James Grippando - Blood Money

“Shit,” said Schwartz.

The assistant U.S. attorney hit the intercom button so that her announcement could be heard in both rooms: “Shut it down.”

The agent shrugged and started toward the door. Schwartz stopped him and said, “You guys did great. Really good stuff.”

The assistant U.S. attorney echoed the sentiment. “Hewitt’s looking at five years for obstruction of justice. We’ll put something on the table to get him to give up whoever paid him the money.”

The agent nodded and left the observation room. The assistant U.S. attorney went right behind him, off to speak to Hewitt’s lawyer. On the other side of the glass, the lead interrogator took Hewitt out the door, and the interrogation room went dark.

Andie and Schwartz were alone in the observation room. She had a dozen questions for him, but he spoke first.

“I’m putting Cynthia Jenkins on Operation Big Dredge.”

Operation Big Dredge was to be Andie’s next undercover assignment. It was a top-priority investigation into organized crime and corrupt politicians from south Florida to Shanghai, where deals were being cut to exploit the increase in smuggling that would flow through a newly widened Panama Canal and into an expanded Port of Miami.

“That makes no sense,” said Andie. “I’ve been training for this.”

“I don’t have any choice.”

“Is that why you called me up here? You think my fiance bought off a juror, so you’re pulling my undercover role?”

“I don’t know who Mr. Hewitt will implicate, but this decision was made when Dr. Rene Fenning was murdered.”

“The ‘someone you love’ threat,” said Andie. “That’s what you’re talking about?”

“Exactly. Your fiance’s old girlfriend is dead, and the standing threat-‘someone you love’-makes you a potential target. We can’t give you the added protection you need while you’re working undercover.”

“I won’t need protection while I’m undercover. I’m no longer Andie Henning.”

“That may be true, to a point. But I can’t send you undercover knowing that someone may be trying to track you down. That could blow the whole operation.”

“He won’t find me.”

“You can’t guarantee that. And he doesn’t have to find you to blow the operation. If he figures out you’re working undercover, that’s enough.”

Andie knew he was right, and the only solution to the problem was one that she didn’t like. But she was desperate. “What if I was willing to go all-in for the duration of the assignment-no rights to contact anyone, including Jack.”

“Andie, Operation Big Dredge is budgeted and approved up to five months. I’m not saying it will go that long, but it could.”

“I understand.”

“You really want to do that? No phone calls, no nothing for five months?”

“It’s not my preference,” she said. “But if you pull me because I’m a threat to the integrity of the operation, you and I both know that headquarters will not view this as an isolated incident.”

“I won’t let you be blackballed.”

“That’s a really nice sentiment, but getting pulled from an assignment like this is huge. I’ll be damaged goods. So, please: Get on the phone with whoever it is at headquarters who’s pushing your buttons, and tell them I’m willing to go all-in.”

Schwartz studied her expression, and Andie stared right back at him, conveying nothing but her resolve.

“All right,” said Schwartz. “I’ll let you know what headquarters says. But before I make that call and put your offer on the table, do you want to talk with your fiance about it?”

Andie thought for a moment. Perception was everything in the bureau, and having to check with your fiance on a decision that could define the rest of your career as an FBI agent was the wrong perception to create. Yes, five months was a long time-but not with someone you planned to spend the rest of your life with.

“No need,” said Andie. “Jack will understand.”

I hope.

BNN had “the exclusive” in time for Faith Corso’s nine P.M. show.

It began with Corso’s rapid-fire summary of the day’s events, followed by a live update from an on-the-scene reporter in Little Havana’s Tamiami Trail, “where the nude body of Rene Fenning, a beloved pediatrician at Miami’s Jackson Memorial Hospital, was discovered late this afternoon.” Jack was relieved to see that law enforcement had been careful not to divulge details that might compromise the investigation: Even BNN had yet to uncover the killer’s signature-“someone you love.” Still, Corso worked in Rene’s past relationship with Jack, coupled with a healthy dose of innuendo as to a current “romantic link.”

Then it was back live and in-studio for Corso’s big story of the night: the hundred-thousand-dollar payoff to the jury foreman in the Sydney Bennett trial. The graphic behind Corso said it all, yet another slutty photograph of Sydney with a catchy tagline:

NOT GUILTY: THE PRICE OF INJUSTICE.

Jack had known the personal attacks were coming five minutes before airtime. Corso’s producer had called him for a comment, which he’d declined to give-which Corso proceeded to use against him on the air.

“Of course Jack Sly-teck isn’t talking,” Corso told her television audience. “He refused to say a word when we asked him to explain how something like this could happen on his watch. Keeping his mouth shut is probably the smart thing to do in a situation like this. Maybe Shot Mom’s lawyer isn’t quite as dumb as we thought he was.”

Jack found her easy to stomach compared to the ensuing parade of expert speculators-expeculators, he called them, a play on expectorant that in Jack’s mind put their venom-spitting rhetoric on the level of hacking up a lungful of phlegm. None had the least bit of expertise on the charge of jury tampering, and, from the outset, they disagreed on the most basic question put to them by Corso:

“Does this mean that Sydney Bennett will stand trial again?” she asked her panel. “Or does double jeopardy preclude a retrial even if a juror was paid off?”

“Good question,” said Theo. He was on the other end of Jack’s couch, having shown up uninvited about ten minutes after Andie had sent the text saying she was headed to the field office.

Jack scratched Max’s head. “I know golden retrievers who could answer it more intelligently than these bozos.”

Theo wasn’t listening. His full attention was on the TV, on Faith Corso’s response to her own question. She did that a lot.

“Clearly the government is free to bring charges of jury tampering against Mr. Hewitt and whoever bribed him,” said Corso. “But I could easily see Shot Mom hiring a new lawyer who will deny that she had anything to do with the bribe, and who will argue that once a verdict is entered it’s too late for the court to declare a mistrial. Shot Mom was acquitted, period, end of story.”

Jack snatched the remote from Max’s jaws. “End of story,” he said, scoffing. “Mark your calendar, Theo. You and I will have grandchildren before Faith Corso utters those words again in connection with Sydney Bennett.”

Theo made a face. “I like you, Swyteck, but I don’t want to have grandchildren with you.”

Jack rolled his eyes, then checked the time on the TV info banner. With Andie’s help on Celeste’s username and password, Jack had solved the Facebook problem more than two hours before the midnight deadline. There was no telling when Andie would be back, however, which was probably a good thing. She might have tried to talk him out of heading over to the Bennett house and confronting Sydney’s parents about the bribe. Theo not only loved the idea, but he would be Jack’s hedge against a my-word-versus-their-word situation if ever their conversation became an issue.