Chapter 15: Abel Schneiderman
Verbatim dialog from the "Green Thumb" episode is marked with an asterisk (*).
The FBI, Austin
National security hijacked the weekend.
The elevator chimed. Jane and Lisbon got off on their floor of the FBI building early Saturday morning. They paused, taking in the set-up. Part of the floor was lined with rows of chairs facing a podium and projection screen for a briefing. Unexpectedly, Kim Fischer came in from the break room and gave them a contemptuous glare as she walked by. Standing close to Jane, Lisbon was startled by the faint shudder she felt go through him at the sight of Fischer, though his expression remained pleasant. Gotta be more to it than just detention. Find out later.
Cho was seated in the back row with a two empty chairs adjacent. Lisbon seated herself next to him. Jane stood leaning on the back of the adjacent empty chair. Several heads turned as agents from other floors got their first look at their controversial new colleagues. Lisbon saw the five IT analysts they had interviewed and thought she recognized agents from the team that dismantled the CBI two years ago. She resolutely ignored the glances and low buzz. Abbott stepped to the podium and instantly commanded attention. Like well‑trained guard dogs, Jane thought, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.
"We'll be assisting our New York office on this case.* Most of its agents are in the middle of another major operation." Abbott turned to the case. "This is Abel Schneiderman,"* Abbott clicked to a slide of a man in his early 30's. "He led the team that wrote the new source code to protect the Federal Reserve Banking System. Two days ago, he disappeared from his loft in Brooklyn* after leaving work early because he felt ill." Abbott put up several photos of the apartment. "No signs of struggle. Schneiderman arrived home then vanished during the two hours before his wife got home from her job."
Jane interjected, "How do we know he got home? And didn't leave after?"
"The building has key card security for the only entrance except the fire escape. The system shows Schneiderman's key card was last used to enter at 3:18 p.m. A key card is also needed to exit unless the emergency alarm is triggered, which it wasn't. Several other residents entered and exited during the two hours till his wife arrived, but no one saw Abel Schneiderman. All residents were cleared by the New York FBI. His key card, cell phone and wallet were found in their apartment." Abbott looked over the assembled agents. "We are working on the theory he was kidnapped."*
Cho said, "So either the kidnapper had a key card. Or the fire escape was used without it attracting attention." No one else challenged the implausibility of the theory.
"That is the implication," Abbott said gravely.
After an awkward silence, "Has there been a ransom demand?"* Fischer asked.
"Not yet, but we're expecting it. Well, it's either that, or they will break him for the code and launch an attack on the Federal Reserve computer system. What Abel knows could bring our banking system to its knees."*
Jane exclaimed not so quietly, "Oh, this is exciting."*
Abbott ignored him and clicked to the next slide. "Abel has a young wife ‑‑ Defiance Schneiderman." Jane broke into a broad smile. Lisbon wondered why. "Now understandably, she's emotional and believes that the FBI is not utilizing all of its resources to find her husband. And unfortunately, we can't let anyone outside the FBI know that Mr. Schneiderman's been kidnapped."* Soberly, "Otherwise, it could cripple the financial systems. The New York office sent an FBI agent posing as a psychic, but Ms. Schneiderman saw right through that."*
Jane didn't mask his amusement. "Well, of course. She's a gypsy. Woman knows a thing or two about psychics."*
"What makes you say gypsy?"*
"Well, Defiance is a gypsy name. Look at her bedroom. It's gypsy catnip. Abel there is Jewish, which means she turned her back on her entire clan to get married. Now she has a missing husband and no family for support. It's a psychic 9‑1‑1."*
"Well there we are. Let's go to work." Abbott the made assignments. The NY FBI would focus its limited resources on in-person interviews in NY. Abbott divided the remaining tasks among his agents: Further investigate the other building residents, investigate Abel Schneiderman's coworkers, and figure out the key parties - domestic and foreign - which might have the motive and means to disrupt the US financial system.
Cho, Jane and Lisbon flew to New York to talk with Ms. Schneiderman. Fischer was on the same flight to coordinate with the New York FBI office, though she sat apart from Cho's group.
Brooklyn
Cho was to get as much information from the reluctant Defiance Schneiderman as possible and ensure she would keep confidential her husband's disappearance. They were met by NY FBI agent Ken Raichel. Fischer waved at Raichel then left for the FBI office after asking Cho to keep her in the loop. The group made their way to Raichel's vehicle. Raichel drove and Cho rode shotgun with Lisbon and Jane in back.
Weekend traffic gave them time to talk. Jane said, "You know Fischer." It wasn't a question.
Raichel glanced back at him. "We worked in the DC area. I transferred to New York almost two years ago. She left about the same time after some family changes."
"Her father?"
Raichel straightened, a bit surprised. "Yeah. Her father retired from government service and moved to Florida. Encouraged her to move forward with her career."
Lisbon hazarded her own guess. "Fischer was close to her father, wasn't she?"
"Very." He hesitated, then continued. "I thought it was a good for there to be a little more space between them. She seems to have done well under Abbott."
"I'm new, so I don't really know," Lisbon said tactfully. She wasn't sure why Jane wanted to know about Fischer, but trusted his instincts. Jane rarely did anything without a reason.
Traffic started moving again and Raichel's attention returned to driving. He parked, ignoring the no parking zone marked in white reflective paint when they reached the building. An FBI placard would avert any parking ticket. They got out and looked up at the old, five-story building sandwiched closely between similar buildings.
"This is where the Schneidermans live. It's mostly an abandoned storage building, but there are some renters on the top floors. No security cameras."*
Cho asked, "What kind of renters?"*
"Usual fringe types‑‑ artists, dropouts. These aren't legal dwellings, but they got a hell of a view."* Raichel opened the door with the temporary key card the building superintendent had given the FBI.
Jane said, "We need to talk to his wife and see all the areas Schneiderman might have been."
"This way."* Raichel led the group into the small, battered elevator car. They got out on the fourth floor. He led them to a metal door and unlocked it when there was no response to his knock. "Mrs. Schneiderman's giving us access while we're trying to find her husband." They took a quick look around. Raichel told them about the rooftop where Abel Schneiderman also spent time and was about to lead them out of the apartment just as a young woman with long dark hair entered. The group paused.
"Hi. Mrs. Schneiderman? Defiance?"* Jane opened.
"Defiance,"* she affirmed.
"You are Romani gypsy?"*
Surprised, "What do you know about it?"*
"Carny circuit. My dad was a showman. So, Defiance–"*
"Yeah."*
"Quite the painter."* Jane motioned to abstract oil paintings hanging on the walls.
Laughing, "And who are you?"* taking in his decidedly non‑regulation‑FBI appearance.
"Patrick Jane. I was invited by the FBI. They said you need help."*
"Oh, you're a psychic."*
"So I'm told."* Unconsciously holding her breath, Lisbon exhaled in relief at Jane's answer.
Derisively, "All right. Read my palm."* Schneiderman offered her left hand.
Jane looked at her, faint amusement showing. "It only works with a dominant hand."* She switched hands.
After a moment, "No. Can't do it."*
"I knew you were a fake."*
"No, you're not letting me in. You're anxious about finding your husband, and you don't want to be read by a gorger from the government. You're feeling scared and alone."* Jane sighed. "And you don't trust strangers."* He faced her, intense gaze catching hers. "And I don't blame you. You can't trust these guys."*
"Jane."* Lisbon cautioned, worried he would take it too far, especially with Raichel there.
He continued, "I mean, they mean well, and they'll find your husband if you let them do their thing."*
"Says you."*
"Yes, says me. Why are you asking the FBI to meet your spiritual needs? Don't you have a trusted psychic of your own?"*
"I do. Cleo. But he's not answering my phone calls."*
"Hmm. That is odd."*
"Can you find him? Can you find Abel?"*
"Where was the last place you saw him?"*
"On the roof, night before last."*
"What were you doing up there?"*
"Sharing a bottle of wine with my girlfriends. Abel came up there with his laptop. He likes to unwind on the roof. It's peaceful.* No one else goes up there except the super sometimes."
"I'd like to take a look at this roof,"* Jane said.
All five went up to the fifth floor. Mrs. Schneiderman waved her hand. "It's the stairs at the end of the hallway."*
The group trooped toward the stairs. Jane suddenly stopped and peered at a door. "Hi."*
Cho, "What is it?"
"Spyhole went dark."*
A security chain clattered and the door opened. An Asian man asked brusquely, "What?"*
Cho, "We're with the FBI. Sir, did you see or hear anything unusual in the last couple weeks?"*
"I already told you people, no."*
"We're with a different office."*
The man sighed with ill grace. "So many, like roaches."* He pulled back and closed the door. The deadbolt slid home with a click and the chain clattered.
Raichel, sourly, "Nice guy.* But he has been cooperating."
Lisbon offered, "His name is Nguyen Hai. He's a Vietnamese refugee. He used to run a noodle shop. Now he owns the building."*
Raichel's eyebrows rose. "Read the file?" Lisbon nodded. Raichel added, "He was home the evening of the disappearance, but didn't hear or see anything."*
Cho frowned. "Schneiderman disappeared. He either left or he didn't. Search this building?"
Raichel grimaced. "Every inch. Nothing."
The group slid the bolt aside and pushed open the door to the roof. It was an unseasonably warm fall day. They sidestepped the dirt piled waist high next to the doorway. As was typical in the city, it was a nearly flat gravel‑and‑tar roof. Rounded white pebbles reflected brilliantly in the bright sun. Several steel tables were lined with pots of various sizes and shapes, and even a long, deep trough filled with dirt. A low access hatch was covered with a hinged wooden lid covered with tar paper and secured with a padlocked hasp and loop. The gap in the low surrounding wall led to the fire escape. Steps connected the landings outside a window for each apartment. The last flight of stairs was hinged and counterbalanced. They would swing to the pavement only from the weight of a person, to keep kids or criminals from getting into the building.
After a quick look around, Jane joined Defiance Schneiderman as she looked out over the city.
"So Abel's things were in your apartment, but there was no sign of him when you got home?"
Tears welled up in her brown-black eyes. "That's right. I got home late from the bar.* Abel was gone with no sign of him."
"Was he expecting any visitors?"*
"I don't think so. He would have told me before I left."*
"This is your husband's garden?"*
"Mostly. The super sells some potted plants to the hotels and fancy buildings. -How'd you know about Abel?"
"Abel's energy's here. He pours his energy into this garden because he doesn't like being a computer programmer."*
"That's right."*
"He feels trapped in that world."*
"Yes."*
"It's an orderly world, full of rules and numbers. But it's not Abel's world. He sees himself more as a rebel soul."*
She tsked in fond memory of her husband, "He really loves that Che Guevara guy."*
"Yeah, that's why he rides a motorcycle. Grows his own vegetables. That's why he married you."*
"Oh, because I'm a gypsy?"* she asked, unsure whether to be offended.
"Yeah. Because you had the courage to walk away from centuries of tradition for love. You may not know it, but you give your husband the courage to be who he is on the inside."*
"Is Abel alive?"*
"Why don't you help me find him?"* Jane inhaled and slowly exhaled. "I can feel him."* He stretched his hands over the low wall palms out toward the city.
"Where is he?"*
"Just not getting a clear read.* I promise I will help find him. You need to keep this confidential to give us the best chance. Promise?"
She angrily swiped tears from the corners of her eyes and grabbed Jane's arm with both hands. "I promise. Just find him!" Jane nodded. He was the last to leave, glancing distractedly at the dirt pile a moment before pulling the door closed.
The FBI, Austin
Sunday morning found the Austin agents and consultant back in the bullpen.
"Debriefing. Jenkins?" Abbott cycled through the teams working the case to bring everyone up to date. Abbott summarized, "Nothing suspicious about any co‑workers. Nothing on any building residents or the superintendent. No reported lost or stolen key cards – at least not recently." He glanced at Cho's team, "Defiance Schneiderman appears to be innocent in this and continues to cooperate." Abbott frowned. "We received a ransom note yesterday afternoon. A first‑class letter sent directly to Abel Schneiderman's office postmarked at the busiest post office in New York City." Abbott used the projector to show the note and a photo of a beat up Abel Schneiderman holding a Friday newspaper edition.
Lisbon asked bemused, "What kind of kidnapper uses snail mail?"*
Wylie spoke up, "It's smart, really. Low‑tech, old school, no electronic footprint."*
Abbott continued, "Unidentified kidnappers want ten million deposited into an overseas account by midnight, or they will sell Schneiderman to the highest bidder. Next step would be a cyber‑attack on the Federal Reserve."*
Cho asked, "You want me to notify Secret Service?"*
"Please do."* Cho rose and left. "–Fischer?"
"The New York FBI narrowed his kidnapping suspects to three extremist groups* but we haven't uncovered any solid connections to Schneiderman yet."
"See what you can learn from the note. The photo shows the New York Times, so he's presumably still in the area."
Abbott addressed the whole group again. "Unless we come up with something solid, we will pay the ransom. We need to know who's behind this. They could have gotten critical information from Schneiderman even if we do get him back. The US could be vulnerable to blackmail demands until the system can be reprogrammed - which could take months. Everyone get on with it." The agents briskly returned to their tasks.
Lisbon and Jane hung back near the podium. Lisbon floated a thought to Abbott. "Defiance Schneiderman's psychic disappeared when her husband did. Awfully coincidental."
Abbott turned to the analysts straggling away. "You, Wylie, checked out the psychic, right?"
Wylie turned back. "Cleo Ascencio, New York psychic, astrologer, healer. His record's completely clean, though."*
Lisbon mused, "Cleo Ascencio. It's such a theatrical name. You think it's real?"*
"It is. We ran his fingerprints."*
"Let me guess. Clean record?"*
"Spotless."*
Abbott lingered to follow the conversation. "What are you suggesting, Lisbon?"*
"Ascencio‑‑ it sounds Cuban. There's a scam that they do in Cuba. Brokers charge large sums of money to surgically modify fingerprints. They swap the right fingertips and the left. It fools immigration every time."*
Impressed, Wylie asked, "How do you know that?"*
"I was a police chief ... with a lot of reading time on my hands."* Wylie looked at Lisbon and gestured at her desk. "Sure, use my computer. It's already on."
Within minutes Wylie had the answer. "I did what Lisbon suggested and ran the left‑hand fingerprints for the right. It worked! Cleo Ascencio transforms into–" he clicked the mouse, "Jose Martinez."*
Abbott asked, "And who is he?"*
"A fraud. A street hustler from Havana. Made a living picking pockets until he stole a wallet from one of Castro's ministers. Now he's wanted by the PNR. He fled Cuba and set up shop here."*
"Interesting. Not sure it's important."
Jane had hovered at the periphery, distracted while vaguely tracking the conversation. Shaking his head, puzzled, "This isn't right. There are no extremist kidnappers. What am I missing?"*
Lisbon offered, "Maybe Abel faked his own kidnapping to get money to escape the country."*
"That's very good, Lisbon. That is the best theory yet, but it's wrong, too," he said slowly. "I need another look at that building."*
"Really? Back to Brooklyn?"*
"Yeah."*
They looked to Abbott. He scrutinized them with narrowed eyes. "Okay. Cho's busy with the Secret Service. You two go. Fischer's going back to work with the New York office on those extremist groups. Work together."
Lisbon waited as Jane continued wool-gathering, gaze unfocused.
Abbott growled, "Get on with it."
Lisbon grabbed Jane's arm before he could react and muttered, "C'mon, Jane. Let's go check out your hunch."
Brooklyn
Sunday afternoon flights between Austin and Brooklyn were blessedly uncrowded. Fischer sat near the front of the plane. Jane and Lisbon sat farther back, nearer the engines. Lisbon squelched her impulse to complain. The engine noise would give her a headache, but she wouldn't question his desire to stay away from Fischer until she had a better handle on why.
Ken Raichel picked them up at La Guardia. He had the key card and vehicle, so it made sense for him to go to Schneiderman's building with Jane. Lisbon accompanied Fischer hoping to get information about the psychic from local law enforcement. She also wasn't satisfied with what they knew about the building superintendent and owner, Nguyen Hai. NY FBI agents put Lisbon in touch with local police. She got no more information on Ascencio. And the LEO she needed to talk to about Hai was unavailable till Monday. She and Fischer were just about done for the day.
Fischer's cell rang. After answering, Fischer motioned Lisbon over and put it on speaker phone. "What do you mean, Ken?"
"Jane went up to the roof. Said he didn't need me, so I waited in the lobby. One door in or out so we couldn't miss each other. Went up to the roof and the Schneidermans' apartment, but no Jane. He call or anything?"
Lisbon shook her head. Fischer answered, "No. Sure he didn't leave somehow?"
"Well – I did hear the fire escape bang on the sidewalk, but no one was there when I looked."
Lisbon speed dialed Jane's number, which went directly to voice mail. She closed her eyes, a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach.
"Just stay there for now, Ken." Fischer hung up and turned to Giovanni, the agent on duty. "I want a BOLO on Patrick Jane." She grabbed Lisbon's cell from her hand before Lisbon could react. Fischer showed him Jane's photo. "Can you use this picture?"
"Sure. Just take a minute." He took Lisbon's phone and left for another office
Fischer turned and looked at Lisbon. "Looks like Jane escaped." She smiled thinly, "Guess your partnership isn't so solid anymore."
Lisbon's hands clenched. Voice under iron control. "Let's find out what happened, agent. I need to get to that building."
Fischer said, "Ken reported what happened. You go right ahead. I have some calls to make."
Giovanni returned and handed Lisbon her phone. Lisbon left and hailed a taxi. She had time for a call on the ride there.
"Cho, we have a problem."