The two adversaries shook hands. As Gondeck reached for the door to leave, Marc stopped him.
“Hey, just for the heck of it, what if I got her to spend a week in Hawaii with you? You know, just a little get away from the wife and kids kind of thing.”
Gondeck looked at him, pursed his lips in thought then said, “You’re getting warm.” He paused and continued with, “Nah, Beth would cut my balls off and feed them to me.”
“Might be worth it,” Marc said smiling.
“Stop reminding me how much I like your client. It won’t do you any good,” Gondeck laughed.
“Worth a try,” Marc said still smiling.
“And I’ll have a nice fantasy before I fall asleep tonight,” Gondeck replied.
“Why did you make them get a court order to get my DNA?” Maddy asked Marc while they cruised west on 394.
“There’s a case out of Georgia heading toward the U.S. Supreme Court about this. If it gets there at all, it will be there in about two years. If the Democrats keep the White House and appoint more Supremes, they might overturn the law and say the cops need more grounds to get a DNA sample,” Marc answered.
“Really? You think it will happen?”
“No,” Marc said shaking his head. “It’s a long shot at best. Getting a DNA sample isn’t very intrusive, but you never know. This way, making them get a court order preserves it for appeal.”
“In case we lose,” Maddy quietly said.
Marc reached over, patted her arm and said, “Relax, we’re a long way from that.”
“God, I’m such an idiot,” Maddy said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something that may be important.”
“What?” Marc asked looking back and forth between Maddy and the road.
Maddy adjusted her seatbelt and turned to face Marc. “Before the party, on Thursday the night before the weekend of the Fourth,” she began.
“Yeah?”
“Rob and I were having dinner and as usual, he was a thousand miles away. Something was bothering him and had been for weeks.”
“Go on,” Marc said.
By the time they were turning into the long driveway to the Corwin Mansion, Maddy had told Marc everything Rob had told her about CAR Securities. She told him what Rob had said about the mortgage securities, the secret room across the hall and even the death of Patrick McGarry and his girlfriend.
Marc was making the turn onto the Corwin property driveway as he said, “Rob went to his boss about what sounds like it could be securities fraud a few days before he was killed?”
“Yes. He was very concerned and his boss, Walter-something, I can’t remember his name, wasn’t the least bit concerned,” Maddy replied.
“And someone else who also died was the one who first told Rob about this?”
“Yes, that’s what he told me, but McGarry’s death was ruled an accident.”
Marc silently thought this news through as he finished the drive and parked the car.
Maddy, who had continued to look at him asked, “Something? Nothing? Maybe something? Am I grasping at straws?”
“No, definitely something,” Marc said.
Maddy abruptly turned in her seat and silently stared through the windshield.
“What?” Marc asked.
“No DNA in Rob’s bedroom except his and mine,” she softly said.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Marc reminded her. “A pro wouldn’t leave a calling card like that. Besides, we’ll get the pictures, the report of the blood spray and I have my guy coming tomorrow to go over the scene himself. We could still find evidence of a third person in the bedroom. I’m going to drop you off…”
“When can I go home?”
“You don’t like it here?” Marc asked.
“I love it here but it’s not my place,” Maddy said.
“How about a couple more days?”
“Okay, two more.”
“Maddy,” Marc said, “look at me.”
She turned her head to him.
“You didn’t do this. Even drugged you couldn’t do this. You were set up and we’ll find out who did it and why. What you told me about CAR Securities is a good starting point. Someone wanted Rob dead…”
“Oh, that’s another thing,” Maddy said. “That same night at dinner, in the restaurant, there was a man by himself at another table. I caught him looking at us three or four times.”
“Was he just checking you out?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think he was looking at Rob. When I asked Rob if he knew who he was, Rob told me he didn’t but I got the feeling he was lying that he didn’t know the guy.”
“Would you know him again if you saw him?”
“Yes, I think so. I was almost certain I had seen him before,” Maddy answered.
Marc looked past Maddy, through the passenger window and saw Vivian slowly walking toward them. Marc waved to her and used his window button to put Maddy’s window down.
“Am I interrupting?” Vivian asked through Maddy’s window.
“No,” Marc said. “It went fine,” he continued referring to the DNA swab. “I’m taking off. Take care of our girl.”
“I will,” Vivian replied.
“I’m gonna call Tony,” Marc said to both of them. “I’ll talk to him about what you told me,” he told Maddy.
“Can I tell Vivian?”
“Sure. Did you find out who catered the party she went to on the Fourth?” Marc asked Vivian.
“Not yet. I have a friend still looking but so far, no luck,” she replied.
Back on 394 now eastbound back toward downtown, Marc retrieved his phone from his coat pocket and punched the number for Carvelli. It took six rings but the P.I. finally answered.
“What’s up?” Tony asked.
“You got time to meet me? I need to talk to you about Madeline,” Marc said.
“Sure, when and where?”
“Where are you?” Marc asked.
“Five minutes from downtown,” Tony replied.
“Great, I’ll meet you at Peterson’s in ten minutes.”
Carvelli arrived first, ordered a Diet Coke and waited for Marc. He was in a booth facing the entrance and waved to the lawyer when he saw him arrive as the waitress set Tony’s soda on the table. Marc ordered a regular Coke from her then sat down.
“At your age, you should be watching your calories and drink a diet soda,” Tony smiled.
“What?”
“Getting a little soft around the middle,” Carvelli teased him.
“Oh, kiss my ass, gangster. Besides, that diet shit will kill you.”
“Everything is bad for you these days. Even the water,” Carvelli said.
“Nonsense. The water’s cleaner than it’s ever been.”
“What’s up?” Tony asked getting to the reason for the meeting.
“Thanks,” Marc told the waitress. He watched the teenager walk away and said, “They’re getting younger all the time.”
“No, they’re not,” Tony said.
“Thanks for the reminder. Anyway, I need you to start an investigation into Rob Judd’s employers. It’s an investment firm called…”
“CAR Securities Management,” Tony said cutting him off.
“Yeah, you know them?”
“Hang on a minute,” Tony said. For the next minute or so Tony was obviously on the phone with Vivian getting her permission to tell Marc what they knew about CAR Securities.
“Yes, I knew you would be okay with it but I still, ethically, have to get your permission. I’ll call you later with an update,” Marc heard Tony say into the phone as he looked at Marc and shook his head.
Marc had a leather folio with him with a small legal pad in it. For the next half hour the two friends exchanged all of the information they had on CAR Securities.
“What do you think?” Tony asked Marc when they finished.
Marc looked over his notes for a minute before answering. “Something’s not right with this outfit. I�
��m not a securities guy but I do know enough about them to know I’d like to get my hands on those documents Rob Judd went to his boss with, this Pascal guy,” Marc finally said.
“Vivian’s pretty sure there’s some fraud going on there. Did you tell her about these securities Judd was worried about?” Tony asked.
“No, you can. As far as fraud in the securities industry, that’s not exactly a newsflash. For small investors, you’re about as well off to go to Vegas with your money. The gambling there isn’t as crooked as it is on Wall Street or as rigged.
“But we need to keep digging,” Marc continued. “All I need is reasonable doubt. A way to show a jury someone else had a motive to kill Judd. We may be on to something here,” Marc said.
“What about Maddy being drugged? What did Jefferson and Gondeck have to say about that?”
“I haven’t told them,” Marc replied.
“Seriously? Why not?” a surprised Carvelli asked him.
“That goes more to diminished capacity. At best, it would knock it down to manslaughter. We’re going on the theory she was set up, a pro did this and made it look like she did it. If we can come up with someone else that isn’t based on conjecture and speculation, something more concrete than what we have now, then I can tell them and use it as an alibi.”
“A pro huh? Working for who?” Tony asked.
“Whom,” Marc corrected him.
Tony gave him an annoyed look and scratched his nose with his middle finger.
Marc laughed then said, “We’ve got one candidate, maybe. CAR Securities. If there’s fraud going on, there must be at least several people involved. The more possibles we find, the better.”
“Okay,” Tony nodded. He held up his glass of Coke, the two of them clicked their sodas together then Tony said, “Let’s get to work. Our pal’s in trouble.”
TWENTY-THREE
The two men in almost identical black, pinstriped suits, white shirts and striped ties marched in step down the hallway, the subordinate of the two careful to stay one pace behind his boss. When they reached the glass enclosed conference room, the younger man waited silently for the older man, the younger man’s security guard, to open the door for him.
They entered the room and ignored the people seated at the table. The one in charge took his seat at the head of the table while his security guard sat behind him in the corner. The younger man, in fact, the youngest one in the room, looked over those already seated.
“It’s been, what, twelve days since your informant was murdered, what was his name?” he asked looking at a man seated to his right.
“Robert Judd,” the man replied.
“So now what?” the U.S. Attorney for Minnesota, Winston Paine asked, in his usual arrogant fashion to the two FBI agents, the Deputy U.S Marshall and the Assistant U.S. Attorney. These four people had been waiting almost forty minutes for Paine to make his appearance. Winston Paine, who never missed an opportunity to remind people that his long-dead relation, Robert Paine, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence, made sure he was late to every meeting. It was his not so subtle way of reminding everyone who was the most important person in the room.
“Well, after making us wait for forty minutes for you to grace us with your presence, maybe we can get on with it,” FBI Special Agent Mike Anderson irreverently replied. Anderson was pushing thirty years with the Bureau and generally hated arrogant, political appointees and Winston Paine in particular. Anderson worked for the FBI not the U.S. Attorney and he never missed a chance to let Paine know it.
“Mike…” Joel Dylan the Assistant U.S. Attorney started to say. It was his boss that Anderson had verbally slapped which inwardly delighted Joel but he still wanted to keep the peace.
“I was on an important call with the Deputy Attorney General,” Paine said, as close to an apology as he would ever utter.
“Did you tell him about your dad, the guy who signed the Declaration of Independence?” Anderson asked.
At this, a beet-faced Paine turned to Joel Dylan and asked, again, “Where are we with your investigation?”
“Well, we got enough information from Keegan’s guy to keep digging,” Dylan said referring to Deputy U.S. Marshall Keegan Mitchell, seated across the table from him. “And…”
“All right, good,” Paine said cutting off his subordinate. Paine abruptly stood up and went to the glass and chrome conference room door.
“Keep me informed.”
Paine’s underling bodyguard who shadowed Paine everywhere, opened the door and the two of them left.
“That’s it,” Anderson said looking at Joel. “We wait forty fucking minutes for this dipshit for that?”
“Sorry, Mike,” Dylan said. “He was supposed to tell you to pick up Walter Pascal. We have enough from what Judd told us the other day to start squeezing him. I think he’s the weak link at CAR.”
“I could’ve been told that with a phone call, Joel,” Anderson said.
“I know, sorry. Holly,” he continued looking at Holly Byrnes, Anderson’s partner.
“It’s okay,” Holly smiled. “It’s nice to get out of the office. Besides, it’s always amusing watching Mike get his rocks off on your boss.”
Keegan Mitchell, unable to contain his laughter any longer finally said, “That’s perfect. She knows you well, Mike.”
Anderson looked at the pretty, short-haired blonde and the Marine in him growled, “Yeah, a little too well.”
Holly laughed, blew him a kiss and stood up to leave. “We’ll pick him up tonight after he leaves work.”
“We’ll bring him in for a little chat this evening,” Anderson added. “You want to be there, Keegan?”
“Yeah, I would,” the deputy said. “Maybe, I should tag along when you grab him.”
Anderson shrugged the said, “You can if you want to but I can give you a call after we get him.”
“Okay,” Keegan replied.
“Call me, too,” Joel Dylan said.
“I was going to. We’ll see you guys this evening.”
Anderson and Holly Byrnes were in their Fed car parked across the street from the Lasalle Building. Holly had called CAR Securities fifteen minutes ago and asked for Walter Pascal. When he answered, she hung up so they knew he was still there. They also knew what he drove, a three-year-old Mercedes, its plate number and parking spot. Holly had verified the Benz was parked in the correct spot and they waited for it. There was only one exit from the ramp and the two agents were staring right at it.
“Ten minutes to six,” Holly said.
“It was a quarter to six just five minutes ago when you told me that,” Anderson teased her. “Plus, I can see the clock myself. Be a little patient, my child,” he said to the younger woman.
“I know,” she replied. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have the patience for stakeouts.”
“You have a date tonight?” Anderson asked. Anderson was over fifty and Holly was still in her early thirties. They had been partners for four years and Anderson looked at her as the daughter he would have liked to have.
“What’s a date?” she joked. “There he is,” she quickly added then she started the car.
Holly waited for two cars to go by then pulled out to follow him.
“If he turns right on Ninth he’s probably going home,” Anderson said. “If he does, we’ll follow him there and let him park his car so we don’t have to mess around waiting for a tow truck.”
“And the paperwork,” Holly added.
Thirty minutes later the two agents followed Walter Pascal right into the two car garage of his townhouse. Holly drove in so close Walter couldn’t close the garage door. Anderson was out the door and on top of a terrified Pascal before he could get his car door open. Walter looked at the hulking form of Agent Anderson and visions of being murdered flashed through Walter’s brain. He was so frightened, he was on the verge of emptying his bladder in his car when Anderson opened his door and stuck his FBI shield in his face.
“Mr. Pascal, my name is Anderson. I’m an agent with the FBI. Step out of the car, please.”
“Oh, my God,” a very relieved Walter Pascal muttered as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He stayed like this for three or four seconds until he started breathing again. By this time Holly Byrnes had joined her partner and held her credentials out as well.
“Mr. Pascal,” Mike repeated. “Please step out.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, um. You just scared me,” Pascal said as he swung his legs out and stood up. “You’re, ah, with the FBI, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” Anderson said.
“What do you want?” a more composed Walter asked.
“We need you to come with us. We have some questions to ask,” Anderson replied.
Walter Pascal, although startled by what had happened, was an intelligent, educated man. He was totally composed now and said, “And if I don’t want to?”
“We’d rather not turn this adversarial, sir,” Holly quickly said before Mike verbally slapped the man.
“Maybe I should call a lawyer,” Pascal said.
“Why?” Holly smiled. “You’re not under arrest. If you haven’t done anything wrong, you shouldn’t need a lawyer.”
“I don’t know,” Walter said. “I don’t think I want to go with you.”
Anderson, who stood a good six inches taller and was forty pounds heavier than the smaller bond salesman, leaned into him and said, “You got three seconds to get your ass moving, Wally. Then I slap you in cuffs and we haul your ass out of here, Three, two…”
“Okay, I’ll come along. Relax.”
Holly Byrnes looked at her watch and noted it was now 7:30. Mike Anderson, Holly, Deputy U.S. Marshall Mitchell and Joel Dylan were standing together watching Walter Pascal.
“How long has he been in there?” Dylan asked.
“Forty, forty-five minutes,” Anderson answered him.
The four of them were looking through a two-way mirror into an interrogation room. They were in the Minneapolis office of the FBI in the suburb of Brooklyn Park, just north of the city.
“Hey! How many goddamn times do I have to demand to talk to a lawyer?” Pascal yelled for at least the tenth time. He had been locked in this room by the two agents who brought him in almost an hour ago. They had not even allowed him to use the restroom, which he had requested, and he was getting a little uncomfortable.
[Marc Kadella 06.0] Delayed Justice Page 16
