“What makes you think he’s sleeping with her?” He drank more cappuccino.
“He was accused of date rape of a freshman while he was a PhD candidate at Yale. He was in his late thirties at the time, so we know he likes younger women. I have an anonymous source who claims that Shamanski is sleeping with him.”
“Your source reliable?”
I rocked my hand from side to side. “Don’t know. Up to you whether to check it out.”
He wrote more notes.
“Wallace is an ardent progressive and environmentalist. Nothing wrong with that. He receives millions of dollars in government grants to study global warming. Nothing illegal about that. He’s been arrested for several illegal and violent protests. Apparently the people who dole out the government grants think there’s nothing wrong with that either. Wallace paid Ponder over a hundred thousand dollars a year to work on his government grant projects. That means he had financial influence over Ponder as well as being his faculty advisor on his PhD program.”
“Ponder lived one small step above a slum. He didn’t make that kind of money.”
I shrugged. “He was a junkie. Most of his money went up his nose or into his veins. Check the Medical Examiner’s autopsy. You’ll find he had a serious drug addiction.”
“How did you discover this?”
“Underneath my shirt I wear a bright blue leotard with a big red S on it. Also, I have turned Steven Wallace; he’s agreed to cooperate.”
“We’ll need to interview Wallace.”
“No problem. Snoop’s babysitting him in a safe house until you pick him up.”
“Where is he?”
I raised a hand. “Not so fast. Wallace’s location is my hole card. We have to make a deal first.”
“Wallace set off the bomb. He doesn’t get any deal.”
“I’m not talking about Wallace. I have a different deal for another person to work out. Can you get a U.S. Attorney in here on short notice?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because Wallace was the head of the three people who blew up the railroad bridge, but he’s not the big boss. There’s another guy above Wallace who wasn’t even a blip on your radar. A man who’s pulled the others’ strings for years. He called the shots, not only for the railroad bombing, but for at least six other violent environmental protests where innocent people were injured or killed. I’ve already established four more murders with this guy’s fingerprints all over them.”
Lopez sat up a little straighter. “Literal fingerprints?”
I shook my head. “Figurative only. He called the plays, the others executed them. In effect, this guy is a serial killer with an environmentalist theme song. And I have evidence he’s planning another attack on Great Southeast Forest Products. They’ve got operations is a dozen states, and you have the resources to prevent the attack.”
“Who is the big guy?”
“I’ll get to that. You’ll need to bring a U.S. Attorney down here to cut a deal with another person. A semi-innocent person in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Lopez sipped his cappuccino. His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “I’m interested.”
I waited.
“Can you deliver this serial killer?”
I shrugged. “That may be a problem, Gene.”
“How so?”
“He’s ‘connected’ in both meanings of the term.” I made air quotes.
“Oh?”
“He’s politically connected and also connected to the mob, although he hides that so well you’d never prove it.”
“Then how did you find out?”
I shrugged again. “Gene, I’m a private investigator; you’re a federal cop. Seven of eleven guys we identified in three hit squads hail from Chicago and work for a mobster named Adam Wolinski, but I can’t prove it in a court of law. You have a legal obligation to prove everything you know; I don’t. Sometimes I just know.”
Lopez made a go on gesture.
“This top dog’s code name is Redwood. He has political connections all the way to the top of the Justice Department. He’s the kind of guy who’s invited to Presidential Inaugural Balls. To top it off, he has more money than Oprah, and he’s a sharp attorney according to Wallace. I spent the last two days researching files on the case and all I come up with is circumstantial evidence. Some of that evidence is indirect—smoke but no fire. It might be so hard to prove the case that he could prevail on a friendly Attorney General to let it slide.”
“So why should we make a deal?”
“The deal I want is unrelated to this serial killer. It’s for a semi-innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time. This person deserves a break. When you hear the whole story, you’ll think so too.”
“So you want Michelle Babcock to skate on felony murder in exchange for telling us where you stashed Steven Wallace?”
“I never said it was Michelle Babcock.”
“You didn’t have to, Chuck. You’re not the only one investigating this case.” Lopez grinned. “We found the fourth person when we enhanced the security video footage of the bombing. It fits her description like a glove. We checked her out. She’s a sweet, naïve kid who got in over her head with some bad actors.” He held up a hand. “You don’t need to confirm or deny.”
“And in return, I’ll give you Wallace and bring down Redwood, the serial killer, one way or another.”
“You’ll bring down Redwood,” he repeated. “Interesting choice of words, ‘bring down.’ Could mean a lot of things.”
“When you hear the whole story on this gangster, you’ll agree. If not, I’ll walk away and he will too. Your call. My client deserves a break. Cut my client a deal and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
Lopez turned his cappuccino cup in the hands. “You said the U.S. Attorney might not be able to prove a case against him.”
“One way or another, Redwood needs to be brought to justice. He’s caused a lot of deaths—six capital murders that I know of—and he’ll cause a lot more if someone doesn’t stop him. But if you can’t bring him to trial…” I fell silent and waited for Lopez to consider his options.
He leaned his chair back and stared at the ceiling. He laced his fingers across his stomach.
I waited.
He hummed a tuneless ditty for a few seconds, then stopped and spoke in a voice so soft I could barely hear it. “My former boss, George W., said ‘We’ll bring the 9-11 evildoers to justice, or we’ll bring justice to them.’ I had just finished training in Quantico. I remember watching him speak on television like it was yesterday.” He stood, walked to the window, his back to me. “Maybe an anonymous tipster will accidentally find Redwood’s burner phone and send it to us.”
“Or a burglar might steal Redwood’s computer from his home, intending to sell it for drug money. But he discovers that the guy whose computer he stole is involved in some bad stuff.”
“So in an attack of conscience, he sends it to us, the good old FBI?”
I shrugged. “Could happen.”
“But if none of this evidence shows up?” I asked.
“This Redwood could slip on a banana peel, or accidentally fall in front of a train, or choke on a hotdog.”
“Or get hit by a dump truck,” I said, “or struck by lightning, or smashed by a falling meteorite.”
Lopez turned to face me. “Or he could have a heart attack, or slip and fall in his bathtub and break his freakin’ neck.”
“The world can be a dangerous place, even for dangerous people.”
A small smile creased his lips. “When can your client meet with us to give her statement?”
“His or her statement,” I amended. Abe Weisman would not want to meet on the Jewish Sabbath if at all possible. His associate Diane Toklas was observant but not orthodox; she’d told me she’d meet if necessary. “My client and my client’s attorney are both waiting for my call. They can be here in twenty minutes.”
“The U.S. Attorney may not
be available on short notice. Could be tomorrow.”
I shrugged. “Anytime, anyplace.”
Lopez reached for his phone. “I’ll make a call.”
Chapter 59
It was Sunday morning before Lopez could get the players together, so neither Diane nor Abe had any ethical dilemmas. The meet was set for the Miami office of Harding Louis Jefferies, the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Florida. Lopez told me he’d tried to get Jefferies to come to the FBI office in Port City, but Jefferies and he played “who’s got the bigger dick?” and Jefferies won.
Assistant District Attorney Tomás Estacado attended to put Atlantic County’s oar in the water on behalf of Michelle’s numerous state crimes.
I arrived early with a bag of bagels and a pint of lox and cream cheese spread I’d bought at a kosher deli near my condo. Estacado, Lopez, and I had coffee and bagels and chit-chatted in the conference room about the price of eggs in Omaha or something equally important until the real players arrived. Estacado knew that Harding Louis Jefferies was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla. Whatever the U. S. Attorney wanted, the U.S. Attorney got.
Jefferies and Abe Weisman, Diane Toklas’s boss, walked in together. Jefferies showed up in a navy blue blazer, a button-down cotton shirt with no tie, khaki slacks, and scuffed boat shoes with no socks. It was Sunday after all. Jefferies held the door for Abe, who wore a black satin yarmulke, a dark gray, three-piece pinstriped suit with a starched white shirt and a red and blue striped tie, his Allen Edmonds shoes burnished to a gleaming shine. Score one for Abe.
Jefferies sat at one end of the table, Abe at the other, Estacado across from me. You could never say that Abe sat at the foot of any table. He had a presence, a gravitas that made wherever he was the center of the action. Estacado and Lopez each wore a suit and tie, as did I. Score tied for the supporting cast.
Coffee and introductions were like the referee giving the pre-fight instructions to the boxers. I watched the fight from a ringside seat.
Abe and Jefferies bobbed and weaved. They threw punches and counter-punches, raised their guard, and lowered it. They quoted scripture—or was it case law? Estacado threw in an occasional point so the big dogs didn’t forget he was in the room. It looked like the legal fight of the decade as they negotiated the terms of Michelle’s deal. If I’d been an attorney, I would have found it fascinating. As it was, after twenty minutes, it was like listening to two people argue in Mandarin. It went on for over two hours. I drank three cups of coffee and took frequent bathroom breaks to stay awake.
At the end Abe, Jefferies, and Estacado shook hands. Michelle would plead guilty to some federal crime that I didn’t even understand in return for a suspended sentence and five years’ probation. The State of Florida agreed to drop all charges. She agreed to testify against any and all of the other conspirators at their trials. If any of them are still alive, I thought.
I handed Lopez a piece of paper. “Here’s the address where Snoop is holding Wallace.”
He read it, stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll send two agents to collect him.”
“And I’ll tell Snoop they’re coming.”
We broke for lunch, agreeing to reconvene at 1:30 for Michelle to give her statement. Abe and I stopped on the steps outside the Federal Building.
“I’ll call Diane to bring Michelle down,” Abe said. “She’ll represent Michelle while she’s giving her statement. Don’t worry. Diane is young, but she’s well qualified to handle this.”
“I wasn’t worried, Abe. In fact, I was surprised to see you in the meeting this morning instead of Diane. I even brought bagels, lox, and cream cheese from a kosher deli.”
“Harding Louis Jefferies and I go back a long way. If I sent a cute thirty-year-old blonde like Diane to go up against him, he would feel disrespected. He thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room—any room. He would be insulted if the other side didn’t send their best. It’s just gadles on his part.” He saw the look on my face. “Sorry, gadles is Yiddish for arrogance or conceit.”
When we reconvened after lunch, Diane brought Michelle into the room to give her statement. Estacado, Kelly, and Bigs joined the meeting because the attempted murders of Snoop and Michelle by the three stooges were state crimes. I understood this part of the meeting since I took statements often when I was a police detective. In fact, I participated in two more hours of interviews, helping with questions, answers, and clarifications. Finally, the lawyers and cops had wrung Michelle out like a sponge and were ready to turn her loose.
Estacado looked up from his notes. “We can charge the three stooges with attempted murder, grand theft auto, carjacking, and reckless endangerment. Maybe a few others I’ll think of later. The four guys in Team Three—”
“Three guys and a woman,” I corrected.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “The four persons in Team Three, we can charge with conspiracy and illegal parking—maybe jaywalking too. It’s pretty thin.”
“The ballistics on the bullet that killed Ponder did not match any of the weapons from Team Dead,” said Kelly. “The guy who pulled the trigger was either from the three stooges or Team Three. We won’t know who pulled the trigger until we collar them. If we’re lucky, it will be a member of Team Three and you’ll be able to charge the guys who didn’t pull the trigger as accessories.”
“I’ll like you to hold back on the collars for a while. Terry is tapping the phones of the three stooges and Team Three. We’d like to record Redwood’s voice when they check in with him. Maybe we could do something with a voiceprint.”
Kelly looked puzzled. “They haven’t checked in every day?”
“Yeah, but only by text,” I said, “and then with innocuous code words. Terry wants to record his voice. I think we should give it a few days.”
I was taking no chances. I insisted that Kelly and Bigs drive Michelle back to Mango Island. They left with Michelle and the rest of us took a bathroom break and refilled our coffee.
Diane pulled out her own tape recorder and turned it on. She announced the date, time, location, and persons in attendance. “I represent Carlos Andres McCrary. Everything he is about to tell you is speculation. He does not represent that anything he says is a fact, so he is not lying to any federal agent. Are we clear on that?”
Lopez nodded.
“Please speak your answer for the recording.”
“I agree,” he said.
“I agree,” Jefferies echoed.
Diane waved to me. “Go ahead, Chuck.”
“Five years ago, an unknown person known as Redwood heard Steven Wallace speak at the World Economic Forum Annual Meeting in Davos, Switzerland on the threat of global warming and what corporations should do to combat it. Redwood agreed with Wallace’s views and became an admirer.”
“Where did you learn this?” Jefferies asked.
“Wallace told me. I was only able to check that Wallace was, in fact, on the Davos program that year.”
“So Redwood attended the WEF meeting in Davos?”
“Yes, but Redwood didn’t meet Wallace in person. He wanted to remain ‘an anonymous admirer,’ as he told Wallace.” I made air quotes.
Jefferies asked, “How did Redwood make contact?”
“A week after the conference he sent Wallace an email from an anonymous account. Later they communicated by burner cellphone, with Redwood’s phone number changed every month or so.”
“So Wallace has never met Redwood in person?”
“That’s right. In the initial email, Redwood told Wallace that the shares of the companies that Wallace excoriated in his Davos speech declined big time the next day. Redwood did more research and noticed that most of the time when there was bad publicity from a speech or a violent protest against some company, the next day its stock took a dive. Sometimes a big dive. Remember the effect of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010. BP’s stock tanked big time.”
Jefferies was making notes. Lopez had heard this the prev
ious afternoon.
“Redwood proposed that Wallace inform him in advance when Wallace’s followers intended to stage a protest or when Wallace himself was scheduled to attack a corporation at a major speech. Redwood would buy put options on the company’s stock before the protest or the speech. When the stock tanked the next day, Redwood would sell the options at a quick profit and split the money with Wallace.”
“How did he send the money to Wallace?” asked Jefferies.
“By wire transfer from a numbered account at McKinley Travers Bank & Trust Company in Liechtenstein,” said Lopez. “I already checked yesterday; it’s a dead end.”
“Too bad,” said Jefferies. “Wallace agreed to the scheme?”
“Wallace insisted that Redwood donate a portion of the profits to various progressive and environmental causes that they both supported anyway. Redwood agreed, and they started skimming from the option market. They both made a pot full of money and kept most of it for themselves.”
Jefferies looked at Lopez. “Pretty ingenious actually.”
“Wait ’til you hear what Wallace did with the money.”
“Wallace donated a little of his share of the loot to various left-wing Political Action Committees and environmental groups in order to maintain and increase his influence with them. Many environmentalist groups are legitimate, like the Sierra Club and the National Wildlife Federation, but Wallace supported groups that advocate civil disobedience and violence against law-abiding companies that they thought hadn’t done their part to help combat global warming or otherwise help the environment. The bulk of the loot, he kept and invested. He lives modestly, so he’s pretty wealthy.”
“How wealthy?” asked Jefferies.
“Nine million and change in a brokerage account. He invested his share in what he called ‘socially responsible mutual funds.’”
Lopez nodded to Jefferies. “We’ll grab that for reparations. Make it part of the deal so he doesn’t get the death penalty.”
Jefferies made more notes. “Go on, Chuck.”
“Redwood started small to see if the scheme worked in the real world. It worked over two-thirds of the time, but not always. Sometimes Redwood lost money when a stock didn’t tank. But, overall, he and Wallace made some big scores—hundreds of thousands of dollars to start. Then Redwood stepped it up. He risked bigger purchases, gambled more money, and made bigger killings.” I leaned back in the chair.
Dangerous Friends (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 4) Page 24
