The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan
Page 23
They could see from her face that she was rattled.
“Clearly the game’s up now and you’re in big trouble.”
“I can’t speak for what Greg and the others do.”
Royle laughed. “That’s kids’ stuff, Sharon, we’re not discussing Greg. We’re talking about you, dealing in millions of dollars’ worth of drugs on the streets of Miami.”
The defiance was back in her eyes. “You don’t know a thing. You’re guessing.”
“I know Greg or Winnings killed Quigly. You appearing all upset over Dan’s death was an act; you knew he wasn’t dead. You probably also knew Dan killed Alynski.”
“So you say.”
“I’ll tell you what else I say,” he continued. “It was a mistake you cooking up some clever story about Dan fearing he might be killed by Toombs, who doesn’t exist by the way. Though if I hadn’t discovered the name in Quigly’s egg collection we would probably never have made the Australia connection.”
Withdrawing one of the three pieces of paper from beneath his clipboard, Royle slid it in Sharon’s direction.
“The police gave Greg’s Merc the full treatment. Alynski’s body was in the trunk at some stage, presumably when Greg took it to Quigly.”
Charlie did not know Sharon anywhere near as well as Royle, but she noticed the woman’s cheek muscles twitching nervously.
“I’m not accountable for what Greg does.”
Both federal agents realised this signalled something of a change in Sharon’s response. She was no longer questioning what they said, but instead was trying to distance herself from what was happening. Both also noted the woman’s failure to ask how come he had been speaking to Dan. However, although Royle knew he had accurately outlined to Sharon what she, Greg, Winnings and her former husband, Dan, were up to, he was less clear still on the extent of any continuing relationship between Dan and Sharon.
Again, his eyes met Charlie’s. “Did I mention Dan’s dead?”
This time he could see he had Sharon. The colour literally drained from her face as it lost all expression.
“Are you saying Winnings killed him?” she responded, tears now evident.
It seemed she had just answered his question; there had still been something between Dan and her, though in proving it he had created a further difficulty. There was no knowing how the woman might react were she to learn that the person responsible for Dan’s death was sitting opposite her.
He turned the second slip of paper over so that she could see it.
“There’s another thing you should know,” he continued, studying Sharon’s face. “A street camera picked out you two moving the drugs from the bottom of the crates into Greg’s Mercedes.”
The woman was clearly worried now and was looking to her lawyer for guidance.
Royle pushed the paper towards her. “There’s no denying that’s you and Greg in the picture, even though we can’t see the vehicle’s registration plate.”
Sharon looked around at the lawyer again.
Royle extracted the third piece of paper, an aerial photograph of the parking lot with three crosses marked on it.
“This is the really interesting bit. There’s a cross showing where Greg’s Mercedes was parked, and another where the dealers’ car was.”
She just stared at him.
“It’s the cross in the middle that’s interesting,” he continued, deliberately hesitating. “It shows where Greg was lying when the police arrived. We’re having trouble understanding how he came to be shot in the back.”
Sharon had found her voice again. “The shooting started almost as soon as we arrived; one of the dealers shot him.”
Royle shook his head. “It doesn’t stack up, Sharon. Why would Greg turn his back on four pissed-off and armed drug dealers? Anyway, the police checked the bullets from Greg’s wounds against the dealers’ guns. They don’t match.”
Sharon turned to her lawyer yet again and Old Stonewall raised a hand, reassuringly.
“I wonder if I might be allowed a minute or two with my client?”
Seeing Royle’s slight nod of approval, Charlie opened the door to a small side room. They could hear muffled conversation for perhaps five minutes, before the door opened again and Sharon Morgan and her lawyer reappeared and sat down.
“We’re grateful for your forbearance,” said Stonewall. “My client has a question of her own, if you wouldn’t mind indulging her.”
Sharon seemed to have regained her composure. “We’ve talked a lot about me and what you say I’ve done, but can I ask how Greg is?”
Royle had seen this one coming, even before they had commenced the interview. He was surprised it had taken this long. Clearly, they had no alternative to telling Sharon the truth; anything less at this point and the prosecution’s case was heading for trouble. He was also pretty sure the question would have come from old Walter Jackson, not his client.
Royle looked around at Charlie seated next to him. It seemed to him that this was woman-to-woman time and Charlie accepted the challenge without hesitation.
“There’s no easy way of telling you this, Sharon. As you know, Greg was shot before the police arrived. Unfortunately, he was dead by the time the ambulance reached the hospital.”
Sharon buried her head in her hands. During the last thirty minutes she had learned first that her former husband and now her new partner were both dead, on top of which she was being accused of major involvement in the international movement of drugs. And as Royle had already suggested, it did not get much more serious than that and her lawyer knew it.
“I think, Phillip,” Stonewall intervened, “my client needs time to compose herself, assuming you intend continuing with this.”
Royle could see no obvious grounds for refusal, though he did look to Charlie for confirmation.
“I’m obliged to inform you,” Jackson continued, “that Mrs Morgan will be denying any willing involvement in the activities to which you refer. It’s a matter of record Greg Saunders was a violent man, and as such she was obliged to cooperate. But that’s not to say she did so willingly.”
* * *
A police officer took Sharon Morgan back down to the cells while Charlie escorted the defence lawyer as far as the front desk, before re-joining the other two in Mac’s office.
“Well, we tried, but Jackson’s no fool,” Royle suggested. “He guessed Greg was dead, and he knew we’d be in trouble once she asked after him.”
Mac seemed uncharacteristically philosophical for a police officer. “We did what we could. But you’re right, if you’d continued the interview without telling her about Greg then the DA would surely have thrown the case out at some stage.”
Royle was nodding his head. “The whole thing was a disaster waiting to happen. Quigly was trading in any smuggled eggs that failed to hatch, Winnings was having Alynski shot and my daughter kidnapped without telling the others, while Sharon Morgan and her fella were using all of that to import seriously large amounts of drugs. Add the odd idiot like Mickey Bird and it had to all blow up at some point.”
Charlie screwed up her nose. “What’s the position with Greg? Are we seriously suggesting she shot him?”
“Who knows. Logic suggests she did, and from what we’ve heard she probably had good cause. Greg did have a record of violence. Problem is we can find no proof of her ever owning a gun, and no evidence of another gun at the scene,” Mac explained.
Royle was smiling. “If she is lying then she’s doing it very well. Almost the perfect murder. Get rid of the violent boyfriend and take over an extremely lucrative drugs business, all in one go, except that it came unstuck at several points. There’s no way any jury’s going to believe her.”
* * *
Sam Royle found her father in his favourite place, stretched out on the rear decking. Seeing her he held a finger to
his lips, pointing to where his laptop was tracking the midday television news. It was Saturday, almost six weeks to the day since Whitland had introduced Royle and Charlie Lacey as temporary partners in the hunt for Daniel Morgan.
The news presenter was concluding a report on how a mystery woman had that morning left packages of around half a million dollars each at the reception desks of two Florida-based charities tackling child poverty.
The presenter shuffled his papers, pressing his earpiece with one finger in receipt of further information.
“Next,” he announced, “federal sources say they have successfully closed down a multi-million-dollar international smuggling racket threatening some of the world’s most endangered birds, combined with a drug smuggling operation of global proportions. In a fast-moving operation, Federal Wildlife agents tracked smuggled wild parrots from Australia and Mexico to both Florida and California.”
The presenter re-shuffled his papers. “One worrying revelation concerned the issue of government permits falsely stating the birds involved were bred in captivity. Hundreds of parrot eggs were also smuggled into California to be hatched. Federal Wildlife agents searched properties in Tallahassee, the Everglades and California, with similar searches in Mexico, Australia, Asia and Europe.”
“Refusing to name names at this stage,” the announcer continued, “Federal Wildlife Head, Doug Whitland, confirmed that ten people were in custody in Florida and California, and over four hundred live parrots and a similar number of hatching eggs have been seized. Twelve people are also in custody in the New York area and in Europe. DEA agents and police recovered drugs with a street value running into millions of dollars.”
“The same sources declined to comment on a report that Federal Wildlife’s Florida Licensing Head Gus Winnings is among those who in court on Monday will answer accusations regarding the murder of at least four people, and why half a million dollars in cash was recovered from the Winnings’ home. Federal prosecutors will be seeking maximum sentences for all involved.”
The presenter was obviously now winding up the news item. “When asked how they uncovered the smugglers, Special Agent Charlie Lacey told our reporter, ‘It was all a consequence of finding agent Daniel Morgan’s body in a tiger enclosure.’ She also said that the considerable sum of money recovered will go towards ensuring as many of the birds as possible will be returned to the wild in Australia.”
* * *
Some months following the arrests, Doug Whitland settled himself behind his desk as Paula entered with the morning’s mail. On the top of the pile was a handwritten envelope addressed to him personally. Opening it, he read it through, a broad smile spreading across his face:
The Honourable Vernon and Mrs Barbara Lacey
request the presence of
Mr and Mrs Douglas Whitland
at the marriage of their daughter
Charlotte Elizabeth
to
Phillip Edward Royle
4pm, Saturday October 15th
Field of Dreams
Upper Woodland Meadows
Tallahassee
RSVP
In with the card was a handwritten note on the judge’s personal letterhead.
‘Looking forward to catching up with you in October, Doug, and I hope the heart’s behaving itself. The honeymoon destination’s outback Australia, something about a lost parrot.’