Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

Sydney recalled Scotty mentioning his concern over things leaking to the press during elections. Somehow there had to be more to this than political scandals and swaying the voters. “So you think that maybe the notes are still there, that maybe they just didn’t want them somehow leaked to the press?”

“Sure they are. More than likely they removed the copies from records so some clerk wouldn’t accidentally set it in front of a reporter.”

“Can you check in evidence? See if their copies still exist?” Sydney asked.

Officer Sechrest seemed to consider it, then shrugged. “You’re the FBI, no reason I can’t discuss the case with you.” She picked up the phone, talked to someone, waited a couple of minutes, then said, “Thanks. I appreciate it. Hey, what about the photographs I took? The film…?” Her gaze narrowed as she listened to whatever the evidence clerk told her, then hung up. “It’s not there, and she checked with the film lab. The film was developed, and all photos of that note, including the negatives, are gone…”

Vince asked, “Any chance you recall what the notes said?”

“Not much. I mean, it really didn’t make much sense, but- Wait! The ME’s office. They get copies, SOP, for the autopsy. How did I not think of them?”

Officer Sechrest called the medical examiner’s office, her fingers tapping a cadence on her desk as she waited for them to check their files. Sydney knew what the result was by the way she’d hung up the phone. “Okay. This is really, really strange. The copy of that particular note is missing from their office as well…” And just when Sydney was beginning to despair that she’d ever find out what was in that note, Officer Sandy Sechrest smiled, grinned actually. “Ya know, I almost forgot we were dealing with a suicide here. That’s a whole different game.”

“Why is that?”

“The guy that just walked out when you got here, George? He studies suicide notes. Collects them in an unofficial capacity, much like your unofficial visit. A bit unusual as far as collections go, but you’d be surprised what you can learn from these things. Highly educational. And if we’re lucky, he snagged a copy for his file.”

She sat in the airport, bone-tired, read the note for the fiftieth time, while she waited for Carillo to get back to her, because he wanted to do some research of his own. But as she examined it again, she wasn’t sure what he could do, because nothing in it seemed to be the sort of thing you could check on.

Dear Sydney,

I’m sorry it had to end this way. I should have sent the money to your father. He only wanted it for Cisco’s Kid, but Iggy said no. They could tie it to BICTT and it would ruin us all. I tried to call Boston. I always thought he’d be sick of fish and beer after twenty years. He was the only smart one. We should have all gone down there. What was I supposed to do? God, I’m so sorry. Sorry about your father. I’ll make it right. Screw Iggy. BICTT is going to take him down, because they’re still operating. The bastard gets what he deserves for what they did to you. Your father was right all along. I know it now.

Will

The note made very little sense. The evidence log showed it had been found under the table. That it was addressed to her might somewhat explain why Scotty had been waiting at her mailbox. They must have figured it was a draft, that another copy had been mailed, perhaps. But according to Scotty, McKnight had also been drinking, and if this thing had been found under the table, chances were that it never made it into the mail.

About twenty minutes later, Carillo finally got back to her. “I’ve got a couple things. One of them big,” he said.

“Scotty was right,” she said, not letting him finish. She’d had plenty of time to think about the note, decipher it while she was waiting for his call. “It had to have been about blackmail. Cisco’s Kid was my father’s boat. I have a picture on my nightstand of him sitting on it… If he was demanding money from McKnight, money for Cisco’s Kid, I have to assume he was talking about the boat. The name Cisco’s Kid was on the note that McKnight sent to me, the, um, one that Scotty said showed he was blackmailing McKnight. That’s what you found, isn’t it?”

There was a long stretch of silence on the other end. “Maybe it was money owed, and had nothing to do with boats and blackmail. It’s the BICTT reference that must have spooked the CIA enough to come in and sanitize the files in Houston. Look at it from McKnight’s point of view. Whatever made him eat his gun has to be a lot bigger than a little blackmail to finance the purchase of some fishing boat, especially after being singled out by the president to oversee a gazillion dollars of the federal budget. The fact McKnight even wrote the initials B-I-C-T-T just before he killed himself is pretty telling in my book.”

“BICTT?” she repeated, pronouncing it as he did the first time, as one word, like bikt.

“You said Scotty mentioned some big banking scandal when he showed up at your door? BICTT is one of the biggest banking scandals in U.S. history for what it encompassed, and for how it was whitewashed after the fact. They had a key witness who could pinpoint top government officials and major CEOs, who not only were bribed, but also had knowledge that the international bank was corrupt before it opened its doors on U.S. soil, all with their blessings.”

“So what happened to the witness?”

“Speculation has it that he took off with some inside help, and hasn’t been seen in the U.S. since. The blowout twentysomething years ago was huge.”

“Huge enough to make someone kill himself, even today, long after the statute of limitations has run its course?”

“This isn’t about statute of limitations. We’re talking reputations of entire countries, including their CEOs and politicians and religious institutions, fortunes lost, careers ruined, wars financed kind of thing. After 9/11, no one wants their name associated with anything remotely related to terrorists, and that includes the CIA. And this banking operation hosted some of the biggest terrorists in the world, all while numerous OGAs in the U.S. turned a blind eye,” he said. OGA was a common military term for other government agencies, and could encompass anything from the FBI to the NSA. “Hell, CIA was in on the ground floor when this bank opened a branch on U.S. soil, so they could run their own operations.” She could hear the clicking of a keyboard as he typed. “Here it is. Bank of International Commerce Trade and Trust. BICTT.”

“And we’re sure this is the one?”

“As soon as I mentioned banking scandal to Schermer, this is the one he pointed me to. Schermer’s source says it was known in the CIA as the Bank of International Crooks, Terrorists, and Thieves, and when it was busted open, helped cement the acronym of CIA as Caught In the Act. It was the ultimate banking institution if you were looking to evade taxes, handle illegal transfers of money, off-the-record deposits, or any other nefarious conduit for drug and crime money.”

“So how was it exposed?”

“The bank got caught laundering money for the CIA, something to do with selling arms to one of the Agency’s pet projects in South America or something. Word got out, and there was a big hearing. McKnight and his business partner, Robert Orozco, were supposed to testify before the subcommittee, but the Department of Justice kept interfering, blocking their depositions. And when Orozco disappeared off the radar, the whole thing ended up being whitewashed. The Senate turned out their subcommittee report, a few lawsuits were filed, and everyone went about their business as if nothing happened. Par for the course in government. If someone starts to notice something, they wag the dog and deflect attention elsewhere.”