CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The still-smoldering remains of the two-story home greeted Garr, Alistair, Brix, and Major as they pulled up to the scene. One fire truck was leaving the scene, while another stayed, spraying the smoking remains of the home.

Crowds had cleared away, the only remaining vehicles those of the fire department. The truck for fire investigators was still there, along with two patrol cars.

“Morning, folks. No onlookers, please,” said the firefighter.

“We’re not onlookers,” said Major. “We’re investigating the individuals who owned the home. We are with Voodoo Guardians.” The eyebrows of the firefighters and police officers rose in admiration. One of the cops moved closer, looking at the four men, glancing up and down.

“You’re way fucking bigger than everyone says you are, and that’s saying a lot,” he smirked. Brix laughed, shaking his head.

“We’re peewees compared to some of the others. Can you tell us anything about how this started?”

“Plain old gasoline,” said the investigator. “Two cans from what we could tell. They wanted to make sure that nothing was left to see.”

“Did you say that you were investigating the people who owned the home?” asked the officer. Alistair looked at his name tag and nodded.

“Corbin, right?” The officer nodded. “Yes, we need to find them.”

“We’re a bit confused,” said Corbin. “The owner of this home died two months ago. Willie Carter. There were no surviving relatives, so it’s been tied up with the bank.”

“Shit,” muttered Garr. “We’re looking for at least five senior citizens whom we believe are responsible for robbing banks recently. We also believe they killed two FBI agents.”

“No, shit?” muttered Corbin. “We knew of the robberies, obviously, but that’s a fed case all the way. Seniors?”

“I wonder if they knew the deceased,” said Brix. “Maybe they had some sort of an agreement with him.”

“Like we said, the deceased’s name was Carter, Willie Carter. Died of heart failure two months ago at the age of eighty-two.”

“Where did he work before he retired?” asked Brix.

“Well, technically, I suppose he wasn’t retired. He worked a four-hour shift three days a week at the convenience store on the corner. Seems shitty that at eighty-two, he had to do that, but the bank was threatening to take the property for back taxes owed. Before that, he was a retiree of the Treasury Department. Records, I think.”

“That’s three,” said Major. “We’ve got three of them tied to the Treasury.”

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all, is it?” said Corbin. “I don’t know the details about what he did, but it had something to do with tax records, not personnel.”

“Did you find anything, anything at all?” asked Major.

“Naw, man. Everything was scorched. Not even a piece of paper left behind. Lady across the street said they’d been staying there a few weeks. She thought they were renting it from the bank but never saw them move furniture in. She thinks they were using the staging furniture.”

“Did she see them move out?” asked Alistair.

“Afraid not. We think they moved out in the middle of the night. She did say that the previous owner was an avid bridge player.”

“Bridge? Like the card game?” asked Alistair. Corbin nodded. “Text Sebastian and Em. Let them know that Willie Carter may have been part of this as well. This could get much bigger than we imagined.”

Chief, Hex, Torro, and Chase entered the VA hospital in Pennsylvania and walked toward the reception desk. Every seat in the waiting area was filled, with some patients just standing against the walls. Some of them looked desperate. Others resigned themselves to the fact that they would wait for hours with no resolution to their problem. They were playing the game.

The horrible hospital green walls gave them all chills. Not a painting or photo anywhere, just ridiculous posters about not smoking, avoiding addiction to opioids, and healthy pregnancies. Chief stared at his friends, shaking his head.

“There, but for the grace of God, and Mama Irene, go us,” he frowned.

The reception desk was managing calls and people all at the same time. The two women looked stressed beyond belief, and the lone security guard didn’t seem to care.

The line was five to six deep, and some of the waiting patients weren’t patient at all. When they finally had their opening, the woman looked up at them anxiously.

“We’re not here for an appointment,” said Chase, hoping to settle her nerves. “We’re here to speak to someone about a patient that died not too long ago.”

“Baby, lots of patients die here. If you’re not family, move it along. I can’t, and I won’t give you those records. It’s not legal, and you should know that.” Hex frowned at the woman and leaned on the counter.

“Listen closely. You’re going to get us someone to speak with, or I’m going to make a call to the president of the United States. He’s then going to call your supervisor, you’re going to lose your job, and so will your boss. Then I’m going to go through those doors back there and rip this fucking shithole apart.

“I’ll ask one more time. Nicely. Get me someone to speak with or you are going to regret seeing these faces today.”

“I already do,” she frowned.

“Maybe if you started giving a shit about them, you wouldn’t regret it,” said Chief, pointing to the waiting hordes of people. The woman looked as though he’d slapped her in the face, and Chief immediately regretted his words.

“Now, you listen to me,” said the woman, slowly standing. She was what they would call ‘sturdy,’ and she was about to unleash on the group of men. Her hair was braided tight against her head, the salt and pepper of experience evident to all. “I care for every man and woman that walks in these doors. My daddy served, my granddaddy served, my son served. I care for them all. I even care for the ones addicted to drugs who just want more. I even care for the ones that are just lookin’ for a way out. I even care for the ones that are lyin’ about everything they went through.

“They’re all sick, but I care for them all. What I don’t care for are people comin’ here treatin’ me like shit when it’s clear I got more than enough bodies out there to worry about. You four don’t appear to be missin’ any meals, losin’ any limbs, or needin’ anything urgent. So do me a favor, sit down and be patient or I’ll make that call for you to the president.”

Torro smiled at the woman, nodding his head.

“I like you,” he grinned. “Doesn’t mean I don’t need to speak to someone right now. But I respect what you’re doing, and we do understand. We’re all former military. We’re trying to get to the bottom of why a group of seniors would rob a bank after one of their spouses needed treatment and couldn’t get it.” She let out a loud huff and laughed at them.

“Why? Baby, they robbin’ banks because that’s the only way to get what they need. Did you not listen to me? Look around you. These people all have appointments. The hundred people walking around outside are waiting, hoping to be seen today. If someone needed a treatment not on the list of approved treatments, they were just out of luck. I know it ain’t right. But it is what it is.”

“We’ll take a seat,” said Torro, nodding at the woman.

“Hold on. Come on back,” she said, waving them around the desk. “I don’t need y’all in the waitin’ room scaring everyone.”

The men smirked at her. She was warming up to them, or at least playing along like she was. Pointing to several chairs in a hallway, they took a seat and waited as she walked to an office and returned a few minutes later.

“Someone will be with you shortly. Dr. Esoffa, our director, will talk to you.”

“Thank you,” said Torro. She started to walk away, and he grabbed her hand giving it a squeeze. “Seriously. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she nodded.

“This place has made improvements over the years, but it’s still a messed-up piece of bureaucracy,” said Chase.

“Yeah, but it’s all they have right now. Until someone truly cleans it all up and gets rid of all the red tape, this is what they have,” said Hex.

“Gentlemen, I understand you’d like to speak to me about the death of a patient,” said a small black man walking toward them. He wore a white coat, purple dress shirt with a bow tie, and Bermuda shorts with running shoes. They all smirked.

“Nice outfit,” smiled Chase.

“It’s why I wear it. You’re smiling. That’s a good start. Now, what can I help you with?”

“We think about two years ago, a former Army nurse, Estelle Steiner, was here for treatment of advanced breast cancer. We know that she had multiple rounds of chemo and radiation as well as a bilateral mastectomy. There was a new treatment offered in Germany, but you didn’t approve the treatment.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, nodding. “Mr…”

“I’m Hex. This is Chase, Torro, and Chief. We’re retired military but run a security and investigation firm now.”

“I see, and according to my very angry front desk person, you know the president.” They all nodded, and Hex pulled out an ID card that said everything the doctor needed to know.

“Alright, Hex. I don’t recall this patient, but it may have been before I took over the hospital. VA benefits or Medicare rarely covers experimental treatments. Especially if those treatments were in another country. We have no way of knowing what they’re testing, what the studies or clinical trials look like, and because it’s experimental, they aren’t required to give full disclosure.”

“So, the patient has no option other than to drain their savings or die?” asked Torro. Chase gripped his friend’s arm, trying to tell him to hold back.

“I know it feels wrong, and in many ways it is. We try to offer every option possible for our patients, but sometimes, it’s not within our grasp. This patient, Estelle Steiner, was she related to one of you?” he asked with a sly gaze.

“Uh, well,” said Chase.

“You said she was your aunt, isn’t that right?” asked the doctor again.

“Yes. My aunt,” said Chase. The doctor smiled at Chase and waved them toward his office. Seated behind his desk, he entered the information and read the screen for a few moments.

“Her breast cancer was advanced, stage four. She hadn’t done a mammogram in more than ten years. I hate to say this, but if she had done her yearly check-ups, she very well could have survived this. Even with the chemo and radiation, she really didn’t have a chance.”

“And the experimental treatment?” asked Chief.

“I see it mentioned in here, but it wasn’t even cleared for her type of breast cancer. I don’t believe she would have survived no matter what they did.”

“We know that she did end up going for the treatment in Germany, but she died shortly thereafter.” The doctor nodded, frowning.

“It’s not surprising. The treatment was for advanced-stage breast cancer of a different type, but by that point, the breast cancer was no longer the issue. It had spread to her brain. That’s what they should have attempted to slow. I’m not sure that this treatment would have helped with that at all.”

“Sir, I know that you deal primarily with veteran care, but can you give me a sense of what the care, in general, for our elderly is like in this country?” asked Chase.

“Now, that is a loaded question, young man,” he frowned, standing. “Walk with me. I only have a few more minutes to give you, but this is important. The care of our aging citizens should be something always on our minds, yet it is not. We worry about our children, as we should. We worry about our workers, as we should. But in America, it often feels as if when you reach a certain age, the age where you can no longer do everything for yourself, that you are no longer of value.

“Children forget that their parents and grandparents have wiped their noses, changed their diapers, stayed up all night with infections and fevers, cried over their boo-boos. It is expected that a parent should care for a child. But who cares for the parent? In other countries, they are revered for their wisdom and experience, their value to their culture. In America, they are tossed aside to drown in loneliness, poverty, and disease.”

“Jesus,” muttered Chase.

“You asked me to give you a sense of the care provided in this country for the elderly. It isn’t a question about old or young, good care or bad care. It’s about wealthy or poor. If you have money, you will always get the treatment you need, even if you’re alone. If you do not, you struggle to pay for your medications, your options for care facilities are limited to nursing homes that care nothing of your former life or value. Not all, but many. Your life will end before it should. I know that’s a somber note, gentlemen, but that’s the best I can do.”

“You’ve been very helpful, sir. Thank you,” said Chief. “Oh, and by the way, the receptionist needs a raise.”

Jalen and Tiger entered the Treasury building directly across from the White House. They placed their weapons in the bins and walked through the scanners, showing their IDs. They didn’t need to show their weapons. They could have simply walked through with the stealth netting, but they were trying to do everything by the book.

“Can we help you, gentlemen?” asked the officer.

“We’re looking for the personnel office,” said Jalen.

“Fourth floor, second door on the left,” he said, pointing to the elevators. With a dozen other people, they piled into the elevators and made their way upstairs. Opening the office door, they were surprised to only see one person sitting in the space. A young man.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“We’d like to speak to someone about a couple of former employees that we believe may be responsible for some recent bank robberies.”

“I’m the only one here,” he said, standing to greet them. “My name is Jay Walsh. I’m an assistant human resources director. Are you with an agency?”

“No. We’re private investigators helping the FBI.” He looked at their IDs and then typed something into the computer and nodded.

“Who is it you’re interested in?”

“The first person is Willie Carter.”

“Old Willie,” smiled the younger man. “He was great. That guy knew everyone, knew where to find everything, and was probably responsible for training half the people in this building. He was a records administrator but had a crazy, wicked memory. He remembered every detail about everyone.”

“When he retired, was it voluntarily?” asked Jalen.

“Retired? Willie didn’t retire. I mean, not really. He said it was time to move on, and he was going to do something else for a while. He left, and last I heard, he was working part-time at some convenience store. He didn’t need the money. Not that I know of, anyway. He was at the top of his pay grade and single. He was very frugal. I used to joke with him about driving a twenty-year-old car.”

“But he had access to all the tax records, is that right?” asked Tiger.

“Yes. Everything. Who else?”

“Ed Morgan and Nick Cunningham.”

“Oh, that’s interesting you’re asking that. Ed, Willie, and Nick were all good friends. They weren’t all the same age, but about the same era. They’d been here forever. Poor Nick died suddenly, had a stroke at his desk or something. It wasn’t long after that Ed and Willie decided to do something else. They were all really nice people. It was a shame what the system did to them.”

Jalen and Tiger stared at one another, then slowly looked up at the younger man.

“What did the system do to them?”

“Well, they were never able to prove it, but Ed and Nick allegedly identified that a few of those in charge had been siphoning money from the retirement funds into their own accounts. They all figured out a way, allegedly, to siphon it back to those who needed it most. Like I said, no one could actually prove it, but they caused such raucous they couldn’t stay any longer.”

“And was it proven that the people in charge were taking money from the retirement funds?” asked Tiger.

“Definitely. Eight people lost their jobs over it, which is probably why they weren’t charged. You could hear them all screaming at the directors that they would make sure every news agency in the country knew about their inept leaders if they touched them.”

“Interesting,” frowned Jalen. “You’ve been a great deal of help.”

“Hey, if you really want to know about them, go to the Virginia-D.C. Bridge Masters Meeting. They all played bridge together and apparently were crazy good.”

“Bridge,” frowned Jalen. “Now, isn’t that something?”

Sebastian and Emelia stepped inside the small white building that was the home of the Virginia-D.C. Bridge Masters Club. They’d already received word from the others that there was a tie to this club, but it would need to be proven.

“Hello, may I help you?” asked the elderly woman seated at the desk.

“We’d like to speak to someone about some friends of ours that are in the club,” said Emelia.

“Friends of yours? Young lady, I don’t have time for liars or scammers. Those that belong to this club are retired.”

“I meant no disrespect, ma’am,” she said calmly. “I’m trying to solve two murders and a number of bank robberies that we believe members of this club participated in.”

“That’s impossible. As you can see, we’re all elderly.” She made the statement so casually Emelia turned to Sebastian and frowned.

“No offense, ma’am,” said Sebastian, “but I know a lot of highly qualified and capable seniors. You’re capable of anything you set your mind to.”

“That is true, and I appreciate the insight,” said the woman, “but no one here would do such a thing.”

“Let me just give you the names,” said Emelia. “Ed Morgan, Helen Aikens, Myrtle Cunningham, Jeffrey Banks, Estelle Steiner, Mac Steiner, and Willie Carter.”

“Sorry. Those names aren’t familiar to me at all.”

“Again, ma’am, no disrespect intended, but their photos are on the wall behind you, accepting a rather large trophy,” said Sebastian.

“I don’t believe they’re members any longer,” she said casually. “If you’ll excuse me, we have a meeting about to start.” Sebastian reached across the desk and gripped her wrist.

“Ma’am, I have attempted to be patient and kind to you, but you are not cooperating in a federal investigation of two murdered FBI agents and a number of bank robberies. You are clearly lying to us, and I want to know why.”

She pulled her arm free and leaned over the desk, a look of fury on her face.

“Young man, there are a number of things I would like to know and yet I do not have the answers. You will not find your answers here. Get out, or I will call the police.”

Sebastian stared at the older woman and knew that she was more than aware of the people he spoke of and, more than likely, what they were doing. This little bridge club was not what it seemed.

“Alright. We’ll leave you alone for now. Just know that I’ll be watching you and your little club,” said Sebastian. “If any of those individuals show up, I’d appreciate a courtesy phone call. I just want to speak with them.” He handed the woman a business card, and she stared at him, tearing it to pieces and letting it fall to the desk.

“It looks like I’ll need to have the FBI come in and check this place out for illegal gambling,” said Sebastian.

“You do that,” laughed the woman. “You do that.” Emelia gripped his arm and pulled him toward the door. As they walked outside, she stared at him, then back at the door.

“Em, they know something!” he exclaimed.

“Yep. And now, so do we. The other photo on the wall that you didn’t see had someone else we know in it. Frank.”