Free Death of a Bankster by David Bishop Page B

maintained the files on the cases Lieutenant Harrison had assigned to Maddie. Sue quickly downloaded a list of life insurance companies eligible to do business in Arizona from the insurance commissioner’s website. After lunch, Sue started calling the insurers on that list. While she did, Maddie called and spoke to a deputy commissioner to be sure there weren’t any recently approved insurers not yet added to the online list, or recently decertified underwriters who had been dropped from the list. There were none of either.
    Before leaving, Maddie stuck her head in Lieutenant Harrison’s office. “Sir, Crawford had no life insurance with any insurer licensed to do business in Arizona.”
    He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Dark Thursday, Sergeant. That’s it.”
    Maddie nodded and walked off. Back in her office she called Paige Crawford to arrange a time tomorrow morning when they could meet. Maddie needed to prepare the widow that homicide might be shutting it down Thursday night absent proof her husband was not just dead, but dead by foul means.
    * * *
    When the storefront door opened, Maddie said, “The Phoenix Suns thank you,” into a silent phone she had held so as to appear to be finishing a call.
    “I’m Carlos Montoya,” the man entering said. “I was told you got two season tickets for me for the rest of the Suns’ season? I wanna get ‘em.”
    “You won a drawing. Yes. I’m glad you got here.” You have no idea how glad. “At four, the rules would have required we draw another name.”
    “Okay. Lemme have ‘em.”
    Maddie came out from behind the long table she had stood behind when she hung up from her make-believe call and slid her backside onto the table in front of Montoya. “Sue, you got those tickets? This is Mr. Montoya.”
    Sue came over with an envelope with the Phoenix Suns logo on the front. “Have you confirmed this is Mr. Montoya?”
    “Oh, no. Thanks for reminding me. We need some picture ID, Mr. Montoya. Your driver’s license will do it just fine.”
    “Why you need that?” Montoya asked. His hands drawn into easy fists.
    “Anyone could come in here and claim they are Carlos Montoya. We mentioned your having won the tickets to several people while we were trying to find you. Gotta be sure, we need picture ID. No other way.”
    Montoya reached into his back pocket and took out and opened his wallet.
    “I need it out of your wallet, sir. I need to make a copy.” When Montoya hesitated again, Sue added, “After that, the Suns girls will come from behind that curtain,” she pointed. “We’ll take a picture of them crowded around you in their cheerleading outfits, handing you the tickets. Publicity, you know. That’s our game. It’s why we’re doing this season ticket promo.”
    Gonzales, the uniformed officer who had been represented as the cameraman stepped closer. He put his camera on the table.
    Montoya handed the license to Sue, who looked at it and said, “That’s good enough. It’s definitely you, no doubt.” When Montoya reached forward to take back his license, Sue slapped a handcuff over his wrist. “You’re under arrest, Carlos Montoya, for suspicion of murder.” Gonzales grabbed Montoya’s other forearm and brought it around behind him to finish cuffing him. Sue read the suspect his rights.
    By five, Maddie and Sue had Montoya booked and he had called his attorney who agreed to get there at four-thirty. Maddie and Sue used the time to drive to the Suns’ real publicity office to thank them and return the paraphernalia they had used to stage the sting. When they got back to the station, the suspect’s attorney had arrived so they went through that dance, then she reported to Adam Harrison.
    “Lieutenant, the Suns suspect, as he has become known, is booked on murder-one. His attorney has met with him. He squawked a bit about our method of capturing his client, but I could see he was trying hard not to laugh at his client’s gullibility, not to