TUESDAY, LATE AFTERNOON
Lucy got off the phone with Sean. Nate frowned.
“You didn’t tell him about the accident?”
“He doesn’t need to worry about me when he is dealing with the shooting,” she said. “He’s tracking someone for Max, he didn’t give me the details. He was clipped.”
“Did he get checked out?”
“No.” Which irritated her, but she didn’t really have the right to complain. She hated going to the hospital, too. “I’ll look at it when I get home. Grant’s on life support, and the prognosis isn’t good.”
They were in a small conference room going over all the files from the Denise Albright case from three years ago, waiting for Laura Williams, the White Collar Crimes agent who had originally been assigned the embezzlement case. Lucy was looking through photos of the Albright house, but nothing was jumping out at her.
Rachel Vaughn walked in. “I just read your report, Nate. What happened?”
Nate told her about being followed yesterday but unable to verify the tail, then being followed today and run off the road. “It was a tag team. We’ll be prepared next time.”
“If you’re being followed, that tells me this isn’t a simple homicide.”
“It’s never been simple,” Lucy said.
Nate said, “Lucy and I don’t think they left the country. That tells us that more than one person was involved—likely several people. To stage the house so it appeared that they’d left, to drive the car across the border, to bury the bodies. Honestly, it sounds like organized crime.”
Rachel looked surprised at Nate’s comment, then said. “I’ll reach out to headquarters. We’re going to need more resources if this is organized crime. Denise Albright was an accountant—could she have been working for a criminal organization? What about Kiefer, the company she embezzled from?”
“We’re looking into him, but on the surface he has no ties at all to a criminal network, and he’s the one who lost everything when the money went missing,” Nate said.
Lucy said, “We considered that Denise feared one of her other clients—that’s what we’re going over now—and took the money to run, because she felt threatened.”
“And not go to the police?”
“It’s just speculation right now, but what if she wanted to get her family someplace safe, then turn herself in? Especially if she had committed a crime. Or if she uncovered a crime but was too scared to come forward. The Kiefer money was easy for her to access,” Lucy added.
“We need more to back this up,” Rachel said, “but I’ll find out if there’s anyone or any organization we need to look at. We can compare the names and businesses to her client list.”
“That would be helpful,” Nate said.
Rachel left, passing Laura Williams as she walked in.
“Lucy, Nate, sorry that I haven’t been able to talk at all this week. This trial is insane.”
“We appreciate your time.”
Laura dropped her briefcase and coat on a chair in the corner of the room and sat down with a sigh. “Too bad we couldn’t have met at a bar. After today I need a glass of wine.”
Nate smiled. “We won’t keep you long.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll live. I hate this part of the job. Sitting around waiting and waiting and then giving your testimony and having some jerk lawyer try to cross you up by throwing irrelevant questions into the mix. But I think we’ll be okay. Go back tomorrow.”
“Thank you for all this.” Lucy waved to the stacks of paper she and Nate had been going through.
“Not me, our analyst pulled everything out. But I read my notes when I had a break today, I’m up to speed.
“First,” Laura said, “while three million dollars is a lot of money, it’s only three million dollars, if that makes sense. We had another case shortly after this that we needed all hands for—a graft and corruption case in Austin. Took down three corrupt officials and a half-dozen employees in a kickback scheme that ultimately cost hundreds of senior citizens their homes when they couldn’t pay fees they should never have been charged. These were things you and I might not notice—but someone on a fixed income, they get slammed and then threatened with levies and fines and it adds up. I wish I could prosecute those bastards all over again.”
“I take it you won.”
“Damn straight. But it took over a year of my life. I was practically living in Austin. And we had the photo of Albright and her family crossing the border. We sent out BOLOs, sent the file down to our legal attaché in Mexico, but there’s not much we can do until they’re spotted, and then we have to play jurisdictional footsies to get them back. Not for a minute did I think they were dead. What do you think happened?”
“We believe they never left the States,” Lucy said.
Laura frowned. “I didn’t make that up. We had the photo. It should be here.”
“It was their vehicle, but they weren’t driving—that’s our theory. Based on our interviews and the timeline, it simply isn’t plausible that they left and returned a week later. Possible, but unlikely. Their vehicle was found dismantled in Mexico, so they’d have to find other transportation—they couldn’t fly because their passports were flagged. So Nate and I think they were killed the day they disappeared. Buried, and someone tried to make us think they left the country.”
“That’s awful,” Laura said. “Give me graft and corruption any day over mass murder.”
“What we’re looking at now are Albright’s clients. We have a list of them here, and your notes. No one, other than Kiefer, had lost any money.”
“Correct. We interviewed everyone she worked for based on her files and calendar. We compared that information to her most recent tax returns, which were honestly the most flawless set of tax returns I’ve ever seen. The individuals involved all had independent auditors review their accounts. I followed up a year later—called everyone, reviewed the file, confirmed that they were still considered at large. No one was missing funds.” She sorted through a stack of files, looking for something specific, then pulled it out. “On the Kiefer funds, she committed fraud—by forging Kiefer’s signature to transfer the money to a separate holding account which she controlled, and then she transferred those funds to a shell corp that was closed down a day later. The money rolled through multiple shells for a week before it disappeared.”
“Money doesn’t just disappear,” Nate said.
“On paper it does. We have the last withdrawal—on Friday, September 28. But we don’t know where the money went. It was transferred to a numbered account overseas, which has since been closed.”
“What day did she actually embezzle the money?” Lucy asked.
“Friday, September 21.”
“The day they went missing,” Lucy said. “The day she was told of the independent audit. Why would she take the money then if she knew there would be an audit? Why not wait a week?”
“I can’t answer that, I can only tell you the facts. We interviewed the bank manager. The transfer was made online, but that morning she went into the bank to change the authorization signatures and codes. This wasn’t unusual, because many companies make changes as people come and go and the bank manager knew Denise because she was a longtime customer.”
“But she didn’t actually withdraw the money then.”
“No, and the bank wouldn’t have just let her walk with three million. Every transfer was done electronically.”
“And nothing was flagged?”
“They’re flagged, and the IRS will look at anything that is abnormal, but many businesses move millions of dollars every day. So it’s not going to be noticed right away and depending on the account history may not have caused any red flags if there were typically large transfers.”
“What was her demeanor like?” Lucy asked. “Did the manager say she appeared distressed?”
“I don’t think so. I would have put something like that down in my notes.” She frowned, as if thinking. “All I remember off the top of my head is that he didn’t think anything was unusual because Denise was a regular customer.”
“What are you thinking?” Nate asked Lucy.
“We agree that they didn’t leave the country and were killed on the twenty-first, correct?”
Nate nodded.
“She was party to the embezzlement, but she didn’t actually embezzle the money.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Laura said.
Lucy pulled out one of Laura’s spreadsheets. “These are the days and times of each transaction you tracked. Friday, the twenty-first, at four forty-five p.m. the funds were taken from the Kiefer account and transferred to the first shell corp. On the morning of Monday the twenty fourth—after we believe they were already dead—the money was transferred again. And then again and again until the twenty-eighth. Each layer making it more difficult to track.”
“Yes,” Laura said, but she didn’t see what Lucy was trying to show.
“She had a partner. Someone who she worked with on this, or who forced her to do it.”
“Forced her how?”
“Threatened her family. Her kids. Maybe she had committed a crime and didn’t want to go to jail. Or maybe she uncovered a crime by one of her other clients and wanted the money to disappear—but they got to her first. I don’t know. That’s why we want all the client information. If she was privy to a crime, maybe she was being blackmailed and used the money to pay a blackmailer.”
Nate said, “She was probably dead the minute she transferred the money at four forty-five.”
“Her and her entire family?” Laura said. “That seems— Well, tragic just doesn’t cut it.”
“Maybe the kids walked in when they weren’t supposed to. Maybe they saw something. Maybe the killers thought Denise shared the information with her husband. This is a lot of conjecture right now,” Lucy said.
“I think I know what you’re getting at. I can follow up personally with all her clients, they already know me.”
“Tread carefully there,” Nate said. “We may be heading into the territory of organized crime. Don’t interview anyone solo.”
“I’ll run these names and businesses by Daphne first,” Laura said. “You know when something’s wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it? We have her client records, but it’s clear she shredded documents before she left. We weren’t able to put them back together—it’s a state-of-the-art shredder that crosscuts and then injects ink into shreds. So I was thinking she was working for one or more clients that she didn’t want us to find. And in light of the fact that they were murdered, maybe she was scared of one of them. She kept great business records—for her taxes. But we couldn’t find anything in her taxes to point to illegal activity.”
“If I were scared of a client I was doing business with, I’d take something to protect me,” Lucy said. “Like if she was an accountant for the mob—keep a set of books that you could use against them.”
“I’ll see if there’s anything in any of these companies that is a red flag. There wasn’t at first blush, but we were looking at them as possible victims. It could be that she worked for someone under the table, and that’s going to be harder to uncover after three years. I have her calendars, and there are some holes, but that may not mean anything.”
“I didn’t see the calendars,” Nate said.
Laura sorted through the file, and they were at the bottom. “A printout from her computer.”
“May I?”
Laura handed it to Nate, and while they reviewed the calendars Lucy looked again at the photos from the Albright house. They were all printed, but each referenced a digital file they were attached to. They’d been taken by the sheriff’s department, but they’d sent the FBI hard copies, which made it easier to go through.
The Albright house had been bright and homey, even after a thorough search by the police. A large family room with multiple places to sit to watch a large-screen television. Lots of books and videos for kids of all ages packed into a bookshelf. The dining room looked unused, but the kitchen had a big, scuffed table in the nook and kids’ artwork had been framed for the wall.
Along the staircase were school pictures of the kids and candid photos of the family, framed seemingly haphazardly, but together they were charming. Lucy found herself saddened at the loss of life. A family destroyed because of horrific violence.
Looking at the kids’ bedrooms was almost too much. Lucy could generally suppress her emotions—partly because of her personality and partly from her training. She wanted to believe with all her heart that Ricky Albright was alive and well … but realistically, he’d probably been murdered as well. Buried far from the others. And the call to his grandparents wasn’t him but a cruel prankster.
Yet there was a sliver of hope.
She picked up the three photos of Ricky’s room—obvious because it was all boy. Baseball pictures—his team was the Astros—a signed ball under a glass dome, though she couldn’t make out who had signed it. The room was messy—clothes tossed randomly in a corner, books stacked every which way on the lone floor-to-ceiling shelf. The top of his dresser overflowing with comics and Legos and Army men. His desk covered with his schoolwork.
Wait.
She straightened. “Nate, his books.”
Nate looked at where she pointed.
“Yeah?”
“This is a math book. A schoolbook. And a binder. A pencil box. This is…” She squinted. “This looks like a grammar book, I can’t quite make it out.”
“Okay.”
“There’s no backpack.” She flipped through the other photos and showed him that two backpacks were in the laundry room. “The notes say these were Tori’s and Becky’s backpacks. Ricky’s backpack wasn’t found in the house.”
“Didn’t we agree that the killer likely grabbed him when he was coming home from the Youngs’?”
“Yet his books are here. Books that he would have had in his backpack.”
“He could have left his books at home that day. Especially if he didn’t need them.”
“But there’s a binder and pencil box. We need to talk to the Young kids again. Find out if these items were in his backpack when he left.”
“Would the kids remember something like that?”
“They might remember if Ricky didn’t have his math book in class,” Lucy said. “It’s a long shot, but his backpack is not inventoried and neither is his bike. But if these books were in his backpack that Friday, that meant he came home when he left the Youngs’, then disappeared again.”
“The killer could have returned and found him. That’s why he wasn’t buried with his family,” Nate said.
Nate was right. But still … it seemed odd. Because why would the killer dump out the books and then take Ricky’s backpack and bike?
“We both think there’s a chance he survived, right?”
Nate nodded. “The call to his grandparents. It’s something.”
“We can’t overlook this.”
She frowned.
“I’m with you, Lucy. I want Ricky to be alive, too, but we don’t know where to look.”
“He went home,” Lucy said. “After he left the Youngs’ house, he went home. He packed a bag to leave … he went somewhere. But he was nine years old. He couldn’t have gotten far. Where would he have gone? I think back to the Youngs’.”
“I don’t think that JJ Young was lying to us,” Nate said. “And if we accuse his son of lying, he won’t let us through the door.”
“It’s not his son who is lying,” Lucy said. “It’s bugged me since the interview yesterday, but Ginny was very quiet and she didn’t really look us in the eye.”
“She’s a twelve-year-old kid being interviewed by two federal agents,” Nate said. “We need to tread really carefully.”
Though Nate was being cautious, she had him thinking.
Lucy gathered up the photos. She wanted to look at them again, just to see if she missed anything. She looked at the log in the folder. They’d been taken the Thursday after the Albrights disappeared—nearly a full week. According to the Kerr County Sheriff’s Department, they didn’t go into the house on Monday when they were doing a welfare check. The FBI enlisted a locksmith, who unlocked the property after they secured a warrant.
But there had been no information at that point about their whereabouts.
“Laura, is it unusual that you were unable to find anything on their computers or phones about their plans? No maps or searches or research? No one goes to Mexico without some sort of plan, even last minute.”
“We never recovered their phones. We had a warrant to ping them, but they never popped, telling me they took out the batteries and then destroyed them. If you’re trying to avoid police, you get a burner phone. The computers in the house showed no sign of travel research, but those are just the ones left behind. There was a laptop missing, and family believed that was Mrs. Albright’s work computer, which was never logged into the Internet for protection of client data. A lot of accountancy firms have superfirewalls because of the financial data and risks. Albright likely would attach a flash drive to export the old-fashioned way.”
There was no evidence found of cell phones or a computer with the bodies.
Becky’s best friend said that she gave no hint that she was leaving town. That Tori had grabbed her from practice and she told her friend that she’d call later.
What if the mom felt threatened? Asked her girls to come home, then planned to run? Pick Ricky up on the way … except they couldn’t. Because someone stopped them.
Or they weren’t planning on leaving the country, but maybe she wanted to send the kids away because she thought there was some sort of threat to her family. Had she considered going to the police? Maybe she agreed to embezzle the money for someone else … and got cold feet. Sent the kids away with her husband so she could go to the police without fear of them being in danger.
“I want to talk to that bank manager again,” Lucy said. “If he knew Denise Albright, why didn’t he notice that something was amiss?”
“She was a good actress. Or he didn’t want to see anything wrong.” Laura shrugged. “Would he even remember three years later?”
“It doesn’t hurt to talk to him,” Lucy said. “I’m going to take these files home. I don’t understand the financial and accounting stuff as well as you, but I want to look at the Albrights’ personal information and study these pictures in more detail.”
“I’ll review all the client information tomorrow while I’m at the courthouse,” Laura said. “I may have missed something.”
“I doubt it,” Lucy said, “but we’re looking at this in a completely different way now. Is there anyone who has a business that might have been used for criminal activity? Think outside the box.”
“I hate that expression,” Nate said.
Laura laughed. “I know what you’re looking for.”
“We appreciate it.”
“It’s my job. And I hope you’re right and that little boy is alive.”
So did Lucy.