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Time to start calling in the results.
He flipped open his cell and started the process as he walked to his car. By the time he paid the parking attendant and pulled out of the lot, he had enough information.
AT TWO-THIRTY, MONTY was in his office, poring over specific aspects of the old case files he’d requisitioned, when the doorbell rang.
Good. Right on time.
He tossed down the notes he’d been reviewing—and was about to put to use—rose from his chair, and headed to the front door.
In one smooth motion, he pulled it open, his expression unreadable. “Denton,” he greeted. “Come on in.”
The A.D.A. was planted on the front stoop, hands shoved in his coat pockets, looking harried and pissed off. He gave one guarded look around, then complied, striding into the office with a definite air of irritation.
“I’m not thrilled about meeting here,” he began, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it on a chair. “My involvement in this case is being kept pretty well under wraps. If I’m seen, I’m screwed. But you made it sound important.”
“It is. As for being seen, none of my neighbors would know who the hell you are if they fell on you. And, believe me, you’d rather have this conversation here than in the D.A.’s office. The walls there have ears. Plus, you’re not here because I made it sound important. You’re here because you want to gauge how much I know. Have a seat.” Monty pointed toward the cluttered sitting area.
Charlie remained in place for a moment, studying Monty with a wary expression. Then he crossed over, perching at the edge of the settee. “Okay, your shock and awe worked. I’m all ears. Get to the point. What’s the goal here, to interrogate me into spilling my guts the way you do some two-bit criminal? I’m a prosecutor, Montgomery. A good one. Don’t try to play me. Just tell me what you want to know, and why.”
“Fair enough.” Monty spread his hands in an affable gesture. “Let’s start by talking about your professional loyalty to Morgan’s father. It’s pretty strong, considering the man’s been dead for seventeen years.”
“That’s not exactly a news flash. You’ve known from day one how much I admired and respected Jack Winter. He was a hell of a role model. I learned the ropes from him when I was a rookie, right out of law school. He took me under his wing, just like he did everyone on his team.”
“But in your case, he also took you into his confidence.”
Something glittered in Charlie’s eyes. “Every case that comes into the D.A.’s office is confidential.”
“Some more than others.”
A hardened look. “I’m not playing cat and mouse with you, Montgomery. If you’ve got something to ask me, ask.”
Monty jerked his thumb in the direction of the thick file sprawled across his desk. “That’s the Angelo case file. The Central Clerk’s Office did me the favor of digging it out of storage. I’ve been going through it, document by document—from initial arrests to prosecution and conviction. I paid special attention to the trial transcript, analyzing it with a fine-tooth comb. I’m sure you remember the trial; it concluded just a few months before Jack and Lara Winter were killed.”
“I remember it. I also remember it was one of the cases Morgan suggested we revisit to find her parents’ killer. Clearly, you’re zeroing in on it for a reason.”
“Yup.” Monty rose, strolled over to the desk, and flipped through the file contents. “Angelo had clusters of gunrunning, drug-trafficking scumbags on his payroll all over the country. A bunch of them are still out there; high-level ones, too, who are still taking orders from their incarcerated boss. One of them could easily have arranged for a hired hand to steal that van and run down Jack Winter’s daughter—especially if she was getting close to figuring out that Angelo had something to do with her father’s murder.”
Clearly, that wasn’t what Charlie was expecting to hear, and it got his attention big-time. “You think that hit-and-run was meant for Morgan?”
“It’s possible. The specs of her physical description are identical to Rachel Ogden’s. And she was headed for the St. Regis that day, just like Rachel was.”
“Jesus.” Charlie ran a palm over his jaw. “I figured the incident was meant as a scare, not a hit.” He shot Monty a quizzical look. “Even if you’re right, what makes you think it was Angelo who was behind it? Jack put away a lot of well-connected criminals.”
“True. But this case has a hook to it the others don’t. One of the witnesses who testified against Angelo was a confidential informer for the D.A.’s office. A long-term CI, one who played a key role in helping Jack Winter put Angelo away.” Monty waved a piece of paper in the air. “Here’s a transcript of his witness testimony. According to him, Angelo hired him when he was twenty-six—that would be thirty years ago and thirteen years before the trial—to transport hot guns for him. The perp was caught in the act and arrested. Funny thing was, the charges were dropped and the file was sealed, even though he wasn’t a juvie.”
“So? The D.A. cut a deal. The guy got off and became an informer.”
“For Jack.”
“Fine, for Jack. What’s the red flag?”
“You tell me. I want to know this CI’s name.”
Charlie’s jaw hardened. “If you’re suggesting I get that information for you, forget it. I don’t have access to the master files linking CIs’ names with their registration numbers, and you know it. The control officers guard that information like Fort Knox.”
“Take it easy. I don’t expect you to break into restricted files. Like I said, I’ve got a transcript of this CI’s testimony right here, complete with his registration number. Now all I need is paperwork that’ll help me put a name to the number. That paperwork is accessible in Jack Winter’s files. Documents. Forms. Records of basic interactions between Jack and this guy, along with the dates of those meetings. Anything you can find with the same CI number on it. Make copies of the documents and get them to me. By comparing what I see, I’ll be able to figure out if it’s the guy I think it is.”
“And who’s that?”
