Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [188]
Murray nodded thoughtfully. That added something to their knowledge. So they'd wanted to make sure that the victim hadn't left any records behind before they'd taken him and his family out, but their guy wasn't good enough, and they killed him for it. It was also part of the murder of Director Jacobs, additional fallout from Operation TARPON. Those bastards are really flexing their muscles, aren't they? "Anything else?"
"The local cops are in a pretty nasty mood about this. First time somebody's put a hit on a cop that way. It was a 'public' hit, and his wife got taken out by a stray round. Local cops are pretty pissed. A drug dealer got taken all the way out last night. It'll come out as a righteous shoot, but I don't think it was a coincidence. That's it for now."
"Thanks, Mark." Murray hung up. "The bastards have declared war on us, all right," he murmured.
"What's that, sir?"
"Nothing. Have you back-checked on the earlier trips Cortez made - hotels, car rentals?"
"We have twenty people out there on it. Ought to have some preliminary information in two hours."
"Keep me posted."
Stuart was the first morning appointment for the U.S. Attorney, and he looked unusually chipper this morning, the secretary thought. She couldn't see the hangover.
"Morning, Ed," Davidoff said without rising. His desk was a mass of papers. "What can I do for you?"
"No death penalty," Stuart said as he sat down. "I'll trade a guilty plea for twenty years, and that's the best deal you're going to get."
"See ya' in court, Ed," Davidoff replied, looking back down at his papers.
"You want to know what I've got?"
"If it's good, I'm sure you'll let me know at the proper time."
"May be enough to get my people off completely. You want 'em to walk on this?"
"Believe that when I see it," Davidoff said, but he was looking up now. Stuart was an overly zealous defense lawyer, the United States Attorney thought, but an honest one. He didn't lie, at least not in chambers.
Stuart habitually carried an old-fashioned briefcase, the wedge-shaped kind made of semi-stiff leather instead of the newer and trimmer attaché case that most lawyers toted now. From it he extracted a tape recorder. Davidoff watched in silence. Both men were trial lawyers and both were experts at concealing their feelings, able to say what they had to say, regardless of what they felt. But since both had this ability, like professional poker players they knew the more subtle signs that others couldn't spot. Stuart knew that he had his adversary worried when he punched the play button. The tape lasted several minutes. The sound quality was miserable, but it was audible, and with a little cleaning up in a sound laboratory - the defendants could afford it - it would be as clear as it needed to be.
Davidoff's ploy was the obvious one: "That has no relevance to the case we're trying. All of the information in the confession is excluded from the proceedings. We agreed on that."
Stuart eased his tone now that he had the upper hand. It was time for magnanimity. "You agreed. I didn't say anything. The government committed a gross violation of my clients' constitutional rights. A simulated execution constitutes mental torture at the very least. It's sure as hell illegal. You have to put these two guys on the stand to make your case, and I'll crucify those Coast Guard sailors when you do. It might be enough to impeach everything they say. You never know what a jury's going to think, do you?"
"They might just stand up and cheer, too," Davidoff answered warily.
"That's the chance, isn't it? One way to find out. We try the case." Stuart replaced the player