by Mary Stone
“Russel Ulmer.” Erbach spat the name like a king cobra spat venom.
As the tentative relief washed over her, Amelia straightened to her full height. “Thank you for that confirmation. Now, let’s go over the details and get your statement of events, for the record.”
Shrugging his thin shoulders, Erbach turned his gaze to the dingy ceiling. “I’d done some favors for him before. Last time I was locked up in County, back when he worked over there. It sure wasn’t a pleasant surprise seeing him here, I tell ya that much. ‘Bout a week ago, he came up to me out in the yard and told me he had a job if I was interested. Said it needed to be done quick, and that it’d be easy. He’d take care of all the hard parts.”
Joseph scratched his chin. “I don’t suppose he mentioned what any of these ‘hard parts’ were?”
Erbach’s mouth hung open silently, as if his brain and vocal cords weren’t attached. A minute of dumbfounded silence passed before he managed to send some words through his gaping maw. “The camera, that was a big one. That’s the first thing I said to him, as a matter of fact. I asked him, ‘Russel, how the hell am I supposed to do this without getting caught when there’s cameras every three feet in this damn place?’ He told me not to worry about it. He’d deal with the camera, and he’d make sure I got in and out without being seen.”
Wasn’t that nice of him?
Amelia kept the sarcastic comment to herself and gave Erbach a silent nod to continue.
“I met him over by the showers, like he said.” The prisoner leaned down to scratch his temple with the limited reach of his shackled hands. “We went to one of those locked doors that only the guards can get to, and I followed him through some sort of breakroom. I’d never been in there before, but when we stopped at a door, I could tell that we was somewhere by the cafeteria. I asked him about the camera again, and he told me it was off, and I had to hurry. Something about Carlo’s routine, and about how he knew he’d be coming down the hallway right after he ate.”
“Did Russel Ulmer ever say why he wanted you to kill Carlo Enrico?” Joseph shifted in his seat. Clearly, the rickety chair hadn’t been designed for comfort.
“No.” Erbach shook his head. “Just said that someone needed him gone, and that he was one of those fellas who liked to hurt little kids. So, we waited for a few minutes, and then he handed me a knife and said that Enrico was heading this way. I’m guessin’ you know the rest.”
Joseph’s eyes narrowed, and Amelia rubbed her forehead. Apparently, a child predator had no qualms about selling out one of his own ilk. Never mind that Carlo allegedly hadn’t touched any of the girls who’d come through Alton Dalessio’s exploitation ring. Russel Ulmer had used his own perversion against Carlo Enrico.
Suppressing a sigh, Amelia pulled out her phone and swiped to unlock the screen. As much as she wanted to head straight to Russel Ulmer’s house to arrest the prick herself, she wasn’t about to let another of their witnesses end up facedown in a pool of his own blood.
As Joseph turned to her, she waved the phone. “I’ll take care of all this. I’ll get ahold of the warden and the Assistant U.S. Attorney, and I’ll have the Chicago PD head to Ulmer’s apartment to bring him in. If he’s not there, I’ll make sure they keep eyes on the place.”
“All right.” He gestured to Erbach. “I’ll stay here, and we’ll iron out the rest of his statement.”
“Yeah, okay.” Amelia banged on the heavy door.
She was sure their conversation hadn’t been overheard, and she sincerely doubted Wendy Ulmer Truesdell would have contacted her ex-husband to tell him the FBI was on his heels. Aside from Amelia, Joseph, and Waylon Erbach, no one knew about Russel Ulmer.
No one, of course, aside from Russel Ulmer himself.
Amelia clenched her jaw as the magnetic lock disengaged with a pronounced buzz.
No, they’d get this one.
They had to get this one.
19
Tapping an index finger against his favorite thermos, Zane scanned the text that covered much of the wall-spanning whiteboard. As each day had passed, Zane’s appreciation of Glenn Kantowski’s contributions to the Leóne task force grew. In their review of the information given to the FBI by city councilman Ben Storey, Zane’s primary contribution had been to document Glenn’s findings.
She’d proven herself to be an exceptional addition to the team. Especially now that a sitting senator for the state of Illinois had fallen in their investigative crosshairs.
Glenn’s background in forensic accounting and white-collar crimes gave her the skill set necessary to pluck relevant findings from the complex spreadsheets and financial records detailed in Ben’s flash drive. Now that they’d thrown together the highlights, Zane’s expertise would finally be useful too.
So far, they’d gleaned that Premier Ag Solutions—the labor contractor that had served as a front for one of the Leóne family’s human trafficking operations—was part of a political action committee that had donated substantial sums of cash to Young’s previous campaigns.
At first blush, the money trail seemed damning. But in reality, Premier was part of a PAC that revolved around the agriculture business, and Stan Young was a politician with a background in that same enterprise.
Excitement prickled at the back of his neck as he glanced to the clock above the whiteboard. Ten minutes before noon. In one hour and forty minutes, he and Glenn would be downtown, on the doorstep of Senator Stan Young’s office.
He dropped into a mesh-backed chair. The meeting with Senator Young wasn’t scheduled in any sort of official book, but Glenn would be paying attention to Young’s presence in Chicago for the next few days. If they didn’t catch him while he visited his hometown, he’d either be several hours south in Springfield or out east on Capitol Hill.
The interview hadn’t been Zane’s idea, and in truth, he wasn’t sure who’d decided they ought to conduct an in-person visit with the senator. Their questions involved a follow-up on Premier Ag Solutions, with a goal to establish the official relationship between Premier and Happy Harvest Farms.
Premier was in the midst of an audit by the Department of Labor, but Zane wasn’t optimistic about the results. The company had been fined twice before for failure to properly vet the citizenship of the workers they employed, but the citations hadn’t made so much as a peep in mainstream media. Vivian Kell, an investigative journalist for local news outlet The Chicago Standard, had written most of an exposé on Premier’s shady dealings, but she’d been tortured and killed by three Leóne men.
All three of whom were now dead.
As much as the review of bank statements, lists of campaign contributions, and tax returns made Zane’s eyes glaze over, Senator Young became more and more suspicious with each new addition to the whiteboard.
The problem was, nothing they’d found justified a large-scale criminal investigation. Ben Storey had come to the Bureau because he thought Young was involved with the Leóne family, and though Zane didn’t doubt the possibility, there was no paper trail. No evidence that Young had colluded with the Leónes for any of his previous campaigns, for his business, nothing.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead as he slumped down in the chair. A quiet beep pulled his attention to the door just before the magnetic lock disengaged.
Glenn blinked repeatedly as she crossed the threshold, a paper cup of coffee in each hand. “Hey. I remembered you talking about how you liked chocolate, so I got you a mocha latte since you bought lunch the other day.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He reached out to accept the drink from her outstretched hand. “But thank you. I’ve been drinking the breakroom sludge, so this is a welcome surprise.”
The corners of her light brown eyes crinkled as she smiled and pulled out a chair across the table. “No problem.” She paused, taking a sip of her latte. “Hey, I meant to ask you. When do you think Agent Storm will be back from the case she’s working? The Enrico case?”
Za
ne rubbed one side of his unshaven face and took a deep breath. When indeed? As much as he enjoyed working with Glenn, the energy just wasn’t the same without Storm’s terrible puns. “I’m not sure. Soon, hopefully. She’s been giving me updates, and the last one said that they’d narrowed their suspect pool down pretty significantly.”
Stretching her legs, Glenn leaned back in her chair. “That sounds promising.”
“Yeah, I think so too.” I hope she’s doing okay with Larson. He shook the mental baggage from his thoughts and cleared his throat. Straightening his back, Zane turned his attention to Glenn. “So, this is kind of off topic, but I’m wondering what we’re looking to get from Senator Young today? How is it going to help us?”
Lips pursed, Glenn drummed her fingers against the table. “Well, you and Agent Storm just took down a human trafficking ring that had been hiding behind Premier Ag Solutions, and we know Young is pretty close to them. At least business-wise. It’s more or less like going to talk to the friend of someone you just arrested. All we want to do is ask him about Premier so he can help us make sense of what happened in Kankakee County.”
“That makes sense. I just can’t help but feel that it’s a bit like we’re…I don’t know.” He blew out a quick breath. “Like we’re tipping him off. Like he’s going to see these two FBI agents show up at his office, and he’s going to automatically think we’re on to him. When, honestly, we aren’t. We’ve got information here that strongly points to Young being in bed with Premier, but a politician schmoozing up to a big business is about as common as snow in Russia.”
Glenn held out her hands. “Exactly. And I’ve worked in Public Corruption long enough to know, in most cases, there’s no grand conspiracy. More often than not, people like Senator Young are just trying to bend a few rules and cut a few corners so their business makes a higher profit.”
Zane flashed her a curious glance. “Is that all you think this is?”
Leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table, Glenn rested her chin in one hand. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. There’s a chance that Young is as much a pawn in Premier’s game as anyone else. Which is why we’re going to go talk to him today. I’m interested to hear his take on what happened out in Kankakee County.”
Her explanation made some sense, but Zane wasn’t entirely convinced. The calculating look in Glenn’s eyes said she’d picked up on his waffling perspective too.
Glenn reached for a pen. “Try to keep an open mind, okay. More often than not, there isn’t a grand conspiracy behind a greedy CEO or a politician who overextends their reach.” She used the end of the pen as a pointer as she focused on the overflowing board of papers they had amassed. “Corporate blunders, such as working with a labor contractor who has a history of failure to vet its employees’ citizenship, are rarely part of a malicious long-term plan.”
Zane definitely understood the temptation of higher profit margins, as well as the disconnect between executives and the working man. He held his expression neutral as he leaned back in his chair, listening to Glenn’s explanation.
“Executives like Stan Young.” She pointed to the part of the board where his picture had been pinned. “His type only sees the lower price point offered by Premier. It’s all about the bottom line. So, he jumped on board without bothering to ask questions. When a person was as disconnected from the ground-level operations of their business as Stan Young was from Happy Harvest Farms, all they pay attention to is the bottom line.”
He had to admit, she was echoing some of his own thoughts. Zane’s chair squeaked as he linked his fingers behind his head. “So, you truly believe Stan didn’t have the faintest clue that Premier Ag Solutions was linked to the Leóne family?”
With a haughty quirk of her eyebrow, Glenn’s expression brightened. “I don’t think Stan Young or the executives at Premier were aware that they were being used as a front for a crime family’s forced labor trafficking ring.”
Her confidence was convincing, but something still wasn’t adding up. Zane’s brow furrowed as he tried to pinpoint the missing piece that still niggled at the back of his mind. “Let’s say I’m on board with this theory. Why then didn’t anyone, especially with an in-house accounting team, notice discrepancies in their financial records?”
Glenn slammed her hands on her hips. She stared down at him as if he had asked her if the sky was green. “Hello. The only aspect of a business that matters to the people at the top of the skyscraper is money. If the dollar signs are going in the right direction, no one asks questions. Greed, incompetence, and willful ignorance. That’s just par for the course in investigations like these. And the stuff Ben Storey turned over to us looks just as cookie-cutter.”
Hard to argue with her rationale. It was her area of expertise, after all. Not to mention, Zane couldn’t forget Storey’s position as a challenger to Stan Young’s senate seat in next spring’s primary election. Exposing willful ignorance or egregious oversight in Young’s agricultural enterprise would benefit Storey in the polls.
Maybe he was overreacting, and this whole investigation was one politician’s effort to throw his competition in a bad light.
Zane reached for the warmth of his latte. “You know, you’re probably right. We get the interview with Young out of the way today, and then we can turn our focus to Premier. If Young had anything else to do with them beyond what we already know, then he’s bound to show up again.”
Glenn rolled her chair away from the table. “Exactly. So, what do you say we go get a head start on this interview? It’s going to take us at least a half hour just to get downtown.”
As he pushed to his feet, Zane grabbed his coffee. “At least a half hour. If we’re lucky.”
Senator Stan Young presented himself as personable, polite, and charismatic. Zane could see how the man had come so far in politics. As Young introduced himself, he exuded a genuine air of respect for Zane and Glenn’s profession.
The senator led them down a hall to an office that, despite its impressive view of the Chicago skyline, wasn’t as large or opulent as Zane had expected.
Sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the room, and a series of bookshelves took up much of the right-hand wall. Along with a few decorative vases and an antique tractor toy, vintage photos of farmers and equipment broke up the rows of neatly lined books.
As he and Glenn took their seats in a pair of cushioned armchairs, Zane scanned the surface of Young’s mahogany desk. Beside a ceramic mug of pens, a handful of photos were angled so both Young and his visitors could see the smiling faces of his wife and children.
Based on the similarity to Young’s current appearance, one of the three pictures was recent. A white blanket of snow covered the ground of a popular Chicago park, and a tall pine tree in the background glittered with all the festive decorations of the Christmas season.
Stan’s arm was draped over the shoulders of a shorter woman with a stylish auburn bob. To the couple’s side, a younger man with Young’s chestnut brown hair and angular jaw stood beside a girl who couldn’t have been any older than ten.
Though the young man was the spitting image of Young, the girl didn’t look at all like her mother or father. With a long, ebony braid draped over her shoulder, the little blue-eyed girl gazed brightly at the camera.
The sight was striking, but Zane was no geneticist. Besides, the Young family was loaded, so they had the means to adopt any number of children.
Zane rested both hands in his lap and laced his fingers together. Should have taken the time to look into more than just his tax records. Would have been nice to know what type of person we’re dealing with.
As Glenn pulled a notepad from her handbag, Zane painted an amiable look on his face and settled into the chair. On the trip downtown, they’d both agreed Glenn was better suited to conduct the interview. Zane had decided to keep his mouth shut despite Glenn’s encouragement that he ask Young any questions as he saw fit.
They were here for a stuffy, boring series of questions about Senator Young’s business with Premier Ag Solutions. Not a suspect interrogation.
Not yet, anyway. And hopefully not ever.
Glenn clicked her pen and offered the senator an appreciative smile. “Thank you again for taking time out of your busy day to talk to us. I promise this won’t take long at all. We’re just doing some follow-up on a company we noticed you’ve worked with in the past, Premier Ag Solutions.”
“Premier, yes.” Senator Young clucked his tongue and shook his head as if disappointed. “My family and I have worked with them over the years. We were just as surprised as anyone to hear about what happened in Kankakee County. The FBI arrested the men responsible, didn’t they?”
“We did.” Glenn waved her pen at Zane. “My partner was one of the agents on the scene when the Bureau took down the operation.”
Young’s gray eyes shifted to Zane. “Well, thank you very much for what you’ve done, Agent Palmer. You and the FBI helped a lot of people out of a nasty situation.”
Zane spat out the first platitude that came to mind. “I’m just glad I could help.”
“You did more than that, I assure you.” Young’s expression turned wistful.
Zane could have sworn the sympathy on the senator’s clean-shaven face was feigned. But maybe that was just paranoia.
Glenn tapped the end of her pen against the notepad on her lap. “And in your dealings with Premier, do you ever have face-to-face meetings with the people who run the job sites?”
Steepling his fingers, the senator paused and stared down at the picture of his family. “Not typically, no. Although, I haven’t been at the helm of Happy Harvest Farms for the last twelve years. My brother-in-law served as interim CEO for a few years until my oldest, Josh, graduated from the Chicago University Booth School of Business. That was about eight or nine years ago.”