Colt Crawford - Chapter 9 (Wednesday)

Creighton Ford’s financial records were not unusual.  He rented a house for $1,500 a month and had paid the landlord on time for the last year.  Not surprisingly he drove a Ford truck and made payments on that.  His credit card debt was heavy, but manageable.  The only red flag that stood out was the fact that he had withdrawn $500 from an ATM on the first of the month for the last 6 months.  Prior to that, he had only sporadically pulled cash out of his account.  

“What do you think of this?” Colt asked Krissy pointing to the line on his bank statement that listed the cash withdrawal.   

She glanced back at the previous statements, noting the pattern.  “Could be that he wanted to limit his credit card spending, so he went to a cash system.”

“Could also be a way to pay off debt without a way of tracing the money,” Colt added. “What about his credit card statements.  Has he stopped charging things?”

Krissy pulled out another stack of paperwork and started scanning the printouts.  Running her finger down the dates listed on the most recent American Express bill, it became apparent that he hadn’t cut the card up.  “No big purchases, but he is still using the plastic.”  

“If he’s paying someone off to the tune of $500 a month, he’s likely relying on credit to keep him afloat.”  Colt straightened his back as a subtle crackling noise rippled down his sore spine.  He’d been standing and leaning over the desk as he read the documents for several minutes and his age was beginning to catch up with him.  “So Creighton is deep into gambling debt to the tune of $500 a month.  He was affording that, but barely.”  Colt paused, thinking through the clues he knew.  “He must have increased his debt to the point that he couldn’t pay it anymore so his bookie sends him a message by kidnapping his girlfriend.”

“It’s the only theory we have right now.”  Krissy joined Colt standing.  “Let’s go talk to some college gamblers.  We still have no proof that Mathis is a bookie.  If these kids know the local market, they might lead us to him.”
 
***  
 
The University of Santa Barbara was located on a hundred acre campus adjacent to the beautiful coastline north of the city.  It had tall trees and plenty of shade but also opened up to the vast expanse of beach and ocean.  The setting was tranquil with Spanish-style architecture and red tile roofs spread across the campus.  

Colt and Krissy checked in with the campus police who had already made arrangements for two students to meet with the detectives in their office.  A young campus officer in full uniform led them to a small conference room in the back of the cramped police station.  An open window let a cool breeze fill the room.  The ocean air was refreshing and Colt drank it in with deep breaths.  Moments later two young men, probably in their early twenties, were escorted into the small room by the same uniformed officer who had taken Colt and Krissy back.

There was a look of confusion on the faces of the young men as they entered the small room.  “Are we in trouble?” one asked. 

“Because I have a right to a lawyer, so I’m not going to be talking without one.” 

“Relax,” Krissy said.  “We need you to help us solve another case.  We aren’t investigating you.”         

“We are looking into a kidnapping case that we think has ties to organized gambling,” Colt said.  “We have reason to believe that you might be of assistance to us.”

The mood seemed to lighten for a moment when one of the men, the one with wavy dark hair, spoke up.  “You care to place a little wager on tomorrow’s championship game?  Odds have Florida winning in a landslide, but you could probably do well to consider the underdog.” 

“That’s not what we had in mind,” Krissy said taking control of the situation.  “But I do need to know if you know the name Steven Mathis.”

“I might have heard of him.”  It was the other man this time, the one who had been introduced as Kevin.  “If there was a convincing enough reason, I might even recall where I heard the name.” 

“If you are looking for a payoff, just consider yourself lucky that cops aren’t watching you even closer,” Detective Malone said with a cop-like sneer. 

“I guess I’ve never heard of this Steven Mathis guy, then.”

The sound of Colt’s hand smacking the table rattled the room.  Kevin and his friend both jumped back as it came crashing down.  “I’m not a cop,” he said.  As he began to slide his hand off the table, he revealed the corner of a fifty dollar bill.  “So I guess I can’t officially pay you off.”