The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(90)

“What about all that money?” asks Jackie.

“The state and the federal government will fight over it for years,” he replies.

“And your little governor’s task force, the UIU?” I ask.

“He has to keep it around now. It’s the only way the state can make their claim stick.”

“You planned that all along?” I reply.

“Maybe not this exact strategy.”

“Just like that? It’s over?” asks Dad.

“For us,” says George. “Copies of those documents are with the governor now, so that’s done. And K-Group has no reason to go after us. No practical reason,” he adds, checking the rearview mirror. Then, after a long pause, he sighs and says, “But you never know.”





CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

BRIDGE

A cold breeze rolls down the street and chills me even as I gulp down my Cuban coffee. George makes a face but stops himself from saying anything. He’s learned by now that I’m a stress eater—and drinker.

He offers thanks in perfect Spanish to the barista in the tiny Cuban coffee shop and takes the tiniest of sips from his cup. A furrow wrinkles his forehead, which I’ve come to learn is his sign of stress.

I glance at the stack of coffee-stained folders under his elbow at the counter, but don’t ask. We already told the federal prosecutors everything we know. Bonaventure’s files led to nearly two dozen indictments, including eight judges.

South Florida news has been all over the case for weeks as new names surface. Bonaventure used K-Group’s money and resources to buy influence, divert investigations, and change court decisions with brilliant efficiency.

One of his best techniques was buying off the clerks that handled the procedural work for judges. We found numerous examples of major cases that were dismissed or postponed because a clerk lost evidence or changed filings, creating procedural errors.

All of that takes a back seat in my mind to K-Group—especially DIA Jane, or Katarina Alonzo, which we’ve come to believe is her real name.

She and her partners were apprehended by federal authorities shortly after we made our deal with the DIA director, but which federal authorities and the particulars of her apprehension weren’t divulged to us.

The word on the street was that K-Group’s activities were limited to a handful of contractors and two DIA supervisors who had gone rogue. Whether this word was spread by the DIA to limit their exposure is anyone’s guess. Closed-door congressional hearings are being scheduled, and there’s now talk on Capitol Hill about a special prosecutor.

But all of that is politics. We’re waiting to find out if Alonzo will be tried for the murders of Winston and Stacey. Federal cases are all fine and dandy, but I want nothing less than to see Alonzo stand trial for homicide in South Florida and face our justice system.

“Here she comes,” says George, indicating the stout red-haired woman walking toward us, sweating in her suit.

Claudine Bauer is clearly from up north and hasn’t figured out how to dress for our climate. The Cincinnati native was given a special appointment to handle this case after it became apparent that an outside attorney might be required to handle it fairly, given the state of things.

“Can I get a real cup of coffee?” she says, giving George’s drink a dismissive nod.

“Sure thing,” George replies and gives the order to the man behind the counter.

The three-second wait is more than I can handle. “Well?”

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“No,” I reply flatly.

She takes a seat on a stool next to me. “I got good news and bad news.”

“Damn.”

Claudine looks to George. “Did she even hear the good news part?”

“It’s never good news when it’s phrased that way,” I reply.

“Well, Alonzo and two of her colleagues are going to be tried in South Florida.”

“Oh,” I reply.

“But not for murdering the Millers. There’s just not enough evidence right now for that,” she explains.

“Are you serious?”

“That’s not to say she won’t be charged for the deaths . . . just not immediately.”

“Then what?”

“Well, kidnapping, for starters.”

“Who?”

“You. When she took you to that little DIA workspace, she did it without authorization—at least, the DIA is claiming that’s the case.”

“What a crock—”

She holds up her hand. “Hear me out. In Florida that can be up to thirty years.” She continues quickly, sensing that I’m about to interrupt. “And . . . and Wilkinson, the other guy on your boat—the one you didn’t fatally injure—we’re charging him with attempted murder. Now between the two of them, one is going to want to make a deal. My bet is it will be him. In the meantime, they’ve also got the federal conspiracy case to deal with. They aren’t going anywhere.”

“Neither are Stacey or Winston,” I reply.

Claudine takes a drink of her coffee, then sets it back down. “Yeah, I know. But that’s the best I can do under the circumstances.”

I want to say something, but I don’t know what. The attorney’s right. It’s a convoluted case with many interested parties.