Killing Pace
Page 26
He stepped away and Jardine took his place.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Powell. And thank you all for coming today. By the time you return to your vehicles, I think you will agree that your attendance was worth the long wait. We have today taken into custody a senior Customs agent whom we suspect on very strong evidence to have been responsible for a long series of criminal acts that will be revealed to you in the coming days and weeks. But that is not the real story today. There is someone here we want you to meet. A courageous young woman who has spent the last two months as a fugitive from federal, state, and local law enforcement. A hunted woman who also happened to be a highly decorated Customs agent herself. A woman who was on the run from the law because she was wanted for a double murder in Palm Beach, Florida.” He paused. “Yes, I can hear you asking: Why are you, a police officer, standing before us and praising this dangerous woman? Because we now know that she was deliberately framed for those crimes. And, because she is not only responsible for the apprehension of one of the key members of the conspiracy to have her falsely accused—the person I mentioned that we now have in custody—but because she is single-handedly responsible for exposing a criminal organization that has been trafficking in kidnapped children.”
He let the audience marinate in that sick concept for a few seconds, and then continued.
“I said children, but let me be more specific. I’m talking about babies. At this moment in the investigation, we have evidence of forty-two infants who were stolen from their parents in the refugee camps of Eastern Europe, the Balkans, and probably Turkey, only to be smuggled into America for sale to high-end bidders in the black market adoption industry. The dauntless woman who exposed this barbaric trade conducted much of her investigation while she was herself a fugitive. That is why I describe her as courageous, and that is why I believe it is time for the world to meet her.”
Jardine turned to face the door. It swung open, and Laura emerged, carrying Gisella in her arms. As she walked toward the podium, Jardine turned back to the reporters.
“And one more thing, ladies and gentlemen of the press … many of you standing here are already familiar with this woman’s name. Please meet Special Agent Laura Pace.”
Scattered murmuring quickly morphed into claps and whistles. There was a ripple of movement as the entire crowd pressed closer.
Laura gently delivered the baby into Jardine’s arms.
She stepped to the microphone.
The parking lot went silent.
“The little girl Detective Jardine is holding has a name. But we don’t know what it is. All we know is that she is number forty-two. When we found her two days ago, she was severely dehydrated. That was because, unlike forty-one other babies who are being raised in homes across the United States, she had not yet been adopted. But she has one thing in common with the other forty-one children: All of them were stolen from their parents.”
* * *
At Dominic Lanza’s house in Florham Park, New Jersey, he and Carlo Barbieri sat in matching chairs. A big-screen television was on, and Laura Pace’s voice was filling the room.
“The story I’m about to tell you began two years ago, and what I say will probably become very controversial. I am unable to give you all the details; much of this story will have to await an eventual trial, or, more likely, a series of trials both in this country and across the Atlantic. What I can say to you now is that extremely serious criminal charges will be sought against certain American citizens and against the citizens of at least ten European countries. These charges arise, as Detective Jardine has told you, from a vast conspiracy to traffic in infant children.”
“She might let something slip. About us. About the auto parts.”
“She won’t.”
Carlo’s phone rang. He answered. He listened. He disconnected.
“It’s done.”
“Italy?”
“Clean sweep.”
“Nelthorp?”
“Bottom of Providence Channel.”
Dominic nodded and went back to watching the TV.
“Miss Pace and that U.N. woman. They will guess. About Nelthorp. They won’t be happy.”
“I made no promises. They understood that.”
“I’m speaking here of the kidnapping and sale of babies, some of whom were as young as three months when they were taken. They were stolen from their helpless parents in those refugee camps for the sole purpose of selling them to wealthy, childless couples in the United States. They were stolen, and in rare cases purchased, from parents who have lost everything. People with no voice and no influence. People whose complaints fall on deaf ears. These babies are now being raised by people who probably tell themselves every night when they put that child to bed that they are doing a good thing. That they have saved a child from a life without hope.” She paused. “That will be for them to explain when they are located. And locating them will not be difficult. We have recovered the fake adoption files relating to each and every one of the forty-one children who preceded this little girl into this country.”
* * *
In his D.C. apartment, Richard Bird polished off a second glass of champagne as he stared at his television, riveted by the girl he had adored since high school. Riveted by seeing her do exactly what she had sworn to him she would do—“blow this thing wide open.”
“Without the assistance of Detective Jardine, one of the ringleaders of this despicable baby laundering network would never have been arrested. And who is that person? She—and yes, I said ‘she’—is a senior official at Customs and Border Protection. Detective Jardine was careful not to name her, and so I will not, but I have no problem in telling you that for the past eighteen months, this woman was my own direct supervisor.”
* * *
In her spotless office at the U.N., Renate Richter sat at her desk, watching Laura’s face above the shimmering BREAKING NEWS crawler at the bottom of the screen.
“Apart from a long list of other crimes, she participated in a conspiracy to have me falsely accused of murder, and then to have me killed. She is also someone, I make clear, who was involved in a sexual relationship with the FBI special agent who was in charge of hunting me down for crimes I did not commit. That agent will have much to answer for as this investigation proceeds.”
There was a knock. The door opened and the secretary general entered. He carefully shut the door behind him. He pulled up a chair.
“I will, of course, cooperate in every way I can with federal and state law enforcement authorities. However, in view of my recent experiences, I will not speak with any of them unless I am accompanied by a criminal law attorney of my choice and by Detective Scott Jardine. Detective Jardine is the only law enforcement officer in this country who believed I was innocent when no one else would, and right now, he is the only one I completely trust.”
“I thought you’d want to see this,” the SG said. He laid a newspaper in front of Renate. His index finger tapped a headline:
FOUR UNDERWORLD FIGURES DIE IN PALERMO, SICILY
ITALIAN POLICE DESCRIBE ‘MAFIA-STYLE HITS’
He pointed to another headline farther down the page:
MAFIA ‘PADRINO’ ANTONIO MAZZARA DEAD IN ITALIAN PRISON
“Collateral damage,” Renate said.
“A success, then?” the SG asked. It wasn’t really a question.
“Ja.”
On the screen, Laura was wrapping up.
“Sometimes we Americans tend to be smug about corruption. We like to think the worst corruption is somewhere else … ‘over there’ … in those other countries we call the Third World. Since 2001, we have spent a trillion dollars creating a gigantic, secretive security bureaucracy. But we forgot something. We forgot human nature. We forgot to keep a close eye on the people who are supposed to be keeping us safe. We were asking for corruption, and that’s what we got.
“I don’t know if this conspiracy goes higher in the department. That will be for other investigators
to determine. Effective immediately, I am resigning from my position with the Department of Homeland Security. The paperwork shouldn’t be difficult, since I’ve been under suspension without pay since I was framed for murder by one of the department’s own officials. In that respect, the director may expect to hear from my attorney.
“This is the only time I will appear before the media to discuss this case. I am very grateful to all of you for taking the time to come here today. Thank you.”
The scene erupted in a clamor of waving arms and shouted questions.
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be taking any questions.”
Laura Pace turned away. She took Gisella back from Jardine. Holding the little girl close, she walked toward the door. Lieutenant Powell held it open for her. The image on the screen blurred, then resolved, as the camera zoomed in. It followed her until she disappeared from view.
“Are we seeing recruitment possibilities here?”
“Yes, sir,” Renate replied. “I’m planning on it.”
* * *
Lieutenant Powell escorted Laura back to his office. Scott Jardine followed a few minutes later.
“It’s crazy out there!” he blurted as he shut the door. “They were begging me to get you back.”
“We agreed,” Laura stated flatly. “No questions.”
“I know.”
“Are they still out there?” the lieutenant asked.
“Most of them. Talking a mile a minute on their cell phones.”
“I’m going back,” Powell said. “I have an announcement to make.”
“What announcement?” Jardine asked.
“While Laura was making her statement, I took a call from the U.S. attorney in Miami. All federal charges have been dismissed. Guess you could say I shamed him into it.”
Laura was engrossed in rocking Gisella. To her relief, the child was happily cooing in response. She glanced up.
“Shamed?”
“I called him this morning,” Powell replied, with a twisted smile. “Told him the state attorney in Palm Beach had already dismissed your murder charges. I asked about the federal indictment, and he mumbled some shit about his people ‘reviewing the situation.’ So I pointed out that the connection between Corbin and the FBI’s lead agent in the hunt for you was about to become very public, very fast, and if he kept dragging his feet, I’d be naming names on the evening news.”
“So, not so much shaming him as blackmailing him,” Laura ventured, with a note of admiration in her voice.
Gisella started giggling, as if she’d understood every word.
The lieutenant grinned. “Smart girl.”
During this discussion, every extension on Powell’s desk phone had been flashing. Ignoring the distraction, he pushed back his chair and stood up. Before he could take a step, the door opened and Eric Belrose stepped in, accompanied by the sound of stridently ringing telephones.
“Phones are ringing off the hook! Networks … major papers … everybody wants a piece of this story.” He peered across the room. “Two calls holding for you, Laura. Won’t take no for an answer.”
“Laura’s not taking calls,” Jardine said. “You know that.”
“Yeah, but one’s the U.N. secretary general. He’s on line three.”
“And the other one?”
Belrose chewed on his lip before he answered. “Says he’s Dominic Lanza.”
A second passed.
“What line is he on?” Laura asked quietly.
ALSO BY DOUGLAS SCHOFIELD
Storm Rising
Time of Departure
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DOUGLAS SCHOFIELD is the author of Time of Departure and Storm Rising. He was raised and educated in British Columbia, where he earned degrees in history and law. Over the past thirty years, he has worked as a lawyer in Canada, Bermuda, and the Cayman Islands. Douglas and his wife, Melody, live on Grand Cayman, along with their most excellent and amazing talking cat, Juno. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Lisa
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Sarah
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Lisa
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Sarah
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Laura
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Also by Douglas Schofield
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
KILLING PACE. Copyright © 2017 by Douglas Schofield. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: woman © Stephen Mulcahey; tears © Francesca Perticarini
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Schofield, Douglas, author.
Title: Killing pace: a mystery / Douglas Schofield.
Description: First edition. | New York: Minotaur Books, [2017]
Identifiers: LCCN 2017024854 | ISBN 9781250120557 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250120564 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Traffic accident victims—Fiction. | Amnesia—Fiction. | GSAFD: Suspense fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PR9275.C393 S365 2017 | DDC 813'.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017024854
eISBN 9781250120564
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First Edition: November 2017