The Nominee

by Alan P Woodruff

  White had still not said anything by the time they reached the warehouse, and Leslie was beginning to think she had done something wrong. Damn it, Lucius White. Say something.

  They were just leaving the elevator on the mezzanine when White turned to face Leslie and said. “I guess it’s about time you moved your things into Harry’s office until he comes back.”

  Leslie smiled as she slapped him gently with a file.

  #

  White went directly to his office where he placed a call to Graham Brochette.

  “Graham, what do you know about a U.S. Attorney in Miami by the name of Lyle Wilson?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Of course. He worked in this office for about five years before transferring to Miami.”

  “Why did he transfer?”

  Brochette hesitated. “I think it had to do with some family issues.”

  “What kind of family issues?”

  “Before he transferred, he went through a messy divorce. He was pretty much wiped out, both financially and emotionally. He may have been looking for a fresh start.”

  White nodded.

  “Or it may have had something to do with my appointment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was also being considered for my position. He was acting-U.S. Attorney here, and he wanted it made permanent. He wasn’t happy about being passed over, and things were a little strained when I first got here.”

  “Were they still strained when he left?”

  “I don’t think so. He worked for me for three years. When I took over the office, I put him in charge of all our drug cases, and let him decide which state cases we’d take over. He had a little empire of his own, and he seemed perfectly happy.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “That’s a strange question.”

  “He’s taking over David’s cases. I need to know all about him.”

  “Uh huh. Well, I don’t have any reason not to trust him. Of course, I haven’t worked with him for a few years.”

  “Were you on good terms when he left?”

  “I think so. He even stopped by to visit on the day of David’s probable cause hearing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “My secretary told me.”

  “What was he doing in Tampa?”

  “The office log shows that he was here to review some case files.”

  “Why would he have to review case files in the Tampa office?”

  “It’s not that unusual. Investigations by one office often require information on investigations going on in another office, especially when the offices cover neighboring districts.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have just called to get the information?”

  “Normally he would. But he used to live in Tampa. Maybe he was coming to town for some other reason.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Why do you want to know about Lyle?”

  “He’s in charge of your son’s case.”

  “Yeah. I know. He called me when the matter came up. He told me he was going to ask for the case and he wanted to know if I had any problem with him prosecuting my son.”

  “And did you?”

  “I felt a little awkward at first. But if it has to happen, I’d rather someone I know is in charge.”

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  “I hate to admit it, but I don’t know that much about him. He’d been with the office about a few when I got here. He was already supervising the work of younger assistant U.S. attorneys. He didn’t get into the courtroom much, so I can’t tell you a lot about his trial skills.”

  “But you worked with him for three years. You must know something I can use.”

  “As I said, he was already a supervisor when I got here. He kept me informed on the status of cases in his section. As long as there weren’t any problems, he pretty much ran his own shop.”

  “Did you ever have any disagreements with him?”

  Brochette hesitated before responding. “That’s an odd question.”

  “I’m just trying to get some insight into his personality.”

  “Well… now that you ask…”

  “What?”

  “He was generally hard-nosed about cutting deals, even with cases I didn’t think were that strong. He’d rather risk losing at trial than cut a deal.”

  “But…”

  “There were maybe half a dozen times I thought he should have taken over some state cases.” Brochette paused as if trying to dredge up old facts. “The evidence was good, and the dealers seemed to be serious players.”

  “But isn’t it your policy to let the state’s attorneys prosecute their own cases?”

  “That’s right. And that was the problem. The dealers in the cases Lyle passed on seemed important. I thought he should have taken over. But his decisions were consistent with my policy.”

  “You didn’t have to approve his decisions.”

  “They were judgment calls, and I try to support my people.”

  “So, you trust him?”

  The silence on the other end of the line continued longer than it should have.

  “Graham?”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  But you know something you aren’t telling me. What the hell is going on?

  22.

  It was Monday, the week before Christmas. Horse wasn’t surprised to see that the judicial docket, posted on the notice board beside the bank of elevators, didn’t show any trials commencing that week. Judges have no more interest in working over the holidays than anyone else. The judicial calendar only listed a smattering of hearings. Attorneys don’t like to work over the holidays either.

  “Would you be Mister McGee?” a voice behind Horse said.

  Horse turned and introduced himself to Detective Peter Gordon, retired. Gordon was unimposing in every respect. Short, no more than five-foot-seven-inches, and small framed. His face was narrow, his hair gray and thin. It was hard for Horse to imagine him as the highly regarded narcotics detective Lou Hamilton described when he arranged the meeting.

  “I hope you don’t mind if we grab a quick sandwich in the canteen. I have the misfortune of being involved in one of the few cases being heard this week. The judge wants this case wrapped up today, and he only gave us forty-five minutes for lunch.”

  “What kind of a case is it?” Horse asked, just to make small talk as they walked down the hallway to the canteen.

  “Divorce,” Gordon said. “That’s mostly what I’ve been doing since I left the force.”

  Horse resisted the temptation to say something. Surveillance in domestic relations cases was generally regarded as the bottom rung of the private investigation ladder.

  Gordon seemed to read Horse’s mind. “Running around seeing who’s screwing who isn’t what I figured I’d be doing when I retired and hung out my shingle…” Gordon paused to exchange holiday greetings with a uniformed policeman. “But Palm Beach is a little different. Sometimes I think everyone on the island is sharing sausages with someone other than his or her lawful spouse. Their divorces involve big money, and I mean big money. Scorned spouses are willing to pay very well for proof that hubby has a wandering dick.”

  They entered the canteen and Gordon dropped his briefcase onto a plastic chair. “What’ll you have? My treat.”

  “Chicken salad on a Kaiser roll and iced tea would be fine.”

  “Betty,” Gordon called out to the elderly woman behind the counter. “Two bird salads on rolls and a couple of cold teas.”

  Gordon let his coat slip off his shoulders and laid it on the back of the chair where he’d dropped his briefcase. “Now what can I do for you,” he asked as he took a seat opposite Horse. “Lou Hamilton didn’t tell me much.”

  “I’m interested in information on heroin trafficking.”

  “Ah, the good old days,” Gordon said as if there was something nostalgic
about the heroin trade. “I hear it’s still a problem down in Miami. A lot of heroin was being spread around Liberty City, but not much up here. Designer drugs and cocaine are the mind adjusters of preference among the obscenely rich.”

  “What about a few years ago?”

  “Now that’s a different story.” Gordon seemed to find something amusing in old memories. “Not that we had a big problem on the streets, but we had us a hell of an investigation into importing the stuff.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “There isn’t that much to tell. A lot of heroin was hitting the streets up in Jacksonville, over in Tampa and down in Miami. The State Attorney General put together a multi-jurisdictional task force to share information. The local authorities cut deals with a few users, got the names of some street dealers and worked their way up the food chain to a few distributors, but that’s where the trail ended. None of the distributors ever had direct contact with the top guy.”

  “None of them?”

  “None of them would admit to anything. Whoever was bringing the stuff into the country was either very good or very careful. But most everyone we talked to claimed the stuff was being brought into the country by someone right here.”

  “Who?”

  “We never did nail anyone. The task force was on it for about a year. Had a hell of a lot of leads, I’ll tell you that. But we just couldn’t nail the guy.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was smart. Never got within two or three guys of the stuff himself. I gotta hand it to him. He had himself a slick network. We got close, but we never got anyone high enough to give us the big man.”

  “So, you don’t know who he is.”

  “Not that I could prove… but I had my suspicions.” As he spoke, Gordon rearranged the condiment containers in front of him. “Trouble was, all of a sudden everything stopped. No more leads were coming from other cities. No more snitches. It was like whoever was the local kingpin, if there ever was one, packed up and vanished.”

  “Is that what you think happened?”

  “No one much cared what I thought. But no. I don’t think he left. I think he just moved on to something safer.”

  “Do you have someone specific in mind?”

  “Yeah. There was a Cambodian guy who worked for a lawyer name of Richard Barlow. He’s a—”

  “Immigration lawyer,” Horse completed the sentence.

  “He the guy you’re looking at?”

  “His name has come up.”

  Gordon nodded before continuing. “You know, immigration’s not the biggest part of Barlow’s practice. At least not anymore.”

  “Oh. What is?”

  “He’s the ‘go to’ guy for drugs.”

  “That’s interesting. When did he start doing that?”

  “I don’t remember. It was a while ago. But I think it was about the time his kid got nailed for possession of heroin?”

  “That could have an effect on a father. Did he handle the case?”

  Gordon rubbed his hands, seeming to think about the question. “Yeah. I think he did. And he seemed to have the magic touch.”

  “How’s that?”

  Gordon shook his head. “A lot of his cases were thrown out for bad searches or some other technical reason.”

  “And you didn’t like that.”

  “Well sure. No cop likes it when someone walks on a technicality, but….” Gordon paused and surveyed the room before leaning closer to Horse. “But I think Barlow won a lot of cases he had no business winning.”

  “Do you think cases were being fixed.”

  “Those are your words, not mine.”

  Horse paused while he jotted some notes. When he looked up, he asked, “Did you ever think Barlow’s interest went beyond just representing drug dealers.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t remember him representing many dealers. Mostly just users.”

  “Didn’t you find that odd?”

  “I didn’t think about it. But now that you mention it….”

  “Yes?”

  “At one point I thought he might be a dealer.”

  “What made you think that.”

  “Well, it wasn’t him personally. It was this Cambodian guy he had working for him. Supposedly he was Barlow’s investigator. But I had some low-level snitches who claimed he did more than investigate.”

  “Like what?”

  “No one would, or could, say anything definite. I just put a lot of little things together and got a bad feeling about the Cambodian.”

  “And Barlow?”

  “Nothing definite. But if the Cambodian was involved, I figured Barlow had to have something to do with it.”

  “What do you have on Barlow?”

  “Not much. We never had enough to even bring him in for questioning.”

  “Why not?”

  “This guy has serious juice in important circles. He’s cozy with the prosecutors in the state’s attorney’s office, and I hear he’s got some politicians that owe him favors. You don’t drag guys like him in for questioning unless you have something solid.”

  “Do you think he’s still in the business?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  Betty delivered their sandwiches. Neither of them said anything as they chewed and thought.

  Horse washed down a bite of sandwich with a swallow of iced tea and resumed their conversation. “You said something about a task force looking into the heroin trade. What can you tell me about that?”

  “There’s not much to tell. Like I said, the brass figured there was a connection between someone here and the major distributors in Jacksonville, Tampa, and Miami. Each of the jurisdictions assigned someone to the task force. We exchanged leads and got together once a month to share ideas.”

  “Did anything come from the task force?”

  Gordon chuckled. “I got some great out-of-town meals at taxpayer’s expense… but nothing else.”

  “You didn’t mention the FBI or the DEA. Were either of them involved in the task force?”

  “When’s the last time the feds cooperated with anyone?”

  “Dumb question,” Horse admitted.

  “Damned straight.”

  “Do you remember anyone else on the task force?”

  “Just one guy — and I wouldn’t remember him except that he got himself elected to Congress.”

  “Congressman St. James,” Horse said, without looking up from his sandwich.

  Gordon’s eyes brightened. “There you go.”

  “What was your impression of St. James?”

  Gordon stared at his plate before speaking. “I hate to say anything about another cop .. .”

  “But he’s not a cop. He’s a congressman.”

  Gordon laughed. “Well, I don’t mind saying anything bad about a politician.”

  “So you didn’t like him?”

  “Didn’t trust him.”

  “Why?”

  “He was worse than the feds. He’d take all the information we came up with, but he wouldn’t share what he had.”

  “Why do you suppose that was?”

  Gordon put down his sandwich and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “I remember thinking about that one time after we all got together. We had met for dinner in Miami. As usual, St. James didn’t bring anything new to the table. After dinner, I met for drinks with another guy I knew in the narcotics division. We were swapping stories when he started talking about some scumbag who was ready to cut a deal and rat out a whole heroin network.”

  “And St. James hadn’t mentioned any of this?”

  “No. But that’s not all. It turns out the rat was released on bail, but he got himself killed before he could talk. A needle of pure smack in the arm.”

  “And you’re sure St. James knew about this?”

  “Know about it. He was responsible for keeping an eye on the guy. You know, making sure he stayed safe until he testified.”

  Horse perked up. “What happe
ned?”

  “The surveillance car went to the wrong address. Apparently, someone transposed the digits on the guy’s location.”

  “And you didn’t think anything of that?”

  “Not at the time,” Gordon said between bites. “Shit happens. And besides, I wasn’t inclined to bust anyone’s balls. St. James was a cop, for God’s sake.”

  “Did you ever ask him about it?”

  “Yeah. I mentioned it at our next meeting. He admitted the story was true, but he claimed the guy hadn’t said anything useful.”

  “He must have said something to get a bail reduction.”

  “He gave up the names of some local bottom feeders. But he was still holding the good stuff when he was murdered.”

  Horse pushed himself away from the table, crossed his legs and took a bite of his pickle.

  “Do you know anything about the Cambodian who worked for Barlow?”

  “Not really. Just some loose threads that may have linked him to some out of town dealers. Like I said, I wanted to look at him a little closer, but I didn’t have enough to justify ruffling Barlow’s feathers. Was he involved in moving the drugs?”

  “He may have been. Have you heard anything about him?”

  “Not for a long time.”

  “Anything else?”

  Gordon continued to munch on his sandwich as he thought. For a moment he looked at Horse as if trying to decide how much to say. Finally, he swallowed and leaned forward. “There’s one thing that bothered me about the way the task-force was closed down.”

  Horse waited while Gordon took a swallow of iced tea. “Now, mind you, this is just instinct talking.” Gordon swept his plate to the side with the back of his hand and leaned forward on his elbows. “I think we stumbled onto something the feds were interested in and we got called off.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t have enough to bring Barlow in, but I had enough to ask for a wire-tap.”

  “Horse stopped chewing and waited expectantly.

  “Nada.”

  “You didn’t get the warrant?”

  “No. And right after I asked for the wire-tap warrant the task force was disbanded.”