"He came into the cell last night, we couldn't talk, so we whispered, and he hired me. I've got his money here in my shirt, but I'm not even sure why I have that. Is that what you wanted to know?"
"He says you took the money from the firm," Lockhart all but hissed.
"That's not exactly what I said," Ansel quickly interjected. "I said he has firm money."
"That's just it, Mr. Largent, is it your money he has or firm money?"
"Firm money. My money from the firm."
"Did he get it from the firm or did he get it from you."
"I can't answer that without counsel here."
"He says he is your counsel. And he's here."
"He's not my counsel and I never told you he was."
Thaddeus rattled his chains. "Hold on! Now wait a damn minute. You hired me last night to defend you. Because there were megabucks missing from the firm. Are you now saying that didn't happen?"
Ansel avoided eye contact. He fixed his point of vision on the far wall and said, evenly, "That didn't happen. You have money that belongs to the firm and you know how you came by it. I can't say any more than that for fear it may be used against me. I want an attorney."
"You little--"
"Hold on, Mr. Murfee. Maybe you should talk to counsel before you say anymore here. We don't want you making any statements that get suppressed by some judge because you didn't have counsel."
"I just want to clarify what happened!" Thaddeus had lost it and he was struggling. He knew better than to carry on, but he was at wit's end--no sleep, no food, arrest and crooked judge and now he had been duped by some lawyer out of Chicago? He had lost it, which slowly became clear as he went back over last night's conversation with Ansel Largent. He wanted to pinch himself because he felt like he was dreaming. It felt like running underwater.
"Mr. Murfee--" Largent was talking now--"I would strongly caution you against saying any more--one lawyer to another."
He threw his head back and rolled his eyes.
He had been had. The manipulative little bastard had worked him.
"Look, why don't we do this," Cashman said. "Why don't you come with us back to Chicago when we take Mr. Largent? We can all have a sit-down, everyone can lawyer-up, and we can work through this."
"There's nothing to work through," Thaddeus said. "You can leave me off the Chicago list, if you don't mind."
Lockhart smiled. "Oh, but we do mind, Mr. Murfee. We are going to need more information from you. With counsel present, of course."
"This can't be happening."
"Mind if we pat you down?"
"What for, you thinking I'm armed?"
"I'm thinking you're hiding fifty grand in your shirt. That would be evidence of the crime we're investigating."
"Yes, I mind."
"Well, stand up and lean against the wall anyway. Cashman is going to pat you down."
Thaddeus did as instructed.
The fifty thousand was located on second pat. It was extricated from his shirt and the rest of his frame was examined by Cashman. When he was done, he placed his large hand on Thaddeus' head and steered him back to his seat.
"Now. Thank you for your cooperation. We'll be leaving now. And you'll both be coming with us."
"Mexico has a hold on me," Thaddeus said.
"No," Cashman said coolly, pursing his lips and extracting the toothpick. "No, Mexico has no hold on you. Not anymore."
"Great. Case closed, then."
"Not exactly. From where I'm sitting, Mr. Murfee, the case is only just now open. We're only getting started here."
"Gentlemen, on your feet, please," said Lockhart.
"No one to say goodbye to back in the cell?" Cashman laughed. "Good. Let's walk outside and load up. It's going to be a long day for you gentlemen."
Thaddeus gave Ansel an enraged look. Ansel looked away, obediently falling in behind Lockhart and shadowing her.
But at the door Ansel stopped. One head bob. Two.
"Work with me here," he whispered sharply, then ducked on through.
"But--" Thaddeus managed, but the odd man was gone.
He never looked back.
Not once.
22
Chapter 22
Ansel explained Libby's disability to the agents. The FBI Chicago Office said she could join them on the Learjet.
They took off from Nogales at 12:20 p.m.
En route, the Largents, with Cashman and Lockhart, occupied the first four seats in the small jet. Thaddeus sat at the rear, nursing a Starbucks they had allowed him to purchase at a drive-through. He flipped through In Flight, a slick publication featuring leopard print bedclothes and radio controlled barbecue grills.
Three hours after wheels up they arrived at Chicago's Midway Airport, followed by a twenty minute commute to the Loop.
They arrived without handcuffs or other restraints and were shown upstairs in the Dirksen Federal Building.
Agents Cashman and Lockhart seated them in a windowless reception area--government decor--on an upper floor of the building where access from the elevator was by passkey.
"Wait here," Cashman told the threesome. "And don't try to leave. Security checks everyone out and you don't have free access."
"Are we under arrest?" Thaddeus asked. "Because if I'm not under arrest I'm out of here."
"You are being held as part of an ongoing investigation."
"Is that a Yes?"
"That's a neither. Put it this way. Security won't let you leave. Not until we talk."
"Then I'm being forcibly detained."
"Look, would you rather I arrested you and cuffed you to the wall?"
"No."
"Then stay put. Please. It will be easier on all of you."
"Well, I'm going home," Libby said. She stood up. "I haven't done anything wrong. I don't even know why we're here."
"Please. Sit down. They won't allow you to exit."
"Oh. Then I'll wait."
"Thank you."
Cashman walked away, shaking his head as he slipped a passkey into a security lock and disappeared behind yet another door.
"What do you make of it?" Ansel asked Thaddeus.
"What do I make of it? Of false arrest? Gee, I don't know, Ansel. What do you make of it?"
"If we work together on this, we all win."
"Ansh, what did you get me into," Libby whispered. She clubbed him on the ankles with her cane. "Bashtard.'
"I can't tell you, Libby. I don't want to make you an accessory."
"That's nonsense, Libby," Thaddeus said angrily. "You and I have both been victimized by your husband. You're right to be pissed."
"I'm not pished. I'm hurt. He alwaysh does thish kind of stuff to me."
"Look at it this way," Ansel said. "Thaddeus, I sprung you out of a Mexican jail where you were going to spend the next thirty years of your life. I'd say you owe me big time."
Thaddeus watched the man's head bob and weave and he was reminded of a lightweight boxer seeking to avoid counterpunches.
"I was making bail today," Thaddeus replied. He leaned back and worked on his fingers and hands to increase circulation. "Sitting too damn long," he muttered.
Whereupon Cashman returned, and curled a finger at them. "You two gentlemen," he said, "come along. Mrs. Largent, please wait here."
"I knew it," she said. "When is someone going to let me go home and change thesh stupid clothes I've been wearing for three days? This is horrible and I'm tired and I need my medicine."
"We'll have you out of here and home by five o'clock. I promise. In fact, I'll drive you home myself, Mrs. Largent," Cashman responded. "On behalf of your husband, I'm sorry for all this."
Libby tapped her cane on the floor. "Five o'clock. Okay, I can do five o'clock. Is there a restroom?"
"Right through that door to the left of reception. Help yourself."
"Thank you."
"All right. Gentlemen, shall we?"
He waved his hand at the door he had u
sed earlier. The two lawyers followed him.
They assembled inside a rectangular conference room with gray walls and a blaze-orange racing stripe where the wainscoting would have gone. A picture of the President occupied the end wall, and above that hung a drop-down screen.
Agents Cashman and Lockhart took the far side of the table.
Ansel was ahead of Thaddeus, so Thaddeus took the end chair, two empty seats away from Ansel. The need to distance himself from his co-whatever couldn't have been clearer.
Eight frosty bottles of Aquafina occupied the center of the table. Thaddeus slid two of them his way and killed one without stopping.
"Thirsty," he muttered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He set about nursing the second water.
"Let me cut to the chase," said Cashman.
"Please do," said Thaddeus.
"Mr. Murfee, Mr. Largent is the managing partner at MacDevon Largent here in Chicago. The firm keeps a trust account, of course. Access to the trust account was rigidly controlled. As of last Friday the only firm members who had access were JM MacDevon and your client, Ansel Largent."
"Hold it. Stop right there. He's not my client."
"He says he is."
"Well I say he isn't."
"Mr. Largent?"
"You FBI people took the fifty thousand I paid him. He can't just abandon me now. Not today, not here. I'd have to report that to the Bar Association."
“You said you didn’t give it to him,” said Cashman.
“It gets confusing,” Ansel answered. He looked at the table top.
Thaddeus slumped back. "Fine. For today, for right here, I'm your lawyer. But as soon as we leave here you need to find someone else. I'm out. Let's just get through this."
"Fair enough," sniffed Ansel. His head bobbed twice to the right and his lips moved but nothing further was said.
"Back to the chase," said Cashman. "Sometime between last Friday and Sunday night the sum of $200 million was transferred out of the account. We have the network administrators telling us the exact time was 4:20 Sunday afternoon, but we have Forensics working that up. Double check."
"Then there's also the matter of a deceased partner with a bullet hole in her head," said Lockhart. "That's a local matter, but two very pushy detectives from Chicago PD would love to get their hands on you."
"That I know nothing about!” Ansel cried
"Of course you don't," said Cashman. "Definitely not your style. Your style is more white-collar crime. So we'll focus on that. For now."
Lockhart unscrewed an Aquafina and took a long draw.
"The money transfer went to Zurich then bounced around the Caribbean and Europe before finally landing at Banco Nacionale in Mexico City. Now, who do we know in Mexico City, Mr. Largent? Who else was in on this?"
"Let me explain what really happened," said Ansel. "Should I say, counsel?"
All eyes were on Thaddeus. He gave Ansel a long, thoughtful answer:
“Look, you’re a lawyer. You've studied criminal law even though that's not your specialty. I wouldn't ordinarily say this, but given your professional licensure, I would suggest you try to clear this up, if--and that's a big if--you know what happened and you weren't involved. If there is complicity then we'll end this conversation right now without another word being said. If I have to call Judge Douglas at the District Court and file habeas corpus, I will, and I'll get us out of here. But if you're comfortable with telling what you know, then please do. You're up."
Ansel nodded.
"I have a son," he said slowly. "His name is David. He's a junior partner in my firm."
"Should I be recording this?" Lockhart broke in.
"If you do there won't be another word said," Thaddeus smiled at her.
"Anyway, he's a junior partner. Last week I gave him temporary access to the trust fund. My login. He used it to make payment on a garden variety personal injury case he had settled. That's what we do, we defend accident cases and we take insurance company funds that are lodged with us and we pay them out to settle cases. That's how we happened to have $200 million in trust. Hundreds of settlements were pending and we were holding the insurance companies' reserves. So there was a lot there."
"Makes sense," said Cashman. "So who did what?"
"My son transferred the $200 million out Sunday afternoon. He left me a note on my laptop. He said the money was for a charity. I think I know where it went and why. I can tell you that it's no longer at Banco Nacionale but it is in Mexico, if we're not too late. If you will give me a week and restore me to the fly-list with TSA, I'll go to Mexico City and return with the money. That way the FDIC doesn't have to pay out on the loss and the net effect will be no crime committed by my David. It's win-win."
"How do we know you'll come back if we allow that?"
"You'll have to trust me."
"No can do. We already don't trust you."
"Then send me down there with someone and let them ball-and-chain me while I do my thing."
"Mr. Murfee? Would you take responsibility for your client and accompany him to Mexico?"
"Me? Why me?"
"Why not you? He's your client."
"Why don't you send someone," Thaddeus asked. "You snatch people anywhere in the world anymore. What's Mexico City to the FBI?"
"Ask the President of Mexico. He will deny any agreement with the FBI if anything goes public."
"So he doesn't want you there."
"Worse, we have orders from the President to stay the hell out of his country."
"But you came and got us from Mexico. How did that work?"
"We're good along the borders. Our border agents and the Mexican border agents work hand-in-glove, trading detainees back and forth. You were easy."
"But if we were in Mexico City we would be outside your jurisdiction. So back to Mr. Largent's question. How do you get us back if we decide to stay there?"
"Someone will be sent for you. Someone with a gun. Trust me, you wouldn't want to hide."
"So you let us go down there, just like that."
"Just like that. The government is willing to risk it in order to avoid paying a loss of $200 million dollars. That would create quite a wrinkle in an election year."
"I see. Now we're getting down to the real deal."
"Don't quote me."
"Don't tempt me."
"When would we go?"
"You can fly out tonight."
"How about in the morning?" said Thaddeus. "I need a night in a shower and my own bed."
"That will work. I'll expect you out of the United States by noon tomorrow. I'll expect you back in one week. If you're not back, all bets are off and we'll come after both of you."
"I have no dog in this fight," said Thaddeus. "Thanks for everything, but I'm not going."
"That's fine. Then get ready for your trip back to a certain Mexican jail. Trust me. This time there won't be a friendly judge about to set bail for you. And we'll do everything we can to help convict you down there."
"We'll leave before noon tomorrow."
"You're a reasonable man, Mr. Murfee. Thank you."
"What about my wife?" Ansel wanted to know.
"I'll drop her by home. You and Mr. Murfee can catch a cab and find a hotel. Your luggage is out in reception. You're free to go."
"Yes, free," said Thaddeus with a long sigh. "Free indeed."
23
Chapter 23
No 24/7 care could be found for Libby, so she made the trip to Mexico with them.
The flight from O'Hare to Mexico City ate up four hours and thirty minutes. A Taxi-Mex ride to the Presidente Mexico City Intercontinental Hotel took forty-five minutes through smoggy traffic snarls and two fender-benders. By 6:30 p.m. they were checking in at the hotel.
"We need to talk," Ansel told Thaddeus at check-in.
"Definitely."
"Let's spruce up and then meet in Alfredo Di Roma, 7:30."
"Italian? You're on."
An hour
later they were shown to a window table where Ansel ordered a martini, Libby a Diet Coke, and Thaddeus coffee with cream. Drinks were served and relaxation settled over the three travelers.
"Why are we here?" Thaddeus said as he slowly stirred his coffee.
"In this restaurant? This hotel?"
"This city. Let's get down to the real deal, Ansel. Why don't you come clean with me about the missing dollars?"
"You heard what I told the FBI. David made off with the money."
Libby's hand abruptly stopped lifting the drink to her lips. "David? Are we off on that again?"
Thaddeus leaned back. He rubbed his chin and was silent for several minutes. Then, "And you think the money is where?"
"I think David used the money to buy freedom for a certain orphanage."
"Please, Anshel, can't we be finished with the David did thish or that?"
"Freedom?"
"Freedom from cartel influence. The drug cartels prey on children down here. David found a way around that."
"In one case."
"In one very small, isolated case."
"How many children are we talking about?"
"I've done some research. Near as I can tell there are approximately a hundred kids."
"That breaks down to two million a kid. Why am I not buying this?"
Ansel toyed with his drink. He stirred the skewered olives through the liquid. Libby glumly shook her head. She looked around at their surroundings, evidently choosing not to be a part of the conversation and saying as much with her body language.
Ansel said, "You're not buying it because you are by nature a suspicious person."
"Gee, you think? Suspicious of you? How could that possibly have happened?"
"The name of the orphanage is In Loco Parentis."
"Latin. In the place of a parent."
"Exactly."
"So we go there and they open their books to us?"
"Like I said, they don't have the money. The money went to the cartel."
"What cartel?"
"Tijuana."
"Then why are we in Mexico City? Why aren't we in Tijuana asking for your money back? Imagine how that would go over?”
"Because there's a chance--a slight chance--the transfer hasn't been made yet. I was on my way down here when they nabbed me at the border. All this delay makes our chances very slim. But it's the only chance we have."
The Mental Case (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 6) Page 10
