Yeah, so what. A lotta people work for them. Since when is working a crime?”

  “It isn’t, ordinarily. It depends on what kind of work you may have done for them lately.”

  “There ain’t been any work lately. Things are kinda slow. I haven’t had any work for almost a month.”

  “That cash you had in your pocket says otherwise, George.”

  “That’s my savings. I don’t trust banks.”

  “So, you haven’t done any work at a warehouse recently? For instance, out on Patterson?”

  John watched George carefully for a “tell”; the signal someone involuntarily gives when you take them by surprise. It may be a good poker hand, or, as in this case, the realization that someone knows something that you didn’t expect them to know. George didn’t show any signs of recognition at all. He just sat very stoically. Apparently martial arts training had some positive side benefits.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been out that way at least for four or five months.”

  “Well, that is really strange, George, because we found your prints on some food wrappers and a water bottle that were thrown in a dumpster out in the warehouse district. The dumpster was emptied yesterday. So the items in question had to have been thrown in there in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “We must have been driving by, or maybe a homeless person picked up the trash somewhere else and tossed it away again. I remember that I didn’t finish my burger. It was not cooked enough. Anyway, now you’re telling me that it is against the law to throw your trash away. I thought that that was a good thing. You guys gotta make up your minds.”

  “It is against the law when it’s mixed with evidence from a crime scene. You see, there was a strip of duct tape in with the trash with hair on it from a woman who was found shot yesterday. Guess whose fingerprints we found on it. I’d say that that ties you directly to a crime scene.”

  George’s eyes were starting to show signs of recognition. “I don’t know nothin’ about no crime scene. Is that all you’ve got? You guys are just grasping at straws.”

  Walt responded, “No, George, that’s not all. We also have your fingerprints on a roll of duct tape that was used in the shooting. The duct tape with the hair follicles matches the roll of tape that also has your fingerprints on it.” Chief Jacobsen was gambling that George did not know that Susan had been found alive. “Do you see what I am getting at?”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with no murder. You can’t pin it on me.”

  “Who said anything about a murder. I just said ‘a shooting.’ Before, you said ‘we must have been driving by’. Who else is in this with you, George? Who was the trigger man if it wasn’t you? It will go a lot easier if you tell me everything now.”

  “Nobody is in nothin’ with me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You bastards are just trying to frame me.” He looked at Wellman as if expecting some support. John just looked dispassionately past him.

  Jacobsen continued, “Does the name Karl Lindstrom ring a bell?” He’s in this with you, isn’t he? We picked him up earlier. I advise you to start talking fast, George, because if Karl gives you up first, he’ll be the one getting the deal and you’ll be taking the heat. It’s up to you.”

  It was suddenly sinking in that they knew what had happened. George had no intention of taking a murder rap. While he and Karl were buddies, he had no reservations about giving him up, especially if he could cut a deal.

  “What kind of a deal can I get?” he asked.

  “You know I can’t be specific, George. Everything depends on what you have to tell us, but I can promise you that it will go a lot easier on you if you tell us everything now, especially if you were only hired muscle.”

  John couldn’t believe his eyes. The big man appeared ready to fold in less than ten minutes of interrogation.

  Walt clammed up. Silence was all that was needed at this point. George’s fear would do the rest.

  “Okay, I will tell you what I know.”

  Walt motioned for the tape recorder to be turned on. For the next ten minutes, George related the whole story. He named John Portman, Dick Schaeffer and Karl Lindstrom, and spelled out the role that each had played. He was so scared of a murder rap that he would have given up his own mother.

  “I roughed the dame up a bit, but I swear that Portman was the one who killed her. I didn’t see him do it, but he was the only person in the room with a gun. I think that he may have killed somebody else too. He showed the woman a picture of a guy he claims he killed. His name was Roland Phoebes. He threatened to do the same to her if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know.”

  “Do you know where we can find Schaeffer and Portman?”

  “They’re holed up at a place Dick owns over on Snow Road.” He gave them the address and a detailed layout of the building. “Portman is planning on leaving town tonight. He may go sooner, now. They’re expecting Karl and me over there later today. When we don’t show up, he may sense something’s wrong. Dick is fixing him up with some wheels. I heard Portman saying something about not taking a risk at the airport. I think maybe he’s planning to wheel it back to Denver.” He slumped back in his chair. “That’s all I know, I swear. Now what’s the deal?”

  “Well now, George, that wasn’t
so bad was it. I’ll bet it feels good to get that stuff off your chest, doesn’t it? There is a new development, though. Your confession has necessitated a change in jurisdiction. This crime is now officially a Federal case and I’m afraid that I’m going to have to turn you over to this gentleman. George, let me introduce you to Special Agent John Wellman. He’s with the FBI here in Cleveland. You are now in his custody.”

  He looked at the Chief and then at Wellman. Fear showed in his eyes. “Our deal is still good, ain’t it?”

  “I can’t speak for John, but he was here the whole time, so he is aware of your cooperation. Oh, and by the way, the ‘dame,’ as you called her, was a Special Agent for the FBI. That’s the bad news. The good news is that she survived the gunshot. You should be very thankful for that.”

  John went through the formal arrest protocol with George, then turned him over to two officers who took George from the room and back to the holding cell. He was grumbling to himself as he left. John turned to Walt, “I keep getting more indebted to you. That was truly outstanding interrogation work.”

  Walt smiled. “Just doing my job. Can you believe the way he folded? I never expected it to be so easy. No two are ever the same. Do you want to sit in with our questioning of Karl? With George’s confession, there shouldn’t be too many surprises.”

  “I don’t think so. We’ll question him later. But you will probably need him to corroborate George’s confession.”

  “I’ll keep George and Karl on ice until you send someone to pick them up. Will you need any help rounding up Portman and Schaeffer? We’re ready to help if we can.”

  “I don’t think so. You’ve done enough, already. I have a team of nineteen agents just chomping at the bit waiting for this news. This one’s personal. They want to bring this to a close. I better get going. We’re running out of time. Thanks again, Walt.”

  Wellman got on the phone and set in motion a raiding team so that by the time he got back to headquarters everyone would be ready to go.

  CHAPTER 26

  This was the second time that Mark had had the chance to be in on a raid. What were the odds of that happening within a few days of joining the FBI? It’s common knowledge that FBI work is basically ninety percent cranial and only ten percent physical. As a Special Agent for the Intelligence and Analysis section, especially. the cranial part would probably be closer to ninety-nine percent. He was indebted to John Wellman and Dennis Peterson for allowing him to participate in the raid. He knew it was only because they were hunting for Susan’s abductors. Mark was there to help in any way that he could. The drill was the same as last time, only as they started to roll, they were pretty certain that their suspects were still hiding in the target house. The prey was there waiting for the hunter. Portman and the FBI would now be switching roles. They hoped that he was planning to wait for the cover of darkness to make good his escape.

  Raids in residential neighborhoods are difficult. The citizenry needs to be protected at all time. Adjoining houses need to be evacuated; roads must be cordoned off. As they approached the area, the cars split off in different directions. One car parked across the street at the end of the block. Two cars were positioned on ends of the street behind the house. Initially, Wellman parked three houses down at the curb. Two agents from each of the end cars were still in civilian clothes. They walked up to the ten houses on both sides of the street and quickly escorted the occupants to end of the block, out of harm’s way. As soon as the last house was clear, Wellman got on the radio, “Alpha here, let’s do it.” He moved the car up until it was directly in front of the house. It was right behind a car that might have been owned by Schaeffer, or which possibly could be the car that Portman was intending to use for his getaway. They did not have the luxury of time to check out the plates. It didn’t really matter anyway. No one was going anywhere in that car as long as they were there. They got out and positioned themsleves behind their car on the street side. There was no sign of activity in the house. Wellman motioned for Tom and Mark to cover the back and sides of the house. Mark took the right side and Tom moved down the left. When they were in position, he turned on the bullhorn. “John Portman and Richard Schaeffer, this is the FBI. The house is surrounded. Come out with your hands raised above your heads. Do it now!”

  There was a movement of drapes at one of the windows.

  A few minutes passed. John spoke again, “This is your last chance. There is no chance of escape. Put down your weapons and come out now.”

  Inside, Portman argued with Schaeffer. He had no intention of giving up. “We’ve got enough firepower in here to hold out for a while. I’ll be damned if I’ll give up without a fight. I want to take a few feds with me.”

  “That’s crazy, John. I don’t want to die. Life in jail is better than being shot down like a dog. Let’s give up.”

  “Dick, you’re such a pussy. If you want to give yourself up and spend the rest of your life in jail, be my guest, but I’m gonna fight.”

  The front door opened, but no one came out. Then suddenly Dick Schaeffer appeared in the doorway. His hands were high above his head. “Don’t shoot, I give up,” he said. As Dick walked down the steps, John Portman stepped up to the doorframe. He had a shotgun in his hand. He pointed it at Schaeffer and pulled the trigger. Then he raised the gun again and aimed it at the agents. As Schaeffer’s shot-riddled body fell to the ground, Dennis and John took aim. They both pulled off three shots. Portman reached for the doorframe to support himself, but collapsed onto the stairs. He fell on top of Dick’s body. His killing days were over. Mark ran around the house and stopped where Portman’s body fell. There were three holes in his head and three in his chest. That had been entirely his choice. Tom and Mark searched the house for any other occupants. No one else was there. The hunt was finally over. The house was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape as a forensics team arrived to do a thorough search of the premises and car for evidence.

  The FBI in Denver located a cabin in the mountains nearby that was traced to Mel Tarkington and John Portman. As Portman’s assistant, Tarkington was a person of interest. The evidence against him was slowly building, including a jointly held safety deposit box at a local bank that had recently been emptied and the testimony of one of the NRBA directors about illegal projects that he and Portman had been involved in. The cabin had been in use days prior to their locating it, but nothing of any value was found there. It was assumed that Tarkington left there and fled to Canada. A member of the Board was missing, and was presumed, also, to have left the country.

  CHAPTER 27

  Mel Tarkington had been questioned briefly by FBI Agents during the initial raid and shutdown of the National Rare Blood Association Headquarters. He cooperated with the agents and was released with the warning that they may want to question him again later. He was told not to leave Denver. Mel left the building and immediately contacted Portman to warn him of the raid. From there he went immediately to the Spartan National Bank, where he emptied the contents of the safety deposit box into his backpack. He rented a car using a forged credit card and driver’s license from the SD box. He drove for two hours to a secluded mountain cabin that John Portman owned. He planned on waiting at this location until John could return to Colorado. He attempted, unsuccessfully to contact John at any of the cell phone numbers that he had. This raised his level of concern. He waited twelve hours for a reply before he finally decided that he should go into hiding. If John was apprehended, Mel was sure that John would give him up to make a deal. He knew that he would. Friendships don’t transcend one’s freedom. He wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He vacated the cabin and hit the road.

  CHAPTER 28

  Dennis Peterson became Special Agent in Charge of the Cleveland FBI Office the week after he turned forty-four. He was six feet tall and weighs around 195 pounds. He appears paunchy in places as a result of being couch potato on the weekends he is able to get away from the office. Dennis was separated from Joanne, his wife o
f nineteen years. She was employed by the Bureau when they first met. They dated exclusively for one year before running off to Las Vegas to get married, an act that alienated both their families. That didn’t seem to bother either of them. When their son Stephen came along unexpectedly during their first year together, Joanne left the Bureau to become a full time mother. That began the long-term erosion of their marriage. With Dennis hard at work building a career, Joanne transferred all her love and affection to Stephen. Over the years, their arguments got hotter. She accused him of being a workaholic; of caring more about the Bureau than he did for his own wife and son.

  Dennis reacted with accusations that Joanne was deliberately turning his son against him. He even made a suggestion that she was making a sissy out of him. Whenever Dennis had time to spend with his son doing “guy” things, Joanne always found some excuse to cancel or shorten his plans. Sex between them became non-existent. Although Dennis would have vehemently denied, early in his marriage, that he would ever stray, his need for female companionship led him to the arms of a sympathetic staffer at the Bureau. She was more than willing to give him all the love and sex he wanted. The kinkier the better. It broke all the rules, but Dennis felt like a teenager again. They were very discreet, neither wanting to jeopardize their careers with the FBI. Her name was Marcia. She was far from the beauty that he had married. But what she lacked in looks she more that made up for in tenderness and compassion; two areas that were very lacking in Dennis’ life. They have been seeing each other now for five years. Marcia was on an emotional rollercoaster with Dennis during that period, including several times when he was convinced that he needed to reconcile with Joanne for the sake of their son. The odd thing was that Stephen had no use for Dennis, and had often taken sick on the days he was to see his father. The times that they spent together were becoming fewer, less than twice a month, and then for only a few hours at a time. Now that Stephen was preparing to enter college, there didn’t seem to be much sense in reconciliation. Marcia’s patience was finally paying off. They were beginning to talk about him getting a divorce and the two of them getting married. She was starting to see a considerable improvement in his mood when they had their intimate time together. There was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.