White tugged at his ear. “Let me get this straight. You think David Shepard and Tom Jackson were connected to a heroin network.”
“I don’t know about Shepard. I don’t have anything connecting him to heroin. As far as I know, he wasn’t ever a user.”
“But Jackson’s another matter?”
“That’s right. He’s got a record of using. And we’re looking into links between his father and heroin traffickers.”
“You do know they were arrested in Matlacha for possession of cocaine.”
“I’m aware of that. But that isn’t my interest.”
“I thought you had taken jurisdiction of David’s whole case.”
“Just Tom Jackson’s murder. Like I said, I think they may have been connected to heroin trafficking over here. Their cocaine case is still with the state’s attorney over there. But I may also take jurisdiction of that case if that’s what it takes to make a deal.”
“Paul Parker said you had taken over both cases and had taken all of his files.”
“I don’t know why he would have told you that.”
White and Horse looked at each other and shrugged. Their expressions showed that they were both questioning what was happening. It took White a few seconds to realize that Wilson was waiting for him to speak.
“And you’re willing to give my client a get-out-of-jail-free card in exchange for what he knows?”
“As far as I’m concerned, killing Jackson saved the government the cost of a trial. I’d be happy if the bastards who push drugs all killed each other off. Short of that, I’d make a deal with the devil to break up a major network.”
“What makes you think my client knows anything?”
“He was working with Jackson. Jackson was ready to cut a deal when your client killed him. We assume Jackson knew something important, and your client had to kill him to keep him quiet.”
“Assuming that what you say is all true, what makes you think Shepard would have had the authority to kill Jackson.”
“For all we know, someone they were both working for ordered the killing.”
“Do you think they were part of a larger drug distribution network?”
“I’m sure of it. But that’s all I can tell you?”
White leaned back in his chair and swiveled toward the window. Something was wrong. The offer Wilson was making was too good. There had to be a catch somewhere.
“My client would require complete immunity.”
“He won’t even have a federal arrest record.”
“And the drug bust?”
“It’s too late to void the arrest, but I’ll agree to a reduction of the charges to simple possession and probation.”
“What if Shepard tells you everything he knows, and you think he knows more?”
“Nothing he says will be used against him?”
Where the hell is the catch? “I’ll get back to you.”
#
“Graham. I just got off the phone with Lyle Wilson. He wants to talk deal for David.”
White heard Brochette take a deep breath.
“Graham?”
“Sorry. I… ah… that’s great. You just caught me by surprise. That’s not something I would have expected.”
“Me neither.”
“What’s the deal?”
“We’ll talk when you get here.”
#
White, Leslie and David Shepard were alone in the War Room. Shepard sat at the conference table. Leslie sat on a chair in the corner. White leaned against the wall opposite Shepard.
“Here’s the deal, David,” White began softly. Shepard looked nervously at White. He knew something important was coming, but White’s tone wasn’t encouraging. “The U.S. attorney is willing to give you a walk and complete immunity in exchange for everything you know about what Jackson was up to.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Shepard said hopefully.
“Too good,” White said. “The only obvious catch is that Lyle Wilson, he’s the U.S. attorney in charge of your case, gets to decide if you’ve really lived up to your end of the bargain.”
“I don’t understand.” The look that had begun as one of hope was already becoming something else.
“You could tell Wilson everything you know, but he could still claim you haven’t been completely honest and withdraw the deal.”
Shepard bit his lip. “What if I don’t know anything?”
“Wilson thinks you do.”
“But what if I really don’t?”
White looked toward Leslie as he took a seat opposite Shepard. She nodded imperceptibly and spoke for the first time. “He probably won’t believe you.”
“What happens then?”
“You won’t have a deal, and he’ll prosecute you for both the drugs and the Jackson murder.”
Shepard looked around the room as if searching for some hint of what he was supposed to say.
“While you think about that,” Leslie continued, “There are a few other things we need to know.”
Shepard turned to her, apparently still not understanding where he stood.
“Where did you get the drugs that were found at the house?”
David made a fist and pounded the table with the side of his hand. “Damn, it. I told you before. We didn’t have any drugs. They were planted.”
White responded with an equally commanding slam of his palm on the table. “Stop bullshitting us, David.”
“I’m not. We never brought cocaine to the house.”
White surged to his feet and leaned across the table, his face inches from Shepard’s. “But you brought other drugs.”
Shepard’s lip trembled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve about had it with you, David. Either you level with me, or you can find yourself another lawyer.”
Shepard erupted from his chair, shouting at White. “Damn it. You said you didn’t want to know what we did.”
White stepped back. David had a point. That was what he had told Shepard at their first meeting. He waited patiently while Shepard calmed down. “You’re right,” White admitted. “I did say that. But now there are some things I need to know.”
Shepard returned to his chair where he sat quietly wringing his hands. His eyes were still fixed on the conference table.
Leslie suddenly intervened and changed the subject. “Where were you when Jackson was killed?”
Shepard froze, staring at Leslie and seemingly unable to speak.
“Where were you when Jackson was killed?” Leslie asked again.
Shepard’s fingernails suddenly demanded his full attention. Finally, he said, “I was at… my dad’s house. I’m not allowed to go out unsupervised.”
“And where was your father?”
“He was there too.”
“What were you doing?”
Shepard shifted uneasily in his chair. “Eating a pizza and watching a movie.”
“Where did you get the pizza?”
“Some take out joint.”
“Which one?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Those places keep records of pizza deliveries. I want to be able to check your story.”
Shepard looked away. “Maybe it wasn’t a take out. I don’t remember.”
“David, I’ve been getting lied to for a long time. I’m starting to recognize a lie when I see one.”
“I’m not lying,” Shepard said as if pleading to be believed.
“If you don’t know how to bluff, you shouldn’t be playing the game.”
Shepard continued to stare at the table.
“Wait here,” White said. “I need to talk to your father.”
#
Brochette stood as White and Leslie entered White’s office. Leslie crossed the room and took a seat at the conference table. White leaned — half standing, half sitting — against the conference table and glowered at Brochette before ordering, “Sit down, Graham.”
An expression
somewhere between puzzlement and shock came over Brochette’s face as he sank back to his place on the sofa.
White didn’t give Brochette time to even think about what was coming. “Where were you when Jackson was killed?”
Brochette’s head snapped up. “What the hell are you suggesting?”
“It’s a routine question, Graham. You obviously qualify as a suspect. I want to know what you’re going to tell the authorities when they ask you.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m not serious? What would you be asking if it was your investigation?”
Brochette took a deep breath and exhaled. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So where were you?”
“I don’t know.” Brochette leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “As far as I know, they haven’t established a time of death. Until I know when Jackson was killed, I can’t tell you where I was when it happened.”
“Answered like a lawyer. But you’re avoiding the issue.” “Can you account for your time the evening before Jackson’s body was discovered?”
“I went out to dinner with David early in the evening. I dropped him off at home and went back to the office to review some files.”
“So the office pass card system will show the time you logged in and out.”
“No. When I arrived at my office, I discovered that one of my other attorneys had taken the files home that night.”
“Where did you go?”
“I stopped off for a drink.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember. Someplace near the office.”
“And I suppose you paid for your drinks in cash?”
“I usually do.”
“Then there won’t be a credit card receipt to prove where you were?”
“What’s with the damned third degree? You know I didn’t kill Jackson.”
“But your story is vague. A verifiable alibi would be helpful.”
“Lyle won’t even consider me a possibility. He knows me too well.”
“It was your gun. And if Jackson was going to make a deal for his testimony—”
“I’d have a motive… wanting to protect my son.” Brochette looked away and began tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “You don’t honestly suspect me?”
“I would if I was a prosecutor.”
“But it wouldn’t make sense for me to use my own gun. I know that its ballistics are on file with the FBI. My gun could be identified in a matter of hours, and Wilson would know that.”
“Which leaves David with a motive, no alibi, and access to the murder weapon,” White said as if he was making a closing argument for the prosecution.
“I know it doesn’t look good.”
“Then why did Wilson offer your son a deal?”
Brochette stared at White, stunned by his violent outburst and unable to say anything.
“Damn it. Wilson doesn’t make deals. You said it yourself. You said he’d rather lose a case than make a deal. Now he has a solid case against David, and he wants to talk about a deal even before David has been formally charged.”
“Maybe…” Brochette began. “Maybe it’s because we’re friends, and he’s looking out for me… and David.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Wilson’s an attorney, but he’s also political and ambitious. He’s not about to risk his future by showing obvious favoritism to you.”
“Maybe he’s more interested in the information he thinks David has.”
“You know better than that. If Wilson isn’t inclined to accept plea offers when he has all the facts, he’s not going to suddenly start shopping for a plea deal just because David might have some useful information.”
Brochette rested his head on the back of his chair and rubbed his eyes. White couldn’t know what he was thinking, but he couldn’t ignore an undeniable truth. Finally, Brochette spoke in a tone that suggested he was trying to rationalize the acceptance of a fact that he wanted to avoid. “Wilson has been gone from my office for a couple of years. Maybe he’s changed.”
“You don’t believe that. Besides, Wilson can’t just ignore Jackson’s murder. If he’s willing to talk about letting David off entirely, he must have someone else in mind as a suspect.”
“What’s your point?”
“If David didn’t do it, you are the next logical suspect. If Wilson wanted to charge you, he knows enough to make a case.”
“He’d lose.”
“Maybe. But he’d destroy you in the process.”
Brochette frowned and shook his head. “No way! Lyle wouldn’t have any reason to hurt me.”
“None that you know of.”
Brochette recoiled at the suggestion that his old friend would have any reason to turn on him.
White ignored Brochette’s response and continued thinking out loud. “The one thing we know is that Wilson won’t act until he’s sure who killed Jackson. If he indicts David, he’ll create reasonable doubt for anyone else — including you. He can’t afford to even indict David as long as he has any other suspect.”
A look, something in Brochette’s eyes, caught White’s attention, but it was gone before he could interpret it. White glared at Brochette. “Wilson can’t wait too long. He’s going to have to do something soon, and I want to know what the hell is going on before he does.”
Brochette stared at the floor, breathing deeply. The growing silence finally became too much for him. “I’m sorry, Lucius. But I didn’t have any choice.”
White’s chest tightened and his breathing became more rapid. “About what?” White demanded.
“I’m not sure where the beginning is… or how much I can tell you,” Brochette said. White immediately understood, or thought he understood, Brochette’s dilemma. Whatever Brochette was referring to had something to do with an ongoing investigation, and DOJ policy prohibited disclosure of such information
White waited.
“About a year ago, the Attorney General started hearing stories. It looked like something nefarious was going on in our Miami office.”
“What kind of… ‘nefarious.’?”
Brochette leaned forward with his head bowed and his elbows on his knees. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and subdued “We didn’t have anything definite. A public defender in the Southern District contacted the Attorney General. He said one of his clients had information on corruption in the system down there.”
“‘Corruption?’ ‘System?’ You’re going to have to be more definite than that.”
“What it came down to was a suspicion that cases, particularly cases involving drug dealers and users, were being fixed. He said his client wanted to make a deal in exchange for what he knew, but he was afraid to approach the local U.S. Attorney.”
“Why did he contact the Attorney General?”
“His client wasn’t even willing to tell him everything. But he seemed to think that someone in the U.S. Attorney’s office might be implicated by whatever his client had to say.”
“Is that all you know?”
Brochette turned his back to White. “No. They claimed to know of instances where suspects who had died under suspicious circumstances after agreeing to deals with local prosecutors. Apparently, his client had proof about things that were happening in some state court cases… but he was afraid that the same thing was happening in the federal courts in the Southern District.”
“Seems like a good reason to be concerned.”
Brochette nodded but said nothing as he sorted his thoughts.
“It’s hard to believe that a U.S. Attorney would do anything dishonest,” White said. As he spoke, his eyes were locked on Brochette’s own eyes. White’s mocking tone was not lost on Brochette. Few attorneys in his office were not familiar with the story of White’s father’s arrest, conviction and stabbing death in prison. White blamed the government, and overzealous prosecutors, for using fabricated evidence and paid informants for his father’s conviction
and death. Brochette was one of the few prosecutors against whom White did not exercise his hatred.
Brochette glared at White and started to respond, but thought better of it. Instead, he merely continued with his story. “The Attorney General had to do something, but he had a problem. Some of the people in the Miami office had close ties to Washington—”
“And the AG was afraid they’d find out about an internal investigation.”
“Something like that. That’s why the Attorney General appointed me to investigate. It would have been bad enough if there was corruption in the federal courts, but the Department of Justice also has jurisdiction to investigate corruption in state courts.
“How long had this alleged corruption been going on?”
“It’s hard to say. There’s some evidence that it had been going on for a long time in the state courts. We’re still not sure about the federal courts.”
“Why did the Attorney General come to you to look into it.”
“You probably remember that I did a stint in the Public Integrity Section of the Department of Justice.”
White nodded.
“It was all pretty delicate. I couldn’t even let anyone in my office in on it.”
“So how did your son get involved?”
“He… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier.”
“Go ahead.”
“We started with an investigation of the federal courts. The idea was to set up a sting. We needed a clean case to give to our Miami office, but it couldn’t be anything a federal agency was already involved in. It had to come from outside. That meant we had to have a state case the Miami office could take over. We thought about making up a phony file, but there were too many risks. Then someone came up with Tom Jackson. He was still on probation, for an old heroin plea from when he was in college. All we had to do was make a case for probation violation, and we had him. Then we were going to convince him that it was in his best interest to co-operate with us.”
The Nominee Page 21
