James Grippando - Beyond Suspicion

“That’s not funny.”

“None of this is. That’s why I called. I want to meet with both you and Theo. Tonight.”

“Where?”

“I’m home already, so let’s do it here.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as you can get your buddy over here. We need to get to Theo before the prosecutor does.”

“You don’t seriously think that Theo would cut a deal with Jancowitz, do you?”

“You just heard the news as plainly as I did. Theo is targeted as the gunman in a murder-for-hire scheme. It’s standard operating procedure for a prosecutor in a case like this: You get the gunman to flip in order to nail the guy who hired him.”

“I agree that we should meet, but you need to understand. I didn’t hire Theo to do anything. And even if I had, Theo would never testify against me. I’m the guy who got him off death row.”

“Let me ask you something, Jack. How many years did Theo spend on death row?”

“Four.”

“Now answer me this: You think he wants to go back?”

Jack paused, and he didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking him. “I’ll see you in an hour. Theo and I both will be there. Together. I guarantee it.”

•

Katrina picked at the peas in her microwaved-dinner tray. The evening news had drifted into the weather segment, but she was still pondering the lead story. Two things were clear to her. The indictments were a foregone conclusion. And the timing of the leaks had a funny smell to them. She pushed away from the kitchen table and grabbed her car keys.

It was time to call Sam Drayton.

Rarely did she make a call directly to the lead prosecutor, but this was no time to get caught up in Justice Department bureaucracy. In less than five minutes she reached the 7-Eleven on Bird Road. She jumped out of her car, hurried past the homeless guy sleeping on the curb, and called Drayton from the outside pay phone.

“Moon over Miami,” she said into the telephone. It was the code phrase that would immediately convey to him that she was talking of her own free will, not with a mobster’s gun to her head.

“What’s up, Katrina?”

“Swyteck and his friend Theo are all over the local news tonight. Story has it that they’re going to be indicted in a murder-for-hire scheme.”

“Is that so?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

“I’m in Virginia. How would I know?”

The homeless guy had his hand out. Katrina gave him a quarter and waved him away. “Look, if Swyteck and his friend are going to be indicted, that’s fine. That’s the way the system works. But these leaks aren’t fair.”

“I can’t control what comes out of the state attorney’s office.”

“Like hell. You asked Jancowitz to leak it, didn’t you?”

“Grand-jury investigations are secret by law. That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

“Two days ago, after Swyteck paid me a visit at the blood unit, I called and told you I needed him and Theo Knight out of my hair. Suddenly it’s all over the news that they’re about to be indicted in a murder conspiracy. You expect me to believe that a leak like that one is just a coincidence?”

“Totally.”

“Stop being cute. Swyteck’s bad enough. But do you know what it means to a guy like Theo Knight to have the word on the street that he’s a grand-jury target on a murder charge?”

“I told you, I can’t control what Jancowitz does.”

“Don’t you understand? Theo sat across the table from my boss at the Brown Bear and talked viatical business. He made it clear that he’s figured out the money-laundering scheme. Vladimir isn’t going to let a guy like that just sit around peacefully under the threat of an indictment. He’ll put a bullet in his brain before he can cut a deal with the prosecutor and tell everything he knows about the money-laundering operation.”

“I can’t control what the Russian mob does.”

“Is that all you can say, that everything’s out of your control?”

“I can’t control the things I can’t control.”

“Then maybe you can’t control me, either.”

“Watch yourself, Katrina. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“You’ve got nothing on me. I went to the U.S. attorney’s office the minute I discovered that my employer might be doing something illegal. I volunteered for this undercover work because I wanted to nail these bastards worse than you did.”

“Ah, yes. Katrina the Whistleblower.”

“It’s true. I was squeaky clean coming in.”

“You’re not squeaky clean anymore, honey. You turn against me, I’ll turn against you. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been part of an illegal operation for the past eight months.”

“You son of a bitch. You just see this as a cost of doing business, don’t you? If someone gets in your way, you just push them aside for good.”

“I’m simply trying to preserve the integrity of an eight-month investigation that has cost the U.S. government over a million dollars.”

“And a bullet in the back of Theo Knight’s head is a small price to pay. Is that it?”

“Listen, lady. We wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if you hadn’t fumbled around in the dark and picked up the wrong cell phone.”

“Actually, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t told me to beat the holy crap out of Jack Swyteck for treading too close to your blessed investigation.”

“I never told you to do that.”

“Maybe not in so many words. But I told you that Vladimir was going to make me prove myself somehow, and you said go ahead and do what I had to do. I’ll stick to that story until the day I die.”

Silence fell over the line, then Drayton finally spoke. “I’m warning you, Katrina. Don’t you dare do anything stupid.”

“Don’t worry. If I do, you’ll be the last to know.” She hung up the phone and returned to her car.

•

Jack picked up Theo from Sparky’s, and the two of them reached Rosa’s house in Coco Plum around eight o’clock. Hers was typical for the neighborhood, a thirteen-thousand-square-foot, multilevel, completely renovated, Mediterranean-style quasi hotel with a pool, a boat, and drop-dead views of the water.

“Nice digs,” said Theo as they stepped down from Jack’s car.

“Yeah. If you like this sort of overindulgence.”

“Spoken like a true have-not.”

They climbed thirty-eight steps to the front door but didn’t have to knock. Rosa spotted them in the security cameras. She greeted them at the door and then led them to her home office, a term that struck Jack as especially meaningful, as this particular office did seem larger than the average home.

Rosa’s former law partner was already inside waiting for them. Jack knew Rick Thompson. They shook hands, and he introduced himself to Theo. Then Rosa explained his presence.

“I invited Rick because it seems appropriate for Theo to have his own lawyer. From what we’ve heard so far, you two may end up being codefendants on a conspiracy charge.”

Rick said, “You never want alleged coconspirators to be represented by one lawyer. It tends to reinforce the idea of a conspiracy.”

“I agree with that,” said Jack.

“Sounds good to me, too,” said Theo. “Except I doubt I can afford my own lawyer.”

Rosa said, “No problem. Jack will pay for it.”

Jack did a double take, but before he could say anything Theo slapped him on the back and said, “Thanks, buddy.”

“You’re welcome,” was all he could say.

Jack and Theo seated themselves in the armchairs on one side of the square coffee table in the center of the room. Rick sat on the leather couch. Rosa stood off to the side as her housekeeper brought pitchers of iced tea and water on a silverplated tray. Jack glanced discreetly at his lawyer and caught her taking in a long, meditative eyeful of the framed work of art that hanged behind her desk. It was a contemporary piece by the late Cuban-born artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres, a renowned boundary-buster who was best known for ephemeral pieces made of candies or printed paper that visitors could touch or even take home with them. Rosa liked to call her little share of Felix “the stress-buster,” as it calmed her just to look at it. Jack wasn’t sure if the magic flowed from the innate beauty of the work or from the sheer joy of having acquired it long before the artist died and his work started selling at Christie’s for seven figures.