The Dirty Secret (41 page)

“A
Russian
?” Vaughn asked with a tone of disgust. “In
our
woods?”

Rikki nodded. “Yes. And again, the smug bastard to your left is correct … a DNR officer cited a guy by that name for hunting without a permit on Saturday two miles from Bart’s farm. The guy’s license apparently was fake.”

Vaughn shook his head rapidly. “So are we talking about a
real
Russian with a fake ID? Or some Joe Schmo using a fake ID with a Russian name on it?”

Rikki shrugged. “Could be either. We just don’t know.”

The Sheriff’s face twitched. “Give me that Roosky’s name. I’ll run an NCIC report on him to check for criminal records.”

Rikki handed him a folder. “Just have Martha make you a copy of the entire file.”

Vaughn smiled dangerously. “Excellent. Gun-toting Rooskies in the woods of Pleasants County do not make me very happy. And I’m not very nice when I’m unhappy.” Then he bolted out the door like a man on a mission.

CHAPTER 89

VIENNA, VIRGINIA
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 5:30 P.M.

Petrenko was watching ESPN and eating a sandwich when his phone rang. “Hello?”

“How are you, Yuri?” Dmitri Mazniashvili asked.

“Not bad. And you?”

“Not good,” the billionaire answered.

Yuri sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got a call from AIS. Are you
sure
there were no loose ends with Aristocrates?”

“Almost certain of it. Why?”

“Some law enforcement officials in West Virginia are asking questions about a certain Aleksandr Sergeivich Beria. Virginia’s DMV ran that name through its database and the local sheriff’s department just ran an NCIC report on it.”

Petrenko winced. “Shit. Maybe someone found McCallen’s emails.”

“I’d be
greatly
displeased if our hard work fell apart now. I don’t take failure lightly.”

That’s like saying Adolf Hitler was a man who didn’t take Jews lightly.

“Don’t worry,
vozhd
. I’ll fix it.”

“Good. Have a good evening. I’ll be following your progress closely.”

The line fell silent. Petrenko shut off the TV and trashed the rest of his sandwich.

Mazniashvili did not get to the top of the food chain by tolerating failure. And thinking about his likely reaction to failure in this situation made Petrenko sick to his stomach.

CHAPTER 90

PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 7:05 P.M.

Dave and Rikki sat on opposite sides of her desk, each staring at a laptop, combing through Tabatha’s phone records.

“Even if we can’t link them with Jack’s death yet,” Dave theorized, “can’t we charge them with bribery?”

Rikki scrunched her face. “It’d be hard. They’ll claim the $25 million is just an investment. It’s the perfect cover story. Unless this Addendum calls for Tabatha to switch her vote, we have no evidence that’s their deal. What’s more, until Tabatha casts her ballot for Senator Wilson on Monday, we can only
speculate
she has been bribed.”

“And from my standpoint,” Dave said. “Waiting until Tabatha has given Wilson the vote she needs to forge a tie is unacceptable. It’d be too late to stop it and keep Mazniashvili from getting what he wanted: A ‘Get-Out-Of-A-Firing-Squad Free’ card.”

“Good point,” Rikki said. “Plus, bribery only carries a jail term of one-to-ten and a fine up to fifty grand. I bet Tabatha would think that’s a small price to pay for 25 million.”

“If she can get her hands on it, since Jack died and left you in control of his company.”

Rikki grinned. “That
was
pretty far-sighted of him, huh?”

Dave cocked an eyebrow. “And people say
I’m
the paranoid one. If nothing else, this situation shows that just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you.”

They briefly stared at one another in silence before resuming their work.

Scanning through the disc, Dave clicked on a folder entitled “MMS,” and a chronological list of files appeared. Clicking the first one, sent at 2:45 p.m. on January 28, revealed a short message from Tabatha that read, “c u in the room @ 4:30. im waiting 4 u.”

The message had an attachment entitled, “IMG_1224.JPG.” Dave opened it and exclaimed, “Holy crap! Check out this picture she sent with one of her text messages!”

Rikki scurried around the desk. Gazing over his shoulder, she saw a digital photograph of Tabatha McCallen standing in front of a mirror in a cream corset, matching G-string and thigh-high stockings. Wearing a seductive smile, Tabatha held a cameraphone in her hand.

“What number did she send that message to?” Rikki asked.

Dave pointed to the number and scribbled it down. “That one.”

“Did she send any other messages to it?”

“I don’t know,” Dave replied. “Let’s find out.”

Scanning through the files in the MMS folder, Rikki tapped on his shoulder. “There’s one,” she said. “November 29th at 8:31 p.m.”

“That was during the Pitt game,” Dave said. “She was upstairs alone while we watched the game in Jack’s family room.”

Dave opened the message. It read, “Don’t you miss Pleasants County hospitality?”

“I think we’ve found Tabatha’s paramour,” Rikki said. “I wonder what titillating little tidbit she sent him this time.”

The attachment was entitled, “bass_fun1.mpg.” Dave leaned back in his chair to watch the festivities.

The videoclip showed Tabatha lying on a bed in a room with wood-paneled walls.

Dave grew visibly excited. “Hey! That looks like a room from the motel here in Saint Marys!”

“What makes you think so?”

He smiled mischievously. “You apparently don’t recall our senior prom as fondly, or as vividly, as I do.”

Rikki felt her face flush.
If my skin wasn’t so brown, I’d probably be turning beet red right now.

Clad in black lingerie, Tabatha looked at the camera and said something while making a seductive ‘come hither’ gesture.

“Did she say something about a
governor
?” Dave asked.

Then the digital image of Luke Vincent appeared on-screen.

“Oh, my God,” Rikki softly uttered as the scene unfolded. “I don’t believe it.”

Dave emitted a war whoop. “Hot damn! Vincent is a
dead
man!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rikki interjected. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves Vincent is a lying piece of shit that cheats on his wife.”

“That’s beside the point! Yes, he may have been less than faithful …”

“From the way he keeps thrusting himself into Tabatha and the sounds she’s making, I don’t think there’s any
doubt
he’s been unfaithful.”

Rikki sighed loudly. “But that doesn’t prove he had anything to do with Jack’s death.”

Dave stared at her, slack-jawed. “Are you
kidding
me?! He was boning
Jack’s wife!
He stands to become vice president if Jack’s out of the picture because his mistress will cast the decisive ballot in the Electoral College! I don’t see how you can look at this video, knowing what has transpired, and not
assume
Vincent is up to his eyeballs in this plot.”

Rikki glared. “What the man has done in his private life is wrong. But that’s between Vincent, his wife and God, and it has nothing to do with his fitness for office.”

Dave started to attack that assertion, but stopped himself cold.
She holds all the cards here, and we have to play by her rules.

Gritting his teeth, he exhaled softly. “Okay. I promise I won’t rush to judgment if you’ll remain open-minded that Vincent
may
be guilty of more than marital infidelity here.”

Rikki eyed him closely. “On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You promise not to reveal the existence of this video to anyone,” she said. “I gave you access to these files because I
trusted
you and hoped you could help me get to the bottom of Jack’s death. If our investigation thwarts this plot and costs Melanie Wilson the presidency, I can handle Democrats calling me a traitor. If that’s the price I pay to uphold the Constitution, as screwed up and illogical as it may be, so be it. But I will
not
be able to sleep if you betray my trust and use this information to humiliate Luke Vincent and destroy his marriage, because his wife is a sweet woman and she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Staring into her pale green eyes, Dave saw she was deadly serious. But the video’s publication alone would likely end this plot and keep Tabatha from serving as an Elector.

After 15 years of not speaking to you, she has finally forgiven you. Would you really be willing to throw that all away just to win an election?

CHAPTER 91

1140 CONNECTICUT AVE. NW
WASHINGTON, D.C.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 8:00 P.M.

As Tyson Vasquez nursed his gin and tonic, waiting for the comedians to take the stage, his eyes were drawn to four attractive, professionally-dressed women in their early thirties sitting about five feet to his right.

“So where’s this new guy you’ve been gushing about?” a brunette asked playfully. The question was directed toward a blonde with shoulder length hair.

“Dave had to fly back to West Virginia this afternoon,” the blonde replied. “He wouldn’t say much except that an Electoral College voter may have been bribed to switch sides.”

Vasquez kept sipping his drink while listening more closely.
Dave? I wonder if that’s who I
think
it is.
He turned toward them with an easy smile. “You’re not talking about Dave Anderson, are you?”

The blonde smiled back. “Maybe. How do you know Dave?”

A-ha. That’s what I thought.

“He did some lobbying for us. Great guy.” Vasquez stuck out his hand. “I’m Tyson Turner. And you are?”

“Monica Boley.”

Boley? What are the odds?

Vasquez squinted an eye. “Say … didn’t I see somebody in the news a while back by the name of Marcus Boley?”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s my brother. He supervised one of the county election recounts in West Virginia.”

I
knew
those bastards were up to something in Berkeley County. Now to
prove
it!

Vasquez smiled. “Small world! So did you say Dave is flying to West Virginia today?”

She seemed to stiffen, but kept smiling. “Yeah. There’s some political stuff going on.”

Clamming up on me, are we? That’s okay, Monica. You’ve said enough already.

“That sounds like Dave,” Vasquez remarked, then glanced at his watch. “Well, I hate to run, but I have dinner plans. The next time you see Dave, tell him Tyson sends his regards.”

“I will. Have fun!”

Vasquez threw a twenty down and casually left the club. Buttoning his wool great coat with one hand, he used his other to make a call.

“Hello, Yuri? This is Tyson. We have a situation …”

CHAPTER 92

PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY DECEMBER 13, 10:10 A.M.

Rikki rubbed her forehead while brushing up on the law governing search warrants:

“To constitute probable cause for the issuance of a search warrant, the State’s affidavit must set forth facts indicating the existence of criminal activities which would justify a search.
State v. Hlavacek
, 185 W.Va. 371, 407 S.E.2d 375 (1991)”

“Probable cause is defined as facts sufficient to support a reasonable belief that criminal activity is
probably
taking place or knowledge of circumstances indicating a fair probability that evidence of a crime will be found. It requires
more than a mere ‘hunch,’
but less than proof beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Rikki exhaled. Their current evidence just wasn’t enough to get a search warrant for Tabatha’s house.

And in Pleasants County, word would spread like wildfire if we tried to get a search warrant and failed. Then Tabatha would just destroy any evidence she might still have.

No, Rikki glumly realized. Without additional information, they were stuck.

The phone on Martha’s desk rang. Rikki went next door and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Rikki. This is Sheriff Vaughn. I can guess why you’re working on a Saturday.”

“I’m certainly not here for my health. What do you have?”

“There was nothing under Beria’s name in NCIC and the only fingerprints on the DNR citation were the officer’s. Apparently Beria wore his gloves the whole time they were talking.”

Rikki sighed. “That figures.”

“I have another idea,” Vaughn said. “The FBI’s biometrics unit is in Clarksburg. They can access the feds’ database of facial photographs, national driver’s records, and immigration records. Maybe they could run Beria’s picture through their database.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“The problem is, today’s Saturday and nobody is in the lab.”

“Super,” she said sarcastically. “So much for that idea.”

“Don’t throw in the towel yet. I go fishing with a guy who works there, and I hope he’ll do us a favor.”

“Would it help if I drove over there and showed him some cleavage?”

Vaughn chuckled. “Probably wouldn’t hurt.” Then he paused. “That’s a joke, Rikki. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She giggled. “Well, I’ll use ‘em if I have to. That’s the least I could do for Jack.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it. I’ll be in touch.”

Three hours later, Rikki and Dave met for a status update.

“We should receive Jack’s emails by 5:00 today,” Rikki said. “With any luck, they’ll include the purchase agreement or this mysterious Addendum.”

Dave looked puzzled. “How can you get access to
Jack’s
emails but you
can’t
get a search warrant for Tabatha’s?”