Chasing Suspect Three

by Rod Hoisington

  He walked quickly toward her. She kept the engine running, and when the man reached into his coat pocket, she put her car in gear. He pulled out a thin card case and held it out at arm’s length in front of him.

  It’s the feds, she said to herself. Her doors had locked automatically, but just in case, she pressed the button just to hear the loud comforting click. A badge and ID will set you back merely ten bucks on the Internet, including shipping.

  The man came to the driver’s side window and pressed an FBI card against the glass. Without lowering the window, she said, “You know, you can go to jail for impersonating an FBI agent. Do those sunglasses come off?”

  “I need to talk with you, Miss.” He removed the sunglasses.

  “I’d love to chat sometime. I’m in the book.” She studied the card carefully, and then looked up at him. With looks like that, he should be up on a movie screen. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I know who you are, all right. That’s why I’m putting up with your bullshit.”

  “Hey, you’re the one running the lousy tail job, Agent...Jay Heppard,” she said reading his card.

  “Let’s go back and see Mel Shapiro at the courthouse. I’ll meet you in his office. We’ll talk there.”

  It was enough. She lowered the window and held out her hand. “Nice meeting you Jay. Where are you from?”

  “West Palm office. Temporarily assigned to Miami.”

  “Why is the FBI interested in me?” He didn’t answer, and the question remained on her mind as she followed him to the courthouse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Twenty minutes later, Sandy and Agent Jay Heppard had settled into chairs opposite ASA Mel Shapiro in his courthouse office. Shapiro said, “Are introductions necessary? You came in together. Did you meet in the elevator?”

  “We met while Agent Heppard was conducting a covert surveillance of me. He had me going there for a while with the blonde surfer wig, but the bushy red mustache gave him away.”

  “She’s a talented investigator,” Shapiro said going along with it.

  “I do everything Sherlock Holmes does only backward and in high heels.”

  Heppard gave them both a weak smile. “Now if you two have had your fun.”

  Shapiro moved his chair closer to his desk. “Sandy, we wanted you to be aware that the government is investigating a drug case involving the Salvadoran consulate down in Miami. There is a Park Beach connection.” He looked over at Agent Heppard. “Why don’t you pick it up at this point?”

  The agent leaned forward. “The FBI and the DEA would like to tie your John Larena murder into our case. I thought I’d fill you in on a few things. Are you aware of his employment in Miami?”

  “You FBI guys are so cute.” She raised her hands in mock protest. “You announce you’re going fill me in on something, yet what you are in fact doing is interrogating me. You start off with a question trying to find out how much I know of his activities. Next, you’re going to ask did Margo Larena ever discuss any of her husband’s Miami activities with me. And that’s more of your interrogation that fills me in on nothing and shares zilch with me.” She gave him a stare and then one over at Shapiro as though he were equally guilty.

  He said, “Jay, I’ve learned, when you’re dealing with Sandy, it’s best to come at her straight on and take your chances. She has some sort of built-in guile alarm that goes off, if you try to sneak in at her sideways.”

  “Thank you, Mel,” she said. It seemed safe to confirm some of the victim’s background they probably already knew or could easily find out. A touch of apparent rapport with the FBI couldn’t hurt. “In answer to your so-called explanation, Margo confirmed to me that her husband was a diplomatic courier for the Salvador Consulate. He’d work two weeks in Miami and then have two weeks off.”

  “You don’t have a whole lot of useful information for us, do you?” Heppard said.

  “I didn’t think you’d notice.” She remembered Margo making a wifely guess that her husband had some sweetie down there helping him pass those long boring nights in Miami. In any case, she wasn’t going to mention a possible girlfriend since a philandering-husband would be one more motive for her client to shoot him. Shapiro would surely use it against her. She went on, “My client said nothing about her husband acting as a go-between involving illegal drugs.”

  “How did you know our investigation concerned couriering drugs?” Heppard asked sharply.

  She gave him her best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “Drugs...courier...hello?”

  Heppard mumbled something.

  “Have you identified John Larena as one of the couriers mixed up in the drug trafficking?” she asked.

  “We’re not prepared to confirm that at this time.”

  “You don’t have a whole lot of useful information for me, do you?”

  “The circle of persons who may or may not be involved in our case might overlap the persons involved in your case. Naturally, we’re interested in all persons involved in your case who might have some connection with our case. We hoped you might enlarge our circle.”

  She smirked at Shapiro. “Does he always talk like that?”

  Shapiro turned away and hid his smile with his hand.

  “Why were you following me?”

  The agent said, “Frankly, I thought I’d follow you around and see where you led me. I could always tell you later. You’re an old criminal investigator from Philadelphia, you know the game.”

  “And you would have preferred to be able to keep following me undetected, right?” Looking at Shapiro she said, “You realize all this has certainly made my case. This FBI investigation puts John Larena in the middle of international drug dealing. I now have an excellent argument for reasonable doubt. I suddenly find out half the world might have wanted him dead to recover the money and keep him from testifying. My little old wronged spouse is insignificant. Is the jury going to believe it was his sweet little wife who was involved, or some nefarious drug cartel? Or do you plan on keeping all this FBI stuff out of my trial, so the jury never hears of it?”

  “My plan is to convict her on the evidence.”

  “And my plan is to tell the jury to ignore your plan. In every other sentence, I’ll shout out D-R-U-G-S. Drug gangs, ugly drug guys, here, there, and everywhere. Everyone knows they spend their lives running around shooting people. And you can’t tie her to drugs. You don’t think I’m capable of planting the thought of reasonable doubt in the minds of a few jurors?”

  She stood and walked around his office waving her hands as though it were a courtroom “This changes the entire situation, thank you very much FBI. The state no longer has probable cause to keep my client under arrest. Mel, I insist you drop all charges against my client.”

  “Get off the stage, counselor,” Shapiro said. “This doesn’t do away with our local case of your client killing her husband out of anger, or infidelity, or whatever we come up with. True, our domestic case up here in Park Beach is small potatoes compared to the huge case of the Salvador Vice-Consul working with a South American drug gang. At any rate, they’re two separate cases.”

  “You wish! They won’t be separate, when I get this in the courtroom.” She came back over and sat. “Okay, I’ll be happy to tell you two what I know about Margo. It’s nothing you haven’t already found out with one possible exception.”

  She thought they might as well know about the boyfriend. She couldn’t find out anything about him anyway. They should do better. “True, she does Yoga with the girls, but she’s much the loner. She never mentioned any other friends except her boyfriend, Richie Grant.” Same name as the TV star.” She watched Shapiro’s face for a reaction. “You know about him? Looks like a good suspect.” She couldn’t pass up a chance to plant the thought of an additional suspect in Shapiro’s head. More reasonable doubt. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her why she had withheld the information. “Shouldn’t you guys be writing all this down?”

  Both men got busy with their b
allpoints, then straightened. “A major suspect?” Shapiro was frowning. “When were you going to tell us about him?”

  “Frankly, I thought I’d follow him around and see where he led me. I could always tell you later. You’re an old investigator, you know the game.”

  Shapiro had to smile at that.

  She continued, “As a matter of fact, I was on my way down here to tell you about him, when I noticed Mr. Heppard here on my tail. I’ve found out nothing about the guy. No address, no occupation, nothing. I’ve never seen him. She says he’s a hunky Lothario. Claudia Mertens describes him as a scrawny jerk. Guess which one is in love with him?”

  Heppard looked from one to the other and asked, “How does this guy fit in?”

  She didn’t want to reveal too much of her defense at this time, nevertheless the FBI talking drug connection gave her a real opportunity to get the first degree charge reduced. Maybe even get Margo out on bail. Shapiro was suddenly on the defensive. She wanted to keep him there.

  “Richie is her alibi. She was home with him playing seven minutes in heaven at the time of the murder. Also, Mel, I’m happy to report the supposedly shocking text message you discovered, telling Margo to start squirming was merely texting foreplay from Richie. Not a warning from the victim.”

  She might as well pretend the cockeyed explanation Margo had given her was a fact. If the police could trace the text to John, they’d tell her about it soon enough. She didn’t want to mention Margo’s additional claim that it was Richie who drove her car away from the crime scene. She’d save that item for the plea bargain. If she could prove half the stuff Richie supposedly did, her defense of Margo would be a walk in the park.

  Shapiro reached over and flipped open a folder. “Where is my copy of that text message...here it is.” He read it, looked up at her, and read it again. “Texting foreplay? You have to be kidding.”

  She was enjoying it. “We defense attorneys love ambiguities. Always gets juries so confused doesn’t it?”

  Shapiro was now very serious. She had his attention. “Richie Grant? We don’t have anything here on him. We’ll see what we can find.”

  “And you’ll let me know?”

  “No, we won’t let you know.”

  “Seems a bit one sided to me.” Then to Heppard, “How about you? You federal types have Interpol and all kinds of fancy databases. Will you tell me what you find out about him?” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead she stood. “Are we through here?”

  Shapiro said, “Yes, leave. I’ve had enough headaches for one day.”

  “No, wait,” Heppard spoke up. “It occurred to me, after sitting here watching you in action, that you’re ballsy enough to go down to Miami and burst into the Salvadoran consulate, knock some heads together, and create an international incident.”

  “You’re right about that.” Shapiro chuckled. “Clients don’t just hire Sandy, they turn her loose.”

  She said, “International incident, huh? I’ve never thought of that one. I could cause chaos and confusion all over the world. Geez, my work is never done.” She was silent for a dramatic minute. “Seriously, I’ve no idea where my investigation might take me.”

  “Well, let it take you someplace else. By international treaty, the consulate premises are considered foreign territory. The Salvadoran government itself is not at all implicated in the drug operation. They have clean hands and are cooperating. There is a highly placed rogue employee named Ramirez who was in charge of the couriers. He started putting in drugs and money along with the official documents being delivered. The drug dealing was all his own. The Salvadorans want it cleaned up. Even so, we had to go through the Department of State to get permission from the Salvadorans to interrogate their employees.”

  “I understand, and I’ll behave...probably.”

  Heppard stood and handed her his card. “Call me anytime. I hope you’ll help us. We aren’t adversaries or anything. There should be ways we can help each other.”

  She knew they could be adversaries instantly, if some little thing turned it all around. Then it would be too late to take back anything, and it would be used against her. “I know how you guys work. Anything I find, I share with you. Anything you find, I’ll never know about.” She tried to match his marvelous smile.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’d like to meet up with you again sometime.” He held his steady gaze at her longer than socially necessary.

  “Coming soon to a rear-view mirror near me.” She would definitely keep his card. If her nights took a permanent turn toward loneliness, would he return her call? She bet he would, considering the way he had been looking at her.

  “Mel, I want to look around the victim’s condo. Can you arrange that?”

  “You’ve got it. Counsel for the defense has a right to inspect the scene of the crime. The police tape is down now. Go do your thing.”

  She was by herself in the hall waiting for the elevator, when Heppard hurried down the hall and up close. “I felt there was actually something else you’d like to tell me. Would it help if we spoke privately, instead of talking in front of Shapiro?”

  “Gee whiz, Mister FBI man, you’d have to cross your heart and promise you’d keep it secret, and you couldn’t have your fingers crossed behind your back.” She turned away from him and pushed the elevator button.

  “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me.” He was silent for a full minute. Then put on his best face. “Why don’t we have dinner together tonight?”

  She caught a flash of dimples. “What would we talk about?”

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  “Appetizers, entrees, and important things like Cherry Pie Ala Mode. You feds have a big expense account?”

  “Not really, but I get to use the company car tonight.”

  “My tax dollars at work.” Cool looking guy and clever when he gets away from his FBI routine. Asking herself, why not, brought Chip to mind. At that particular moment, she wasn’t at all certain where they stood. Even so, she said, “Agreed, but nothing too fancy. I’m not in the mood for getting all glitzy tonight.”

  “Nothing fancy? All right, how about just plain pizza with no fancy toppings?”

  “Wait, you went too far, go back to fancy. Seven o’clock? You know where I live?”

  “I’ve followed you home a couple of times.”

  She grinned at that and checked her watch. “It’s almost one, and I’m starving. Want to go over for a sandwich or something?” Before he could answer, she saw Shapiro coming out of his office slipping on his suit coat. She waved him over. “We’re going to walk across to the Windward. Want to join us?”

  Heppard was slow on the uptake, but said, “Yeah, Mel, come over with us.” And then he whispered to her, “He isn’t going to come along with us tonight is he?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sandy was pleased with herself. At least so far. She had slugged it out with Shapiro and Heppard and had held her own. Just because you’re officially in the legal profession doesn’t mean you belong. Although the meeting with them had gone almost perfectly, she realized she was still in the early stages of becoming the lawyer she wanted to be. She had her self-doubts pretty much under control. And she seemed to be gaining acceptance, if not yet actual respect from her fellow professionals. She was getting there.

  She questioned her eagerness to have dinner with Jay Heppard. She told herself that networking and socialization was an essential part of her profession. That’s all. Her grandmother once explained that it’s all about people, about being nice and not burning any bridges. She needed to work on that. Being nice to some people was a real pain in the ass. And if she flipped off some jerk, did that count as a burned bridge?

  Being nice to Jay Heppard wouldn’t be difficult; assuming she could forget all about Chip. Maybe, he’ll turn out to be a real creep and make it easy for her. Then again, none of that matters anyway, because this isn’t personal. This is professional networking. Isn’t it?

&nbs
p; At first, she had decided to dress down somewhat. She didn’t want to show up in a business suit. That was an uptight image she didn’t want to project at an evening out. At the same time, she wanted to avoid anything flirty, so Jay wouldn’t think he had charmed her, which she supposed he had to some extent, or start thinking this was some meaningful first date, which it wasn’t. At some point, after having a short lunch with him, and before seven that night, she remembered he was based in Palm Beach and assigned to Miami. He might not have a chance to change from his business suit. She’d look good beside him in her white denim dress with her silky pastel scarf.

  By the time seven arrived, she was definitely in a lighthearted mood. She would enjoy sitting across the table from a good-looking, successful guy. She suggested the Riverside House, known for their superb seafood platters. A bit noisy sometimes, but the level of informality, and the mid-range pricing made it a good choice she thought. The last thing she wanted was clinking wine glasses by candle light.

  At the restaurant, she easily got him talking. She kept the conversation mostly on their business careers. She didn’t want to hear long accounts of his personal life or hopes and dreams. He admitted that back when he was facing college, he was drifting, not at all focusing on a career in the Department of Justice. His father was a CPA, which might explain why he came out of Trenton State College not with a law degree, but with a major in accounting.

  He casually interviewed with the FBI on campus expecting at the most a boring desk job in Washington knee deep in financial statements looking for fraud. The FBI had other plans for him. After considerable testing and training, they handed him a gun and a badge, gave him more training, and put him out in the field as a Special Agent.

  She enjoyed that story and felt obligated to say a few words about herself working as a field investigator for a classy Philadelphia defense law firm, while attending law school. He was smiling and nodding, when she realized he had checked her out and probably already knew more details of her background than she did. She stopped in mid sentence and pointed a finger at him laughing.