“Speaking of which,” said Mary, “what’s good here?”
“Everything’s good. They’ll bring the food over as soon as it’s done, so they shouldn’t be long.”
“I haven’t even ordered.”
“It’s best not to choose for yourself; you’ll only get it wrong,” he said, slipping the micro drive into the laptop’s USB port. “They’ll bring over whatever is freshest. Their menu is based on what they could get their hands on at the markets earlier in the morning. Trust me, it’s better this way.”
“I’d rather just have a cheeseburger.”
“Just stop complaining and live a little.” Leopold tapped a few keys and the laptop started to whir. “Good. The contents are all copied over, so all we need to do is find something that links Creed to all this.”
“You really think he’s behind this? I mean, my gut’s telling me he’s scum, but is he capable of murder?”
“I know he’s hiding something.” He opened a search and typed in a few keywords. “We’re looking for anything covering the last few months’ numbers. Anything that shows a steep drop in share value.”
“Like we saw at the hotel?”
“Exactly. Here, look at this.” He turned the laptop around to face her. “Consolidated accounts for the firm’s top earners. See anything unusual?”
She peered in. “No. Should I?”
“That’s just it. Where some of the share value of the smaller clients dropped through the floor, these stayed constant.”
“So?”
“So, in any given week, the investment analysts allow for a variability of up to fifteen percent. They expect around five percent in a bad week, maybe one or two percent on an average one. Either way, it’s up and down. These numbers are showing a constant growth. A perfectly straight line. Real life just doesn’t work like that.”
“Someone’s cooking the numbers.”
“Right. There’s no way millions of dollars can drop off the accounts of a select few accounts, while the top earners show zero volatility. Someone’s taking one company’s losses and turning it into another company’s profits, making everything add up nicely.”
“Gordon was behind this?”
“These aren’t Teddy’s accounts,” said Leopold. “According to Biggs, Creed was the one overseeing the management. Teddy was the one bringing in the business. He wouldn’t have had any idea.”
“So why have all this on his computer?”
“Maybe he found something that didn’t add up. Maybe that’s what got him killed. But right now, there are more important things to focus on.”
“Like what?”
“Like lunch,” said Leopold, as the waiter arrived with two plates of steaming food. Leopold shut the laptop and stashed it under his chair.
“Buon appetito,” the waiter said, laying the plates on the table.
The first dish was gnocchi sautéed in butter and olive oil, with pesto, sprinkled with parmigiano-reggiano, and accompanied by a fresh salad. The hot salty dumplings made a fine contrast to the crispness of the salad, and both Leopold and Mary finished their portions after a few hungry mouthfuls. The food kept coming – roasted sea bass with chili tomato sauce, lamb skewers marinated in garlic oil, scrambled eggs with brie, walnuts, and white truffle – Leopold drank red wine, a rich sangiovese, while Mary sipped club soda. Both ate everything, mopping up remaining sauce with hunks of herby ciabatta. For dessert, the waiter brought them tiramisu and espresso.
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” said Mary after taking the last morsel of bread, hand on stomach. “I think you’ve killed me.”
“Take your time. The coffee will help you digest.” Leopold tipped the espresso down his throat.
“We need to find something linking Creed to Teddy Gordon’s murder. We don’t have time to digest.”
“Food is a kind of meditation. Your mind is focused on just one thing – eating. This allows your subconscious to churn away in the background on less exciting things.”
“Murder cases not exciting enough for you?” said Mary, sipping her coffee.
“I thought there would be more action. You know, maybe a car chase or something. You think we can fit one in?”
“We can only hope.”
Leopold smiled and shook his head. “Look, we have Biggs’ testimony to work with. We can probably lean on Mrs. Gordon to back us up. And we’ve got these accounts on Teddy’s hard drive. I’m betting they’re on Creed’s hard drive too.”
“That’s not enough to make an arrest. We need probable cause.”
“I’m not finished. Take a look at the metadata in these files.” He pulled out the laptop again.
“The what?”
“Every file is stamped with information about who owns the document, when it was created, and when it was modified. According to this,” he opened up the spreadsheet again, “the records were created three months ago and were modified in the last forty-eight hours. More importantly,” he turned the computer around and tapped the screen, “Creed’s name is listed as the author.”
“That still doesn’t link him to the murder.”
“No. But it should get you a warrant to search his computer. All you need is something giving him a motive. Maybe Gordon found out what he was doing, threatened to go public.”
“Okay, we can work with that.” Mary fished out her cell phone from her purse. She paused. “Wait a minute. If Creed was responsible for Gordon’s death, wouldn’t he have been at the hotel that night? We can check the security footage. If we can place him at the crime scene, we’ll have motive, means, and opportunity. That’ll get us our arrest warrant.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Leopold. “I told you lunch was a good idea.”
Creed came quietly enough. Halfway through a suit fitting in his office, Mary had presented him with a choice: either come along willingly, or face the walk of shame in front of an office full of subordinates. Creed had chosen wisely.
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.”