What She Found (Tracy Crosswhite #9)(65)

“Did you make a report of any of these drive-by incidents?”

“To who?” Jones looked and sounded defiant.

“Why didn’t you plead?”

“My wife. She told me if I pled, the police would never leave me alone. She told me we would get through it. The prosecutor finally got around to looking at my case, admitted the police had nothing, and let me go. He was disgusted, according to my attorney. He didn’t say it, but my attorney said he could tell. He dismissed the case.

Took me another six months before I could get my job back.”

Tracy figured Jones likely had his ear to the ground after the task force tried to charge him. “Did you hear about other schemes this task force was running . . . other than the false stops outside the bars?”

“Yeah, I heard things, but as I said, I was out of the business by then so I don’t know what was true and what was just bullshit talk.”

“What did you hear?”

“I heard about raids on drug houses where the drugs went out the back door and back to the street. I heard about drugs going missing from the lockup and charges having to be dismissed.”

Tracy knew from experience that, in a system in which thousands of pieces of evidence are stored, things could get lost, unintentionally or deliberately, especially before the implementation of computers. She knew of cases in which the prosecuting attorney showed up in court without the drugs needed to prosecute a drug case and would have to dismiss the charges. In the 1980s, corruption was also well documented in narcotics units in Los Angeles and Miami. She’d read that the system was most vulnerable when a case ended and the judge issued an order for the drugs to be incinerated, because the drugs did not need to be seen again. If the senior police officer decided to slip the drugs, or a portion thereof, out the back door, no one would know it. The justice system depended on integrity and officers policing other officers, but Tracy knew cops didn’t always trust the confidentiality of reporting systems, which deterred officers from whistle-blowing.

“What else did you hear?” Tracy asked.

“Nothing specific.”

“You ever hear about them stopping boats bringing in drugs?”

Tracy asked.

“Not specifically, but it wouldn’t surprise me. I knew guys who used to get their drugs from a coffin manufacturer who shipped the drugs inside the coffins. It all makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Think about it. If the police take a big score before it gets distributed, it’s more money for them and less risk. What’s the dealer gonna do about it?”

Just like Jack Flynt. Flynt had been too busy trying to figure out how to prove to his ringleaders that he hadn’t ripped them off, that they shouldn’t kill him.

Jones was right. A bust of a boat or a plane would be big money, tens of millions of dollars. She wondered if it had been just the Last Line that Lisa Childress’s investigative reporting could have impacted. She wondered if those benefiting could have included high-level politicians, like Edwards. She thought again of Jack Flynt, of how he had his sentence significantly reduced, and how the story never saw the light of day. Was that because the wrongdoing implicated many in positions of power, or was it because the Last Line’s final score was the $20 to $30 million taken off the Egregious in November 1995, and when Flynt finally brought that to law enforcement’s attention, the statute of limitations prevented anyone from being prosecuted? Why embarrass the entire city without any recourse?

“Other than what you heard, were you aware of any evidence . . . hard evidence that this occurred?”

Jones shook his head. “Just what people were saying, but more than half of those people are dead by now.”

“Did you hear anything about why the drug task force broke up?

Why it dissolved?”

“Nah. I don’t know nothing about that. Did hear there was an investigation, might have had something to do with that.”

“What did you hear?”

“Should have said I assumed it because I had two detectives come here asking me the same questions you’re asking, but then they didn’t do anything.”

“When was this? Recently?”

“No. Not long after they tried to frame me.”

Tracy thought this had to be Moss Gunderson and Keith Ellis.

Jones continued. “I told them just like I told you. Never heard another word about it.”

“How many times did you talk to these detectives?”

“Just the one time.”

“Do you remember them?”

Jones frowned. “Not their names. But, hell, they were like bookends on a bookshelf. Two big Italian guys. Looked like those guys you see in the movies. Came in a coat and tie and looking official.”

Del and Faz.

“You told them what you told me?”

“Yep. Didn’t do nothing about it though. Nothing I ever saw or heard about.”

Tracy now knew the reason for Faz’s pregnant pause.

“I told them to show me they meant business. I told them to go after the task force and I might have more information for them about who was tipping the task force about the drugs here in the valley.

They never came back.”

“You know who was tipping the task force?” Tracy asked.

Jones paused. He glanced at his son, who had his head tilted toward his father, looking impassive. Then Jones redirected his gaze to Tracy. “I’ll make you the same deal I made with them. You show me that you mean business, that you’re gonna do something this time. Show me, and I might have a name for you.”