“I didn’t deal. But I knew dealers.”
“Do you associate with them now?”
“No.”
“Do you think anyone from your past could be involved in this?”
“I knew bad dealers, but that was a long time ago, another life. Anything is possible, but no, I hope not.”
“Can you provide us with names of those old dealers?” Hackett asked.
“I never knew their real names-they were street names. There was Deke, a white guy in Boston about fifteen years ago. Before that, Rasheed, a Middle Eastern guy in Toronto.”
Larson made notes.
“When did you last have contact with people in the drug trade?”
“About twelve years ago. My old life is dead, behind me.”
Hackett stared at Cora. Fine threads of doubt and apprehension webbed across his face before he said, “Are you telling us everything we need to know?”
Several moments passed before she answered.
“Agent Hackett, I’ve made mistakes. I have not lived a perfect life but I am a good mother and I swear to you I am not involved.”
“All right.”
Larson’s cell phone rang. After listening for about ten seconds, she said: “They’re almost finished processing the kitchen and the living room.”
Hackett adjusted his sleeves.
“We’ll take both of you back to the house in Mesa Mirage. The task force will set up. We’ll have people from VAP, our victim specialist unit there too, to help you with anything you may need. You’re going to have a lot of police keeping you company.”
“Whatever it takes,” Cora said. “But there’s something I need from you.”
“What’s that?”
“Your word that you will do all you can to bring Tilly home.”
Cora’s request gave him pause. It was identical to the plea he’d heard from the mother of the aid worker from Toledo, Ohio, who’d been taken hostage by Colombian drug traffickers.
He did.
But he brought her home in a coffin.
Now, looking into Cora’s face, Hackett told her the truth.
“I give you my word I will do all I can to find your daughter.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at Cora. “And to arrest the people responsible.”
7
A few miles north of Mesa Mirage, at the South Desert Bank & Trust, Bill Grover, the assistant manager, realigned the stapler and pen holder on his desk.
The two FBI agents sitting across from him were studying the files Grover’s branch had assembled with some urgency. The action was in response to a warrant to provide the FBI with records on all of Lyle Galviera’s financial dealings and those of his courier company.
The agents, Ross Sarreno and Winston Reeve, were the Phoenix Division’s white-collar crime experts. They wore dark suits and somber expressions. Whatever they were chasing, it was serious, Grover thought.
First, they confirmed that there’d been no activity on any credit or bank cards held by Galviera since the day before he was to depart for his California business trip. However, on that day, there was a cash withdrawal from one of his accounts for nine thousand dollars.
“These records show the company is in trouble,” Reeve said.
“Yes.” Grover cleared his throat. “The big boys were securing their hold on Quick Draw’s regional market. About two years ago, Lyle’s outstanding debts climbed to about four million dollars. A few times he came close to not making payroll. We could no longer extend his line of credit. Things were getting dire. We were talking about Chapter Eleven.”
“Then he turns things around, appears to have found a source of business and funds,” Reeve said. “Ten months ago he begins knocking down his debt with significant weekly payments, fifty-, seventy-, ninety-five-thousand-dollar range.”
“He said it was the result of a new business model.”
“But all of the transactions were in cash,” Reeve said.
“That’s correct.”
“This is a courier business. It does not deal primarily in cash. The transactions could be indicative of money laundering. Under the law there’s an obligation to report this activity,” Reeve said.
Grover reached for the file, tapped at specific pages.
“You’ll see here that Currency Transaction Reports were filed with the IRS for all of his cash transactions over ten thousand dollars.”
“What about SARs?”
“This bank filed three Suspicious Activity Reports with the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network at Treasury.”
“What was their response?”
“Nothing to us. We did our part.”
“The bottom line here, plain and simple?”
“He owes $1,950,000 by end of next month and if he does not pay that amount in full he will lose his company. Now I know Lyle built that company practically from the time he was a college kid and I don’t think that he was going to let that happen under any circumstances.”
The agents closed the files, thanked Grover and left. Next stop: Cora Martin’s bank in Mesa Mirage to scrutinize her records. Heading to their car in the lot, Reeve turned to Sarreno.
“Our guy was in a dire financial situation, then found a sudden and significant source of cash. Someone dropped the ball. This should’ve raised flags,” Reeve said.
“Sure raises some big ones now.” Sarreno was reaching for his cell phone. “I’ll alert Hackett and Larson.”
At that moment, Vivian Brankowski, manager of the Tranquility Palms Condominiums near Tempe, reread the document the two FBI Agents, Douglas and Allard, had presented her.
Shocked, she watched the words leap at her from the pages:
Vivian stood there in disbelief. This sort of thing never happened at Tranquility, a sedate community of urban professionals.
“Ma’am?” Agent Allard said. “We don’t want to force the door. Do you have a key and a floor plan?”
“Mr. Galviera uses Tranquility’s cleaning service. I have a key.”
It was the Segovia model, a two-bedroom multilevel condo with a balcony overlooking the small lake. Several swans were gliding on the surface when the FBI backed a white panel van into the driveway.
Vivian felt like she was trespassing as she opened the door to Mr. Galviera’s home for the agents. But the warrant gave them legal access. With mute efficiency, the agents snapped on latex gloves and began seizing and cataloging Galviera’s computer, personal files and other belongings.
Vivian stood at the doorway watching in disbelief. Mr. Galviera was a first-rate resident. Always smiled and
