Legally Dead

by Edna Buchanan

  That was the good news.

  The bad news was that Venturi had been subpoenaed to appear in front of a Washington, D.C., grand jury to answer questions about WITSEC, the Salvi case, the armored-car robbery, the murdered witnesses, his activities in Florida, and trips made out of the country. They wanted to see his passport, his financial records, and his income tax returns. They also asked for the names of witnesses who could corroborate his testimony. Vicki was mentioned by name, among others.

  He also needed to prepare a defense in the wrongful-death action filed by the parents of the two little girls murdered by Gino Salvi.

  He discussed his complicated future in Danny’s study one night after dinner.

  “The FBI, the Justice Department, federal prosecutors, the IRS, and the Russian mob are on my case,” he concluded. He had already consulted a Miami lawyer and hired another to represent him in Washington.

  “You know how our justice system works,” Danny said. “It may not be perfect, but it’s the best in the world. You know what you have to do, bro. You have no choice.”

  “I hate the idea, but you’re right,” Michael said. “I have to respond to the subpoena and answer their questions. Vicki’s coming with me. She’s willing to testify.”

  “So am I,” Danny offered. “Luz and the kids will have to come along. She’s close to her due date. After all that’s happened, I have to be there when the baby arrives.”

  Venturi explained it all to Keri. She also volunteered.

  “I won’t let Luz travel without me in her condition. She’s been under so much stress. I didn’t see her through this pregnancy so a total stranger could deliver this baby. And I want to be there for you, Mikey.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “It’s high profile, a big deal, a huge sacrifice.”

  She was adamant. “Do you mind if Maheen comes along? I’ve been in contact with a reconstructive surgeon in Baltimore. I’d like him to see her while we’re there.”

  Venturi had no objection.

  Keri notified the hospital that she’d be away for at least a week.

  Danny chartered a plane to fly them from Miami to Dulles Airport.

  No one was left to care for Scout and Venturi hated to board him, so he booked a pet-friendly hotel and the dog went with them.

  They left Miami in what pilots call severe clear, a brittle cobalt blue sky with not a cloud in sight. Perfect flying weather.

  They took off early, with Danny at the controls. Venturi had a 4 p.m. briefing set with his lawyers and was scheduled to testify at 11 a.m. the following day.

  The event was highly anticipated in the press. Several columnists and TV pundits predicted that the future of the Witness Protection Program might hang on the revelations to come.

  A Miami News reporter showed up at the airport to interview the departing witnesses. Resigned to what lay ahead, they were friendly; they smiled, waved, and boarded the plane.

  The flight, skirting the East Coast, took slightly more than an hour.

  A number of Venturi’s former colleagues at the U.S. Marshals Service were also on the witness list.

  Ruth Ann, the office manager, answered a phone call shortly after noon.

  Coworkers heard her cry out and saw her rush into the chief’s office, her expression stricken.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  “Something terrible happened! Michael Venturi, his friend’s family, a doctor, all of them…” She burst into tears.

  It took several moments before she could catch her breath and speak. “Their flight exploded in midair,” she gasped, “off the Georgia coast east of Savannah. The passengers and pilot of a Delta jet and witnesses on the ground saw the fireball. The plane went down in pieces.”

  The chief stared at her in disbelief. “Survivors?”

  She clutched her arms, as though in pain, and shook her head.

  “All the Coast Guard and rescue ships found was an oil slick, wreckage, and scattered luggage.

  “They’re gone. All of them.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am grateful to pilot Tim Boyens, that high flying-captain of the sky, to the ever cool Daniel Eydt of the Miami-Dade Police Bomb Squad, to Susan Fleming, whose resourceful and dedicated work always inspires me, to the adventurous globetrotting journalist Sibohan Morrissey, and to artist Carol Garvin, who captures Miami’s true essence.

  Former Miami Shores Police Chief Dick Masten, the world’s greatest cop, generously shared his expertise, as did former NASA assistant specialist Larry Painter, and Gary Alan Ruse.

  I owe special thanks to the friendship and fertile imaginations of Rodney Toth, Mitzi Major, Char Eberly, Dr. Larry Baretta, Lynn Fitzpatrick, and super tenor, Dale Kitchell.

  The brave and beautiful redhead with a gun, Lt. Joy Gellatly of the Savannah Chatham Metropolitan Police Department, never lets me down. Neither do the three other glamorous redheads, Mimi Gadinsky, Teresa Lane, and Marilyn Lane: my chief accomplice, coconspirator, and getaway driver.

  Thank you to Pauline Winick, Howard Kleinberg, Mort and Sybil Lucoff, and to all my other brilliant and eloquent Sesquipedalian friends, including my steadfast and accomplished buddies: Patricia Fussell Keen and Dr. Howard Gordon: surgeon, pilot, and raconteur extraordinaire.

  Terry Bauer and U.S. Marine Sgt. Scott Jones didn’t hesitate to share with a stranger.

  My mouthpiece, Florida’s foremost criminal defense attorney Joel Hirschhorn; my pastor, the Reverend Dr. Garth Thompson; and my friend Leonard Wolfson do their best to keep me out of trouble. Not an easy job.

  Dr. Stephen J. Nelson, Chairman of the Florida Medical Examiners Commission and Chief Medical Examiner for the 10th District of Florida, and William C. Cagney III are always there when I need them, along with Shane Willens, his girls Crystal and Angel, Renee Turolla, David M. Thornburgh, Ann Hughes, Mary Finn, Kay Spitzer, Norry Lynch, Edward Gadinsky, and my friend Juan Pujol, who can open any door—without a key.

  My heartfelt thanks go to Karen Sampson and her late husband and partner, forensic genius William Sampson. He will always be alive in our hearts.

  Dr. Mel Yoken, Miami Herald reporter Andrea Torres, and retired Herald veteran Arnold Markowitz all helped with this book. As did the famous Ruth Regina, Simon & Schuster’s meticulous and creative Mara Lurie, ace private investigator Ralph N. Garcia, and the astonishing Glenn Lane. They all have more great stories than any newspaper, and they are willing to share.

  Thanks as always to my agent, Michael Congdon; to my editor, Mitchell Ivers; and to Katie Grimm, Katie Grinch, and Cristina Concepcion.

  And a big, long-distance smack on the lips to the tough and savvy Daniel P. Hughes.

  Friends are the family you choose.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  EDNA BUCHANAN commanded The Miami Herald police beat for eighteen years, during which she reported the stories of three thousand homicides and won scores of awards, including the Pulitzer Prize in 1986 and the 2001 George Polk Award for Career Achievement in Journalism. She attracted international acclaim for her classic true crime memoirs, The Corpse Had a Familiar Face, reissued by Pocket Books in 2004, and Never Let Them See You Cry. Her first novel of suspense, Nobody Lives Forever, was nominated for an Edgar Award. In 1992, Buchanan introduced Britt Montero, a Cuban-American reporter, in Contents Under Pressure. Montero’s adventures in crime continued through eight novels; the most recent was Love Kills, in 2007. Her first entry in the Cold Case Squad series was Cold Case Squad, published in 2004, followed by Shadows. In addition to seventeen books, Buchanan has written numerous short stories, articles, essays, and book reviews. She lives in Miami.

 

 

 
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