by Joseph Badal
The next email he sent was to Victor Graves at the New Mexico Herald-Tribune: This is the last time you will hear from me. I appreciate your help and hope you’ve found some peace. Attached is a summary of what I’ve learned about the five years of home invasions committed by the Three Ghouls. You might find it helpful if you decide to publish a story about those monsters. A few questions you should ask are: Why wasn’t any of the information about the coin thefts released to the media? Who made the decision to withhold that information? How many of the victims of the Three Ghouls would be alive today if the coin collection link had been made public five years ago?
Race heaved a huge sigh. He suddenly felt free. As though he’d unburdened his soul by accomplishing the mission he’d started over three years ago. But then a new weight bore down on him as he thought about Eric Matus. Even the murders he’d committed—despite the vile natures of his victims—seemed to burden his conscience. Then the faces of his wife and daughters filled his mind and cleared it of any feeling of guilt. He whispered to himself, “Maybe I can atone for the evil I’ve done with good deeds in the future.” He didn’t feel convinced.
To try to clean his mind of bad thoughts, he picked up Victor Orlov’s cell phone and scanned through it. Apparently, the guy didn’t often use the phone or he frequently deleted most of his phone activity. There were only three names in his recent calls list. They were all Dallas numbers. When he called them, Race learned they were numbers for Orlov’s strip clubs.
There were no email accounts on the phone, but there were forty-nine listings in the Contacts section. Race scrolled down through the contacts and saw that a few showed the same telephone numbers that were in the recent calls list. He continued down the list and found that many of the listings showed only first names or initials. Nothing really piqued Race’s curiosity until he came to the two listings under the letter “S.”: “Steve” and “S.” Next to the “S” listing was the telephone number 202-555-3000. Race recognized the Washington, D.C. area code.
“Hmm,” he whispered. He dialed the number using Orlov’s phone and dropped his jaw when a receptionist answered, “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He terminated the call and asked himself, “Why would a criminal like Orlov have the FBI’s telephone number in his contact list? And why the main number?”
He scrolled back up to the “A’s” and opened each contact. Nothing. Then he opened a contact listed as SD. The telephone number for the contact also started with the D.C. area code and the same prefix in the FBI’s main number. The final four numbers were 3193. Race dialed the number and got a recording that told him he had reached the extension of a man in the FBI’s Criminal Investigation Division. The name meant nothing to him. After he considered what Orlov’s connection to the FBI might be and couldn’t come up with anything viable, he decided to send the information on to Detective Barbara Lassiter. Let her deal with it.
CHAPTER 55
“Your friend is a wealth of information,” Susan said. “His last message raises some very interesting possibilities.”
“I can come up with two reasons why Sanjay Darzi’s initials and telephone number would be in Orlov’s cell phone,” Barbara said. “Darzi’s on Orlov’s payroll, or Orlov’s an informant for the FBI.”
“Considering Orlov’s connection to the Three Ghouls, I would have to say that neither possibility would be good.”
Barbara nodded. “You wanna share with Sophia?”
“Sure.”
“How are you enjoying your vacation?” Sophia Otero-Hansen asked as she took the chair between Barbara and Susan at a table in Yanni’s on Central Avenue near the University of New Mexico.
“Ha, ha, ha,” Susan said. “It’s nice to see that Federal agents have a sense of humor.”
Otero-Hansen patted Susan’s arm. “Enjoy it while you can. You’ll be back working 24/7 again before you know it.”
Susan groaned.
Barbara said, “Our guy at OMI told us that Farmington P.D. left the Franchini house uncovered. Apparently, the place was sanitized.”
Otero-Hansen wagged her head. “Franchini called in a professional cleaning crew.”
“When the hell did he do that?” Susan said. “He was in the hospital.”
“Musta called them from his hospital bed. Claimed he didn’t want his wife traumatized any more than she was already. Didn’t want her to come home to blood on the carpet. He had the crew come in before the OMI techs arrived from Albuquerque.”
“What about fingerprints?” Barbara asked. “The guy who killed McCall must have left prints somewhere.”
“Nope. Franchini told the cleaners to wipe every inch of the place.”
“It’s like the old man wanted to destroy evidence,” Susan said.
Otero-Hansen spread her hands. “I could see why he might want to protect the guy who saved their lives.”
“Didn’t the locals put up crime scene tape?” Barbara said.
Otero-Hansen laughed. “Of course. The cleaners removed that, too.”
After a waitress took their order, Barbara asked, “Why’d the Bureau suppress the information about the coins?”
Otero-Hansen’s face reddened. She opened her mouth but didn’t say anything.
“Come on, Sophia, you can tell us.”
“I don’t know anything about why. All I know is that Lucas ordered us to keep our mouths shut about the coin collection link to the home invasions.”
“How and why’d the Bureau keep the information out of the NCIC system?” Barbara asked.
“I have no idea.”
Barbara thought Sophia looked incredibly uncomfortable. “It’s a colossal blunder or someone’s in the tank with the bad guys.”
Otero-Hansen shrugged. Then she said, “I can agree that someone made a mistake, but I don’t buy the theory that there’s corruption involved.”
Barbara pulled a copy of the email she’d received from the man who had earlier sent her Orlov’s notebook pages. “Read that,” she said.
Otero-Hansen took the sheet of paper and read it. Then she read it again. Finally, she looked up at Susan, then at Barbara and said, “Oh shit.”
“How’d you get this?”
Barbara looked at Susan and then back at Otero-Hansen. “We’re detectives. We’re paid to uncover juicy information.”
“I’ll look into it,” Otero-Hansen said.
“You’ve got forty-eight hours. If you don’t bring us an explanation that isn’t bullshit within that time, we’re going to our boss and to the media. If there’s corruption at the FBI, that’s a story that must be told.”
Otero-Hansen’s color turned dark red. After a few seconds, she turned pale.
“I wondered why Darzi came all the way from D.C. to join your team on the trip to Farmington.”
“That was curious, wasn’t it?” Otero-Hansen said.
“How will you handle this information?” Susan asked. “Based on the little time we’ve been around your boss, I suspect that asshole would probably try to suppress any information that could harm Darzi.”
“Lucas was already in trouble because of the way he handled things in Farmington. Letting that reporter go. The word is out that Darzi’s retiring Lucas, but with full pension benefits. Darzi’s doing the old D.C. two-step to cover his ass.”
Barbara shook her head. “There’s no justice.”
Susan said, “At least Lucas won’t be around to screw things up anymore.”
They sat quietly for a minute, then Otero-Hansen asked, “Anything new on your vigilante killer?”
Barbara looked back at Susan. “You go ahead, Susan.”
Susan smiled at Otero-Hansen. “We were just talking about him before you arrived. We received a phone call and email from a guy who we believe is our dark angel. He provided us with information about people involved with the Three Ghouls robberies and left us with the impression that he wanted the system to deal with them.”
“You going to share that information with me.�
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“Maybe,” Barbara said. “We’ll see.”
Otero-Hansen shot her a sour look.
“We’ve come to the conclusion the guy’s a ghost,” Susan said. “We’ll never find him, especially now that he’s stopped.”
“You mean you don’t think he’ll do any more killing? How could you possibly know that?”
“The fact that he called us and gave us information tells me he’s done.
After Otero-Hansen left the restaurant, Susan asked, “You get anywhere with that stuff our mystery man emailed?”
“Yeah. I went over most of the files. You know the people in there are rich, powerful, and influential.”
“What can two little old female detectives in River City do with a bunch like that?”
Barbara smiled. “I’ll put you up against the lot of them any day of the week. But we can always bring in Sophia if we need Federal clout.”
“Which I think we will.”
Barbara nodded.
Susan asked, “You want to get together—”
Barbara’s cell phone rang. Susan waved to tell her to answer it.
“Lassiter,” Barbara said into the phone.
“Detective Lassiter, this is Special Agent Chet MacAuslan in Kansas City. You have a minute to talk?”
“Hold on a second.”
She muted the phone and said to Susan, “An FBI agent in Kansas City. Let’s take this outside.”
They exited the restaurant and walked to the corner of the building. Barbara took her phone off mute and engaged the speaker. “I’m back, Agent MacAuslan. My partner, Detective Martinez is here, too. What can we do for you?”
“I received a call from a man who suggested I contact you regarding information he provided me. Something about the Three Ghouls crew.”
“This caller give you a name?”
“Nope.”
Barbara met Susan’s gaze and they both nodded.
“Tell you what, Agent MacAuslan, you give me what you have and we’ll reciprocate.”
The call with MacAuslan lasted ten minutes. Barbara signed off after she’d promised to send the man copies of the information she’d received the day before from the mysterious, unidentified caller.
“That was interesting,” Susan said. “Bet that insurance company CFO in Kansas City has plenty to tell them.”
“I’d love to be in on that interrogation,” Barbara said.
“How about getting together tonight to go over that stuff the guy emailed us?”
“Isn’t it your yoga night?”
“I got kicked out of the class. I guess I’ll have to find another yoga group.”
“Why?”
“I organized a revolt. You remember the guy who water-boarded me with his sweat?”
“Of course.” Barbara giggled until Susan frowned at her.
“I convinced four other women in the class to complain about the guy. They all elected me to be their spokeswoman.”
“Seems to me you all had something to complain about. Why were you kicked out of the class?”
“The guy was the instructor’s boyfriend. She really took it personally when I told her the guy smells like spoiled beef jerky.”
Barbara tilted her head and squinted at Susan. “That’s all you said?”
“Well, I may have mentioned that any woman who hung around with someone who smelled as bad as he did must have a fetish for rotten meat.”
“That will do it every time,” Barbara said.
“Anyway, do you want to get together?”
“I can’t. I have a date.”
A wistful expression came to Susan’s face. “Henry?”
“Yeah, and Roger’s coming along, too. We’re going for Chinese.” Barbara paused a second. “I’d invite you to join us, but I . . . know how you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Barbara swallowed the lump that had suddenly come to her throat. She’d been tempted to have this conversation with Susan for a long time, but had been fearful she might ruin their friendship.
“Come on, Barbara, what’s on your mind?”
“I can understand why you’d prefer dating guys who are macho men. That’s your personal preference. But treating a man badly because he doesn’t look like a man off the cover of a romance novel just isn’t right.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. “Excuse me,” she said. “I spent too many years married to a man who was everything that . . . .”
“Everything that Leno Sanchez isn’t?” Barbara said, finishing Susan’s statement.
Susan’s face reddened. She looked away.
“God forgive me for talking ill of the dead, but the only things your husband Manny had going for him were his looks and you. He lacked balls, personality, and confidence. Overall, he was just plain lacking. Guys like Leno Sanchez have all those qualities. But they’re lacking where it counts: love, affection, respect, selflessness—”
This time Susan held up a hand and stopped Barbara. “Sounds like you’ve been practicing that speech.”
“Yeah, I guess I have. I’ve wanted to say these things to you for a while.”
Susan’s eyes widened and her eyebrows arched. “I should be pissed at you.”
“Because I told you how I feel?”
“No, because you held back telling me for so long.”
Barbara tried to hide the surprise she felt but knew she’d been only half-successful in doing so. “Thanks for listening.”
Susan smiled. Then she seemed to turn melancholy. Her eyelids lowered and the corners of her mouth turned down. Then tears fell from her eyes. “My marriage to Manny was a mess. I loved him so much when we met in school. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven the day we married. But things just seemed to go downhill from there. I’ve avoided getting serious about any man ever since Manny was killed.”
“I understand,” Barbara said. “I guess your choices are to either enter a convent or open yourself up to meeting a good man.”
Susan nodded. “I guess we should take off.”
“Sure,” Barbara said.
Susan looked up at the sky. “Looks like the weather’s finally turning for the better.”
“Yeah. It’s about time. The last two weeks have been miserable. Atypical Albuquerque weather.”
Susan turned and stared at Barbara. She looked a little unsettled and a lot unsure of herself.
“You know, I’m the last person Roger would want to see,” Susan said.
“Are you saying you’d like Roger to give you another chance?”
She blushed. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Do you think he would?”
“As long as you leave Bitchy Susan at home and let Sweet Susan come out and play.”
“I can do that, Babs. I would really like to do that.”
TWO DAYS LATER
CHAPTER 56
Sanjay Darzi tried to display professional calm, even though his body seemed to be stoked on amphetamines. His three teams of Special Agents had gathered in the hangar at DFW Airport and were composed of FBI personnel from bureau offices from throughout the southwest. He raised a hand to get the attention of the thirty-five men and women. The people there immediately went quiet.
“You’ve all been briefed on our mission. Vitaly Orlov’s criminal organization stretches from Texas to Louisiana on the east and to Arizona on the west. Special Action Teams will hit Orlov’s non-Texas businesses simultaneously with the start of our operations here. Dallas police officers will join your teams. Each of you will supervise a squad of police officers and will raid the location on the ops order in the folder already given to you. I want you to rendezvous with your assigned police officers by 0930 hours. We will take down all locations at 1000 hours sharp.” He looked over the group of agents and asked, “Any questions?”
A man at the back of the hangar raised a hand and shouted, “Do we bring all contraband and cash we confiscate back here?”
“Correct,” Darzi an
swered. “There’s a secure property room set up behind me. I’ll want everything properly inventoried. All you have to do is box up whatever you find and bring it back here.”
He looked over the group again. When no other questions were asked, he announced, “It’s now 0842. Let’s do this as quickly and painlessly as possible.”
As the men and women in the hangar dispersed, Darzi waggled a finger at Special Agent-in-Charge Bruce Lucas, who walked over to him.
“You know where Orlov’s home and office are?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We’ll go to the home first.”
“You think he’s got cash and drugs stored there?”
“We’ll soon find out.”
Lucas drove a gray Chevrolet Tahoe from the tarmac outside the hangar. He swung through the industrial part of the airport and then out onto public streets. They were still a couple miles away from the Turtle Creek neighborhood of Dallas when Lucas asked, “Are cops going to join us in the search?”
Darzi shook his head. “Not necessary. I had our people evacuate Orlov’s home and office early this morning. There won’t be any resistance. Orlov’s accountant is meeting us at the house. He’ll accompany us to the man’s office, too. The CPA has combinations to Orlov’s safes and keys to his cabinets.”
Lucas scoffed. “How’d you get the accountant to cooperate?”
“We worked out an immunity deal. He cooperates and he doesn’t go to jail for thirty years on RICO charges.”
Orlov’s accountant was waiting for Darzi on the front steps of a palatial residence that looked as though it had twenty thousand square feet of space under a pitched slate roof. The accountant was a large, corpulent man with rheumy eyes, broken veins in his cheeks, and dark bags under his eyes. The guy had a tic in his left eyelid that twitched continuously.
“Lead the way,” Darzi ordered the man.
At 1000 hours, the FBI squad leaders with their contingents of Dallas police officers stormed strip clubs, restaurants, nightclubs, and office buildings owned by Vitaly Orlov. By 1015 hours, cardboard boxes full of cash, drugs, weapons, and files were already being loaded in the backs of FBI SUVs and panel trucks. The teams had hit facilities in Dallas, Fort Worth, Plano, Flower Mound, Garland, Irving, Lewisville, and a dozen other cities around the Dallas and Fort Worth metroplex.