Lieutenant Sanchez took a drawn-out breath, as though weighing his options, then handed the packet back to her. “We’re running a homicide investigation. You realize that?”
“You did talk to the witness across the hall, the old woman who verified that they came after the sound of the gunshot?”
“They?”
“We had another agent. Also undercover.”
“You’re killing me here, Sydney. Anything else you want to spring on my investigators?”
“No. I think that should do it. About the neighbor . . . ?”
“Yes, we did talk to her, and yes, she mentioned two cops were at the door, with guns out, so thanks for clearing up that inconsistency. Then again she also said Veronica Lake was there, so I’m not sure we can put much store in her testimony.”
“Veronica Lake?”
“Yeah. Apparently the woman’s an old movie buff. Everybody took on a description of a character to her. I think your guys were from L.A. Confidential. The corrupt cops, if I remember correctly. But back to this second officer she allegedly saw. Let’s say he was your agent. I don’t suppose you have a reason as to why he didn’t come forth while we’ve got his partner downstairs at gunpoint?”
“Like I said, deep undercover.”
“What sort of operation you running here?”
No goddamned idea, she wanted to say. What came out was, “Huge embezzlement case. You know what a cluster these things can be.”
“Next time, maybe have one of your guys waiting in the wings, give us some warning, so we don’t shoot the hell out of each other.”
“Will do. Thanks, Lieutenant.” A moment later she saw Griffin walking down the hallway. And though it hadn’t been that long since she’d last seen him, a couple weeks, maybe, she found herself looking forward to the contact. Silly, she thought. She had a high school crush on someone who did not return the feeling. He was, however, easy on the eyes, tanner, and if anything leaner, and she justified her crush as merely having good taste. Perhaps because they were in the midst of the police department, neither spoke. Outside, though, when etiquette suggested that she should have asked how he’d been, or mentioned that it was good to see him again, what came out of her mouth was, “FBI? Really?”
“I was facing down the barrel of two large-caliber weapons. You’re not flattered I thought of you?”
“Not when it’s my job on the line.”
“You’re not going to lose your job over this. I might, but yours is pretty safe.”
“Where to?”
He gave her the address of Dorian’s building, then leaned back in his seat, a vacant look about him as he stared out the window. They were stopped at a red light. A man and a woman stood on the street corner, laughing, both having just emerged from a nearby bar where a red neon light advertised beer on tap.
“How was your Christmas?” he asked out of the blue.
“It was nice. How about yours?”
He didn’t respond, and she heard the low hum of his cell phone vibrating.
Griffin answered it, listening, then told Tex, “She’s dropping me off now.”
She parked in front of his black SUV, and he opened the door, waved at her, his attention fixed on whatever it was Tex had to say.
She sat there in the dark a few moments, waiting until he started his vehicle before she drove off. And as she headed in the opposite direction toward home, she wondered if she and Griffin were ever going to be on the same page. Maybe if she had the guts to tell him exactly how she felt?
That’d be the day . . .
10
The following afternoon, Sydney looked up from her desk in the basement of the FBI Academy at Quantico, surprised to see Carillo standing there, since he was also still on administrative leave because of the shooting, and hadn’t mentioned he was flying out. And then she thought of the envelope he’d given her, the BICTT numbers she had locked in her file at home. “Has Doc found anything on the—”
“Look who’s with me,” he said, pulling both Sheila and Trip into her office.
Definitely not here because of the numbers. She waited for him to fill her in.
“Cafeteria?” he said. “Sheila and Trip haven’t eaten lunch yet. Sort of a whirlwind flight out, once we found him.”
“Perfect,” Sydney replied. “I was just about to take a break.”
They walked down the hallway to the elevator, then rode it up, Carillo silent, his hands shoved in his pockets. Sydney had a million questions, but it was clear he wasn’t willing to talk in front of the other two.
“So,” Sydney said, once the elevator started its ascent. “How was the flight?”
Trip answered, his English accent not as heavy as she expected. “A bit rocky.”
And Sheila said, “A bit? I’ve got a bruise on the top of my head from the luggage that fell out.”
The cafeteria was nearly deserted, since most FBI recruits were home for Christmas break. A few command staff lingered at some tables in the corner but basically ignored them as they walked in. Carillo dropped two twenties at the register, telling the cashier, “I’ll pick up the change on my way out. Cover whatever they’re having.” He looked at Trip. “You two good with that? Pick a table, have a seat. I need to talk to Sydney for a few minutes, go over the details.”
“Very good,” Trip said, and he and Sheila each took a tray, sliding them along the buffet counter.
Sydney and Carillo got their coffee, then took a seat near the windows. Outside, large soft flakes swirled down onto a vast white countryside. “I thought you were trying to keep this below the radar,” she said.
“Not like there’s anyone around here to see,” he replied. “This place is like a graveyard over the holidays.”
“So what gives?”
“Griffin didn’t call you, I take it?”
“No.”
“He and Tex want to interview Trip. I figured I’d bring them here to burn some time. One thing I did learn was that Trip apparently went so far as to ask the jailer to tell his attorney that he was being released two hours after his actual release time, all so he could avoid him when he got booted. He thinks his attorney is part of the plot.”
“And do we know exactly what this plot is?”
“Not yet. But I asked Doc to do some digging. Apparently his attorney is from some high-powered international law firm, which makes me wonder why they’d be interested in defending a sleazy embezzler like Trip, guilt or innocence notwithstanding. Which means the guy’s either really big on the pro bono stuff, or someone with the funds is taking a very deep interest in Trip’s extracurricular activities. Which is why I need to ask a big, big favor. I need you to put the lovebirds up for a few nights.”
Sydney, about to take a sip of coffee, lowered her cup to the table. “What happened to putting her up at a hotel?”
“Hey, it was Griffin’s idea, not mine. He didn’t want to risk a paper trail.”
“Scotty, then.”
Carillo raised his brows and simply looked at her.
“Okay, bad idea,” she said, knowing that once her ex-fiancé, Mr. By-the-book-Scotty, found out some crime was involved, he’d never let them stay—at least not without notifying his superiors. “If it was Griffin’s idea, why not at his apartment?”
“Maybe it’s not big enough. Besides, it’s just for a few days,” he said. “Until we find out what’s going on. And, hey, look at it this way. He’s thinking about you.”
Not quite what she had in mind, she thought, trying for a semblance of a smile. “Fine. They can stay.”
She and Carillo finished their coffee, then walked over to where Sheila and Trip sat eating their soup and salad.
“Good news,” Carillo said. “We can all stay at Sydney’s place.”
Sheila reached out and squeezed Sydney’s hand.
“Brilliant,” Trip added.
“Anytime,” she replied. Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her belt. “I need to get this,” she said, gra
teful for the interruption, which gave her a few moments to get past the idea that someone else was running her life. “Fitzpatrick.”
It was Earl, who worked security in the lobby. “You have a couple visitors here to see you. From the Recorder, apparently.”
“Thanks, Earl. I’ll be right there.” To Carillo, she said, “Tex and Griffin are here.”
“I told them I was heading over from the airport. I think they want to talk to Trippy, here.”
Sheila frowned. “Quit calling him that.”
“So eat up. It’s not polite to keep them waiting,” he told them. He gave Sydney an apologetic look, adding, “Hope you don’t mind. I volunteered your office.”
“Anything else you forgot to mention?”
“Hard to say. I was a bit jet-lagged.”
“Bring them down when you finish your lunch,” she said, then left to meet with Tex and Griffin.
Tex gave her a welcoming smile when she walked into the lobby. “Hello, darlin’.”
“Always nice to see you.” She looked over at Griffin, not even sure what to say to him. His poker face gave her no clue as to how he felt about this turn of circumstances. She decided, however, that it was high time to set things straight with him. In the elevator, she said, “Carillo’s bringing Trip and Sheila down once they finish lunch, so that should give us plenty of time to go over the details.”
“Details?” Griffin said. “We just want a drawing.”
The elevator door opened and the three stepped out into the basement hallway. She looked over at Griffin. “A drawing? Why am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on?”
Tex looked from her to Griffin, saying, “I’ll, uh, wander down to Sydney’s office and let you two hash it out.” He hesitated, then added, “Which would be where?”
“Third door to the right.” She waited until he disappeared into her office before turning her attention to Griffin. “Every time you guys walk in here looking for me, something bad happens. And now you want me to put up one of your witnesses in my apartment?”
“First off, they’re really Carillo’s witnesses. Second, all we’re asking is a few days. Until this blows over.”
“They tried to kill Carillo because they thought he was Trip. They killed someone last night, almost beneath your nose,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice low.
He looked at her for a full second. “We’re helping Carillo and you’re mad at me? What’s this really about?”
“You could have called and asked me, not Carillo.”
“I’m sorry. But for God’s sake, it’s just a drawing.”
“It’s never just a drawing with you, Griffin. Or I’d still be sitting in my office blissfully unaware that ATLAS even existed.”
She turned away, feeling like a fool, not even sure why she was blowing up at him, and she walked down the hall and stopped in front of her door, only to find Tex sitting on the edge of her desk, pretending exorbitant interest in an outdated copy of the vehicle code that a previous agent had left behind. “How much did you hear?”
“Pretty much all of it, darlin’. But I’m on your side. He should have called you. Not nice. He does, however, need your help.”
“The problem is, when it comes to Griffin, ‘help’ is a four-letter word.”
11
Carillo sat in the back of the room while Tex interrogated Trip. Sheila sat in a chair off to one side, her attention on a Better Homes and Gardens magazine that Sydney dug up to keep her occupied during the process. Carillo had not questioned Trip on the plane trip over. He was a smart enough investigator to realize that something bigger than embezzlement was going on, and not just because Trip wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the entire truth.
“I told you,” Trip said to Tex. “I didn’t call that attorney, Ferris Gerard. He just showed up at my arraignment, saying he was representing me. It’s not like I was in any position to turn down a lawyer.”
“Had you ever met him or anyone else from his firm?” Tex asked.
“No. Frankly, I thought maybe it was a perk of the job. They were paying my salary, housing, and transportation, so why not an attorney? I think that’s when I started realizing that maybe this was all too good to be true. All I did was keep the books.”
“That was your job? A bookkeeper?” Tex said.
“Yes. Apprentice, actually.”
“So you had no experience at it?”
“Only a bit. I came from an accounting company. I was let go in the downturn. I wasn’t very good,” he admitted. “Which was why I was so amazed. But they said they were all about second chances, and someone from my old firm recommended me.”
Sheila rolled her eyes, before focusing on the magazine once more. “A patsy, you mean.”
His cheeks reddened, and Carillo, feeling sorry for him, said, “You don’t know that.”
“No,” Trip said. “She’s right. I think deep down I’ve known for quite some time. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“Okay,” Tex said. “Clearly you were brighter than they thought, or they wouldn’t be after you. What’d you do that got their interest?”
“I’m not sure. There was the time when I first noticed that there was an error in the bookkeeping. The figure that was totaled for the deposit was much lower than the figure I thought was brought in by the last fund-raiser. It was off by at least a couple of hundred thousand if not more. Normally I don’t know how many tickets are sold to these high-priced formal events. That’s handled by Marsha and Shirley in the office down the hall, but I remember passing by their office and hearing one of the women mention that she’d sold two hundred tickets.”
“How much were the tickets?” Tex asked.
“Twenty-five hundred dollars. Each. I remember doing the math in my head, thinking there were a lot of rich people in San Francisco who care more about bringing in refugees than helping the poor people in their own backyards. We’re talking five hundred thousand dollars, and that doesn’t include the items sold in the silent and live auction at the dinner. But when I got the deposit the next week, there was less than two hundred thousand dollars accounted for. I brought it to my supervisor’s attention, and he told me he’d look into it. When I asked him about it again, he said he’d taken care of it, that someone had transposed a figure and he’d fixed it. But the thing is, when I checked the bank statements, they deposited less than three hundred thousand.”
“So two hundred K is missing?” Carillo asked.
“Of ticket money. It’s possible there’s silent auction money missing as well.”
“So that’s when they started riding you?”
“They weren’t riding me at all. They moved me to another building, telling me it was a promotion, gave me more money, less hours, and left me alone.”
“What sort of promotion?”
Trip started tapping his fingers on the tabletop, realized what he was doing and clasped his hands together in his lap. “Phone solicitations. I was in charge of the phone bank. Thirty people in a basement all assigned to cold-call for donations to the refugee program. We’d take it all. Cars, clothes, anything they had lying around, and the stuff didn’t even have to work. We just needed it so that the government would match it with cash. That’s when I called Dorian here in D.C. with my suspicions, asking him what he thought.”
Tex leaned back in his chair. “Remind me how you and Dorian knew each other?”
“We both worked for the same volag.”
“Volag?”
“Short for volunteer agency. He still does, or, did, until . . .” He took a deep breath, looking uncomfortable.
“So you called him,” Tex said, guiding him back.
“Right. He said he’d take a look. As I said, he works—worked for A.D.E. Affinity Data Enterprises. They’re sort of an umbrella over all these refugee charities. Handled all our accounting. A few days later he said he found the same thing with some other charities.”
“What other charities?”
“This . . . volag you worked for, A.D.E.?” Tex asked. “Based in London?”
“No. Here in the States. They have offices in London. Hell, they have offices all over the place. Any country that’s moving refugees, there’s an A.D.E. office.”
Interesting, Carillo thought, and he slipped from the room to call Doc in San Francisco. “You busy?” he asked. “I was wondering if you’ve found anything on this charitable organization called A.D.E. Something’s up with this group.”
“As in they’re not doing any of this out of the goodness of their hearts? You realize I was already one up on you? I started digging into them after you shot your wife’s maid. Well, the fake one.”
“Find anything?”
“Beyond the obvious? Sending an assassin out on an embezzlement case? I’ve tried a dozen ways to see how it connects to this charitable organization and I’m finding nothing. Zilch. Like their haloes are glowing so brightly, you can’t see past all the warm and fuzzy. It’s sending the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.”
If there was one thing Doc was good at, it was sensing things on a deeper level, an uncanny ability to know when something wasn’t right. And even without the hit on Trip, clearly something wasn’t right. “I’ll be careful. Keep me informed.”
12
“Let’s start off with a basic description,” Sydney said, angling her pencil to the topmost corner of the paper. She decided that she needed to put all her conflict with Griffin aside. Clearly he didn’t feel the same way about her as she did him, and it was now getting in the way of their working relationship. “The woman you saw in the elevator.”
The Black List Page 5