Crown's Law (40 page)

***

Saturday night dinner was just for the four
Crowns and Bo. Sam had fixed a gourmet feast of small, thick,
bacon-wrapped filet mignons and Alaskan king crab legs. John broke
out some bottles of his best Portuguese white wine and his Spanish
red. Bo and Helena fixed a fancy mixed green salad. Baked potatoes
and baby asparagus were available for the very hungry.

Helena probed Bo’s personal history
occasionally and Bo gave candid answers. Bo found Helena a pleasant
conversationalist, not as stuffy as she had expected after some of
Sam’s descriptions of her. By the time dinner was over, Bo had
related how she had grown up in the Colorado mountains, gone to law
school, and other personal details even Sam hadn’t known. Both the
Crowns liked Bo by the time the cognac was served. Everyone turned
down the cheesecake except John and Becky.

Bo and Becky cleared the table, and the three
women then cleaned up the kitchen. Out on the deck, John lit his
pipe and said, “Where did you find this filly, Sam? She seems like
a keeper.”

“Just my luck, she lives 3000 miles away,” he
shrugged. “She is different than my usual choices. Happened by
accident. She came out here to investigate Mickey and found me
instead.”

“I hope to hell you told her the truth about
that scam! Why you ever started it is beyond me! You’re always good
at solving problems, Sam. If you want her bad enough, you’ll figure
something out. Becky seems to adore her for some reason,” said John
between puffs.

“Don’t push, Dad. After all, I’ve only known
her a couple of weeks. I learned more facts about her tonight at
dinner then I ever knew before. But I admit I do like her.”

“Well, she has my stamp of approval, as if
that ever mattered,” harrumphed John as he played with his pipe.
“Even though she’s FBI. We in the CIA never much trusted the
FBI.”

***

Sunday was a lazy day, and Bo and the Crowns
became closer. Becky was thrilled at how well her grandparents and
Bo were getting along. One more hurdle down! Things were moving
along just fine!

Sunday afternoon, Bo got a call from her boss
on her satellite phone. He told her to go to L.A. on Monday morning
and officially arrest Katie Carlisle for treason, and sundry other
violations of the Secrets Act. Bo was personally to escort her to
D.C. immediately thereafter.

Bo told the Crowns that she had to leave in
the morning. This news saddened them all. She didn’t tell them
about Katie Carlisle, of course, just that she was called back to
Washington on business. Sam told her that he would drive her to the
L.A. FBI office in the morning.

After everyone had retired for the night, Sam
and Bo slipped into the spa and got naked. It would be their last
time together until who knew when.

Monday, June 18, 2001

Santa Ana, CA

On the way back from L.A., Sam stopped at the
Mickey office to check in with Pearl. He got there at 2 P.M. He
told Pearl that Agent Trout had received the tapes and the FBI had
found them useful. At least for their espionage investigation.

He continued, “But I doubt if it helped solve
Winston’s murder. I’m not sure anyone is even focusing on that. I
don’t know what to do next.”

Pearl was in the client chair.

“Oh, that reminds me! I got so caught up in
those video tapes, I forgot to tell you that I tracked down where
Winston’s body was taken. Still interested?” asked Pearl.

Sam replied, “Hmm. I do owe Ms. Winston a
visit. Maybe she has some information I can use. What do you
have?”

“The plane landed in Green Bay, Wisconsin. So
she didn’t lie about Wisconsin. I got online and searched Wisconsin
newspapers for obits for the week following the body’s arrival.
Nothing for a Winston.”

“Crap!” exclaimed Sam as he leaned back in
his chair, put his feet on the desk.

Pearl smiled. “There’s more. Three days
later, a William Wainwright was buried in Niagara, Wisconsin.
According to the obit, he was survived by his sister, Carole
Wainwright, and his mother, Mabel Wainwright. Quite a coincidence,
eh?”

“I’ll be damned! She even lied about
Winston!”

“I called the funeral home. The Wainwright
family has lived there for years. They have a horse farm outside of
Niagara. Mabel is a widow. William and Carole visited her
occasionally. Carole was there for the funeral. The mortician
described her as a pretty woman with black hair,” Pearl added.

“You did good, Pearl. Figure out how to get
me there. I’ll pay Ms. Wainwright a visit tomorrow.”

“Already checked. You can go into Chicago,
then to Green Bay. Rent a car and drive up to Niagara.”

“Book it.”

***

On Tuesday, June 19, at 5:30 P.M., Sam parked
his rented Taurus on the gravel area in front of the quaint, white
farm house. He could see the stables off in the distance and a
fenced-in oval used for training horses and at least an acre of
green grass surrounding the track. He wore a dark blue light-weight
suit, white shirt, a red-and-blue striped tie, and sunglasses. He
wanted to look like a Fed.

He went up two steps to the covered porch and
thought how peaceful it would be to sit in the white rattan rocker
on the porch and stare off into the distance, let his mind go
blank.

He rang the doorbell. He heard footsteps
inside and then the door was opened by a pretty woman in her early
sixties. She had Carole’s facial features.

“Yes?” she said in a soft voice.

“Mrs. Wainwright?” asked Sam with his wilting
smile.

“Yes, I am. How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for Carole. I’m a colleague of
hers,” replied Sam as he extended his hand. “Sam Crown.”

“Oh.” She shook his hand. “She drove to town
to get some supplies. The old fridge is running low. Come in, Mr.
Crown. Get out of the heat.”

Sam entered the comfy living room and Mrs.
Wainwright pointed to the chintz-covered couch.

“Take a load off, Mr. Crown. Carole should be
back any minute. How about some iced tea? I was about to pour
myself one,” she said.

“That would be great, Mrs. Wainwright,”
smiled Sam as he sank into the soft couch.

“Please call me Mabel. I feel like family
around Bureau people. Although, I’m not that happy with you folks
right now. You here to straighten things out?” she said as she
walked toward the kitchen.

Sam hated conning the lady, but he needed to
see Carole. Also, Mrs. Wainwright certainly didn’t look as if she
were dying of cancer. Carole had conned him big time! He needed
some answers.

“Yes. I hope so,” lied Sam, though he wasn’t
sure what Carole’s trouble with the FBI was. He was now certain, as
he had suspected, that she was an FBI agent. Sam was squeezing a
lemon wedge into his tea when he heard someone drive a vehicle onto
the gravel out front and kill the engine.

“There’s Carole’s pickup now,” smiled Mabel.
“I’ll get the door for her.”

She got up and opened the front door and then
the screen door and Carole came in with her arms full of grocery
bags. Mabel took some of the bags from Carole and said, “Let me
help with those, dear. You have a visitor.”

Carole stared at Sam as he stirred his tea in
her mother’s living room. She was slightly in shock at his
unexpected presence. Mabel came back in and took the rest of the
groceries and disappeared back into the kitchen. Carole was wearing
blue jeans and a linen blouse with tiny daisies on it. Her long
black hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she wore very
little makeup, just a smear of pale lipstick. She took Sam’s breath
away! She was actually sexier than she had been in California where
she attempted to dress outrageously.

“Sam,” she murmured after her mother had left
the room.

“Didn’t you think I’d find you?” he asked,
also in a whisper.

“I should have. I didn’t think you would
try.”

“You played me for a fool, Carole. I needed
to know why.”

“Let’s take a walk. We need this conversation
to be private,” she said as she held the front screen door open for
him.

He brushed past her, smelled her feminine
scent. Different than he remembered it. Simpler, more real. They
walked towards the distant stables on the graveled road.

“I’m sorry, Sam. Shit happens. I didn’t mean
for it to be the way it was. You’ve probably guessed that I’m with
the FBI. At least I was. I’m not sure now. I’ve been suspended with
pay pending an investigation into the botched robbery at Gotrocks’
house. That’s OK. I needed to spend some time here on the farm with
my mother. It reminds me of what real life is all about.”

“Your mother recovered from her deathbed
quite nicely,” said Sam, sarcasm dripping.

“I told you I was sorry! Here, let’s sit on
this log. It’s quite famous. It’s called the ‘Kissing Log’ in these
parts. I had my first kiss here when I was 11. A lot of kids have
used it. Are you going to kiss me, Sam?”

Sam looked at her and wanted to—badly. But he
didn’t. Not yet.

“Do you deserve a kiss?” he asked, but he
couldn’t resist putting his arm around her shoulders.

“I guess not. But if you’ll give me one, I’ll
spill my guts. I’m cheap,” she laughed.

He kissed her. Not deep and passionate. He
knew where that would lead.

“Here’s what happened . . . ,” she started,
then she told her side of the story.

She was undercover as Mrs. Wellington’s
social secretary trying to get proof that she was involved in
insurance fraud and diamond smuggling. The FBI suspected she would
stage another robbery during the annual Diamond Gala. Carole had
got a peek at the phone numbers stored in Mrs. Wellington’s cell
phone and had run reverse checks on them. One number was a private
line into
Dynology
, so her
superiors were just beginning to look at that group as possible
players.

Then, on that fateful Sunday her
brother Bill Wainwright—aka William Winston aka William Jackson, et
al—called her. He had been undercover with the ATF for years. He
was posing as an arms dealer and was about to make a deal with his
buyer the next night. Her brother felt uneasy about the meeting for
reasons he didn’t elaborate on, and he had information for his
handler whom he was unable to contact until Wednesday. He wanted
Carole to hold the information he had put into an envelope until
after the meeting. During the phone conversation Carole
mentioned
Dynology
and Bill
said he had heard that name, too. Carole gave him the phone number
she had gotten from Wellington’s phone and Bill wrote it down on a
Mickey Malone card that was in a box on the bar at
Sparky’s
. That’s when he got the
idea to drop the envelope off at Mickey’s on Monday for safe
keeping. If he didn’t call her, she was to retrieve it and give it
to her FBI handler.

When she picked up the envelope from Pearl,
she panicked. She shouldn’t have gotten in the middle of an ATF
undercover operation, plus something must have happened to her
brother. That’s when she decided to hire Mickey Malone to find her
brother—and met Sam instead. She made up the story about her mother
dying to give some urgency to the search.

Sam interrupted her. “And I suppose the sex
was to keep me focused on you and your problem?”

“At first. Then I just couldn’t stay away
from you. You’re quite addictive,” she replied, eyes down, hands
clasped on her lap.

“So why are you in the dog house with the
Bureau?”

“The Diamond Gala. We expected it to be
robbed—or, at least, we hoped it would be. We had a helicopter in
the air, and three cars hidden strategically nearby. We were going
to follow the thieves to their contacts and see where it led us.
You foiled that quite nicely,” laughed Carole. “I got blamed for
taking you there.”

“Wow! Why didn’t you tip me off?”

“I tried to, but you dashed off into the
night. I called our controller and warned them off; then I called
911 like you told me. You know the rest.”

“Not all of it. What was in the
envelope?”

She hesitated. Sam watched a man riding a
lawnmower out on the huge lawn, the odor of fresh-cut grass
assaulting his senses.

“Look, Carole, I know who killed your
brother, but I have no evidence that would hold up in court. I need
everything you have to help smoke him out.”

“You know who killed Bill?” she gasped.

“Yes. Don’t ask how I know.”

“I gave the sealed envelope to the FBI.”

“But you took a peek first, didn’t you?”

Hesitation. “Yes. I thought it might
help me find Bill. I knew nothing would move fast, what with the
FBI and ATF trying to sort out who was in charge of what. I steamed
it open and then resealed after I had read it. It mentioned Bill’s
worry that his contact suspected him. He mentioned
Dynology
as a possibility. Nothing
concrete, however. He documented some of the meetings and a
description of his contact—a man who called himself
Gunther.”

“Probably an alias. Crap! Nothing to sink my
teeth into!” exclaimed Sam. “Unless you’re still lying to me,
Carole!”

“I’m not! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you in
California. Things might have turned out differently.”

“I can’t believe any of this! The Feds
stumbling all over each other. Nobody talking to the other. In the
meantime, the bad guys are still on the loose! Shit! And they’re
trying to make you the goat,” grumbled Sam. “Or me?”

“My FBI group and the ATF have been
ordered to stay away from
Dynology
. Another group took over the
investigation.”

“Typical. Study it to death. Have meetings.
Solve nothing!” exclaimed Sam.