Saturday
Michael punched in Beth’s number the moment he started his powerful engine. Just as voice mail was about to pick up, a sleepy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Elizabeth? It’s Mike. Want to meet me for breakfast? I’ve got a rather interesting development to share.” He switched the phone to Bluetooth and pulled onto the street.
“What time is it? Why are you bothering me so early?”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight fifteen, Miss Sunshine. How about getting a head start on the day over blueberry pancakes and turkey bacon?”
“Better stop throwing your money around, Preston. Premium gas for your fancy car can eat through a paycheck in no time.” Beth’s tone had morphed from sleepy to irritable.
“Who are you, and what have you done with the nice person I had sushi with in Denver?”
“That person stayed up past midnight canning green beans with her mother. I hope you like veggies because you and Maxine are each getting six jars.”
“I love healthy food. Green beans have few calories as long as they’re not dripping in butter. But what about breakfast? I promise not to order anything green.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to pass. See you at the office later.”
She hung up before Michael could ask if she wanted takeout. So instead of wasting time at a restaurant, Michael picked up a dozen multigrain bagels with low-fat cream cheese and drove straight to Price Investigations. He and Maxine were on their second bagel when Beth strolled through the door forty minutes later.
“Sorry I’m late. I overslept.” Beth opened her tote bag and lined up six jars on Maxine’s desk. “Six for each of you, courtesy of Rita. And, Maxine, why are you here on a Saturday?” She handed Michael the bag before reaching for a bagel.
“I wanted to catch up on paperwork. Yummy, home-canned are the best,” enthused Maxine. “Tell your mama thank you.”
“I will, Maxine. Could someone pass me the cream cheese?”
Michael picked up the cheese spread and a stack of napkins. “Thanks for the beans, but could you bring that bagel to my cubicle? I’m eager to show you the last three statements for Calvary Baptist’s investment.”
Beth scrambled to her feet to follow him down the hall. “They actually sent copies? I thought we’d need a court order before Rayburn complied, especially if it’s a scam.”
“See for yourself.” Michael tapped a few keys and three statements appeared side by side on his monitor. He moved away as Beth pulled up a chair.
“Spare the Children sent these?” She leaned in to study the screen, her bagel forgotten.
“Rayburn’s assistant first emailed that their in-house bookkeeper had left on vacation, but she gave me the accounting firm who prepares the Mississippi statements. ‘Left on vacation’ sounds fishy, doesn’t it?”
“Like a boatload of catfish left in the sun.”
“Then she emailed back with these statements attached. Rayburn left strict orders she should be helpful, so she found them herself.”
“Could you explain what I’m looking at?” Beth rolled back from his desk.
“It would be my pleasure.” Michael handed her the cream cheese. “Reverend Dean invested almost half a million dollars, just like he said he did. These quarterlies were furnished by a company called D.K. Financials out of Jackson. I don’t know if they have a brick-and-mortar office or just an Internet operation, but their address is a post office box. These statements were attached to a generic email from the company. No particular employee seems to be in charge, which I find unusual. From what I learned, D.K. Financials handles investments for Mississippi, Tennessee, Alabama, and Louisiana, just like Rayburn said.” Michael tapped figures on the screen. “Take a look at the weekly fluctuations in the account.”
Beth leaned forward again, holding her bagel aloft. “Honestly, Mike, I can’t make heads or tails of this.”
“That’s because the statements are gibberish. These quarterlies reflect fluctuations in the value of the charity, not the individual deposit from Calvary Baptist of Natchez. That doesn’t make sense for an investment, even if they don’t pay interim interest or dividends until the end of term.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. Balancing my checkbook is a monthly nightmare.”
“Most investment quarterlies are straightforward. The summary page shows the amount you either gained or lost due to market volatility since the last statement. With one quick glance, you’ll either crack open the bubbly or toss and turn for many sleepless nights.” Michael hooked his thumb toward the computer. “Those statements are purposefully cryptic, and that usually means one thing.” Using his index fingers, Michael drew a shape in the air.
“Is that an isosceles triangle?” asked Beth. “I got an A in geometry.”
“I believe it is. In this case it represents a pyramid marketing scheme. Dubious swindlers convince people to invest their savings with the promise of better returns than they can get elsewhere. Investors are told their money is safe, that they can’t lose if they stay the course for a certain amount of time. Victims are often lured by the promise of doing humanitarian work. Being fairly unsophisticated, Reverend Dean would have watched that video and taken the bait—hook, line, and sinker.”
“Hey, watch who you bad-mouth, buster. Elliott Rayburn even had me going for a while. Besides, you don’t know for a fact this is a scam.” Balling up her sticky wrapper, Beth tossed it at the trash can and missed.
“Sorry. I meant no implied disrespect to your pastor.” Michael leaned down to retrieve the wrapper. “To be honest, the director of Spare the Children was very convincing. That’s what makes charlatans as dangerous as thugs sticking up convenience stores. They can wipe out retirement accounts, wreak havoc on credit unions, and ruin a church’s dream for a new school.”
“You think Rayburn doesn’t use the money for his charity?”
“I suspect there is no charity, Elizabeth. It probably exists only on paper. The scammers register as a nonprofit to obtain tax-exempt status and then go to work fund-raising. They amass a fortune by making big promises. If an investor smells a rat, or needs to cash out due to unforeseen circumstances, they’re paid back with money from new investors. The scammers might even add a small profit to keep people happy so nobody blows the whistle too soon.”
Beth’s forehead furrowed. “Sounds awfully complicated. The cons must know they’ll eventually get caught.”
“White collar thieves see this as a faster road to riches than working for the next forty years. It’s very complex, but an exit strategy is part of their plan. They set a date to stop raising funds, grab their fake passports, and head to the airport.”
“You mean leave the country forever?”
“Elizabeth, you don’t think like a criminal. We’re talking millions of dollars. Do you have any idea how well you could live on that in Costa Rica or Brazil or some country without extradition to the United States?”
“Everybody involved can’t be willing to leave the country, not in an operation this large.” Beth jumped up and started pacing between cubicles. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re right. Only the top two or three will take the money and run. Other people involved are either oblivious to the scheme—duped like Reverend Dean—or paid handsomely to do their job. If they blow the whistle, they can be charged with aiding and abetting fraud. Most will keep their mouth shut, at least until they get caught. By the time the pyramid crumbles, money will have moved around the world, potentially beyond the reach of U.S. law enforcement.”
Beth stopped pacing and walked back to the computer. “Do you think you found proof of a scam?”
“I’m looking at just the tip of an iceberg, but this is now an FBI matter. Their Financial Crimes Division needs to take a look at Spare the Children International, which could already be on their radar. Nate hired me as a PI to investigate a murder. And as crooked as I believe Rayburn is, I see no evidence that he’s a killer. Not yet, anyway. He might very well have killed Paul Dean to avoid paying back so large a sum. Most churches wouldn’t have had a fraction of what Buckley amassed with his day-trading in the stock market.” Michael hit the button to print copies of the statements.
Beth picked up one of them. “You and I need to keep looking before this case is taken away from us.”
“We can’t impede a federal investigation, but there is something we can track down.” Michael leaned back with a sly grin.
“What is that?” Beth placed one hand on her hip. “I’m too crabby today to play guessing games.”
“Reverend Dean demanded to talk to someone in charge because he wasn’t getting regular statements. D.K. Financials sent them out, but not to the pastor. They sent them to the financial director. I’d bet Ralphie took some kind of commission for leading the lamb to slaughter. And if the investment went south, Reverend Dean would take the blame instead of him.”
“You think the money is all gone?”
“Maybe not yet, but if it is a scam, those thieves won’t stick around forever. Buckley might have an alibi for when Reverend Dean died, but he’s in this deeper than a short-term loan to pay off Tammy’s credit cards or add to his home.”
For the first time that morning, Beth smiled. “Okay, you follow the money trail so we’ll have a better case to hand over to law enforcement. I’ll question Mrs. Purdy and Alice for what they know about Spare the Children or D.K. Financials. They might have filed away something that came in the mail. People still use snail mail for business correspondence. Then I’ll track down other churches in the four-state area that might also have invested with this charity.” She headed toward the doorway.
“I’ll be happy to get you those names.”
Beth halted midstride. “I know how to use a computer and the Internet. I was doing Google searches long before you came to work for Price Investigations.” Her words hung in the air like ice crystals.
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Just trying to be helpful.” Michael sat down at his desk before she saw how rattled he was by her comment.
For several seconds he stared at his computer until he was certain she was gone. Then he racked his brain for what he’d done wrong since leaving Denver, but he came up empty. Everyone was entitled to an occasional bad day, especially someone who’d stay up half the night helping their mother in a hot kitchen. But if something else was happening behind the scenes, he needed to know. He really liked Elizabeth. He knew the dangers of falling for someone on the rebound, but that rule couldn’t possibly count in this case.
His partner was as unlike his former fiancée as two women could possibly be.