The Conway's Conspiracy Page 10

  “The guy is kaput …” Lee leapt joyfully. “He’d turned mad…”

  Graham stared at his colleagues and stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Canamera patted his back. “Are you going to see mommy?”

  “I’m going home,” he answered with a blurry smile. “My wife is taking me out to dine.”

  “Happy husband…” Bogatt shrieked mockingly. “Look at him… Beethoven going to the opera…”

  They laughed.

  Graham took his jacket and walked toward the door. As he was stepping out, Galiss said, “Hey, Marvin called... You must meet him in the bank…”

  “When…?” he turned around and looked at the federal delegate.

  “Tomorrow morning… At ten o’clock…” Galiss answered amusingly.

  * * *

  It was the beginning of autumn and heavy rains poured all over the state of Florida. Miami’s bright sky had darkened and the sun struggled to light up the city.

  Florida’s climatic impact is sometimes devastating. Different seasons cause traumatic shifts in people’s lives. At times, it can be overwhelming. During the period of hurricanes, Flo- ridians prepare for the worse. Two years ago, the state was deeply wounded and, this time around, everybody strove to

  be ready. .

  Graham arrived in the Hauss & Caust Bank at precisely ten o’clock in the morning. Seven months after the deadly hold-up, life had returned to normal. The crowd was back and the institution seemed to prosper. Two security guards patrolled the front yard. One of them recognized the FBI agent and ran to shake his hand. Graham smiled and entered the premises.

  It was busy. Apparently, yesterday’s relics were relegated to the museum of souvenirs. Observing the crowd, Graham remembered he was head of household and should be preparing for the forecasted hurricane. The investigation had not allowed him to take responsibility. His poor wife had to take care of it all. The detective promised himself to be more attentive to the plight of his family.

  He was walking toward the reception desk when Marvin Johnson patted his shoulder. “You’re punctual,” the playboy said mockingly. “It’s not usual for a cop…”

  Graham smiled and grumbled with a disdainful nod, “It’s not our fault, Marvin... We must do so much to ensure your safety.”

  The banker laughed and admitted that those damn policemen had a heavy load on their shoulders. Unfriendly and hesitant, the Vice-President invited him to the conference room. “Come in… Joyce is waiting for you.”

  He entered and Marvin left him alone with the teller.

  Twenty-nine years old Joyce was an attractive blond with braids of stylishly combed hair surrounding her head. Graham looked at her blooming hypocritical face and smiled gently. She approached, shook his hand, and invited him to sit down. The FBI agent stayed immobile for a moment and said, “But… it’s here I met the other one…”

  Joyce stared at him incredulously.

  Graham made a move to sit down but stopped. “Really... It was here…” he muttered in a puzzling tone.

  The teller stayed agape. “This man must be crazy...” she seemed to say to herself.

  The FBI agent turned toward her and mumbled hurriedly, “I must go back to the office...Tell Marvin I’ll call this afternoon…”

  He made an about-face and ran away.

  Graham’s colleagues were present when he burst in the administrative unit of the FBI Regional Headquarters. Galiss, Canamera, Bogatt, and Lee stared wide-eyed. Without paying attention to them, the African American ran toward a filing cabinet and pulled a drawer. Sitting behind a desk, Canamera looked at him.

  “Detective, please, let me sit down…” he seemed to be in a boisterous emotional state.

  “What’s going on?” Galiss asked apprehensively.

  “Nothing is yet clear…” he answered with a feverish nod; “there is a chance we may finally get to the bottom of it...”

  Hearing those words, the quartet quickly surrounded him.

  “What happened?” Lee asked worriedly.

  “Wait a moment…” Graham waved and sat down. “Let me see something…”

  Searching in a briefcase, he pulled a large file. On the cover was this title: “HAUSS & CAUST BANK-PERSONNEL INVESTIGATION-MAY 27.”

  He opened it and carefully examined some exhibits. After pointing out a few of them, he sighed and turned around.

  “Yeah… That’s it…” he was obviously relieved.

  “What is it, man?” Bogatt asked anxiously.

  He interrupted the police supervisor. “Please, Bill, let me finish… Hey, Canamera, bring me the owners’ list of white Chevrolet Corsica…”

  The Puerto Rican ran to a file cabinet, pulled a drawer, searched for a moment, and took a sheet of paper. Graham grabbed it, scrutinized the names, and said, “Now, give me the travelers’ list of April 17…Jamaica Air…”

  Canamera searched frantically and pulled a list in the middle of a pile. Graham took it, looked for a few seconds, and declared confidently, “On this piece of paper rests the resolution of The Hauss & Caust Affair... Seems like we’ve a connection…”

  “For God’s sake…” Galiss yelled forcefully. “What is it about?”

  “For more than a week, I’ve been trying to get a clear glimpse in my memory,” Graham was now calm and collected. “It began when a name on a manifest caught my attention…”

  He nodded, smiled, and continued, “Last Tuesday, while examining data from Miami International Airport, I picked up the Jamaica Airline’s list of travelers and was captivated by some intriguing details. Later, I found myself pondering about names memorized in a moment of mental concentration.”

  He waved and shook his head. “This morning, at The Hauss & Caust Bank, as I was getting ready to question the teller, there was a bang and it suddenly clicked. The missing element sprang over, liberating my mind from a depressing bind…” he sounded weird and ambiguous.

  “There is, in the bank, an employee named Jonathan Conway,” he said calmly. “Joe, as they call him, is apparently a

  good boy... I had grilled him on May 27. As I recall, he was worried and showed bizarre reluctance. I then attributed his attitude to fear of authority; but, maybe, Joe had reasons to be worried…”

  “Guys, remember now,” he grinned enigmatically; “several eyewitnesses had confirmed that Karl Stefan used a white Chevrolet Corsica. On the owners’ list of white Chevrolet Corsica through April 17, there is an ex-convict named Jonass Conway. And what do we discover next? On April 17, four travelers of Jamaica Air, all with the name Conway, left Miami for Montego Bay. Jonass was among them… They took off at eleven o’clock, a few hours after the holdup.”

  He nodded, looked at his colleagues, and said, “Before going after Jonass, I suggest we try something else...”

  “What?” Canamera asked earnestly.

  “As well as Jonathan, Jonass is from Atlanta,” said Graham. “The maintenance boy had told me he had no brother… A request to the Division of Atlanta Vital Statistics should verify that declaration...”

  “I’m going to send the request,” Galiss said without hesitation. “We should know in less than forty-eight hours.”

  “We can get it all by fax...” Bogatt replied knowingly. “The Division supervisor is my friend. Let me call him…”

  Pulling a notebook from his pocket, he located a number and dialed it. “Bogatt here...” he said with a hint of apprehension. “Can I speak to Molton?”

  Molton was absent but would be back soon. “Tell him to call Arthur Bogatt urgently,” he gave his number to the interlocutor on the other end of the line.

  Ten minutes later, the telephone rang. He picked it up. It was Molton.

  “My friend, it’s me, Arthur Bogatt…” he said anxiously. “How are you doing? I need your help... We must have complete data on the birth certificates of several people... I’m going to let you talk to my colleague... He’ll give you the names.”

  Graham took over and spelled the
names carefully: “Jonathan Conway, Peter Conway, Jonass Conway, Edward Conway, and Garry Conway.”

  Graham gave a fax number to Molton. Bogatt took back the receiver. “When will we get them? It’s extremely urgent… I count on you, Molton…” his voice was alarming.

  “If the information is in,” the man answered cordially, “you’ll soon get it…”

  Bogatt thanked him and hung up.

  “Why the hell didn’t we run everybody’s criminal record?” Canamera sounded nervous and frustrated. “It was a mistake…”

  “If this Jonathan is connected with those travelers, it could be the key to it all…” Galiss said pensively. “The follow-up would develop with few difficulties...”

  “Do they know anything at the bank?” asked Lee.

  “I didn’t say a word,” answered Graham; “but I’m sure Joyce has noticed my agitation…”

  “Who is Joyce?” inquired Galiss.

  “The teller, one of Marvin’s many mistresses…” the detective answered mockingly.

  “Did you see Jonathan?” asked Canamera.

  “No…” nodded Graham. “I didn’t ask for him.”

  “If your inference is true,” Lee asserted matter-of-factly, “how do you explain this man’s presence in the bank after more than six months?”

  “Who said he is still in the bank?” Graham looked at him.

  “It’s not difficult to verify,” said Bogatt. “Let’s call the bank…”

  “Is it a good idea?” Lee mumbled dubiously. “We should avoid arousing suspicions…”

  “I’m burning,” groaned Bogatt. “Let’s try... It’s no big deal…”

  The police supervisor picked up the telephone. “What’s the number?”

  Graham searched in his notebook. “456-3333,” he said with a bit of hesitation.

  Bogatt dialed the number. “Can I speak to Jonathan Conway?” he asked placidly.

  “Who…?” inquired the receptionist.

  “Jonathan Conway,” said Bogatt.

  “What department…?” asked the receptionist.

  “Maintenance,” he answered smoothly.

  “Hold on…” the receptionist transferred the call.

  “Who do you want to speak to?” a gentle voice resounded immediately.

  “Conway...” said Bogatt. “Jonathan Conway…”

  “He doesn’t work here anymore,” the voice replied annoyingly. “He was fired…”

  “When…?” asked Bogatt.

  “About two weeks ago,” answered the voice.

  “Do you know where I can find him?” insisted Bogatt.

  “No, sir, I don’t…” the person hung up.

  Bogatt turned toward his colleagues. “Joe is gone...” he said worriedly. “He was fired...”

  The four men stayed wide-eyed. Graham yelled, “Jamaica

  Air... Let’s call Jamaica Airline…”

  Bogatt picked up the telephone. “What’s the number?”

  Graham consulted the list. “789-2278.”

  “He was fired two weeks ago... What’s that makes it?” asked Bogatt.

  Lee started counting with his fingers. “November fifteen… fourteen… thirteen… twelve… eleven…”

  Galiss said, “November first... Is that right, Lee?”

  The doctor was still counting. “Yeah... That’s it…” he mumbled awkwardly.

  Bogatt dialed the number.

  “Ask to speak to George,” yelled Galiss. “He is the boss.”

  “FBI Regional Office…” said Bogatt with a sharp voice. “Can I speak to George?”

  “Hold on a second…” somebody answered quickly.

  A moment later, George was on the telephone.

  “Let me talk to him…” Galiss approached vividly. “We know each other…”

  He took the receiver. “Hey, George… It’s me, Galiss… How are you doing? Can you send me your travelers’ lists from November first to this day? I need them badly.”

  “I can send them by courier,” answered George.

  “No… Please, fax them to me… It’s a matter of life and death... Let me give you the information. Do you’ve a pen?” Galiss repeated the number.

  “George, get somebody to do it as quickly as possible and send us an invoice,” his voice was beseeching.

  “Okay…” replied the manager.

  “When will we get them?” insisted Galiss.

  “Right away...” the man answered nicely. “Didn’t you say it’s a matter of life and death?”

  “Thank you my friend,” said Galiss.

  About thirty minutes later, the fax machine sent a signal. Graham quickly grabbed the pages. They all came from Jamaica Air.

  The FBI agent scrutinized the list of November first. Jonathan’s name was not on it. He looked further and, suddenly, a bright smile lightened his face. Turning toward his colleagues, he said proudly, “Come along, my friends... Come and see with your own eyes…”

  The four men quickly surrounded him.

  “Jonathan Conway…” Graham was jubilant. “The third name on the list!”

  At this moment, the telephone rang. It was Molton. Bogatt took the call but left the receiver opened, so, everybody could hear.

  “What’s going on, Bill…? Your line was busy,” said Molton.

  “You’ve the information?” Bogatt asked anxiously.

  “Yes,” replied Morton.

  “Please, give it to me...” he picked up a pen and a notebook.

  There was a brief moment of silence; then, Molton’s voice resounded again. “Jonass Conway…Born in Miller County Hospital … November 30, 1928. Mother: Josefina Conway. Father: Unknown. Garry Conway…Born in Miller County Hospital … May 7, 1933. Mother: Josefina Conway. Father: Unknown. Edward Conway…Born in Miller County Hospital … January 19, 1937. Mother: Josefina Conway. Father: Unknown. Peter Conway…Born in Miller County Hospital … September 22, 1940. Mother: Josefina Conway. Father: Unknown. Jonathan Conway … born …”

  The detectives looked at each other and applauded. They

  walked toward Graham and hugged him.

  “My friends,” Galiss said cheerfully, “we’ve got them… Let’s go run their criminal records…”

  * * *

  Jamaica... Montego Bay... Words with awesome touristic evocations… The decor of reggae and breathtaking panoramas welcomed travelers from all over the world. In the festive city, life went on in a flow of joyful celebrations. What bliss and how wonderful… Over there, on the mountaintop, Joe had arrived, at last! Now a bunch of multimillionaires, the Conway brothers mimicked gestures and excesses of the rich and famous.

  The baby had reached his goal. The fruits of his work appeared incredible.

  “One must have the courage of his ambition,” Jonass said with poise. “Joe exterminated the Pozy brothers... Heroic, isn’t it?”

  They congratulated Jonathan for his courage and resilience. With his arm and mind, the baby had imposed his will to the United States of America.

  “Our attainments are unprecedented in the annals of great criminal accomplishments,” Peter was triumphant. “They’re the results of a concurrence of heart and brain whose example will enlighten the world forever.”

  “We must preserve what we fought so hard to earn,” Jonass warned them. “Such accomplishment will surpass all we’ve done.”

  Aware of the precariousness of their situation, the ringlea- der took tight measures of safeguard and prevention. Securi-

  ty guards were hired and formed a rampart around the villa. In donjons and abutments, sentinels were placed with instruction to signal suspicious activities. Using the arm of corruption, they bribed enforcers of the law and obtain a number of weapons: pistols, rifles, and hand grenades were in their arsenal. Garth Propilo and his cousin, Jarrig, both members of the city’s police force, became pawns in Jonass’ brutal hands. With sophisticated telescopes, well-trained security agents constantly watched over the area.

  “We’ve hit it big
and proven great team ability,” said Jonass. “More than ever we must be careful because indiscretion can be deadlier than the grenades in our arsenal. Awareness of our surroundings is more important than guns and machetes. Guys, follow up with this idea if you want to get away with it.”

  He paused, stared them down, and linked up, “You act like punks because you think everything is nice in a wonderful world. Be realistic... We’re on shaky ground...”

  Stamping his feet on the floor, he talked spitefully, “The time of peace has not come, yet… Our boat is still in the middle of a stormy sea… Every day of survival adds a measure toward safety; but it’s a long and scary experience. Please, stop being foolish!”

  They listened and showed respect for the ringleader who had become sort of a guru. In their minds, his deliberate voice resounded cold but rightful. His warnings made them understand how important it was to be careful.

  Physical hardships and moral suffering had hardened Jonass to the point of emotional rigidity; but, at times, he showed surprising intellectual depth. His stern reasoning pro- ceeded from reflections based on personal experience and a

  prolific imagination.

  The story of his life showed how deliberate he could be. In the course of his trial for swindle, his verbal brio so much captivated the audience the judge could not help praising the thoughtfulness of his defense. “You’re remarkably balanced,” the Magistrate said admiringly. “How could you have committed such a stupid crime?”

  The gangster answered that his criminal defeat was proof that the deed of evil is efficient only when the arm of justice fails to react adequately. That declaration aroused an explosion of laughter.

  The ringleader took several preventive measures. Now, his brothers had to choose carefully friends and sexual partners. Peter had nothing to change in his behavior. Miriam was the love of his life and the Atlanta vagabond was no womanizer. But Garry and Edward, the Hauss and Caust riflemen, as dubbed by Jonathan, had gotten used to carnal debauchery and were not willing to obey.