Silver Justice

by Russell Blake

  Nobody said a word. Then Sam spoke up.

  “You just said that was thousands of people. How does that narrow anything down for us?”

  “Sam. I’ve only been here a couple of days. I never claimed I could solve your case for you in under a week. But what I’ve done is discovered a link that nobody found until I started digging. Not you. Not anyone. That’s why I’m here. Now I’m wondering how deep this goes. We have a hedge fund that was doing business with Masenkoff’s brokerage, we have one of his feeders, and we have a software provider who just so happened to create the electronic exchanges that most of the manipulative trading the Masenkoff exemption enabled was done on. Oh, and whose partner was spitting distance from Hamas and the Islamic Jihad. Now maybe it’s just me, but that seems like it’s an awful lot of very unusual connections for three random victims,” Richard said evenly, although it was obvious that he was annoyed with Sam’s attitude.

  “I agree. Did the last victim have any obvious connection with Masenkoff,” Silver asked. “or is it more by association?”

  “I’m still rooting around to see what I can find. So far, nothing, but my nose is telling me that the victims are all somehow related — even the son who was caught in the house fire worked at the father’s hedge fund, so his connection is the same as his dad’s. As of now, three of four victims are linked to Masenkoff in some way. And the fourth is about as close as you can get to some pretty sketchy Middle Eastern black hats without being a card-carrying Jihadist.” Richard picked up his pen and tapped his folder with it. “Another little factoid I know from my work is that some of Masenkoff’s investors were criminal syndicates. The Russian mob features prominently. And when you hear Russian mob, that’s usually synonymous with the former KGB. So now what it starts looking like is that three of the four are connected to a conduit for Russian mob money laundering, and the fourth is connected to terrorist funding and money laundering, some of which could be intermingled with mob money. You see how this gets increasingly interesting as we peel the onion?” Richard asked.

  Sam nodded. “Now I get it. I totally get it. Apologies for busting your chops earlier. It actually supports the terrorist/criminal funding theory and gets us further from a single individual serial killer. Or am I misconstruing this?”

  Richard closed his file. “That’s right. Or it could all be completely unrelated to the killings, and could just be one of those weird coincidences that can pop up. Personally, that seems like a stretch. There has to be something to all this. I just don’t have enough information yet to know what I’m looking at. But now all of you know everything I do, so I’m hoping that your collective brain trust will be more powerful than just me sitting in a cubicle,” Richard concluded.

  After some back and forth discussion amongst the agents, Silver could feel the agenda slipping into tangential areas. She let them have some room for conjecture and then skillfully guided the room back on point, away from speculations and back to the hard facts of the case.

  The meeting went on for another hour, as the minutiae of the forensics report were digested by the group and every element of the evidence was re-examined. When Silver stood and thanked everyone for coming, she was drained. It felt like they were standing still, waiting for the next ugly shoe to drop. For all the titillation of Richard’s bombshell and the promise held by having a potential evidentiary gold mine in the single strand of hair and its DNA, they were still light years from keeping the killer from striking again. As everyone filed out, she pulled Richard and Seth aside, and waited until the room cleared before tackling the next subject.

  “The partner. Do you think we have enough to justify putting him under surveillance — for his own protection?” she asked.

  “Boy, that’s where you earn the big bucks, chief,” Seth said.

  “It’s not clear cut. I’m asking if we have enough to make a credible argument that he may be in imminent danger from the killer. If so, I’ll ramrod this up the ladder and get it done. So what do you think?”

  “I think that the connections in their backgrounds are interesting and certainly inflammatory, but not a lock. In the end, it probably couldn’t hurt to put him under relaxed surveillance, but I wouldn’t count on it leading anywhere. My entire presentation was a loose interpretation of partial data, not a coherent case for the partner being a target. If it was me, I’d wait to see what else we discover, and keep my powder dry,” Richard advised.

  Seth nodded grudgingly, and Silver ran a hand through her hair, combing it back with her fingers.

  “You’re probably right. But I think I’ll put a team on him, just in case. Richard, it really feels like you’re on to something with all the connections in their backgrounds. How did we miss this?” she lamented.

  “All due respect, this is a pretty specialized area we’re talking about. Half of the agents in Financial Crimes might not have connected these dots. The only reason I did is because market fraud is sort of my hobby — I actually wrote a paper on it, many moons ago, comparing the financial raiders of the Roaring Twenties to those of modern times. And one of the last cases I worked was peripherally associated with terrorist money laundering by a group of related pawn shops and restaurants in the Midwest, so when I saw the names involved my antenna quivered. Otherwise it would have just flown completely over my head.” Richard hesitated. “I just hope I’m not tilting at windmills here. One of those cases of where you see zebras everywhere…”

  Silver nodded. “Understood. But sometimes there are actually zebras everywhere.”

  Chapter 9

  Silver walked out of the bank almost in tears. The loan officer had been understanding and supportive, but ultimately couldn’t help her. With the debt she was carrying on her credit cards, along with the tuition for Kennedy’s private school and the cost of daycare and all the rest, there simply hadn’t been sufficient income left over to make a decent-sized loan even with the flat as collateral. She’d suspected as much, but to have the door slammed in her face when she needed it the most still threw her.

  She stood on the sidewalk, taking deep breaths, trying to slow her heartbeat. What was she going to do now?

  Her thoughts turned to her mother. That was out of the question. Since her father had passed away three years ago her mom had been comfortably ensconced in a condo she’d purchased in Austin, Texas, where she was taking art classes and trying to make a life for herself in her late sixties. Although her mom would do whatever she could to help, she didn’t have much — she’d sold the house shortly after the funeral and used the profit from it to buy the condo and subsidize her social security and her pension. She needed every penny she had and was working a part-time job in a bookstore to make ends meet more comfortably.

  There was no way Silver could lean on her.

  After a few minutes of thought, she took her cell phone from her purse and called Ben. He took her call immediately and assured her he would set aside time for her in twenty minutes.

  It was midday, and the lunch rush was over, although there were still plenty of people clogging the sidewalks. New York was a chaotic tangle of crowds wherever you went — she’d gotten used to it after living in the city for over a decade. At times it was energizing, but today it was only annoying as her mind raced over possible solutions to her problem.

  She rounded a corner and checked the time as she made her way to Ben’s towering edifice — one of the more sumptuous in the area. Being a divorce attorney in the city clearly paid well. He was one of the top dogs in his game, highly recommended and well thought of, so he was never hurting for business. Which gave her hope. Perhaps there was an accommodation she could make with him to carry part of the case costs. She knew he wasn’t a bank and that it was asking a lot, but she wasn’t sure where else she could turn.

  Silver waited in the cool air conditioning of the law offices, flushed from making her way uptown in so little time. Surprisingly, Ben was immediately available, and Silver followed his severely-coiffed secretary to the r
ear conference room.

  Ben rose from his chair to greet her when she entered. “Silver. Good to see you. A nice surprise,” he said as he shook her hand. “What brings you to my neck of the woods on a work day? Am I a suspect for something?” he joked.

  “Thankfully, no. They haven’t caught on to you yet. But it’s coming,” Silver fired back.

  “Good. Then my evil plan is working. Nobody is any the wiser.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. Always.”

  “Good to know, Silver. Now seriously. What’s up?”

  “I’m worried about the money, Ben. How are the expenses running on the case, and what are they looking like they’ll add up to by the time you’re done?”

  “I don’t honestly know. At this point it’s all on a spreadsheet. We’ll send you a monthly statement showing the drawdown and balance remaining. Why? Do I need to call someone to get you a total right now?”

  “If you could, I’d appreciate it. I’m especially interested in what you think it’s going to cost to get it to the finish line.”

  Ben paused, eyeing her thoughtfully. “What happened, Silver?”

  She was holding it together well, but then her resolve failed her, and she could feel her eyes brimming over. A single droplet fell, tickling the contour of her cheek before settling in the corner of her mouth.

  Without saying anything, Ben slid a Kleenex box across the table to her. She plucked out a tissue and blotted her lids, hating her own weakness, but unable to stop the tears.

  “It’s been one of those days, Ben. I’ve been trying everything to come up with a way to fund this fight, but I just came from the bank, and they declined my loan.” She went on to tell him everything, feeling better as the story came spilling out.

  Ben leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, peering thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I can probably absorb some of the costs, but I’d be lying if I said I could do it all. My partners would never allow it. I’m sorry, Silver. As to your inquiry, I think even if I bit off, say, twenty-five grand and held it in-house, you would still burn at least another fifty to a hundred. The investigators, the paralegals, responding to the filings, making motions, hiring expert witnesses…victory usually goes to the best-funded army, I’m afraid. The fairy tale of the lawyer working out of his briefcase taking on the system and winning is just that. You don’t want to go into this without enough money to see it through, Silver. You’re fighting for your family here, and Eric is throwing the kitchen sink at this. I only know one way to fight that fire, and it’s with fire.”

  She nodded. That was what she had expected. “If I have to take you up on the matching twenty-five, how far will that take us?”

  “Not that far. I’ll need to look at the numbers, but the investigators are burning money like they’re the pentagon, and we’re going to have to get Kennedy in front of some doctors soon so they can certify that she’s doing well. Nobody works for free, as you know…my hunch is that we’ll be through your retainer within another three weeks, tops. I meant what I said — I can carry another twenty-five, so let’s say that buys you another six weeks. You’re going to be in real trouble within two months, Silver. That’s your timeline.”

  That bought her a month more than she’d had when she walked through the doors today. It wasn’t a reprieve, but it was better than nothing.

  “Silver, I don’t want to meddle, but have you considered selling the flat? Or maybe you can do some sort of creative financing deal on it? An interest only loan for a year or two? To get you past this point?”

  “I can’t rack up a lot of debt I can’t pay back, Ben. And frankly, I don’t know who to approach to do something creative, as you call it. I’m buried with work, and I really thought that the bank would be able to do something. I mean, even in this market it has to be worth at least seven or eight hundred thousand. You would think they would jump at the chance to lend me a hundred or so against it.”

  “Banks aren’t lending money these days, as you’ve discovered. They’re hoarding cash. Tell you what, Silver. Let me make a few calls. I know people who specialize in these sorts of things. I have one in mind who might be able to put together a decent package you could afford for a year, and then you can cross the sale bridge when you come to it. If you prevail in this, I can go after Eric for restitution given that this is imposing a hardship on you, so you could pay it back then — and if you don’t prevail, well…”

  “…then Kennedy won’t have to worry about having a roof over her head, and I can sell the place and move somewhere more in keeping with my new lifestyle.” She took a deep breath. “I hate this, Ben. I hate Eric, I hate the system that allows this, and I hate the universe at the moment.”

  “You’re within your rights to hate everyone, Silver. It stinks.”

  “At least I don’t hate you.” She gave him a tentative smile.

  “I have that going for me.” Ben looked at the clock on the heavy wooden bookcase at the far end of the room. “I’ll put out the word and see what I can do, Silver. And I’ll have my bookkeeper send you an updated statement via e-mail, unless you can wait for it for a few minutes.”

  “No rush. I almost don’t want to know. E-mail will be fine, Ben. Just fine.”

  Silver was on her computer studying the forensics report on the latest killing when her line rang. She glanced at the number and saw it was Monique at the front desk.

  “Hi, sweetie. I have a Glenn from the Herald on line two. Asked for you.”

  “The Herald? Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No, just wanted to speak to you. I didn’t interrogate him, though. Want me to? I could play bad cop…”

  “You aren’t a cop, Monique. Okay, put him through.”

  Music on hold intruded for a moment, the line beeped, and a man’s voice came on.

  “Hello? Special Agent Cassidy?”

  “Speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Agent Cassidy, I’m doing a follow-up to our series of reports on The Regulator, and I wanted to see if the Bureau had anything to add. Briefly, I’m stating that you are running a task force focused on his apprehension and that so far you have no leads to speak of. Would that be correct?”

  Silver didn’t like the way this was starting at all. “Who am I speaking with?”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Glenn Wexler with the Herald. I’ve written the series so far. Maybe you’ve seen my byline?”

  “No, can’t say the name is familiar. How did you get this number and my name?”

  “Your agents came by to look at the computers, and one of them gave me your name.”

  “I see. Mind if I ask who?” Silver tried to remember who had gone over to the Herald, and then recalled it was Simkins, and…Sam.

  “I’m not sure I remember. I don’t think I took any notes.”

  Of course not. She suspected he could recite their badge numbers if it would save his skin, but when she wanted info, memory always seemed to elude the media.

  “Well, I would direct you to our press office. I have no comment.” Silver knew better than to dole out any information to a reporter who was fishing.

  “I was hoping for something more than a two-day wait for the press flunky to tell me that he can’t confirm or deny anything…”

  “I’m quite sure you were, Mr. Wexler. But that’s protocol. I’m sorry I can’t help you, but that’s the way we do things.”

  “Fair enough, but I’m still going to be writing the article based on information I’ve been able to glean. It’s a free country,” Glenn said, sounding annoyed.

  “Yes, it is free, and if you want to write an article that basically says nothing, you just described it. I’m sure it will sell a lot of papers. Good luck with that.”

  She disconnected, wondering why she’d gotten the call at all. It sounded like someone on the task force was talking out of turn to the press. Either that or he was bluffing and had used her name and rank as entre to attempt to get some info. But she’d been around the block
enough times to know that reporters were rarely her friend when running an investigation. Three other papers besides the Herald had received the photos from the killer. All three had contacted the FBI immediately. Only the Herald had chosen to print them, which figured. The others were more upscale rags, whereas the Herald was sensationalistic and played gutter ball.

  There was no way in hell she was giving them anything more than they already had, which was nothing by the sound of it. The reporter was just trying to find another angle to milk. Articles that said, ‘Police still looking for killer’ didn’t sell papers, so the fact that he was calling told her everything she needed to know. The press office had already said there was a task force focusing on the killer, so that wasn’t news.

  Silver hit the intercom button and punched in three digits. A male voice came on the line.

  “Sam. Could you please come to my office for a second?”

  Sam hesitated before answering, and when he did, he sounded impatient. “Uh, sure. I’m not doing much besides sorting through hundreds of images of pedestrians. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He was becoming a problem. The tone, the attitude — she’d given him as much latitude as she intended to.

  Another in a long series of unpleasant tasks. Just her luck. When it rained…

  Sam sauntered in five minutes later with an expression of mild annoyance. Silver stood and gestured to a pair of chairs in front of her desk. Sam sat and gave her a quizzical look.