It must feel to Dylan like I’m wrapping up our case, as the level of significance of today’s witness has not been very high. I surprise him with a request I have for Judge Matthews just before the lunch break. I ask if we can meet in her chambers, and she schedules that meeting for right after lunch.
When we convene there, I say there is a potentially hugely significant development that will either bear fruit or not over the course of the weekend. I ask that we adjourn until Monday.
“Can you be more specific?” Judge Matthews asks.
“I’m afraid I can’t, Your Honor. I don’t want to be dramatic about it, but if what is happening were to get out, lives would be endangered.”
Dylan smirks. “Glad you don’t want to be dramatic.”
“Your Honor, I can call some meaningless character witnesses if I need to run out the clock this afternoon. But if we adjourn, then on Monday the case will either take an entirely new turn, or I will rest our case. It all depends on this weekend.”
Dylan doesn’t bother fighting this; he gains nothing by me putting on the character witnesses. Judge Matthews grants the adjournment for the day, but insists that I be ready one way or another on Monday morning.
It’s a promise I am able to make, because by Monday the boat will have sailed, maybe literally.
Mateo Rojas had managed to remain successful, and alive, by being unpredictable.
The target date for the end of the operation—or, in Rojas’s eyes, the beginning of the operation—had long been October 5. But in Rojas’s view it was never carved in stone, and it was about to change.
There were three main factors in Rojas moving things forward. For one, the preparation had gone more smoothly than anticipated. Everything was ready to go; all he had to do was start the process and literally pull the trigger.
The second factor was the death of the fourth crewman, whose body had washed up on shore. It had still not been determined who had killed the crewman, but whoever it was represented a threat to the operation. They represented an unknown, and Rojas much preferred knowns.
Finally, there was the death of Frank Silvio. It had made the crewmen of the Ginny May nervous. Silvio was their boss, and more than that, they feared him and his power. If Silvio was vulnerable, and could be killed by someone more fearsome, that was very frightening to them. In their fear, Rojas knew, they could panic and do something to jeopardize the operation at a very sensitive time.
Rojas trusted his instincts, always and completely. And in this situation they told him that other threats might be out there as well, and waiting would only give them more time and opportunity to materialize.
He had no way of knowing how right those instincts were again, or that at that very moment, a meeting was going on in Newark, New Jersey, that could change everything.
Rojas called Bryce Dorsey, whom he had not seen or talked to since the beginning of the operation. He told him that they were kicking the final plan into action that morning, and the three crewmembers were to assemble at the warehouse. The good news, Rojas pointed out, was that their paydays were moving up as well.
The crewmen showed up as directed and spent three hours loading the goods. Rojas pitched in as well; he was not opposed to doing hard work, as long as it could speed things to their conclusion.
When it was over, Rojas lined them up and calmly shot them each in the head. They had known what they were getting into, what they were doing, and what the potential rewards were. What they had failed to realize, until it was too late, was who they were dealing with.
Rojas did not give them a second thought. All he was focused on was completing some paperwork, finalizing some plans, and going on his way.
The meeting is at the DEA office on Mulberry Street in Newark.
Four DEA people are waiting there when I arrive. One is Stephen Watts, the principal deputy administrator, based in Washington. His presence alone is an indicator that they view this as being of the highest importance. Also there are Natalie Brookshier, the special agent in charge of the New Jersey Division, and two other agents who are under Agent Brookshier.
Cindy Spodek has come down as well. She will be a combination representative of the FBI and babysitter for me. She may even have brought along a pacifier.
Watts defers to Brookshier to run the meeting. She thanks me for coming and starts by asking me why I was asking about amephrotane.
Instead I turn to Cindy. “Would you like to explain the quid-pro-quo situation to them?”
She nods and turns to them. “Andy’s a pain in the ass.”
“Thanks, Cindy, I’ll take it from here. In this case, it’s very simple,” I say to Brookshier. “I tell you what I know. If it turns out that I am right—and believe me, I am right—then it’s going to be huge for you. In return, I require that you come forward, tell the truth, and help me defend my client, who is innocent.”
Brookshier nods. “If it’s as you say.”
“Good. Now, I have one question. Who in your organization did James Haley contact?”
Based on Brookshier’s reaction, I can see that I’ve hit a nerve already, always a good way to start a meeting. She turns to Watts, who silently nods his okay.
“He spoke to an agent in the Washington office. He said that he had huge news about a drug ring that was going to be the biggest drug story in years, maybe forever. He would share it, if he could have the entire exclusive on it. He was making a movie. He wanted us to cooperate, to do on-camera interviews.”
“What did the agent say?”
“That we get a number of claims like this, and that when Haley had something solid, he should come to us with it. That we couldn’t make any promises until we saw his evidence. How did you know about this?”
“I didn’t know for sure, but Haley had a rental car in New Jersey and was planning to return it in Washington. It fit with everything else I know.”
“I think it might be time to hear what you know,” she says.
“Almost,” I say. “I sent Cindy a photograph of a guy that she showed to you. Who is he?”
“The name he goes by is Mateo Rojas. There’s no reason to go into the details now, but suffice it to say that he is an international drug criminal and an extraordinarily dangerous individual. If he is involved, the matter is very serious. Let’s start there. Why did you have his photograph?”
“It was taken outside a vacant strip mall store. He had just murdered Frank Silvio, a Paterson gang leader named Chico Simmons, and one of his lieutenants. When I leave here, I will be reporting that fact to the Paterson police. I sent it to you because I assumed he was involved in this, but I have no personal knowledge of what his role is.”
Watts speaks for the first time since the meeting started. “Just what do you have personal knowledge of?”
I’ve given a lot of thought to what I should tell them, and I’ve opted to limit it to the conspiracy itself. There’s no need to talk about Chico Simmons or George Adams; they are peripheral players in this. And I’m certainly not going to mention Marcus dispatching the crewmember who attacked Lorna Diaz.
“There’s a sponge-diving boat in Wilton Keys, Florida, called the Ginny May. It takes tourists out every day while the crew dives. They are somehow retrieving drugs and bringing them to shore; with the tourists on board, there’s no reason anyone would be suspicious. And I’m pretty sure at least one member of the local police force is corrupt.”
“Where are they getting the drugs from?”
“I suspect a ship is dropping them into the water; it’s said to be only eighty feet deep there. The drugs are probably weighted down, and I’m sure they are encased in what looks like natural sponge. The smugglers behind all this, and I assume Rojas is a leader in that group, have arranged for distribution outlets for their drug all over the country. In Paterson it was Chico Simmons; in Philadelphia it is Fat Tony Longo. I imagine the recipients of the drugs are paying huge fees for it, much more than they would traditionally pay. I’m sure other loc
al people around the country are doing the same. And I believe the smugglers are also providing some start-up money to people like Chico Simmons, so that they can consolidate their operations and be ready to move on day one.”
“People like Chico and Fat Tony haven’t had too much difficulty getting drugs in the past. Why would they go along with it?” Brookshier asks.
“It’s a new product, very different than any that has preceded it. So they are treating it like any smart company would: they’re building up interest and demonstrating its appeal before giving it a national rollout. It could be a video game, or a new type of chalupa … doesn’t matter … the marketing is all the same. It’s the new big thing to come along.”
“How is it different?” Brookshier asks.
“I’m not sure of all the ways; there could be more,” I say. “But for one thing, it is incredibly, almost instantly addictive. And then…”
“Oh my God,” Cindy says, interrupting, a look of horror on her face.
“What’s the matter?” Brookshier asks.
“Did you read the material you sent Andy? Did you even read it?”
“Does somebody want to explain this?” Watts asks.
I turn to Cindy. “You want to take it?”
“These murder victims … the homeless men,” she says, the horror still evident on her face. “They were guinea pigs … they were experiments.”
Everybody just stares at her, so she continues. “Don’t you see? None of them had prior drug use; that’s why they were chosen. The demonstration was to show how quickly they could get them addicted. It was one of the selling points of the new product. It’s in the autopsies; they all showed signs that could indicate the victims had experienced withdrawal.”
I nod. “I’ve had a coroner go over the autopsies you provided me. She’s positive that I’m right about this. You could have your experts examine it as well, but they will come to the same conclusion, and by then it will be too late.”
“What else did you learn?”
“That the drug quickly breaks down in the system; that’s why there were no traces of anything other than the amephrotane,” I say. “So it’s highly addictive and the need for more is almost immediate. The ideal new product.”
“Shit,” Watts says.
“I’m sure there must be other aspects that make it so desirable. For example, I imagine that the quantities necessary are very, very small. That’s why so much could be brought in by one boat, even though it was over time.”
“Where is all of it now?”
“My investigation shows it is in a warehouse outside of Wilton Keys. The warehouse has very substantial surveillance and alarm capabilities, much more than would be needed to protect a bunch of sponges. I have reason to believe it is not shipping out until around the fifth of the month.”
“You’re positive about this?” Brookshier asks.
“I haven’t seen the drugs, if that’s what you mean, but I’m positive. There simply cannot be another explanation.”
“He’s right,” Cindy says.
“You have the location?” Brookshier asks.
“I do.”
“And Haley learned about this?”
I nod. “He certainly knew about a lot of it. I can demonstrate how I know this, but it’s not essential for this meeting. I don’t know if he knew all the details, but it was enough to get him killed.”
Just then my cell phone rings; I had meant to turn it off, but forgot. I glance at it and see that it’s Laurie. “It’s Laurie,” I say to Cindy. “She knows I’m here and wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t important.”
I answer the call and Laurie says, “Willie just called. Marcus asked him to tell you there’s activity at the warehouse. The guy who killed Silvio and Chico is there. He thinks they’re about to move out.”
Willie hung up after Laurie said she would contact Andy and call him right back.
Marcus had moved closer to the warehouse to get a better look at what was going on. There had not been any sign of activity in the place for a while, but they knew the four people were still in there.
Marcus had stayed in Willie’s line of vision while Willie was on the phone, but then suddenly he was gone. Willie had no idea what happened to him, whether he had gone around the back or inside.
He decided he couldn’t sit there and wait for Laurie to call back; he had to find out what happened to Marcus. Four against one was daunting, even for Marcus. Four against two, when the two were Marcus and Willie, was a fair fight, no matter who the four were.
So Willie turned off his phone ringer and started for the warehouse.
I turn to the others in the room and quickly tell them what Laurie said.
“We need to get people there right away,” is Watts’s response. “If they get on the open road, we may never find them.”
“Unless they’re moving the stuff by boat,” Brookshier says.
I shake my head. “Doesn’t make sense. They’d have to sneak it into the country again. It’s already here; why would they go through that process again?”
Watts turns to an agent and says, “Get assets down there,” and the agent gets up to put that into action.
“I have people there; they are capable of stopping this,” I say. “Should I send them in?”
“No,” Watts says. “Tell them to wait for our people.”
“That could be too late,” I say. “If they get it out of the warehouse, the whole balance of power changes.”
“Is Marcus one of the people?” Cindy asks.
I nod. “And Willie.”
“On behalf of the Bureau, I say send them in.”
“You have no idea how dangerous Rojas is,” Brookshier says.
I turn back to the phone and say to Laurie, “Send them in, but tell Marcus that Rojas is incredibly dangerous.” She then asks a question, which I put to the people in the room.
“Is it okay if Marcus has to kill Rojas, or must he keep him alive?” I don’t wait for an answer; I just tell Laurie, “Whatever he needs to do.”
I hang up so Laurie can call Willie back. I’m expecting we’re going to have wait a long time to hear what happened. As confident as I am in Marcus and Willie, this is the most scared I have been in a long time.
But we have a very short wait—not more than three minutes—until Laurie calls back.
“Willie’s not answering his phone,” she says.
“Shit,” I say.
The warehouse had an elaborate security system, including cameras.
That is how we were able to see exactly how events unfolded within two hours after they happened. Laurie had finally heard back from Willie and Marcus and called to report how it went down. Then DEA agents descended on the scene, secured the video, and transmitted it up here.
There’s no way, just based on the video, to know how Marcus got inside the warehouse. It’s entirely possible, since Rojas and the others were inside, that they had just left the door open.
There is also no way to know how the three crewmen were killed, but we can see their bodies lying on the floor. I can only assume that Rojas killed them, since, in his eyes, they obviously knew too much, and he no longer needed them.
But we can see Rojas coming off the truck, then being lifted off his feet by Marcus and thrown back against the truck. We can see him reach for his gun, but Marcus is too quick for him, chopping down on Rojas’s arm.
And then Marcus backs off a few feet, as if inviting Rojas to come at him. There is no audio on the tape, so even though we can see that they are talking, we can’t know what is being said. Of course, I can’t imagine that Rojas could understand what Marcus was saying anyway; I never can.
“Doesn’t he carry a gun?” Brookshier asks. When I say that he does, she asks, “So what is he doing?”
“He’s being Marcus,” Cindy says.
So Rojas does go at him. He looks like he knows how to fight and is extremely dangerous, as advertised. Marcus completely dismantles him; it
seems like it takes ten seconds, but it might be a little longer.
“Wow,” says Brookshier.
I smile. “That’s my little Markie.”
When it’s over, Rojas is lying motionless on the floor. It’s hard to know whether he is alive or dead, and the truth is that I don’t give a shit. Willie comes into the screen and says something to Marcus, and the tape cuts off.
I turn to the others in the room. “Now for the quid pro quo.”
I’m setting my goals higher now.
Originally, my goal had been to get testimony about the drug conspiracy in front of the jury. That would have established the fact that Haley knew things about very bad and dangerous people, and would have demonstrated that they had a motive to murder him.
But if that’s all I get out of this, then Joey’s fate will still be in the hands of the jury. They will weigh the evidence about Adams and the Florida drug situation, which might seem weird and confusing and distant, against the very real and concrete forensic evidence against Joey.
So in this meeting in Judge Matthews’s chambers, I want more. Present are the judge, Dylan, Dylan’s assistant counsel, Agent Brookshier of the DEA, Cindy Spodek, Hike, and myself.
Hike wrote an outstanding brief and had it delivered to the court and opposing counsel yesterday. It brilliantly lays out exactly what happened, and our theory of the case. By design, it does not speak to our desire to get the evidence admitted at trial, for one main reason.
We want more.
Judge Matthews reads into the record the list of people present and then turns the floor over to me.
“I know you’ve read the brief,” I say, “so I won’t repeat it chapter and verse. But I do want to hit the high points.” I go on and do just that, making the connections I had never been able to make before, between Chico Simmons and George Adams and Frank Silvio and Florida.
“They were all part of the same conspiracy,” I say, “a conspiracy that James Haley had discovered and was about to expose. So they killed him and framed Joey Gamble. Chico Simmons gave George Adams Joey’s head on a silver platter.”
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