Silenced Justice: A Josh Williams Novel

by Joe Broadmeadow

  Josh waited a few minutes, returned to his car, and then followed the sedan, once the hunted now the hunter. As he drove from Massasoit Avenue onto Waterman Avenue, he passed the Red Bridge Cafe. Josh spotted a marked police unit, parked between the buildings, in the abandoned gas station lot next door. A favorite hiding spot of the uniform cops.

  Pulling alongside the driver's window, a smiling, but unenthusiastic, Officer William Jones greeted him.

  "Hey, Lieutenant, please don't tell me you need something. It's almost 2:15. All I have to do is avoid a call for the next hour and a half and I am out of here."

  Jones represents a certain percentage of police officers known as PFLs, Patrolmen for Life. They strive for specific professional goals. Accumulate enough seniority to work the same shift, same post, every year, and operate under the radar. Handle calls as needed, avoid creating any problems, and get through each shift with minimal effort. Having the SIU Lieutenant pull up to you ninety minutes before the end of the shift was the worst possible scenario.

  "All I need is for you to stop a car for me. I just need to know who's driving it," Josh replied. "I'll even tell dispatch I need you for the rest of the shift. Stop the car and you can maintain radio silence for the duration."

  Jones sat back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head. "It is tempting. We've been getting a lot of last minute bullshit and I have a bowling match at 4:15 today. Okay, deal. Hold on. No reports, right?"

  Josh laughed, “Even if they shoot at us, no reports. How's that?"

  "Okay," Jones answered, sitting up and adjusting his seat. "Wait a minute, shoot at us?"

  "Just kidding. Dark colored sedan, two guys in it. My guess is they'll be back this way headed towards the Henderson."

  As if that's all it took, the sedan drove down Waterman Avenue. The occupants oblivious to two police vehicles parked in the shadows between the buildings.

  "I assume that's the one. I don't know it and I know all the locals," Jones said, pointing at the car as it passed by.

  "Nothing gets by you does it, Jonesy?" Josh threw the car in reverse and backed out. Jones pulled out and caught up to the sedan.

  Josh was on his cell phone to dispatch. "Tanya, send a marked unit to back up 207 on Massasoit, just off Waterman. He's out on a car stop for me." True to his word he added, “Also, put 207 out of service with me until end of shift. Thanks."

  As Josh sat back a ways, parked behind cars in the restaurant lot, he watched Jones approach the driver's side. The second marked unit arrived, and the officer took up a position at the rear passenger side. After a short conversation, Jones walked back to his car, waving off the other officer.

  Josh stayed in the shadows and watched the sedan drive away. Once it disappeared down the road, he walked over to talk to Jones; Josh waved at the second officer leaving the scene.

  "Well?"

  "Lieutenant, I want to thank you for covering me for the next hour. My bowling team will be most pleased I will not be detained at work," Jones said, leaning on the trunk of the police car.

  "I can't tell you how thrilled I am, now who the hell were they?"

  "Lieutenant, they were our cousins from the North, North Scituate to be precise. Landespolizei, the Rhode Island State Police."

  "Of course they were," shaking his head. "Thanks, Jonesy. Enjoy the rest of the shift. I cleared it with dispatch."

  Josh walked back to his car.

  Jones returned to the cruiser, drove back to his nest between the buildings. He returned the seat to his resting position, and ignored the radio. A happy man.

  Josh grabbed for his cell, I hope Brennan's connections can deal with this.

  * * *

  Returning to the office, Josh filled in Kennedy and Moore on his talk with the Judge and the surveillance on Waterman Street. The got a giggle out of the guest appearance by the state police. "I called Brennan. He's gonna reach out to the Colonel. If he can't derail their curiosity, he’ll ask for one of the troopers we've worked with on other cases. I should know something later today."

  As the pictures downloaded from the camera, Josh ran the plate from the vehicle parked in the JTS management spot. Looking at the information on the screen, he said, "Hey, Tommy, what was the name on that Delaware Corporation you found?"

  "Wait a minute. I got it right here," Moore's fingers flying over the keyboard. "Harriet Lane Enterprises, PO Box 465, Dover, Delaware. I can dig into it some more, why?"

  "The car I spotted is listed to Harriet Lane Associates with a PO Box 487 in Delaware. No coincidence there. Do your magic and run that to ground. Get it all. If you need some intrastate subpoenas call--."

  "I know, I know your favorite, Kristin Volpe," Moore interrupted. "I mean, ah, that is, or someone, anyone, else?"

  Josh fixed Moore in his sights. "You handle it, whoever it is. Understand?"

  Moore tried to contain the smile. Failing that, he ducked his head behind the computer.

  Kennedy came over to Josh's desk. "Let me see the pictures you took."

  Josh brought up the images. "It looked to me like the two guys were security of some sort. The woman was on a cell the whole time. They bracketed her as they walked out, heads on swivels, looking everywhere."

  "Nothing familiar to me. How about we run them through our facial recognition database? Might get lucky," Kennedy suggested.

  "I'll email them to you.” A moment later, Josh said, "On the way. It will be interesting to see if you get a hit on them."

  "Hey, listen to this," Moore interjected. "I did a Google search on Harriet Lane Enterprises and Harriet Lane Associates. Many stories on the business wires. They're buying up properties and businesses all over, quite a few of them here in Rhode Island. They are buying several companies which manage state lotteries and casino facilities.” Tommy paused to click through more search results. "Holy shit, listen to this one," Tommy said.

  Kennedy and Josh looked at the excited detective.

  "I just checked the LexisNexis search I've been running. Harriet Lane Enterprises acquired a fifty-five percent interest in Mohegan Sun. But here's the biggie, they just took over the parent corporation that owns Twin River," Tommy explained. "There must be some big money behind them."

  "Twin River?" Kennedy asked.

  "Twin River is a casino run by the state and a private entity in Lincoln, Rhode Island," Tommy said. "They had some big development plans in place for the site. The money involved must be huge."

  "Wait a minute," Kennedy muttered, typing on his laptop keyboard. "Wait a minute, yeah here it is. Listen to this. It's an intelligence briefing from an informant in another Russian mob case. I sat in on the interview. These are my notes," he said, clicking through screens on the laptop. "He provided information they were using front companies to buy land located near ports."

  Kennedy finished his coffee, putting the cup back on the desk. "We assumed they were looking for easy access to waterfront buildings for smuggling. However, suppose it is more sophisticated. Suppose the businesses themselves are fronts to launder money."

  Josh and Moore followed along with the Kennedy's ramblings. "You mean use businesses with high cash flow to bury dirty money?" Josh asked

  "Look, we know several things about the Russians. They've tried for years to gain control over political figures. It was inevitable they would get their hooks into someone. They use sophisticated methods of money laundering. There is no better cash flow than casinos and state lottery systems. Couple that with buying up waterfront locations. They pay premium prices as a legitimate way to induce the owners to sell. Failing that, they have other ways to encourage cooperation. It's perfect." Kennedy tapped his fingers on the desk, stroking his neck, "And it would explain the attempt on you, Josh. You're talking billions of dollars in revenues. There's a reason to kill."

  Moore listened to Kennedy, and then asked. "I get the casino angle, easy to inject cash into the business, but I don't get the lottery. Isn't there more auditing controls over cash flow?"r />
  Kennedy smiled. "Not if they control the controllers. Look, we know they have their hands in other businesses. If they control the Lottery, they control the audit trail." Kennedy stood and picked up a legal pad.

  “If I print the tickets, distribute the tickets, collect the revenue from the tickets, and pay out the winnings on the tickets I can control the amounts reported. They eliminate the checks and balances by corrupting the process.

  "So, you think this JTS Management is a front for them?" Moore asked

  "No, too simple. They would never risk that level of their operations on an unaffiliated person. Either she's one of the cover companies, or they threatened her into complying." Kennedy scrolled through more screens on the computer.

  "Tucker told me she was divorced but her husband set her up in the business," Josh said.

  Kennedy looked up, smiling. "And her ex is the Chief of Staff of a sitting United States Senator. A Senator who sits on two of the most influential committees, Banking and Judiciary. If you can't control the Senator, you control the guy who does control the Senator. Or both."

  "Will someone please tell me how we fell into this shit?" Moore said. "This is East Providence, not Leningrad."

  "Think about it," Josh replied. "East Providence has one of the largest undeveloped waterfront areas on the East Coast. It has been sitting there, unused, for years. There is a deep-water port, access to railways, and a nearby airport, most of the necessary infrastructure. The politicians in the city never possessed the foresight to develop it.” Josh turned to look at Kennedy, “We follow the money, right?"

  "Well said, Deep Throat, well said. We look for recent land acquisitions, business transfers, or anything linked to the waterfront. Not just in East Providence, but throughout the area."

  "Hey, I remember something…," Tommy said, shuffling through the piles of papers on his desk. "Take a look at this."

  "And that is?" Josh asked.

  "Application for Transfer of Liquor License. You know the old Oyster House Restaurant on Water Street; someone bought it and applied for the liquor license." Turning to Kennedy, "We get these all the time. Chief Brennan likes us to do the background. Perhaps we need to look into this one a bit deeper."

  "Okay, here's what we need to do. Josh, you handle the local look at any land transactions along the East Providence waterfront. Don't limit it to just here, though. Look at anywhere along, what is it called?"

  "Narragansett Bay?" Josh said.

  "Yeah, that's it. Tommy, you check out the licensee applications. All of them. Dig deep on anyone you can find connected to them." Kennedy stood up, grabbing his cell phone off the desk, "I'm going to head down to DC. This will take some more resources, but I want to make sure we keep control of this here." Opening the door, he hesitated a moment. "One other thing, did you ever hear from Brennan about the State Police?"

  "Brennan sent me a text. The troopers are sending two detectives, don't know who yet but I am sure Brennan worked his magic with the Colonel."

  Chapter 22

  Tommy Moore spent several hours plugging away online, digging into the myriad resources available. The license application was under the name of William A. Marshall, age 40 from Barrington, Rhode Island. He had no criminal record. Lived at the same address for 18 years and owned several restaurants in Boston, Providence, Worcester, and Newport.

  The reviews of the restaurants were all excellent. They were several articles about Marshall in various culinary magazines and travel sites. His business reputation was spotless.

  Yet, something about him bothered Moore. Something wasn't right; he just couldn't put his finger on it. Leaning back in the chair, he rubbed his eyes, exhaling.

  Josh looked up from his desk, "Find something?"

  Moore didn't answer.

  "Hey, blockhead," Josh yelled. "You in there?"

  Moore looked up, "What? Oh, sorry LT. Just looking into this license application shit. The guy is so clean it's scary. I bet he never had a pimple in his entire life. But…."

  "But what?"

  "I don't know, there’s something. It just doesn't add up." Moore shook his head. "I just can't figure out what it is."

  "So tell me."

  After detailing Marshall's business history, Moore put his feet up on his desk and sat back in his chair.

  "How about prior businesses? Was he always in the restaurant business?" Josh asked.

  Swinging his legs off the desk, Moore sat up. "Far as I can see, right out of school. Opened his first one at twenty-two years old. Been successful enough to buy his own plane. He has a pilot's license for single and multi-engine planes."

  "Where does a twenty-two year-old get the money to do that?" Josh asked.

  The light went on in Moore's eyes. "Yeah, dammit. Where'd he get the money for that?"

  "Check his educational background. Might be something there," Josh added, heading out for a meeting with Brennan. "I'll be back around five o’clock; we'll head over for a beer at Bovi's. Sound good to you?"

  Moore was oblivious to the conversation, buried back in his computer. Josh smiled and left.

  When Josh returned to the office four hours later, Moore was still engrossed in his research.

  "Anything new?"

  "Hang on LT; got a couple of things I am waiting for. I hit the jackpot with this one," Moore answered.

  While he waited for Moore, Josh sat at his desk answering emails and catching up on routine matters.

  "Son-of-a-bitch," Moore shouted. "Goddamn son-of-a-bitch," watching as several pages of documents came out of the printer.

  "I take it you found something?" Josh asked.

  "Wait until you hear this," grabbing pages from the printer. "Marshall went to Brown University. As we all know, a big money school, right? I used some of my contacts at the Brown police to dig into the finances. A trust fund paid for school, a big trust fund. Both his parents died when he was just a kid. After he graduated from Brown, he got control of the money. That explains the restaurants, sort of."

  Rising from his chair, he walked to Josh's desk and stood against the wall. "Here's the thing. He majored in History. Wait for it, Russian History," waving the papers in the air. "He went to Russia several times on research projects."

  "Don't tell me you think he got hooked up with the Russians then? Come on, Tommy."

  "No, I don't. Let me finish. He graduates from Brown. Does he decide to chuck his Ivy League History degree to be a cook? Nope. He decides to open a restaurant so he and his best friend, and roommate, can hide their other sideline, cocaine."

  "And you deduced this how?" Josh asked.

  "Because my contact at Brown PD talked to his father, a retired Brown security guy. He remembered Marshall and his foreign roommate. Caught them a few times with coke, but the trustee paid off Brown with some extra donations to make it disappear. It all makes sense. The cocaine funded the restaurants. Marshall knew enough to hire good chefs and run a good operation, both the legitimate one and the not so legitimate one." Moore folded his arms, smiling.

  "So what does Russia have to do with any of this?"

  "Ah, there's the rub, as some guy I can't remember says," Moore replied.

  "Shakespeare."

  "Who? Oh, yeah,” a grin creeping across Moore's face. "His foreign roommate," eyebrows bouncing up and down, "was Anthony Sorin."

  "No shit?"

  "And Mr. Sorin immigrated to the US from…"gesturing to Josh.

  "Russia," Josh answered.

  "We have a winner," Tommy laughed, pointing at Josh. "Tell us what he's won, Johnny,"

  "Great work, Tommy. Wait until the Feds hear this one. How the hell did you find this out?" Josh said

  "After I found out Sorin was Marshall's roommate, I called a friend at Immigration and Customs Enforcement. We served in the Marine Corps together. He tracked down the information about Sorin emigrating from Russia. When the family emigrated, they changed the name from Sorinkov to Sorin, sounds more American."


  "Either way it was great work,” Josh said. “Now all we gotta do is tie this to Collucci and my day will be perfect. Come on, I owe you a beer for all that hard work."

  * * *

  The next morning, Josh and Keira sat having coffee on their back deck. Josh threw the ball for Cassidy. The dog never tired of chasing and retrieving the ball.

  "So, is there anything we can do for her?" Josh asked.

  "You mean about the charges against her father?" Keira said. "Not much. I can file a motion to dismiss them. Get a judge to go along. A symbolic gesture at best. Other than that, nothing."

  Josh grabbed the ball from Cassidy, faked a throw towards one side, and then threw the ball deep into the woods. "Can she sue the state? Or Collucci? Wrongful death or something? "

  Keira shook her head. "Nope, the statute of limitations on wrongful death is three years. Collucci would be an agent of the state, indemnified by law unless you could prove a crime. I don't think you have enough. Trying to convince a court Collucci had anything to do with the prison murder case would never fly."

  "So that's it?" Josh asked. "We can't do anything?"

  Keira thought for a moment. "How about we do this? I'll file the motion to dismiss the charges and hold a press conference detailing the circumstances. Blast the shit out of Collucci. At least make him squirm a bit."

  "Hmm, I like it," Josh smiled as Cassidy dropped the soggy, muddy ball into his lap. "Jeez, Cassidy put it on the deck, not me," tossing the ball once again.

  "Your friend, Judge Tucker, might catch some shit over it," Keira said. "You willing to let that happen?"

  "I think the Judge is hoping we do something with this. Otherwise why would he have sent those things to me?" Josh watched as Cassidy returned with the ball. "Let's go for it."

  Cassidy ran up the stairs, dropping the ball at Josh's feet. "There you go. Good girl," Josh said, bending to pick the ball up.