"Backdoor," Thomas muttered. He turned around. He tilted his head and looked at Finn. "I think you've hit on something."
"I'm delighted for my own brilliance," Finn said, not having a clue what the lawyer was talking about.
"Do you care if you don't exactly get a pound of flesh from Abu?" Thomas asked.
"Sure, I'm not a picky man," Finn assured him.
"Then how about we see what's in Lady Justice's change purse? What if we bring a civil suit against the bastard for Takrit's death and drain Eritrea's coffers?" Thomas said.
"I didn't say he killed Takrit," Finn answered. "Only that he was responsible for it."
"Exactly!" Thomas threw up his hands in delight. "The burden of proof in a civil action is a fraction of that in criminal court. All we have to do is prove it was probable that Takrit died because of Emanuel Dega Abu. The plaintiffs are the grandmother, Aman and Detective Anderson. So, what do you say? Are you with me?"
Before Finn could weigh in, they heard:
"I'm in."
Thomas and Finn looked toward the bedroom. Cori stood in the doorway balanced on crutches, pale as a ghost, hair flat as a pancake, one eye closed with bruising but, true to form, Cori was not done in. Her lipstick was in place. Before Finn could rise to help her, before Thomas could tell her that she should be back in bed, Cori took a deep breath and clomped her way to the couch. She fell upon it, grabbed the afghan and said:
"Let's raise some hell and put a chunk under it boys."
CHAPTER 34
Detective Morrow sat in the bullpen, oblivious to the comings and goings of his fellow detectives. He had just come from a short meeting with Captain Fowler where it was explained that he should pursue The Mercato case with all due diligence, but that Detective O'Brien would be closing his investigation regarding the incident on the bridge. Morrow thanked the captain, clarified a few minor points and went back to work.
He made three phone calls. The first was to check on the status of the girl beaten at The Mercato. The doctor advised that the earliest Detective Morrow might possibly interview her would be the next day, but he would have to secure her father's permission. The second call the detective made was to the girl's father. To this man, he once again expressed his condolences over the loss of his wife and then, for the second time, requested permission to speak with his daughter. He assured the man that he would be sensitive with his questioning. The father assured him that he would be at the hospital to make sure Detective Morrow did not come within fifty feet of Hali. Morrow took no offense when the man blamed the police for his wife's death and his daughter's injuries. Morrow said thank you and then said that he would check back at a later time.
The third call Morrow made was to his proctologist to cancel his yearly exam. This was distressing because Detective Morrow liked to maintain an orderly, scheduled life. Luckily the doctor had a late opening at the end of the week. Since the detective was sure that he would have his ducks in a row by then, he agreed to the appointed time.
He spent the next hour meticulously going over the crime scene diagrams, writing up reports, touching base with the lab to politely request that they expedite the blood samples that had been collected in anticipation of identifying the fourth person injured inside the restaurant.
When that was done. Detective Morrow rose, opened the drawer to his right, retrieved a tastefully lettered sign that read 'Lunch' and put it atop his desk. He then went down the hall, stopped at Detective O'Brien's office, looked about, determined that no one was paying a bit of attention to him as usual, and let himself inside. Having great respect for Captain Fowler, Morrow nonetheless felt a kinship with Detective O'Brien as well as a desire to somehow see that justice was done for his victim.
Detective Morrow was pleased to see that Finn O'Brien was efficient. On the desk was information about Emanuel Dega Abu, known associates traveling with him to the United States, points and time of entry, contacts since arriving in Los Angeles, information about anticipated departure times from the airlines, Takrit's autopsy report, evidence inventory and such. Detective Morrow looked over everything briefly and then put all the files in his very unfashionable satchel.
At the table where Detective Anderson worked, he noted that the space was tidy. From the picture of a young woman with a baby he deduced that Detective Anderson must be quite attractive if this were her progeny. The other thing of interest on her table was a receipt for six security videos. Since those videos were not in evidence, Morrow further deduced that Detective Anderson or Detective O'Brien must have them.
Satisfied that he had gleaned all he could from Finn O'Brien's office, Detective Morrow left the division and walked a block and a half to the coffee shop where he had lunched for the past five years since being assigned to Wilshire Division. Once there the waitress who had served him for five years asked him for his order even though he had ordered the same thing for lunch every day for five years. Morrow enjoyed lunch exactly as much as he had enjoyed it each day – for the last five years.
When Detective Morrow finished his lunch, he called Detective O'Brien.
***
Rada left the car with the valet and went to his room where he changed into the clothes that Emanuel preferred him to wear. When he was dressed properly, Rada checked the written schedule even though he knew it by heart. Emanuel was to have three meetings and a formal dinner that evening. There was one meeting the next day before the final gala event that would end their time in Los Angeles.
Rada was very tired. He had been up most of the night with Oliver and then on the bridge very early. The visit with Aman, who he had not seen in many years and whose face was a testament to the cruelty of Emanuel Dega Abu, made Rada's soul tired also. Still, there was work to do and he must not let Emanuel see this.
When he was ready Rada went to the Presidential Suite, knocked on the door once to announce himself and then went in. It was dark inside the apartment. The curtains were closed and it was silent, as if no one had been there for a long while. Rada closed the door softly and pulled his gun from the holster under his arm. He held the muzzle up and put his finger on the trigger. Rada looked into the guest bathroom, he checked behind the bar and then he pushed open the door to the bedroom. There sat Emanuel Dega Abu, his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands, a bottle of liquor at his side. The man had not put on his fine clothes and when he looked up at Rada it was with eyes that were bloodshot as if he, too, had not slept.
"Why do you have a weapon?" Emanuel sat up and dropped his hands to the desk.
"I thought someone might be here who shouldn't be," Rada said and for a long moment the two men looked at one another.
Rada did not lower his gun immediately and Emanuel did not rest his gaze upon it but both of them were thinking about the weapon. Both wondered if Rada had the desire or the courage to use it. When it appeared that Rada did not, Emanuel's eyes narrowed. He put on his glasses and he stood up. Raising his chin, he shook his head a little and a smile came to his lips.
"You have been a long time, Rada. Do you have it?"
Rada shook his head. "No."
"Then you must go to the next place. Oliver cannot do it now, so you must. There is no choice, Rada. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"
Rada lowered his gun but he did not put it away. He was suddenly too exhausted to lift it and too tired to answer. Emanuel took this to mean that Rada, his servant, was ready to do whatever was asked of him.
"That is fine then, my friend. I will reward you, Rada, even though I know a reward is not necessary. Is that not so? You serve me because you serve the country. Is that not so Rada?"
Rada nodded. Once again, Emanuel was the master and Rada the man who served. Rada would go to a house in the Hollywood Hills and use his gun on a woman named Sharon Stover or, perhaps, not his gun. Perhaps there would be a better way that would not draw attention, for certainly Oliver had been very careless that way.
Yes. Yes. Emanuel would have his last mee
ting and be ready for the formal dinner when Rada returned to pick him up. It was, Emanuel said, a very good plan. Was it not fine that this trouble would be over when Rada did this?
Was it not, Rada?
CHAPTER 35
Finn and Thomas exchanged a look and when they finished their silent conversation it fell to Finn to point out that Cori wasn't making a whole lot of sense.
"Come on, Cori," Finn said. "I think it's time I put you back to bed. Sure, won't Amber be having our heads if we make you sicker."
"I'm not sick, I'm hurt and I know the bastard who did it was that Australian ass. I just want some info on him, and I'll go. I promise. Come on, Lapinski. You've been pounding those keys for an hour. You've got to have found something by now."
Thomas breathed in and then blew out through his pursed lips.
"I've got people who usually do this for me. They can drill down a whole lot faster than I can. Let me call one of them. Please," Thomas begged.
Finn shook his head, "I say, no, Thomas. Not that I don't trust your staff, but there's risk if the circle gets too wide."
"Okay, okay, okay. This is what I've got. The images of Emanuel I grabbed with no problem, and I've got a couple where he's got the Australian at his elbow. I isolated his image and cross-referenced including the name Oliver, Emanuel Dega Abu, and Eritrea. I also found a ton of information on the Ethiopian civil war that resulted in the break off of Eritrea and the rise of Emanuel."
"Skip the history lesson." Cori's shoulders slumped under a robe that had seen better days. "What about the Oliver dude?"
"The earliest history I can find is that he was in the service, SARS, Australia's equivalent of our special forces. He served with some distinction in Somalia and Afghanistan," Thomas said. "But then I found a news story about his unit being under suspicion of murdering women and children in a Somali village. It doesn't look like the matter was prosecuted, but something must have gone down because he dropped off the radar."
"Is there mention of Emanuel in Somalia, or of him having anything to do with the SARS at that time?" Finn asked.
"Not that I could find," Thomas answered "but this is pretty quick and dirty. Oliver seems to have resurfaced in the year two thousand. That's the date on the picture where he's with Emanuel. He's referenced as a trainer for the new Eritrean army."
"Looks like he got promoted if he's the president's buddy now," Finn noted.
"He's definitely more than a pretty face," Thomas said.
With a few keystrokes he brought up a new screen and turned his computer around so the three of them could look at it.
"On the left of the screen are companies doing business in Eritrea. These here are Eritrean." He pointed to the listings. "They are all owned by the government and that basically means Emanuel owns them because he is the government. Down here," Thomas scrolled a bit. "Down here are international firms doing business in the country."
"This doesn't exactly look like a hot bed of high finance," Cori said, her voice weary and her attention waning.
"Compared to Ethiopia, this country has little to offer at the moment except its ports and those are woefully out of date. But the port of Assab is at the entrance to the Red Sea. That is critical to trade in the area, to the Saudis and Yemen and Sudan. But look over here."
Thomas pointed to the right of the split screen.
"I noticed that there were a couple of Australian firms doing business in Eritrea. Mining contracts, infrastructure services, Internet. From the little I found out about the place, this isn't too surprising since they don't have a lot of home grown talent. Quite a few countries are looking for a piece of the Eritrean pie. Given that we are interested in Oliver, and him being Australian, I took a quick look at three companies that have had the longest relationships with the government. This is what I came up with." Thomas moved the cursor in a circle, highlighting a specific area on the screen. He chuckled. He waited. Finally, he nudged them. "Do you get it? Cool, huh?"
"My, my," Cori breathed.
"Sure, 'tisn't that just a tidy little arrangement," Finn agreed.
"Oh yes, yes, indeed. I would say pockets are deep all around no matter who it is we name in our lawsuit. You, Detective Anderson, and Takrit's family all have a lot to gain if we prevail in a civil suit."
Thomas Lapinski sat back and grinned while Cori Anderson and Finn O'Brien took note of all the businesses Oliver Smythe 'owned' in Australia that did business exclusively with the government of Eritrea.
Oliver Smythe, one time soldier, companion to a brutal dictator, enforcer, murderer, straw man and huckster appeared to have added one more profession to his resume: laundryman. He was taking dirty money, cleaning it up and sending it to Emanuel Dega Abu through shell corporations and all in the name of Eritrean progress. None of them doubted that any contracts that ran through Smythe's business included millions of dollars in kickbacks for Emanuel.
If Finn O'Brien needed yet another motive for Emanuel ordering the murder of a woman who wanted world eyes on Eritrea, this was it. But it also gave Captain Fowler's decision to close the jacket all the credibility it needed. Federal law criminalized bribery to a foreign entity as a part of doing business. Few corporations were reckless enough to go down that road without a wink and a nod from the U.S. government. Now Finn knew that someone had received that wink from a congressperson powerful enough to shut down a police investigation. While Thomas happily explained the interconnections of the companies, the doorbell rang and Finn went to answer it.
"Detective Morrow," Finn said, surprised but pleased to see the man. "You're just in time for an interesting discussion."
"Detective O'Brien. I hear that we won't be working together," the man said.
"It appears not," Finn answered. "Still, there are other avenues open to citizens concerned about the matter."
"I assumed as much." Detective Morrow opened his briefcase and withdrew a plain, hefty manila envelope and handed it to Finn. "I took the liberty of bringing you your files. I thought you might like to read through them before you put them in the archives."
"Well thank you, Detective Morrow."
"You're very welcome, Detective O'Brien."
Finn opened the door a little wider. Detective Morrow was introduced all around and he was happy to see that he had been correct: Detective Anderson was a beautiful woman.
***
It was four o'clock when Amber returned home bearing pizzas.
She had called to check on her mother and found out that her home had been turned into a rogue division of the LAPD. Hearing that her son was in his playpen after being fed by Thomas Lapinski and that Finn and Morrow were tending to Cori, she decided that feeding everyone was the least she could do.
Amber changed out of her off-off-the-shoulder, short skirted uniform that was supposed to make her look like an Italian peasant girl and into low-slung jeans, a tight t-shirt and flip-flops. She took over Tucker duty, made sure Morrow, O'Brien and Lapinski ate something, kept glasses filled and gave her mother her medicine. It was five when Morrow caught Amber's eye, he looked at Cori who was on the couch.
"I believe all this might have been a bit much for your mother. "
Amber smiled at him. She actually smiled at all of them: Morrow of the kind but boring heart, Lapinski of the selfless heart, and Finn her mother's heart's desire. She couldn't remember a time when the house was filled with people and it felt good and warm; it felt like she and her mom weren't alone.
"I got her, Mr. Morrow." Amber went round the couch and got Cori's crutches. "Mom, come on. Let's get you to bed."
"Are you needing help, Amber?" Finn asked. She shook her head.
"I got it."
The men fell silent, pretending to be engrossed in their work but all listening to Cori insist that she was fine and Amber insist that she wasn't until the bedroom door closed.
"Thomas?" Finn said.
Lapinski's fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he was looking at the baby. He smiled
and said, "Tucker is a lucky little boy."
Finn and Morrow looked at the handsome man, shirtsleeves rolled up, the baby's bottle at his elbow. Thomas felt their attention and looked back at them.
"What?"
"Nothing," Finn said. Morrow shook his head and got on with his work.
"What can I say? I'm a sucker for family because I never had much of one." He held up his hands, and turned his head away. "I know. You're wondering how did I ever grow into the fine, caring man you see before you?"
Finn snorted. Morrow chuckled without smiling and Lapinski put aside the computer and rested his chin on an upturned hand.
"My grandmother raised me. She's long gone and I miss her. What about you Morrow?"
Finn could swear he saw Morrow blush. "I have a rather large family locally."
Knowing that was all he was going to get out of him, Lapinski raised a brow at Finn who stretched his legs and welcomed the break.
"Six siblings and myself makes seven children," he said, always counting Alexander though he had been gone many years. "Those here are thriving, I'm happy to say, and our parents hale and hearty."
"A fine Irish-Catholic family, it seems," Detective Morrow noted.
"Sure, aren't we advertising for his holiness in the Vatican. Marriage is all about procreation."
"And have you children, Morrow?" Finn asked.
He shook his head, "I've never married."
Lapinski needed no prodding. "Before you ask, none that I know of."
It was an old joke but they laughed anyway.
"Then I suppose we shall all have to sign on as uncles to Tucker," Finn said and pushed himself back up to sitting position. "And if we're going to be out of here at a reasonable hour, we should get back to work. Are you ready to get your warrant, Morrow?"
"Judge Merill will be looking at the request. I've left Detective Anderson's fax number so he can send it along."
"If no one from Washington gets to him first," Finn said.
Foreign Relations: A Finn O'Brien Thriller (Finn O'Brien Thriller Series Book 2) Page 25
