45. Walker
Chapter forty-five
Walker
Multiple FBI vehicles are parked in the Sheriff’s parking lot, providing plenty of speculative gossip by the local townsfolk standing on the sidewalk and across the street watching everything unfold as though experiencing a live theater event. I understand how small towns work but I bet even their wildest guesses couldn’t touch the reality of what unfolded today in sleepy little Forrest Falls. Mason meets me at the front door of the station and walks me back to the interrogation rooms where Marcie Clarie Riley is being held.
“Who’s in there with her right now?” I nod toward the door.
“Kelly and Tara have been listening to her rant and rave, but haven’t pushed her yet,” Mason explains. “Harlow is observing behind the glass.
“Has she said anything interesting?”
“That woman is … a piece of work, sir. She had a lot to say about how we were doing our jobs, our lack of manners, the amount of money she pays annually in taxes and her other philanthropic activities. She has yet to say anything about shooting Ms. Stone today or what led to that altercation.” Mason hands me a tablet before telling me, “I think you might want to take a look at these notes real quick before you head in. Since the arrest, I was able to dig a little deeper into her relationship with the Brunos.”
“What did you find?”
“It appears that Angela and Marcie Claire have not only stayed in touch but have had a close friendship for decades. They also regularly vacation together with their husbands and even some of their children over the years. The two of them appear to go on an annual shopping trip to Boston each holiday season,” Mason adds.
“I’ve heard her speak, that woman is born and raised in the south. How in the world did Marcie Claire end up at a boarding school in New Jersey?” I ask Mason.
“According to my research, Marcie Claire is originally from Charleston, South Carolina. When she was fourteen, her wealthy family continued their family tradition of sending her to Brighton Ellis Academy where she was considered a legacy enrollment as her mother, mother-in-law, and both of her grandmothers had attended B.E.A. Marcie Claire’s parents grew up in South Carolina, but her maternal grandmother was from Newark, New Jersey. After graduating, Marcie Claire attended college in Nashville where she met her future husband, Clark Riley. When they got married, they moved back to Clark’s hometown of Forrest Falls, Tennessee.”
“Alright, thanks Mason. I think it’s time to invite myself to the party,” I tell him as I place my hand on the doorknob to the interrogation room. “Will you take notes and let me know if there’s anything I need to circle back to?” I ask him while I put my earpiece back in.
“Yes sir,” he replies as he inserts his own earpiece. I knock twice to let my team members know I’m entering the small interrogation room.
“My apologies for being late, I hope y’all didn’t start without me,” I say as I nod at my team members.
Kelly stands and offers his seat. “Perfect timing sir, I was just about to step out for a moment,” he says as he lets me take his seat and exits the room. I’m sure he wasn’t actually planning on stepping out, but Kelly knows the interrogation will be more effective without Marcie Claire feeling attacked by having three agents questioning her .
“We haven’t had the chance to officially meet, ma’am, but I am FBI Special Agent Henry Walker Bennett.” I start shifting papers around on the table, shuffling them until I have the document I want placed one sheet below the top of the pile.
“I know who you are, and I know exactly what you’re doing here,” Marcie Claire says as her eyes narrow. “I’ve seen you around my town and today I saw you as you yelled at me in my own house. I see how you look at Vivian Callahan, but she is not yours, she belongs with my Chase. You cannot have her.”
“That’s interesting, Mrs. Riley, as I thought I heard your son was actually engaged to someone else. But I also heard you and his fiancé don’t have the best relationship,” Tara chimes in, assuming her role as bad cop without needing me to explain what I need from her during this interrogation. Marcie Claire shoots daggers at that comment but doesn’t say anything in response.
“Now, now, Agent White, we all know how a small town can be and how easy rumors can fly. I’ve personally always found the best gossip has a kernel of truth in it, don’t you think, ma’am?” Giving me a harrumph, Marcie Claire refuses to offer any other response.
“Maybe that’s not on you, some people can just be difficult to get along with, despite our best efforts.” She slightly leans toward me, giving me the smallest of nods in agreement. “My mama always said some people are just born prickly pears and despite its efforts, a tiger can’t change its stripes.”
“Your mama sounds like a wise woman, although saying that about Chloe may be offensive to tigers,” Marcie Claire replies with a small smile.
That’s right, keep lowering those defenses, and let your guard down. I don’t need much to work with here. I doubt it will take much effort to shake Marcie Claire’s confidence and get her to break .
“I heard she doesn’t get along with her son’s fiancé because the two of them are actually so similar. Isn’t that interesting, Agent Bennett?” Tara asks me as though we are talking to each other, instead of trying to get Marcie Claire to talk to us.
“Well Agent White, they do say men tend to marry women that are like their mothers, just like daughters marry men like their fathers,” I tell her.
“That girl is nothing like me,” Marcie Claire harrumphs. “The fact I do not care for her is no secret, and I don’t know what that has to do with anything or why I’m even here. And where is my husband? He’s my attorney and should be here.” Marcie Claire glares at Tara before looking down at her folded hands in her lap.
“We can definitely check on that, ma’am,” I say as I look to the two-way glass and nod, knowing Mason will see if any attorney has shown up for her yet.
“But when I just came through the lobby, I didn’t see Mr. Riley or anyone asking to see you.” That piece of information seems to surprise Marcie Claire, as though her husband should be here helping her even though she pointed a gun at him earlier today. “Although, while we wait, can I share an interesting story with you, Marcie Claire? I have a feeling you might like this one.”
She narrows her eyes and levels me with a glare. “What story would that be, Agent Bennett?”
“It is quite the tale, and maybe Agent White has more to add as it’s all unfolded rather quickly today, but one thing you should know about me, Marcie Claire, is that I’m a bit of a visual storyteller,” I say as I pull out the photo I placed in the stack when I first came in.
Marcie Claire looks at the photo Mason unearthed of the group of couples laughing together at a beach resort. She should recognize the photo as she is in it, along with her husband Clark, her supposed best friend Angela Bruno, and Angela’s husband, Gio Bruno.
“Where did you get that?” Marcie Claire whispers as her eyes widen and she pushes the photo away before leaning back in her chair.
“The where doesn’t really matter, Marcie Claire, and honestly even the why doesn’t matter right now either, but what does matter in my tale is how this photo, along with the events of today, all connect to a murdered cardiologist in Chicago. I believe you know his widow, Vivian Stone. In fact, I know you know her as you shot her earlier today.” My good guy approach didn’t last long but my anger is preventing me from playing it too cool. “Do you care to explain and help us understand how this all happened?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” Marcie Claire meekly says. Her misplaced confidence faded quickly once I placed the group photo on the table.
“But I think you do, Marcie Claire. I think you know exactly how this all unfolded and how you called in a favor to your son’s biological father, a one Mr. Giovanni Bruno who is affiliated with the Bianchi crime family syndicate out of New York. That request you made resulted in the murder of Dr. Trent Stone.”
Marcie Claire’s face pales and her mouth opens in shock as I continue, “I want us to be on the same page here, ma’am. Are you surprised I know that piece of information about your son’s paternity or have your actions of today finally registered and you realize how much trouble you’re in?”
One of my team members knock twice on the door, and Mason steps in to hand me a folder before silently exiting the room. I open the folder and start reading. I lean over so Tara can also look at the documents, but I prevent Marcie Claire from seeing the folder’s contents .
“If my story has shocked you so far, then Marcie Claire, this is going to really blow you away. You may not be aware of this, but when a federal investigation is ongoing, we are able to not only get warrants quickly, but we are able to execute them much quicker than local police forces. Earlier today, when my team connected you to Gio Bruno, we had our legal team file a warrant for your cell phone and cell phone records. When you were taken into custody earlier today after shooting Ms. Stone, it was quite helpful your cell phone was sitting right there on the kitchen counter waiting for us. I will admit though, for as smart as you are, I’m surprised you were so brazen to chat with your former lover on your cell phone.”
Marcie Claire’s eyebrows shoot up so high they almost touch her hairline.
“Oh no, did he forget to tell you that you should use a burner for these conversations, Marcie Claire?” Tara asks innocently. “That feels like it should be basic mobster logic.”
“I would assume it is, but I’m sure he assumed she would know that,” I tell Tara. Marcie Claire shifts in her seat and her cheeks redden with anger as she realizes we’re reading what she thought were private text message exchanges between her and Gio.
“Do you need a reminder of what you said, Marcie Claire? I’m happy to share with the class and I do like to tell a good story.” I clear my throat before I start to read the text messages out loud, “‘I have never asked you to help with anything to benefit Chase, but I need your help. I need to remove an obstacle that is preventing his happiness.’ What do you think that could mean, Agent White?”
“Oh look, he responded to that, ‘If I can help, I will. What is the issue?’ Agent Bennett, it looks like Gio was quick to respond and wanted to help the mother of his child out, that’s kind of sweet in an illegal criminal kind of way,” Tara continues to talk as though we’re having a conversation without Marcie Claire in the room .
“Indeed, what a stand-up mobster. She then responded, ‘The man’s name is Dr. Trent Stone, and he lives in Chicago.’ To which Gio replied, ‘Do you want the obstacle damaged or removed permanently?’ To which she then told him, ‘Removed for good.’ Agent White, that doesn’t sound so great to me, what do you think?”
“Not great at all, Agent Bennett,” she replies. “And then it looks like Gio said, ‘Call me at eleven o’clock eastern tonight to discuss details.’”
“Okay, enough. I get it, you can both read private text messages that were never meant to be seen by anyone else, congratulations,” Marcie Claire huffs as though we have offended her somehow. “You have no way of proving who sent those messages or who was on the other end of that exchange. What’s the point of all of this? What do you want?”
“It’s simple, Marcie Claire, we want the details of that phone call and for you to confirm these text messages were all exchanged with Giovanni Lenardo Bruno, who in turn paid an assassin to murder Dr. Trent Stone,” I tell her without a hint of humor in my face.
“You were not discussing removing a piece of landscaping from your backyard, Marcie Claire, you were discussing the end of someone’s life. This text exchange proves you are complicit in solicitation of murder. And by doing so with someone who was in another state at the time of the communication, that makes this an interstate crime, thus a federal offense, ma’am.” I turn the printout of the text messages and place it in front of her. “We already have you for aiding and abetting first-degree murder. If you want us to help you in any way whatsoever with the prosecution, you will tell us what we want to know, Marcie Claire.”
“So, if I were to tell you more about this alleged phone conversation that you claim happened, how could it help me?” Marcie Claire asks while she starts tapping her crimson nails on the table as her true colors and self-preservation instincts shine, without any acknowledgement of the severity of the charges she’s facing, let alone any remorse for her actions.
“If you help us find the person or people involved and responsible for these crimes, we will communicate any and all cooperation with the federal prosecutors. That cooperation may help your own criminal case and ultimately could impact your sentencing for the crimes you have committed,” I tell her. “Now if you refuse to help us, we will do our best to find even more charges to add to the list and also make sure the prosecution knows we are not interested in doing you any favors whatsoever. And Marcie Claire? My team is really good at their jobs so if there is anything else to find, and I do mean anything, we will.”
“What was the phone conversation about that evening, Marcie Claire?” Tara asks.
Marcie Clarie initially doesn’t say anything, but she stares at the door. Pursing her fuchsia painted lips and tapping her nails in a steady rhythm on the table as she considers her very limited options. I keep waiting for her to demand to have an attorney present, but as long as she keeps talking, this interrogation will keep going.
Releasing a large sigh of what I hope is defeat, Marcie Claire clears her throat before answering the question, “Gio told me he would be willing to hire someone to take care of my problem. Only a handful of people even know this individual even exists, let alone have access to their services, and they … can make people disappear, although it is very expensive. I can only imagine what the cost actually was if it was expensive by Gio’s standards.”
“I think what you mean to say is this person is only hired by people affiliated with organized crime, Marcie Claire,” I add.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. All I know is once I explained why I wanted this … hindrance removed, Gio was go ing to handle the rest,” Marcie Claire says dismissively, lifting her hands in a placating manner, as much as she can with one wrist handcuffed to the table, anyway.
“What is this person’s name?” Tara asks.
“I don’t really know,” Marcie Clarie insists. “He didn’t tell me anything about the logistics, just that he would handle it.”
“Then tell us what you do know about this individual,” I insist.
“I only know what they’re referred to as, but it’s not a real name. They go by The Susurro or The Whisper I guess is the translation. I don’t speak Spanish, but I looked it up online once. It seems like a silly name to me, kind of anticlimactic, but Gio said no one even knows this person exists,” Marcie Claire says before she gasps. “Oh my God, Gio. He’s going to kill me for this!”
Marcie Clarie’s logic seems to have come back online, and her eyes widen as she realizes she has already admitted too much to us. “I refuse to speak to you without an attorney present.” Her voice is now shrill and frantic. “I am invoking my right to counsel and demand to have an attorney right now!”
“That’s okay, I think we got what we needed for today,” I say as Tara and I both stand. “We will check if your husband or any other attorney is here for you yet or if we need to have one sent in. If you would like to request an attorney present, that is your legal right. But for now, thank you, Marcie Claire, thank you very much. I hope your stay in federal custody is long and miserable,” I say with a vindictive smile as we leave the interrogation room.
Mason meets us in the hall while we walk to a conference room in the Sheriff’s station our team is temporarily using. “Tara, can you file a warrant for the cell phone records of Gio Bruno? I bet he has more burners than a convenience store but maybe a number will match something Mason uncovers. Harlow, I want you to sit in on the next interrogation with Marcie Claire, even if she has an attorney present, you might have a line of questioning that could get her to reveal anything else she may be holding back, if she hasn’t already told us everything she knows.”
“Absolutely, I would love the opportunity to talk with her, she is already fascinating to me,” Harlow admits. “Her narcissistic tendencies are textbook, but by playing into them it will make it easier for us to question her moving forward.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but it’s been vibrating all afternoon. I pull it out to check who it is and see it’s a text from Savannah.
Savannah
Vivian’s imaging results were clear. The wound is stitched up and she should be getting discharged soon. Our father is here with us, and we will be going to my house after she’s discharged.
Me
Thank you for the update. Please tell Vivian to let me know when she gets her phone back.
Savannah
Will do. Today could have been the worst day of my life, but you saved her. I don’t know how to even say thank you, Walker.
Me
You don’t need to thank me, Savannah. I would do anything for her.
I don’t have the time to think about that last text from Savannah and what all happened today. Those emotions will have to be processed later, but for now, everything needs to stay tightly compartmentalized so my team and I can do what we do best.
“Walker, you’re going to want to see this,” Kelly calls out to me. I walk around the conference room and sit down next to him. He has Marcie Clarie’s cell phone connected to his laptop and has her text messages open, while also running some diagnostics on her phone.
“I was running keywords through her search history and on April 14 th of last year, she searched for, and I quote ‘how to send something completely anonymously in the mail’ and then clicked on a website offering that exact service. She added the website to her favorites on her phone’s browser.” Kelly pulls up the website.
“I wonder ...” He pauses before going into Marcie Clarie’s emails stored on her cell phone through his laptop. He types in the website’s name in the search bar, and less than ten seconds later, we are looking at confirmation emails of four separate purchases through the website. Marcie Claire didn’t even delete the purchase confirmation emails; they were sitting in her inbox.
Shocked at her stupidity, a bark of laughter escapes me as it can’t be this easy.
“Can someone confirm the dates Vivian received the anonymous poems?” I ask the room.
“Hold on, I have them here … and … Walker, each of the poems were received three to four days after the confirmation emails were sent to Marcie Claire,” Tara says as she holds up a page of notes from the other side of the table.
“We may be able to add federal charges of mailing threatening communications if we can prove intent,” Harlow adds.
“This cell phone is fucking gold,” I say to myself as much as to my team. I am awestruck at the number of answers today has already revealed. Clapping my hands together, I tell my team, “Good work y’all, good fucking work!”