Probably to let them know the FBI has a warrant to legally enter. Maybe sending a copy of that warrant to prove it so they’ll shut off the alarm and not tell the owners.
Within a couple of minutes, the door was open, the alarm silenced, and agents were flooding into the house. Meg could hear them announcing themselves as they swarmed upstairs, their dark-jacketed forms flowing past the windows. Five minutes later, Van Cleave appeared in the front door and waved her in.
They jogged up to the front porch and stepped into a small foyer that opened up to a grand staircase leading over their heads to the main floor.
“Hawk, heel.”
Meg and Hawk followed Van Cleave up the stairs and found themselves in the windowed projection looking out over the mass of cars winding away from the house. Then they rounded the corner of the staircase and walked into a large, open-concept living space.
It was elegant and neat as a pin. And as cold and sterile as the outside of the home. Almost everything was stark white—from the walls, to the decorative columns that separated the dining room from a living space full of white sofas and chairs, to the cabinets in the kitchen. Only the odd splash of color broke the chill of the snowscape: The kitchen counters were pale pink marbled with black, the cushions of the rococo dining chairs were midnight blue, and the throw cushions on the couch were blood red. Other than that, sterile white covered every surface.
“Great living space, isn’t it?”
Meg sent him a side-eyed glance. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Definitely. The house is an ice palace. Seems kind of unusual for a man living on his own.”
“Maybe it says something about his personality. Cold and detached. In it for the money.”
“Which he evidently has plenty of. One thing I can’t fault him for is the view. It’s pretty spectacular.”
Meg wandered to the far end of the living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows had no drapes to warm them, but it also allowed for a panoramic view of the expanse of the Elizabeth River. Sunlight flashed on flowing water, but even days after the storm, the river still looked churned and murky, and debris scattered the backyard. The dock at the end of the walkway to the river hung at a drunken angle, as if it had been yanked from its moorings by the rage of the river.
“The house survived the storm, even if the outside took some damage. I’ll bet before the storm, it was a pretty nice spot.”
“And will be again. Whether it is for Judge Fairfax remains to be seen.”
Meg turned away from the windows. “What’s been found so far?”
“They’re going through a room at a time, but I brought one of the computer nerds with me and she’s already hard at work on getting onto his computer.”
As if on cue, a yell came from upstairs.
“That might be her now. Let’s go up.”
An additional flight of steps carried them to the bedrooms, which blessedly held some color in the form of linens and paint.
“Where do you want me?” Van Cleave called out.
A blond head popped through a doorway at the far end of the hall. “Sir! Down here!”
The room was set up as a study with a heavy wooden desk, and book-stuffed shelving units that covered every piece of wall not taken up by windows or the door. Additional stacks of books were piled on the judge’s desk. The agent sat in front of a wide high-definition monitor, her hands flying over the keyboard.
“What have we got?”
“Full access to his system, for a start.” She glanced up. “For someone who spends his day dealing with the seedier sides of life, he had a really weak password. He should have known better.”
“You’d be amazed at the number of law enforcement officials who know what it’s like out there and still have an it-can’t-happen-to-me attitude. What’s on his system?”
The agent noticed Hawk and lit up with a brilliant smile. “Hey, big boy, you’re a handsome fella.” She tilted her head up to Meg and extended her hand. “Agent Sylvia Stiles.”
They shook.
“Meg Jennings. And this is Hawk.”
“Well, isn’t he a ray of sunshine on this case. Are you the handler and dog who found the first victims?”
“That’s us.”
“Good job.” Stiles turned back to the computer. “The it-can’t-happen-to-me attitude was in full swing here, because Fairfax has done nothing to hide his activities. Well, he’s using an anonymous email address, but it’s still coming into this computer, filtered through his own ISP. We’ll be able to get full records from them about all this traffic. But what I have here is evidence of the whole scheme. He’s in the circuit court, which tries the serious adult criminal cases and all felony juvie cases for fourteen-years-of-age and up. He has no control over who comes into his courtroom, but it looks like he and the prosecutor, Henry Fisher, a deputy Commonwealth’s attorney, are considering the cases that come before them and are hand-picking certain defendants.”
“You can track all that?” Van Cleave asked.
“He’s got spreadsheets, for God’s sake.” There was no mistaking the disgust in Stiles’s tone. “It’s the most cold-blooded thing I’ve seen in a while. He tracks everyone who goes through the courtroom. Some defendants go through more than once and get picked the second time, but not the first.”
“Maybe not vulnerable enough the first time?” Meg suggested. “Or not hardened enough, if it’s someone being picked as a ringleader.”
“He doesn’t give reasons,” Stiles said. “Only black-and-white selections.”
“He’s probably taking Fisher’s suggestions as a pool, and then making his own call during the trial itself. Fisher may also be encouraging or even pressuring defendants to plead out so they can end up in the right facility. And keeping in mind that drug cases and more minor felony charges won’t require a jury, Fairfax is literally judge, jury, and executioner on those cases. Between the two of them, they can select exactly who they want, and funnel them right into their little setup.”
“And once Fairfax makes a decision to send a defendant to the private facility, he’s letting someone know. Emails go out to an address associated with a company I’ve never heard of before, but between the ISPs, we should be able to trace it.”
“What company is that?”
“Bartlett and Kesell.”
“Really . . .” The word came out as a drawl. Van Cleave looked over at Meg. “That’s the company that owned Luke Reed’s house. It’s going to take some fancy electronic tracing, but I bet that leads back to Pate if we can dig through enough layers. Connect the dots, Stiles. Carefully and legally. This has to stick.”
“Oh, it’ll stick. Don’t you worry there. There’s also references to other aliases and several other trafficking arms—the sex trade, agriculture, massage parlors, domestics, construction, landscaping. And probably others I just haven’t found yet. Definitely there are references to other contacts, but it’s going to take a little more time to give you names there. There’s no doubt, this is big.”
“I’ve been saying all along that it’s going to come down to computer forensics and financials. Has he made any notes about financials?”
“Oh yeah. He’s exacting, this judge. Extremely detailed. He’s been at this for a while and hasn’t been caught, so he must think it will never happen. His emails and his offshore banking transactions all go through his ISP. He really didn’t think anyone would look at him, because he’s respected, with a squeaky-clean reputation as a hardliner, but one who calls his shots clearly and fairly.”
“He can do that,” Meg reasoned. “He’s got a big enough pool of potential victims and ringleaders to choose from, that his verdicts and sentences don’t look out of place. And he could use some defendants as decoys, taking people with identical charges and nearly identical cases and not sending them to Pate, to cover his tracks. Then nothing looks suspicious, but in reality, he’s cherry-picking defendants to line his own pockets.”
“Son of
a bitch,” Stiles muttered.
“On the bright side,” Van Cleave said, “I think we’re going to add a few more federal charges into the mix. Tax evasion—because there’s no way he’s declaring this income—and money laundering. There are penalties for extrajudicial compensation, and I’m going to slap him with every one of them.”
“How do you want to play this?” Meg asked. “Are you satisfied you have enough evidence to take Fairfax into custody?”
“Fairfax for sure. What about Fisher?”
“We have enough to take him into custody now, get a search warrant, and gather more evidence before he starts screaming habeas corpus. At the beginning, he’s mentioned as H. F., and it’s clear he’s a prosecuting attorney. A simple check of the Norfolk Commonwealth Attorney’s Office told me he’s the only attorney with the initials H. F. Cross-referencing of recent public criminal cases tried by Fairfax link Fisher by name. Later emails refer to him as Abe.” Stiles rolled her eyes. “It’s like they think no one watched TV in the 1970s.”
Van Cleave chuckled cynically. “Abe. Abe Vigoda. Fish from Barney Miller. Fisher.” He threw Meg a pointed look. “More aliases.”
“I’m so done with the TV and movie aliases. We’ll take them both into custody then?”
“If Stiles is sure this is enough to hold them—”
“I am,” Stiles interrupted.
“Then yes, we’re going after both.” He shot back his cuff and looked at his wristwatch. “And look at that. By the time the team organizes, we’ll be arriving at court just before the noon recess.” His grin was pure calculation. “It just so happens that both Fairfax and Fisher are in court today. Together. Trying a drug-possession case.”
“You’ll get two birds with one stone and possibly cut their next recruitment off at the pass,” Meg said.
“That is absolutely my intent. Thanks, Stiles. Pack all this up and take it back downtown and work on it more there. The warrant covers the ISP, and I’ve already sent a team over there, so that information should be coming through soon for you, as well.” He turned back to Meg and Hawk. “We’re going to head downtown. Coming?”
“Oh, you bet. I wouldn’t miss this.”
“This is the part I enjoy the most. Nothing more fun than bringing in the bad guys. Let’s go ruin their day.”
CHAPTER 29
Finish: A statement by the handler to a canine scent-work trial official that the dog is unable to find additional sources of odor.
Friday, July 28, 11:14 AM
Norfolk Circuit Court
Norfolk, Virginia
Meg met up with the group of agents who would be staging the arrests in the foyer outside courtroom 12. They clustered down the hallway, away from the heavy wood double doors that led into the courtroom. Hawk was still with her, so she stayed on the outside of the group, Hawk sitting patiently at her side.
“You’re sure this is the best way to do this?” one of the agents asked Van Cleave. “You don’t think it would be better to wait until he’s in chambers?”
“It would be more private for Fairfax, but then that separates him from Fisher. I want them both. I also don’t want him to have any hint of trouble brewing or he’ll be in the wind. He has plenty of offshore resources, has no family here, and would disappear before I could snap my fingers. No, this is the only way. I realize it’s going to cause a mistrial in this current case, but that would happen anyway, as the defendant is going to be needing a new prosecutor and a new judge.” He craned his neck, looking through the faces surrounding him. “McCarthy? Where’s McCarthy?”
“Here, sir.” A short, slightly portly man in a traditional black suit stepped between two other agents to the front of the group.
“Good. We’ve gone over your role. You go right to the bailiff and make sure this thing doesn’t become a real mess. He’s a sheriff’s officer and he’s going to be armed. We don’t want this getting out of hand. Make sure the bailiff stands down so we can do our jobs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Everyone else knows what to do? Close off the back and side doors, hold the defendant so he doesn’t get away in the confusion, keep the courtroom calm. I’ll take Fairfax. Baxter, you take Fisher.”
A tall, blond man at the front of the group nodded. “Ready when you are, sir.”
“Jennings?”
“Here. With Hawk.”
“You come in last. Stay by the main doors to keep anyone else from bolting. No one will get by Hawk, and that will also help keep people out of the aisles. Okay, let’s do this. Court has been in session since nine thirty, and he could be breaking for lunch recess anytime. Earpieces in, go get into position. I’ll give the signal to move in.”
Meg and Hawk stayed with the agents going in the main doors at the back of the courtroom while other groups broke off to man their respective doors. Van Cleave waited until the corridor had been quiet for a full sixty seconds before giving the signal. “All groups . . . on my mark. GO!”
Agents streamed through the doors into the courtroom. Cries of alarm came from the viewers at the back of the courtroom as several people shot to their feet in surprise.
The defendant, a young black man in an orange county-jail jumpsuit sat at a table near the front of the room, accompanied by his lawyer. Two lawyers sat at the other table. Meg bet the younger man on the end, dressed immaculately in an impeccably tailored suit—probably Italian—was Fisher.
Despite the shouts, Van Cleave walked up to the bench while, behind him, McCarthy was making a direct line for the uniformed Norfolk sheriff’s officer, who already had his hand on the butt of his gun. McCarthy had his flip case open to show his identification and was already talking from ten feet away. The officer’s eyes darted from McCarthy to the other agents, finally settling on Van Cleave. His shoulders relaxed and his hand moved away from his firearm, but Meg noted that it didn’t fall to his side. The officer was prepared to act if needed; the question was, in whose defense?
At the front of the courtroom, Fairfax pounded his gavel on the block. “Order! Order! Sir! What are you doing? Get out of my courtroom!”
Ignoring him, Van Cleave kept coming, pulling out his ID even as he announced himself. “FBI Special Agent in Charge Walter Van Cleave. Judge Marcus Fairfax, you are under arrest for conducting a criminal enterprise, conspiracy to recruit, conspiracy to commit sex trafficking of minors, promoting prostitution and money laundering. You have the right to remain silent—”
Fairfax shot to his feet. “You’re insane. You can’t do this.”
Van Cleave had his handcuffs out now and was stalking behind the judge’s bench. “Watch me,” he snarled.
Fairfax whirled toward the bailiff standing at the door. “Thompson. Stop this. Take these men into custody.”
The officer simply took a step back until his back bumped against the wall behind him. McCarthy’s mouth moved to form the words “thank you” to the officer.
Van Cleave took advantage of the judge’s half-turned position to snap a cuff on his right wrist, wrenching his hand behind his back as he muscled the other arm around and closed the second cuff over his wrist. He gave Fairfax a push backward into his chair. “Do yourself a favor and stay down.”
But Fairfax was trying to get up again, cursing Van Cleave.
Van Cleave put one hand on Fairfax’s shoulder and pushed down, hard, and then leaned in. Meg couldn’t hear what Van Cleave said, but she could imagine him finally loosening his iron hold on his vitriol and hammering Fairfax with a detailed list of his transgressions and what had happened to the children he’d sold for his own profit.
When Van Cleave straightened, Fairfax’s face was sheet white.
“You have the right to remain silent.” Van Cleave finished reading the full Miranda warning and then turned to Agent Baxter, who stood with several other agents grouped around Deputy Commonwealth Attorney Fisher. “Baxter, he’s contained?”
“Yes. And he’s been read his rights.”
&nb
sp; “Excellent.” Van Cleave turned to the courtroom. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for the disruption this morning, but we had no choice.” He looked at the assistant prosecuting attorney. “You’ll need to start this trial again with a new judge. Bailiff? If you could return the defendant to his cell, the prosecution and the court will require some time to reorganize.” He looked down at Fairfax and a smile slowly curved his lips. “This judge will never sit at the bench again. But he’ll be back, soon, for his own day in court.”
Van Cleave looked down the main aisle of the courtroom to where Meg stood with Hawk, blocking the back doors. She grinned back at him. Justice was blind, but this time she saw her way to uplifting the victims and bringing those responsible to their knees.
For Emma and Mary. For Celia and Leah, gone too soon. For the men and boys rescued only the day before. For most, their journey was far from over. But it was the beginning of healing and finding their way home.
CHAPTER 30
Move-Up: The ability of a dog team to compete at the next level in a multistate trial if they pass the entry-level competition on the first day.
Sunday, July 30, 11:07 AM
Cold Spring Haven Animal Rescue
Cold Spring Hollow, Virginia
Meg glanced in the rearview mirror as she turned into her parents’ long, winding driveway. McCord, with Webb riding shotgun, pulled into the driveway behind her. She turned her eyes forward to the long, rambling ranch house at the end of the driveway, encircled with a welcoming wraparound porch. The tall lines of the big red barn rose behind it, and fenced paddocks stretched into the distance in all directions.
Home.
Storm Rising Page 25