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“So do you think the Stormfield acquisition was just a money-laundering bit?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“You mind?” She eyed his fries.
“What? No, go ahead. I should have ordered the fruit salad as my side, but I have a weakness for things that aren’t good for me.”
I think I have you beat in that department, buddy, thought Gibson, thinking of her choice in husbands.
She snagged a couple of fries, bit into one, and almost purred. “I’ve been trying to cut this stuff out and lose some of the baby weight, but it’s harder than I thought it would be. As my mother loves to point out.”
“Well, as someone who will never have to go through that, all I’m going to say is hat’s off to you whatever you do or don’t do.”
She smiled. “I’m beginning to like your style, Will.” She inwardly groaned at such a stupid line. “So getting back to the money laundering. What did Stormfield sell for?”
“The property records say five mill.”
That drew a whistle from Gibson. “Langhorne was a mob accountant. It’s not like those folks are millionaires. So why do I think that when Langhorne disappeared he didn’t do so empty-handed?”
“Stealing from the mob is pretty much suicidal.”
“So is turning state’s evidence against them. Langhorne had already crossed that Rubicon. So why not go for the brass ring in the process?”
“So you think the money-laundering angle is legit?” he asked.
“Look, I spend all my time now looking for assets just like that. ‘Dirty money’ means it goes through multiple washing machines and comes out smelling like it was filled with nothing except healthy doses of Febreze. If he was smart enough to hoodwink the mob and take their money, I think he was smart enough to keep moving it around in an elaborate shell game. And it’s not like the Feds would have known about him stealing any money. If they had they would have confiscated it. At least in an ideal world. But maybe the world wasn’t ideal back then.”
“Hell, and you think it is now?” retorted Sullivan with a chuckle, but it was clear he was intrigued by her theory. “But your point is valid. So the guy had the mansion and probably other assets.”
“And if he managed to invest it all somehow, over the years, I would imagine those assets have grown exponentially.”
“I do know that he paid cash for Stormfield. And they would have checked that the funds came from legit sources.”
“After thirty-plus years, you can make anything look legit,” replied Gibson. “Even mob money.”
“You know, your experience in ferreting out assets might come in handy for our investigation.”
“Now, I like how that sounds.”
“Howwhatsounds?”
“Ourinvestigation.” She checked her watch. “And it’s time to go add to it.”
CHAPTER22
E?ARL BECKETT LOOKED LIKE AUS marshal, thought Gibson. Tall, lean, ramrod straight. Weathered good looks, wavy salt-and-pepper hair. A grim smile coupled with flinty eyes and a crushing handshake. Gibson thought that in another era, the man could have walked on to an old movie set and been an instant star, especially if he’d had on a ten-gallon hat and was sporting twin pearl-handled Colt .45s.
After Sullivan had introduced her, Beckett led them to his office in the federal building in Norfolk and sat down across from them. He had a manila folder in front of him.
“Had to get this sucker overnighted. It was in the record morgue, in yonder parts.” He smiled. “‘Yonder parts’ are what folks expect to hear from a US marshal, or maybe I’m just getting old.”
“Works for me,” said Sullivan.
Beckett opened the folder and got down to business. “Harry E. Langhorne. A name right out of the past.”
“Yeah, and he’s inourmorgue,” said Sullivan.
“So you told me over the phone.”
