“They already know I’m interested.”
“But if I started asking questions, they’d put us even closer together than we obviously are. If someone is pushing back, wouldn’t it be better to keep them focused on you?”
“You may be right,” White said. But I still need to find out who’s doing the pushing. Do you have anyone who can ask around without anyone connecting things to you?”
“I’ll see what I can do. What else do you have?”
“Does the name Robert St. James mean anything to you?”
“I assume he’s related to Congressman St. James.”
White nodded and waited.
For a moment, Brochette looked perplexed. Then a bemused smile crossed his face as he nodded. “Bobby, the Saint. That’s a name I haven’t thought about in years.”
“So, you know him?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I know him,” Brochette said. “But I prosecuted him… it must be close to ten years ago — when I was with the Public Integrity Section at DOJ. Where did you come up with Bobby, the Saint?”
“I was trying to find some reason why Congressman St. James might want to scuttle your nomination. Horse ran a computer search for anything that put your name together with anyone named St. James. This is all that came up.”
“I’ll be damned,” Brochette mused again. “Bobby, the Saint.”
“What was he prosecuted for?”
“We nailed him for bribery of a public official. Ten counts, if I recall correctly. That was probably the least of his crimes, but we had a clean case.”
“What else were you looking at?”
“Not all of the bribes were being paid in money. Sometimes he gave drugs. I’d like to have nailed him for the drugs, too.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“He cut a deal and gave us the names of the people he’d bribed. Extra charges wouldn’t have gotten us any more information, so we never pursued the drug issues.”
“Who was he bribing?”
“Pretty much anyone who had a hand out. We convicted him for bribery in connection with contracts for the construction of federal buildings. In fact, the new federal courthouse in Fort Myers is one of them.”
“Was this the case that got you connected to Congressman Tierney?”
“Yes. Is that important?”
“Probably not. Go on.”
“As I said, bribery in connection with construction contracts was probably the least of his crimes. There were rumors he bought favors from some elected officials… and may have bribed a state prosecutor and a federal judge in Miami.”
“What happened with those charges?”
Brochette shrugged dismissively. “By the time we had a provable case against Bobby, the judge was dead. We gave everything we had to the local State’s Attorney, but it didn’t go anywhere. I guess they figured he was going to do enough time on his federal conviction.”
“What kind of favors was he supposed to have bought from local officials?”
“We never got far enough to be sure. We knew about the money and the drugs he was passing out, but we could never connect them to favors being returned.”
“Did it occur to you that the money was being passed on to someone else, or that Bobby was just a conduit for money to buy favors for someone else?”
“We figured something like that was going on. But whatever it was, it was a State matter.”
“Did you ever have the feeling that maybe someone didn’t want the State charges investigated?”
“I can’t say I gave it any thought one way or the other. What are you getting at?”
“Maybe nothing,” White said.
“Besides, what does that have to do with Bobby?”
“Bobby is the Congressman’s brother. Bobby is familiar with the bribery of public officials. Bobby was paying bribes with drugs. What if the reason the drug charges weren’t investigated was that Bobby’s brother made sure they wouldn’t be?”
“Congressman St. James?”
“He wasn’t a congressman back then. He was a detective in the narcotics division of the Miami police department.”
“It’s not much to go on.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” White said. “Look at the facts. The Congressman was a narcotics detective when you gave the case back to the State authorities. The case never got investigated. Now I’m representing your son and asking questions about old drug cases, and the Congressman seems to have a sudden interest in defeating your nomination.”
“So the Congressman is opposing my nomination as payback for convicting his brother.”
“Partly. But I think there’s more to it. When I talked with Wilson about a deal for David, he said his office had been keeping an eye on Jackson for some time. He also said he thought Jackson was involved in a major heroin network.”
Brochette seemed confused.
“You picked Jackson because of his old heroin conviction. If your Miami office didn’t know about your investigation of Jackson…”
Brochette suddenly understood. “How did Lyle Wilson know anything about a heroin connection?”
“And,” White said. “why did he claim to have an ongoing investigation of heroin? Plus, if there was no federal investigation, why was Wilson willing to give your son a walk in exchange for what he knew about a non-existent investigation?”
Brochette rose and walked to the window where he stopped and stood looking out at the peaceful river. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong about Lyle.”
White ignored Brochette and continued. “I think Wilson knows something that isn’t in the record. And I think David is the key to what he does next.”
“Why would he need David?”
“I don’t think he needs David to make a case. In fact, I don’t think he has any intention of making any case. He knows there was a heroin investigation going on. When your relationship with David was exposed, he put two and two together. I think he wants to know how much David knows, and how much David might have told you. Once he knows that, David would have an accident.”
“You’re not saying…”
“These people aren’t shy about eliminating obstacles. If they think David knows too much, they won’t hesitate to kill him.”
“Like they killed Jackson.”
White nodded.
“So who killed Jackson?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think Lyle Wilson set it up.”
Brochette stared at White. “Lyle Wilson. I can’t believe it.”
“I could be wrong, but that’s the way it looks. Wilson knew you had a government-issued gun. He also knew where you kept it, and you said he was in Tampa the day you discovered the gun was missing. Could he have gotten into the secure part of your office garage and stolen your gun?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Why would Lyle steal my gun?”
“Unless you or David shot Jackson, somebody has to have stolen it. I’m only thinking about different possibilities.”
“But what motive would he have for taking my gun?”
“I’ve got a couple of theories.”
“Such as?”
“Wilson is Acting U.S. Attorney for the Southern District. Right?”
“Yeah. He’s been acting head of the office for about six months.”
“And he wants to be made permanent.”
“Probably. But he was also Acting U.S. Attorney for the Middle District when I was appointed. He’s already been passed over once.”
“That might not happen if he has a political champion.”
“Such as…?”
“Congressman St. James. The same Congressman who seems to want to block your appointment to the Department of Justice. The same Congressman who’s been lobbying for an appointment to the House Judiciary Committee. If he gets the appointment, he’d also be in a position to assure Wilson’s permanent appointment as U.S. Attorney for the Southern District.”
“You’re stretching.”
; “Maybe. But what if Wilson is already in bed with St. James?”
“How do you mean?”
“I think we’ve come full circle.”
Brochette searched White’s face for a clue to what he meant. Suddenly, he burst out, “No. It can’t be Wilson.” Brochette hesitated as he studied White. “You think Wilson is the rotten apple in the Miami office.”
“It all fits. Wilson knows about an investigation he shouldn’t know about. How did he find out about it?”
“I—”
“Damn it, Graham. This isn’t the time to be holding out on me. You were using Jackson to create a case the Miami Police Department could give to the U.S. Attorney. But Jackson wasn’t your only interest. You were still interested in his father’s old heroin connections. No one outside the department was supposed to know about that, and yet Wilson seems to know. He could only have found out about it from someone who has close ties to the narcotics department of the Miami police. I think his information came from St. James.”
“All right. Just for the sake of argument, let’s assume that Wilson has a source, and knows about my investigation. What’s his interest in it?”
“One possibility is that Wilson himself was involved with Barlow directly. So far, we haven’t come across a connection, but if there is one…” White let his thought trail off.
Brochette furrowed his brow, a troubled look in his eyes.
“You knew there was a problem in the Miami office. That’s what got your investigation started in the first place.”
“But Lyle…?” Brochette hung his head. “I can’t believe it.”
White waited.
“You sure know how to ruin a guy’s day.”
“It gets worse.”
Brochette looked up, not wanting to hear more bad news but bracing himself for the worst.
“I got a call from Jack Lancaster.”
Brochette perked up.
“He said there’s a hold on your nomination.”
Brochette sighed as if the news was something he anticipated but hoped wouldn’t come.
Brochette hung his head and exhaled. “Lucius,” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you about David. And you’re not going to like it.”
35.
Lucius White cleared the last of many files from his desk and was about to leave his office at 6:30 when the telephone rang. Damn! He wanted to ignore it and let the caller leave a message. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait to be dealt with tomorrow? He was preparing to turn off his desk light when he has a sudden feeling, something between guilt and foreboding, that told him to take the call.
“Hello. This is Lucius White.”
“Lucius. Graham Brochette. I’m glad I caught you.”
“Graham….” The news that Brochette had conveyed in their last conversation, only hours ago, was fresh in his mind, and he was still seething. He heard his own voice and knew he had to exercise greater control. He took a deep breath, exhaled and began again. “What can I do for you, Graham?”
Brochette had to understand how White was feeling. The collection of expletives he had been called had been deserved, and White could not be expected to be in a forgiving mood. But what he had to say couldn’t wait. “I received some news that I knew you would want me to pass on.”
White’s indifference toward Brochette and anything he might have to say could not have been greater. White looked at his watch and stifled a yawn that had fought its way through his angst. “What is it?”
“I got a call from the Miami crime lab. They retrieved some information from the cell phone on the body of Cho Wok Lo.”
“The Cambodian?”
“Yes. He still had his cell phone when the body was discovered.”
“What good was that after it had been under water for God knows how long.”
“Not much,” Brochette said. “But they recovered some data from the phone’s number memory.”
White’s breathing quickened as he leaned against the edge of his office conference table. He was tired and still not ready to forgive Brochette for withholding the information he had disclosed only hours earlier. But his curiosity got the better of him. “Anything interesting?”
“More than just interesting. We found cell phone numbers that could be traced to half a dozen major drug dealers over on the east coast.”
“What’s so interesting about that? You’d expect him to have those numbers.”
“Yes. But we recovered other numbers we didn’t expect him to have.” Brochette was beginning to sound like a child who, on Christmas morning, was delivering a package he was particularly anxious to give. Open me first! Open me first! “He had the cell phone numbers for half a dozen narcotics detectives plus Congressman St. James, and a couple of State’s attorneys — including Paul Parker.”
White moved to the leather chair behind his desk and switched the call to his speaker-phone.
“Do you know what this means?” Brochette said.
“I’d say your investigation of corruption has gotten a little more complicated,” White said calmly, stating the obvious as though it was of no great consequence. But his pulse was racing, and only his years of experience in responding to surprise revelations in the courtroom enabled him to remain calm. As soon as Brochette had spoken White realized that the information recovered from the Cambodian’s cell phone added vital pieces that were missing from the puzzle of his own investigation.
Brochette’s silence suggested that he was waiting for White to say more. White knew what Brochette wanted to hear, but he was loath to oblige him. Not after what Brochette had revealed about David in their afternoon conversation.
An analysis of the implications of Brochette’s newest disclosure could wait for morning. But White’s mind was already roiling as he kneaded his left palm with his right fist.
“Lucius?” Brochette said.
“I’m still here,” White said.
“There’s something else.”
“I’m not sure I can take any more of your news today.”
“You’ll want to see this. I’m faxing it to you now.
“What is it?”
“Just read it. It’s something Lyle Wilson sent over late this afternoon.”
On the corner of his credenza, paper began to flow from his fax machine. White retrieved the first page and began to glance over it. Before he had finished reading the first page, he stopped reading and reached for his legal pad and a pen. As he started to write, he suddenly realized the Brochette was still on the phone.
“Graham, I have something to do right now.”
“I thought you would. I’ll call you in the morning.”
White leaned back in his chair with his boots on the desk as he read the remaining pages of the fax. When he had finished, he closed his eyes and ran the fingers of both hands through his hair. Then he dialed his apartment.
“Where are you, sweetie? Sherlock is looking for her evening treats.”
“I received a call from Graham. I want to take another look at a couple of files.”
“Can I help.”
“I think I need to work on this alone. I won’t be long.”
#
It was almost 10:00 p.m. when White stepped off the elevator into his apartment. Leslie laid down the book she was reading and rose to greet him. “You look like something Sherlock might leave on the sidewalk.”
White stepped into her embrace and wrapped his free arm around her. “I feel like it, too.”
“What have you been doing?”
“I was going back over the evidence we have on David Shepard’s case.”
“I would have been happy to help.”
White gave Leslie a quick kiss. “I know you would have. But I had to think about some things and Horse…”
As White spoke, Horse followed him off the elevator. “I was working late and just happened to stop by the War Room when Lucius was finishing up.”
Leslie gave White a disappointed look t
hat bordered on a glare. “Oh?” It was clear that she was feeling left out of something White and Horse had been doing. White understood everything that her tone conveyed, but hoped that a report on his evening’s activities would appease her.
“Well, sit down and tell me about it.”
“First, I need a drink… a real drink.”
“Do you want some wine or a beer?”
“Scotch. Single malt,” White said, sliding his briefcase onto the breakfast bar and heading for a sofa.
Leslie frowned. “Are you sure. After seven years.”
“It’s been a scotch kind of day.”
“If you say so.” Leslie selected a bottle from the bar and poured two glasses, lots of ice and only a splash of scotch. She moved to the sofa, handed White his drink and curled up beside him.
“Now tell me. What was so important that you had to work on it tonight?”
White took a sip of scotch and rested his head against the back of the sofa. When he spoke, his voice was soft and languid, as if he was merely engaged in a conversation instead of reciting the facts of a complicated murder case.
“The facts we know weren’t getting us anywhere… but we know they’re connected. I had to think about how they fit together.”
“And have you figured it out.”
“I’ve filled some of the gaps in what we know.” White closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. After a minute of silence, he said, “Biggest screwup I ever saw.”
When he didn’t say anything else, Leslie asked, “And who was the screwee?”
“You name it… Me… The system… The country.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” White sat up and took another sip of scotch.
“But have you made any progress.”
White glanced languidly at Horse and made a weak ‘go ahead’ gesture with his free hand.
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