Beyond Suspicion (24 page)

•

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.

When the housekeeper was gone, Rosa turned to face her guests. Her expression was noticeably more relaxed, as if Felix the Artist had done his job, but her delivery was still quite serious. “I’m told we could see target letters as early as tomorrow, indictments by the end of the week. Two defendants, one basic charge: Murder for hire.”

Theo said, “I heard that on the news two hours ago. You sure you’re getting your money’s worth here, Jacko?”

“Just listen.”

Rosa continued, “It’s important for us all to agree that anything we say in this room is privileged. This is one setting in which it’s worth stating the obvious. This is all joint defense.”

“Of course,” said Jack.

“Theo?” asked Rosa.

“Whatever Jack says.”

“Wrong answer,” said Rick. “Jack’s not your lawyer. I am.”

“Like I said. Whatever Jack says.”

Rick grumbled. “I can’t represent someone under those circumstances.”

Jack looked at his friend and said, “You have to listen to your own lawyer. Not Rosa, and not even me. Those are the rules.”

“If you say so.”

“Good,” said Rosa. “Now that that’s settled, let’s talk turkey. Rick, tell Jack and Theo what you found out.”

Rick scooted to the edge of his chair, as if sharing a national-security secret. “Dr. Marsh is represented by Hugo Zamora. I know Hugo pretty well, pretty good guy. I called him up and just asked him point-blank, hey, what did your client tell the grand jury?”

“I thought grand-jury testimony was secret,” said Theo.

“It is, in the sense that grand jurors and the prosecutor can’t divulge it. But a witness can disclose his own testimony, which means that his lawyer can, too.”

Jack asked, “What did Hugo tell you?”

“The most important thing has to do with Dr. Marsh’s testimony about the threats against Jessie Merrill. Marsh did testify that Jessie was in fact threatened before her death.”

“That’s fantastic,” said Jack. “That corroborates exactly what I’ve been saying all along. The viatical investors threatened her.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Marsh didn’t say that it was the viatical investors who threatened Jessie. He said it was Theo.”

“Theo? What kind of crock is that?”

Rick continued. “Marsh claims that Theo met with Jessie the night before she died and told her straight out that if she said or did anything to hurt Jack Swyteck, there would be hell to pay.”

Jack popped from his chair, paced across the room angrily. “That is so ridiculous. The man is a pathological liar. The very idea that Theo would go to Jessie and threaten her like that is… well, you tell him, Theo. That’s crazy.”

All eyes were on Theo, who was noticeably silent.

“Theo?”

Finally, he looked Jack in the eye and said, “You remember that night we met in Tobacco Road?”

“Yeah. You were playing the sax that night.”

“And you said Jessie Merrill admitted to the scam but told you to back off or she’d tell the world that you were part of it, too. You were all upset because she and her doctor boyfriend were so damn smug. And so I says maybe we should threaten her right back. Remember?”

“What are you telling me, Theo?”

A pained expression came over his face. “I was just trying to scare her, that’s all. Just get her and Swampy to back down and realize they can’t push my friend Jack Swyteck around.”

Jack felt chills. “So what did you do?”

“That’s enough,” said Rick.

Theo stopped, startled by the interruption. His lawyer continued, “This discussion is taking a completely different track from what I expected. As Theo’s lawyer, I say this meeting’s over. Theo, don’t say another word.”

“Theo, come on, now,” said Jack.

“I said that’s enough,” said Rick. “I don’t care if you are his friend. I won’t stand for anyone pressuring my client into saying something against his own best interest. You told him to listen to his lawyer, not to you or to Rosa. At least play by your own rules.”

“Let them go,” said Rosa.

Theo rose and said, “We’ll get this straightened out, man. Don’t worry.”

Jack nodded, but it wasn’t very convincing. “We’ll talk.”

Rick handed Jack a business card and said, “Only if I’m present. Theo has counsel now, and you talk to him through me. Those are the
new
rules.”

Jack could only watch in silence as Theo and his new lawyer turned and walked out, together.

•

Katrina switched on the lights at 8:00 A.M. As usual, she was the first to reach the combined offices of Viatical Solutions and Bio-Research, Inc. That hour to herself before nine o’clock was always the best time to get work done.

And it was the best time to snoop.

She walked by her work station in the back, past the filing cabinets, and down the hall to Vladimir’s office. The door was locked, but a little finesse and a duplicate key solved that problem. She was sure she was alone, but it still gave her butterflies to turn the knob and open the door.

Over the past eight months she’d had her share of close calls. Rifling through the files of a money-laundering operation was dangerous work. Sam Drayton was a prick, and she hadn’t gone undercover with any illusion that the U.S. government would bail her out of trouble. Truth be told, she’d gotten everything she’d wanted from the feds, which was nothing more than a chance to get inside the Russian mob without risk of going to jail. Katrina had her own agenda, and she was closer than ever to reaching it-at least until Theo Knight had come along. With him sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, time was truly of the essence.

She walked carefully around Vladimir’s massive desk to the computer on his credenza. It had taken nearly sixteen weeks of casual conversations about his mother’s birthday, his dog’s name, his old street-number in Moscow, but finally she’d cracked his password.

She typed it once on the blue screen, then again at the prompt: kamikaze.

It stood for “Kamikaze Club,” a Moscow bar where Russian mobsters used to gather with their well-dressed mistresses to get smashed on vodka and bet on the fights. Young men were pulled off the streets, thrown into the ring, and ordered to slug it out with their bare hands. Only one would walk out alive. The loser ended up in a landfill, eyes gouged out, jaw torn off. After five impressive victories, Vladimir earned himself a job as a bodyguard for a
vor v zakone,
“thief in law,” the highest order of made men in the
Mafiya.

Katrina logged on to his Internet server and scrolled down the e-mails he’d sent over the last week. She recognized the usual money-laundering contacts, but this morning her focus was on that shipment of blood to Sydney. The buyers had requested a specimen from an AIDS-infected white female, but the only blood in their vault was typical of junkies, filled not just with AIDS but also hepatitis, and any number of parasites and street illnesses that made their blood unsuitable for strict AIDS research. Somehow, Vladimir had come up with three liters of AIDS-infected blood from an otherwise clean source.

Only then did Swyteck’s theory about that woman in Georgia seem not so cockeyed.

The fifth e-mail confirmed it. The message was to an investor in Brighton Beach, written in Vladimir’s typical bare-bones style, the less said, the better. “Insurer: Northeastern Life and Casualty. Policy Number: 113855-A. Benefit: $2,500,000. Decedent: Jody Falder, Macon, Georgia. Maturity date…”

The date chilled her. All within a matter of days, Vladimir had fresh, AIDS-infected blood to ship to Sydney, and his viatical investors were in line for a big payday. It hardly seemed coincidental.

Swyteck was right.
This isn’t just about money laundering anymore.

A door slammed, and her heart skipped a beat. It was the main entrance, and she was no longer alone. She switched off the computer, ran to Vladimir’s office door, and fumbled for her key.

A man was singing to himself in the kitchen, fixing himself a morning coffee.

Vladimir!
Her hand was shaking too much to insert the key and lock the door.

“That you, Katrina?” he said, calling from the kitchen.

His voice startled her, but on her fifth frantic attempt at the lock she felt the tumblers fall into place. She thanked God, hurried down the hallway, and forced herself to smile as she entered the kitchen. “Good morning.”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I had some invoicing work to do.” She could have kicked herself. He hadn’t even expressed any surprise at seeing her, and she was already offering some knee-jerk justification for being in the office a little early.

“Good.” He sipped his coffee. It was so strong, the aroma nearly overwhelmed her from across the room. Then he stepped toward her and said, “Let’s you and me take a walk.”

The words chilled her. She’d known Vladimir to take many a walk with employees and even a few customers. None of them ever came back smiling.

“Sure.”

He grabbed his briefcase, took it with him.

This is it,
she thought. Although she’d never been caught snooping, the scenarios had played out in her mind many times. Never did it turn out well for her. Vladimir didn’t take chances with a suspected
musor
.

He led her out the back door, the warehouse entrance. It was a hot, sunny morning, and the smell of baked asphalt-sealant stung her nostrils. They crossed the parking lot and walked side by side beneath the black-olive trees that lined the sidewalk, heading toward the discount gasoline station and the perpetual roar of I-95. Rush-hour traffic clogged all eight lanes on Pembroke Pines Boulevard.

“I’ve been thinking about your friend Theo.”

She caught her breath, relieved to hear that someone else was on his mind. “I figured.”

“The three of us talked openly at the Brown Bear.”

“Of course. Talk among friends.”

“He seemed to have the viatical settlements all figured out.”

“He’s a pretty smart guy.”

“Yuri thinks maybe he’s not so smart. He thinks maybe you told him something.”

“I told him nothing.”

Vladimir stopped. The traffic light changed and a stream of cars and huge tractor trucks raced toward the I-95 on ramp. “I believe you,” he said. “But Yuri has his questions. So there is some repair work that needs to be done there.”

“Repair work?”

“Rebuilding of trust.”

“Vladimir, I’ve worked here like a dog for eight months. Guys come and go all the time. But I’m right here at your side, day in and day out.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t want you to look at this as a test of your loyalty. Think of it as an opportunity to prove yourself worthy of advancement.”

“What are you asking me to do?”

“Your friend Theo got himself in some serious trouble.”

“I know. I saw the news last night.”

“So we both know this prosecutor is going to lean hard on him.”

“Theo’s no
musor
.”

“I wish I could believe that. But the good ol’ days are gone. No more honor among thieves, the old code of silence. These days, people get caught, they talk. We can’t risk Theo cutting a deal and telling that prosecutor what we talked about at the Brown Bear. Hell, I think I even mentioned Yuri and Fate by name.”

Katrina knew this was coming. She’d even shared those exact fears with Drayton. “Like I said, what are you asking me to do?”

He lit a cigarette, then flipped his lighter shut. But he just looked at her, saying nothing.

“Please. Theo is my friend. Don’t ask me to be part of any setup.”

He took a long drag, exhaled. “All the time you’ve worked here, I’ve never once so much as seen you hold a gun.”

“Never had a need to.”

“Seems like a waste. Two years in the U.S. Marines, you must be a decent shot.”

“Sure, I can shoot.”

He handed her his briefcase. “Take it.”

She hesitated, knowing full well what was inside.

He narrowed his eyes and said, “Friend or no, Theo has to go. And the job is yours.”

“You… you want me to take out my friend?”

“We’ve all taken out friends. We make new ones.”

She couldn’t speak.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

She fought to keep her composure, then took the briefcase and said, “No. None at all.”

He put his arm around her, and they started back to the office. “This is a good move for you. An important step. I can feel it.”

With each footfall, the briefcase seemed to get heavier in her hand. “I feel it, too,” she said.