Insider Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Any scars, tattoos, any visible marks that were noticeable?” Aidan asked.

  “No,” Knutson said, his eyes opened and moving back and forth between Cal and Aidan. “Nothing visible. No facial hair. If you saw him on the street, you probably wouldn’t notice him.”

  “Scary looking?” Aidan asked.

  “Yeah, well, at least to me. Or, maybe it was what he said. How much he knew,” Knutson replied. He looked at Cal and said, “Murder? What murders? I don’t know anything about any…”

  “Stop it!” Cal ordered. “Grow up! Do you think we could pull off something like this without anyone getting hurt?”

  “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” Knutson wailed.

  “What else did he say?” Cal patiently asked.

  “Just that they want thirty percent. And they believe they know how much,” Knutson said.

  “But he didn’t give you an exact figure,” Cal said.

  “No. Just that they know within forty or fifty million.”

  “Did he tell you when?” Cal asked.

  “No. Just to pass it on to you.”

  Cal looked at Aidan and asked, “Why didn’t he try coming to me?”

  “Probably because you’re not so easy to approach. You have security. Mr. Knutson here was easier. They could watch him and catch him out of the office.”

  “How did he get into this fancy club of yours?” Cal suddenly asked Knutson. “Don’t they have security?”

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t be hard to get passed it. He could’ve strolled right in if there was no one at the front desk.”

  “Okay,” Cal said. “You take off and keep quiet about this. If he contacts you again, be cooperative. Tell him you told me. Tell him it’s not your decision to make. Tell him whatever he wants to hear. We’ll look into this. Aidan will show you out. Oh, Brody, you did good,” Cal continued as he came around the desk. He shook hands with Knutson, pleasantly smiled and said, “Call anytime. Especially if you hear from him. While the weather is still nice, I’m thinking about another party at the lake place. You’ll be sure to come.”

  “Thanks, Cal. I feel better already,” Knutson said.

  A few minutes later Aidan was seated where Knutson had been.

  “What do you want to do with him?” Aidan asked.

  “Who? Knutson or the Italian gentlemen?” Cal asked.

  “Both,” Aidan said.

  “Knutson,” Cal began, “Nothing right now. We’ll stay as planned. The other guy, I’ll call D.C. and see what I can find out. You check with any sources you have. We need to find out where this is coming from.”

  “You still want to get rid of that other problem we talked about?” Aidan asked.

  Cal went silent for a moment thinking about the question. “Yes,” he finally said. “But like I said, let’s make it look natural.”

  “You got it,” Aidan said.

  Barely a quarter of a mile down the shoreline on Lake Minnetonka, a small crowd was listening in. Inside Vivian’s boathouse, Carvelli, Dan Sorenson, Tommy Craven, and Franklin Washington were all standing staring at a speaker. Conrad, Maddy and even Vivian were in chairs doing the same thing.

  “Come on, give us a name,” Carvelli said.

  They were listening to Cal. He had made a phone call, apparently with a new cell phone, and was obviously leaving a message. So far, he had not used the name of the person he was calling. Conrad had recorded the beeps of the number being dialed. He would forward that to Carvelli’s guy, Paul Baker, who would have the number itself in a few minutes. This might give them the name, but not necessarily.

  When Cal finished leaving the message, they heard the sounds of him getting out of his chair. A moment later, from a bug in the living room, they heard Cal say to someone, probably Aidan, to follow him outside.

  “They’re going to kill Brody Knutson,” Carvelli said.

  “Sounds like it,” Sorenson agreed.

  “That’s horrible!” Vivian exclaimed. “We must do something to stop it.”

  “Or use it to warn him and put him in our pocket,” Maddy said.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Carvelli agreed.

  “You two have devious minds,” Vivian said. “But clever.”

  “Who or what is the other problem they talked about?” Sorenson asked.

  “Who,” Maddy said. “Somebody else they’re going to kill, but this is supposed to look natural.”

  “I’m guessing someone’s about to have a heart attack,” Carvelli said.

  “What can we do?” Vivian asked.

  “Unless we can come up with some idea who it is, not much,” Carvelli replied.

  “Cal’s thug mentioned they talked about it before,” Tommy said. “How about me and Conrad go through the recordings for the past few days and see what we can find. Maybe now that we know what to look for, we might find something.”

  “Conrad?” Carvelli asked looking at the electronics man.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Conrad agreed.

  “Get that call Cal made sent…” Carvelli started to tell Conrad.

  “Done,” he replied.

  Cal left a short, cryptic message on the voice mail of a contact in D.C. He ended the call, then sat silently for a moment thinking through a thought that had occurred to him.

  Cal got out of his chair and quickly walked out into the dining room. He found Aidan sitting on a couch in the living room with his phone to his ear. Before Aidan had a chance to speak Cal put an index finger to his lips. He nodded his head toward a door leading to the backyard and the two men went outside. When they had gone about fifty feet from the house, Cal turned to Aidan.

  “Think. How the hell does this guy who talked to Knutson know so much?” Cal asked.

  “Somebody can’t keep his mouth shut,” Aidan said.

  “Maybe,” Cal agreed, “Or this house has been bugged. When was the last time you had it swept?”

  “It’s been three or four weeks,” Aidan admitted. “But we’ve been here the entire time. No one’s been in here by themselves. Someone has always been around.”

  “Get it done,” an obviously annoyed Cal sharply said.

  “Okay, boss,” Aidan replied.

  “Wait a second,” Cal said. “On second thought, do it very quietly. Just have a guy come by to do it. And have him come in a car, not a company van.”

  “We may be under surveillance,” Aidan said.

  “Maybe. Do the sweep very discreetly and if he finds something, leave it in place,” Cal said. “We may be able to mess with them.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Cal Simpson was at his desk concentrating on the information displayed on the computer screen. Despite the fact that he had warned them it would be months before their ill-gotten money could be distributed, his investors/co-conspirators were starting to pester him. What these people could not or would not grasp was that laundering almost three billion dollars was not easy or quickly done.

  Samantha had been traveling between Europe and the Caribbean for almost two weeks. She was meeting with bankers, setting up various accounts and shuffling money through fifteen different countries. But it still had to be done carefully. Fortunately, Cal’s Washington connection was in a position to make sure none of this made it onto the Feds’ radar.

  One of Cal’s burner phones rang. He looked at the number and quickly answered it. Because his mind was previously occupied, he made a little mistake.

  “Mason,” he said, “thanks for calling.”

  As soon as he said the man’s name, he realized what he had done. Before his caller could reply, Cal said, “Wait a minute. Don’t say anything.”

  To the people recording his calls, this was another mistake.

  Cal went outside to the backyard. He walked down to the lakeshore and put the phone to his ear. He explained to his caller what had happened regarding the visit by Tony Carvelli with Brody Knutson.

  “So, you think this was an emissary from a certain group of Italian
businessmen?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know, but we have to find out. We’re checking our own contacts, but you have your own sources. Can you check into it?”

  “Yeah, I can. It will need to be done discreetly. They are not my focus and I don’t want to wave any flags around,” Mason replied.

  Cal turned toward the house and saw Aidan waiting for him with two other men. He waved and held up an index finger indicating they should stay where they were.

  “Do what you can. I’d appreciate it,” Cal said into his phone.

  He ended the call and joined Aidan and the two men with him each of whom was holding a small bag of equipment. He shook hands with the men.

  “Check the house. Every square inch of it. As quietly as possible. If you find anything, don’t touch it, don’t say a word about it. Just make sure you mark it. You go with them,” Cal told Aidan. “Every inch, guys,” he repeated.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll cover it,” the older of the two said.

  “How long will it take?” Cal asked.

  “Big house,” the older man said. “It normally takes us an hour or so. We’ll go slower and be extra careful. It could take a while; two to three hours.”

  “The house is empty. The staff is off for today. Do what you have to do,” Cal said.

  Less than a minute after the three of them went inside, Cal’s phone rang again. He looked at the caller ID and frowned. As he walked back toward the lake, he answered the call.

  “Albert,” Cal said to Senator Albert Fisher. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have people riding my ass, Cal. I tell them what you said about being patient but…”

  “These are not people who are used to being patient,” Cal said. “Who’s bothering you?”

  “The old socialist is the worst one,” Fisher replied. “This morning I told him I would take him out and get him laid just so he’d calm down.”

  “What did he say to that?” Cal laughed.

  “He cussed at me and stomped off. I think he’s getting impatient to start the revolution,” Fisher said. “That reminds me, how are things progressing with that long-legged Maddy?”

  “I don’t know,” Cal said. “The girl’s like steel. No married men. She told me she had that happen to her once and she wasn’t going to do it again. Still, I like her company.”

  “Good luck,” Fisher said. “Back to my problem. Can you give some of these guys a little taste at least?”

  “No,” Cal emphatically replied. “We’re sticking to the plan. Anything else is too risky. Tell them you talked to me and the way we are doing the laundry takes time.”

  “Okay I told the old fool I would talk to you and I did. Take care.”

  “You too, Al,” Cal said.

  Almost three hours later, Conrad Hilton took off the headset and placed it on the table. With no other client to work for today, he was spending the day in Vivian’s boathouse monitoring the listening devices at Cal’s. The only thing he had picked up was the very brief phone call Cal had received. Conrad had listened to it three times to be certain of what he heard.

  “Come on, come on, Carvelli,” he impatiently muttered to himself, “Answer your damn phone.”

  After writing down the pertinent information from the recording, Conrad decided he should run this past Carvelli. The phone started to ring for the fifth time when he heard Carvelli answer it.

  “Yeah, what do you have, Conrad?”

  “Hey, I’m in the boathouse and…”

  “I know. You told me you were going to be there.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Got an odd recording a while ago. Simpson got a phone call, said hello and the guy’s name then told him not to say anything. Cal got up and that’s all I heard.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “Okay, he answered the call and said, ‘Mason, thanks for calling back.’ Then he quickly said, ‘Wait a minute. Don’t say anything.’ That was it. I heard his chair move and he must have gone outside.”

  “They found the bugs,” Carvelli said.

  “Sounds like it,” Conrad replied.

  “Who’s this Mason guy?” Carvelli asked.

  “Don’t know. I think this is the first time we’ve heard that name,” Conrad answered. “I’ll check our list, but I’m pretty sure.”

  “I think you’re right. The name Mason would ring a bell.”

  “What do you want to do about the bugs?” Conrad asked.

  “Let me think about it,” Carvelli said.

  “What about Maddy? She’s supposed to go to dinner with him tonight,” Conrad said.

  “I know. I don’t want her in that house until we’re sure she is not suspected of planting the bugs. I’ll call her and have her call Simpson. She can tell him to meet her in a public place that we can monitor. She’ll be safe there. Check for this Mason guy and I’ll get back to you.”

  When the two tech guys were finished and had located all four listening devices, they reported back to Cal. They told him what they had found then Aidan escorted them to their car and paid them in cash. While Aidan did this, Cal, in a state of fury, stomped around the backyard.

  Aidan returned to the back of the house and waited patiently for his boss. He also knew he had an ass-chewing coming.

  “Who the hell did this?” Cal practically screamed in Aidan’s face.

  “I don’t know,” Aidan quietly admitted.

  “It’s your goddamn job to know!” Cal yelled. “What the hell am I paying you for?”

  Aidan stood still, hands held loosely together at his waist. Cal was normally very good at keeping his cool, but once in a while, something would set him off. Cal turned, took several steps away and took a deep breath. A sure sign that the worst was over.

  Cal turned back to Aidan and asked, “Someone on the staff?”

  “Maybe,” Aidan replied. “I kind of doubt it though. I doubt any of them would have the balls to pull a stunt like this.”

  “Fire them all. Have the agency send over new ones,” Cal said.

  “Should we keep an eye on them? Try to find out if one of them did it?” Aidan asked. “Now that we know where the bugs are, can we use that to send disinformation to whoever it is that is listening in?”

  “Maybe,” a much calmer Cal agreed. “Is it the mob guys? Could they have done this?”

  “Sure,” Aidan replied. “That’s who I was thinking. If it’s the Feds, Mason will find out for us. What about your girlfriend, Maddy? What exactly do we know about her?”

  Cal thought about the question for a moment before answering. “I don’t know. It’s possible I suppose. But she’s never been alone in the house long enough, has she?”

  “I remember once I caught her alone in the kitchen. There’s a bug in there, but she was just getting a glass of water. Still, she’s a pretty clever girl. Could be,” Aidan replied.

  “I guess it’s time we did a thorough check of the lovely Maddy Shore. We’re having dinner tonight. Put a tail on her,” Cal said.

  “Will do, boss,” Aidan replied.

  “I think you and Conrad are right,” Maddy told Carvelli. “At least we better assume they found the bugs.”

  “Hang on a second,” Carvelli said. “Conrad’s trying to call me.”

  Carvelli put Maddy on hold while he took Conrad’s call. A minute later, he was back.

  “Conrad says he got over to Cal’s just in time to see two tech guys he knows leaving.”

  “That confirms it,” Maddy said. “Now what?”

  “We’ll see. At this point, they don’t know it was you, but we have to assume you’re on the list of suspects. You want to pull out and stop seeing him?”

  Maddy went silent thinking it over. “Not yet. Let’s play it out for a bit.”

  “Sweetheart, Aidan is a very bad guy. I know you can handle yourself, but…”

  “We’ll be careful. I think they’ll put a tail on me to try to find out more about me. Probably starting tonight. He doesn’t even know where I
live…”

  “You don’t know that,” Carvelli said. “Call him,” Carvelli continued. “Tell him you don’t want to drive out to his place. Tell him to meet you downtown at Ruth’s Chris on Ninth and Second. We can cover you better there.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll call you back after I set it up.”

  FORTY–TWO

  Over the years of practicing law, Marc had learned the best way to ignore an annoying client. When one of them is sitting across the desk from him, venting about idiotic nonsense and unrealistic expectations, look them right in the eyes. Put an expression on your face that what he or she is prattling on about is as captivating as the Gettysburg Address and pay no attention to it. They will believe you are a great listener and truly out to take care of them. In fact, what Marc is really thinking about is how much longer he has to endure this torture. Of course, it helps to nod your head from time-to-time.

  Seated across the desk this morning was the self-absorbed, albeit spectacularly good-looking daughter of a client. More precisely, she was the daughter of a client of an officemate, Chris Grafton. The original client, Gerald Middleton, was a minor real estate mogul in the Twin Cities. Chris had been his lawyer for almost fifteen years and the father was a terrific guy. Jerry Middleton was an up-by-his-bootstraps entrepreneur and as likable as anyone you could meet. This, of course, was a huge asset in the real estate business.

  His daughter, Kelly was, and Jerry would admit this, a spoiled ball-busting man-eater. Now thirty-eight years old, with two kids after eight years of a third marriage, Marc had let Chris and Jerry Middleton convince him to do her divorce. Connie had done the first two. When Chris hinted that a third one was coming, Connie had conveniently gone to Europe for a month.

  “Marc?” Kelly sharply said bringing him out of his semi-trance.

  “What do you think? I’m getting screwed, aren’t I?”

  “No, Kelly. You’re not getting screwed,” Marc told her again. You are going to get physical custody…”