“You look like you just saw a ghost,” T.J. said.
She held up the card. “This is Michael Adelman’s business card.”
“Hyland’s CEO?”
Dupree nodded. “Yep. And guess where Hyland’s home office is located.”
T.J. thought for a moment. “Albany?”
“You win the prize.” She turned the card over and looked at the back side. “Check this out.”
T.J. got up and joined Dupree on the sofa.
They both looked at the back of the business card. Written very neatly was the following:
“I think we just hit pay dirt,” Dupree said. “You call Captain Jensen and ask him to issue an APB on Hansen and to coordinate surveillance on her apartment. I think one patrolman at each end of the hallway, two in the underground garage, two watching the front entrance, and one in the lobby without a uniform. Tell the captain to distribute a photo of Hansen to security at JFK, LaGuardia, Newark, and Grand Central Station. He can use either the photo on her driver’s license or a still shot from when we interviewed her. I’ll call Ralph, the security guard, and alert him to expect several patrolmen.”
“No worries that Ralph might tip her off if he sees her?” T.J. said.
“I’ll have a little chat with him about the consequences of harboring a fugitive. Once the patrolmen get here, let’s get back to the precinct. I want to recap everything we know to be certain we haven’t missed anything.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got all the bases covered,” T.J. said.
“Just trying to put this investigation to rest so I can take a vacation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
By the time Dupree and T.J. got back to the precinct, it was almost six p.m. The buzz of daytime activity had settled down, but as always, detective work was a twenty-four-hour a day job, so many of Dupree’s fellow detectives and support staff were still milling about.
“Before we lock ourselves in the conference room,” Dupree suggested, “let’s see if Brenda’s still here.” She held up Michael Adelman’s business card. “We can guess what 650K refers to, and if we call the phone number on the back of this card, I’d bet it’s for GCI Trust Ltd. The eleven digit number, no doubt, is a bank account number. But I’d also like to know what OFC and GCI stand for.
“Well, if anyone can figure it out, Brenda can,” T.J. said. “And if we’re lucky, she might even have the DNA results from Cassano’s blood and some info on Hansen’s cell phone records.”
As they neared Brenda’s cubicle, Dupree could see the top of Brenda’s head rocking from side to side. Brenda was wearing pink earbud headphones plugged into her iPhone. Quietly laughing, Dupree and T.J. stood there watching Brenda’s head weaving and bobbing while she hummed a tune Dupree didn’t recognize. Finally, Brenda turned her head and jumped.
She yanked the headphones out of her ears. “You two scared the waffles right out of me. Are you detectives or stalkers?”
“Well,” T.J. said, “when you put on a show like that, how could we resist?”
“Just grooving with the brothers.” She turned off the music and swiveled towards Dupree and T.J. “I suppose you two are here on a fact-finding mission. Or did you just pop over to chitchat?”
“Tell you what,” Dupree said. “If you’ve got something for us to sink our teeth into, I’ll bring you a latté and a brownie first thing in the morning.”
“So you think I’m that easy, huh?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Are we talking girl brownie or boy brownie?”
“Whatever you prefer.”
Dupree could tell by the confused look on T.J.’s face that he didn’t get the brownie joke. “Think about it, T.J.,” Dupree said. “It’ll hit you.”
“Okay, Amaris, you’ve got a deal. A latté and a walnut brownie.” Brenda went to work. “Boy, am I gonna make your day.”
“I get it,” T.J. finally said.
“Took you long enough,” Dupree said.
“First off,” Brenda said, “got a positive DNA match for Oscar Cassano’s blood and the blood in Dr. Crawford’s car.”
This did not surprise Dupree. But now, she had concrete evidence. “That’s good news. Keep making my day.”
“Here’s a few interesting facts about Margaret Hansen’s phone activity. Just like you suspected, she made three calls to a number that’s associated with one of those prepaid cell phones. It’s through a company called Rapid Cellular.”
Again, Dupree wasn’t shocked. She elbowed T.J. “So, I would bet that the southern accent on the other end of Cassano’s calls were from Hansen.”
“And if what Cassano and Lentz told us is true,” T.J. added. “That Lentz only hired Cassano to nab Dr. Crawford’s computer, then it was Maggie Hansen who made the deal with Cassano to kill Dr. Crawford.”
“There’s more,” Brenda said. “The three calls to Albany, New York were to a private number.”
Dupree pulled Adelman’s business card out of her pocket. “Refresh my memory, Brenda. Is the number 518-555-1777?”
“Sure enough is.”
“And how about the four calls to 345-555-2100?” Dupree asked.
Brenda turned the monitor slightly so Dupree and T.J. could get a better view. “That phone number is for GCI Trust, Ltd. on the Grand Cayman Island.”
Considering all this new information, Maggie Hansen, perhaps not on her own accord, hired Cassano to kill Dr. Crawford. But was it revenge that motivated her? Where did Hansen get the one-hundred K she paid Cassano?
“As always, Brenda,” Dupree said. “You never disappoint me.” Dupree glanced at the business card again. “Any chance you can tell us what the acronym OFC stands for?”
“Let’s find out.” Brenda keyed in a web site address. “Here’s a site that can identify every acronym in the free world” She typed in OFC and within seconds a list appeared. She ran her finger down the screen.
“Here’s some possibilities: Ottawa Folklore Center, Optical Fiber Conference, Oceania Football Confederation. Wait a minute. I’ll bet this is what you’re looking for: Offshore Financial Centre.” Brenda hit a few more keys. “Believe it or not, there are eighty-two countries with Offshore Financial Centres. Everywhere from American Samoa to Vatican City and everywhere in between. They’re havens for rich folks who want to hide their money from Uncle Sam.”
“The Grand Cayman Island is on the list, right?” Dupree asked.
“Actually,” Brenda said, “as far as the number of financial institutions offering offshore accounts, Grand Cayman ranks in the top ten.”
“I’m running to the little boy’s room,” T.J. said. “I’ll meet you in the conference room in a few minutes.”
“Well, Brenda,” Dupree said, “you certainly earned your latté and brownie. In fact, I should bring you a little sweet-treat every day for the next year.”
“Afraid that would ruin my girlish figure, Missy.”
“I really appreciate your efforts.” Dupree looked at her watch. “I have two more things I need help with, but they can wait until morning.”
“Give me the info now because I usually get in the office by six. By the time you show up I might have what you need.”
Dupree showed Brenda the back of the business card. “I’m reasonably sure that this is a bank account number for GCI Trust Ltd.” Dupree pointed. “If it is, I’d love to know whose name is on the account and the balance.”
“That might take some doing, but I’ll look in my little bag of tricks and see what I can come up with.”
“I’ll see you in the morning with your latté and brownie in hand,” Dupree promised.