Nick Stephenson - Paydown (Leopold Blake Series)

Following a brief wait at the station for the man’s lawyer, Mary had interviewed Vincent Creed to little result. The banker had remained silent throughout, speaking only to recite his name, address, and occupation. Mary had informed him of his rights and sent him down to the holding cells. Leopold had been told to wait outside.

“Are you done yet?” Leopold asked, as Mary stormed back into the waiting room. “The coffee here is terrible.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive a little longer,” she said.

“He’s been down in the cells for nearly an hour. What else do you expect to achieve by stomping around? His lawyer will be working to put a moratorium on any warrants to search Creed’s computers, so make sure you get there first. You can hardly expect the man to confess without putting a little pressure on him.”

“I know, I know. He just gets me riled up, that’s all. Entitled bastard. You should have seen the smirk on his face all the way through the interview. Like he knew I couldn’t do anything.”

“You’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

“We don’t have long. I need to officially charge him with something in the next five hours or he’ll walk. And that’s not going to happen without something a little more concrete to link him to the murder.”

“You get his bank accounts?”

“Yeah. I’ve got some people going through them right now.”

“Let’s go take a look.”

She hesitated, then let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. You can come; just don’t speak to anyone, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Mary swiped her ID card across the magnetic strip near the steel door at the back of the room. “And don’t touch anything.”

The three-man tech team was sifting through Creed’s banking records as Leopold and Mary entered the room. Their office was small and dark, no windows and no natural light, and it smelled dusty. They clearly didn’t get out much.

“What you got for me, boys?” said Mary, eying up the computer monitors.

The largest of the three turned his head. “We got a whole lotta numbers, that’s what. This guy’s frickin’ loaded. A couple of transactions stand out though.” He pointed at the screen. “Check it. There was a large cash withdrawal a couple days ago from five different ATMs downtown. Just a few blocks from the hotel Gordon was killed.”

“That’s a good start. We got him on the CCTV tapes, maybe he paid someone off.”

“Yeah, maybe. We also got a large deposit, well, larger than usual, made into his account just this morning. Two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Who made the payment?”

“We don’t know,” said the tech. “It’s not from a US bank. Hell, we have no idea where it came from. It’s gonna take us a few days to trace.”

“Get on it,” said Mary. “In the meantime, this is enough to at least get the assistant DA to sign off on an official charge. We can hold him downstairs until the bail hearing. That gives us time to assemble a case. Good work boys.” She smiled.

“Ma’am.” The big guy smiled back before returning to his workstation.

“I’ll have some friends of mine check the bank account routing numbers,” said Leopold, firing off a text message on his cell phone as they left the room. “Shouldn’t take them long.”

“Just keep me out of it,” said Mary. “If you find any evidence we can’t use it directly. And I don’t want to know where it came from.”

“Agreed. We should have an answer soon. In the meantime, let’s go see Creed’s lawyer. See what he has to say about all this.”

Creed’s lawyer was unimpressed. “None of this links my client to the murder,” he said, getting up from behind the interview table. “You’re clutching at straws. Let Mr. Creed go and stop wasting everybody’s time.”

“Sit down, Mr. Osborne,” said Mary. “What we have is CCTV camera footage of your client at the scene of the murder. We have sensitive information exchanged between your client and the victim just hours before his death. We’ve also got a considerable amount of money deposited into Mr. Creed’s bank account shortly after Mr. Gordon was killed. That’s more than enough to file charges. Mr. Creed’s not going anywhere. I suggest you inform him.”

The lawyer picked up his suitcase. “You can expect me to fight this,” he said. “And if you think I won’t get bail, you’re very much mistaken.” He breezed out of the room without another word.

“God, I hate lawyers,” said Mary.

“Who doesn’t?” said Leopold.

Mr. Osborne returned less than twenty minutes later to find Mary and Leopold waiting for him outside the interview room.

“You done?” asked Mary.

“My client has been informed of the charges. When’s the bail hearing?”

“Judge Robertson, Monday morning.”

“I need to formally request the duty officer grant pretrial leave. Mr. Creed can be released on his own recognizance until then.”

“I’ll pass the request on. It will be denied.”

“Please send the confirmation to my office. I’ll see you in court.” The lawyer marched off, disappearing around the corner.

“I’m guessing Creed didn’t take the news too well,” said Leopold. “Maybe we should go find out how he's doing.”

“We can’t. It would be ex parte,” said Mary. “We can’t speak to him without his lawyer.”

“Bullshit. We can speak to whomever we like. You need to loosen up a little. Come on, you said you needed more evidence – let’s go get some.”

The guard looking after the cells signed them in and led them through to the holding area. “You guys know his lawyer just left, right?” he said, fiddling with a giant set of keys.

“Yeah, we got it Jimmy,” said Mary. “Anyone else been down?”

“Just the guy bringing chow. The boys should have finished by now. Go on through.” He swung the heavy iron gate open and ushered them over the threshold. He followed, locking it behind him. “Just a couple more.”

After a few minutes, they reached the holding cells. The harsh neon lighting bounced off the white walls and floors, making Leopold squint. With no windows and the air conditioning shut off, the air in the room was thick with the smell of food. There were eight cells in total, each with solid metal doors. Jimmy the guard walked up to the farthest right and rapped a knuckle on the steel.

“Hey, yo. You got visitors,” he said.

No reply.

“Open it up, Jimmy,” said Mary, stepping forward. “You can wait for us outside, it’s not a problem.”

“Ma’am.” He nodded and slipped a key into the door lock. “Here you go.” He swung the door open.

“Good evening, Mr. Creed,” said Mary, stepping toward the empty cell. “You enjoying your stay at –” She stopped mid-sentence.

“Holy shit,” said Jimmy.

Leopold ran forward and peered past the others. Vincent Creed was slumped against the wall, his skin as white as porcelain, with one half of a prison fork protruding from his throat – his own hand still wrapped around the handle. Both carotid arteries appeared to have been punctured from several jabs to the soft flesh. There were dark bruises around the wounds, though there was very little blood on the body. Most of it had sprayed across the room and was dripping down the opposite wall.