“Definite freak factor,” agreed Detective Ochoa, who was still patched in on the speakerphone from Peekskill. Raley, also on the line, grunted his agreement.
Heat was equally intrigued by the news, but her mind was busy wrapping itself around its implications, and she wanted to get the homicide detectives there with her. “Can we generally agree that Roach has rocked our world and settle into making something of this now? Hopefully leading to finding a killer or killers?”
“Oh sure, if that’s your thing.” Randall Feller put his work boots up on an empty chair and snuck a sly smile. “Guess we could do that.”
Rook raised a forefinger. “May I kick things off by noting that this certainly sheds new light on the emotional turmoil Fred Lobbrecht was grappling with. Obviously he had pangs of conscience about whatever unethical crap he pulled at that accident scene.”
“Try illegal,” added Detective Aguinaldo.
“That, too. But my point is, it sure explains why I got pushed into mediation with Lon King to help this guy into a headspace where he could spill his story to me. Even off the record. Lobbrecht’s bowels must have been a Vitamix.”
Rhymer, who had done the initial bank search on Lobbrecht, leafed through his pages of notes. “And what about our conclusion about the whole lump sum of cash ex-trooper Lobbrecht got right after the accident to pay off his mortgage? What if it was a bribe from Levy, and not the payoff from Tangier Swift, like we’ve assumed?”
Heat sucked one of his cheeks, ruminating. “If you’re right, Ope, that nails him as the source of the windfall, but it then removes a link to Swift’s involvement. At least on that score.”
“I hate that,” said Feller.
“Don’t,” cautioned Nikki. “Remember—”
“‘Follow your evidence, not your bias.’” After Randall had recited Heat’s maxim for her, he added, “I know all that. I just felt like we had the sucker.”
“And we may still. We just need to be open to all the possibilities. Do I need to mention this is a case with a lot of moving parts?” She turned her attention back to Rhymer. “I wonder if Nathan Levy had the kind of money to pay off Fred Lobbrecht’s house. Run his financials. Visit his bank or stockbroker, if he had one. Check for fat withdrawals. Obviously, anything that coincides with the accident date a month and a half ago and Lobbrecht’s big deposit.”
“Something’s a little funky for me the more I chew on it.” Feller crossed one leg over the other and picked at a dangling strand of elastic from his sock. He left it alone and said, “This fistfight between Lobbrecht and Levy. Didn’t Wilton Backhouse tell you it came after Levy talked smack to Lobbrecht at their whistle-blower powwow in Rhinebeck?”
“They called it their Splinter Summit,” affirmed Heat. “Professor Backhouse’s account was that Levy accused Lobbrecht of being on the take from Swift, and Lobbrecht punched him.”
Randall went back to tugging the errant string on his ankle. “That’s the part that doesn’t jibe. If Lobbrecht saved Levy’s ass—and got a jumbo gratuity for it from Levy—why would Levy accuse him of taking money from Swift? Unless Levy was cranked because Lobbrecht was shaking him down for more.”
Rook wagged his head. “Judging from my sessions with Lobbrecht at Lon King’s, Fred Lobbrecht didn’t seem like a shakedown kind of guy.”
Over the speakerphone, Raley said, “Well, maybe Fred was double-dipping, squeezing Nathan Levy and taking money from Tangier Swift to be his inside man at the same time.”
“And nice guys extort, too,” added Ochoa. “If a cop’s going to take a bribe to cover up a fatal accident, all bets are off for me.”
“I’m still trying to hardwire a connection to Tangier Swift in all this,” said Rhymer.