The Pursuit of Justice

It was all total horseshit, but you say what you have to in these situations. It wasn't anything that could be disproved easily, for sure. Miranda had seen me do this hundreds of times in the past, and she was just proving she knew what she was doing. Miranda came over and sat down next to me while waiting on Debra's response.

Debra still looked apprehensive, wringing her hands, and spent almost thirty seconds weighing it up before making an internal decision and announcing, "Fine. Ask your questions."

Miranda took the lead, which was unusual - as I mentioned - when questioning a woman. "I'm glad you saw the light, Debra. Let's start with the simple stuff. How long have you worked for Polk?"

"About seven years," was her prompt answer. I glanced at Miranda, it was clear that once Debra had decided to cooperate, she was all in, and that was a relief. I knew she'd only asked her that because she'd already told us this the day we'd first met her. She wanted to be sure we got the same answer. Miranda is a good detective - now she just had to make sure she asked everything we could think of.

"How did you come to be in his employ?" It was always best to set the scene, get the environmental questions answered first, so we had all the surrounding details. It also made the lead up to the harder questions easier for the person being interrogated. They answered truthfully since the questions seemed innocuous, and it meant the answers would flow easier later, since we'd established a pattern of questions being asked that were answered truthfully.

"To be honest, I just answered an ad online. Craigslist."

"Okay, and it was Polk? No one else?

"Yeah. We did the interview on a Thursday, and I started on the following Monday."

"Fair enough. Now, how would you categorize your responsibilities at Polk's shop?" Miranda asked, carefully phrasing the question.

"Well, I guess partly schedule assistant and partly gate-keeper, really," she answered, obviously not holding anything back. "Some degree of office admin -- order paper for the printer, making sure the internet bill is paid, that sort of thing."

"I see. So, no involvement with the clients or the accounting part of the business?"

"No, not at all. Mr. Polk made it clear he didn't want me anywhere near that, not that I could help much anyway. I have trouble balancing my bank account, let alone someone else's." The details were coming fast and furious now.

I decided to ask some questions, just to keep things a little uneven.

"Let's talk about some of the clients. How would you define them? High end? Low end? Business? What?" I wanted to know, starting to move into the area's we were more interested in.

"Well, for the most part, high end. He was out of the office so much that we really didn't have that many clients, but the ones he did have were high end. That's why he kept pressing me that I had to be the bullet-proof door, as he put it. We had high end people to protect, and if we didn't, they'd go elsewhere."

That statement went straight to the cerebellum and started looking around for other things to attach itself to. I glanced at Miranda, wondering if she was making the connections. She was intent on Debra.

"Out of the office? So his week-long absence this week is not unprecedented?"

"Well... no. He's done it before. Usually telling me he's on vacation or at a conference or talking to a client on site, but I have to admit, he usually tells me first. It's never gone this long with no communication."

"So you've had no contact at all, from the day of the murder, to now?"

Debra shook her head, "No. Nothing."

"How does he normally contact you? Do you have his number?"

"Actually, he uses Skype. Or email. Email for client information, skype for his personal plans."

That was clever. Skype was internet based and as such, very hard to track. Microsoft didn't like handing out client information; it required a warrant and even then, they'd fight it. Email was easier, but still, not that easy. The more we learned about this guy, the more devious he appeared to be. It was no mistake; this guy was out to make it as difficult as possible to track him.

The reality is that the police department had the resources to find out anything it really wanted to know. We had white hat hackers and phone freaks and every other kind of resource as CI's on our payroll, and if we really wanted to, we could go ask them. Believe me, often it was tempting. The trouble is that knowing something is not the same as proving something, and often, the act of finding something out illegally would preclude the use of that knowledge in a court case in the first place. It wasn't always just that it was illegal, it was the fact that you knew that Person X was the perpetrator and you then focused all your attention on getting legal evidence to support that, the mere fact you knew that to begin with totally destroys the value of the evidence you have turned up. It was a complex quagmire, and one we had to be very careful navigating, or a good defense lawyer would get the whole case thrown out on a technicality.

"So, no phone number?" I pushed.

"Well, I sometimes get a text from a number, but it tends to be a different number each time, so there's no point in storing it as a contact."

More evidence that this guy was out to make life difficult. He was either using the cell phone of whomever he was with, or he was using disposable phones, the kind you buy at Walmart and have a very limited number of minutes on.

Without doubt, the more we heard about this guy, the stronger a person-of-interest he became.

Miranda resumed the questioning. "So, does this behavior strike you as suspicious?"

She just shrugged and fidgeted with the coffee cup. "I suppose. I've never really thought about it."

"What was he like to work for?"

"Well, rushed. He'd come in and be there literally just before a client was supposed to meet him. He'd stay afterwards and work, but I'd very rarely get there in the morning and find him already there, if you know what I mean. He was all about privacy and not being disturbed. There wasn't that much to it, really. Just keep people out, and make sure his schedule was worked out. Oh, and book his conference meetings." Debra looked almost apologetic on reporting this; that there wasn't more to say.

"Any strange habits?"

"Not really. He didn't like coffee in the afternoon. Oh, and he was weird about his keys. Always had to know where they were. He came back to the office three times after leaving, over the years, just to find his keys he'd left behind. Other than that, not much, no."

"Okay, moving on, let's talk more about his work," Miranda continued. "So, his clients. Where did he meet them? I mean, I can't believe that he attracted this kind of clientele with just his website? Did he do any schmoozing? Wine and cheese parties?"

"No," she responded, and little more firmly. "It was that Tracy Miles woman, I think. Everyone else shows up for a few weeks or even a couple of months, and then we don't see them again. Mrs. Miles was the only one that came regularly. I got the impression that she was referring people to him. She was one of the only ones who didn't come out of his office mad, anyway. Her and that Tyrone guy. That guy..." she physically shivered.

There was a lot to deconstruct with that statement. First though...

"His clients were upset?"

"Mostly, yeah. I guess they were spending more than they should. Mr. Polk is not shy with telling you where you've gone wrong. I guess he did the same to them. Some came out just angry, and one or two had rough words with me on the way out, too." She shrugged. "I just let it go. All part of the job. Mr. Polk warned me that this might happen. He said some of these people were like children when it came to money and it was his job to make them grow up. He even had the room sound proofed, in case there was yelling." She looked a little embarrassed by that revelation.

I glanced at Miranda again, to see if she was filing away all the pertinent details appropriately. It definitely looked like it, based on her intent expression.

"So, Debra, as his assistant, did you ever actually see him filing returns for anyone? Did he ever send you out to mail them?"

"Oh yeah. Come the new year or October, I would do it once a week. I'd print them out for him to sign and then bundle them up and take to them to the post office."

That was interesting. It meant he was actually doing the job. He was an actual accountant, not some spook. Not that spooks couldn't get the license I suppose, but it seemed unlikely.

"Let's get back to Mr. Tyrone. Do you know who he is?"

"Not really. He's a somewhat regular though, like Mrs. Miles. He comes once a month, and they spend about two or three hours together, locked up in his office. He locked the door when he was there; I tried to bring him coffee early on and that's when I learned about that. He's a scary guy though. Gives me the creeps."

Normally we don't hand out information to people we are interrogating, but in this case, I felt justified.

"Mr. Tyrone is generally known as Lucky Tyrone. He's the local hoodlum's enforcer. He's not a nice man. You were very right to get the creeps."

"He's been in twice looking for Mr. Polk in the last week. I don't think he's very happy that Mr. Polk is not available and I don't know where he is."

"Yeah, we've spoken to his boss. He gives the impression he's looking for him, too."

"Impression?" she said, urgently. I winced. Bad wording on my part. "Do you think something had happened to Mr. Polk?"

"We have no idea. We are trying to get an overall impression of who he is, Debra. The fact is, he's a very private person. We can't find much evidence that he exists at all, to be honest. No facebook, no phone, no passport..."

"Well, he was very private. He didn't even have a car. He'd always use Uber, you know?" she replied, conversationally.

I happened to be looking at Miranda when she said that, and I could see the sudden light in her eyes -- them widening with a sudden realization. The same statement that had impinged on me I could see was leading Miranda to a revelation.

"Excuse me for a moment," said Miranda, and she rose and left the room.

I nodded at the coffee for Debra, which had by now gone cold. "Want another one?"

"No, thanks, I'm good," she replied.

We sat for a few seconds, not saying anything. Strictly speaking, Miranda leaving the room was a breach in protocol. We were not being observed by other officers through the one way mirror, which meant there should be two officers in the room at all times, particularly when the interviewee was female. I doubted Debra Gustav was going to complain, and I knew I wasn't.

Miranda suddenly bustled back into the room, with a folder in her hand. She sat down, opened the folder and sorted through some pictures, and then extracted one, and handed it to Debra.

"Do you know this man? I know you said you didn't see his name in the visitor's log?"

Debra picked up the picture, just glanced at it and then looked at us puzzled.

"Why are you asking me that? Of course I have? Why are you saying he wasn't in the visitor's log? Why would he be? Why are you showing me pictures of Ashton Polk and asking me if I knew him?"

We both sat back, stunned.

There it was. Ashton Polk could never have killed Sydney Newton. He wasn't out of town, hiding from the consequences of his actions, because Ashton Polk WAS Sydney Newton. No wonder we could find no evidence of his existence.

It was indeed a stunning revelation. I could see Miranda was rocked by it. On the other hand, it was stunning because we'd fucked up. I mean, if we'd handed a picture of Sydney Newton to Debra Gustav right off, as we should have done, she'd have seen it immediately, and we'd not have wasted so much time. I internally shrugged. Life is full of "Should have" moments.

No wonder Sydney Newton spent so much time working, he was doing two jobs at once.

However, several things also came into focus instantly, too. The first being, if Ashton Polk wasn't the killer, who was? What was Newton/Polks business with Macey Phillips? What was going on with the high society women he was supposed to be working for? What was Tracy Miles part in all this?

The only good thing was that we were going to find out. With this knowledge, there was no chance a judge would deny us a warrant. Even if Debra tried to obstruct, - which she certainly wouldn't, not now.

"Okay," I struggled to say, staring at Miranda, who I could see was going through what looked like some profound emotions.

I looked back at Debra, and said, "So Debra. Here's the thing. Your employer, Ashton Polk, is actually the same guy whose murder we are investigating. They are one and the same person. I'm sorry to say, I think you need to start looking for a new job."

We left the room, and I could see that Miranda was still shaken and processing what we'd learned. I had a word with the booking officer for Debra Gustav, told him that she'd been really informative, it was fine if they let her go, tell her it was because I went to bat for her, so she'd be appropriately grateful, and ensure she wasn't going to leave town. Of all the cop tropes, I think that's my favorite one.

Miranda and I went back to our desks, and talked.

"So, same guy. Think the wife knows?" Miranda started.

"Doubt it. I mean, look at their life. Look at her. Think she'd be the same person if she knew? Nah, I think this was something she had no clue about. A double life."

"Yeah, but is it? Truly? I mean, it's a double work life, but he still went home to wifey and kids every night?"

I just stared at her, we were honestly discussing the definition of 'double life' now??

"Does it matter?"

Miranda gave me a sheepish look.

"Still," I said, "Why all the subterfuge? Why have this double life? A cut-out for whatever he was doing with the local gangsters?"

"Could be," mused Miranda, giving me her puckered lips and 'thinking face'. "Think they knew?"

"Maybe not. Maybe it was them discovering that fact that got him offed? It was classic Phillips execution method, after all."

"You might be onto something there, boss..."

"Time to talk to the captain!" I said, jumping off the edge of my desk. Things were moving and we needed to keep up the momentum.

The reality is that the captain wasn't in the office, and we had to wait for the next day. When we did get to see him, we explained, he smiled a lot, and then spent the next hour typing up a warrant request, which he then took personally to the duty judge, Judge Hershey, who signed it, and we were literally in Polk's office, tearing it apart by midday the next day. What was interesting was that when we got there, we found we weren't the first. Someone else had tossed it, not well, and the computers were still there, which meant we must have scared them off before they got to them. Either way, Miranda and I looked at each other knowingly; we had a good idea who was in there looking.

We had everyone in there, forensics, computer guys, the whole lot. We called Debra Gustav to get her keys to get in, and then once she'd unlocked, told her to go home. We'd call her if we needed her.

We had it searched and stripped by 5pm, and strangely, the one thing we didn't find in his office was a safe, and I quite expected us to. The computer guys shrugged when I mentioned this and told me that this kind of dude, well, it was all data, and all on computer, and they had no doubt that his computers were locked up tighter than Trumps Silverware when the Mexican cleaners are in his apartment.

That was exactly what we found. It was worse than that, in fact. Somehow, Newton/Polk had gotten hold of NSA grade hard drives, that would require a passcode to decrypt, and if you got it wrong more than five times, it destroys the data on the drive. Our techs recognized it for what it was -- military grade crypto hardware, and were stumped.

What's more, after researching it, it was discovered it could only be unlocked using a data stream from another computer, which would also need a dongle, I had to look up what a "dongle" was; some little gadget you plug into a computer, that some programs need to "see" before they will run. It was a complicated set up, but if Newton/Polk was hiding what we thought he was, it made sense.

It took the guys over a week of messing around before they unlocked the drive. The discovered the streaming program required to unlock it was actually on his laptop from the Newton office. Our IT guys had puzzled over what it was for, and now its use became evident.

All they needed then was the dongle, and it was actually Miranda who provided that. She remembered what Debra Gustav has said about Polk's keys, went to find them, and there on his key chain was what looked like a USB memory stick but was, in fact, the dongle required.

Once they had that, the data was unlocked, and it was a treasure trove. And I mean that; the kind of data that changes everything.

We literally were crawling with feds once we got a look inside. Turns out Polk was actually the local mob's accountant. We found two sets of books for almost all of Phillips' businesses, the real and the cooked. What we found in the real books was scary. He had his fingers into prostitution, both willing and unwilling. People trafficking, drugs, numbers running, illegal gambling, even grand theft auto -- he had two local chop shops paying him a cut. What's more, he was paying out to three different local council members, two judges, two congressmen and even three cops. The man was everywhere, and we had the proof.

It led to mass arrests, and some pretty damning coverage. It was going to be a bad year for the bad guys, that was for sure.

But, that was only half of what we found.

In the other half, we found what we believed to be the reason for his murder. Among other, repulsive things. Newton/Polk was not a nice person. Not nice at all. Lethal, in fact.

Newton was running a blackmail ring. He was setting up high society people with hookers and male gigolos, using Phillips' to source these kind of people, and then using date rape drugs on his victims. He'd video them and then blackmail them, for just enough to make it worthwhile, but not enough to serious damage the finances of any of these high-flying people. He'd ask a hundred K from each, enough that it was worth it and he could send a taste to Phillips and Tracy Miles, - oh yes, she was his spotter among the higher set. She took twenty grand from each successful blackmail, - and still make enough for himself. A hundred K was enough to make it worth it, but not too much that it wasn't something that most of these people could lay their hands on, without alerting their spouses. He usually had four or five people on the hook at any time, giving them up to six months to pay him off.

He'd been doing it for the past six years, and twice he'd been refused. In both cases the women committed suicide, either naturally or through Phillips help, - the stuff we saw was unclear, - after their family lives were ruined when the videos were released. The movies were edited to make it look like the people concerned, - and it was men as well as women here, - that was also clear, were having the time of their life, and they were released on porn sites when the two women refused his advances. Then they died, killing themselves. It was entirely believable. What I was surprised at is that no one put the two together. Somehow, the fact they were being blackmailed never came out. Either way, though, this had been a most profitable enterprise for Newton. No wonder the victims we'd talked to had been so nervous. Newton played for keeps.