Authors: Carey Green
“A captain, huh?”
“Absolutely,” she said, a big smile plastered across her lips. “Follow me this way.”
Dylan followed her through the large inner room down a sterile hallway of cell-like offices. Each office door had a window, and Dylan found himself looking into each as he walked down the hall.
“First time here?”
“Yes,” Dylan said. “And hopefully my last.”
“I hope so too.”
She stopped in front of an open office door, and held out her arm as if to guide him in. “This is the captain’s office. Good luck.”
“Hopefully I won’t need it. But thanks.”
Dylan walked past her and entered the captain’s office.
Captain Richard Martins was what one expected in a detective. His wavy brown hair was purposely unkempt, and his jacket and tie were regulation police tweed. The first thing that Dylan noticed was that his lined and weary face gave nothing away, except that most of his night had been late ones, and they had been punctuated often by nightcaps. He said nothing as Dylan entered and took a seat in front of him. Dylan introduced himself and the captain simply nodded.
“Hello, Mr. Dylan Cash. So what were you doing out at the Corbin house?”
“Truthfully, detective, it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Well, Binky, my assistant at the firm is missing. I wanted to speak with Ray Corbin about it. He was very concerned about Binky’s disappearance.”
“He’s missing? Has a report been filed with the police?”
“It just happened today.”
“What makes you think he is missing, if it’s only today?”
“I went to his house and the place had been searched. This comes after Binky and I found some rather interesting information in Mr. Corbin’s computer system.”
“Did he authorize you to look at this information?”
“I was an employee.”
“Still, were you authorized?”
“No.”
“And what is this friends of yours name again?”
“Binky.”
“Binky?”
“Yes: a prep school thing. Charles Bannister is his real name.”
He looked at Dylan skeptically. “Well, Mr. Cash. You have a very colorful story. I’m not really sure what the hell it means right now, but it is colorful. Mr. Corbin is officially dead. We did speak with a woman named Martha Thomas who identified you as a key employee Mr. Corbin’s firm, so based on that, and an apparent suicide note, you are free to go.
For the moment
.”
Dylan quickly leaned forward in his chair. “There was a suicide note?”
“Apparently there was. I guess you didn’t see it. It was on his desk, written in black inky using an 18th century pen.”
“I didn’t see it. What did it say?”
“This is still an investigation, so I can’t get into details. But I would hope for you, and I do hope, that whatever Mr. Corbin died of, that you are not involved.”
“I understand.”
“So do me a favor. Leave all your information with the girl outside, OK? And, if you happen to be going to Puerto Rico or New Jersey, you let us know. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Have a nice evening. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” Dylan exited the office without looking back. He found officer Deveraux who drove him back to his car.
The news of Ray Corbin’s death spread like wildfire through the financial newspapers and websites. It was a major event. All the great hedge fund managers gave tribute. George Soros gave a quote to the Times, and Warren Buffet even sent flowers. As often happens in death, people were loath to say nasty things about Ray, even if it was their true desire. Many strove to say something kind. Of course some did not, blasting Ray in death much as they had during his life. Even as he was lowered into his grave, Ray was a polarizing figure.
Ray’s death had been ruled a suicide, though the coroner’s report was unofficial. A note had been found. The circumstances of his death, combined with Ray’s notoriety and status, had led many to believe that Foul play have been involved, though as far as Dylan knew, no criminal investigation was moving forward. Of course this was mostly speculation. It was hard for him to obtain information; he had not been into the office since the day of Binky’s disappearance.
Binky had been missing approximately five days. He had not spoken to Josh or anyone at Corbin’s office. Everything was in limbo. Conroy had been so tight-lipped that he had told Dylan not to call him for several weeks. Vanessa had told him very little. Now that he was no longer with Corbin, he knew that he had little value to the FBI. Whatever he was going to find out, he would have to dig him up on his own.
Dylan thought carefully about whether or not to attend Ray’s funeral. The funeral originally had been marked for family only, but Ray’s wife, Jocelyn, had eventually opened it up to a larger assortment of friends and colleagues.
The funeral was to be held in Christ Church of Cos Cob, Connecticut, a small neighborhood in the wealthy section of Greenwich. Dylan drove out early that morning. He found the church rather easily, and the funeral crowd was already gathering on the steps of the small white church. The church looked like it could hold no more than a few hundred people, and Dylan wondered why Ray Corbin’s family had chosen such a piece of small town Americana. Dylan found a parking spot around the corner, and made his way towards the church.
A hundred or so people had already gathered inside. Dylan could see the coffin up front, a shining silver basket adorned with gold decorations. The casket was sealed. Family members were taking their positions at the front of the church. Dylan located a seat in the back and waited for the service to begin. Soon, the organist began to play a prelude from Bach.
The minister was the first to speak. Dylan searched the front row. He saw various individuals who were no doubt members of the extended family. The traders, office staff and others were seated in the first five or six rows. Martha was there dressed in all black. Dylan studied her closely. She was grieving more than the wife. Josh Corbin sat alone near the second row aisle.
He watched as various members of the financial community got up and spoke favorably of Ray’s life and all that he had accomplished. He had been, in his prime, a genius in the world of math and finance. Now, he left behind a legacy of sorrow.
Afterwards, the church procession led down the stairs and out onto the street. Dylan stood in the background as the casket made its way down the church steps and into the hearse. Richard King and Steve Wong were both pallbearers. The family took their place in a white stretch limo parked in front of the church. Dylan headed to his car and got in.
Dylan had decided to drive back to Manhattan, but something intrigued him. He made a U-turn in his car and drove around the block. He could see the funeral procession start to form approximately one block in front of him. He waited for the procession to start moving, then he followed. He lagged slowly behind, maintaining a distance of about one block.
The procession entered the highway, and traveled for a period of about two miles. After they turned off, they headed down a small road into the countryside.
The cemetery was located about a mile down the road. It was a small cemetery that looked to be the type open only to families who had relatives or connections to the area. Ancient looking tombstones marked the location.
Dylan parked his car about one hundred yards from the cemetery on a quiet side street of houses and yards, dogs and post office boxes at the curb. He put on his dark sunglasses as he approached the entrance.
Walking towards the gravesite, Dylan could see the details taking shape. People were already gathered at the grave. The crowd from the church had thinned greatly, and there were only about thirty people for the graveside ceremony. The one notable absence was Josh Corbin.
The minister came and said a prayer. Final words were said over the casket, and a woman sang an Aria from “Don Giovanni,” Ray’s favorite opera. The ceremony lasted about twenty minutes. After that, people dispersed back to their cars. Dylan was among the first to exit.
Dylan reached his car and used the signaling device on his keychain to open the door. When he went to open the door, he was surprised to see Josh sitting in the passenger seat. Dylan was so startled that he jumped back for a second.
“Hello,” Josh said.
“OK,” Dylan said. “I thought I paid that parking ticket, but I guess not. Now, can you please tell me what the fuck you are doing breaking into my car?”
“I could ask the same of you. What the hell were you and your pal Binky doing breaking into our financial records?”
“Is that what this is about?” Dylan watched while Josh slowly got out of the car.
“Yes. Maybe. What were you looking for?”
“We were snooping around.”
“Through five years of financial statements? Through ten years of accounting records?”
“We’re curious guys.”
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“You sure picked a hell of a day to play twenty questions. Your brother is dead. Don’t you have other things to do today?”
“Whatever I do today is not going to bring Ray back.”
“True,” Dylan said. “You know Binky is missing?”
“Yeah,” Josh said. “I heard something about that. Have they found anything yet?”
“No. Actually, they haven’t. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”
“Me? What would I know?”
“I have no idea what you’re involved with, Josh. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why the hell did you break into my car?”
“Your friend is missing, and so is a lot of money from our accounts.”
“What? How much?”
“I don’t want to get into numbers, but a lot.”
“Where did it go?”
“It was transferred to a bank in the Caymans the day your young friend went missing.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I’m certainly not involved.”
“I think Binky stole it and left the country.”
Dylan laughed. “Are you insane? Why would you think Binky stole anything?”
“I ran a report of all the cash transfers that happened on the day that Ray died. A lot of money seems to have left in a hurry.”
“Can’t you track it down?”
“Impossible.”
“And why would you think Binky was involved?”
“All of the bank accounts were hacked. The money transfers were done programmatically through banks in Russia, where they have people who specialize in this type of stuff.”
“Call Gorbachev. Binky is not Russian.”
“That’s not the only thing. The trading system has all these ‘Easter Eggs’ in the code, strange messages popping up and freezing the system.”
“Sounds like you need to talk to a psychologist, not me.”
“Come see for yourself. If your friend didn’t steal the money, maybe it will help you find out where he is.” Dylan shook his head.
“This is insane.”
“There’s one other thing: there was some money that Ray placed in an escrow account for you.”
“What about it?”
“Just come in to talk tomorrow and take a look at these messages in the system Regardless of our conversation I’ll have Martha write you a check. I’ll call it a severance payment if you decide not to stay.”
“And all I have to do is come talk to you? It sounds too good to be true.”
Josh seemed to study the ground for a moment. A brief smile came upon his lips.
“Will you come in tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so, Josh.”
“Just one conversation; I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll call you tonight.”
The sundial at Columbia University was a popular meeting for both students and visitors. Vanessa took the subway to 116th street and entered the campus through the university gates. There was no problem finding the sundial as it was located smack-dab in the center of the campus. Vanessa had visited the school many times while still a student at Princeton, both for athletics and visiting friends, and had always admired the school people referred to as the urban Ivy. Though she loved her education, it was easily apparent that Columbia was a far cooler place than Princeton.
Glancing at her watch, it was just past 11 a.m. Though it was summer session, students were rushing by, stumbling on their way to mid-morning lectures. In their baggy jeans and fresh bed heads, some of them seemed as if they were still half-asleep. A few people lingered near her on the sundial, either chatting with friends or listening to their iPods. For a moment, Vanessa felt a wave of nostalgia for student life. When she looked up she could see Devin striding down college walk, heading directly towards her.
“Well, Well, Well.”
“I should say the same thing.” They hugged and Devin kissed her on the cheek.
Devin had hardly aged in the ten years since they had both graduated from college. He still had the boyish charm mixed with worldly exuberance. Back then his dress had been that of a nineteen year-old going on forty, now he seemed a thirty year-old going on fifty. But his face still looked sixteen. He was now decked out in his khaki’s and boat shoes, blue blazer and rep tie. A fedora was on his hat, and Raybans were perched atop his nose. A dandy. She wondered if this was his take on spy attire.
They turned and walked up the long staircase that led towards Low Library. They found an unoccupied area and took seats on the steps.
“You like it here?”
“I love it,” Devin said. “Not like Princeton.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“A little bit of both, I guess.”
Devin had been one of her closest friends since college, and a general enigma to everyone who knew him. They had not spoken in months, and she had called him out of the blue, looking for information on a man that neither of them knew. She had encoded the information and sent it to his anonymous account. Devin had said nothing on the phone, but had left a message several days later, asking that they meet in person and in a public place. Instructions of this type were a key part of his persona. Devin took off his hat and removed his sunglasses.