The Mental Case (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 6)

by John Ellsworth

  At eleven p.m. he called Ansel. He told him to login to the trust account. There was a long pause, followed by a cry of joy.

  "How much?" he said when Ansel breathlessly picked up the phone and jammed it to his ear.

  "All of it."

  "Two hundred million?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you change the login?"

  "I already did."

  "Good. I will see you in about one hour."

  "I don't know how to thank you, Thaddeus. My eyes are filling up."

  "I'll tell you how to thank me. Sit down beside Libby on the bed. Give her a sweet back rub. Whisper in her ear how much you love her. And mean it. More than anything you have meant, you must mean it with her. She's precious, man. Treat her that way."

  "I will. I promise."

  Thaddeus ended the call.

  He returned to the trunk and inserted the key.

  Juan Carlos Ordañez the junior sat up.

  "This is it, am I right?"

  "It is," said Thaddeus.

  "You are going to kill me, am I right?"

  "No."

  "I promise I won't hurt them no more."

  "I know."

  "Believe me."

  "I believe you. It always comes to this."

  "But you will shoot me anyway."

  "No. I am going to leave you here, in the desert, wounded, without water, without food. It's the same thing you've been doing to the children: leaving them wounded, without necessities, without love, and helpless. That is your fate now."

  "My father will kill you. And your family."

  "He will try. But he will fail."

  "At least leave me water."

  "You didn't think to bring water? Did you leave water for the children? Did you?"

  * * *

  With the money safely back in the trust account, it was time for Ansel and Libby to go home. Thaddeus accepted the task of representing Ansel through the investigation and any indictment and Ansel told him he would send over a check as soon as he got back to the office.

  "What do I tell the partners about the trust funds?" he wanted to know.

  Thaddeus shook his head. "I would tell them nothing. Just say something like there was a problem with the account and the bank falsely reported a wire transfer. Tell them the transfer was actually someone else's account. Or some such song and dance. Hell, man, you're a lawyer--make something up!"

  "Can do."

  Libby looked at her husband with new eyes. She leaned against him for support even when she didn't need to. She took his hand and held it several times while they made their plans with Thaddeus. It was charming to see, and Thaddeus was happy for them. Evidently his instructions to Ansel had hit home and the man had come clean with his wife and re-committed to her. All was well and Thaddeus was glad for them.

  They flew out of Tucson that next afternoon and were home in Chicago by nightfall.

  32

  Chapter 32

  Tony Blake took the call from Thaddeus. Tony had been with Thaddeus eighteen months. He was a BAG agent--Beta Armed Guards--and carried a concealed weapon. Along with the eight other agents placed around Thaddeus' condo in Chicago, they were all out of LA.

  Guard duty was 24/7 and they worked twelve hour shifts, most of the time sitting and waiting for something to happen. They played cards, drank coffee by the gallon, and made Netflix rich, both on and off duty. The five acres where Thaddeus' house sat was double chain-link fenced and patrolled by armed guards driving ATV's. The perimeter guards were from Black Cloud Security out of San Francisco. All communications, BAG and Black Cloud, went through a custom communications console and Thaddeus received an RSS feed of all conversations, alerts, and reports.

  Tony was Thaddeus' personal bodyguard. He was angry that Thaddeus hadn't taken him along when he went to Mexico. Normally, if Thaddeus was in the vicinity, Tony Blake was nearby as well. Never a public figure, which is exactly how Tony liked it and played it. Thaddeus called Tony and alerted him to the new threat.

  "Tijuana Cartel. I left the godfather's son in the desert. Without water."

  "You didn't."

  "He was a very bad man."

  Tony, at the communications console in Flagstaff, massaged the spot between his eyes where the headaches lurked.

  "So who can we expect to come here? "

  "Unknown. But when it rains it pours. I took out a family member. They'll want ten family members for payback."

  "Sure they will. Do I move Katy and Sarai out of town?"

  "Yes, I have told them to fly to Chicago. The condo.”

  Thaddeus kept a second home, this one in Chicago on the Gold Coast. The Gold Coast was a historic district in Chicago. It was part of Chicago's Near North Side community, and was roughly bounded by North Avenue, Lake Shore Drive, Oak Street, and Clark Street. It has long been among the most affluent neighborhoods in the United States, probably on the same economic plane as Manhattan's Upper East Side. Thaddeus and Katy kept an apartment in a high rise, bounded by other high rises, row houses, and sundry mansions. Just south, the home office of his law firm was located on the Chicago Loop. Thaddeus preferred the Chicago home for his family during times of high stress, mainly because the environment was so much easier controlled than the wide open spaces of Flagstaff and its environs.

  "She's going to be a very angry lady that you made her leave the clinic. She’s an important doctor there.”

  “I’ve called her and smoothed it over. She'll take a hiatus from her job."

  "Indian Health Services? They're going to hate you, my friend."

  "Sure they are. Which is fine. Call Albert, have him bring the jet. You and Ross help them load up. Try to do it in the middle of the night when you can have eyes-on. After Albert has them safely in Chicago, tell him to bring the jet to Mexico City."

  "Mexico City International Airport?"

  "Yes. Tell him to sleep on the plane until I get there. General aviation. He knows what to do. But I don't want him leaving the plane. Not for anything."

  "You're thinking they might track the plane to Mexico?"

  "I'm thinking they won't stop at anything to get back at me. The plane is vulnerable. It's a moving piece that is hard to defend."

  "Got it."

  "And Tony."

  "Yep?"

  "They could be there at any moment. Time is of the essence."

  "Sure. I already know that. Do I go with them or am I with you?"

  "You go with them until they get situated and locked down. Then come back out here."

  "So I'll see you in about four days, I'm guessing."

  "No. I'm on my way to Mexico City and I won't be back for several days. My family is in your care. It is up to you now.”

  "Done."

  "Take care."

  "You too, Tony. You know what to do."

  "I do. Adios."

  "Yes, goodbye."

  * * *

  He bought a second identity in Hermosillo at a cost of $5500. It included a U.S. passport, California address and driver's license, American Express Platinum card, Social Security Card, and two club membership tags for his keychain. He returned to Nogales and rented a motorhome, using the new ID.

  When it was gassed and ready, he helped Hermano Sanchez load his family of six and their belongings. The motorhome was crowded but there was bunk room for everyone, including Thaddeus.

  Then he set off for Mexico City.

  When they reached Parque Estatal Canon de Fernandez they stopped for the night.

  Thaddeus found a rental pad for the motorhome and did a transfusion of white water and black water.

  The family lodgings offered bathing accommodations and a friendly restaurant serving American food. Everyone was starved and ate with very little conversation. Afterward the older kids set off exploring while the younger ones tried out the jungle gym, merry-go-round, and swing set. Hermana, Mathilde, and Thaddeus pulled out lawn chairs and watched the little guys running and playing. They all turned in be
fore ten o'clock. Thaddeus planned to make Mexico City by tomorrow night and wanted to get a good early start.

  The next night was spent at a KOA campground on the north side of Mexico City. A three bedroom apartment, furnished, was located before the next day and Thaddeus paid cash for a full six months in advance on the rent. He took the rental in his own--assumed--name and purchased five thousand dollars in travelers' checks for Hermano's signature. "For you, for Mathilde, and for Maria and the kids to get your start in your new home."

  "Gracias, Señor Thaddeus, gracias!"

  "This is as far as I can go with you. Now it's up to you."

  The little man nodded. His eyes crossed and uncrossed in a blink. "I know, I know. Mathilde will clean at the hotels and I will wash dishes."

  "That works."

  "And the kids can go to Catholic school. There is one two blocks away."

  "Well the name of Sanchez covers more than sixteen pages in the telephone directory, so you should be anonymous down here."

  "You already told me, no land line."

  "Right. Buy the prepaid cells and throw them away every week. But it's me they'll be coming after. I expect no problems for you."

  "Gracis, Señor Thaddeus. Vaya con Dios."

  "Same to you," said Thaddeus. He spread his arms wide.

  Warm hugs followed, some tears, and exclamations of gratitude from the Sanchez clan all around. He was embarrassed by the outpouring and quickly left with the motorhome. There was a check-in facility just outside the airport and an open van shuttled him from there to the General Aviation terminal.

  He wasn't in the General Aviation terminal pilots' room long before Chicago law partner Albert Hightower walked in. Albert was the senior partner in Chicago and loved flying the firm jet more than he loved eating. He spent weekends around the plane, examining it, caring for it, upgrading avionics packages--the pursuit of perfect was never-ending.

  They traded a man-hug and headed for the dining room.

  As they chomped burgers and sipped their bottled Cokes, Albert brought Thaddeus up to speed on Katy and Sarai and Turquoise in Chicago. All was well there, security was in place, and Katy was actually enjoying her time away from work at the clinic.

  "Looks like a win-win for you, my friend," said Albert.

  "We're just getting started, Al. These guys want my head to play soccer with."

  "Tony filled me in."

  "He stay in Chicago?"

  "Yes, until I get back. Then he'll fly commercial back to Flag."

  "Perfect."

  "And where are you headed?"

  "Chicago. We have a new client there. Name of Ansel Largent."

  "Not of MacDevon Largent law firm?"

  Thaddeus nodded. "The same."

  "What's his problem?"

  "Murder."

  "Who did he supposedly kill?"

  "The next District Attorney of Cook County."

  "Damn, you're going to be very unpopular around town."

  "Really? When was I ever popular there? Tell me that, Señor Hightower."

  "You're right."

  Thaddeus napped all the way to Chicago. The motorhome excursion from Nogales to Mexico City had been a nerve-wracking one and he was exhausted. Exhausted but happy for Hermano Sanchez and Maria. He had done what he went to Mexico to do--and much more.

  But the girl was safe. Maria of Sonora was in her new home, new bed, fifteen hundred miles away from the border.

  His head rested on a soft pillow and he was scrunched beneath a light blanket from the Gulfstream's overhead compartment.

  He dreamed of Maria and he dreamed of his own Sarai and Turquoise. It was a dream where he was walking through a battlefield filled with smoke and dying and injured soldiers. Up ahead a group of men and women wearing surgical gowns and masks motioned him to join them. He watched as they inserted an instrument into the eye of their patient.

  "These hurt people are light gropers. Your job is to open their eyes to the light."

  Next thing he knew, he was gowned and opening eyes himself.

  When they flew into U.S. airspace the luxurious aircraft broadcast its ID to Albuquerque Center Air Route Traffic Control.

  "Welcome home," the center operator said. "Welcome home."

  33

  Chapter 33

  William Eckles fancied himself a born politician.

  His father was a ward committeeman in Chicago's largest precinct, his grandfather (still living) had served four terms as Cook County Sheriff and still knew everyone in the county.

  Eckles himself had grown up with a keen ear for party politics, the topic at the dinner table every night except Sundays, which had been reserved for "good deeds of the spirit" reports from Eckles and his four sisters.

  At the age of thirty-two he tossed his hat in the primary election ring for District Attorney. It was thought by the pundits that Eckles was a shoo-in for the office and that Chicago organized crime and street gangs would soon be reeling under his administration as he set about creating his legacy from Lake Michigan out west to the horse farms, from Evanston to the South Side. His area of influence included five million souls, which balanced out at over forty percent of the population of Illinois. That was enough votes to carry the enterprising politician to even greater political heights, maybe governor, maybe United States senator. The next step was yet to be revealed.

  Eckles was a modest man in dress and looks, but flamboyant in speech. He was average height and carried an extra twenty pounds around the waist. He was dark complected with a round face and protruding ears but a winning smile and firm handshake for everyone who crossed his path. He had swum to the surface in the District Attorney's office where he was the Administrative Assistant. That title placed him but one rung below the retiring District Attorney, whose heir, hopefully, was William Eckles.

  Except there was one fly in the ointment, and her name was Suzanne Fairmont. Suzanne's star was on the ascendancy as the chair of the criminal law section of the State Bar, and as the chair of the criminal law section at MacDevon Largent, the firm founded by Ansel Largent and James MacDevon. Then she announced for the primary and set herself against ADA Eckles.

  Suzanne was great press; Chicago had never had a female District Attorney. The Tribune and Sun-Times could be counted on to run front page stories on young miss Fairmont any time the firm requested press coverage of this or that event in their candidate's career.

  In short, she was an extremely attractive candidate and was smart enough to position herself as a fresh face and the choice of voters fed up with Cook County politics-as-usual.

  Women knew her face and knew that she stood for tough gun laws, a clamp-down on schoolyard bullying, equal rights for women, and that she had a strong aversion to machine politics. There was a ten point gap, however, and the old-timers were sure she'd never close it by Primary Election Day. So she appeared everyday on some local TV talk show, enlisting the female voting bloc to ring doorbells and make calls. The gap closed by one point, then closed again. In the polls she lagged but four percentage points behind Bill Eckles. Then just two. It was predicted she would peak and overtake him forty-eight hours before the votes were cast.

  Two days before the election Suzanne was found shot to death in her law office. The entire city was stunned. The craftiest pols laid the deed at the feet of Bill Eckles, or perhaps someone senior in his genealogy.

  Voters across the enormous county were outraged. The District Attorney and Chicago Police Department held a joint news conference in which swift justice was promised, a massive dedication of man- and woman-power was described, and prayers and condolences communicated to the bereaved family.

  Two days later, came new news guaranteed to boost the ratings of story times ten. This was news that was leaked as was the habit with any Chicago criminal investigation, and it had to do with the seizure of a gun from the law office of the managing partner at MacDevon Largent. The leak even went so far as to confirm that the gun was the same one used to e
nd Suzanne's life.

  The police and the prosecutor, in combination, were the source of the leak, of course.

  The purpose was to predispose anyone who might be called upon to serve either as grand juror or trial juror. There was nothing like good press to help convict, and prosecutors everywhere used the tactic, although, if accused of an ethical violation in leaking information, prosecutors knew to point the finger of blame at the cops. The cops had broad shoulders and didn't report to any State Bar committee on ethics. And the cops were only too glad to take credit for great, community-pleasing, results.

  It worked, because the Cook County Grand Jury took less than three minutes in their deliberation, to return an indictment. Of none other than Ansel Largent.

  The detectives who testified at the grand jury were Jake O'Connor and Lucinda Wainwright. Neither was asked by the District Attorney about fingerprints on the gun. So, the indictment sailed through. It was filed with the Cook County Circuit Court and a warrant issued for the arrest of Ansel Largent.

  Word arrived that Ansel had returned aboard the Gulfstream jet of his lawyer.

  34

  Chapter 34

  The homicide investigation took a sudden detour.

  Which made Detective Jake O'Connor furious.

  He headed up the team that recovered the gun from Ansel Largent's office, and he had every right to his anger.

  He was on the horn with the CPD crime lab.

  The gun, it turned out, was impossible to link to Ansel Largent either through fingerprints or DNA. But--and this was huge--forensic testing proved that the gun had been used three years earlier in a South Side shootout that left a number of gangbangers dead and two innocent people seriously wounded. The South Side shooting was the work of one Ruben Washington. He was, as O'Connor could already hear Largent's defense attorney proclaiming, the last known person in possession of the firearm. And now he was a convicted felon. Worse, Illinois DOC had already paroled him back onto the streets prior to Suzanne's murder.