Found Money - James Grippando [99]
Kozelka spoke in a controlled but biting tone. “How could she be so stupid as to leave a glass with her fingerprints behind in the bar?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You’re the one who hired her.”
“It was on the quick. She came highly recommended.”
“I don’t see why you used her in the first place. You should have just snatched Duffy’s bag yourself.”
“We were hoping for more than just the bag. She’s a very talented woman. We thought he’d be tempted. Maybe go back to her room, where she could get him talking. It didn’t work out that way. Duffy didn’t take the bait.”
“Whatever. What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Rusch hated to deliver bad news, but he was always honest with Kozelka. “Duffy gives the glass to the FBI at their meeting on Monday morning. The FBI gets a match on the prints and apprehends her. After that, it’s in her hands.”
“What do you mean, her hands?”
“She either tells the FBI nothing. Or she talks.”
“What can she tell them?” He raised an eyebrow, threatening. “You didn’t tell her anything. Did you?”
He gulped. “She couldn’t operate totally in the dark. I told her a few things.”
Kozelka leaned back in his chair. He didn’t scream; it wasn’t his style. But this time he was stewing so hard his eyes were bulging. “What did you tell her?”
“Just the essentials. Like I said, we were hoping Duffy would pick her up in the bar, have a few drinks, get to talking. We had to give her some idea of what to pry out of him.”
“Have you been in contact with her since Panama?”
“Yeah. I used her on surveillance here in Denver. For obvious reasons, I preferred to involve as few players as possible in this operation. Since she was already in the loop, I figured I’d use her again. She is good. Or so I’m told.”
“Does she know too much? Is she dangerous?”
“I wouldn’t go overboard with worry. This should take the FBI nowhere. All the glass proves is that she had a drink with Ryan Duffy in the bar. That’s it.”
Kozelka folded his hands atop the desk. “Unless she panics. Unless there’s a warrant out for her arrest on six other unrelated scams we don’t know about. Unless the FBI offers to wipe her slate clean if she’ll tell them who hired her and what’s going on in this case.”
“That’s possible. But it’s premature.”
“I have just one thing to say to you, Rusch.” He leaned forward, staring him in the eye. “Don’t let it happen.”
46
The courthouse on Saturday was like church on Monday. Row after row of empty seats. Utter quiet in the halls. Lights and air conditioning were on in limited areas only. It had a way of making the proceedings seem both more and less important. It brought everyone in on their day off, but it was the last place anyone wanted to be.
With the exception of Phil Jackson. He seemed energized, if not happy.
Ryan tried not to look his way. He sat quietly beside his lawyer at the old mahogany table farthest from the jury box. Liz sat at the other table next to Jackson. While waiting for the judge, Ryan had glanced her way several times. He couldn’t help it. She had yet to make eye contact.
“All rise,” said the bailiff.
Judge Novak entered from a side door and stepped up to the bench. Norm had said he was old, but he looked even older than Ryan had expected. Huge age spots dotted his balding crown, like the markings on a globe. Hearing aids protruded from both ears. As he passed, Ryan noticed that he’d forgotten to zip up the back of his robe. Ryan looked away. It was hard to take a judge seriously knowing that his bony butt was clad in plaid Bermuda shorts. So much for the judicial mystique.
“Good morning,” said the judge. “We’re here on the petitioner’s emergency motion for a temporary restraining order. As I’m sure the lawyers have explained to their clients, there is no jury in this proceeding. I am the trier of both law and fact. A word of caution to the lawyers. Spare me the usual histrionics you might use in a jury case. I’m eighty-one years old. I’ve seen it all.
“Mr. Jackson, please call your first witness.”
Jackson rose slowly, as if a little stiff