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11
Office of District Attorney
Justice Plaza
Porte Franklyn
WEDNESDAY
When Savich and Pepper picked up Griffin from Jeter’s office where he’d been making calls on another case, Jeter told him good timing—Hailstock was in his office. He also told him Hailstock’s secretary would go to war rather than let anyone in to see him without an appointment, might even bite him if she thought he didn’t wish Hailstock well. Savich considered trying to make nice, but when she looked up at him from behind her large nameplate—Mrs. Quigley—front and center on her desk, distrust and challenge on her face, he realized he had to bite her first. He whispered to Pepper and Griffin, “Leave this to me,” and held his creds out in front of her face. He leaned forward and gave her a hard look. “I am Special Agent Savich, FBI. You will inform Mr. Hailstock we want to see him. Now.” He looked at his watch, crossed his arms over his chest, didn’t tap his foot because she wouldn’t see it.
Mrs. Quigley started, licked her lips, whispered, “But he’s busy, Agent Savich. I... is he expecting you?”
Savich leaned down to within an inch of her face, placed his hands flat on her desk. “I said now.”
She bobbed her head and quickly punched three numbers on her phone. “Mr. Hailstock, FBI agents are here to see you.” She hung up before he could say anything, rose quickly, knocked on his door, opened it, and backed away fast without a word.
Pepper said under her breath, “I love to watch you play Mr. Iron Fist.”
Commonwealth Attorney Hailstock rose quickly, so surprised Quigley had even let them near his office his mouth fell open. Then he stilled, assessing them. He wasn’t stupid. He knew danger when it walked into his office. Savich introduced himself, Griffin, and Pepper but didn’t offer a handshake. Each of them slapped their creds down on Hailstock’s desk and waited, dead silent. Savich saw Hailstock’s left eye twitch. He glanced around the big man’s office. The row of wide windows overlooking Justice Plaza were large, glazed to prevent glare. The office was starkly modern and seriously minimalist, no computer, no papers, no framed photos of beloved family members on his glass and chrome desk. The pictures on the walls were starkly abstract, splashes of black and red that had the look of gutted fish.
Hailstock handed back their creds, cleared his throat, and said in a beautifully modulated deep voice, “Why are you here?”
“To discuss the evidence you’ve received against Elson Grissom.”
“Ah. I must say I’m surprised you came so soon.”
“Everything you have in your possession was dropped off at the Hoover Building yesterday.”
“So then you wish to discuss the federal crimes he allegedly committed?”
“Among other things.”
Hailstock gave them a sharp nod, pointed to a pale gray leather sofa fronted by a chrome and glass coffee table. He sat opposite them in what looked like a king’s chair, with two ornate arms and a high back standing on carved legs that put him a good six inches higher than anyone sitting on the sofa. Hailstock sat back, laid his hands lightly on the arms of the chair, the king holding court.
“I know of you, Agent Savich. Both you and your famous wife appear to enjoy camera time.”
It was a nice swipe. Savich, deadpan, said, “I’ve heard of you as well, Mr. Hailstock, the King of the Lowball. I understand you’re quite popular with Porte Franklyn criminal defense attorneys and their clients.”
Hailstock turned stiff, his face turned red, but then after a moment he managed to regain his composure. Up went his chin. He said precisely, “I ensure that under my aegis the Porte Franklyn justice system isn’t weighted down with defendants waiting in jail for over a year for their turn to be heard in court.”
Pepper said, a smooth dollop of Southern in her voice, “I imagine the police don’t like seeing criminals back on the streets so quickly, committing more crimes. But to business, Mr. Hailstock. Agent Savich, Agent Hammersmith, and I are here to coordinate our efforts with you. Once you’ve tried and convicted Elson Grissom on a number of state charges, including embezzlement and money laundering, you will of course want to reopen the investigation of Grissom’s involvement in the conspiracy to murder thirteen-year-old Josh Atwood and his mother, Hildy Atwood, not to mention the likelihood the Bellison police chief, Harlan Jacobs, accepted a bribe from Grissom to suppress evidence of those murders. After you’ve tried Grissom and he’s found guilty, we will try him in federal court for interstate drug trafficking. I anticipate if we work together, Elson Grissom will serve a life sentence in Red Onion State Prison, and if he’s still breathing when he gets out, we’ll be transferring him to one of our federal facilities.”
Hailstock tapped his fingers on the arms on his power chair, tap, tap, tap, thinking hard. He said finally, his voice didactic, the college prof lecturing a roomful of students, “The authenticity of the evidence presented by the citizen vigilante is being evaluated, and it’s premature to predict how we might respond. There are always the procedural questions, and the need for further investigation, as you say, that make moving forward as quickly as you suggest somewhat problematic. If you, on the other hand, find the evidence pertaining to the drug charges convincing, you’re free to bring your own charges against Mr. Grissom whenever you wish. If you try him in federal court first, you’ll give us time to determine how best to proceed with the purported evidence against him in the Commonwealth of Virginia.”
Pepper arched an eyebrow at him, her look one of amazement. “Purported evidence? Mr. Hailstock, I have personally reviewed that evidence, including the audio and video, presented to you on a proverbial platter, and my colleagues and I found it overwhelming. I daresay an intern would have no problem securing a guilty verdict for his financial crimes. Granted, the murder of Josh Atwood and his mother will require more investigation. It’s your job to carry the ball forward for those two murders.”
“There is no evidence Josh Atwood’s mother was murdered.”
Griffin said, “We understand your Porte Franklyn chief of police, Dunn Pershing, is willing to reopen the case of Mrs. Atwood’s death, one ruled an accident by Bellison’s chief of police, Harlan Jacobs. As you know, there is evidence Jacobs may have been bribed by Mr. Grissom to rule her death accidental.”
Hailstock shrugged. “You’re referring to the two checks written to Harlan Jacobs’s wife? Those could be for anything, but Chief Pershing can do as he sees fit.” He sat forward, the portrait of a reasoned, serious man. “As I said, if you believe the drug trafficking charges against Mr. Grissom carry the most weight and have the greatest chance of success in court, let me assure you I will not interfere with you, my word on it.”
It was well done. Savich said slowly, “In my long experience, Mr. Hailstock, you are the very first state prosecutor who’s offered up a criminal to us before he’s tried in state court.”
Hailstock said in a bored voice, “As I’ve already said, Agent Savich, much of the evidence presented regarding Mr. Grissom’s purported financial crimes is problematic, their prosecution complex and uncertain. I predict such an indictment would result in a lengthy and expensive trial with an uncertain outcome given a jury’s caprice. And such a trial I would just as soon avoid. These are lesser charges, in any case, whereas the federal drug charges are the more compelling.” He added after a brief pause, “Many of the attorneys in my office agree.”
Pepper wished his nose would grow with that whopper. Many of his attorneys agreed? She wanted to kick him. Time to appeal to his ego. “Mr. Hailstock, I must say I’m surprised you’re not singing hallelujahs. Surely you must realize you would garner national publicity if you bring Grissom, a longtime criminal kingpin, to trial and convict him not only for embezzlement but also for the cold-blooded murder of a thirteen-year-old boy.”
