Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

  Matt read the transcript from the trial. The trial lasted less than a day. The jury convicted him after an hour of deliberation.

  A name jumped out immediately. Detective Jim Perry. He’d been on call when Cordell called in the crime. Except ... the address wasn’t in the City of Sacramento. It was in the county. Dispatch had routed the call to the closest patrol unit, which was Cordell, even though the address was across the river from the city boundary. Border areas were handled by either the Sheriff’s Department or the bordering city. But after securing the scene, Cordell should have contacted the Sheriff’s investigation unit, not Sac PD.

  Nothing particularly wrong with what he did ... except for the fact that Tommy Cordell had been a corrupt cop, and this case was anything but common.

  The testimony was straightforward. Perry had investigated the case, worked with Wallace, supervised the crime scene techs.

  Nothing was taken.

  This case should never have been brought to trial. The defendant could easily have pled to less than a year. He had no active warrants.

  Cordell found a knife on his person when he was searched.

  Problematic. But the business was empty when Paulson broke in after midnight.

  Paulson didn’t testify on his own behalf. If he didn’t testify, why wouldn’t he have just pled? Why go through the farce of the trial? Travis Hart should have pled if only to save the taxpayers money. Why go for the max sentence instead of an easy one year plea for the non-violent crime? And Anthony Monteith didn’t do anything particularly extraordinary to try and get Paulson off. He was competent, but the prints, the lock picks, the knife, and history of thefts all led to an easy conviction.

  And then he was killed. Without ever speaking on the record as to why he had broken into Wallace Construction in the first place.

  Matt turned back to his computer and ran a search on all cases attached to the defense lawyer or his law firm. He didn’t exclusively represent members of the Russian mob, but there were enough names that Matt suspected a connection.

  His phone buzzed. He grabbed it. “Yes?”

  “I have the property records you asked for, Mr. Elliott.”

  “Bring them in, Zoey. Thank you.”

  His law clerk came in and handed him the file. It was a history of the property in question.

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, thank you—Cynthia is in charge for the rest of the day. I have an outside meeting at noon. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  She waited for more information. Matt knew that he was acting out of character—he always gave Zoey detailed information about his schedule. He had a secretary and receptionist as well, but Zoey was his rock.

  “Thanks, Zoey,” he said a bit dismissively. He’d smooth it over with her later.

  She walked out and Matt turned his attention back to the files in front of him. What the hell was going on with his case? Maybe it had nothing to do with the shooting, but that both Cordell and Jim Perry were involved in the investigation, with Travis as the prosecutor and a known Russian mob lawyer as the defense, was suspicious. Could Jim Perry somehow be tied in with Cordell? If so, why did he hide that from Alex? If Perry was connected to Cordell, did that mean he was also connected to Rykov?

  One thing that didn’t quite ring true for Matt was why Tommy shot Alex in the first place. She’d found him with the underage prostitute and told him she was going to their lieutenant, that his behavior crossed a line. And he’d shot her. He could have gotten off with a slap on the wrist, maybe a suspension, but to shoot his partner was so over-the-top that no one could overlook it. What had been going through his mind? Was he thinking he could frame the prostitute if Alex had died? Kill her as the witness, and say she shot at both of them? Matt didn’t know because Tommy Cordell hadn’t spoken to anyone since his arrest. He likely wouldn’t take the stand in his defense.

  If Tommy was suspicious of Alex’s motives, he might have shot her out of a knee-jerk self-protective instinct.

  He buzzed Zoey. “Can you come in for a sec?”

  She came in and closed the door behind her. “Yes?”

  “Can you discreetly pull Detective Jim Perry’s personnel files? Everything you can get without throwing up any flags.”

  “Of course.” Again, she was curious, but didn’t ask questions.

  Matt opened the file on the property. Wallace had owned the land for a generation, and built the physical business twenty years ago. After the burglary, he went bankrupt ... not uncommon in construction, except four years ago the market was slowly starting to rebound. Though he’d owned the land outright at one point, he’d heavily mortgaged it over the years and was upside down. The bank foreclosed, and someone else bought it.

  As soon as he saw who now owned it, Matt began to put the pieces together.

  His heart raced as he scribbled dates, names and entities on a yellow legal pad. This was exactly the information Dean Hooper needed for his investigation. It wasn’t everything, but it was far more than they’d had before.

  He pulled an aerial picture of the property. They had docks, river access, and privacy. The business that leased the building paid an inordinate amount of money for the property—far more than they could make repairing boats. The whole thing reeked of money laundering 101.

  And it all started when Wallace went bankrupt—which started with the burglary.

  Matt called Alex. She no longer needed to check out the address, he knew exactly what was going on.

  Her phone went to voice mail immediately.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alex didn’t expect Tommy Cordell to meet with her, but she hid her surprise when, after waiting for twenty minutes, the guard returned. “Follow me, but you’ll have to check your weapon and cell phone.”

  She turned everything over and it was locked in one of several small safes. The guard brought her back to an interview room.

  Tommy was already there. He wasn’t handcuffed, which was against protocol. The guard said, “I’ll be right outside the door.”

  Alex didn’t know the guard; he might hate her guts and Tommy could beat her to death without anyone coming to her aide.

  But she sat across from her former partner and refrained from showing fear.

  “You are the last person I expected to visit me,” Tommy said.

  “I surprised myself,” she replied.

  Tommy was forty, and his hair had turned almost completely gray since he’d been in jail. He’d lost weight, and looked like he was in better shape now than he had been nine months ago when she’d shot him. She refrained from looking at his hand, which was missing two fingers. She’d been in so much pain when she’d shot him that she’d hit him first in the right hand, then two bullets in the shoulder. He, too, had nearly died that day. He would have been dead if her aim hadn’t been off.

  Looking at him, she realized she didn’t hate him. She felt sorry for him. She loathed his corruption. But Tommy himself? She had no feelings toward him at all. For months, when she was investigating him, and after he shot her, she thought she’d hated him. The anger was simply a mask for her own feelings of betrayal, inadequacy, failure.

  She’d lost her job, but Tommy had lost far more. He’d lost his reputation. His daughter. His freedom.

  They stared at each other, neither feeling the need to talk. She wanted answers to all her questions, but she knew he wouldn’t give them to her. He hadn’t made a plea deal. She doubted he would testify. She would have to. Once, she’d thought it would be difficult. Now? She was much stronger. She would tell the truth and the jury would believe her or not.

  In fact, asking Tommy anything would tip him off that there was a bigger investigation at play. Since he wasn’t talking to the police, his loyalty was with Rykov, which meant he would alert Rykov that the feds were looking at him. And if Hart was in as deep Matt thought he was, he would know as well—and know that Alex was part of the investigation.

  The truth was, she didn�
�t have any questions she could ask Tommy Cordell without screwing up the federal investigation. What she really wanted was to face him, to know she could do it, to put the past firmly in the past.

  “Okay,” she said with a nod.

  “Okay what?”

  “I’m done.”

  He leaned back and raised his bushy eyebrows. “Done?”

  “This has been hanging over me for the last nine months. I’ve been ... at an impasse. Angry. Bitter. But it’s gone. I needed to see you to make sure it wasn’t going to sneak up and bite my ass.”

  “You’re making no fucking sense, Morgan.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll do the right thing. I’m going to ask you something, and I’m hoping you’ll tell me the truth. Your lawyer isn’t here, the prosecutor isn’t here, just you and me.” She’d come up with a plausible lie as she stared at him. And it was, frankly, brilliant. Either he knew or he didn’t know.

  “I’m not admitting to anything, Morgan.”

  “Do you remember Selena Black?”

  He snorted. “What red-blooded man wouldn’t remember that hottie?”

  “She recently caught a case. A Russian prostitute, beaten and sodomized, that had several similarities to two other cases—one that she investigated five years ago, and another where the victim ended up in the river last year.”

  “If little miz Black wants my help on a case, she can ask me herself.”

  “She won’t. She doesn’t think you’ll help, and she has nothing to offer you.”

  “And you do?”

  “Spin.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I will not lie in court when I testify against you, I will tell the complete truth. But I can choose words that have a great emotional impact on the jury, or I can testify as if reading a police report.” She paused. He didn’t believe her, but he tilted his head, analyzing what she meant.

  “It could be the difference,” she added, “between five years and twenty years.”

  He didn’t say anything. But the fact that he didn’t tell her to go to hell was a good sign.

  “Selena and I compared notes. In the first case, the prostitute survived, refused to talk, left the hospital against medical advice, and then died of an overdose two days later. Jim Perry caught the case. The second case, eighteen months ago, was investigated by Selena’s brother John Black. The girl was strangled during sex from behind. John believed that it was accidental, and the killer or her pimp dumped her body in the river to get rid of evidence.”

  “There are far better ways of getting rid of evidence.”

  “True. But he used a condom and spermicide and the girl had her wrists tied to avoid scratching her rapist.”

  “Rapist? They were prostitutes. I can see a murder rap, but hard to prove rape when the whores get paid for sex.”

  She didn’t react to his comment, simply nodded. “Now Selena has another victim, and though she’s not cooperating yet, Selena has a guard at the hospital. Because there’s a fourth victim, from three years ago, another Russian prostitute—this one was shot. Selena pulled the autopsy report and found week old injuries consistent with her new victim and the previous two victims.

  “Three dead Russian prostitutes. One in serious condition in the hospital. And you know something about Russian prostitutes, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you think I can tell you.”

  “I think you know who their rapist is—okay, we’ll call him a john. You’re forgetting, Tommy, I worked with you for well over a year. I turned my back on a bunch of shit because you weren’t always a bad cop. You had good instincts.”

  He scowled at her. “I didn’t think you’d turn into such a pussy and freak out because I was screwing a whore.”

  “She was fourteen,” she said through clenched teeth. “That was my fucking problem. She was the same age as your own daughter.”

  Tommy looked almost surprised. As if he’d never considered that fact, and was horrified. She didn’t think he was faking. So she pushed.

  “I want to give Selena something, a direction. The bullet that killed the prostitute three years ago matched ballistics from another case.” She took out a photo of Hart’s shooter from her pocket and showed it to Tommy. “I know you know this kid. He attempted to kill Lieutenant Governor Travis Hart two days ago and ballistics from the scene match a gun found in his possession. He killed himself—or was killed by whoever hired him to take out Hart.”

  She was watching Tommy closely. He was a cop, good at controlling his emotions, but when she mentioned Hart his jaw twitched.

  “Selena thought he might have been the rapist, except this new victim? She was attacked hours after this kid was killed. So we’re thinking the gun may have belonged to whoever he works for.”

  Tommy didn’t say anything.

  “I saw you talking to this kid many times, Tommy. Give me something to share with Selena, something good enough to catch this bastard, and I won’t use any adjectives when I testify against you.”

  If the kid was really the rapist, Tommy would know she was bluffing about the fourth victim. But her former partner seemed to be weighing something in his head. His conscience? Did he even have one? A lie? She waited.

  He slid the paper back toward her. “I have no comment.”

  She glared at him. “You know who killed those women.”

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even nod or shake his head. He leaned forward and whispered, “Walk away. Do not look back. They will kill you.”

  She whispered, “Who?”

  He shook his head and stood.

  “Dammit, Tommy!”

  He knocked on the door. The guard opened it and Tommy said, “Take me back to my cell, Jerry. I don’t have the answers she wants.”

  ***

  Matt arrived at FBI headquarters at 12:30 and found Dean in his office. “Where’s Alex?”

  “She called and said she would be late.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Matt tossed a file on Dean’s desk. “A solid connection.”

  Dean opened the file and Matt explained what was in it. “Seven years ago, Hart prosecuted a case against a burglar named Paulson. Paulson was defended by Anthony Monteith, a defense lawyer who takes mostly drug cases—and more than half of his clients are connected to the Russian mob. Jim Perry was the lead detective on the case, and Tommy Cordell was the responding officer. Paulson was accused of breaking into 1160 River Road, a small construction company located right on the Sacramento River. The company was owned by a guy named Clark Wallace. Nothing was taken from the business, though someone made an attempt to access files in Wallace’s computer. The forensics report says Paulson didn’t get into the computer, but it was his third strike and Hart asked for the maximum. Paulson was killed in prison and his attorney did a piss-poor job. Paulson broke in, but nothing was taken—at least nothing that Wallace admitted to.

  “A year later, Wallace’s company went under and Travis Hart bought the property on the cheap. He hired a property management company—Goldstar Management. Goldstar is part of Green River Holdings, which is owned by Core One.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I’ve been going through this all morning. I have it documented.”

  Core One was one of Sergei Rykov’s legitimate businesses—at least, no one had been able to find anything illegal yet.

  “Okay,” Dean said, “but that doesn’t give us anything to use against either Hart or Rykov.”

  “Star Consulting is also owned by Green River Holdings.”

  “The same Star Consulting that Huang gave us this morning?”

  “Exactly. And that address is right on the river. It has a dock. Access to freeways. And it’s remote. No houses or businesses with line of sight.”

  Matt didn’t need to elaborate further. Rykov trafficked in humans; Dean’s wife worked for ICE. Dean knew how human trafficking worked.

  “But we have no proof that building
is being used for anything illegal,” Dean said slowly.

  “Maybe not. Right now the building is being leased by a boat repair shop, but according to their business filings I don’t see how they can afford the high rent. And the repair shop is owned by yet another business that I haven’t been able to trace.”

  “I can do that,” Dean said. “Devil’s advocate here—Hart can claim he turned the property over to the management company and had no idea who rented it or what the going rates were. He has plausible deniability.”

  “Yes, but it’s one more connection between Hart and Rykov.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  Matt wouldn’t be deterred. “If we can connect the property to Tommy Cordell, that’s one more connection to Rykov.”

  “We have dozens of thin ties, but nothing that the AUSA is going to go to a judge with. We need solid evidence. A witness. Bank records. It’s going to take months to pour through the financials of all the companies involved and figure out how they were moving their money, whether they were laundering, how they worked together – and how Travis Hart fits in. I can’t bluff a man like Hart. He was a damn prosecutor, he’s going to know if I bluff.”

  Matt sank into a chair. “Alex said something about that address made her itch. The property is outside the city of Sacramento, so it’s likely it’s not job related. Is there anything we can do to get a warrant?”

  Dean shook his head. “I’ll work on it. Huang gave us a lot of good information, and he’s documented everything. He has files in both his home and office. He didn’t do it because he was suspicious, but because he wanted to make sure he had records of everything he’d done. Goodman, apparently, was big on integrity, and Huang learned everything from him. But Huang isn’t going to be a good informant. He has no poker face. I suggested that he resign—he’s had two job offers since Hart announced for Governor, and it shouldn’t raise any flags if he takes one of them. I have a man watching him until this settles down.” Dean ran a hand over his face. “Matt, we have a lot of loose connections, but we don’t have a case. I bring this to the AUSA and she’ll laugh me out of her office. I need to follow through on what Huang gave us, and more important, try to get someone into Hart’s campaign. Like Alex. She might be the only way we can catch him.”