by John Bowers
Bridge nodded but didn’t speak. His expression was dominated by a frown.
“The person who murdered Agent Randal had to do two things: First, he had to lie in wait for him and pull the trigger. Then he had to plant the weapon in Frie’s bedroom at the halfway house.”
She scanned the room again.
“Of all the people I had checked out, only one person came back dirty. Four million terros were deposited into that person’s account; thirty minutes later, that money was transferred to a numbered account in SiriusBank, which is a common destination for dirty money from the Federation.”
James Dillon frowned.
“Whose account was it?”
Victoria turned her gaze on him. She held up the folder again.
“Two people at the halfway house remembered you, James. You stopped in on the morning of January 25th and asked to use the bathroom. They let you in, but nobody followed you around. It probably only took you a couple of seconds to slide that gun under the bed, didn’t it?”
Dillon’s eyes bugged out.
“You’re accusing me?”
“No, I’m not. The evidence is.”
“Yeah, I stopped in to take a piss, but I never planted anything! How the hell would I even know which room was Frie’s?”
“There was a piece of paper taped to his door. On that paper were his initials, WF, which made me laugh because it sounded like What the Fuck. The door wasn’t locked, because the halfway house doesn’t permit inside locks. Inside the room, on a table, was a flat photo of Frie’s family. It included Frie, his wife, and two children. There was no doubt whose room it was.”
Dillon came halfway out of his chair.
“You’re out of your mind!” he shouted.
“Marshal Bridge, until this meeting is over, would you please place Detective Dillon in E-cuffs? Just until I finish my presentation.”
Bridge didn’t say a word, but granted Victoria’s request. When he was done, Dillon settled back into his chair with a red face and murder in his eyes.
“I have no idea where you got the gun,” Victoria told him. “Maybe from one of your cop friends, or maybe on the street, but it doesn’t matter. You took four million terros to murder Lloyd Randal, whom you didn’t like anyway. Somehow you got your hands on one of Frie’s prints, maybe from U.F. Attorney files, or maybe from somewhere else…Syracuse Island, maybe. You lifted that print with tape and transferred it to some of the bullets in the gun, then you fired those bullets into Randal’s back. It was a semi-automatic pistol, which ejects spent rounds, and you left the shells there for the police to find. You knew the prints on the shell casings would point a finger at Frie, and then you planted the gun just to make sure.”
She shook her head slowly.
“You just forgot that it takes two fingers to pick up a bullet, and there was only one print. The fact that it was wrapped around the shell confirmed that the print was planted.”
Dillon looked trapped. He scowled at her.
“Your theory makes no sense. Why would I want to murder Randal?”
“I just gave you four million reasons.”
“Who hired me? For all you know, I could have come by that four million anywhere.”
“Sure. You just found it in your mailbox one day. But why transfer it to SiriusBank if you didn’t want to hide it?”
“You didn’t answer the question! Who hired me?”
“Marty Martin. His financials revealed a corresponding transaction from his personal fund, a transfer of four million terros, on the same day the deposit showed up in your account. Unless you contend that someone is framing you, then you might as well come clean. It’s over, James.”
“It still makes no sense! Why would Martin want Frie framed? And why would he want Randal killed?”
“Two birds with one shot. He wanted Frie out of the way permanently, and the only way to assure that was either to kill him or get him sent away for life…or even executed. As for Randal, he was a liability. After Frie’s conviction, Martin and Randal were buds for a while, but they had a falling out a few years back, and Randal was the only man alive who could finger Martin on the smuggling deal, not to mention framing Frie. It was widely believed that Frie wanted Randal dead, so it was perfect for Martin’s purposes.”
Dillon shook his head doggedly.
“I don’t even know Martin. Why would he hire me?”
“I guess that’s a fair question. Do you know a man named Steve Hunter?”
Dillon’s eyes glittered, then he looked at the floor.
Victoria continued.
“Steve Hunter is your first cousin, isn’t he? On your mother’s side. Hunter used to work for Martin as a cargo pilot before Wallace Frie was arrested the first time. After Frie’s conviction, he left NCF and bounced around a little, but during the war he was caught smuggling weapons to the Coalition. He’s doing life at Syracuse Island for treason, but you’re still in contact with him.”
Dillon didn’t speak again. Silence filled the room.
“What’s the connection?” Gabel asked. “How does Hunter fit into the picture?”
“According to prison records, James visits Hunter about once a month. In the weeks leading up to Randal’s murder, those visits increased to twice a week, then after the murder, they went back to normal. I don’t know for certain, but my theory is that when Martin was looking for a hit man to take out Randal, he asked Hunter for recommendations. Hunter put him in touch with James.”
“Do you have something to back that up, or is it just speculation?”
“It is speculation to a certain point, but Hunter also got a million terros deposited to his account the same time James got his four million. Hunter will never see that money, but his family will. A million terros is a nice chunk of change that can carry them for quite a while if they’re careful.”
“It still doesn’t prove that James killed Randal.”
“Well, Andy, if you can give me another reason why Marty Martin would shell out five mil to the people he did, at the time he did, then I’m listening.”
Gabel scowled, but fell silent.
A pocket phone rang. Marshal Bridge pulled it out and answered it. After a moment, he disconnected. He nodded to Victoria.
“Marty Martin is in custody. His entire operation has been seized. ”
“Good. Thank you, Marshal Bridge. Now, if you would, can you read Detective Dillon his rights take him into custody? I think we’re done here.”
Chapter 34
After Marshal Bridge left with James Dillon in E-cuffs, Gary Fraites called Victoria into his office. She settled into the chair facing his desk feeling a bit depressed. Fraites closed the door and sat down facing her.
“You look a little wrung out,” he commented.
She smiled.
“It’s been a long couple of weeks. But both the Groening case and the Frie case turned out right, I think.”
“They did, absolutely. But the Frie case came with a cost.”
She nodded. “Fingering James is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I hated doing it.”
“I could tell. Is there any chance he’s innocent?”
She shook her head.
“I wish there was, but everything points to him. But Gary…I don’t want to prosecute him.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it myself, or let Godney do it. I don’t think Brian likes him anyway.”
He frowned and idly fiddled with a paperweight on his desk.
“What about Andy? Is there any chance he was complicit in this?”
Victoria’s eyes widened. “Why do you ask that?”
“You said he was giving you grief over investigating the previous crime. So was Dillon. They’ve worked together for years, so it’s a natural question.”
She shrugged.
“I haven’t made that connection. I think Andy was just playing prosecutor, trying to protect his record. He convicted Frie and didn’t want that conviction brought into quest
ion. It’s a common problem in our profession.”
Fraites nodded.
“Just the same, I think I’m going to insist that he make his retirement official. He’s been dragging it out because he just hates to walk away, but I think we don’t need him anymore.”
“It’s your call, but don’t do it on my account.”
Fraites grinned.
“I’m going to give you his corner office. Still feel the same way?”
She laughed.
“Yes, but I’ll take the office.”
“I thought you might. Why don’t you take a couple of days off? Rest up, take a trip, whatever. Give your head a break from this place.”
“Maybe I will. Then, when I get back, I’m going to indict Antiochus Groening for murder.”
“The Leah Casper stoning?”
“Yep. I think we have enough to move forward. One more conviction and Groening will be in prison for life.”
“Go for it. Even if we fail to convict, the trial alone will send a message to any and all religious cults that they’re not immune from prosecution.”
She nodded. “Is there anything else? I need to get back to my office.”
“A couple of things. First, do we need to arrest Mrs. Randal?”
“Oh.” Victoria’s eyes glazed for a moment. “That’s a good question. She lied to Andy and me, said her house wasn’t paid for, but it is. She had to know that because she isn’t making mortgage payments, so at the very least she’s hiding something. She may or may not know that her husband framed Frie, but either way, she’s living off the dirty money that her husband banked before he died.”
“Which bears deeper investigation. I’m thinking another indictment might be indicated.”
“I’ll leave that to you.”
“Okay. Now, this investigator you hired…”
“Doug Hitlin. What about him?”
“He must be pretty good, considering he helped you break the case.”
“I couldn’t have done it without him.”
“We’re gonna need a new man to replace Dillon.”
“Dillon works for ACBI.”
“Right, but in view of what just happened, I’m thinking we might need to hire someone with no loyalties outside this office. Do you think Hitlin would be interested?”
She smiled. “I don’t know, but I can ask him.”
“If you want to give me his number, I’ll ask him. Arrange a sit-down.”
“Fair enough. He’d probably rather hear from you anyway.”
She wrote down the number for him.
“Okay, Vic. I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
*
Victoria returned to her office. She felt wrung out, and the only thing she wanted at the moment was to get out of there and spend an hour in the gymnasium. But she had barely sat down at her desk when Nancy called.
“Someone to see you, Miss Cross. Shall I send them in?”
“Am I going to enjoy their visit?”
“I…don’t know, but I think you might.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
She disconnected. A moment later, someone tapped on her door.
She smiled when Hayes Crawford stepped into the office. She hadn’t expected him, but wasn’t surprised. She began churning through a stack of friendly insults that might come in handy…
Then the second man appeared and she forgot all about Hayes Crawford. She got to her feet.
Wallace Frie looked like a man who felt out of place. He was still wearing the cheap suit Crawford had given him, but his real discomfort seemed to rise from his surroundings, as if he had stepped into the den of a flesh-eating predator.
Victoria came around the desk to meet him.
They shook hands.
“It’s good to see you outside the courtroom,” she said. “I am so sorry for everything you’ve been through.”
He smiled, a slow, patient grin that seemed to indicate that all was forgiven.
“It’s good to meet you, too, Miss Cross,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did down there.”
Victoria shook her head.
“All I did was follow the evidence. You’re the one who was innocent, so you should be thanking yourself.”
He laughed, the first time she had heard him do so.
“I guess I never thought of it like that. But for the last dozen or so years, being innocent didn’t do me much good.”
“Well, that’s over now. You didn’t hear it from me, but if I was you, I would get a good lawyer—” She eyed Crawford as if saying “present company excluded”. “—and sue the Federation for every terro you can squeeze out of it. If I were in private practice, I would do it for you.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
“It’s also good advice. I hope you’ll take it.”
“That will be our next topic of discussion,” Crawford told her. “And as for you, that job offer is still on the table if you want it.”
“My answer is the same as it was the last time.”
“And look what happened! You were talking about defending crooked clients, then here comes Mr. Frie. Don’t tell me you aren’t sorry you didn’t get to defend him.”
She tilted her head.
“You think I didn’t defend him? Who broke the case down there today?”
He laughed. “But I still get the win. Where does that leave us?”
“Three wins for you, one for me,” she replied. “Only I’m claiming half a win for today. I may have lost as a Federation prosecutor, but the real winner was justice, and I consider that a win for everybody.”
They chatted for several minutes. Frie still seemed ill at ease, but was also enjoying himself. Finally Crawford took his client and left.
“Good luck, Mr. Frie,” Victoria called after them.
Suddenly she was alone again. Happy, but tired.
It was time to get out of here.
She packed up her gear and headed for the lift. She wondered if the Semper Fi was busy yet.
She needed a drink.
Chapter 35
Fourteen Months Later
Monday, April 3, 0445 (CC)
Lucaston – Alpha Centauri 2
In her new corner office, Assistant U.F. Attorney Victoria Cross settled down at her desk with a cup of coffee, powered on her data screen, and logged into the system to start her week. She sipped coffee as she scrolled through her v-mails and began to form a mental agenda for how her day was going to be spent. It had been a busy weekend around the planet and a busier week before that; a U.F. Attorney’s life was never dull.
A tap on her door caused her to look up. Brian Godney took her eye-contact as an invitation and crossed the floor to her desk. He dropped a folder in front of her.
Victoria picked it up. “What’s this?”
“I did a follow-up on that shootout at the Isthmus of Latia last week. You know, the Marshal Walker thing.”
“I already read that report.”
Mildly annoyed, Victoria picked up the folder and handed it back to him. Brian was a great lawyer, but also ambitious, and when the spirit moved him, he could get really anal about things. Lately, he had become a real asshole.
“Take another look.”
“Why?”
“Because I think there’s more to this than you realize.”
“Like what?”
“Have you seen this guy’s body count?”
“Whose body count? Walker’s?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a U.F. Marshal. They have to deal with some of the worst people in the galaxy.”
“Look, I know you have history with him, but this is important. This guy has been on the job barely five years and he has more kills than any other ten marshals combined.”
“Why are you bringing it to me? Take it to his superiors.”
“They’ll bury it. To them he’s a national hero, or some such bullshit. But I think we may have a problem on our hands.”
; “‘We’?”
“The Federation. Come on, Vic, just take a look. I compiled all the data for you, it won’t take you five minutes.”
She pulled the folder back and placed it open on her desk. With a little frown she began to page through it.
“What kind of problem do you think we have?”
Brian Godney pulled himself up to his full five feet four and squared his shoulders.
“A public relations problem. I think we’ve got ourselves a rogue marshal.”
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