Chapter 42: Cutting The Ties That Bind
A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted verbatim from The Mentalist Green Light episode.
San Francisco, Sunday
The semi's trailer doors clanged shut and the movers slid in the metal ramp. The lead pulled the folded contract from his shirt pocket for Cho to sign while he explained how to initiate a claim for any damage. Cho shook their hands, palming them hefty tips for a job well done.
And at last they were gone.
Standing alongside, Rigsby said, "Got all the big stuff where you want it?"
"Yeah, thanks for helping."
"I should shove off. Promised Grace we'd go to the park with the kids."
Cho turned and faced him. "No beer and pizza?"
"I'd love pizza," he replied longingly, "–instead of Grace's rabbit food."
"Longer life."
"Longer food purgatory. Raincheck?"
Chos eyes twinkled, "I'm not going anywhere."
"In a few weeks then. –And, hey! Don't screw up your back moving boxes."
"Yes, Grace." Rigsby pulled a face and waved goodbye. He trotted off, already late starting the drive back to Sacramento.
Cho mounted the steps to his townhouse. He grew up in the metro area and had known exactly what he wanted. This solid, dignified block of older townhouses put new construction to shame. The interiors were completely rehabbed, sleek and modern. He might even buy if he'd be in SanFran long term. Fortunately he'd signed the lease and arranged for utilities before going to Texas to oversee the movers, before Jane dragooned him into helping with the case. The corners of his mouth quirked up. Case was fun. The almost-smile faded into his usual impassivity at the thought it might be the last time he'd work with Lisbon and Jane, even if they made it back to California.
He pulled a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and dropped into a side chair, glad he'd put some in to chill before the movers arrived. He had a week to set up before starting work. His musings were interrupted by a knock. Rigs forget something? The door opened and a woman poked her head in.
"Cho?" Spotting him she smiled the calm smile he loved – had loved – and stepped in.
"Elise. How'd you know?" He took her upper arms and pulled her closer in a not-quite embrace, then released her. Her hands trailed down his arms and let go.
"Everyone's connected to everyone. –Alyssa read it on your cousin's Facebook page."
Cho motioned her to sit and raised his bottle. "Want one? No idea where glasses are." His eyes drank in her sleek beauty. Despite five years apart, her golden skin was as smooth and unblemished, lips as full and sweet as he remembered.
She waved off the offer. "Just wanted to say, 'hi.' Came up from LA for my folks' party welcoming my sister back."
Cho couldn't help noticing, No ring. "Back?"
"From the Air Force. Alyssa just got out."
Cho nodded, sipped his beer. "And you? Running the DA's office down there by now?" He couldn't quite blunt the sharp edge to his voice.
Regret flashed across her face. "No. Climbed a couple rungs of the bureaucracy. –I'm taking a new position in Sacramento in a few months."
"Step up?"
"Yes, good opportunity. –Um, Cho–" He waited. "I was really sorry you got caught up in the Blake mess. And – and I'm glad you made it into the FBI."
"Thanks."
She rushed on, "California's been rooting out Blake corruption ever since."
Coolly, "Good."
"'Lise?" called a new voice.
"Coming!" she responded. "Oops! Alyssa was waiting in the car."
Cho walked her to the door. "Good seeing you." He held her hand a moment, then both stepped out onto the front stoop. "'You should have come in, Alyssa" he admonished.
"Hey, Cho!" The thirty-something grinned, her short, dark hair gleaming in the sun. "Welcome back."
Cho's eyes glinted with amusement and fond memories. Elise and Alyssa were polar opposites personality-wise. Where Elise was all cool, collected grace, Alyssa was scrappy enthusiasm and can-do attitude. She'd grown up since he last saw her. Not as tall as Elise, but lush and vibrant in full flower of womanhood. Her confidence – courtesy the Air Force? – sat well on her.
He surprised himself by calling, "See you around," before his brain could weigh in on whether it was a good idea.
FBI, Austin
Still riding the high from the art case, Teresa Lisbon breezed into the FBI bullpen at ten o'clock after taking a few hours of personal time. She was pleased she'd managed to keep her Monday dental appointment. Fitting appointments into workweek business hours was always a hassle with her unpredictable schedule.
Jane looked up from his book with a smile. "Pearly whites all in order?"
Lisbon made a face. "Eh. Need to go back in two weeks for a replacement crown." Jane frowned in puzzlement. "-Before your time. Cracked a molar in a takedown." She laughed at his wince. "No biggie. You just hate all things medical."
"All things pain," he muttered.
She turned back to her desk and idly scanned the room. Eyebrows raised, "Why's everyone so glum?"
"Schultz e-mail," he said cryptically and resumed reading. She booted up her computer and quickly found the message.
To: Agent Pike
cc: Agents Abbott; Alameda, Evanson, Smith; Tork, Fischer, Lisbon, Wylie
From: M. Schultz, Regional Director
Re: Art Theft Case
Commendations to the Art Squad for closing six open art theft cases, including the recent one involving murder. Good initiative using Bureau resources to solve these cases.
Only Jane could hear her aggravated comment, "Pike gets all the credit? Doesn't even mention you and it was your plan!"
Jane shrugged, uninterested. "Probably doesn't know."
"Wouldn't Abbott tell her?"
Jane noted the page number and closed his book. "I doubt she talks much to Abbott after he blind-sided her on Blake. Probably got the list of the agents from Lira."
"Hmph."
Amused by her outrage at the blatant unfairness, "The less credit I get, the less reason they have to keep me."
Disgruntled, she ascribed it to upper management politicking and let it go. At least it wasn't as though Pike deliberately hogged the credit. Dammit, have to talk to the man sometime.
"Speaking of Pike, going to talk to him?" Jane asked mildly. She blinked at his uncanny habit of picking up on her thoughts. On Sunday, Jane had asked what was going on with Pike. After hotly denying anything was 'going on,' she admitted that Pike had some seriously skewed ideas about their relationship. She promised to straighten it out as soon as possible.
"Yeah, I'll–"
Tork walked over. "We're up. We're investigating a failed drug bust in San Antonio, one of several. Be downstairs in five." Wylie stayed at his desk and sighed in disappointment.
Lisbon glanced at Jane and shrugged. Pike would have to wait.
DEA Headquarters, San Antonio
Tork, Lisbon, Fischer and Jane accompanied Abbott to state DEA headquarters under Bill Peterson in San Antonio. Lisbon remained amazed at all the drug-related cases they handled. Located in a border state, the Austin office was unavoidably drawn into cases involving illegal immigration, drug cartels, human trafficking, and every other imaginable border issue. Though California was also a border state, another unit had been responsible for border issues when she was in the CBI.
Not every drug raid succeeded, of course. However, the string of failed raids suggested someone was tipping off targets. FBI Regional Director Marion Schultz initiated the FBI's involvement.
Jane and Lisbon lagged back as they walked toward the DEA building. Jane quietly told Lisbon the case was a golden opportunity to take a closer look at Bill Peterson to figure out the skeleton in Abbott's past. Reading her mind, he said quietly, "Yes, I'll be careful." She opened her mouth and he added, "And discrete." When she frowned he assured, "And, no, I won't do anything without telling you." Lisbon whapped his arm, garnering a curious glance from Fischer. They entered the building to tackle the case.
Bill Peterson dashed up the corridor as they arrived, intercepting Abbott and drawing him into his office. The other FBI agents were led to the DEA bullpen by Peterson's assistant.
"Dennis, what brings the Feds into DEA business?"
Mildly, "SOP. Failed drug busts always trigger questions about whether someone's leaking plans for the raids. The brass made the assignment - not my call."
Peterson smiled without warmth, "Glad you're on it then, Dennis. Hang around long enough and eventually someone wants to take you down." At Abbott's raised eyebrow, "I have a shot at DEA Director for the entire Southwest. Some people would rather old Bill Peterson doesn't get it."
"You know I play it straight. If someone here has been turned, we'll find him and get him out of your hair."
"Of course."
Relieved to focus on the case, Abbott nodded and said, "Well, better get on with it. I understand Darryl Gonzales led the raid. And the Alamo Brewhouse restaurant owner filed a complaint?"
Peterson waved it off. "Gonzo got a little hot but he's a good team leader. He's on paid leave, as required."
"Where can I find him?"
"My assistant will give you his home address." Abbott turned to leave and Peterson added, "I need to see your report before it's filed."
Abbott turned back. "You know that's not how it works."
"Dennis, we go way back. I was your first CO at Rio Bravo – what? – 15 years ago? All I'm asking is a little professional courtesy."
Abbott paused and finally said, "I'll see what I can do."
San Antonio
Darryl Gonzales was easy to find. His house was clearly numbered on a pleasant subdivision street. Not so pleasant was the cartel symbol spray-painted on the front door which stood ajar. Abbott drew his gun and nudged the door open with his foot.
"FBI! Darryl Gonzales, are you in here?"
No answer.
Gun drawn and ready, Abbott cleared each room as he went through the house. He found Gonzales in the den, facing a TV showing a sporting event. Abbott rotated the chair. Gonzales had three bullet holes in his chest and duck tape over his mouth – stone cold dead.
DEA Headquarters, San Antonio
"...Now Special Agent Bill Peterson has a few words." Abbott stepped to the side so Bill Peterson could address the 30 DEA agents in the auditorium. Abbott looked down as Peterson spoke.
"We lost one of our own today. All signs point to the Sosa cartel having murdered Darryl Gonzales. I want each of you to give the FBI team your full cooperation during their investigation. We will get whoever did this. Dismissed." He left and the meeting broke up.
Jane caught Abbott's arm before he followed the last of them out. Quietly, "What does this guy Peterson have on you?"*
"Why do you ask?"*
Easily, "Because you're acting like he has something on you."*
"He doesn't."*
"Okay."*
The FBI team slogged through the grunt work that provided the foundation of any case. Tork interviewed restaurant owner Steven Corbel about the last, failed raid Gonzales led. Fischer started interviews with the DEA agents while Lisbon and Jane went through Gonzales's desk and case files. Jane paid particular attention to the file on the Alamo Brewhouse, spreading several photos of the restaurant entrance on the desk. He suddenly straightened and strode to the room where Tork and a DEA agent were questioning Corbel.
Stepping in, Jane asked, "Brewhouse owner, right?" At Corbel's nod, "What time do you open?"
"Eleven, why?"
"You can go." Jane ducked back out.
The DEA agent protested, "No he can't!"
Tork ordered, "Sit down, Corbel." They finished asking a few questions and released Corbel.
The DEA agent buttonholed Jane at the coffee station as he got tea. "Hey, what's the idea?"
"Just making sure of the time. We're raiding the Brewhouse this afternoon."
"What the hell? Why didn't anyone inform the DEA?"
Jane cocked his head. "What did I just do?"
Jane and Abbott entered the Almo Brewhouse at exactly 11:00. They passed the sign outlined with incandescent bulbs and Jane surreptitiously twisted the loose bulb on the bottom right. It lit up. They were seated at a table a few rows back from the entrance.
Abbott sipped his coffee while Jane drank tea. "All right, Jane, I'm here. Why?" Before Jane could answer, Bill Peterson walked up.
Jane smiled and gestured him to sit. "Good timing."
Irritated, "What's this about a raid, Dennis? I'm supposed to be in the loop."
"Jane is about to explain, aren't you?" Abbott said, deceptively gently.
Jane pulled Gonzales's photos from his suit jacket and spread them on the table. "Notice anything?"
After a moment Abbott said, "The light on the sign."
"Exactly. Drugs are sold when it's on. Notice it was off the day Gonzales conducted his raid–"
"-Which is why they found no drugs," Abbott finished. "It's a signal."
At that moment, they saw Steven Corbel walk to the sign, then turn and re-enter the restaurant. Jane unleashed a full wattage smile. "Et voila! He unscrews the bulb, so no drugs. That's after I mentioned a raid at the DEA this morning."
Peterson frowned, finally catching on. "There is no raid?"
"I lied. Harmless deception to prove my theory."
Abbott said slowly, "We now know that's Corbel's signal. And we know someone's leaking word of raids." He took a breath, "Gonzales figured it out and was killed for it." He looked at Peterson. "Your leak is the murderer."
FBI, Austin
The team convened the next morning in the Austin FBI bullpen. Abbot opened, "We have a traitor leaking word of raids. Despite window dressing suggesting a cartel hit, Darryl Gonzales was likely killed by the dirty DEA agent. No one of the 30 agents is above suspicion."
Lisbon added, "Thirty-one including Peterson."
Abbot disagreed mildly, "Bill Peterson isn't a trigger man."
Fischer noted, "There's been a half dozen failed raids in the past few years and Peterson always explains them away. Something's going on."
Tork spoke next, "We've interviewed the 30 DEA agents, but–" he looked around for confirmation, "nothing stands out."
"Our working theory is that the murder was an attempt to cover-up the leak. Anything surface in your interviews that would provide a different motive – affair gone bad, enemies at the DEA, anything?" They all shook their heads. "O-kay. What else have we got. Wylie?"
"I did a first pass on financial data and phone records for everyone, including Peterson. Nothing suspicious so far. –As for Corbel..." he shuffled some papers, "–nothing obvious. No big bank deposits, no phone contacts with known cartel members or the DEA. Of course, it'd be easy for a restaurant owner to launder drug money." His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. "He does spend a lot of time on a blog about Persian long-haired cats."
Tork grinned incredulously, "You're kidding! Didn't strike me as a cat fancier."
Abbott weighed in, "Or me. Wylie, see if he's using the blog to pass coded messages for drug deliveries and raids."
"Will do."
Jane asked, "What about Peterson?"
Wylie pulled out another sheet. "DEA agent for 27 years. Rio Bravo Station head for six, Texas director the last 15. No unexplained big deposits, no suspicious phone contacts. Divorced 13 years ago."
"How's he spend his time?"
"Working. Sixty hours a week on average. Personally in on most of the drug raids."
"How's he spend his money?"
"Aside from ordinary expenses, credit card charges for a couple of scuba diving trips to the Carribean each year, tickets to the big tennis competitions. Oh, and he likes good wine. Must have a collection."
Lisbon opined, "Huh. Pretty lavish lifestyle for a DEA agent, even a state director."
Abbott cautioned, "Doesn't prove anything. Our priority is the murderer and leak. Ideas for identifying the murderer?"
Tork scratched his head. "Could squeeze the agents again, but that's just a shotgun approach."
Lisbon, doubtfully, "Sift through computer records and see if we can correlate messages to aborted drug raids."
Abbott frowned and glanced at Jane. "Anything more focused?"
Jane tipped his head and smiled. "Let me have till this afternoon. If my hunch pans out, I'll have a plan."
Abbott turned to the group. "In case it doesn't pan out, you three try to find patterns. Wylie, you're support for them. Jane, you do – whatever it is you do. We need a plan before going back to San Antonio." He turned on his heel and headed toward his office.
Jane got up from his couch. "Wylie, before you start the other work, I need the ID photos for each DEA agent for the past three years. I assume they're computerized. If not, uh, maybe Fischer can help get them?"
Fischer gave Jane an amused glance. "Let me know, Wylie." She, Tork and Lisbon gathered in the conference room to divide the work and agree on an approach.
By three Jane had his plan. A half-hour later, Abbott had approved it and the team had hashed out the details of what each person would do.
Iron Works BBQ, Austin
Abbott entered the restaurant, looked around and headed to the bar. "Hey, Bill."* Bill Peterson had asked to meet and insisted it be away from either of their offices.
"Want a drink?"*
"Uh, club soda. Thanks."*
"Helluva thing, knowing that one of your people betrayed you. Killed a colleague. A friend."*
"Yeah, it's hard I know. You didn't tell your team anything?"*
"No. They think it's an investigation of a cartel member."*
"My people are the best, Bill. We'll get this guy."*
"I'm sure you will."* He turned a bit to face Abbott squarely. "When you do, I need to share the collar."*
"What do you mean?"*
"I want credit for the arrest. We'll come up with something I did. –Something vital to the investigation."*
Abbott sipped his drink. Bluntly, "So you want me to lie for you?"*
Irritated, "I told you. I have enemies. They find out one of my people was working for the cartel they'll take me to town unless I do something. I need to be part of the solution."*
Voice low and heated, "You have been asleep at the wheel. One of your people has been in bed with the Sosa's for years and you didn't see it! Now you want me to cover your ass. We should be having a discussion about your resignation."*
All bonhomie gone, "We've all done things that we're not proud of, Dennis, things we'd like kept quiet."*
"So you're going to hang Rio Bravo over my head unless I play along."*
With false regret, "I wish it was just you. Lena's confirmation's coming up in a couple of weeks, right? Rio Bravo. –Would be a real problem there too." Peterson threw some bills on the bar and stood. "I need this, Dennis. Keep me posted."*
FBI, Austin
Abbott looked up from his immaculate desk. He hadn't turned on the light, hadn't heard the door open. But there was no mistaking the silhouette of the man leaning against the doorframe.
"I'm guessing by your look that you just talked to Peterson. I'm listening."*
Tiredly, "Go away, Jane."
"Then I'll talk." The consultant entered, closed the door and took a chair in front of Abbott's desk. He eyed the man in the dim light filtering in from the hall. Bluntly, "Did you tell Peterson tomorrow's plan?"
Abbott frowned. "No, dammit. Now get out."
"Good." Jane leaned back and tapped his lips with a forefinger. "You worked for Bill Peterson down in Rio Bravo, one of your first bosses." Abbott flicked his fingers, dismissing that basic career data as insignificant. "He has something on you and is threatening you. –And your wife." Abbott's head jerked up. Jane smiled a little. "Right. Since you are – and don't take this the wrong way – annoyingly straight arrow, it can't be something for your own benefit. You aren't the type to sell drugs or take bribes from a cartel. However I'm struck by the unsolved assassination of a Zeta cartel lieutenant near Rio Bravo. Curiously, that happened just days before you left. – Getting warmer?"
"Plan on blackmailing me?"
"I'm going to help you."
"Jane, leave it."
He leaned a bit closer. "Abbott, if I figured it out, others can too. With or without Peterson. I can make this go away."
Abbott's face registered doubt. Doubt and faint, faint hope. He shook his head a little.
"Foiling an attack requires knowing the weapon." Jane paused. Abbott stubbornly remained silent. Thinking aloud and reading his reactions, "You're too wary to tell me anything even when I'm offering help. So you didn't tell anyone. Witnesses? If there were any it already would have come out. And Peterson would be in no position to guarantee that it wouldn't. Ergo, no witnesses. –Then I'm guessing hard evidence. The bullet?" Abbott blinked. Jane exhaled slowly. "Peterson has the bullet from your gun that killed the cartel man. He'd have to observe chain of custody protocol to prove it was taken from the corpse. And he had to compare the rifling on that bullet against the file data for your service weapon."
Abbott's expression confirmed Jane's speculation.
"Now exactly how would Peterson use that evidence?" Jane's eyes widened. "The threat against Lena means an attack on her at the confirmation hearing. That would ruin her chances for the position and trigger an investigation against you. ... Guess I need to get that bullet before her hearing."
Abbott took a breath and ground out, "The hearing's in a week."
Jane shrugged. "Then I'll have to be quick. Wylie got Peterson's phone data. There are calls to Jules Blatt. He's a freshman congressman on the confirmation committee and no friend of this administration. He's also on the oversight committee for the DEA. That's got to be the connection to Peterson. Quid pro quo, our government in action. Beautiful, isn't it?" Jane leaned back with a smug smile.
Abbott rubbed his forehead with both hands. "There are no free lunches. What do you get out of this?"
"I want flexibility in my agreement with the FBI."
"Replace one blackmailer with another?"
"I'm betting I can make you see it differently."
"I'm not agreeing to anything."
Jane rolled his eyes. "We'll haggle later. Right now I need to get that bullet." He rose. Just before opening the door he turned. "Peterson would get back at you after tomorrow's plan regardless. This will work."
Jane-Lisbon Apartment, Austin
Jane closed and bolted the door behind him, hurrying to keep out moths and mosquitoes. He was so lost in thought he didn't notice Lisbon lying on the couch at first.
"Jane," she greeted, muzzy from sleep. "What kept you?"
He put water on for tea. "Waited for Abbott. He met with Peterson."
"And?"
"Just a minute." He made his tea, carried in cup and saucer and dropped down beside her on the couch. "And Peterson is blackmailing Abbott, as we thought."
Straightening, surprised. "He told you?"
After a sip, "No. I had to lay out my guesses and confirm the details by reading him."
"What is the story?"
"Abbott killed – assassinated – a cartel lieutenant near Rio Bravo when he worked for Peterson. Peterson figured it out when Abbott transferred a few days later. He'll use the information to ruin Lena's chances of being confirmed and trigger an investigation into Abbott. The bullet from the corpse is his proof."
"What does Peterson get out of it?"
"Cover in the current mess. And he curries favor with Blatt, the committee member Peterson's been calling. Blatt just happens to be on the committee confirming Lena Abbott and the DEA oversight committee."
Turning to face him, "Jane, you're sure Abbott isn't dirty? I mean–"
"I'm sure. Abbott was about to fall on his sword by going along with tomorrow's plan to solve the case. Was offended when I asked if he told Peterson. Whatever the reason he killed that cartel lieutenant it wasn't for personal gain."
"Now what?"
"Now I need to get that bullet." He put his arm around Lisbon's shoulders. "I need you to find out how well Peterson gets along with Schultz."
She raised her eyebrows at the non sequitur. "How does–. Oh, never mind. What else?"
"I'll need either Wylie or Grace to change the rifling data for the bullet Peterson's recovered. Say, to a gun from some low level Mexican thug in the Rio Bravo area, preferably someone who's dead."
Worried, "Jane, I don't want to drag them into something illegal."
"Let's ask, okay? I'll figure something else out if it's too dangerous."
"And tomorrow? Sure your plan will work?"
He nodded. "Gonzales was killed by whomever's leaking raid plans. Motive has to be greed. He may be smart enough to avoid ostentation. But someone that greedy will indulge in smaller ways. Let's shake the tree and see what falls out."
DEA Headquarters, San Antonio
Ten agents herded into the DEA HQ auditorium. They grumbled a little when Tork and Fischer asked them to deposit their weapons in a basket, but went along when told that it was essential to catching Gonzales's killer. Tork left the room with the basket of weapons and Jane started the meeting. Abbott stood quietly several paces behind Jane.
"Thank you for meeting. I think we can find out who killed Darryl Gonzales by answering a few questions."
The agents exchanged glances, uneasy and frowning. Agent Jackson said, "Then you think someone here – one of us – killed Gonzo?"
"Yes. One of you is working with the Sosa cartel.* That same someone probably killed Darryl Gonzales." He paused while that thought sank in. "Has anyone here recently inherited some money from a deceased parent or grandparent?" The agents looked at him in confusion. "I'm not talking a little bit. A pile, enough to make a difference. Please raise your hands."* Three people hesitantly raised hands. "Um, very sorry for your losses. None of you killed Darryl Gonzales. You can move to the back of the room. Thank you."*
A female agent challenged, "What does an inheritance have to do with who killed Gonzales?"*
"That is a good question. But I'm the one asking those right now. –Now, is there anyone here with a relationship with someone from the beauty field?"*
The male agent who'd been outraged at Jane's interruption of the Corbel interrogation answered. "Yeah. My husband runs a couple of styling salons."*
"How long have you been together?"*
"A year."*
"Congratulations. I'm very happy for you. Uh, you didn't kill Darryl Gonzales. Would you move to the back of the room, please."*
Jane waited till the agent had moved back. "Anyone here get divorced? In the past three years?"* Three male agents raised their hands. "Yes, law-enforcement. Tough on the home life. On the plus side, you didn't kill Gonzales. Back you go, please."*
The attractive, well-dressed female agent asked in amazement, "You think one of us– ? That's crazy!"*
Agent Fordic asked, "Really, why would we do that?"*
Jane answered, "Money, I assume. But I – I don't care about the motive. I'm interested in what happened after one of you became a traitor. I looked at your ID pictures for the last few years. All ten of you have improved your appearance, most notably by sprucing up your hair. Some of you because you've inherited money, others because you're back in the dating scene."*
Agent Roscoe asked incredulously, "Are you seriously saying that one of us is the killer because we got a better haircut?!"*
"A killer, no. A traitor, yes. Whoever sold out to the Sosa's made bank. Got a big ego boost. When you have a big secret, it makes you feel important."*
The female agent persisted, "If you're so sure, which one of us is it?"*
"Now that is the question, isn't it?"*
Fischer opened the door and interrupted. "Jane!"
"Just a moment–"*
"I found the killer! It's Bill Peterson."* Fischer and Tork pulled Peterson into the auditorium, hands cuffed behind him.
The ten DEA agents stared in shock and drifted together at the back.
Peterson challenged, "You're seriously doing this!"*
Jane said doubtfully, "I was sure it was going to be one of the other three agents."* To Fischer, "We sure about this?"*
Fischer replied, "Wylie found a link with the cat blogs and an off-shore account in Belize. It was hidden under aliases and shells, but we traced it back to Peterson. $3.2 million bucks!"*
"You're accusing me?! Get your people in line!" Peterson demanded of Abbott, red-faced and furious.
"Take him out of here."*
"Abbott, you think I'm gonna forget about this, huh? That what you think?"* His voice could be heard down the hall as the door closed.
Stony faced, Abbott said to the ten agents, "You can pick up your firearms on the way out. We're done here."*
Lisbon confronted Agent Fordic in the parking garage. She accused him of leaving in a rush, of killing Darryl Gonzales. No matter how long it took, Lisbon promised she'd see him behind bars. She turned away when her cell rang.
Tork challenged Agent Roscoe in a hallway and asked where he was headed: The Gulf, the airport? When Roscoe asked why he'd be going there, Tork said that he'd killed Darryl Gonzales. When Roscoe protested that the FBI team had arrested Peterson, Tork insisted Roscoe had done it and that he'd prove it. Tork turned away when his cell vibrated.
Abbott stopped the female agent in the basement corridor and accused her of trying to get away. He accused her of thinking she'd have time to escape when his team arrested Peterson. Abbott promised to tail her until he had proof and she was in cuffs. Abbott turned away to answer his cell.
Roscoe shot Tork in the back.
Tork turned. "Blanks."* Roscoe ran till Tork tackled and cuffed him.
Roscoe's interrogation was brief. The FBI team had found his passport and Croatian kunas in his go-bag, and a link to tracking software installed on Gonzales's computer. The FBI team left Roscoe in custody of the local PD, where he'd be held for arraignment and trial. Tork, Lisbon and Fischer packed up and returned to Austin.
Director Peterson's Office, DEA HQ, San Antonio
Abbott and Jane entered Peterson's office to officially wrap up the case. Abbott began. "We found enough evidence in Roscoe's apartment to arrest Corbel and several employees. Corbel's going to flip against the Sosa cartel. Feels like a win, all in all."*
"You humiliated me in front of my people. You perp-walked me through my own office!"*
Abbott replied soberly, "We had to make Roscoe feel like he had a chance to get away."*
Jane interjected lightly, "You were the misdirection. It's not the best part, but you played it adequately."*
Enraged, "You were supposed to tell me what you were doing!"*
Jane explained, "We couldn't or you would've blown the shot. I mean, obviously."*
Abbott added, "I'm sorry, Bill. Really I am."*
"I was supposed to get credit. We had a deal!"*
A muscle jumped in Abbott's jaw. "There was no deal, Bill. Just a crazy idea you had in your head."*
"You're done, Abbott. It's over for you. And your wife. I'm gonna see to that.* Get out of my building!"
En Route to Austin
Abbott could only be described as grim. Jane waited till they were on the interstate before speaking.
"You did the right thing."
"Yes I did. And Lena will suffer for it."
Jane shook his head. "So little faith. I have a plan and it will work."
"How, Jane? I did it and he has the evidence."
Jane huffed, "Cops. Aren't you the ones always saying that it only counts if it can be proven in court? When I'm done there will be no proof. And Peterson will be discredited."
Abbott closed his eyes for a long moment, long enough for Jane to be afraid as they hurtled down the expressway. Abbott opened his eyes and took a breath. "However much I hate it, I don't want you going after an innocent man. I screwed up, not Peterson."
Voice laced with disbelief, "You really are a boy scout." Jane's tone hardened, "Today's operation caught Roscoe. It also let me read Peterson under pressure. Peterson is no innocent victim, Dennis. His reaction was as much fear as outrage."
"Fear?"
"Of being exposed. He reacted when Fischer accused him of hiding dirty money."
Abbott frowned. "I wish I believed it."
"You have my word. Peterson's given me all the ammunition I need to hang him."
"How? I won't risk my agents' careers in an illegal scheme to save my ass."
"Wylie investigated Peterson as a legitimate suspect in the DEA case. I already have what I need on him." Jane said precisely, "No agent other than Lisbon will be involved beyond that."
Abbott ran his hand over his shaved scalp. "How will I know it worked?"
"You'll know because Peterson will fail."
Abbott pulled into the FBI lot and turned off the ignition. He looked hard at Jane.
Jane shrugged slightly with one shoulder. "Time to place your bet, Abbott. Either you trust me to make this go away. Or you – and your wife – suffer because you killed a ruthless murderer sixteen years ago. Which is it?"
"God help me. Do it."