I spot Bryce in the corridor heading toward us and at this late hour he looks a bit rumpled and scruffy but has that wide-eyed nervousness that we see around here when we’re in the throes of the latest tragic drama.
“The Globe is here…,” Bryce starts to announce as he walks through the door. “Oh God!” he exclaims. “She’s so awful to look at. Can’t we take that picture down yet?” He averts his face from what’s displayed in the PIT. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If I die, please don’t let me look like that. Find me instantly or never. Sock’s upstairs in your office in his bed and I gave him a treat, there’s food in the break room, and Gavin’s in the parking lot with his lights turned off and he just saw the FBI roll up and in a minute I’ll bring him inside as if he works here. This is going to be the most amazing story. I want him to hear it for himself when they demand the computer and everything else.”
“Bryce, you’re talking too much,” I warn him.
“Payments of ten grand a month, supposedly for the lease of Washington, D.C., office space,” Lucy starts to tell me what Benton hasn’t gotten to yet. “Wires to a bank in New York City and from there they are broken up into different sums and wired out to another bank, broken up again and wired out again, and on and on like clockwork for the past seventeen years, literally from August of 1996, and that sure as hell can’t be a coincidence. It might never have led to Granby being the recipient of funds that clearly are laundered but he did one really stupid thing. An e-mail.” Lucy gets really happy again. “About six months ago he had lunch with an investor who mentioned it in an e-mail to Lombardi.”
She shows it to me on her phone:
From: JP
To: DLombardi
RE: “Gran Gusto”
Thx for hooking me up, great lunch with such a grand guy (nothing small about his FBI ego & didn’t realize the pun when I picked my favorite Italian spot!). Am recommending his account be moved to Boston now that he’s taken the job there. Modest amount in cash, rest in stocks, bonds, etc. He knows someone who can help with my irritating audit problem, f’ing IRS. Cheers.
Bending around my curved corridor that leads to the receiving area, I walk briskly, my lab coat over field clothes I’m scarcely aware of anymore. I’ve reached a zone of fatigue that broaches an out-of-body state, hyper-awake and also in slow motion.
“I don’t guess you or Marino could arrest him on the spot,” I say to Benton.
“He’ll deny everything.”
“Of course he will.”
“By daylight he’ll be lawyered up.”
“I don’t care. He’s done, Benton.” I’ve made sure Granby’s defeat will be a public one.
Benton looks at me and he’s single-minded in what he needs to do. And while it should give him pleasure, it doesn’t.
“No lawyer is going to save him and none of his usual powerbrokers in Washington are going to touch him with a ten-foot pole,” I add and then I get quiet as we reach the receiving area.
Ron is inside his office with the window open, and for an instant I’m knocked off guard by Granby and his entourage of agents. He looks exhausted but polite as if he knows he’s on my turf and is most appreciative of my having him here, the three agents in cargo pants and jackets standing some distance behind him. It occurs to me Ed Granby is scared and I wasn’t expecting that.
I wonder if he’s suspicious Lucy has been inside Double S’s server and then I decide he knows what’s about to happen. He’s not naïve about who she is and what she’s capable of. And whether or not he’s cognizant of any incriminating information she might find, he has to be expecting the worst. That’s the way it works with people who are guilty of as much as he is. For every one sin uncovered they know of at least a hundred more.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” he says to me while he doesn’t look at Benton and has no idea about Bryce or the young bearded man next to him who is dressed in a plaid shirt, sweater-vest, and jeans and sneakers.
Lucy walks past us and toward the elevator and I hear the door slide open.
“Obviously this is a significant white-collar criminal investigation we’ve got going here and thank you for respecting, uh, for appreciating our need to get Double S’s computer to our labs,” Granby says to me. “Your cooperation is so appreciated,” he stumbles nervously, too polite and smiling too much.
“Of course,” I reply and I’m not smiling at all or remotely friendly. “We have it ready for you.” I meet Ron’s eyes and he nods at me through his open window.
“Yes, ma’am — Chief,” he says and maybe I’m sleep deprived but I catch a trace of a grin. “I’ve got it right here and all the paperwork’s in order.”
“And then there are the homicides.” I look Granby in the eye as he uses both hands to smooth his perfect hair at his perfectly graying temples. “We’ll continue working those up and get the FBI any information needed.”
“As always, much appreciated.” He continues smoothing his hair as he watches Ron open his door and push out a cart that has the computer server on it, upright and shrouded in plastic. As if to make a point, Lucy has overwrapped it with bright red tape that boldly warns in black: SEALED EVIDENCE — Do Not Tamper.
I pull a Sharpie out of a pocket of my lab coat and slide the evidence submission form out of its transparent plastic window that’s taped to the computer. I initial and date it in front of everyone and then I hand it to Granby, doing things the proper way, officially receipting evidence to the FBI for analysis that we sure as hell don’t need. I wonder when the last time was that the head of a division actually received evidence or bothered to show up at a medical examiner’s facility. I wouldn’t be surprised if Granby’s never seen an autopsy.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” he says to Benton. “And why are you here?” he asks as he touches his hair again.
“Enjoying time off. Probably more than you will.”
Granby’s eyes seem to get smaller when he’s nakedly aggressive but he smiles again. “Not me. Too much to do.”
“I think you’re about to have a lot of time on your hands, Ed.”
I hear energetic footsteps from the direction of the elevator and then Lucy, Janet, and Carin Hegel appear. They stand next to Bryce and Gavin Connors, a crowd of witnesses gathered according to plan.
“What’s this?” Granby’s attention fixes on Hegel like the darts from a stun gun, his eyes seem to anchor right into her skin.
He would know who she is for every reason imaginable. She’s often in the news because of high-profile trials and is almost as recognizable around here as a professional athlete. But more to the point she was Gail Shipton’s lawyer and pitted against a firm that as it turns out has been paying off Granby for years. Enough monthly cash and who knows what other favors and he must have assumed he had little to worry about as long as he didn’t get ensnared by his own deceptions. And he has. The life he’s enjoyed is about to be over.
“If you know who this is really about, Ed, now’s a good time to say something.” Benton hasn’t taken his eyes off him. “It’s not Martin Lagos we’re looking for. I know what you’ve done. All of us know.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about but I take umbrage at the implication.”
“You’re about to pin the Capital Murderer cases on a kid who disappeared seventeen years ago based on DNA that to put it diplomatically must be a mistake. A lab error, I’m sure you’ll say.”
“This isn’t the time or the place!” Granby fires back at him. “We’ll discuss this in private.”
“You won’t,” Carin Hegel says and I just now noticed she must have taken time to dress in power clothes at this hour.