Beyond Suspicion

25

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I’m back,” said Rosa as she entered Jack’s conference room. “That was quick,” he replied.

There was nothing like the government overplaying its hand to set off a career criminal-defense lawyer, and the morning raid by the IRS had propelled Rosa into orbit. She’d insisted that he go to the emergency room while she marched off to an emergency hearing to block the IRS from accessing his computers. Thankfully, his tests had ruled out serious injury. A mild concussion, at worst. He was discharged with some Tylenol and a sheet of preprinted instructions about things he should avoid over the next few days-loud noises, sudden movements, general stress and aggravation. A trip to Disney World seemed out of the question.

“I still can’t believe those sons of bitches took your computer,” she said. “You’re a criminal defense lawyer, not a hardware store. There’s privileged information in there.”

“What did the judge say?” asked Jack.

“He wouldn’t invalidate the warrant. But I persuaded him to appoint an independent special master to examine your hard drive.”

“So the government won’t see anything that’s on my computers?”

“Not unless the special master determines that there’s something the government should see.”

“What exactly are they looking for?”

“I’m glad you asked that question. Because we need to talk.”

Jack grimaced. No matter what the context, the words “we need to talk” could never be good. “Okay, sure.”

“Basically, the government wants anything that shows money flowing back and forth between you and Jessie Merrill. Particularly, they want to know if you ever accessed that Bahamian account that named you and Jessie as joint account holders.”

His head was suddenly hurting again. “Oh, that.”

“Is there something you forgot to tell your lawyer, Mr. Swyteck?”

“I just found out about that last night from the PR of Jessie’s estate, Clara Pierce.”

“She obviously told the IRS, too. But let’s go back to what you just said: What do you mean, you just found out about it? Your name’s on the account.”

“I don’t know how it got there.”

“Well, think hard. Because I don’t want to walk into a courtroom ever again without an explanation for it.”

Jack went to the window, shaking his head. “I didn’t share this theory with Clara, but I’m pretty certain it ties in with Jessie’s threats.”

“What threats?”

“I told you before. After I figured out she’d scammed me, she threatened me. She said if I told anyone about it, she’d make them believe I was part of it from the beginning.”

“So she put your name on her bank account?”

“Sure. You know how some of these Caribbean banks are. Most of them never meet their customers. Adding a name is a snap.”

“But why would she do it?”

“It makes sense,” he said, convincing himself as he spoke. “It was the only way she could give teeth to her threat. If I leaked the scam, I’d take myself down with her. The joint account would make it look as if we were splitting the pie, fifty-fifty.”

“Pretty risky on her part. As a joint account holder you could have cleaned out the entire account.”

“Not if I didn’t know about it. It’s an offshore account. No tax statements, no IRS notices to tip me off that it even existed.”

“What about bank statements?”

“Mailed to her address, I’m sure. Probably a post office box in Katmandu. Assuming a bank like Grand Bahama Trust Company even issues bank statements.”

“So you say this was her little secret?”

“Her secret weapon. Something she’d spring on me if I ever threatened to expose her scam. It makes me look like I was part of it.”

“Now that she’s dead, it also has a way of making it look as if you killed her.”

Jack knew that the conversation was headed in that direction, but her words still hit hard. “The million-and-a-half-dollar motive. With no more Jessie, I’m the sole account holder.”

“Murder among coconspirators. That’s about the size of it.”

“You think that theory flies? That I killed her for the money?”

“Not with me it doesn’t.”

“Thanks, but you’re not the jury. Honestly, what do you think?”

“I think we just take this one step at a time. Right now, we have the IRS breathing down your neck. The ugliest beast in the bureaucratic jungle. So let’s talk philosophy.”

“By ‘philosophy,’ I assume, you don’t mean the great thinkers-Hegel, Kant, Moe, Larry, Curly.”

“I mean my own philosophy on how to deal with the IRS. I put criminal tax investigations in a class by themselves. I want to be completely upfront about this, because not everyone agrees with my views.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Here’s a good example. Let’s say you’re going to have to testify at an evidentiary hearing, and I’m preparing you beforehand for the prosecutor’s cross-examination.”

“I know the drill. Answer only the question asked. Don’t volunteer information. If a question can be answered with a simple yes or no, answer it that way.”

“Exactly.” She glanced at Jack’s wristwatch and asked, “Do you know what time it is?”

“Rosa, I know that game. I’m only supposed to answer the question asked. So, if you ask me if I know what time it is, the answer is not ‘It’s ten-fifteen.’ The answer is ‘Yes, I know what time it is.’ That routine is so old, I think I’ve seen it on L.A. Law, The West Wing, The Practice, and, if I’m not mistaken, two or three times on Law amp; Order.”

“Leave it to television to give you the wrong answer.”

“What?”

“Do you know if your watch is accurate?”

“I set it myself.”

“Do you know that it’s accurate? To the second?”

“To the exact second, no.”

“Let’s say you’re standing outside Westminster Abbey and staring straight at Big Ben. If somebody asks you if you know what time it is, do you know that Big Ben is accurate?”

“I have no way of knowing that.”

“Exactly right. Unless you’re Father Time, if someone asks you what time it is, your answer can only be what?”

Jack paused, then said, “I don’t know.”

“You got it, my friend. And that is the way you deal with the IRS.”

Jack didn’t say anything, though it struck him as a little too cute. There was a knock at the door, and Jack’s secretary poked her head into the room. “Jack, you have a call.”

“Can you transfer it into here?”

“It’s personal.”

He assumed that meant Cindy. He excused himself and followed his secretary down the hall to his office.

“It’s not Cindy,” she said. “It’s your old boss.”

“Chafetz?”

She nodded. Jerry Chafetz was a section chief at the U.S. attorney’s office. He’d been Jack’s mentor back when Jack was a federal prosecutor. Maria had been Jack’s secretary since his days with the government, so they all knew each other.

“What does he want?” asked Jack.

“Not sure. I told him you were in a meeting, but he was emphatic that I interrupt. And he was even more insistent that I not announce who it was in front of Rosa.”

Jack entered his office alone and closed the door. He stared at the blinking hold button for a second, then answered.

“Swyteck, how are you?”

Jack managed a smile. They were old friends, but there was something about working for the government that seemed to put friends on a last-name basis.

“Been better, Chafetz. I have to say, the timing of this call is pretty peculiar, even from an old friend like you.”

“Timing’s no coincidence. I hope you already know this, but I didn’t have anything to do with your computers being seized.”

“You’re right. You didn’t have to say it.”

“In fact, no one in Florida was behind it.”

Jack’s pulse quickened. “This was ordered out of Washington?”

“It’s the organized-crime strike force.” He’d almost sighed as he said it.

“They think I’m with the mob?”

“I can’t tell you what they think.”

“Who’s the bag boy?”

“Sam Drayton. Pretty big player, but I’m so pissed at him right now I can hardly see straight. This predawn-raid bullshit isn’t the way to treat a former prosecutor like you.”

“I can fight my own battles,” said Jack. “Don’t get yourself caught in a bureaucratic crack over this.”

“I’m not crossing any lines. All I did was get you a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“Somehow, you fit into Drayton’s strategy. I can’t tell you how, but I was at least able to convince Drayton that your come-to-Jesus meeting ought to be sooner rather than later. It just isn’t right for him to string you along like a common criminal.”

“So, does Drayton want to offer me a deal?”

“All I’m saying is that you need to meet with Drayton.”

“Fine. Rosa’s my lawyer.”

“You can’t bring a lawyer. You can’t even tell her we’ve talked.”

“He wants me to go unrepresented?”

“You’re a criminal defense lawyer and a former prosecutor. You’ll hardly be outmatched.”

“It just isn’t reasonable.”

“What Drayton has to say can’t be said in front of your lawyer or anyone else. It’s for your ears only, and this is your one and only chance to hear it. Those are his terms, not mine.”

Jack fell silent, concerned. He’d seen the rivalries between the strike force and local prosecutors before. The stench of internal politics was almost bubbling over the phone line. “I appreciate our friendship, but don’t be sticking your neck out too far, all right?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is all about you.” There was an urgency in his voice, an edge that Jack almost didn’t recognize. “You don’t even have to respond to what Drayton tells you. Just listen. Think of it as free discovery.”

Jack glanced out the window at downtown Coral Gables, mulling it over. Experience had taught him that it was best not to overanalyze some opportunities. At some point, you had to trust your friends, go with your gut. “All right. Where?”

“Downtown.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible. Drayton’s here today only.”

“Give me an hour.”

“Great. See you then.”

“Yeah,” said Jack. “Can’t wait.”