Oriole arrived at the office early before anyone else showed up. She had the BOLO, the warrant, and the request to cross county lines processed by 7:30. By 8:00, she was on her third cup of coffee, waiting for Fred to put in an appearance, and monitoring the email and fax regarding the warrant. At 8:15 the phone rang on her desk, "This is Detective Wolfe."
"My name is Sgt. Browley with Flagstaff PD. You sent out a BOLO on Tom Schumann?"
"Yes, we had one out and then sent the other just now. You got something?"
"I looked at the picture and the description you sent. It looks like this guy who took an apartment in my complex up here. He's been here about three weeks, but you don't see much of him and then all of a sudden he's here full time like maybe yesterday or day before. I saw him go into his apartment and then this morning I got the BOLO. Sure enough I'm 100% sure it's him. I have not approached him. I figured I'd better let you know first before I did anything." The excitement in Browley's voice carried the 100 miles to Prescott.
"Can you put him under surveillance? Can you make sure he doesn't know you're watching him?" Oriole sat bolt upright in her chair as she gripped the phone with white knuckles.
"I'll take a deputy and I'll go myself since I live in the complex. He'll never know. Are you coming up?"
"I'm calling my partner right now. We could be there in two hours. I'll get back to you shortly." Oriole hung up and picked up her cell phone and dialed Fred.
"Fred, where are you? We just got a break. Schumann might be in Flag. When can you get here?"
"I'm at the corner of Sheldon and Montezuma. I can be at the office in less than five minutes. I'll pick you up outside the sally port."
Eight minutes later they were on their way to Flagstaff, lights and sirens notwithstanding. The 1.5 hour trip was cut nearly in half with Fred's lead foot and the emblem on the side of the SUV. Oriole had called Browley for directions to the complex and an update on the suspect. Browley indicated that the department was available with a SWAT team if necessary and he was standing by at his residence.
Oriole and Fred pulled into the back parking lot of the complex to the back door of Browley's apartment at 9:05. Browley ushered them into his apartment and the living room behind closed curtains.
"His apartment is directly across the commons and one to the right. He is using the name of Tomas Wooden. I called the office, but didn't want to alert them just yet about their new tenant. Tell me what else you need from me."
"Can you tell if he is still in the apartment? And how sure are you it's our man?" Fred wanted information as to the course of action they would take.
"He is in the apartment. 99% sure."
"Good enough for me. Will you call your local judge and help me with a search/arrest warrant? We have the arrest warrant on the porn. Let's add an alias of Tomas Wooden. We're looking for evidence of embezzlement as well as kiddie porn, and we won't rule out murder."
"I'm on it."
The local magistrate issued the search/arrest warrant based on the affidavit and the arrest warrant from Yavapai County. Within five minutes it had been faxed to the complex office and in the hands of Sgt. Browley. The SWAT team moved into position after officers evacuated units on both sides of Wooden/Schumann.
"Let's create a diversion to get him outside. You knock on his door and identify yourself as maintenance and you're here to finish some project the parts just came in for. Can you carry that off?" Fred was directing although he would rather have been the actor.
"Sure. We've had installation of new microwaves over the last month because the original ones were defective and caused a fire. I'll just say his is now in and I need to make an appointment with him to take out the old and put in the new." Browley suggested.
"Okay. Our goal is to get him outside or us inside without any injuries to anyone. Get your foot in the door."
"Let's do it."
The detectives from Yavapai circled the parking lot while Browley donned a maintenance worker's uniform. Oriole took a position on the left of the apartment while Fred positioned himself on the right. Fred signaled Browley with the short wave radio they were in position and ready. Browley left the main office and meandered to Wooden's apartment and knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" Came from inside.
"Maintenance."
"What do you need?"
"I have your microwave here."
"Well just leave it and I'll install it myself."
"Wish I could. That's why we have to get all new micros. They were installed improperly into the oven/range unit to begin with. It will only take a minute of your time and then I can get on with the rest of my work." Browley was making it up as he went along.
"Okay. Hold on a minute let me get dressed."
Browley gave an imperceptible nod to the detectives to alert them he had succeeded. They slowly moved toward the front door and signaled the SWAT team to close in on the back door.
As soon as Tom opened the door to admit the maintenance guy, the detectives pushed into the apartment on his heels ordering Tom to the ground. For the next five minutes there was a lot of yelling and profanities and confusion. Tom complied with the directives issued, allowed himself to be handcuffed for officer safety, and sat on the couch in the living room. SWAT members entered the apartment and assisted with the search. The apartment was sparsely furnished so the search was completed fairly quickly. Of interest in findings were documents related to Tom Schumann's accounting business, Lisa Wood's accounts along with several others, and real estate property holdings in the name of Tomas Wooden.
Oriole read Miranda to Schumann while Fred bagged and tagged the evidence. "Do you understand your rights? And do you want to waive them?"
"Yeah I understand and yeah I'll waive them."
"I need you to sign this form so stating. I want you to know I'm tape recording as we speak. Tell me why you left Yavapai County."
"Are you kidding? You saw all that stuff. I screwed up. It wasn't really my fault. The money was taken. I admit that, but I didn't get any of it. It was that bitch, Monique Richards. She had her talons into me. She made me do it."
Oriole looked from Tom to Fred and back again. "You mean Monique Richards the stock broker?" Receiving a nod from Tom, Oriole went on, "What does she have to do with this situation?"
"I got involved with her, we had a hot and steamy affair and she found out about some stuff I was involved with and she started blackmailing me. Lisa Wood wasn't the only client. There were three or four others. She cleared close to a million through her blackmailing scheme. Somehow she had this so down pat, I bet I'm not the only one."
"What did you have to do with the death of Lisa Wood?"
"What?" Tom all but yelled. "No, not me. I'm positive it had to be her. Lisa started questioning her investment summaries and I told Monique. She was totally pissed. Monique said she was going to take care of the situation. I asked her what that meant and she said I'd see soon enough. Within days, Lisa was dead. It had to be Monique." Tom was now sweating profusely.
Oriole and Fred left Tom in the care of the sergeant and stepped outside. "What do you think of that disclosure?" Fred looked excited.
"Let's call the office and see if we can get a search warrant for Monique's bank accounts, office and home. We'll get someone to transport Tom back to Yavapai Detention Center and book him in and serve the search warrant on Monique."