Chapter 18
Cash felt elated. They had found a promising lead and none too soon. It had been Colcord’s idea to request a search warrant for Margie’s actual cell phone—-not just the satellite phone—-and to Cash’s surprise, they had gotten one. Perhaps Judge Greenberg had been in a good mood that day.
Now, on a gorgeous June day, the air smelling of honeysuckle, Cash and Colcord found themselves outside a squat redbrick building covered in ivy, with a sign spelling out MOUNTAINVIEW BANK. Mountainview Bank was the only bank in Burns, a local business without other branches.
Cash clutched the warrant that would give them access to Margaret Brooksfield’s financial records and steeled herself before going inside.
That damn reporter, Twen, had been on the evening news talking about the Grooms murder, clearly with information from an inside source, and gave the killer a sensational name: the Shrouder.
And then the priest, Father Moore, appeared, piously recounting to Twen the story of how Cash had insulted the church and asked him to “tattle” on his parishioners.
Did she really intend, he said, for him to break the seal of the confessional?
And the policewoman had called him a vulgar word, which he delicately declined to state.
Cash had been waiting for a shoe to drop from her boss, Holmes.
There’d been only silence. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.
They entered the bank. Cash approached a pretty teller behind an old--fashioned mahogany counter along the far wall.
The redhead dropped a stack of twenties into a bill counter, waited for it to run, and then typed something into her computer before addressing them with a grand smile plastered on her face.
Perfectly coiffed waves of hair bounced around her face as she spoke.
“Good morning. Welcome to Mountainview Bank—-where your banking dreams come true! How can I be your banking superhero today?”
“Good morning”—-Cash tried not to cringe at the corny greeting as she read the girl’s name tag—-“Stacy. We’re here with a warrant to collect financial records relating to a client of yours.” She laid the warrant out on the counter.
Stacy did not bother to look at the warrant.
Instead, she began to recite from rote memory, the smile still plastered on her face.
“Unfortunately, it’s Mountainview Bank’s policy, in accordance with federal law, to maintain the confidentiality of a customer’s financial information.
Please submit a request for records, in writing, through our website. Thank you, and have a nice day!”
“In accordance with federal law,” said Cash evenly, “the bank must respond to this warrant now. Could we please speak to someone in charge?”
Stacy paused, looking confused, as if she hadn’t expected resistance. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into a back room. After a couple of minutes, she returned, trailed by a squat woman with shoulder--length brown hair and a lumpy nose like cottage cheese rolled into a ball.
“Good morning, Sheriff Colcord and Agent Cash,” the woman spoke in a nasally but commanding voice, “my name is Agnes Huntsman. I’m the president of Mountainview Bank. What can I do for you?”
“We are serving a warrant to obtain the banking and financial rec-ords of Margaret Brooksfield.”
“May I see some ID?” Huntsman said. She was dressed in a pink paisley blouse, a pair of hobbit feet looking as if they would explode out of the vintage Mary Jane shoes she had buckled herself into.
A string of pearls encircled her neck, and a beige skirt reached her knees.
She looked like someone’s formidable grandmother—-down to the air of authority she projected.
Cash fished for her identification on a lanyard around her neck, and Colcord furnished his badge.
Huntsman perused them with tight lips. “Unfortunately, it’s Mountainview Bank’s policy, in accordance with federal law, to maintain the confidentiality of a customer’s financial information.
You’ll need to submit a request for records, in writing, through our website. ”
It was almost a word--for--word repetition of what Stacy had told them.
“Ms. Huntsman.” Cash raised her voice just enough to allow it to carry across the room. “I am an agent with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, and this is the sheriff of Eagle County. Now: Are you telling us you do not intend to comply with this signed warrant?”
Everyone in the bank was now listening—-it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The fake smile on Huntsman’s face vanished. Her eyes flicked around, a brief scowl marring her face. “Follow me, please.”
Cash and Colcord followed the woman into a spacious back office.
“Sit.” Huntsman gestured to a pair of austere chairs.
Cash remained standing, holding out the warrant.
Huntsman grabbed it, put on a pair of spectacles, and examined it for a long moment. “I’ll be right back,” she said, scurrying from the room.
She returned with a burly man with bushy eyebrows, the warrant clutched in his hand and held inches from his face. “General counsel Monson Benedetto,” he said to them as introduction, without looking up from his examination of the warrant.
Cash noted the expensive suit and a heavy gold Rolex on his wrist. A high-priced lawyer for a small bank like this? Something weird was going on here.
Now finally he looked up. “As much as we’d like to assist law enforcement, I’m afraid to say this warrant is not valid.
Rule 41 of the Colorado Criminal Code states that the affidavit section of the warrant must establish probable cause that grounds for issuance of the warrant exists.
All you have here in this affidavit is …
wire transfers from a murder victim’s account into the Brooksfield account.
Is wiring money now a crime, Agent Cash? ”
“It certainly is a crime if there are implications of financial fraud in connection with a murder. Plus, a warrant is a warrant, Mr. Benedetto, as I’m sure you know well.
The judge has approved it. You are required to comply.
” Cash knew that the basis for the warrant was a little shaky, but damn it all, it had been signed by a judge.
It wasn’t legal to refuse a warrant—-it was up to the attorneys to get the evidence excluded at trial if the warrant was found to have been improperly granted.
Benedetto went on, in a tired, gravelly voice, “There’s not enough detail here in the probable cause section of the affidavit for this to stand up in court.
I would hate to place Mountainview Bank in a position of liability if we allow a search of one of our esteemed clients’ records.
I fear you also may have run afoul here of the Right to Financial Privacy Act, which requires you to provide bank customers notice and the right to challenge requests for their financial records.
Have you notified Mrs. Brooksfield of your intention to peruse her financial records and given her a chance to respond? ”
Cash felt a welling of irritation at this legalistic obstructionism, but it was soon overtaken by another idea: The bank was really pulling out all the stops here.
Why? She leaned forward. Luckily, she was well versed in this area of the law.
“The Right to Financial Privacy Act applies to federal, not state, requests for financial records. Furthermore, I am not going to argue the validity of a warrant that has been signed and granted by an appointed judge of this state. You are welcome to contest the validity of the warrant in court.”
“I am merely attempting to comply with the law. Section 11–-105–-110 of the Colorado Revised Statutes provides a safe harbor for disclosing financial records of a customer only if the request is initiated by a legitimate governmental authority. Who’s to say you are who you say you are?”
“We’ve already furnished Ms. Huntsman with our identification.”
“Those could be fake.” Benedetto crossed his arms.
Cash had had enough of this. “Either you comply with the warrant now, or I will have you both arrested and cuffed for obstruction of justice. Wouldn’t that make for a lovely parade through the bank in front of all your loyal customers and employees?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Huntsman said, removing her spectacles and staring Cash in the face.
Cash said nothing—-she merely slipped out her cell phone as if to make a call.
Huntsman shot from her chair with surprising agility for her age. “I’ll get the records.” Benedetto followed her out, stepping heavily.
Cash now settled down into one of the wooden chairs to wait. She could hear a muffled but animated discussion in the next room.
“Hot damn,” Colcord said, casually sitting next to her. “Nicely done, Counselor.” He winked at Cash. “I wonder why they’re giving us so much trouble today.”
After a good twenty minutes, Huntsman came back with a stack of documents in her arms. She thumped them down unceremoniously in front of Cash.
Cash frowned. “We’d prefer to have electronic copies.”
Huntsman crossed her arms. “The warrant did not specify how the records were to be furnished.”
Cash said nothing. Next time, she’d make sure the warrant was more specific. “The sheriff and I are going to look through these right now, just to make sure everything is here in good order. Is there an empty office we could use?”
Huntsman’s lips thinned. “You can use this office.”
They began to go through the documents while Huntsman brooded in a corner chair, the scowl back on her face.
It quickly became clear that large deposits had been transferred from Grooms’s account into Margie Brooksfield’s.
Very large—-over $2.5 million, at least. And suddenly, Cash could now understand why Mountainview Bank had been so obstructive of the warrant—-all the transactions were suspiciously just under the reportable limit of $10,000.
They flowed from Grooms’s account to Brooksfield’s, and thence to an account in the name of a nonprofit organization named Paradox. Paradox … what a curious name.
“Ms. Huntsman,” Cash said, “was Mountainview Bank trying to avoid filing currency transaction reports with all these transfers?” Judging by the paling in Huntsman’s face, Cash realized she was on the right track.
“This two point five million—-Brooksfield must be one of your top clients. I bet she threatened to take her business elsewhere if you filed CRTs—-am I right? While not filing CRTs might be technically legal, I’m pretty sure a judge could see these transfers as an attempt to evade currency transaction laws. ”
Again, Huntsman did not respond. Cash wondered just how many clients Mountainview Bank was doing this for.
Cash put the papers back in the according file and snapped shut the elastic band. “Thank you, Ms. Huntsman. I’m sure you will be hearing from us again.”
Outside, Colcord turned to her. “Jesus, you were a barracuda in there. How’d you know all that legal stuff about banking and financial transactions?”
“My first case at CBI was about money laundering.”
“So you think this is money laundering?”
“It could be money laundering, could be tax evasion, fraud, embezzlement … but somehow, I think it’s deeper than that. What was Margie Brooksfield up to? And what the hell is Paradox?”