Sparring Partners(35)
At 6:00 p.m. there were thirteen vehicles parked in the paved lot to the side of the lounge. The main entrance did not face the highway, giving more cover to those who slipped in and out. Of the thirteen, six were sedans, six were pickup trucks, and one was a white van. A quick scan of the license plates revealed that the patrons came from four different counties. Inside the van, two FBI technicians worked the cameras, a Minolta XL with a long-range lens, and a Sony high-def video recorder. Through one-way glass, they shot and filmed every person who entered and left the Merigold.
The problem with the van was that someone had painted custom electric on the outside panels, along with phone numbers. Jake and Harry Rex chuckled at this and couldn’t believe their good luck, nor could they believe the FBI’s sloppiness.
“Well, well,” Jake said as he parked. “They’re already here.”
“Don’t smile for the cameras,” Harry Rex said as they got out and went inside. They found a table with four chairs in a corner and sat with their backs to the wall. A waitress arrived and they ordered beers and a platter of fries. A jukebox near a dance floor played country tunes. The Merigold was a higher-end lounge and not known for bad behavior. Jake had been there a few times over the years. Harry Rex dropped in at every chance. They ignored the others and engaged in what appeared to be serious conversation. At 6:15, Jake glanced at his watch and looked around. There were no obvious electricians. Several of the men even wore ties.
Nick Lenzini sat alone sipping a soft drink and pretending to read a newspaper. Though he had never seen Jake or Harry Rex, the boys in the van had radioed him when they were entering. He was excited at the possibility of finally laying eyes on Mack Stafford, but managed to appear bored. He was quite smug with his success in convincing a federal magistrate to allow wiretaps.
Jake and Harry Rex sipped beers from frosted mugs and nibbled on fries and seemed to grow irritated as the minutes passed. No sign of Mack.
More drinkers arrived and the lounge was almost full. At 6:30, Jake went to the men’s room and walked beside Nick’s table. The two made eye contact for a second, and Jake thought the guy could pass for an agent—clean-cut, dark suit, no tie, a bit out of place. When he returned he fetched two more beers from the bar and sat them in front of Harry Rex. Both looked at their watches and frowned. Whoever they were supposed to meet was running late. Even later, at 7:00, they paid their tab and left the lounge, showing as much frustration as possible. The van was still there. Jake started his engine as Harry Rex grabbed the car phone and punched in the phone number of Custom Electric. Whatever it had once been, it was now disconnected.
They had a good laugh as they sped away, certain they had outfoxed the FBI while doing nothing wrong. When the laughter died, they debated what to do next. The Feds were after Mack, which could only mean an indictment was in the works.
(35)
The following day, Jake drove to the Stafford home to deliver a chocolate cake Carla had baked, along with an arrangement of flowers from their favorite florist. Margot answered the door and invited him into the den. Honey, her grandmother, was there, and Jake solemnly passed along his condolences. The house was as gloomy as a funeral parlor. They were gracious and thankful and invited him to stay for coffee and cake. He had no desire to, but he needed to have a word with Margot. They sat at the kitchen table and managed a laugh at all the food that lined the counters.
“Would you like a pound or two of fried chicken?” Honey asked with a smile.
“Or half a dozen casseroles?” Margot chimed in.
Helen stepped in to say hello and Jake again told her how sorry he and Carla were. All three looked as though they had been crying for a week, which was probably true. Helen soon disappeared and Honey whispered, “She is really struggling. I guess we all are.”
Jake could not respond and took another bite. The phone rang and Honey went to answer it. Jake quickly handed Margot a small envelope and whispered, “Read this later. It’s confidential.”
She nodded as if she knew, and stuffed it in her jeans.
He finished his cake and coffee and said he had to get back to the office. Honey thanked him again, and Margot showed him to the front door and onto the porch.
He waved to her there as he drove away.
The note instructed her to avoid his telephones. If she wanted to talk, stop by the office or call his secretary at her home. And, he passed along Mack’s number.
(36)
The federal grand jury met in the U.S. Courthouse in Oxford for its regular monthly session. Eighteen registered voters from eleven counties were currently serving a six-month term, and most were eager to be done with it.
The docket began with the usual string of drug cases—selling, manufacturing, distributing—and within an hour fourteen indictments had been approved. It was depressing work and the grand jurors were bored with drug felonies. Next was a slightly more interesting case involving a gang of car thieves that had been rampaging for the past year. Five more indictments.
J. McKinley Stafford was next. Judd Morrissette, the assistant U.S. Attorney, handled the presentation and recited the facts as he now understood them. Lawyer Stafford diverted some settlement funds away from his clients and into his own bank accounts, which in itself was a state crime, not federal, but he then filed for bankruptcy and hid the money.
Special Agent Nick Lenzini took over and presented copies of the settlement agreements, the bankruptcy petition, affidavits from the jilted clients Odell Grove and Jerrol Baker, an affidavit from Freda Wilson, and the wire transfers.