Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

“No, that was just the beginning.”

“So you don’t have an informant?”

“No. I wish I did. We discreetly approached some of Jones’s people and determined they aren’t willing to talk or they don’t know enough to help.”

“And how did you get the warrant you executed last night? They’re not easy to come by.”

“On a wing and a prayer,” Dean mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Full disclosure: I don’t have a case. But I have a terrific assistant U.S. attorney who put together a solid argument with legal precedent. I have strong hints of a case, I know in my gut that Jones is corrupt-his lobbying firm charges his clients more than any other state or federal registered lobbyist. But I can’t get anyone to talk, and because Jones is meticulous about his filings, there’s nothing, not even an error, I can nail him on. If his clients are willing to pay, what can we do? Is it extortion? Bribery? We’re looking into possible political corruption-that’s Sam’s primary focus, at least until I arrived-but we can’t find anything there, either.”

“It’s hard for that many people to keep a secret that long. Politicians may be scumbags, but they’re not usually murderers or involved in human trafficking.”

Dean cracked a wry grin. “True, but there have been exceptions. Did you know that back in the 1920s a legislator shot his chief of staff in a lover’s triangle involving the secretary?”

“You’re a font of murderous trivia,” Sonia said with a smile. “I haven’t really looked at Jones’s lobbying other than a cursory examination-do you think something’s there? Or that he’s using the business to pass through his trafficking profit?”

“I’ve looked, but I don’t see how he’s doing it. Every dollar he gets from clients is reported, we’ve verified with the clients’ own reporting, and everything matches up. So if Client A pays twenty thousand dollars for consulting services, Jones is reporting twenty thousand dollars-not thirty or forty thousand as I’d expect if he were washing illegal dollars.”

Dean continued. “When you look at his two primary businesses-the lobbying and the security business-they’re very lucrative. More lucrative than similar businesses. I want to take another pass through the companies, the staff, the clients. That was what I was in the middle of when we decided to shake Jones up.”

“That’s all this exercise was about? Shaking Jones up?”

“I just wanted to see what he would do. So far, he’s holding to schedule. I checked his calendar and he showed at his meetings today. I’ll track him tomorrow as well, see if he’s changing any of his plans. He didn’t like me stopping by his lunch date this afternoon.”

“Date?” She raised an eyebrow.

Dean waved his hand. “Just an expression. It was a meeting-him and two clients, men-businessmen, possibly his Indian gaming clients. Sam is running their photographs through the database. We know the fourth man, who arrived late, is his chief of staff at the lobbying firm, Craig Gleason. We took a surface look at him at the beginning, nothing popped, but we’re digging deeper into his background. I have a pair of agents staking out his plane, and if he attempts to leave we’ll take him into custody.”

“On what grounds?”

“Attempted flight to flee prosecution.”

“But you don’t have that.”

“No, but it’ll stop him from leaving for forty-eight hours and I’ll get it.”

“And here people think Homeland Security has loose rules.”

“I follow the rules,” Dean said firmly, “I just make the most of them. There are more rules protecting criminals than defending our right to pursue them. I’m not trampling on any of his rights, but I’m going to make damn sure he doesn’t leave the country. I have his passport flagged as well. If he tries to use it, the FBI will be notified and he won’t be allowed to board the plane.”

“Do you really think Jones is running his human trafficking profits through his businesses?” Sonia asked, somewhat skeptical. Dean understood her confusion-white-collar crimes were a far cry from anything she’d worked on.

“Yes, but how? See, small-time drug dealers make their illegal money selling drugs; then they invest that money in a legitimate business, and over time, that business is in the clear. The statute of limitations is five years. If they stay clean for five years, and we don’t catch wind of their activities, they’ve won.”

“That’s if they aren’t still committing crimes,” Sonia said.

“Exactly. And there’s Jones’s property.” Dean crossed the room and flipped over a whiteboard. On the back was a map of the greater Sacramento area with two dozen color-coded dots. “Each dot represents land or a business Jones owns. The red dots are vacant or unimproved land. The blue dots are occupied-he owns several properties where some of his employees live, plus his residence, and an apartment building. The green dots represent businesses. So far, everything is legit-unlike Smitty, these people actually exist. We’ve looked into their finances, thinking maybe he’s paying his employees cash, but so far everyone seems to be living within their means.”

Sonia stared at his map.

“Do any of these dots mean anything to you?” he asked her. “I haven’t found a pattern yet.”

“I don’t know,” Sonia admitted. “Have you been to all these properties?”

“Between Callahan’s team and myself, we’ve visually inspected every one.”

“Have you run them against local crimes?”

“Excuse me?”

“Murder, for example.”

“There wasn’t a need to.”

“Maybe you should.”

“What would that prove?”

“I don’t know. But here”-she pointed to the foothills where Jones had extensive holdings-“is a good place to hide bodies. Or people.”

“Have you looked at his property as part of your investigation?”

“My investigation is new.”

“But you said this morning that you’ve been after Jones for years.”

She turned to him, looking sheepish. Dean bristled. He didn’t like being lied to, especially when he’d been up front since the beginning. “I have been after Jones for years,” she said, “but I didn’t launch my investigation officially until one of his top people came to me wanting witness protection in exchange for testifying against him.”

Dean’s voice was low. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t have time last night,” she snapped and rubbed her eyes.

“This is important, Sonia. You should have told me right off.”

“I did tell you I had an informant,” she replied. “I wasn’t going to risk him by going into the details in front of everyone and their brother.”

“Everyone? You think that one of my people is leaking information?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“Even my office doesn’t know who the informant is. Only my partner, Trace, and my boss. And the U.S. marshals who are putting together their witness-protection package.”

“Their?”

“My informant is married. His wife is pregnant. He came to me when it became clear to him that he couldn’t walk away with his life. He was worried about his wife, and I believed him. I don’t have to like him, or what he’s done.”

“And you still don’t have enough to get Jones?”

“This man has killed on Jones’s orders, has transported sex slaves, and has named some of the players-but there is no proof. It’s his word against Jones’s, and the lawyers felt that we didn’t have even a fifty percent chance of making it to trial against a well-known philanthropist who gives more than a million dollars annually to local charities. My guy can’t be wired because Jones has an elaborate security system. Jones randomly searches people who work for him. He sweeps his house, phones, and offices regularly for bugs. But my informant confirmed everything I suspected. I just need hard evidence!” She slammed her fist on the table.