“Cocaine, all three. It’s just a matter of making sure the crates arrive, then in we go.”
“Listen up, then,” Whitland instructed, “this is how it’s going to be. Todd’s people will deal with the Everglades quarantine site, while my team simultaneously raids the upstate hunting ranch, just in case they have drugs or birds. Your state man Ed Kimberley can assist us there, Charlie.”
Whitland made some notes on his pad.
“Meanwhile, Mindy and her team get to work wherever the birds came to roost over in California.” He smiled at his own joke. “Anyone got issues with that?”
“Don’t forget Akroyd,” reminded Royle. “Mindy has that in hand.”
Whitland made another note. “Anything else?”
No one said anything so Whitland looked towards Royle. “I presume Steve McGill’s sorting out Sharon’s man, Greg Saunders?”
“All under control.”
“Right,” Whitland continued, “while all that’s going down Charlie and Phillip will be taking Gus Winnings into custody up there in Tallahassee.”
Whitland excused himself for a second whilst he extracted some pills from the ‘Out’ tray and poured himself a glass of water. He knew he should be taking it easy, but to hell with it. As he understood things, Gus Winnings was about to become history, and not before time it had to be said. He had also witnessed Charlie Lacey transforming into an increasingly experienced and dependable agent, precisely as he had promised her father she would. He had even been entertaining thoughts of trying to regain Royle’s services on a permanent basis, perhaps seeing him take charge of the Department following his own retirement, though informed sources suggested Royle may have received an even better offer from Washington. Nevertheless, if everything he understood about the Charlie–Royle relationship was true, then he might still be seeing a great deal more of his favourite agent. Regardless.
* * *
The pair’s return from Australia called for a change of accommodation on Royle’s part; with uncertainty still surrounding the security of Dan’s former apartment it seemed unwise to continue to stay there. The alternative, though, required little discussion and that evening they collected his belongings on the way over to Charlie’s place.
Later, in bed, he propped himself on one elbow. “I owe you an apology,” he whispered.
“Why, what have you done now?”
“I kept you in the dark about what was going on, especially me knowing it was Dan we were dealing with.”
She lightly brushed the back of her hand across his chest. “It’s me who should be apologising. I was upset with you not sharing information, when all the time you were struggling with a much bigger problem.”
“It’s not worth discussing.”
She pressed a finger to his lips “Well, I think it is. I had no idea of the pressure you were under. Not only have you been keeping track of the bird smuggling activities, dealing with Dan’s supposed death, his subsequent resurrection and then his actual death. Plus all the worry of the shootings here in town and what was happening to Sam. Unbeknown to any of us, you were also balancing the demands of two federal departments in a world-scale inquiry.”
“That’s what they pay me for.”
He drew her towards him, but she gently pushed herself away again.
“There’s still something I don’t understand.”
“Which is?”
“How did you and Shepherd know where and when to meet in Queensland?”
He smiled. “You’re forgetting the phones. Todd has access to my tracker.”
* * *
Charlie and Royle took an early flight up to Tallahassee the next morning. There they collected a hire car and drove across town to the Department’s Licensing office, picking up two uniformed police officers on the way. At reception Charlie asked to speak with Abbie Wise, who came down in the lift to meet them. Charlie explained they had come to see Winnings.
Abbie was shaking her head. “He took yesterday off, and he’s already an hour late. Normally he’s boringly punctual.”
Upstairs in Abbie’s office Charlie closed the door, explaining to the secretary how they had come to take Winnings into custody.
“It’s to do with what Phillip was asking over dinner,” Abbie exclaimed.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Charlie continued, ignoring the secretary’s speculation. “I need you to start pulling out all files referring to any Asian bird-licensing decisions Winnings dealt with. Say, over the last three years.”
Abbie was clearly less than keen on what was being asked of her. “That’s an awful lot of work, Charlie.”
“If you need help then take whoever you want from the other staff.”
Next, Charlie took a moment to consider their options, realising that being seen making too much of a commotion before they had Winnings in handcuffs could work to their disadvantage. Someone might ring him and then who knows what he might do?
“We’ll wait a few minutes before we go over to his house. But I’ll leave one of the police officers here, just in case.”
Like Royle, Charlie had done her homework. She had studied various pictures of the Winnings’ house, plus she knew he and Pat each had their own car. She also knew Pat did not work, though she did spend a great deal of time assisting various charities, particularly organisations tackling child poverty.
The Winnings’ house turned out to be surprisingly large and situated on a prime corner plot. As soon as they arrived it was obvious something must be wrong; the main entrance door was wide open and both garage doors were up. Someone had also been busy with a paint spray – several in fact, judging from the various colours involved. Particularly obvious were two large mauve arrows, one pointing towards the entrance door, accompanied by the word ‘UPSTAIRS’, the other directing attention towards the ‘GARAGE’. Tapping the remaining police officer on the shoulder, Charlie pointed him at the garage while she and Royle entered the house, uncertain what they might find.
Inside they were greeted by another arrow at the top of the stairs, this time suggesting they enter what looked like the main bedroom. Here the paint sprayers had been busy again, most obvious being the words ‘WASTED YEARS’ over the bed. Suddenly this had the feel of a domestic dispute, though admittedly one of considerable intensity. Confirmation of this was to be found on the bed itself, in the form of Gus Winnings, minus any clothing and with hands and feet tied to all four corners.
It seemed Pat had finally decided to end her marriage, and in quite a spectacular fashion. And the walls were not the only paint target, Winnings himself having received his fair share of attention. His face was now an attractive shade of violet, whilst his genitals had been much favoured by the red can. Since arriving, Charlie had noticed her partner taking various evidential photographs, seeming particularly keen on pictures of Winnings tied to the bed. It occurred to her she could expect to see one or two pinned up in the office in due course.
The man had also been effectively gagged using what looked a lot like a dressing gown cord tied behind his head. Charlie was about to relieve him of his discomfort when the police officer reappeared, taking in the scene with the barest suggestion of surprise.
“I don’t know who you’ve been upsetting, friend,” the officer observed, directing his remarks at the bed’s occupant, “but your Ferrari’s going to need a new paint job.”
They watched Winnings roll his eyes, clearly unhappy.
“Where’s this other arrow directing us to?” the officer enquired, pointing along the landing. Charlie temporarily rearranged the bedding to cover Winnings’ embarrassment, realising that for the moment the licensing boss was probably safest where he was. The three of them then headed across the landing to a door adorned with the intriguing statement ‘IT’S HERE’ in a vibrant flame-orange.
They were now in some sort of office, though what part
icularly grabbed their attention was the open wall safe, plus what must have recently been its contents. Stacked in several neat piles on the desk was a considerable sum of money. Having recently experienced what $200,000 looked like, Charlie tentatively suggested they were dealing with twice that amount. She did a quick mental reappraisal, realising the situation had progressed well beyond the mere arrest of Winnings. She decided to leave the police officer to attend to the soon-to-be-ex Licensing boss while she and Royle focused on what evidence needed removing. Turning to enquire whether he had any thoughts on the subject, she found Royle had disappeared. She also heard her phone ringing.
She could tell straight off that Whitland was unhappy. Apparently, the airport lorry had arrived at the quarantine facility as anticipated, the three crates still carrying the birds and tracking devices Royle had fitted in Australia. They could also prove that the birds involved had been forensically marked by Royle. What they could not find were any drugs hidden in the bottom of the crates, though tests proved they had recently been present.
In a bid to ensure the operation’s success, Todd Shepherd had opted to not have the vehicle followed from the airport. In hindsight that was a mistake, the drugs having disappeared somewhere between the airport and the quarantine centre. Whitland was now in the process of getting various security and other cameras checked along the route; meanwhile, though, the drugs element of the investigation was on hold.
Charlie enquired about developments elsewhere. Nothing new had turned up at Big Experience’s upstate Florida facility, unlike over in California where Mindy and her crew recovered almost all the missing eggs and young birds. Unfortunately, though, Greg Saunders and Sharon Morgan were not at home when Steve McGill’s police officers arrived to arrest him.
Charlie tracked Royle down to the Winnings’ garage, where he was admiring Pat’s artwork. The police officer had been right, there was no alternative to a full repaint for the Ferrari. From there they went in search of the officer, finding him out front of the house with Winnings now dressed and handcuffed. The Licensing boss seemed understandably subdued.
“There’s no point us discussing it now, Gus,” Charlie advised. “But we found several things we’ll need to talk to you about later. Including a considerable amount of cash – about half a million dollars.”
Winnings’ head shot up. “There should be more than that,” he responded, before realising the mistake he was making.
“Are you suggesting there’s more cash somewhere?”
Despite the obviously difficult situation he was in, Winnings could not resist a response. “You’ve nothing on me, it’s my wife you should be looking for.”
“There are a couple of things you should know,” Royle explained to his former department head. “Then we’ll wait for the formal interview.”
Winnings just stared back at him, now saying nothing.
“We can prove birds involved in this inquiry came into America last night, from Australia via Asia and Europe, and that you signed licenses authorising that. We also have evidence you were speaking with Dan Morgan in Australia regarding illegal bird movements, just before he died.”
“So you say,” Winnings responded, though now with noticeably less conviction. Then curiosity got the better of him. “Dan’s dead?”
Royle paused, making sure he had the man’s attention. “You remember the ‘lovely Charlie Lacey’? Well, she shot Dan, so if you take my advice you’ll do as she says.”
Twenty
The three of them watched the woman through the one-way glass.
“We’ve questioned her for over an hour and we’re getting nowhere,” Steve McGill explained. “She hasn’t the ghost of a chance but still she’s denying any involvement. Claims they just happened to be there.”
“Does she know he’s dead?” asked Charlie.
“Not yet. Once we tell her then she’s bound to blame it all on him. And if she doesn’t think of it then her lawyer in there certainly will.”
Royle recognised the defence counsellor; Walter Jackson had been around longer than most Florida enforcement officers could remember. He and Royle had locked horns on numerous occasions, and not without good reason was he known as ‘Stonewall’ Jackson: he was hard and tenacious, but also as honest and as fair as they come.
“Any other evidence?” Charlie wanted to know.
“The swab tests proved cocaine traces all over them, plus they were in the goddamn vehicle with the stuff.”
“Charlie and I might just get her to talk,” Royle suggested. “But we won’t get anything clever past old Stonewall.”
* * *
Royle opened the interview room door, two paper coffee cups balanced on his clipboard.
He acknowledged the aging defence counsellor. “Charlie Lacey,” he explained, pulling out a chair and nodding towards his partner. “Been a long time, Walt.”
The old lawyer briefly grasped Royle’s hand. “And we’re none of us getting any younger, Phillip.”
Royle positioned the clipboard and pen on the interview table in front of him, pushing one of the cups in the woman’s direction.
“Well, Sharon.”
Sharon Morgan stared back at him, saying nothing, her eyes red and tired but loaded with defiance nevertheless. Also obvious was the facial bruising Whitland had previously mentioned. Royle wondered what the woman must be thinking. She surely realised his involvement changed things; he knew her background and he knew how she thought. Or did he?
* * *
Royle’s mobile had gone off at some silly hour that same morning.
“Phillip, it’s Steve McGill. Something going on here I guess involves you two.”
Royle listened as Mac explained how one of his specialist drugs teams had just encountered six people in a Miami parking lot. Four of the five men involved were known drug dealers, and firearms had been discharged on both sides. The fifth male had been confirmed dead on arrival at the hospital.
The woman and the dead man arrived in a top-of-the-range Mercedes four-by-four, with darkened windows and all the trimmings – plus several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine in the trunk. She had refused to reveal either her identity or that of her shot partner, though a quick check of the vehicle’s registration came up with the name Gregory Saunders. This was quickly confirmed from the dead man’s fingerprints, along with the revelation that the female answered to the name of Sharon Morgan.
Mac had explained how his drugs team had been following the movements of the four dealers for several days, knowing they were anticipating a delivery from an unknown supplier. Mac also knew that when the DEA searched the three bird import crates yesterday, there was no cocaine, the assumption being that it had been removed after leaving the airport; though by using Royle’s tracking data they had now identified where the switch was made.
All they could do last evening was ensure Steve McGill knew there was a large amount of cocaine out on the streets somewhere, the probability being that someone was expecting it. With luck, that information might match something his officers already knew, as obviously seemed to have happened.
* * *
“You realise, Sharon, this is about as serious as it gets,” Royle commenced, purposely not looking at her lawyer. “We’re talking a probable long prison sentence and there’s little we can do about that. We could perhaps try reducing the sentence, though that rather relies upon you cooperating.”
Sharon said nothing.
“You should listen to Phil,” Charlie suggested. “We can’t get you off this, but we might get you a deal.”
Sharon still did not respond.
Royle tried approaching the interview from a different direction, his eyes briefly meeting Charlie’s.
“This is all getting a bit complicated, Sharon. Why don’t we start from the beginning?”
Although the woman’s expression in
dicated disinterest, logic suggested otherwise.
“We know the Big Experience people were smuggling parrots and eggs into their site in California, either directly or via Miami. That’s a fact. We also know that Winnings, plus Deming Akroyd over in California, has been supplying them with false permits. That too is a fact.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Dan’s estranged wife offered, glancing around at her lawyer.
Royle smiled. “We now think no one involved with the bird smuggling, including Winnings, knew anything about the drugs. How do you think that works, then?”
Sharon shook her head. “Like I said, I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”
“Let’s examine another bit of the puzzle, then,” Royle persevered. “Quigly was doing various jobs for Winnings, running errands, taking my picture at the airport, getting rid of bodies. Know anything about that?”
“Like I keep telling you, I know nothing.”
Royle glanced around at Charlie again, briefly raising his eyebrows.
“Dan told me he shot Alynski, before Quigly put Dan’s clothes on the body and got it into the tiger compound, presumably after Winnings obtained the gate key. What do you think?”
Both agents detected a change in Sharon’s expression. The defiance was now gone, as they watched her trying to read Royle’s face. She presumably realised that by the time he had reappeared on the scene, from Mexico City via Houston six weeks ago, the Department had already been looking for her former husband. In which case how could he possibly have spoken with Dan?
Charlie too had a feeling she no longer knew all the answers, though at this point she responded to a knock on the door, taking the three sheets of paper Mac handed her. Briefly she examined these before passing them on to her partner, who glanced at them equally briefly.
Royle knew they had Sharon wondering.
“Truth is you’re all in this bird smuggling thing together. You, Greg and Winnings, along with Deming Akroyd and Shaun O’Reilly in California and Mick White in London. Oh, and of course Dan. Except that you and Greg were running an extremely profitable drugs operation on the side that all the others knew nothing about.”
The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan Page 22
