Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  “With Keeley out of the picture, is the bill likely to pass?” Leary said.

  “Yeah, it’s a foregone conclusion now. The bill’s going to pass when the vote happens next week.”

  Leary felt his heart pound. Ten million dollars, hinging on a vote that Corbin Keeley would have opposed—this was exactly what he’d been looking for.

  “Who owns the land?”

  “It’s owned by a manufacturing company called Ironforge. There’s a factory on the property now. The land is zoned I-3—heavy industrial—which also makes it eligible for detention and correctional facilities. The factory makes machine parts. Or, it used to. Ironforge was acquired by another company last year, and the new company closed the factory down, laid off all the employees, and liquidated most of the equipment. That’s why the land is up for sale.”

  “Do you know the name of the new company?” Leary asked the question and then held his breath.

  “CBL Capital Partners,” Perez said. “Big player in the Philly finance world.”

  Leary was speechless. There it was, the connection and the motive. All of the pieces were now in place. “Thanks. This is very helpful.” He tried to hide his excitement, but he must not done have a very good job, because Perez seemed to be studying him more closely.

  “You think CBL has something to do with Corbin’s death?” The man sat back in his chair and stared into space for a moment, as if he were chewing on the idea. “You know, I would have told you that’s a crazy idea. CBL is an extremely well-respected company. But their chief lawyer—this guy named Luther Goyle? I always thought there was something off about him.”

  “Luther Goyle,” Leary said. The name was familiar to him from his research. Goyle had come on board as general counsel and later become a partner in the firm.

  “Yes, Luther Goyle,” Perez said. “If you’re investigating CBL, you should definitely take a close look at him.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  36

  Leary spotted Kyle Fulco sitting at his desk in the homicide bullpen. He had his chair tilted back, his shoes up on the edge of the desk, and a glazed look in his eyes. Just like Leary remembered him. A few cops spotted Leary and came over to say hello and ask how he was. “Doing great. Just came to by to talk to someone.”

  One of the other detectives watched Leary’s limping gait with a skeptical look. “You sure you’re okay, Leary? I heard you got mugged or something.”

  “Something like that,” Leary said.

  Another cop said. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks, Dan.”

  The conversation drew Fulco’s attention, and Leary saw the detective’s eyes widen when he realized Leary was coming his way. His shoes dropped from his desk and his chair snapped back to an upright position.

  “Detective,” Leary said as he closed the distance between them. “I hear you’re the man to talk to about the Corbin Keeley case.”

  “Very funny.” Fulco looked sheepish for a moment. “How’d you get in here? Do you have an actual reason, or did you just stop by to rag on me?”

  “I’m not here to rag on you. I’m here because I could use your help.”

  Fulco’s gaze looked uneasy. “My help?”

  “I just got a new lead on the Raines case. Need your help running it down.”

  “Wait a second, Leary.” Fulco looked even more anxious now. “I can’t do police work with you. You’re a civilian. Not only could I get in trouble with the department, but your girlfriend would kill me. I can’t just allow you to participate in an investigation.”

  Leary leaned against the man’s desk and stared down at him. “I’m not participating in it. I’m leading it, since it currently doesn’t have a lead detective who actually does anything.”

  Fulco gritted his teeth. “I’m gonna let that go, since I heard you’ve had a rough twenty-four hours and—”

  Leary felt himself losing patience. “Look, Kyle, I’m not asking for a favor. I’m offering one. I don’t need you. I could track down the information myself, or reach out to another friend from the PPD. But this is technically you’re case, and your reputation could use some help. So, I’m giving you a chance to be part of this. If you want it, great. If not, I’ll be on my way.”

  Fulco seemed to think it over. “I could get in trouble, allowing you to be part of the case.”

  “I’m already part of the case. I’m the one who figured out what really happened, and I’m the one who’s going to prove it. With your help, if you want in.”

  “I want in.”

  Leary’s next argument was already on his lips. He stopped, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be convinced that easily.”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately.”

  “Really?” Leary leaned forward and looked more closely at the man. Maybe Fulco wasn’t exactly how he’d remembered him after all. “Good.”

  “So what really happened? You said you figured it out, and now we’re going to prove it.”

  “Murder for hire.”

  Fulco’s looked shocked, then wary. “If this is a fucking prank, I swear to God—”

  “No prank. There’s a company called CBL Capital Partners. They were going to lose out on a major deal worth millions of dollars because of a city council vote that wasn’t going to go their way. Because of Councilman Corbin Keeley. They knew about Keeley’s past, so they paid a woman, Brooke Raines, to kill him make it look like self-defense.”

  “That sounds far-fetched.”

  “Keeley isn’t the first victim. I worked a case three years ago in which a man named Terence Resta was killed by his girlfriend, supposedly in self-defense. After his death, his business was sold to a company that wanted his land. The company was CBL Capital Partners.”

  “I don’t know.” Fulco blew out a breath. “I want to believe you, but I still can’t say I’m convinced.”

  “I tracked down the woman, Lydia Wax. She was living in a million-dollar house in New Jersey. I visited her and asked her some uncomfortable questions. Within hours after I left, she killed herself.”

  Fulco rubbed his face thoughtfully.

  “There’s more,” Leary went on. “I also approached one of the founding partners of CBL. I asked him some uncomfortable questions, too. And the next thing I knew, I was being attacked at night in the parking lot of my office by two thugs trying to kill me and make it look like a mugging. Do you still need more convincing?”

  “It’s a good theory, but where’s the proof?”

  “That’s what you’re going to help me find. Keeley’s legislative aide suggested I take a hard look at a man named Luther Goyle. He’s the chief lawyer at CBL and also a partner.”

  Fulco lifted the receiver from the phone on his desk. “Let me see what I can find.”

  “Thanks,” Leary said. “Put it on speaker.”

  Fulco started by trying to find any record of criminal activity by Luther Goyle in Pennsylvania and federal records. Nothing. While he listened in on the calls, Leary did his own searches on Fulco’s computer, finding Goyle’s work and education histories online.

  “He used to be a partner at a law firm in Manhattan,” Leary said. “See if New York has anything on him.”

  Fulco made more calls. The calls took longer this time, as Fulco needed to navigate the politics of multi-state police cooperation. After several connections and transfers, they learned that neither New York City nor New York State had any criminal records involving Goyle.

  “You sure this guy at City Hall wasn’t talking out of his butt?” Fulco asked. “Goyle seems like a model citizen.”

  “Or a very careful criminal. Remember, this is a guy who uses other people to do his dirty work, and he uses the nuances of the law to protect them and himself. He's smart.”

  “Okay, but where do we go from here?”

  “He grew up in Connecticut.”

  “Yeah, but he left for college when he was eighteen. Anything he did before that would be a juvenile
record.”

  “No harm in trying.”

  Fulco made more calls. Leary had run out of ideas for internet searches, so he sat and listened as Fulco did the inter-agency dance again, trying to get connected with a cop who would help them.

  “Nothing for a Luther Goyle,” a clipped voice said eventually.

  “Okay,” Fulco said. “Thanks for checking—”

  “I see a file for a Candice Goyle. Looks like a homicide. She was cleared though. Self-defense.”

  Leary lurched forward, eyes on Fulco’s phone. “What year was that?”

  There was a pause on the other end. Then, “File’s old. Looks like 1972.”

  “Who was the victim?” Leary said.

  Fulco’s eyes met his. “You can’t think Luther was involved. He would have been a little kid.”

  “A self-defense homicide? It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I’m looking at a database entry, not the file itself,” the cop said. “I could pull up a digital copy if the record was more recent, but 1972? Those never got scanned. I can put in a request to try to find the paper file.”

  “How long will that take?” Leary said.

  “Hard to say. No more than a few weeks, probably.”

  In a few weeks, Brooke Raines would be acquitted and Goyle would be a multimillionaire. “We don’t have a few weeks. We don’t even have a few days.”

  “I’m not sure what to tell you, pal. It is what it is.”

  It is what it is. Was there any less useful statement in the English language?

  “What about the name of the lead detective?” Fulco said. “Can you give us that? Maybe we can talk to him.”

  Leary gave Fulco a nod. Good idea.

  “Yeah. Guy’s name is James Rowe. He’s retired, though, and has been for a while.”

  “Do you have a number we can reach him at?”

  “Sorry, I can’t give out personal information like that. Besides, an old retired guy, and a case that old, what are the chances he’d even remember anything?”

  “We really need to get in touch with him,” Leary said.

  “And I told you, I can’t give you his personal information. These aren’t the old days. These are days when we have cyber-security training and people are stealing identities instead of wallets. The rules are tougher now, and I’m not breaking them for two guys from Philly I don’t even know.”

  Leary and Fulco exchanged another glance. They were both experienced enough to know they’d reached a dead end. “Okay,” Fulco said. “Thanks anyway. We appreciate the information you were able to give us.”

  “No problem. Good luck with your case.”

  Fulco ended the call. “So much for research on Luther Goyle. Sorry, Leary.”

  “We don’t have to give up yet.” On Fulco’s computer screen, Leary had a list of people named James Rowe who had publicly listed phone numbers in Connecticut. “You want to make some cold calls, see if we can find our retired detective?”

  Fulco’s face sagged. “Sure. Why not?”

  He put his phone on speaker again and started calling the numbers. The first three were each the wrong James Rowe. The fourth person didn’t pick up. The fifth was a woman.

  She said, “No, my husband isn’t a cop. But I think I know the person you’re looking for. We get calls for him from time to time. He lives in an assisted living facility in Danbury. Hold on and I’ll get you the number.”

  They called and spoke to a friendly-sounding receptionist who explained that it would not be possible to put Rowe on the phone, given his current condition.

  That didn’t sound good. “He’s that out of it?” Fulco said.

  “Oh no, Mr. Rowe’s quite alert. It’s just that he can’t talk because of a surgery he recently underwent on his throat. He’s actually been communicating using a little dry-erase board, the poor guy.”

  After they ended the call, Leary looked at Fulco. “You up for a road trip?”

  “All the way to Connecticut? You gotta be kidding.”

  Leary wasn’t kidding.

  James Rowe was indeed alert. He seemed thrilled to receive a visit from two brothers in blue—even if Leary technically was no longer in the family. Fulco and Leary sat with him in a pleasant, sun-filled room in a cheery facility.

  I remember Candice, he wrote on his handheld dry-erase board. Not the kind of case you forget.

  “Why’s that?” Leary said.

  Domestic abuse, always sickening. But this was more. Brutal. Husband punched her, kicked her, cut her. Horrifying.

  “And she killed him?”

  Rowe nodded, then wrote. Blew his fucking brains out.

  “I guess it must have been a pretty clear-cut case,” Fulco said. “He attacked her, she got her hands on a gun, and she shot him before he could hurt or kill her, right?”

  Rowe’s mouth opened and he laughed, but no noise came from his throat. The effect was eerie.

  “It wasn’t that simple?” Leary said.

  What was simple was he deserved to die. So we didn’t arrest.

  “Yeah, but was it self-defense?” Fulco said.

  The retired detective laughed again. You guys look smart. Think. Candice went out, bought a gun. She put it in drawer, within easy reach. Waited. Husband came home. She grabbed her gun. Stuck it in his face before he took off his coat. Bang. Brains on the wall. It was an ambush. No self-defense.

  “How can you know for sure he wasn’t threatening her life when she shot him?” Fulco said.

  For the first time since they’d arrived at the facility, Rowe seemed reluctant to answer. He sighed and moved his pen with squeaky movement over the board.

  Her son told us. He witnessed it. You won’t find his statement in the file. Me and my partner tore it up for his sake and his mother’s.

  Leary already knew the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. “Do you remember the son’s name?”

  Sure. Sad kid. Fat, sad, serious. I’ll never forget him. Luther Goyle.

  Leary and Fulco exchanged a glance. Now, they had a case.

  37

  Warren Williams put the case folder down. “We still don’t have a case.”

  Leary threw up his hands. He sat in a conference room in the DA’s office. Around the table were Warren Williams, Kyle Fulco, Emily Graham, and Jessie. Jessie gave him a warning look, then said to Warren, “We need to make one.”

  “Let’s review what we think we know,” Warren said. He took a deep breath. “We believe Brooke Raines was hired or otherwise persuaded by CBL Capital Partners to kill Corbin Keeley so that an upcoming vote would go the company’s way, resulting in a transaction worth ten million dollars. We believe that the actual plan was orchestrated by a man named Luther Goyle, a partner in the firm, but that others in the firm were likely also involved. To cover up the real motive behind the killing, and avoid a criminal investigation, the killing was made to look like an act of self-defense. This was made possible by Keeley’s own character problems, and appears to be a ruse that CBL has used effectively in the past, in at least one instance. Does that sum it up?”

  Heads around the table nodded.

  “Okay,” Warren said. “Now let’s talk about what we can actually prove in court. Do we have any evidence connecting Brooke Raines to CBL?”

  “No,” Fulco said. “And believe me, we looked. We got warrants to search Raines’s apartment, her financial records. There’s nothing.”

  “There’s Lydia Wax,” Leary said. “She received a payment we might be able to tie back to CBL—”

  Warren cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Come on, Leary, you know that won’t prove anything in Brooke Raines’s trial.”

  Leary wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “When I questioned David Whittaker about Lydia Wax, he thought I was talking about Brooke Raines. CBL was involved in both killings, and Whittaker was aware of what was happening. Maybe we can put Whittaker on the stand and get him to admit it.”

  Jessie shook her head. “
Too risky. If we call him as a hostile witness and he denies everything, where does that get us?”

  “Then put me on the stand,” Leary said. “I talked to him, and to Lydia Wax.”

  Warren laughed. “Even if we survived the hearsay objections, Aidan Hughes would crucify you on cross. Can you imagine? ‘Mr. Leary, are you a police officer? No? A DA investigator? No? What exactly is your relationship to the prosecutor in this case?’” Warren shuddered.

  Leary glanced at Jessie and saw her face redden. He said, “That’s enough, Warren. We get it.”

  “We need evidence,” Warren said. “And we don’t have it.”

  “Think about what it could mean for Rivera’s approval rating if we demonstrate that Brooke Raines was a hired killer,” Jessie said. “All the negative publicity, the protests, the questions about the next election—that would all go away. Overnight, Rivera would stop being the DA who went after a domestic abuse victim and become the DA who uncovered a sinister corporate conspiracy.”

  Warren glared at her. “Obviously, I would love that. But the fact remains that we can’t prove any of it.”

  Jessie sat back in her chair. A faraway look entered her gaze, and Leary could tell she’d withdrawn into her own mind. “What are you thinking, Jess?”

  “There might be a way,” she said. The room fell silent and all eyes turned to her.

  “I’m listening,” Warren said.

  “Maybe we don’t need to prove our theory. We only need to make Brooke Raines and Aidan Hughes think we can. Murder for hire adds aggravated circumstances to the murder charge, which would push the case into death penalty territory. If I can convince Brooke Raines that she’s facing the death penalty, she might make a deal with us.”