by Davis Bunn
“No, counselor. I’m saying they didn’t look.” Sol kept his gaze on the young woman seated opposite. “You were working in conjunction with a second researcher, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And he cannot be here because . . .”
“He’s still in Alabama.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Finding more cities.”
“This would be other towns where a similar pattern of theft has taken place, correct?”
“Right. I mean, yes.”
Sanchez said, “Put a ring in her nose and lead her on a leash, why don’t you.”
Sol maintained his steady calm. “What is this gentleman’s profession?”
“He’s a hacker. His name is Sergei. At least, that’s what he says. I don’t know what his last name is.”
“This is low, even for a defense attorney.” Sanchez threw his pen on the table. “Do I actually need to remind you that anything these two have found is inadmissible in a court of law?”
“But we’re not in court,” Sol replied. “Are we?”
Sanchez’s response was cut off by his assistant prosecutor speaking for the first time. “We’re missing something.”
The DA turned to the woman. “Excuse me?”
Daphne Lane used her chin to point at each person in turn. Nicole, Stella, Veronica, and finally Sol. “Look at them.”
Sanchez glanced over. “So?”
“Do they look worried to you? I mean, even the least little bit?”
Sanchez took a longer look. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
Daphne leaned forward and asked Sol, “Where are you going with this?”
In reply, Sol asked Nicole, “How many cities have you identified?”
“Sergei found two. I just uncovered another. I think.”
“You think.”
“Right. Sergei’s been looking for the same pattern of stolen funds with a . . . I forgot the word.”
“Plaintiff.”
“Right. Somebody the court found guilty of stealing, and they’ve always claimed they were set up. Sergei found one town in Southern California and another in Nevada.” “These were cities where the municipal funds were stolen, then an innocent person was assigned the blame?”
“That’s what we think.”
“And your city?”
“Montecito.”
“The town in the next county south of here.”
Nicole nodded. “I read an article online. When they started rebuilding after the mudslides, they discovered the city’s accounts were missing almost forty million dollars. So I accessed the city records. They show the same kind of steady—what’s the word?—attrition.”
Sol glanced at the DA. “This information comes from the public record and thus is available to any police investigation, correct?”
“Yes. But the city’s records aren’t complete. A lot of them were destroyed.”
“Or so they claim,” Sol added.
Nicole did not respond.
Sanchez spoke his objection to Daphne. “No judge is going to allow something she’s found to be entered into these proceedings. Everything is tainted by the hacker’s involvement.”
When Daphne Lane did not reply, Sol rose to his feet and said, “With your permission, I’ll call my next witness.”
CHAPTER 60
The conference room was utterly silent as the private investigator entered. To Stella it felt as though even the chamber held its breath, not just the people. The room and the law and the pending verdict—all were rendered silent as Veronica fastened the mike to Carl Dellacourt’s collar. The quiet was so intense, Stella thought she could hear a faint buzzing, a frequency normally beyond human range. The sound of energy rising to a frantic pitch. A note of building pressure, strong enough to change the course of someone’s future.
When Veronica resumed her seat and did the sound check, the court reporter swore Dellacourt in, then Sol asked him to give his name for the record.
The prosecutor said, “I remember you.”
The detective responded with a cop’s flat-eyed glance. “Yeah? Well, that makes two of us.”
“When did you cross over to the dark side, detective?”
“When the cops on San Lu’s payroll stopped doing their job.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on to the detective in charge of this case.”
“You do that. Give him a message from me. Tell him I said, Blind leading the blind.”
Sanchez shoved back his chair. “Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here.” When his assistant did not move, he said, “You coming?”
“Boss, I think you should stay.”
“For what, more of this charade?”
“I’ve been up against Sol Feinnes twice. My only two losses in seven years.” Daphne gave that a beat, then added, “Feinnes doesn’t make rookie mistakes.”
“So he’s making up for lost time.”
She turned to where Sol stood by the front window. “How much longer?”
“Three minutes with this gentleman, one further witness, and we’re done for the day.”
Daphne turned back to her boss. “What’s the worst that can happen? He hands you more ammo.”
“I don’t need any. Taking this to trial is asking for the nuclear option.”
The woman did not move. “I’m staying, and I think you should too.”
* * *
Carl Dellacourt was ugly in the manner of a man who treated his appearance as an unimportant detail. He occupied his chair like a lump of aging muscle. His hairline had receded to behind the crease in the top of his skull. His voice grated deep and rough. The knot of his mud-brown tie was an afterthought. In response to Sol’s first question, he replied, “The fellow in the hall, he gave me two jobs. I completed the second one about an hour ago.”
“Let’s deal with them one at a time. What came first?”
Dellacourt opened the folder on the table in front of him and handed Sol a sheaf of photographs. “Uncovering the mayor’s dirty little secret.”
Sanchez sat up straight. “Wait. What?”
Sol passed out three eight-by-ten booking photographs. “Who is this gentleman?”
“His name is Christopher ‘Top’ Rankin. Doing ten to twenty at Rikers Island for a third count of armed robbery.”
“And he is important to this investigation because . . .”
Dellacourt responded with the next trio of papers. “Before Mayor Catherine was a Lundberg, she was married to one Sam Rankin. Here’s her marriage certificate.”
“How can we be certain it’s her?”
“This is her birth certificate, naming her as Catherine Yeats.” Another trio of pages. “Same as the marriage docs. Both the first and second go.”
Sanchez responded to the news with a soft whuff.
Sol asked, “How is it we were unaware of this until now?”
“Lundberg had the first marriage annulled when Rankin senior went up for assault and battery.” Dellacourt offered the DA a cop’s grin. “Like father, like son.”
“How can a convict in the New York penal system have an impact on this investigation?”
“A buddy in the parole system had a word with Rankin. He was threatened. He begged his mother to do as she was told or he gets the knife.”
“When was this?”
“The first warning came about three years ago. Long time to live in terror for his life.”
“Did your friend make any promises in response for this information?”
“He was moved into solitary. First time he’s slept through the night in three years, according to the convict.”
Sol tapped his pad three times, a soft drumbeat to emphasize the moment, then said, “Your witness.”
When Sanchez continued to study the detective in silence, his assistant said, “You stated there were two duties.”
“With your permission,” Sol replied, “I’ll let my final witness address that issue.”
&nb
sp; Sanchez’s voice reminded Stella of a long-dead fire. The final ashes smoldering, but the flames gone now. He said once again, “Get it over with.”
CHAPTER 61
The detective crossed the room and seated himself by the side wall. There were four of them now, Veronica behind her little wheelie-table, then Nicole and Stella, and now Carl Dellacourt. The DA kicked up a fuss about this unwelcome audience, but Stella had the impression it was mostly for show. Perry’s assistant did not speak, and Sol continued to look through his notes as the court reporter opened the door and invited in the final witness. Stella thought Daphne Lane’s concerns had finally infected her boss. At some deep level, Sanchez already knew the case had shifted. The events unfolding in this room were out of his control.
The court reporter stepped back, allowing Daniel to enter. The room was so quiet, Stella could hear the court reporter’s gasp. Perry heard it too.
Daphne Lane said, “Oh my.”
Sanchez said, “What?”
But Daphne did not respond. Perry squinted across the table as Veronica wired up Daniel and asked him to speak for the sound level. After the court reporter swore Daniel in, Sol rose to his feet and he said, “Please state your name for the record.”
“Daniel Riffkin.”
The assistant DA huffed softly, as if hearing Daniel’s name confirmed something she was only now understanding. Perry said, “Hold it right there.”
Sol asked, “Counselor?”
“I thought . . .” Perry’s aide tapped his arm, then pointed with her chin at the camera aimed their way. He glared at the lens, then decided, “Never mind.”
Sol walked Daniel through his previous career as MSNBC West Coast business anchor, his semi-retirement, his life in Miramar. Then, “What are you currently working on?”
“I’ve been contracted to put together a special report for NBC News.”
The words punched Sanchez back in his chair. He opened his mouth, then looked at the camera again and did not speak.
When Sol was certain the DA was going to stay silent, he went on, “Your report has to do with the theft of funds from the Miramar city government, does it not?”
“Yes and no. The investigation began with Miramar’s missing funds, but it has grown steadily. We are now looking at a multi-state fraud.” Daniel glanced at the two attorneys seated across from him. “Which means either you alert the federal authorities or I will do it for you.”
“Hold your responses to my specific questions, Mr. Riffkin.” Sol took a step closer to the DA. “You’re suggesting this is part of a pattern?”
“Not suggesting.” Daniel kept his gaze on the DA. “I’m stating for the record.”
Sol swiftly walked Daniel through his initial review of the Miramar accounts, the pattern of supposed losses, the sophistication of the entire process. Then, “Your witness, counselor.”
Sanchez opened his mouth, shut it, then turned to his assistant and said, “Go ahead.”
Daphne shot him a tight look of her own, hating how Sanchez had set her up for the fall, knowing she had no choice but to ask, “Are you aware, Mr. Riffkin, that you broke the law when you inspected the city’s confidential accounts, and that nothing that you supposedly discovered will be permitted into court records?”
Sol remained on his feet, leaning against the wall behind the conference table, making notes on his legal pad. “But we are beyond all that, aren’t we, counselor? We all know this will never see the inside of a courtroom.”
The assistant DA responded with, “The city’s accounts must have been extremely complex.”
Daniel did not reply.
“You’ve described a theft of funds that stretch back over three years. You claim that you found a pattern of stolen money from three accounts. That suggests you were able to find patterns in hundreds and hundreds of pages.”
Daniel remained silent.
“Do you not have anything to say, Mr. Riffkin?”
“I’m sorry. Was there a question?”
“How does a former news anchor consider himself capable of inspecting multiple complex accounts and discovering a pattern that had been missed by the city’s outside auditors?”
“There are two parts to my answer.”
“I’m listening, Mr. Riffkin. We all are.”
Stella saw the detective seated beside her smile at the DA. The two prosecutors saw it as well. Carl’s teeth were perfectly squared off, like he had spent years grinding them down to little white bricks.
Daniel replied, “Before I became a news anchor, I specialized in forensic accounting.”
The two prosecutors remained utterly motionless. But Stella could see in their gazes that this news struck deep.
Daniel went on, “You’ll find records of my testimony in multiple state and federal cases.”
When the assistant DA did not speak, Sol asked for her, “And the second part to your answer?”
Carl Dellacourt was up and moving before Daniel replied, “We knew there had to be a third element. A hidden enemy using Catherine as their second shield. Before being elected mayor, Catherine Lundberg was a florist. She had no experience with accounts. Which meant we had to find who was hiding behind her.”
The DA and his number two remained silent as Daniel accepted the documents. Clearly the prosecutors had relinquished control of the situation. Sol asked, “What did you discover?”
“The outside auditor for Miramar’s accounts was a woman named Madeline Ying. Or so she called herself in Miramar.” At a gesture from Sol, Daniel handed the prosecutors a photograph. Then, “Our investigation has revealed that no such person has passed the state’s CPA exams or is registered as an auditor.”
This time, it was the DA himself who huffed in response to the verbal blow.
Sol asked, “Did you question Ms. Ying?”
“No. She vanished the same week Stella was arrested.”
“Is there anything else you discovered that might interest the state?”
“Yes.” Daniel passed out his final document. “This is a signed affidavit from the employee arrested in the Nevada case, identifying this same woman as the city accountant. Only there she was known as Carolyn Yang.”
The room’s only sound came from Sol softly tapping his pen on the legal pad. A quiet drumbeat of triumph.
Daniel chose that moment to turn and look Stella’s way. All the emotions she felt were there in his gaze, a shared tension and joy and excitement and realization that things were indeed changing. Not just the court and her arrest and her coming release. They were sharing something far greater. As far as Stella was concerned, Daniel Riffkin was the way all heroes should look.
“Let the record show,” Sol declared. “We formally request that all charges against Stella Dalton be dismissed.”
CHAPTER 62
The resulting legal brawl lasted another three and a half weeks. The only thing that made the time bearable was that so much else filled those days.
Grant, the delinquent business anchor, was convicted on several counts, serious enough that even the somewhat lax Las Vegas criminal system required him to do time. When the number-two anchor learned she was not automatically being given the top slot, she walked out. Leaving Daniel with little option, at least as Kirsten Wright was concerned, other than to take over full-time.
Daniel would have been rendered a nervous wreck had he and Stella not remained intimately connected by phone. Daniel said as much, almost every day, and she had to accept his need as real. He moved into a furnished apartment near CityWalk, worked out in the hotel gym, swam in the hotel pool, and called her three times a day. Sometimes four.
Chloe moved into Lisa’s guesthouse and endured the woman’s mercurial moods. She was talking to her parents almost daily, which everyone considered the best part of a good resolution.
Midway through that first week, Stella moved into Daniel’s home. He asked, and she replied, “Of course.”
Daniel did not want to force Nicole to move agai
n, and she was too young to remain on her own. Amber treated it as the start to a perfect summer, spending her weekdays with a part-time dog and sister.
A nuclear heat gripped the entire region. It was normal for the wretched Southern California summer to reach the central coast, at least for a day or so. But three weeks of unrelenting high temperatures ensued. Tempers frayed, and even locals who relied on tourists for their livelihood remained perpetually on edge. At least once each week, the region was lashed by out-of-season storms. Great thundering beasts marched off the Pacific and hammered the region with torrential rain. But the next day the winds would turn back and come from the southeast, bringing heat and humidity both. Stella thought she was the only person in Miramar who remained unscathed.
Sol refused to be rushed. He either phoned or met personally with Stella twice each week. There were new developments to discuss, meetings in chambers with the judge, documents to be signed and notarized. Each glimpse into the grinding process of legal gear shifting gave her fresh nightmares.
Daniel’s weekends were given over to the documentary. It was a real project now, with a budget and personnel and a tentative airdate. Miramar’s mayor had turned state’s evidence. She resigned from office and was taken into protective custody, and her son was moved to a different prison and held under an assumed name. The missing accountant, identified as one Amelia Zhao, was the subject of a nationwide manhunt. Carl Dellacourt discovered he enjoyed growling for the cameras.
The documentary’s working title was “Stella’s Story,” which Amber considered the coolest thing ever. NBC granted a verbal okay to air the project nationally. The FBI white-collar crime division was involved now, both in hunting down the missing accountant and in searching for the invisible ringleaders. They asked, then threatened, and finally begged NBC to postpone airing the story. Kirsten Wright repeatedly said the matter would be open for discussion only after Stella was cleared of all charges. Which meant the feds now pressured Perry Sanchez, which he hated worse than losing a case.
Kirsten Wright, NBC’s head of West Coast news, was not blind. She could see the toll this dual role was taking on Daniel. Finally, at the end of week four, a young up-and-comer from the New York station arrived, and Daniel was allowed to step back from three of his weekly airtimes.