by Kirk Russell
“If you help me save my career, I’ll owe you forever,” I said.
“The way I bill, you’ll owe forever anyway.”
***
Back in my car I made several calls, talking through my situation with an old friend at the DEA, and another on the New York office DT squad, and then a retired district attorney in Virginia I’d gotten to know on a case fifteen years ago. I got the most from him.
I wanted to hear what people thought, but even as I listened, my mind jumped around. I was in a bleak space when Mara phoned and said, “Metro wants to interview you today, but it’s voluntary. They called here looking for you. Do you have a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Bring him.”
“Her.”
“Okay, her.”
I called Brady and met her outside the main Metro police station late in the afternoon. Inside, we crowded into a small interview room with two officers where I described my injuries and what I do to manage the stiffness and pain. We had a frank conversation after they said they had videotape of drug buys I made from Potello. They implied they had other evidence, insinuating that a confession would be best for all concerned.
“We respect the Bureau,” Officer Wycher said. “We have to. We work together.”
I shared my private drill for dealing with pain, what I’ve talked through with Jo and have shared with no one else other than Brady earlier today. “My girlfriend is a physician. She knows what I take and at what dosages. She has for a long time.”
“How did she miss the prescription renewals?” Wycher asked.
“That was on me, not her. I trusted Potello to get the prescriptions renewed the way they’re usually done.”
“We don’t doubt you once had prescriptions. You just don’t have any right now.”
“Actually, I do. They were all just renewed. You can check with my doctor on that.”
“Potello says when you first called him you were looking for painkillers.”
“That’s not true.”
That got a long pause out of Wycher, who was clearly the one taking the lead. The woman officer had largely gone silent, and I could feel Wycher debating. I knew from his face his tone was about to change.
Sure enough, he said, “Man up, Grale, own it. Your pain has gotten worse. I saw you make buys from Potello. I work undercover, and I know the look. I know you’re going to say how you thought it was all legit, but guess what Potello is saying? He says he didn’t have any prior relationship with you. He didn’t know you, didn’t know anything about you, until you came looking for drugs.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I dug up an e-mail this morning that Potello sent out when he started his business. I can send it to you along with my e-mail telling him I’m going with him, and him thanking me in his response.”
They gave me two e-mail addresses, and as Brady went back and forth with them, I forwarded the Potello e-mails from my phone. Maybe Potello forgot I was on his blast list when he started up Potello Pharmetrics or assumed I would have erased our back-and-forth.
What he’d sent was an electronic flyer to “customers who’ve known me a long time,” “a select list as I start a new type of pharmacy. Very personal service delivered to you.” His photo was there. So was a photo of the ticket-booth pharmacy office he’d leased.
“I liked Potello’s idea,” I said. “It seemed better suited to Vegas than other companies delivering. Those companies typically deliver to the front door or mailbox. But we live in the desert, so it sits and cooks on the porch or in the mailbox. With him, it was a handoff, which seemed safer all the way around.”
“And he got you the drugs you wanted,” Wycher said.
He didn’t believe a word of anything I’d said.
“Potello floated that same idea when I told him we were done. That was before your bust. How do you explain that away?” I said.
“Junkie ESP. You felt it coming and covered,” Wycher said.
The other officer followed with, “This e-mail flyer contradicts a number of things Potello told us but doesn’t answer everything. His main business has been pushing painkillers. He’s confessed to a cartel relationship and fingered suppliers that led to the two busts. He’s not lying about that, so why would he lie about you?”
I started to answer but stopped. Brady had said something true before we walked in here: “They don’t want it to be you, Paul, but they don’t want it not to be you either. They don’t want to be wrong. When they go there—and they will, they always do—you go quiet, and I’ll take over.”
I went quiet. In a noncombative, borderline-gentle voice, she said, “My client fought to return to active duty after multiple surgeries and a long rehab. That should tell you plenty about him.”
“And that was how many years ago again?” Wycher asked without waiting for an answer. “A long, long time ago,” he said, “and a lot of drug use between then and now. Look, the street is the street. Who are you fooling? You’ve got some good years back there, and that’s worth something. You can make some sort of deal, but you’re not walking away just because you’re FBI. Or maybe you will, but it will be with a stain that never goes away.”
He nailed my fear with that. I stared across the table but stayed quiet.
“You’ve made a big bust in Potello and the cartel distributors,” Brady said, holding on to a calm tone as if Wycher hadn’t said a word. “It’s something to be proud of and great for the city, but you can’t prove Potello sold illegal drugs to my client.”
Wycher jumped on that. “Your client was videoed more than once buying from a Zetas front man. Get real.”
“I couldn’t be more serious,” she said.
Wycher shot back, “And I know drug buys and users.” He turned to me. “You’ve used for a very long time.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” I said, “and you need to know I’ll never take a deal and I’ll never stop fighting it. I’ll run through my savings. What you’re saying isn’t what happened. We both know Potello will say whatever he has to.” I looked to the other officer. “Are we done for now?”
We were.
28
Jace
Potello’s financial situation stank. His house had a first and second mortgage, yet the $95,000 Mercedes inside the garage was owned free and clear, as was a quarter million in artwork. Against that he had high credit card debt and more cards than a blackjack dealer. The judge must have had a problem with it as well. She set bail at an impossible $1.5 million. Potello’s new lawyer posted it. If anyone had questions about the value of the drug trade, there you go, Jace thought, there’s your proof.
She tracked his release by making phone calls and drove up as Potello came out of the building. A chunky lawyer in a black suit led him toward a car, but Potello resisted getting in. It was a scene straight out of a bad movie.
She couldn’t hear the words but watched as the lawyer ratcheted up the threats, the last as he was in his car and rolling slowly alongside Potello. The lawyer pointed a finger like a gun then drove away.
As he turned the corner, Jace eased up along the curb, keeping pace with the walking Potello.
“Can I talk with you for a minute?” she asked.
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“I watched Grale buy pills from you. I don’t want him to get away with it.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Look at my car, what do I look like? You’re about to get completely screwed,” she said. “Do you know what’s setting up?”
She slowed to a stop. He glanced in her rearview mirror before leaning toward the open passenger window.
“Grale’s an asshole,” she said.
She could almost see Potello thinking. Unsure. Confused. Woman in a fed car who looks like an FBI agent. He’s also thinking
he’ll recognize me easily, Jace thought, and he could.
“No one told you that you’d be bailed out, did they? Of course not, and you saved your life by not getting in that car.”
That hit home.
“How often does Grale buy from you?” Jace asked.
He hesitated but only for a moment. “Every week. Sometimes more.”
“No pharmacy is going to refill a prescription that fast, right?”
“Monthly for most,” he said.
“Right.”
He looked into her car again. Jace’s heart sank, but she kept her game face.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
“Nothing from you. Just the opposite. I’ve got information for you. When he called you to order up some more relief, did he ever use his work phone?”
“He didn’t, but sometimes I called it just to mess with him.”
“Good. Smart.” She looked over her shoulder again, then back at him. “I don’t have much time,” she said, “but here’s the deal. Some of your delivery dates are wrong.”
“Says who?”
“Grale’s lawyer can prove Grale was out of state and even out of the country on days you wrote down as delivery days. They’ve compared it all and may drop all charges against him due to the discrepancies. Maybe you winged it a little when you put your dates together. I get that, but they’re going to push hard for any possible way out.”
That stopped him for a moment. He fumbled then recovered.
“My old computer crashed. I knew some of the dates were off, but I can fix that.”
“Good. There’s an explanation. Your computer went down, and some of the dates got transposed. Let the investigators know you caught the problem, not them. If they catch it, it’ll throw your plea bargain into review.”
“They can’t change that! It’s already agreed to.”
“What world are you living in? They can change anything they want. If you’re not credible on that, how can you be credible about anything else? You’re either a liar or you’re honest, and the deck is already stacked against you. Grale’s a career FBI agent, and you’re a pharmacist pushing counterfeit pills. You’ve got a new Mercedes in your garage and you live in a 4,500-square-foot house. They’ll show the jury the car, the pool, your gardens, everything. Grale’s attorney will blow you out of the water.”
“It’s not a big deal. I just messed up a few dates,” Potello said.
“I know you did, and I get it. But I also know how the system works, so the question is what to do about it. I’m not telling you to do a thing. That would be your decision. I’m not on your side, but if Grale was doing opiates while backing up a partner, well, I can’t live with that.”
He nodded.
“You hear me?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“We never talked. Is the other deal with you finalized?”
“Almost.”
“Push for it, and make noise about the bailout today. Hide. Get off the street. Get Metro to find you a safe place or a one-person cell, and not next to some guy talking to himself as he chews off his fingers. Where are you headed now? Do you want a lift?”
“Not a good idea to be seen together,” he said.
“Then where’s your ride? You shouldn’t be walking out here alone after they bailed you out.”
“I didn’t know I was getting out, and my phone battery is dead.”
She looked hard at him, but her own heart was pounding. She knew she was out of her mind doing this. “Have you got another lawyer you can call?”
“No.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call the DA’s office and tell them I messed up some dates.”
“I mean what are you going to do to stay safe?”
“Not your problem.”
“Okay, got it. Be careful.”
She took a last look at him in her rearview. He was already across the street moving toward a drugstore that advertised throwaway phones. The boy was a survivor, and saving his own life was a whole lot more important than framing Grale. Nothing sharpens the mind like owing a million and a half in bail and angry business partners waiting out on some lonely desert road.
She thought to herself, Agent Blujace, were you tampering with a case? Did you tamper with Potello’s lies? I’m out of my mind, but Potello saying he could fix the dates was just as wrong.
It was about not watching passively as the system got worked. It was about keeping someone good from getting framed. It was about what’s fair. And yet, she’d just risked her career. It was insane. Like flicking a lit cigarette into dry grass, a crazy risk. Yeah, Potello bought in, but what had she risked? Everything she’d worked years to make happen. But never again, not for anybody, not Grale, not anyone.
What would he do now? The seed was planted. Potello would go to work on his new lie.
29
Jace
August 9th
“Where’s Eric,” Jace asked as she walked Cindy Maldon to an interview room the next morning. Jace felt tense and was angry with herself over what she’d done with Potello.
“Eric is on his way,” Maldon said.
“When did you last talk to him?”
“An hour ago. He was told to be here at nine.”
“He’ll get here, and I’m sorry I’m late. There was bad traffic.”
Jace went first to the night Maldon and Indonal reconnected at Panguitch Lake. She moved forward from then to this morning, when Eric left her cabin very early and said he’d meet her here. When they’d covered that, she moved on to Eckstrom.
“What do you know about Alan Eckstrom’s whereabouts? Eric must have said something to you.”
“He doesn’t know where Alan is and doesn’t talk that much to me because he doesn’t want me dragged in. Alan might be with a woman they met up with at a bar the night they quit. I don’t know her name, you have to ask Eric. But she might also be the one Alan is staying with.”
“You heard that from Eric?”
“Who else?”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes, and Eric thinks she knew Alan already, like before Eric first met her at the bar.”
“The Blue Jaguar?”
“Yes.”
“And now he’s possibly staying with her?”
“I don’t know if he’s with her, but I think Eric believes he is. Eric doesn’t know either.”
“Did he say that?”
“Something like it.”
“Come on, Cindy, you know her name.”
“Eric needs to tell you.”
“Do you know if Alan Eckstrom and Eric Indonal had some sort of disagreement after they quit?”
“I don’t know, but I think Eric has gotten his feelings hurt. He’s talked about the letter that got published that Alan signed and Eric didn’t even know was going to happen. They were going to go forward together, but Eric says that’s not happening anymore. He was surprised by the letter.”
“What has Dr. Ralin said to Eric?”
“Eric is talking with him, but I don’t know what about except that he might go back to work on the project for a little while. You should ask Eric.”
Jace continued with more questions and doubled back to earlier ones. Her anger at herself hadn’t diminished, but she eased up on Maldon whose answers were consistent. Maldon knew more than she was saying, but Indonal had promised to tell all, and as Grale had pointed out, they could lean harder on Ralin who undoubtedly knew more. Ralin she didn’t trust. Maybe Grale was onto something there.
Maldon’s gaze was straight ahead, hair parted down the middle and falling close to her shoulders. She wore jeans, a clean shirt, and sandals to this interview. She wasn’t trying to impress. She sounded worried for Indonal but not for herself.
&nbs
p; Eckstrom’s letter had gone viral. Half of everyone in the US, if not more, must be aware of it, Jace thought.
“What else did Eric say about the letter?” Jace asked. “You said Eric got his feelings hurt over it. Why?”
“I don’t know if it was the letter. I said I thought it was. He didn’t understand why Alan did it without him. When they quit, the plan was to contact people in the medical field and make a proposal. They were supposed to get together soon and start working on the proposal. He thought what Alan did was weird since they both left for the same reasons and had a plan.”
“Would Eric have signed it along with Eckstrom?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“Do you know if they worked on the letter together before they quit?”
“Eric said no.”
Jace took another look at her then shuffled the papers and pretended to read for several seconds before switching subjects and asking, “Did Eric say anything about a test that went bad?”
“He told me about something, but . . . I promised I wouldn’t say anything. He’s going to get here very soon. You should ask him.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I wasn’t there, so ask him.”
“But you know about it.”
“I know there was a test that went bad and that what happened with the high school kids in the jeep was the same thing, or that’s what he said. It came from the same problem or flaw, whatever you call it.”
“Two missiles hit the jeep,” Jace said. “I saw it, and so did Agent Grale. The children were blown apart.”
“That’s awful.”
“It was. What did Eric say about it?”
Maldon wanted to be forthright. Jace sensed that about her. She’d attempt to defer to Eric but would still answer, which she did, saying, “Eric told me Indie was specifically programmed against that kind of strike, but that it could also follow an alternate path where different decisions could be made. Depending on how it interpreted the data, it could change what it thinks it’s seeing almost instantaneously. Like when the world was thought to be flat then changed to round, everything else had to change, all the assumptions. Eric said Indie can shift realities in less than a second depending on the data it’s working with.”