CHAPTER 12

Clues from the Dead

“What the hell could it be, Stitch?” Daffy asked in frustration. For an hour they had been studying the numbers and letters Maxwell had left. They were no closer to figuring them out than they had been at the start.

Stitch stared at a small movie screen in front of them. On it a projector shone the message as Maxwell had written it: KN6631475. He nodded at his open laptop. “So far, the only thing that has come up is a Greenland licence plate.”

Daffy snorted.

“Probably not a phone number,” Stitch mused. “No one has used letters for telephone numbers since the ‘60s”.

Daffy threw up his hands. “Man, this could be just a wild goose chase. Maybe the paper just happened to be in his shoe!”

“Right, Daf. Probably the shoe size,” Stitch said sarcastically.

“OK,” Daffy conceded. “He put it there for a reason.” Daffy stood up from his chair and paced fretfully. “But what was it? And so we sit here trying to make sense of a bunch of numbers. And what is Venam doing?” Daffy didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll tell you what. Their team of sell-out lawyers is trying to get our injunction quashed.”

Stitch was still studying the numbers and letters. “Sit down, Daffy. You’re making me nervous.”

Daffy stopped pacing and sat back down heavily. “What’s the plan, Stitch? I can’t sit around here all day.”

“Sure you can. Now just shut up and help me with this.”

Daffy glowered at the screen. “With what?” he asked, pouting.

“Look. This was the final message Maxwell left. He knew he was going to be killed. He didn’t leave a note to his wife or kids. He didn’t even try to escape. This was important. So important he took the last seconds of his life to write it out. He wanted us to know something. Something that will break this case.” He looked up at Daffy. “And maybe something that will stop the development of Farley’s Bog forever.”

Daffy sighed. Then he nodded. “OK. Let’s try again.”

“Good.” Stitch looked back at the screen. “All right. We’ve got two letters and seven numbers. Not a phone number. Even converting the letters to numbers doesn’t work. We’ve tried every exchange in the world.”

Daffy said nothing.

“The only licence plates with those letters are from Greenland. So that’s out.”

“Unless the hit men were Eskimos,” Daffy grumbled.

Stitch was quiet. “Maybe we’re going at this the wrong way. We’re trying to figure out what the letters and numbers mean.”

“Oh, gosh,” Daffy scowled. “How unreasonable.”

“Shut up, Daf,” Stitch said distractedly. “What if we broke them down: Letters. Numbers.”

“Yeah? What good does that do?”

“We’ve got two letters: KN. What could they be?”

Daffy leaned over the table toward the screen. “Initials? Of the killer? Or the blackmailer?”

“Possible. But then why didn’t he write out the name?”

“Not enough time.”

Stitch shook his head. “Don’t think so. He found the time to write out seven numbers.”

“A code? Maybe secret letter-number system?”

“Not much good if it’s that secret,” Stitch said thoughtfully. He hesitated for a moment. “A code.”

“That’s just what I said!” Daffy said impatiently.

“But not that kind of code.” Stitch rubbed his upper lip in thought. “A country code.”

“We tried that,” Daffy said. “Remember? Licence plates? The only country with KN on the plates was Greenland.”

“Not a licence plate code.” Stitch got up and walked toward the screen. “But we were close. Have you heard of an ISO?”

“Yeah,” Daffy replied. “International standardization code. Each country is assigned two letters. Sometimes three for licence plates.”

Stitch stood beside the screen. “Right. So let’s look at the letters again”. He pointed at the KN on the screen.

“I don’t get it,” Daffy said edgily. “KN is Greenland.”

“Not necessarily.” Stitch looked at Daffy. “They can be different for different applications. One place they’re used is in banking.”

Daffy sat up. “I’m listening.”

“In banking they’re called an International Bank Account Number. An IBAN. Every country is given a two-letter code.” Stitch nodded toward the laptop. “Google IBAN for me, will you?”

Daffy moved quickly for such a large man. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Got it.”

“OK. Is there a list of international codes?”

Daffy paused for a moment. “Yeah. They’re listed by country. Man, there’s over 200 of them. What do you want me to do?”

“There should be a reverse function. Where you can put in the letters.”

“Yeah, here it is.” Daffy tapped at the keyboard. “Damn,” he said excitedly. “St. Kitts and Nevis!”

Stitch smiled. “Bingo. I’ll tell you what I think we’ve got here, Daffy. I think we’ve got an offshore bank account number.”

Daffy looked up from the computer screen. “Offshore as in money laundering,” he said.

Stitch nodded. “St. Kitts and Nevis are two small islands in the Caribbean. Smallest country in the Americas. They have two main sources of income: tourists and offshore banking.”

Daffy nodded. “Like the Caymans, Bermuda, the Bahamas.”

“Right. My guess is that Maxwell left us the one thing he knew could screw these guys. The bank account they were bribing him out of.”

Daffy whistled softly. “OK, so let’s assume they were paying him out of an offshore account. That still doesn’t tell us much, does it?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Where did the blackmail money come from? The same bank? From what account? Who has that account? A shell company laundering drug money? Maybe by investing in Canadian shopping centre developments?”

Daffy whistled again. “Wow.”

“Do me another favour, Daf. Google Bank Codes. What do you come up with?”

Daffy nodded. “Yeah, there’s a whole section here. What do you want?”

“In international banking the first two letters identify the country, right?”

“Go on.”

“Well, the next four numbers identify the bank.”

Daffy’s face lit up. He quickly typed in 6631. Then he sat back. A big grin lit up his face. “Stitch, my man, you’re a genius.”

Stitch smiled. “Never thought I’d hear you say that, Daf. Whatcha got?”

“Nexus International Bank, NIB. And the headquarters are in...?”

“Let me guess: Charlestown, Nevis.”

“Give that man a prize,” Daffy laughed. “So where do we go from here?”

Daffy turned back to the red letters and numbers on the screen.

“There’s a problem,” Stitch said. “The letters and numbers tell us the country and the bank. The rest of the numbers tell us the account.”

“So what’s the problem?” Daffy asked. He pointed at the remaining numbers. “There it is.”

“An account number would be a minimum of six digits. Usually eight or even more. We’ve only got three.” Stitch pointed at the line trailing off after the final 5. “See this? I think Maxwell was trying to complete the account number just as they were charging in.”

Daffy’s smile faded. “So where does that leave us?”

Stitch shrugged. “A lot farther than we were. We know where the bribery money was coming from. We know the first three digits of Maxwell’s account. We can figure that whoever was behind the killing also has an account with NIB.” Stitch paused. “In fact, I think we’ve stumbled on a major money laundering scheme.”

“What’s this ‘we,’ Sherlock? You’re the detective,” Daffy chuckled. “But I am impressed. You know all that stuff I said about you being a moron?”

Stitch smiled and nodded.

“I take it all back.” Daffy thought a moment and then gave a little shrug. “Well, most of it anyway. But what’s the deal with money laundering? How does that fit into all of this? The shopping centre and all.”

Stitch walked back to the desk and sat down. “Money laundering is big business, my lawyerly friend. Billions each year. Look, you’re a big cocaine dealer in Colombia. Your buyers don’t buy your dope with a Visa card. You wind up with millions of dollars in cash. What do you do with it?”

Daffy shrugged. “You buy stuff. Cars, diamonds, AK47s.”

“We’re talking tens of millions here, Daf. How much stuff can you buy? Besides, you don’t make money that way. You have to get it into investments. Get a return on your dope money. And then it’s legit. It’s clean. You can do anything you want with it. Deposit it in a bank. Buy stocks. Hell, buy whole companies.”

Daffy nodded. “Right. You want to clean it. Launder it. So how’s it done?”

Stitch shook his head sadly. “Man, there are so many schemes it’s ridiculous. But here’s one. It’s called layering. First you work with a bank that doesn’t ask too many questions. And doesn’t disclose it’s dealings to other countries.”

“The Nexus International Bank,” Daffy offered.

“Right. So you stick several million in a numbered account. No one except the bank knows who owns the account. And they’re not talking. Now you find a company in Canada that is in desperate need of investment. Maybe a land developer hit hard by the recession. One that can’t borrow the money they need from Canadian banks.”

“Venam!” Daffy said excitedly.

“You approach them. You represent XYZ Ventures. You saw the developer was having a tough time. Your investors are willing to invest two million bucks in the company. And once they get the money, all they have to do is send one million to an account in Switzerland.”

Daffy looked puzzled. “So the developers get the two million in their account. They send one to the crooks’ Swiss account. They keep one. OK. So then what?”

“XYZ provides a nice little receipt indicating the whole loan has been paid off in case Revenue Canada gets interested. All two million. But it’s only on paper. Actually, not a dollar is paid back. Everyone’s happy. The launderers now have a million clear they can play with in a legitimate account in Switzerland. The developer has an extra million bucks to build things.”

“And destroy wetlands,” Daffy added grimly.

“That too.”

The two men were quiet for several moments. Finally Daffy broke the silence. “What’s next?’

“I’m catching the first flight to Nevis,” Stitch answered.

Daffy nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

“You are not, you idiot.”

“I’m coming with you, Stitch,” Daffy insisted. “You’re going to need someone to watch your back. These guys are killers.”

Stitch smiled. “Thanks, Daf. I mean it. But I’ll be OK. The Caribbean is my old stomping grounds. Plus, I don’t want to stick out too much. What would people think if I showed up with this big, excitable bear at my side?”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Stitch said. “Besides, we need you here. Your fight is in the courts.” Stitch punched Daffy lightly on his huge bicep. “Give ‘em hell, Daf.”

Daffy smiled. “You too, partner.”