Sparring Partners(83)
Mimi turns and leans against the glass, arms still crossed. She looks at Diantha, who’s lying on the couch, heels off, eyes closed. Mimi says, “It seems to me that you’re in a dangerous predicament. Are you afraid?”
“Yes, very. There are too many crooks involved and something will go wrong. When that happens, no one knows who’ll get caught in the crossfire.”
“You’ve got to protect yourself. And trust no one.”
“There’s no one to trust.”
(35)
Of the many lawyers currently working in the office of the U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Missouri, Diantha knew only one. She had served on a committee honoring “Women in the Law” with Adrian Reece, a career prosecutor known for her tenacity in going after sex traffickers. They kept in touch and enjoyed long lunches in which they happily bitched about the clumsy antics of their male counterparts.
Diantha called and immediately had Adrian on the phone. She said they had to meet as soon as possible. She had adjusted her afternoon schedule and leaned on Adrian to do the same. Two hours later, they met at a busy shopping center, in an ice-cream parlor with a rowdy birthday party in one corner. The racket provided excellent cover.
Over stale coffee, Diantha handed over a letter she’d addressed to the Honorable Houston Doyle, U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District. She nodded and said, “Please read it.”
Adrian looked puzzled but adjusted her reading glasses.
Dear Mr. Doyle: I have in my possession a recording of a meeting that took place two days ago. The topic was the selling of pardons by Governor Sturgiss. I strongly believe that an agreement has been made by operatives working on the Governor’s behalf and a certain state inmate with access to money.
Attached to this letter is an immunity agreement. It promises my cooperation if there is no threat of prosecution. I have committed no crimes. My identity will remain anonymous throughout any investigation. When this letter is signed by the two of us, I will hand over the recording, the existence of which can never be made known.
Sincerely, Diantha Bradshaw, Managing Director, Malloy & Malloy
Adrian glanced around and said, “You’re not joking.”
“Of course not. How soon can you have this in Doyle’s hands?”
Adrian glanced at her watch, though she knew what time it was. “I saw him this morning so he’s in town. How urgent is this?”
“Very. The election is almost here.”
Adrian considered this and seemed somewhat dazed. “Selling pardons? It’s just, so, old-fashioned, you know?”
“Wait till you hear the rest of the story.”
(36)
In an office overwhelmed with modern variants of bad behavior—cybercrime, terror cells, meth labs, narco-trafficking, kiddie porn, hate groups, insider trading, credit card fraud, online piracy, and Russian hacking, to cite a few examples—the idea of a governor selling pardons was indeed old-fashioned. So simple, so low-tech, so nostalgic. And so irresistible that Houston Doyle dropped everything else on his jam-packed daily planner to welcome the Honorable Diantha Bradshaw into his huge and imposing office in the Thomas F. Eagleton U.S. Courthouse, four blocks from Malloy & Malloy.
He was appointed by a Democratic administration. Sturgiss was a Republican. Not that it mattered. Catching a governor from either party was an idea so delicious that Doyle couldn’t believe his good fortune. The publicity would dwarf every other case already on his crowded docket and any that could possibly arrive later.
Diantha and Adrian sat on one side of the rich mahogany table, courtesy of the taxpayers. Doyle sat on the other side next to Foley, a ranking agent of some variety from the FBI. They hurried through the necessary chitchat and got down to business.
“Who is Stuart Broome?” asked Doyle, holding the immunity agreement.
Diantha said, “He’s the in-house accountant for Malloy & Malloy. Confidant of Bolton, longtime master of creative bookkeeping, knows everything about hiding money in places most travel magazines have never heard of.”
“And why do you want immunity for him as well?”
“Because he’s an employee of the firm who’s always done what his boss told him to do. Because he’s my friend. Because he’s not guilty, and even if he has done something wrong it’s because Bolton told him to. If he doesn’t get immunity, then no deal.” She could push as hard as she wanted because Doyle badly wanted a governor.
“Very well. I’ve reviewed your agreement with our people and it’s in order.” Doyle signed it, slid it across, and Diantha signed it as well.
Doyle struggled to contain his eagerness. He smiled and said, “Now, let’s hear the recording.”
Diantha pulled out her cell phone, placed it in the center of the table, and tapped it. The three voices were quite clear.
Since she had listened to it twice, she knew every word, but sharing it with the U.S. Attorney and the FBI was another matter. She had almost convinced herself that she was not stabbing old friends in the back, that her actions were reasonable and justified in light of what the old friends were up to. She had the right to protect herself, and Stu, from consequences that were thoroughly unpredictable. But reality hit hard as she listened to the voices she knew so well. She was ratting them out, and their lives would never be the same. Nor would hers. She was hit with a wave of guilt and kept telling herself to be strong.