Face of a Killer

37

Prescott eyed Sydney, gave her something close to a smile, and said, “I’m sorry about your accident.” He left the two of them alone, walked back to the car.

When Prescott disappeared inside the Lincoln, Gnoble turned to her, his hand on her shoulder. “I know what this seems like, my coming to you at this late date. But your father meant something to me. And the fact you feel that the man imprisoned for killing him might not be guilty, well, that means something to me. Prescott’s going to have a shit fit if he knew I was telling you this. But I’m going to look into it, even if it does cost me the election.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of his little speech, considering that in two days it would all be too late for Wheeler. “I appreciate it.”

He squeezed her shoulder, gave a nod of what she believed was reassurance, then walked to the Town Car. It took off just as Carillo pulled up.

“I got a call from Scotty to get my ass over here,” he said, watching the senator’s car drive off. “He’s tied up on something, and couldn’t leave.”

Sydney didn’t move at first, thinking about what Gnoble said, about looking into Wheeler’s case. She eyed Carillo. “Do you know why politicians get elected? Because they make you want to believe in them. Always be sincere, even if you don’t mean it.”

“Sort of the point, I think. Maybe my good news will counteract the crap he just fed you. First thing is that our DOJ guy is making progress with the photos. He’s hoping to finish up, get them out to us maybe as early as this evening.”

“Any indication on what he found?”

“Like I could even understand the guy? Positive to negative something or other, Gaussian, Fourier analysis, noise reduction. I have no idea what the hell he was saying. He was talking math, music, and God knows what else. But if you ever need someone to sit on the stand and impress a jury, he’s the man. More importantly, I got word that Jazmine Wheeler’s out at the clinic, so we should take a run out there, but only after we go pay a visit to Becky Lynn McKnight up north. We know Jazmine’s going to be at the clinic for the rest of the day. No guarantees on the ex-Mrs. McKnight.” “Becky Lynn? You found something more on her?” “When I was digging through that file box in the back of

Scotty’s car at the hospital, I ran across some of his notes on the BICTT banking scandal, which, coincidentally or not, sort of came to a head about twenty-two years ago. That would be right around the time Robert ‘Boston’ Orozco fled to Baja.”

“But this we already knew. So, other than the timing…?”

“There were also some copies of phone records, showing calls to Baja.”

“Whose?”

“One Becky Lynn McKnight, which is why I’d like to pay her a visit. She’s got a nice house in Sausalito, where she’s apparently lived ever since her divorce from McKnight.”

“He must have been paying her some hefty alimony.”

“Not exactly, which might be part of the reason her name’s popping up in our data banks. They weren’t married that long, she signed a prenup, and the moment they were divorced, she hightailed it back here to the Bay Area. She’s been wheeling and dealing something to maintain that lifestyle.”

“Orozco did mention that his only contact was playing both sides of the fence.”

“She certainly fits that bill, especially since it turns out McKnight did testify about BICTT, and, if the calls are any indication, she’s been feeding info to a guy who was supposed to testify but fled.” He glanced up, then down the street. “How about we talk in the car on the way over? A little more private that way. Well, as private as we can be with a couple guys shadowing us.”

“Let me put Topper in the house, then go get that age progression drawing.”

“Ah, bring the sheep.” He opened the back door, and Topper hopped in.

She sighed. “Sorry, Topper. Your daddy’s coming home soon, and he won’t be happy if you’re not here.”

The dog hesitated, but jumped down when she clapped and called his name. “Come on, Top. You can wait upstairs until he gets home.” She locked the dog inside Arturo’s place, then retrieved her briefcase from her own apartment.

Back in the car, she pulled out the sketch, holding it up. “You’re never going to guess who this is.”

“Okay, a middle-aged guy named Frank White?”

“Yes. But guess who he resembles? I didn’t really see it when I first looked at the photo McKnight sent, but then I wasn’t really looking for it, either.”

“Looking for what?” he asked, inserting the key into the ignition.

“A resemblance to Johnnie Wheeler.”

Carillo eyed the sketch. “The guy in prison?”

“The same.”

“ This is him?”

“No. But they might be related. Father, uncle, who knows? You can’t go by the name, but you definitely can go by the resemblance. We should show it to Jazmine Wheeler and see.”

“I’m gonna have to take your word on it, since I’ve never seen the guy. Question is, what the hell does it mean?”

“Maybe that Wheeler is telling the truth. Someone set him up.”

“Question is, did they set him up on purpose, or was he just a convenient patsy?” He looked at his watch. “We gotta get moving, or your shadows are going to raise all sorts of hell, and I’d like to make sure they don’t do it before we make both contacts. Since I told Dixon I was going to stop by and make sure you were okay, then go to lunch, we could stop at the Taco Bell near the methadone clinic where Jazmine works.”

“You don’t think we should stop by the clinic before we go to Becky Lynn’s?”

“Just the opposite. It’ll put me back in town when Dixon starts chomping at the bit, wondering where I’ve gone off to. And by the time we drive up north, see Becky Lynn, then come back down and hit the drive-through before we make our stop at the clinic, it’ll be too late for your shadows to do much about it.” He started up the car, looked over at her. “Of course, you’ll have to deal with Scotty and whatever repercussions come out of that, because you know these guys are gonna blow a gasket when they figure out what we’re doing.”

“Him I can deal with. Dixon, on the other hand…”

“Least of our worries,” he said as he pulled up alongside Jared Dunning’s car. He rolled down his window, waited for Dunning to lower his as well. “We’re heading to Taco Bell. One down in Bayview-Hunters Point.”

“Why down there?” Dunning asked, looking tired and annoyed.

“You are clearly not a Taco Bell connoisseur. The ones around here suck. But first we gotta make a stop up in Sausalito. Drop off some paperwork. You’re welcome to follow.”

“Isn’t Sausalito north of the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“As a matter of fact it is. We’ll only be a few minutes, if you want to wait here for us before we head back down to lunch.” Dunning uttered a few choice swearwords as Carillo rolled up his window, then politely waited for Dunning to pull out after him before he took off. “Don’t think he’s real happy.”

“I don’t think he believes you. Now, where were we? Something about McKnight testifying?”

“Right. Sort of like the story Orozco told you. McKnight testified that he believed he was an innocent patsy. That the BICTT board of directors, that would be the international guys who couldn’t legally open a bank in our country, used his all-American name to secure investors, and to cover the foreign paper trail for the real investors. He says he knew nothing about it. The involvement of BICTT was merely as an advisory capacity, for international banking matters, and that he had no idea they were actually shareholders, or that everything under the sun was going through their office before he attached his signature.”

“With a scandal of that magnitude, how the hell did McKnight survive to have his name suggested as the federal procurement czar?”

“First of all, because he was cleared. Utterly and completely, and even though the Senate subcommittee report seems to indicate his story is dirtier than hell. Might have stayed buried had the president not tried to appoint him, thereby setting a chain of events into motion. When Scotty’s friend Hatcher walked in to do a background, it was the one thing that apparently no one else really bothered to do before then. Or maybe hoped no one would do.”

“Which is?”

“Sit down and actually read a copy of the subcommittee report. All umpteen-million pages of it. It seems McKnight and his BICTT investors were purchasing shares just below the five percent that would trigger the requirement of SEC disclosure-an obvious violation of SEC law, and one that McKnight, with his banking background, would have known about.”

“So how the hell did he skate on this?”

“Could be that a certain fairly new senator was sitting in on those hearings.”

“Donovan Gnoble?”

“None other. At no time did Gnoble ever mention that he knew McKnight, shared any business holdings with him, or that McKnight served under him during his years in the service, whether enlisted, special ops, or black ops. Of course, if it was black ops, no way would Gnoble mention it. And that would certainly explain why he’d overlook some serious flaws in the hearings and let McKnight skate. He can’t tell on McKnight, and McKnight can’t tell on him.”

“So Gnoble is dirty.”

“The question is, is it government-sanctioned black ops dirt, or un sanctioned black ops dirt?”

“Or a little of both.”

“Either way, if this were ever made public, it could potentially fuck up a really nice lead in the polls if, oh, the opposing candidate found out and put the proper spin on it. And Gnoble’s not the only party who’d like it kept under wraps. CIA sure as hell doesn’t want any of this festering history back out in the open. Not if, as Orozco told you, the BICTT scandal is just the tip of a very large iceberg that’s still floating around out there.”

“I can see where it might look particularly bad, especially from where we’re sitting, but other than our own suspicions, and a bit of circumstantial evidence, showing Gnoble’s name on a report…” She glanced over at him. “The bank pouch from Baja. Orozco said that the guys that came after us were probably a team of black ops. They were sent to get that pouch.”

“It makes sense. When you look at the whole picture. The background on McKnight, the upcoming election. That photo suddenly showing up in your mail. If it’s all related, then whatever got stirred up twenty years ago involving your father and Wheeler, it’s rearing its ugly head again. And if that’s what got your father killed

…”

He shrugged, left it hanging there. As if to say: What chance did she have?