Annie's Verdict

by John Ellsworth

  The Marshal's Service SOG would move her by special air to Chicago by way of several intermediate destinations and plane changes that couldn't be traced because no flight plans would be filed. Underground Air, the government, called such sorties. They scheduled the flights for the next day, and finally, I could relax.

  Reactive law enforcement was now a thing of the past. We had become proactive, and already I liked it better.

  The next day I received a call from Special Agent Ames. The banking records were all but impossible to obtain through GULP itself. There was no one on the inside willing to cooperate. So we determined that we would obtain a subpoena and hit the bank itself.

  We had the records forty-eight hours later.

  And Annie was now in Evanston, surrounded by people who would love her. And strong men who would protect her.

  At last, I could sleep, and I spent all of the next few days in my room, calling up room service and moving pieces around on my mental chessboard.

  There were only so many pieces, it was turning out.

  And I had them all covered.

  I was back.

  37

  Two days after getting home to my hotel suite, I was picked up by Agent Ames to accompany him to Rudy's apartment for a look around. In particular, we were looking for a cat on a kitchen table. I was virtually convinced we would find this scenario at Rudy's. As we drove along, Ames went over what we knew so far. He asked about the conflict between Jessup's grand jury testimony where he ID'd the shooter as the vice president and the testimony of the pharmaceutical rep who had the shooter looking nothing like the VP.

  "It's a mystery," I said. "But Maxwell Atkins had a closer look as the shooter came running back past him so I'd probably put more weight on his story. Plus, Senator Jessup was engaged with his date for the night and wouldn't have had the same opportunity to observe as Atkins."

  "It sounds to me like the senator has an ax to grind. He couldn't have made out faces from where he was standing. Plus, he was looking at a downward angle. My team has it all measured and the angles computed. He had a very difficult point of view to recognize a face down below."

  "Good point. Yes, I'm fairly sure we're on the track of Rudy Geneseo, our dead guy."

  "Did you show his picture to Maxwell Atkins?"

  "No, I wanted his best recall. I'll show the picture if there's any court follow-up. Though I doubt there will be."

  "How about if I take Geneseo's picture around to Atkins and ask him one-on-one whether he can ID?"

  "Now that I like. Let's get it done."

  "I'll do that later today."

  We arrived at Rudy Geneseo's apartment. It was located in a rundown part of town, with a liquor store on one corner of his block and a Chinese restaurant/grocery store at the other. The sidewalks were cracked and askance and littered with trash, hoodlums apparent everywhere as we drove past their suspicious, hate-filled eyes. But evidently, they made us as more cops as Rudy's place had been overrun with police examiners and photographers since his shooting at Jarrod and Annie's house. Ames and I were johnnies-come-lately, truth be told.

  The door to Rudy's apartment was manned by a policewoman who seemed to recognize Ames before he badged her. She allowed a nod of recognition and said, "So even the FBI wants in on this one. I'm impressed. Who are you?"

  "I'm an assistant U.S. Attorney," I told her and flashed my ID. She pushed open the door and waved us inside.

  The place was laid out in an L-shape, with the living room and bedroom off to the side making up the base and leg of the L. Following the leg through to its other end, we came to the kitchen. But the table was a small white metal table, and there was no sign of a cat anyplace in the apartment--no kitty litter, no bowls on the floor, no cat food in the cupboards or refrigerator, nothing.

  "This isn't it, Jack," I told Ames a few minutes after we'd entered. "We're still on the hunt for the cat."

  "I'm surprised," Ames said, nodding with his eyebrows knitted in puzzlement. "I would've bet we'd find the cat or a cat setup in here. But Rudy evidently had no pets at all."

  "Evidently."

  “One more thing. Let me check his closet.”

  I opened the accordion door to Rudy’s closet and riffled through the hangers until I found the belts. Three belts. Then…there it was. The Effingham belt buckle. But it stopped me in my tracks. Why would Rudy be wearing a belt buckle capable of implicating the vice president in a murder? It made no sense, especially if it was the VP who had enlisted Rudy to murder Gerry at the Reflecting Pool. For Rudy to then wear the buckle to the murder knowing that he was being captured on CCTV—it didn’t add up. On the other hand, if the VP wasn’t involved might Rudy have simply been wearing the buckle in order to draw attention away from himself? Had he planned to make us believe the VP was the shooter? But that made no sense: he wouldn’t have known about the VP’s belt buckle yet purposely obtained one and worn it. That would have been way beyond Rudy’s pay grade to pull off something that sophisticated. I decided to put the issue on the back burner. I had a feeling that when we located the cat on the table—rather, if we located the cat on the table—that happy discovery would reveal much more to us, including the mystery of the belt buckle.

  Driving me back to my office, Jack Ames said, "We need to follow the money, Michael. Following the money backward will lead us to whoever paid Rudy to kill Gerry Tybaum. And Mona. What do you think?"

  "I think I'm taking Wexler's grand jury testimony soon. I'd like to hold this conversation until I'm done with that."

  "Understand."

  "But I do agree. The banking transactions are going to lead us to the guys who didn't pull the trigger. The guys who hired someone else to pull it for them."

  "Agree," said Ames.

  We wheeled into underground parking, and he let me out.

  We still hadn't found the cat.

  But we were still looking.

  38

  News of the deaths of Jarrod Tybaum and Rudy Geneseo reached Paul Wexler at GULP. He was just ordering breakfast from the cafeteria downstairs when his secretary buzzed. He answered the phone, and she told him Nivea Young had shown up without an appointment, demanding to talk to Wexler. The CEO said to bring her right in without delay.

  Nivea came charging inside, her face a determined mask of single-mindedness. She brought Wexler up to speed on the shootout in two minutes. When she finished, Wexler sat back in his executive chair, rubbing his eyes with two fingers. Then he addressed what Young had come to tell him.

  "The girl is missing."

  "The youngest child has vanished."

  "I'm paying you to find her. What's the hold-up?"

  "I've run down every lead, everything I can come up with," she said. She was tense, a snake ready to strike but one without a target. Her hands clenched and unclenched; her blink rate had doubled, Wexler saw. It felt good to have her on his side and looking.

  "I can pretty confidently guess where Gresham has the kid, this Annie Tybaum."

  Nivea Young shook her head. "My guess is it won't be Bethesda again. What are you thinking?"

  "Remember the dossier you prepared on him? Home in Evanston, Illinois? Live-in girlfriend, live-in ex-mother-in-law, two young kids? Wouldn't that be a natural place to stash Annie? I mean, who would think of looking there for her?"

  Nivea studied Wexler's sharp features. His eyes were glowing as he made his projection, his educated guess about the young heiress's whereabouts.

  "So you're sending me to Evanston?"

  "I'm surprised you haven't left already, Ms. Young. I'm disappointed in you."

  For the first time, the ex-CIA case officer smiled. "I'm already packing a bag as we speak. What about Gresham's kids? What about the others in the house?"

  "What about them? We're not trying to save lives here, Ms. Young. There's too much money at stake for us to be thinking of anything but the result. I need this Annie problem to go away...permanently."

  "I know that. Get ready f
or a big bang, Mr. Wexler; I won't be taking any captives."

  He waved her off. "Just do it. Don't tell me any more. And when it's done, never contact me again. Your money will be waiting in your Swiss account."

  "You won't hear from me ever again, Mr. Wexler. If this doesn't end it, you need to look elsewhere for my kind of help. I'm too exposed already."

  "I would look elsewhere anyway."

  She scowled at him. Then she left.

  When he was alone, his breakfast arrived. Soon his mind was grappling with the notion of killing a young child.

  With a sigh, he had to admit to himself: it wouldn't be the first time.

  39

  Two days later, Jack Ames reported back to me. Evidently, they set up their investigation HQ right inside the FBI's field office at 4th Street NW. There they had several computers on a LAN, and they were receiving Charter Bank and Mercantile of Boston account records for all GULP accounts. CBMB hadn't attempted to quash the subpoena; records were flowing into the field office the same day the subpoena was served at the home office.

  They then began the arduous task of locating the smoking gun.

  They searched the records for all GULP cash transactions. Less than forty-five records were returned as a dataset. The four agents divided them up and began poring over them, attempting to connect transaction values with new account values at CBMB. It was a shot in the dark, but it was what I'd wanted them to do.

  At noon, Ames called me. "What would you say to fifty-thousand cash going out of GULP and a safe deposit box being opened by GULP the same day in the name of Green Laundry and Cleaners?"

  "I'd say we need to crack a safe deposit box."

  "That's on you, counselor. Let me know when the subpoena's ready and I'll walk it through."

  We had the subpoena signed and delivered to Special Agent Ames two hours after his call. Then he was on his way to Boston.

  Ames arrived in Boston after banking hours and settled into a hotel room a block away from the bank. At eight a.m. the next morning he was waiting at the door when the security service unlocked. At 8:11 he was inside the vault and the vault manager was unlocking the box listed in the name of Green Laundry and Cleaners. She pulled the box out and laid it on a velvet table-top for Ames to open.

  Which he did.

  "Cash," he said to the vault manager.

  "Hmm, yes," she answered.

  "I have to count it," Ames advised her and so, while she waited, Ames counted the money in the box It wasn't fifty-thousand; it was seventy-thousand. So Ames returned to his computers in Washington and looked for cash withdrawals of twenty-thousand dollars. Nothing came back. So he tried ten-thousand dollars, and two data files were returned. They were dated the same day, just after the fifty-thousand deposit.

  Which was when Ames formulated his working theory, that Rudy Geneseo had been paid fifty-thousand dollars for the hit on Gerry Tybaum and ten-thousand apiece on Jarrod and Mona. There was not a third payment, he reasoned, because Annie was still alive. But she would have been next if I hadn't shot Rudy just as he was about to shoot Annie in the back.

  It had been just that close.

  Next, Ames and his team went to work on tracking down the identity of the person who had facilitated the cash payouts and deposits. He started with the most obvious choice, Paul Wexler. The bank's vault records proved that Wexler had visited the bank vault on the same dates as the cash withdrawals and that he had opened the account for Green Laundry and Cleaning. Access identities included, of all people, Rudy Geneseo.

  Jack called me from Boston.

  "I've got your man," he told me, trying to disguise the excitement in his voice that no FBI agent would ever evince to the world.

  "Give me a name, Jack."

  "Paul Wexler. You were spot on, Michael."

  "Why doesn't the name Paul Wexler surprise me? I'm hauling his ass before the grand jury as we speak."

  I issued a grand jury subpoena for Wexler. As I predicted, he immediately lawyered up. But then a strange thing happened. I received a call from a DC lawyer by the name of Susan Kayye, and she had news about Paul Wexler that she could only share with me in private.

  We met that afternoon in my office downtown, Susan Kayye, Jack Ames, Ronald Holt, and me.

  At first, she didn't want to talk to the cops in the room, but I assured her that their presence was the only way this conversation was going to happen. She relented as I knew she would; this conversation was a must for her and I thought I knew why.

  A lawyer has a duty to reveal to the authorities the planned commission of a crime that their client reveals to them. I believed we had snared Paul Wexler at the same time as he had another attempt on Annie's life in the works.

  Sure enough, I thought as I heard out Ms. Kayye.

  "I've met twice with Mr. Wexler. He doesn't know I'm here. But I'm here because the attorneys' ethical rules require that I divulge to you, the proper officials, Wexler's intent to commit a crime."

  "What crime would that be?" I asked.

  "Paul Wexler has hired a hitman to kill Annie Tybaum. He wouldn't tell me the hitman's name and believe me I cajoled and threatened and begged him for it. But then he became way too suspicious of me and why I needed the name, and he clammed up. For all I know, I've already been fired by him, which is irrelevant. I'm required by law to tell you and the authorities what I'm telling you, and now I've done that. I'll be confirming all this in a letter to you, Mr. Gresham, dated today and delivered before five o'clock this evening. Let there be no mistake. My duty is done here."

  Just as quickly as she had appeared, Susan Kayye was gone. It wouldn't have done to try and coax more answers and information out of her. She was a true professional who usually litigated in the area of white collar crime with a top-drawer Washington law firm. While Wexler's conspiracy to commit murder case was a little off her beaten path of typical case types, it was something she had taken on because the man paid her one-million dollars to defend him.

  After she had been gone, Ames and Holt and I put our heads together.

  "Where is GULP's headquarters?" Ames asked.

  I looked up their address on my computer and passed it to him.

  "I know this building," Ames then said. "There's closed circuit TV everywhere."

  "We're fishing now, I've got a feeling," Holt said.

  Ames looked at Holt. "Yes, we are. Get ready for some long days and nights."

  "You're reviewing closed circuit TV video?" I lamely asked.

  "We are. We'll know every person who has entered Wexler's office over the past week. We'll also run facial recognition on them and get some names and backgrounds. Bear with me, Michael, I'm pedaling as fast as I can."

  "You're looking to ID the killer."

  "Looking to put a name with a face, yeah."

  "I'm praying you can," I said. "Without a picture or name we're sunk."

  I was uneasy. Someone was after Annie yet again--which we had already guessed anyway, but now it was confirmed. It was like a knife shoved deep into my gut. My first inclination was to jump the red eye to Chicago and head for Evanston and swoop the girl into my arms and protect her. But I was needed in Washington.

  It was time to set Wexler's ass down in front of my grand jury and go to work on him.

  40

  Paul Wexler walked boldly into the grand jury room and raised his right hand. I knew he had been sandpapered by his attorney--whoever it turned out to be, and it wouldn't surprise me if he immediately took the Fifth and refused to answer. Five minutes later, I had my answer.

  "Mr. Wexler, have you had any role in the deaths of Gerald Tybaum, Mona Tybaum, or Jarrod Tybaum?"

  "I refuse to answer. Fifth Amendment, Mr. Gresham."

  Just as I expected, he was going to sky out on me.

  So I tried a different approach.

  "Tell me the names of all people you know who are making any effort to murder Annie Tybaum."

  "Same thing. Fifth Amendment."

&n
bsp; He was wrong, I thought. The question didn't seek to incriminate him; it sought to obtain information about someone other than him. My position was that he should have to answer that. I also thought the Honorable Erasmus M. Samuels would back me up on this if I went into his court and sought an order directing Wexler to answer the question or go to jail for contempt of court.

  "I want to talk to my lawyer," Wexler said, coolly and without hesitation.

  "We'll stand in recess for ten minutes," I announced.

  A witness has a right to step outside the grand jury room and discuss a pending question with their lawyer. Wexler had requested as much, and I had no way--or interest--in preventing that. I had no interest in preventing it because any criminal lawyer worth their salt would probably direct him to answer my question. Which would save us a trip to the U.S. courthouse.

  Ten minutes later we were back on the record.

  "Mr. Wexler, I again ask you for the names of people you know to be making efforts to murder Annie Tybaum."

  This time there was no hesitation.

  "Nivea Young."

  "And are you in any way connected with Nivea Young in any conspiracy to kill Annie Tybaum?"

  "I take the Fifth Amendment."

  Which went on another thirty minutes and I then called a recess. I told Wexler's attorney to keep his man close by as he was subject to recall by the grand jury.

  We now had a name--Nivea Young--and Special Agent Ames had a huge collection of pictures, the visitors to GULP's building. But now he could go back to his facial recognition software and look for any hits with the name of Nivea Young. Which he did. He called me less than an hour later. We now had video of Nivea Young.

  When I looked at her picture, I was shocked. She was the same woman who, my Chicago office's video system showed, entered my building the night Gerry Tybaum came to see me in Chicago. She was the person who had removed my gun from my desk.