Eddie Flynn 02-The Plea

by Steve Cavanagh

  The noise had abated, and only a handful of detainees were arguing with the guards. I checked the break room. They hadn’t yet mopped up, and I could see a trail of bloody footprints leading to a table. Neil, the guard who’d helped me get close to David that morning, sat with his hands over his head, his face inches over a cup of steaming coffee. Bloodstains on his cuffs. A cop sat beside him, his notebook open on the table, pen in hand.

  ‘Neil, you okay?’ I said.

  His head came up quick, and he tried to force a smile but failed and coughed before wiping his mouth and leaning back in the chair. ‘You shouldn’t be wandering around without an escort.’

  ‘I don’t need an escort. I know these cells just as well as you do. The medic told me you pulled the kid out. I need to know what happened,’ I said.

  ‘This guy a lawyer?’ said the cop, pointing at me with his pen.

  ‘It’s okay. This is Eddie Flynn. He’s the guy’s lawyer. Sit down, Eddie,’ said Neil. ‘Look, there’s not much to tell. After the panic attack subsided, the medic passed Child fit to return to holding. He was in there maybe two, three minutes, when I heard a little shouting, nothing out of the ordinary. Then I saw the Mexican, the guy with the tats who wouldn’t wear his shirt, he comes over to Child, says something to him. He’s about to go for him when your client stepped in front of Child and got the full force of the attack. It took me ten, maybe twelve seconds to get in there and take the guy down. By then it was too late. The Mexican must have had a shiv up his ass. It’s the only way it could’ve gotten past a search. We isolated Popo, cleared a space, and then got to work on him. We couldn’t get him stable, so we moved him to the first-aid room. Damn fine thing he did in there, saving Child.’

  ‘I don’t understand …’

  ‘Popo! Don’t you know anything? The Mexican was trying to start shit with Child. Next thing you know, the Mexican’s got a shiv in his hand and he goes for Child. At the last second, Popo jumps in, and he takes the hit. Brave kid. Maybe stupid, but brave.’

  ‘Jesus, Popo. He never would’ve done it if I hadn’t told him to watch out for David.’

  ‘He’ll make it. Popo is tough. And we got to him pretty quick.’

  More weight fell on top of me. Dizzy. Sick. Ashamed that I’d put Popo at risk.

  ‘Where is Child?’ I said.

  ‘He’s having another panic attack. We put him in the secure holding cell one floor up. Got an officer on the door, but he can’t stay there all day. I need that guard.’

  I wanted to put my hands up and thank the Lord that Christine’s ticket to freedom was still breathing, but I couldn’t. Popo the drug addict, the snitch, the thief, the unlikeliest hero in the whole city, just stepped in and saved the life of a billionaire. My eyelids felt heavy, and I ran my fingers from the corners of each eye over the skin and then massaged my temples. Popo must’ve done it for me. He’d seen the hit coming and stepped in, out of misplaced loyalty to me perhaps, and he’d stopped a murder. Or maybe I was doing Popo a disservice. Sure, he was a junkie and a criminal, but there was something else in Popo. Maybe he did it purely because it was the right thing to do.

  ‘If you hear anything about Popo, let me know right away.’

  I turned and made for the exit. Because of the incident, the guards were short-staffed and edgy. There would be no more visits. Priority was restoring calm in the cages and fishing guys up the line to court and bail office or back down to holding. Everything would slow down. That bought me some time. I wondered how long it would take Gerry Sinton to realize the mistake – that Popo was in the ER and not Child. I gave it a half hour, max.

  ‘Thanks, Neil. You probably saved Popo today.’

  ‘There’s not a lot in that kid that drugs haven’t eaten away already. He’s wasn’t in good shape when he came in, but he’s a fighter.’

  A thought popped into my head and wouldn’t wait.

  ‘The Mexican, how long was he in the cage before he made his move?’

  ‘Ah, I think he was in there a half hour, maybe longer. He went in just after you took David out to the interview room.’

  I nodded and left Neil to give his statement to the cop. I called the elevator, and while I waited I watched the guard behind the security desk wiping down a whiteboard. The printed legend above the board read, DAYS WITHOUT MAJOR INCIDENT. The guard wiped off ‘87,’ popped the cap off a fat Magic Marker, and drew a big zero on the board.

  It was time to check in with Dell.

  Time to tell him I’d secured the client.

  And that our deal was off.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I didn’t notice any watchers as I made my way to the exit and crossed the street from the courthouse. A black SUV waited outside a twenty-four-hour dry cleaner called Jack’s. I tossed a couple of bucks across a news vendor’s hand and picked up a copy of the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal. I checked the street again. No tail.

  The rear passenger door opened.

  ‘How’s it going?’ said Dell as I got in beside him, dumped my case files on the leather seat, with my newspapers on top, and closed the door.

  ‘There’s been an attempt on David’s life. A Mexican tried to stab him in the cage, and my client intervened; Popo might not make it. Child’s okay, though. It might help us in the long run, and believe me, we’re going to need all the help we can get. Gerry Sinton managed to get himself appointed as co-counsel.’

  Dell made a circular motion with his left hand, and the SUV pulled into traffic. He kept his focus on the cars and pedestrians behind us, checking that we weren’t being followed. The driver had a buzz cut, and I could see the fingers of his left hand taped together. He made a point of turning around and scowling at me when we hit a stoplight.

  ‘You’ve already met Agent Weinstein,’ said Dell.

  ‘How’s the finger?’ I said.

  The slim man smiled at me, flipped me the bird with his right hand and then swung around. His boss continued to check our tail for another half a block, then leveled his gaze at me.

  ‘Co-counsel? How could you let that happen?’ said Dell. I detected a little heat in his voice.

  ‘Your men were supposed to hold him at the accident scene. He got here early.’

  ‘The firm’s security team were shadowing Sinton. Harland and Sinton employ a six-man squad of ex-marines. They look after the lawyers and the documents, but we really think they’re enforcers and guard dogs for the money. Guy named Gill heads up the team. He’s a former Marine and ex-NYPD – smart and ruthless. The firm’s security intervened. My guess is one of them called Gill. He probably pulled in a few favors, because the cops holding Sinton got a radio call and Gerry got released immediately after that call. The officer on scene told me he got orders from his lieutenant to let him go. If he’d held Sinton for much longer, somebody would’ve guessed the cops had a motive. Where’s Sinton now?’

  ‘We both thought Child had been stabbed. He’s on his way to the ER. I figure we have a half hour before he realizes Child is still at the courthouse.’

  ‘You sure the Mexican targeted Child?’

  ‘That’s what I heard. Looks like the firm tried to take him out.’

  From a manila folder on his lap, Dell retrieved a black-and-white photograph. He was careful not to open the folder too wide in case I saw the contents, but I saw enough to know that the file contained a thick bundle of papers on Harland and Sinton. The photo was a close-up on a guy about my age, maybe a little closer to forty, with a muscular build and light, sandy hair. His jaw looked like it could crack a baseball bat. This wasn’t the same guy in the black coat and gray sweater who’d stared at me in the hall outside court twelve.

  ‘This is Gill. Watch out for him. He’s dangerous. The firm will kill to protect their operation, and Gill is the trigger man. I’d say he set up the attempted stabbing in the holding pen. We need you to get Sinton out of the picture. You can’t put the pressure on Child with Sinton standing on your throat. How are you goi
ng to get rid of him?’

  ‘For the moment, he stays. I’ll need him. Truth is, Dell, I’m not convinced Child is guilty. There has to be another way. I just haven’t figured it out yet.’

  ‘Oh, he’s innocent, is he? How do you figure?’

  ‘I just know. Kid doesn’t have it in him. I can tell.’

  ‘Why don’t you try explaining that to your wife after she gets eighty-five years for money laundering and racketeering? Don’t be fooled by that kid. He’s made himself a billionaire and he did it ruthlessly, so remember that.’

  ‘Hold on. You just want the intel, right? Accounts, banks, contracts, evidence tying it all to Ben Harland and Gerry Sinton. I know exactly what you need for a successful prosecution, but you won’t get any of that from Child. This guy doesn’t need the skim from a dirty money wash. He’s not involved. He’s not the type. He doesn’t know anything, Dell. He’s a mark, that’s it. He’s just as much a victim as the other rich idiots pouring money into Harland and Sinton. I can get you the evidence you need, but I have to do it my way.’

  ‘This guy has really suckered you, Eddie. I thought you knew what you were doing; I thought we had a deal. The evidence, the money, and the testimony in exchange for your wife’s freedom. Not much to ask.’

  ‘That was before I met Child. He’s so young, and he’s falling apart. I love my wife, but I won’t sacrifice a life for her. Not if there’s another way. I’ll make sure you get what you need and you’ll leave Christine alone. But I need to know how Child is linked to the firm and what he’s got on them. You need to tell me.’

  I handed him back the photograph, which he carefully replaced in the folder before tossing it onto the seat between us. He sighed and leaned forward. Running his hands over his face, he muttered something, then spoke clearly.

  ‘We had a deal. We had a plan. I don’t like people who break their word, Eddie. And I don’t like low-life ex-con artists telling me what to do. I don’t like it one little bit,’ he said.

  Dell’s head came back to rest on the seat upright. Sliding his fingers beneath his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. His movement was slow, deliberate, like he was fighting off the sleep that had been denied him since Child was arrested twenty-four hours before. I saw a twitch from his left eye and smelled the sweat on his forehead. The lines around his eyes were deep now.

  ‘We stick to our original plan. The evidence against Child is more than enough to convict him of murdering his girlfriend. You know why? Because he murdered her, Eddie. You tell him you have a way out. Tell him you can save his life. Tell him you can cut him a deal. We need him to come clean about the firm. Five years is a walk in the park. It’s a sweet deal for murder one. If he refuses, he goes down for life.’

  ‘No. Either I walk away, or you tell me what David has on the firm.’

  ‘It’s too risky. We have to do this my way. Child has a problem. You’re going to offer the solution. There’s no other way he would part with this information.’

  ‘I can get it,’ I said.

  Dell studied me, weighing his options, deciding if I could deliver. I checked the rear view. The closest car to the SUV was a good thirty feet away, and I guessed we were doing around twenty miles an hour. I knew what Dell’s answer would be, and I already knew my next move.

  ‘No,’ said Dell.

  ‘Then it’s over,’ I said, as I reached in between the front seats and pulled the parking brake. The whole vehicle pitched forward as the tires locked up. The driver’s head disappeared into his chest as his seat belt held firm.

  My right shoulder was already jammed against the front passenger seat, braced for the momentum. Dell’s face went into the driver’s seat, the files slid to the floor, and the car behind us fired his horn and managed to stop before he hit the rear of our car.

  I gathered up my files and newspapers, opened the door, and said, ‘I’m out. You’re on your own.’

  The driver, Weinstein, was already mouthing off – calling me crazy.

  A hand on my shoulder. I anticipated it would be a forceful grab, pulling me back into the vehicle. It wasn’t. The grip was one of resignation, and a final plea for help.

  ‘All right,’ said Dell.

  Closing the door, I stared straight ahead, files sitting on my lap, waiting for the info, not looking Dell in the eye. The horns from the traffic behind us ceased as the SUV took off at a slow pace.

  ‘Don’t try that again,’ said Weinstein.

  With a sigh, Dell laid it out.

  ‘What David Child has is not illegal. In fact, it’s perfectly legal. The biggest risk to a laundry is personnel in the chain. Well, David Child gave the firm the solution that allowed them to cut down that risk. Instead of the money passing through lots of hands, it now passes though accounts at the click of a button.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He designed a digital security system for the firm. This practice has serious money floating around its client accounts, it needs an airtight security system to protect it from hackers. So David designed an algorithm. One that’s based on the same principles as Reeler: a combination of random and targeted sequences. Basically, David installed an IT security system at Harland and Sinton – which is totally legit, but used in a different way, it becomes the safest and the best method of laundering money ever designed.’

  ‘But it wasn’t designed to wash the money?’

  ‘You got it. Let’s say the system David installed detects a hacker threat. If it’s serious enough, then the program throws all of the money from the firm’s business and client accounts into the ether. Millions and millions of dollars that normally sit in hundreds of the firm’s client accounts start to move. The algo splits the money into smaller sums, no bigger than ten thousand dollars, and sends them on a random digital journey through hundreds of accounts – to protect them from the hacker. Once it’s gone it cannot be traced, but seventy-two hours later the money returns to a single, high-security account. Of course, by the time the money has gotten there, it’s totally clean. The firm can test the system as often as they like – to make sure it’s operational. Because the money breaks down into sums lower than ten grand, the Bank Secrecy Act won’t kick in and the sums are allowed to move without due diligence or anti-money-laundering checks. That’s what money laundering is all about; it’s like buying a passport for each dollar. There are three basic stages to washing money – introduction, layering, and integration. The phony share transaction introduces the money into the system; when Harland and Sinton trigger the algo, the movement of the money from legit account to legit account adds layers of provenance, and seventy-two hours later all of the money, dirty and legit, settles into one account.’

  I had to admire the system; it was beautiful. The firm can treat millions at the touch of a button – in pretending to test their security system, they trigger David’s algorithm and the money randomly spins through a wash cycle. Perfect.

  ‘Because the security system is legit, you can’t get a warrant, and with the money spinning, you can’t trace it. I’m guessing the algo leads to the partners?’

  Shaking his head, Dell suppressed a laugh.

  ‘Yes, we believe this is how the partners get paid – they skim some of the money when it lands in the high-security account. The final account that collects all of the money is always in Ben Harland’s name. We know that much. But we don’t know the account number or which bank. The firm has thousands of dormant accounts in a handful of banks. The money lands in a different one each time the algo reaches the end of its cycle. It would take an army of techs to find even a small percentage of it, and we would have to know the precise time that it hit the account. We don’t even know what bank it’s headed for. When the algo runs its course, it sends an e-mail to the partners giving them the new account information. By that time, the money is clean and the partners take their percentage off the top before they pay the investors. We guess the laundry flows once every few months – and our best guess is the
partners take around five million for themselves each time. But the key here is recovery. Think about it – every single one of the big financial fraud busts in the last few years have one thing in common – the money was never recovered. With the algorithm we can get the money and the partners.’

  I thought it through, everything Dell had told me.

  ‘You told me yesterday Farooq said the firm was getting rid of their middlemen, so the whole operation is digital now?’

  ‘Pretty much. It’s safer. We guessed if they didn’t need middlemen they’d probably gone digital. At the same time the firm was cutting loose their money mules, Child became a client and designed their security system, so we started looking into it. It didn’t take our techs long to figure out how it works, but it’s too damn complex to track. That’s why we need Child. Our whole team of techs in Langley can monitor around one hundred accounts. There are thousands. But we learned that the money disappears from those accounts and then comes back seventy-two hours later. Our surveillance isn’t exactly legal – we need somebody we can put on the stand. We need Child. Our techs believe Gerry triggered the algo yesterday and the money is spinning through the air right now.’

  ‘That’s why you wanted Child to make a quick deal. You need access to the system to trace the dirty money to the partners, but you also need to be waiting at the bank to grab the money after its last wash.’

  ‘You got it. The fact that Sinton triggered the algo after Child’s arrest makes me nervous. I figure he’s cleaning it, and when it lands, Sinton and Harland lift the clean money and disappear. But they don’t want to do that. If they can take out David before he spills his guts about the algo, they won’t have to run. We got lucky – we need to capitalize on this. If we can trace the path of the money through the laundry, we can take it all and put the partners in jail. I want Harland and Sinton – they murdered one of my people, Eddie. I heard her calling my name while she burned in that car. I need this.’